Chapter 30: My Summer Boyfriends

— Chapters appear as excerpts only. —

— Full chapters will appear in the printed published book. —

By the middle of my grade 11 year, I was getting the urge to move on, to live in a new place, to see new things, to have new experiences. School was starting to get boring, the town was starting to get boring. I was outgrowing my surroundings. I was getting a bit restless.

But I knew I would have to wait and be patient. Good things, and better days, would come.

The northwestern Ontario winters were long. If I continued my plan to complete grade 13, I was now only halfway through my high school years, with two and a half years to go. However, I would graduate from grade 12 in only a year and a half, and I could then go to work, or go to college instead of university. I was excelling in my office subjects of shorthand and office practice. I was not the fastest typist, but one of the top ones in my class. The business classes were usually at the end of the day and something to look forward to. The other subjects didn’t excite me very much.

I heard about one girl who finished grade 12 and went to Success Business College in Winnipeg for more training. That interested me. It would be a chance to get out of this small town and move to the big city. There was a growing demand for key-punch operators in Winnipeg, too. I saw the ads in the Winnipeg Free Press. That required only a six-week training course after grade 12. That would be something I could do well, as my typing skills were so good. Perhaps I could get a loan to take that course. Within six weeks, I would be working and could pay it back. I knew that my mother didn’t have enough money to pay for much more than the necessities. She couldn’t help pay for any extra schooling.

I didn’t want to work during the school year, I wanted to concentrate on my studies. But I needed to work in the summer if I wanted spending money beyond the small amount my mother gave me. I liked to buy some clothes too, and to wear something new and fashionable, like all the other kids, especially at the beginning of the school year. It was always interesting to see what the new trends were. The Eaton’s and Sears catalogues were my main sources of clothes. Occasionally, my mom bought me a new outfit from one of the catalogues. However, she had a sewing machine and seemed quite willing to sew clothes for me. When I wanted a dress for a special occasion, or even just a new outfit for school, she told me I could pick out some material and a pattern and she would make it for me. She never seemed to object to that, or complain that she didn’t have money to pay for it.

Finally, I reached the end of grade 11, the over-the-hump mark. Three years of high school were now behind me, one or two years were still ahead of me. The light at the end of the tunnel was getting closer. It lightened my spirit to know that I had possibly only one year of school after this. It would be a milestone for me. After this, I knew I could support myself in an office job, something else besides waitressing or cleaning. Perhaps, I would spend only one more year in Dryden.

In June, I started my summer job search. I stopped in at almost every retail store in Dryden, the two supermarkets Safeway and Harley’s, and a few restaurants including the Central Hotel (not to be confused with the Cascade Hotel in Eagle River, my mom’s former favourite haunt). I asked if I could fill out an application form. Many students had connections through family or relatives. I had none. My only experience was the March break at the Brite Spot, and the three weeks at Myers’ Lodge, but at least it was something. Unfortunately, the most difficult part was getting past the clerk or receptionist who bluntly stated, “We are not hiring or taking any applications at the moment.”

It wouldn’t have been my first choice, but I was pleased to finally be offered a job at Timberlanes bowling alley, to work as a waitress for the minimum wage of $1 per hour. My work day started at 8 a.m. Each day, I went into the prep room at the back, took some potatoes, threw them into the potato-peeling machine, took them out, cut off any eyes or spots that didn’t get removed, then put them through a cutter to make them into French fries. I placed them into a bleach solution so they wouldn’t turn grey. Then I took ground beef, added salt and pepper, and using a form, made them into flat, standard hamburger patties with waxed paper in between. Everything was made from scratch in those days. The fast food at Timberlanes was actually very good, made with real ingredients and not from a package, much like you would make at home.

During the busy hours, a cook made all the food, but there were times when I had to cook too. I learned how to make some basic things like a layered clubhouse sandwich. It was a short-order restaurant. Besides hamburgers, simple sandwiches, and French fries, I made milkshakes and sundaes, and served coffee, tea and soft drinks.

Timberlanes was a big teenage hang-out and the kids who came there never tipped the wait staff, not even a dime. They didn’t treat me particularly well either. Waitresses were not looked at with much respect. One Saturday morning, a kindly old man came in and sat by himself. He ordered a cup of coffee and a donut. When I went to clear the table, I noticed he had left me a dollar bill under the saucer. I was so astonished! It was the only tip I ever received at Timberlanes, and that was why I remembered it so well. And such a generous amount considering the coffee and donut cost only a dollar. He was gone before I could thank him, and he didn’t come back again.

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Sometimes I wondered about last names — how they came about, did they mean anything, and if so, did we live up to that meaning? After all, these names were all created by someone at some point, like my unfortunate Freak name. I certainly felt I lived up to this name in many respects. But I wondered if I didn’t have this last name, would I still be a little obscure and socially awkward. Would I be a different person if my last name was Smith or Jones or Proudfoot. Did the ancestors of the Proudfoots call themselves this because they were proud, maybe they had proud feet in a sense. Surely, they did. And their family definitely lived up to this name. I admired their family.

One thing was for sure, I doubted that a caveman family sitting around a campfire long ago, looked around at each other and said, “Hey, we’re all freaks! So this will be our last name. We are the Freaks.” Or maybe this happened. I didn’t know.

But having the last name Proudfoot rather than Freak would definitely instill more self-respect and confidence, making growing up and going through life much easier, as well as achieving successes. While I related to my Freak name, I also knew that I would one day shed the label, and break free out of its shackles. I knew I was smart and got good grades, I was strong in my mind, I knew there was hope, and I had big goals for my life.

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A young boy named Mac, short for MacKenzie, came in alone almost every day around 3 p.m. and sat at the counter in front of the dishwasher. This was usually a slow time for me. It was after the lunch time rush and before the dinner time crowd came in, so I wasn’t constantly taking orders and serving people. I actually had time to talk to him. I had other chores to do, such as filling the salt and pepper shakers, and ketchup bottles, but I could do that at the counter and talk to him at the same time. If not that, then I pretended to be filling the dishwasher. Mac always ordered a soda drink. He was about 12 or 13 years old, had blonde hair that swept over his forehead, and he was very, very cute. He was a young Justin Bieber lookalike, if Justin had been around then.

Mac always sat at that one place at the counter. He told me he wanted to sit there so he could watch me and talk to me. He was from southern Ontario and was visiting his relatives for a few weeks. Sometimes he left by himself when I got busy, and other times his cousins or friends came by to pick him up and they left together to go swimming, to see a movie, or do something else together.

“Hey everyone, meet my girlfriend, Marlene!” he always introduced me.

He often referred to me as his girlfriend. This always made me smile. If only he had been a bit older, I would have loved to have him for my boyfriend. So cute and sweet. I was usually nervous around boys but I could talk to Mac so easily — he brightened up my day. He sat there for an hour or so, sometimes even longer.

It was so much fun to be around Mac. I loved the idea of having him flirt with me. He reminded me a lot of Rocky in grade eight, so effervescent. Mac would have been the perfect, sweet little brother, too. Every time I saw him come into the restaurant, my face lit up.

One day Mac popped into Timberlanes and, as usual, just the sight of him brought a smile across my beaming face. But this time he didn’t sit down, he wasn’t going to hang around.

“Goodbye Marlene, goodbye my girlfriend,” he said. He was leaving town, going back home.

As quickly as it came, my smile disappeared, turning upside down.

“Goodbye Mac.” I looked down. I actually had to hold back my tears.

This reminded me of losing my father, losing my calf, and losing my kitten. One day they were a part of my life, the next day they were gone. Each of them left an empty space in my life.

I never saw Mac again.

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These weekend dances were a focal point for teenagers at that time. No one had any idea at that time that the Guess Who would become so famous, especially Burton Cummings. We knew they were good, but had no idea they were that good.

Other bands came from Winnipeg too, including the Feminine Touch, the New Shondells, and the Footprints — but the Guess Who were by far the best.

Most teenagers smoked in those days and, at the end of the evening, the dance floor was littered with empty cigarette packages. The last dance of the evening was always a slow one, so the groups of girls either left to go home or moved off to the side. Some boys lined the walls and they sometimes asked a girl for the last dance, with the idea to walk her home and perhaps smooch a little. This way they got a little action, while saving the expense of paying for her entrance fee, and not having to spend the whole evening with her. I had no first-hand experience because no one ever asked me. I still believed it could happen to me some day.

Instead, I often stayed behind to get autographs from the band. I looked around the floor to find a relatively clean cigarette package. There were lots to choose from as they were scattered everywhere. I tried to find the cleanest one, picked it up, ripped off part of it, and got the band members to sign it. I asked them to put “To Marlene” on it. This made me feel even more special.

I saved a few of these souvenirs, and I even had one framed. It was a remnant of an Export “A” cigarette pack and on the back was inscribed, “To Marlene,” with the signatures of Burton Cummings, Randy Bachman, Jim Kale, Bruce Decker, Garry Peterson and Jim Marten. The band members of the Guess Who.

Sometimes the band members asked me to come to their hotel room with them, but I always declined. I was sure they found some other girls to accompany them. I knew what the expectations of that could be. I wasn’t interested in becoming a one-night stand.

In August, a boy named Henry started to pay attention to me. He phoned me one evening at home, out of the blue, and asked me if I wanted to go with him for a Coke and chips. I was surprised, intrigued, and filled with anticipation. Someone was asking me out! A new adventure for me. I wondered how long this would last.

As soon as I hung up the phone, I ran to get my high school yearbook to look him up. I would not say that Henry was handsome. In fact, if I was to show his picture to someone, they would probably think he was somewhat homely, maybe even ugly. But he was muscular and well-built and had a certain swagger to him. Henry wore a leather Dryden Eagles football jacket and rode a motorcycle. I recalled having seen him in the hallways sometimes with a girl.

I changed my clothes to put on something nicer, combed my hair, and put on some lipstick. Shortly after, Henry roared up to my house, I got on the back of his motorcycle, and off we went. For our first date, we stopped at the Wayfarer Restaurant on the highway for a bite to eat. I wasn’t very hungry, my stomach was fluttering a little bit from this newfound excitement.

It was exhilarating for me to ride on the back of Henry’s motorcycle, hugging his back, breathing in the smell of his leather jacket. This was the first boy I had gone out with in two years. I saw him almost every day after that.

At one point, Henry bragged to me about how many times he had “bonked” his previous girlfriends — one of them 114 times, and the other one 93 times. I had no intention of being on his list of girls he had bonked, as he called it. Perhaps he told me these statistics hoping that I would want to be on his list too. If so, he had an odd idea of how to flatter a girl. For the time being, I was enjoying my little romance and I would make sure things didn’t go too far.

I actually enjoyed kissing Henry. It was very sensual. The first kiss happened when we rode out some back roads, stopped, and we laid down in the grasses. He didn’t try anything else, it was just a kiss. I savoured the moment. However, after that he became more assertive. I didn’t mind so much when he wanted to fondle my breasts, but I would not let him into my pants. Whenever he started to open my zipper, I moved my hand down there and closed it, then took his hand and gently moved it elsewhere. This became a little game that we played. Had he been more aggressive, I didn’t know if I would have kept seeing him. I was determined to keep that area of my body off limits to him. It would be my decision when I would let him go any further. 

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I was 16 years old and, all in all, I enjoyed that summer of 1967, with my boyfriends Mac and Henry. It was a memorable time, mostly pleasant. I met the Guess Who. The band would explode in popularity a couple years later, but they were struggling and getting their bearings when I met them.

I was also still getting my bearings, but I was struggling less. The dark clouds sometimes parted, letting a few rays of sunshine through.