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Rick Kamen, writes Heirloom Stories™ for elders and their descendants. He may be reached at (858) 273-1111 or accessed via the Web site http://HeirloomStories.com 

Street Smarts

The biggest party I ever attended was on August 15th, 1945. That was VJ Day.

The war was over. People were dancing in the streets. Young women were kissing strangers. When the sun went down, no one wanted to go home, so the party lasted until the next day.

Without a war, the factories would go back to making consumer goods –  like cars. Lots of men my age looked forward to that because new cars had been unavailable for many years.

The car shortage didn’t change overnight, though. For years after the war ended, there weren’t enough new cars. In the beginning, you had to “tip” the salesman to sell a car to you. Some people paid more for the tip than the car.

This was still going on in 1948, when I was talking to a younger student from my college. He had been in the military, so the government was paying for his tuition. They also allowed him to put a down payment on a new Ford in Santa Monica, California, without having to tip a salesman.

My friend realized that he wouldn’t be able to afford the payments, so he offered the car to me if I reimbursed him for the down payment. That was a real bargain. He didn’t have to ask twice.

The roomy 4-door sedan was comfortable. The big V-8 engine ran great. At the end of the school year, I drove it to Winnipeg without a problem. Why Winnipeg? That’s where the wedding was.

Ruth and I were married on June 1st, 1948. I’m glad I had such a big car because we received lots of presents.

As we opened the wedding and shower gifts, Ruth exclaimed how wonderful they were. I silently groaned because I knew I’d have to fit them into the car somehow. It took a while, but I finally packed everything in.

A couple of days later, we crossed the border from Saskatchewan into North Dakota. We knew our visas were OK, but if we had to unpack and repack all those boxes, that would be a LOT of work. If the immigration officer was suspicious or grumpy, he could search every box. I planned on acting cheerful and friendly, and hoping the officer would act the same 

As I entered the office, the officer got up from his chair, walked towards me, and extended his hand.

“This is odd,” I thought. Usually government officers don’t show people such respect. Maybe my friendly attitude was more powerful than I realized. I smiled wider and extended my hand towards his.

Then I realized the officer wasn’t reaching out to shake my hand; he was falling. I was able to steady him so he regained his balance. Without speaking to me, he left the room.

Almost as soon as he left, another officer entered. He must have been behind me as I entered. I looked at the clock, and saw it was 8 a.m. The first officer probably just finished the night shift and this new officer was starting the day shift.

The new officer and I had a friendly conversation about medical school and the wedding. Then we went out to the car. I was hoping his mood would remain pleasant.

He pointed to a box touching the roof behind the driver’s seat and asked me what was in it. I packed all the boxes, so I knew the answer. He asked Ruth to open it, and I was proved right. After a few more boxes he decided we were trustworthy. He filled out the forms and let us into the country.

I breathed a deep sigh of relief as we pulled away from the border. After driving about a half-mile, we saw a man in the road waving his hands for me to stop. I thought he was having car trouble because his car was at the side of the road. As I got closer, I saw it was the first immigration officer.

I stopped the car and rolled down the driver’s window.

“You were being smart with me back there, weren’t you?” he said.

“I was just being friendly and helpful,” I replied.

“You were not,” he yelled back. “You were being smart.”

Ruth’s eyes were as big as saucers. She didn’t know who this man was. I realized he was drunk and probably blamed me for making it obvious to the day-shift officer.

“I want you to get out of the car and I’m going to beat the tar out of you,” he bellowed.

He was bigger than me, but he was also older and drunk. I was pretty sure I could take him. But I was a guest in the United States.

When you’re a guest in someone’s house, it’s not polite to beat up the hired help. If you do something like that, you can be pretty sure you’ll be asked to leave. I only had one year left in medical school. I wanted to complete it.

Then I thought about his words, “…get out of the car and I’m going to beat the tar out of you.” That meant if I stayed in the car he wouldn’t hit me. That sounded like the best option.

I looked him square in the eyes as I put my hand on the gearshift and foot on the clutch. Then I dropped it into low gear and squealed out of there with as much power as that V-8 could pump into the wheels. I kept going as fast as I could until we crossed into Montana, two hours later. Ruth checked behind us the whole time, but never saw a trace of him.

Maybe we didn’t need a brand new V-8 Ford to outrun that lunatic, but I’m glad we had it.

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When I was 17, I earned a great honor from the Saskatchewan Junior Farm Club. They chose me to represent our province.

The Junior Farm Club in Canada is like the 4-H Club in the United States. My project that year was beef cattle. I raised a steer and kept records to show that I made a profit.

That entitled me to attend the annual competition at the University of Saskatchewan in Saskatoon, with about 150 other boys. We were all tested on our abilities to judge cattle, horses, swine, and seed wheat. I scored the highest.

The top few boys were judged on public speaking. This isn’t something most Junior Farm Club boys would practice for, but I was pretty good at it because of my work in the Church.

I talked about hackney horses, something my father taught me a lot about. I guess I did a good job. The judges chose me to represent our province at the Royal York Fair in Toronto a few weeks later.

After I was chosen, a professor from the University introduced himself to me and said, “Bert, you’re going to get a lot of advice in your life. Take it, it’s free. But you have to decide which advice will be useful.” Then he gave me advice for the rest of the evening.

A lot of it was helpful, especially the first line. 

*****

My father told me to get off the train at Winnipeg on my way to Toronto. “Brother Eatough will be expecting you,” he said.

My father was a minister for the Church of Christ in our town. Brother Eatough was the minister in Winnipeg, Manitoba. The only thing I knew about Brother Eatough was from the Christmas cards he sent to my father every year. They always said, “I know you’re holding the fort in Saskatchewan.”

Brother Eatough was a minister of the Church of Christ in Blackburn, Lancashire, England.  They sent him to Winnipeg as a missionary. Even though Winnipeg was a large city, he was used to larger ones. Our little town in Saskatchewan was so small, he liked to joke that we still needed forts for protection from Indians.

My train got into Winnipeg at eight in the morning and I walked three miles to Brother Eatough’s home.

“I’m so glad to meet you,” he said. “I just want to finish breakfast. Then I’ll show you Winnipeg.”

He drove me downtown in his 1929 Model A Ford.

He pointed to the parliament buildings and said, “That’s legislation.”

Then, he pointed to the University of Manitoba’s science building, across the street. This time he said, “That’s education.”

Then, he pointed to a church, on the corner, and said, “That’s salvation.”

On the other corner was a brewery. He pointed to it and said, “That’s damnation.”

That concluded our tour of Winnipeg. I guess it covered everything important.

Then, Brother Eatough brought me to his son Dick’s house. His son was at work, but his daughter-in-law Mary and six year-old granddaughter, Ruth, were there. Ruth was playing in the snow, but followed us up the three steps to the house. Her mother reminded her to change in the basement so she didn’t bring snow into the living room. Before she left, she smiled, not caring that she was missing her two front teeth.

Brother Eatough brought me to his home for an early evening meal and then drove me to the railroad station. There were several in the city, and it would have been easy for me to walk to the wrong one.

*****

Winnipeg was the largest city I had ever been in – until the next day. Toronto was even larger. The hotel we stayed in was magnificent: The Royal York. Each of our rooms had two beds and a cot, so we only needed three rooms.  There were nine boys, one from each province.

Our competition was another speech contest. The boy from Quebec won. I could tell he was an excellent speaker by his expressions and gestures. I didn’t understand the speech. It was in French.

Even though I didn’t win the competition, I was one of the four boys chosen to represent the Junior Farm Club to the country. Of course, the winner was one of the four. I represented Western Canada. Another boy represented the easternmost province. The boy from Ontario was chosen because we were in his province.

The next day, we were honored in a parade in a huge indoor auditorium. It was larger than Dodger Stadium. The orchestra played an upbeat march as the general and his swagger stick led the parade.

The announcer introduced us to the thousands of people in the stands. First the general, then the grand champion Holstein bull of Canada. We four boys followed behind and were introduced as the junior herd sires.

The whole audience doubled up with laughter. We were red with embarrassment. I think it’s funny now, but I didn’t like it then.

That evening, each of us addressed the entire country on the radio for three minutes. Radio was a big thing back then, and this was quite an honor. – A real one. No one called us herd sires.

*****

During the 1944-45 school year, I took a premed classes at the University of Manitoba – one of the four buildings Brother Eatough pointed out to me on his tour. Brother Eatough’s church, the Church of Christ in Winnipeg, hired me to be their youth leader that year.

After Sunday services, Brother Eatough’s son and daughter-in-law usually invited me back to their home for lunch. The first time I joined them, I was surprised at how much Ruth had changed. She was now 15 yrs old, in high school and looking very grown up.

After lunch, Ruth’s mother asked her to play a few songs on the piano. She was wonderful. Then she went outside to ride her bicycle with friends. I stayed with her parents in the living room.

During the year I spent in Winnipeg I was active as leader of the youth group and Ruth was a very active member of the group and we had many activities.

I’m not sure when she started looking more like a girlfriend to me, but it must have been before our first, and only, formal date.

Her father told her I was working my way through medical school, so she shouldn’t expect me to buy dinner. We ate with her parents, and then took the bus to the University of Manitoba Auditorium to see Iolanthe, a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta. Her mother had a cake at home for us afterwards.

When I entered medical school in Los Angeles, I wrote to Ruth every week for 2 years. Eventually, I wrote her that I’d be flying up to visit. I told her father I planned to propose. I don’t know if he dropped any hints to her, but she accepted.

The next year, in June of 1948, I drove from Los Angeles to Winnipeg a bachelor and returned a married man.

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