AT THE AGE OF 13.........Chapter # 1

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    At the age of 13, and coming from a large family of 8 boys and 3 girls, with me being the youngest boy, I learned to duck and dodge quite skillfully. Since our Father was always gone and forever irresponsible, the oldest boy in the family who was still at home, assumed the position of Patriarch. My mother was so busy trying to keep up with feeding and clothing us, that she felt the oldest boy should be in charge. It worked quite well, actually.
    The 4H club had established a boxing club in West Fernie and being a natural born weaver and a bobber by necessity, I joined it. It turned out quite well for me. In the period of a year, I did top of my weight division, locally. It was a good confidence booster for me in the respect of knowing I could handle myself as good as the next kids who were almost all better off than we were, having a father at home and all. Not to say there was anything wrong with the kids I grew up with. It just made me feel more of an equal to them, and that's all I really wanted to be. I was never the person who wanted to beat somebody up, just to defend myself when I felt I had to. To this day, I love them all without exception, and dream of sometime seeing them all again. However, that's not likely, since I hear half of them are gone now, bless their hearts. But I can dream, can't I? And I sometimes do!
   Back to my story.
    At the age of 14, I was in Grade 8, and like a lot of other kids that age, I was wishing I was anywhere but in class. The good thing about it though, was there were a lot of big kids on our Junior boys basketball team that year, and we were winning most of the games played against the other schools in the East Kootenay School District. This was a real triumph to us, because when it came to sports in previous years, we were at the lower end of the ratings. For once this was different and we were enjoying our short but sweet championship season. In fact after we played and won a regular season game against the bigger town of Kimberley, B.C., I got my name in the Kimberley Newspaper as the star of the game with 10 points. Being an exceptionally big boy for my age at 6 ft. and 185 lbs., I was pumped! Boy, did I think I was good!
We were the high school heroes, even if it was a rare year where we won more games than we lost. The Senior High team was a different story. They were suffering more losses than wins.
    It caused the inevitable but seldom event to happen. The Seniors challenged the Juniors to an exhibition game after school hours, to be played in front of a crowd of students who were willing to stay long enough after school to be spectators. Since it wasn't an official game, and with the general assumption the Seniors would walk over us, not many showed up. Anyway the game started with a whistle by the two opposing coaches who played a duel roll of coach/referees.
    It was a surprisingly close game after the first 2 quarters with the Seniors only being a few points ahead of us. Close enough that it caused us to realize we could win this thing! The coach mentioned that to us and after great words of encouragement and a "Rah,Rah,Rah," sent us back out there.
    Darned if we didn't pull ahead with a succession of quick baskets. The frustration at the thought of losing began to show on the Seniors as we maintained our lead into the 4th quarter. We began to expand the lead towards the end of the game and they retaliated by getting rougher and tougher. They couldn't score a basket if their life depended on it. A pushing match between me and the other Center  eventually turned into a fist fight, at which time the other Center was helped off the floor by his teammates, and me being escorted to the dressing room by the two coaches, all the while threatening  suspensions to both of us. We had all left the Gym, all the while hurling insults at each other, and not finishing the game. I went home, kicking rocks and wishing I hadn't handled it that way.
     The animosity was short lived, however, with all concerned shaking hands before class the next morning at the coaxing of the two coaches. No suspensions were handed out, either. "All's well that ends well" was a remark we all consented to.
    Baseball was the next event in my life that involved basically the same participants, being a small town and all, and because of that, if you could walk, talk and run, you were included to play.
    It was back in 1950 when the sports were for the fun of it as well as the desire to win. The desire to win, of course, is always there, but it wasn't always the case as it is now. For example, in Peewee and Juvenile hockey, we were required to play a small town of Bellevue, Alta. They had a Semi-Pro hockey team in their town called the Crow Coalers that played in the WHL hockey league. If you were selected from such a team as this, You were in the NHL. You didn't get much better than that! My town of Fernie, B.C. had no such caliber of hockey to watch that came anywhere close to that. As a result, I remember one game where we were beaten by the Bellevue Peewees by a score of 21 to 1.
    The only thing credited with saving the humiliation was the free for all fight that took place at the end of the game. We won!!
    The great thing about those days was, though, the animosity never left the arena. We were always treated by the Rotary club or the Gyros to a nice lunch or dinner after the game, at which time we were all friends again. We didn't allow it to ruin the relationship that was maintained between friends. Whenever running into a previous foe from past years, it was, and still is, a great pleasure to behold.
    It was the same in any of our sports, including baseball.
    I remember being pretty good at fielding the ball, a little wild at throwing the ball, and exceptionally good at tossing the ball in the air and batting it out to the fielders during practice sessions. Their main complaint was that I was batting the ball too hard, and they had to crawl over the Home-run fence to retrieve it. But I had little experience at actually being pitched to in a game.
    Anyway, we were playing an inter-league game in which a lad named Alan Cairns, was pitching on the opposite team. Alan was an exceptionally large boy for a 17 year old, 6' 6'' in height and about 200 lbs. He was already known, when at bat, for breaking windows in the  School that was well beyond normal batting range for the rest of us. He was a natural born athlete at anything he did and I believe, even today if given the chance, he would have dominated any sport, bar none. Instead he choose to go to work in the Coal mines shortly after Graduation, and I believe he spent his life in Fernie, if he in fact, still lives.
    It came my turn at bat, and I proudly walked up to the plate, fully sure I was going to make myself proud. Alan wound up and with a high kick, fired the ball. Like a deer caught in the headlights, I was mesmerized by it and just watched helplessly as it careened off my head. Down I went, with my head spinning like a top and a headache that I never again experienced in my lifetime.
    As I laid there on the ground, I could here Frankie Lynch, the next batter up, laughing uncontrollably in the background. The players helped me up to my feet and over to the player's bench. As I was sitting there holding my head, I watched as Frankie got up to bat. He took that typical batter's stance in a 3/4 crouch, looking as though he was gonna smack that ball right out of the park!
    Alan wound up once again, high professional kick as well, and fired that ball like a bullet. It was wide and on the inside, so much so that it bounced off the cheek of Frankie's bubbly ass with a thud that the whole crowd could hear, followed by a holler that should be in the records to this day. As he crawled around on the grass, one hand clutching his butt, I laughed until I could finally see straight.
    The pain in my head was gone for an instant as I took complete pleasure in what I had just seen. I'll bet Frankie remembers it to this day, too! At least I hope he does.
    The coach must have thought, "Somebody could get hurt, here!!" because he pulled the pitcher after that episode. I was never able to stand confidently at the plate again, so I wasn't included in the roster, anymore. I still loved the game, but my noodle said it wasn't for me. However, there was still plenty of room for other sports.
    Right around the same time of year, Fernie High School had the good fortune of employing a Physical Education teacher by the name of Lorne Carroll. Lorne at the time was 24, and currently the distinguished 440 champ of the Province of Saskatchewan. He had recently played with the Saskatchewan Rough Riders prior to arriving in Fernie. He was a tall, muscular fellow with a very pleasant disposition. We all welcomed him to the school and enjoyed being under his direction in summer sports. His favorite athletic excercise for us in gym class was touch football. Since the School couldn't afford to equip us with the proper equipment at the time, it was more appropriate to touch someone carrying the ball, ending the play, rather than tackling. His favorite play was to stand in the end zone with the ball cradled in his forearm, place us in our various defensive positions, and then attempt to thread his way through the maze of players without being touched. He made it successfully a lot of times.
    It was a good introduction sport and I got to like it a lot. I have always wished I had been able to go on and play the actual sport, but our time with Lorne was cut far too short.
    An incident happened one day on the playing field, when Lorne suddenly went to his knees with a tremendous pain in his back. He had a look of misery on his face as we all had a hand in helping him off the field. After resting on a bench for a while, he recovered fully it seemed, and we went on with our practice, although he didn't participate and instead, coached us from the sidelines. The next day we were told that Lorne was on his way back to Saskatchewan on medical leave and would be back after treatment. A couple of weeks passed and it was sadly announced to the whole school in assembly one morning, that Lorne Carroll had passed away suddenly of Heart failure. There were a lot of tears that day, from Seniors, Juniors and teaching staff alike. We'd never be seeing him again!
It was a shock that no one had expected, but it explained the sudden back pain he had suffered earlier.
    That ended the dream for all of us that, some day there would be a regular Football League in Fernie and the surrounding towns in the East Kootenays. With nobody to pick up his lead, it was gone.
 School let out for the summer and it was time to find a summer job.
    I was contacted by a school friend, who was already out for the summer a month and a half  early, due to having over a 90% average throughout the school term. He didn't need to write the final exams as a result. (How I wished I was that smart.) He was working with a Topographical  Survey Company contracted to the Federal Gov't. The job was mapping the Upper Elk Valley region of the Rocky Mountains, including the creeks rivers,valleys and mountain ridges to the beginning of their sources at the top of the Range. We were assisted by Aerial photography done a few years earlier by the Canadian  Air force.
    The camp we worked out of was an arrangement of Surplus Army tents complete with cook shack and kitchen. There were 10 men total including the cook. The cooking was fabulous to say the least. The creek was our wash up spot in the mornings and we were high enough up in elevation that, even in the summer, we had to crack the thin layer of ice that would form during the night around the edges of the creek. We were awakened every morning by the triangular cook shack bell as a warning to get ready for breakfast, and everyone headed for the frosty creek to splash water on our faces and hands before breakfast. That woke us up, believe me!
    We were fortunate enough to be camped across the creek from the farthermost Ranch owned and operated by Bob McGinnis, a professional Guide and Outfitter. Every year he had dedicated groups of american hunters that he patronized at the ranch while his Cowboy guides led them by horseback on hunting expeditions during the hunting season. He had about a dozen horses with nothing to do but graze on the rich grass of the Rockies during the summer. We were there during the slack time so he would rent them to us for $1.00 an evening. His hired help, Professional cowboys with not a lot to do in the off season except rodeos once in a while, would stage little mini rodeos with the horses on hand and do roping and barrel racing etc. Other times, they would take us on pack trails that led up into the most beautiful hunting areas you could imagine. Looking back now, It was a once in a lifetime experience that has lasted a lifetime. The high, meadows, spotted with patches of stunted trees, were a place to dream of.
    Back at the ranch near one of the corrals, was parked an old fashioned roadster that was in great condition, but had a big old rope tied to the front bumper. It was a beautifully designed car and we had never seen anything like it before. There were spare wheels mounted on the wells in the front fenders with chrome covers. It was a front wheel drive and an automatic transmission. the little shift mechanism was mounted in the middle of the steering wheel. Apparently an electric shift. It was a 1936 Chord and the last manufactured of it's kind. The reason given was that Chord Co. was too far ahead of it's time. The automobile world was simply not ready for it yet, and it was too expensive for it's time,also. The other, more popular cars were less expensive and needed more for local transport than luxury. In order for the car companies to compete, they had to produce a more affordable mode of transportation. It would be thirty odd years before front wheel drive would be popular again.
    When I asked why it had the rope tied on it , they said some American hunters came to the ranch in it, and it broke down. They did their hunting, left and never came back for it. It had been towed in by a team of the ranch's horses.
    The job we were sent to do ended in mid summer and they kept us long enough to help tear down the camp before laying us off. It was a memorable and interesting adventure for the two of us, and a great time to reflect back on. Most of the money I made went to my mother for family purposes. None the less, I was a happy Camper and the yearning to become an adult was in progress.