Month: May 2017

House of Horrors…3

…Timmy and I went below and took note of our new digs. A very large room in the basement, half completed and just off of an area where our landlady’s washer and dryer area were plus the furnace room and what appeared to be a cluttered workshop: mouldy and dusty, the air would choke an asthmatic horse. We did have a large bed and there were two dressers for our clothes. Comfortable enough. There was even a spot for my “Heath Kit” stereo system and my records, which we brought out with us from the East. Not much in the way of clothes mind you but definitely my tunes. We set all of this up then decided to leave, find a restaurant, and over coffee and smokes discuss our way ahead from here.

Timmy and I decided to go into business for ourselves: a window cleaning business. As we were discussing this fact I couldn’t help but look outside at the continuous rain, mist and greyness of the place. Well, the sun must come out eventually I thought.  No matter. Cleaning windows would have very low overhead. We already had a car, and a few bucks to tide us over for a month. Buckets, squeegees and sponges wouldn’t cost too much and we had all of the water one could possibly have. It was decided then. We also had to purchase a ladder:  a 20 foot extension would fit the bill.

We left and went out to purchase our inventory from a local hardware store. All in all I do believe the total cost came to about 20 bucks, the ladder being the most expensive item on our list. Ready to rock and roll, but where do we go from here.  We hardly knew our area. We’ll start tomorrow. Let’s explore our surroundings now, which we did that afternoon, bearing in mind that we had to be back at our digs for the 530 chow call.

We decided to focus all of our attention to the residential properties of this coastal city. The northern burbs would be our best chance of success as they had views to die for: panoramic vistas over the city, the English sounding bay, the straits and the gulf islands that were in situ haphazardly to the west and southwest of the city’s core. Added to that was the beautiful green suspension bridge that bridged the gap from the city’s main core and large green canopy of a park of old growth trees then over the city’s harbour approaches and narrows to the northern burbs. These burbs, located to the west and north of the city centre and separated by the extension bridge, skirted along the city’s northern harbour limits. In fact one had to be a mountain goat to navigate the streets of these burbs as they meandered uphill from the lower reaches of the harbours quays and wharves and bay. The area also appeared to be an affluent area of homes with small business strip malls. Although this area presented a considerable drive from our lodgings it was ripe for the pickings.

When we arrived back at our digs a very strange and weird occurrence greeted us. As we came into the house from the back alleyway we could hear a high pitched screaming, clamouring, yelling, wailing and shouting coming from the area of the drawing room. Then silence, for a few seconds followed again by a cacophony of rants and curses.  What on earth we thought as we looked at one another in shocked disbelief. Added to that, as we came into the house, the kitchen was a disarray of blazing, boiling and steaming pots and pans of varying sizes and shape strewn about on the counters, on the stove and by the old fashioned farmers sink. But there was no one there looking out and over this disorganized mess!

We called out. “Mrs Redfern, Mrs Redfern. Are you there? Is everything okay?”

Silence, then more screaming. Silence, then hammering of her fists down on the carpet it would appear.

We tip toed through the kitchen into the hallway that led to the front door and the entrance to the drawing room. We peered into the room itself.  In disbelief we saw a very small, frail Mrs Redfern on her hands and knees peering into the magnified screen of the television set, about two feet away: screaming at the top of her lungs at the inanimate characters emanating from the screen into her living room. It was late afternoon wrestling, early evening back east where the show originated. And there, in full physical dynamism, was the famous and legendary Whipper Billy Watson fighting and wrastling some unknown opponent. Or perhaps it was the Sheik, or Gorgeous George or even Bulldog Brower taking on this giant of a man. Regardless, I got the impression watching this bizarre scene unfold that Mrs Redfern was rooting for the underdog as Watson was the star attraction in those days and, what appeared to us, was annihilating his opponent.

Timmy and I just stood there watching, incredulous as what was going on. It was just too weird a scene to laugh at out loud. There she was, Mrs Redfern, our landlady, down on all fours yelling and cursing at every move and at every blow from the Whipper onto his opponent. Her high pitchiness of a voice hurt the ears while her language would make a sailor blush. I am sure they could hear her back east. Yet here she was, our frail and demur landlady, suddenly transformed into a lioness of fury at some indiscretion, misconception of wrestling insanity.  Added to that she held that same butcher knife in her left hand that we saw when we first met her, at the ready, to disembowel any threat to her sense of wrestling fairness and sportsmanship. Timmy and I retreated ever so slowly so as not to disturb this disturbing scene. We would come to learn that this was a weekly afternoon occurrence in Mrs Redfern’s House of Horrors…

House of Horrors…2

…As she stood there, like an aged anorexic, she wielded a butcher knife in her right hand. Up and down it went as she eyed us both with suspicion then queried us as to our business there.

“Hello Ma’m” we said, I said. “My name is John Morrison and this here is Timmy Saunders. We were sent here by the city as they told us that we could get accommodations here. We just arrived from out of town and are looking for a place to stay.”

“Okay boys” she said. “Come in, come in”

We followed her in. She sat us down in the drawing room, looked us over for a minute or two, then smiled and told us we could stay. Price? 50 bucks a month, room and board.  And that was it.

Room and board, 50 bucks each a month? Holy shit, no shit. Yes, yes we said.

“You do know the city will pay the first month for us?” I added.

“Yes, yes I know” she said. “Don’t worry boys. It’s all in hand. They just called me before you called here. Your room will be in the basement. But you’ll have to share a room, and bed. Don’t worry; it’s a big, big bed. And no hanky panky”

Innocent though that we were, this was still a strange thing for both of us. As it turned out it was not a problem. We were not that insecure in the least.

“One bathroom, on the top floor”

“How many people live here I asked?”

“Lets see,” she said. “Dear me. There’s Robert, yes Robert…a very long time resident here that Robert.  Then there’s Scotty. Poor old Scotty. Scotty is kind of crazy in the head but don’t you worry at all because he is harmless…poor Scotty,” she moaned.

“Oh and there is Mr Johnston…ninety one years old now Mr Johnston. But not sure how long he will be with us in this world.  Could go at any time y’know” she laughed, looking at us and wielding that knife.

I looked at her accusingly, suspiciously, and frighteningly at the butcher knife that she still held.

“Then there’s you two, and me.  Just me. My husband died some years ago. This old house is all I’ve got. I sleep on the couch in the drawing room. Yes, yes, and Robert has one of the front rooms, to the left on the second floor; Mr Johnston has the other front room to the right and Scotty lives in the back room, also on the second floor. Nobody is in the attic. Not yet anyway.”

Okay boys. Yer room is down the stairs there. Supper’s at 530. I pack a lunch for you both. Breakfast at 7am.  Will see you then.

That was it…

House of Horrors

We found the accommodations fairly quickly. It was in an old house in the city’s west end not far from the University and not far from the British sounding bay and beach and city park. Funny that beach for there was an extremely large public outdoor swimming pool adjacent to and at parallel odds with the sand and surf of the British sounding bay. It was somewhat oxymoronic to me in having a public swimming pool situated on a beach beside the ocean.

We parked the car on the street and slowly walked up to the front door of the house. We double checked the address to ensure ourselves that we were in the correct location. The house itself looked to be about 100 years old, with some grey beaded glass stucco siding and cedar cladding on its exterior. It had a very large front window showcasing a very large and cluttered drawing room – as they called living rooms in those days. There appeared to be a basement, a main level where we were standing, a second story with two opposing windows followed up with an attic that had a very small window as well as vents. The roof was extremely high, “A” framed, with a very steep angular pitch to it. There was minimal front grass and the steps leading up to the stoop and front door were of the basic stamped concrete pad formation. The front door was large: of wood, dark and heavy. The house was one of many similar designed houses for the area and it was situated on one of the main streets of this community. – Fourth Avenue I do recall.

“Well, here goes,” we both said to no one in particular.

We rang the bell and waited in nervous anticipation. Waited! Waited! We rang the bell again then heard in a very high pitched squeaking female voice:

“I’m coming, I’m coming, hold your horses now, I’m coming” she squealed in an impatient drawl.

We couldn’t see her, only hear her weak lilting voice.

We detected a number of latches, or locks being sprung, about five it seemed, and then the door slowly opened. We looked straight ahead but saw nothing, nothing but a long dark hallway that led into a very old fashioned kitchen with a window that provided light and a view to the back laneway. The air was heavy, musty and badly perfumed. We could hear the TV from where we stood.

“Down here boys.” she whimpered

We looked down, in disbelief. Standing there in front of and below us was an old lady, in her early 80’s I would guess, maybe late 70s. She stood there about four foot eight inches tall, dwarf like and as thin as a waif. Her hair was curly, thinning, multi-coloured and stood up in such a disorganized disarray of hair that it appeared as if she had had electric shock therapy up her ass.  She was heavily made up.  Her lipstick was of bright red in colour but missed her lips entirely.  Same with her eyes. I think they were hazel but it was difficult to tell with her old fashioned rimmed glasses and eye make-up that also missed the mark. Her painted eyebrows were orange brown in colour, crooked and situated well above the upper rim of her specs. She was draped over in a brightly coloured day dress and slippers that had that pom, pom puff look on the slipper tops that were all the rage and fashion in the 1920s. Or so I am told.

The Two Stooges…5

…A few hours later, after a good breakfast and a cleanup, we drove around looking at our new surrounding, although it was hard to see anything in the pouring rain. We decided that we would apply for welfare just to get our feet on the ground. We located the municipal government building, parked the car, and went over to the facility. There was a long line-up from the office’s front door, then down the street, around the corner, and down a block or two. There were old men, old women; young men, young women; many Native Americans, young and old; hippies, young and old; well just a cross section of life itself in this part of the world. Welfare was a disconcerting all inclusive service that was indiscriminate and unsympathetic in its application. It had no pretensions whatsoever with respect to class distinction.  No, welfare treated everyone exactly the same.

And just then a young man came running down from the offices and the front of the line as excitable as one could be. Looking at no one in particular he shouted out for all of us to hear:

“Hey Billy, Hey Billy” he yelled. “I got fifty bucks!”

“Great,” Billy said, “Let’s spend it” some unknown entity answered, eagerly.

We were all excited, for him and for us.

Off he went with his best friend to have a wonderful and insightful day of booze and drugs. Within a day or two Billy and his mate will have run out of the financial juice and be forced to scrounge for scraps and drugs and live on and off the street in the city’s East End, or at least until the welfare’s maven’s call to muster yet again on this avenue of distilled dreams. It was a never ending pendulum rout from want to waste: a cycle of hope of anticipated elixir followed by deep despair. “There but for the grace of God go I” I thought yet here we all were waiting in line together, like seals yelping on a harbour pier, with anxious determination that our applications for approval or continued support from the man will be granted. Unbeknownst to Timmy and I we just happened to pick the worst day of the week to apply for assistance – Welfare Wednesday. Unlike Timmy and I most of these people were already approved. They were waiting for their cheques.

After a considerable wait we finally made it to the front of the line. There, face to face with the government official, we were drilled with expurgatory type questions that seemed to spell impatience or indifference on the part of the agent. There was no compassion or expectation for and on us by him. After what seemed to be an onslaught of useless questions we were directed to an office to wait for the next cull of disingenuous applicants.

We were finally interviewed, but one at a time, separated as if we were common criminals. I, we, explained our situation, basically, homeless with minimal funds. We needed help but only temporarily you see. We wanted to work. Whatever it was, the agent seemed to like us for we were immediately provided with a cheque each for fifty bucks plus a lead on basic accommodation. If we decided to stay at one of the identified flats on the city’s approved list of flop houses the city would pay for the first months rent. We accepted, thanked the man and were on our way. We almost felt like yelling to the world when we left that building: “Hey world, we got our fifty bucks. Now let’s spend it” Yes, all was good with the world.

That was the one and only time in my life that I applied for Welfare. That 50 bucks got us our start in life on the wet coast. I have never begrudged anyone who has gone on welfare for one never knows the individual circumstances or the personal stories that steers one into social desperation and dependency.

The Two Stooges…4

…When I returned home from my first west coast sojourn I was quite vocal about my experiences regaling all who would listen about the majestic awesomeness of the mountains and the Pacific Ocean. I never did tell them about the greyness and soul wrenching loneliness that came over my entire psyche out there like some wet mouldy blanket. It wouldn’t have played very well in a macho sense to say I was really homesick. Yet, by the time spring came along Timmy and I thought about ditching everything we had and heading west to seek our fame and fortune. It never seemed to dawn on me or us that geography was not a determinant for personal success and glory. Going west was just an excuse for us to delay the inevitability of personal responsibility and commitments – growing up. At that age and during those heady days of drug induced comas and out worldly consciousness it seemed like a good plan.

It was a Sunday afternoon. Timmy was over at my place when we decided to go, on the spot. Timmy had a 1965 Galaxy 500 at his disposal, a very large family car with a very big trunk. Enough to hold 4 or 5 spare balding tires, which we felt we would need given that all of the tires on that car were bald. We had sufficient funds for gas, food and smokes. No need for accommodation as our plan was to drive continuously until we reached the coastal city. Hare brained scheme I know but that is how immature dudes like us thought in those days.

I immediately went in to tell my parents that I was off again to the coast, only this time with Timmy. They were non-plussed about this as I think that by now they had just about given up on me and my irresponsible ways.

“What about your job” they asked

“I quit”

So off we went. Of course to hide our fears and anxiety we joked about the whole thing thinking and jesting that the area where we lived was just too boring and flat. We had to find the mountains. So we did.

We made it out there early Wednesday morning, after about 56 hours of driving, taking turns at the wheel while the other slept in the back seat. Lucky for us there were no mishaps. Even our tires held up. The plan now was to find some 24 hour diner and wait it out until the city came to life later in the day.

It was raining… of course it was….