Chapter 27: Small Town Living

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Education was my most important priority and I was very serious about it, already back in elementary school but especially now in high school. Going to school had also been a bright spot, and a welcome distraction and diversion, in what had been a very miserable and lonely home life. From a young age, I somehow knew a good education would determine my future and allow me to be independent.

Near the end of grade nine, I had to make an important decision that would determine my courses for the remainder of high school, until I graduated from grade 12. After this, the ability to change direction would become almost impossible as the programs were set. Students didn’t pass or fail a single course — they passed or failed the entire year. We might be allowed to fail one or two courses, but if our grades were too low overall, we would have to repeat every subject in that grade level again, even ones that we passed. If we wanted to change programs, we would have to go back a whole year to pick up the prerequisites. Our class moved forward as a group, not as individuals.

I got an A in both Latin and music, but I had picked these subjects only so that I could be in prestigious 9A. Mr. Berry, my music teacher, once whispered to me to sing more quietly as I was making it difficult for the others to stay in tune. It was advantageous for me that the majority of the music grade was based on theory and not practice. I actually enjoyed Latin and could follow the declensions quite well. However, it was considered a dead language and I didn’t see it as being very practical for me. I could understand why some of the other students continued with it as they wanted to become doctors and lawyers, so the language was beneficial for them to understand certain terminology. I knew I was not smart enough to be a doctor or a lawyer.

I had achieved my goal to be in the highest-level grade nine class. I had done well, above average in most subjects, so after that I didn’t feel as compelled to prove myself as much. But for grade 10 and onwards, I decided to take a different approach to my studies and find something more practical. I still wanted to have the opportunity to go to grade 13 and then university, but I also wanted to have a useful skill by the end of grade 12 so I could get a good job, just in case university was not possible. I noticed that one of the classrooms was full of typewriters. Occasionally, I walked by it and peeked in to see all these kids clacking away on the manual machines. The idea of learning this skill appealed to me. It looked so business-like. I could see myself working in an office someday.

All grade nine students were requested to attend a guidance interview to plan their grade 10 courses and consider their future careers. Those were the days when girls were still being channelled into three main areas: nursing, teaching or secretarial work. In fact, those were exactly the three career options presented to me when I went for my required annual guidance appointment at this important juncture in my life. Perhaps, if I had been a doctor or lawyer’s daughter, I might have been presented with other career choices. Our subjects were taken in groupings, we went from class to class and stayed together for all our core subjects, but the class split up for two separate subjects.

So far, I was just a slightly above-average student but I wanted to be the best at something. So, I switched into business, with typing and bookkeeping as my two options. Those of us picking up typing in grade 10 had to catch up with those who had already had one year of typing. I had some work to do, but I was diligent and motivated, so I knew I could do it. I had to be practical and look after myself carefully.

My new class designation was 5AB10C. They changed the coding so it wouldn’t be quite so obvious as to which classes were more academically enriched. The sought-after and highly regarded class designation of 9A no longer existed. In the new 5AB10C designation, the 5 referred to the five-year program, the A stood for arts and science, the B for business and commerce. Most of my previous grade nine classmates were now in 5A10A, with two of the letter A so it still had some prestige. For whatever reason, this class code was no longer important to me, probably because I felt I was now proving myself just fine, and gaining some confidence.

I was always interested in the social aspect of my environment. Social class divisions stood out much more in high school, and I was definitely in the lower class as far as social status was concerned. My mother was a widow on welfare, this was a fact that relegated our family to a certain place in society. I could elevate myself by getting better marks than others, but I didn’t have the power to elevate myself in society, nor could I figure out how to become more popular and accepted. I supposed that having the surname of Freak didn’t help me gain respect either, though I never dwelt on that.

In early July, I was disappointed when Janice told me that her father, who was a projectionist at the cinema, got a job in Vancouver and they were moving. Now that I lived in town, I would have had much more time to spend with her and get to know her better. I would miss the only good friend I had made in my grade nine class.

My mom looked for work and got jobs cleaning people’s houses and small offices downtown. Sometimes I came with her and helped out, and she gave me 50 cents for it.

In grade 10, I had one date with a boy, but that was all. He seemed to be smitten with me and asked me out a few more times before he gave up. I liked him, but not enough to continue dating him. He had stinky armpits. Now, that shouldn’t have deterred me since I stunk most of my life, but now I was clean and I didn’t stink. I didn’t have enough confidence to date someone I found fault in. I found enough faults in myself. I needed someone to bolster my confidence and he didn’t do that for me. 

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Every year, Dryden held a walkathon in March, a walk between Dryden and Vermilion Bay, a distance of about 45 kilometres (28 miles). I had seen the pictures in the newspaper each year and I wanted to do this. It would be a challenge, for sure. I knew I had no hope of beating most of the walkers, but there was a prize for the first person under 16. That was the prize I wanted to win, and felt I could win.

I convinced Marg to enter the walkathon with me and, if we won, we would split the prize. There was no fee to enter. I wasn’t accustomed to walking long distances like that, but I did practice walking some distances around town, thinking that would get me into shape for this. I was so naïve about that. I had no idea how difficult this walk would be, but I was going to do it or else. I didn’t want to wear boots for the walk, and I didn’t have much money for any kind of shoes that would support my feet. I bought some cheap $5 shoes at Cadario’s, which was a department store something like a Walmart back then. I should have looked for shoes with a thicker sole and ankle support, but I didn’t know very much about shoes and I didn’t have much money.

So on a Saturday morning in March, Marg and I, full of anticipation and excitement, lined up on the street downtown, with the other 100 people or so jostling for the front row. It was still quite cold in the morning, but the day was sunny and the snow was starting to melt. The highway was clear of snow for us to walk, but we had to move to the shoulder whenever a vehicle came by.

We started off and a pick-up truck drove by us slowly. The driver rolled down his window and I recognized this hillbilly man who I hadn’t seen for a few years, and didn’t want to see now. It was Cliff’s son Arnold. “Haha, you’ll never make it!” he yelled to me.

I never forgot how Arnold made me feel when Cliff banished me from the house. Just like his father, he must have enjoyed bullying an inoffensive 12-year-old girl who was pleading to stay in the house, a simple request. Two bullies were worse than one bully. They got double the satisfaction, and they fed off each other. Arnold must have been a selfish man. I was sure he convinced Cliff to take my precious kitten away from me, the one kitten that loved to smooch and purr and gave me a little bit of joy. And then they lost the kitten anyway.

I never expected to hear any encouragement or kind words from Cliff, or his sister Edith, or his son Arnold. They were all cut from the same cloth, so to speak. However, Arnold saying this to me was exactly the motivation I needed. Now I knew that I must be successful to prove that a bully’s comments could not deter me. Nothing could stop me now. I will make it!

I accepted that there would always be these kinds of people in life, those who knew how to put you down and would never say an encouraging word. They were all bullies, the whole family. Bullies were nothing but weaklings. They wanted to make someone else feel worthless so they could feel better. I was so glad to have them out of my life now. I hoped that this was the last time I would ever see Arnold, too.

Marg and I each brought along a chocolate bar and a pop. We didn’t think we would need extra water or more sustenance than that. We should have asked for advice about how to prepare for that long walk. After about three hours, we passed Marg’s house on the highway so knew we were about halfway there.

For a while, we could see the walkers in front of us, but now they were all so far ahead of us, out of sight, and we could no longer catch up. We looked back occasionally and we could see only one lonely figure. It was a girl who I knew was also under 16 years old, so if we didn’t pass the finish line before her, she would claim the prize in our age group. As far as I knew, the three of us were the only ones competing under the age of 16. If we didn’t beat her, we would get no prize, just the satisfaction of knowing we did it. But we wanted the prize and the ability to say that we came first in that category. We had to keep up our pace and not let this girl catch up to us and pass us. She also helped to motivate us. Sometimes we had to sprint ahead. I thought it was very courageous of that girl to attempt this on her own. It was easier for Marg and I because we could encourage each other, and we had each other’s company so it wouldn’t be so tedious.

It took us about eight hours to walk the whole distance. We did it without any stops or rest periods. We got to the finish line and checked in. We made it. We were numbers 26 and 27 to arrive, and the first under 16, so we won our category! We were so proud of ourselves.

There were still walkers coming in, but many had dropped out. We were presented with the prize envelope and I looked inside. I had no idea what the prize could be. I thought it could be some cash. Instead, it was a $10 gift certificate from a Vermilion Bay hardware store. We were so disappointed. We didn’t want $10 worth of hardware. We wandered around asking any men we saw if they would pay us $10 cash in exchange for this gift certificate, which was basically useless to two young girls.

A very nice man saw us trying to peddle off this certificate and so he said he would give us $10 cash for it. We were so happy about that. He said he always shopped at that store, so it was fine with him. We thanked him profusely.

But now we had another dilemma. We had no means of transportation to get back to Dryden. Something else we didn’t think through. Neither Marg or I had family or friends we could call to pick us up. So again, we wandered around asking people if they were going back to Dryden. We were sure that somebody would be going back to Dryden. We went out into the parking lot and asked anyone who was near their vehicle. Finally, we approached a man and his wife who were getting out of their car. He looked at these two waifs begging for a ride. He said yes, I thought he felt sorry for us. They were going into a restaurant to eat, so he said we would have to wait for a while, probably about an hour. We were so relieved. It was already getting dark, and colder.

We were starting to shiver and ache all over. We also went into the restaurant and ordered a hamburger and French fries. At least we now had some money to buy something to eat. We were famished and were so low on energy. The food tasted so good.

The couple was nice enough to drop us off right at my house, though we would have been happy to be dropped off anywhere. We were already starting to feel very stiff and sore. The first thing we did was pour a hot bath. We took turns to sit in it and warm up, and then we bundled up into our flannel pyjamas. We were in bed by 9 o’clock and we slept soundly for 10 hours.

The next morning, we could hardly move. We were in so much pain. Our muscles were incredibly sore. We could not even walk down the stairs, so we crawled. My legs were swollen so much I couldn’t even put on my pants. I looked at my mangled new shoes. The soles had fallen off them and there were holes in the sides. They were totally ruined. But we had set out to do something and we did it! It had been an adventure. We had come first at something, even though it was just first in our age group. Still, that was quite an achievement, I thought. We didn’t make much money out of it. We spent most of it on our meal. Accomplishing our goal was our only reward. Plus, we shared a memorable experience together. 

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I was aware that Marg’s father lived in Winnipeg in a rooming house. I had never met him but she wanted to visit him. She hadn’t seen him in a long time. The two of us decided to take the train to Winnipeg and stay there overnight. We had some spending money. She had babysitting money, plus her mother gave her some money too, and I finally had my money from working at the Brite Spot.

My mom got a train ticket for me so my travel was free. Marg was under 16 so her cost was only $10 for the return trip. It took about five hours to get there as the train stopped frequently along the way. We arrived at the train station in Winnipeg in the late afternoon, and we walked down Main Street to find a hotel. We stopped at the McLaren Hotel. The rate seemed reasonable so the manager gave us a room on the second floor. On the main floor, we could see through an open door into a pub. Already, it was packed and the noise was loud and raucous.

We carried our small bags up the stairs and went inside the room. As we were freshening up, the phone rang. Some guys down the hall wanted us to come to their room for a drink. We peered out the door and, sure enough, they were standing by their room waiting for us. They knew exactly which room we were in. We told them we were not interested. We closed our door, hung up, and they phoned again. Then some other guys phoned us. It took us a few minutes to realize what was going on here. We went to the manager and told him to quit giving out our room number. We wondered if prostitutes stayed at this hotel.

We went to the Salisbury House for something to eat. Their specialty menu item was Salisbury steak, a fancy name for a hamburger patty smothered in a thick sauce. After dinner, Marg and I walked to the rooming house on Main Street where Marg’s father lived. The place was a rundown dump of a place. We entered and went up a flight of stairs. Men were sitting in the hallways smoking roll-your-own cigarettes. Each of them lived in one of these small, dingy rooms.

Marg’s father had a hot plate to cook his food. I noticed a few cans of sardines on the shelf. There was one communal toilet at the end of the hall for all of them. Marg’s father looked to be down and out. He seemed sad and lonely. He gave Marg a big hug. He fished around in his pocket and managed to dig out some small change to give to her. She talked to him in Ukrainian. I was not sure if he knew much English at all. We stayed for about half an hour and left, happy to get out of that depressing place.

When we got back to our hotel, the pub was still full and patrons were spilling out into the parking lot beside the hotel. Most could not stand up straight. We made our way around them and up to our room. We locked our door and put a chair in front of it. The music from the pub was very loud and didn’t quit until after 3 a.m. We finally got some sleep after that.

While waiting at the Winnipeg train station to head back to Dryden, we ducked into an instant photo booth and had some pictures taken, a memento of our little trip.