My mother found an apartment on 10th Ave behind the big BOWMAC sign on Broadway. I enrolled in school at King Edward High, repeating grade 11, they didn't recognize my effort in Nicaragua, oh well. I made some friends that year. We wanted to be radio announcers so bad we could taste it. We constructed our own station, and practiced, practiced and practiced some more. One day we put it on the air, a little 50 Watt effort called CKSP, 1030 on the dial. 1030 was a reserved frequency for WBZ in Boston and WBZA in Texas. The DOC found us in about an hour, came over and had a little conversation about regulations, breaking the law and jail. After we explained the what and why, they let us continue until our sign off at 6 PM, nice guys. We gave them the transmitter and, after supper, went back to practicing.
That year CHQM went on the air, a stereo FM station. Stereo music. I was never so impressed by anything to that point. I had to get into the business. I practiced even harder. In our apartment we had walk in closets, big enough for about 10 people to stand around, shoulder to shoulder. I spent hour after hour in there reading newspaper stories out loud, introducing records then turning on the record player... just like the real thing. I tried to come out of the closet by applying for every radio job across Canada. I received so many rejection letters I had to start another shoe box for them. My friend and I would make friends with the night DJ's in Vancouver and they would let us play sometimes. We often visited Don MacArthur at CKLG, various people at CJOR, George Morris of CFUN and Red Robinson at CKWX. One early morning about 2 AM, the DJ on CFUN fell asleep on the air. My friend and I ran over there as fast as we could, whipped open the back door, ran to the booth, started a record and shook the announcer. He was gone next month. I got some real experience in a station in West Vancouver (that later moved to Vancouver). The evening jazz DJ had a favourite hobby, he would bring a girl to the station during his on air time, put on a long record and take her downstairs where he had a makeshift "pad" set up. I read news, played records and had the best of times during those frequent hobby trips of his. Two summers in a row my friends and I got a booth at the PNE and strutted our stuff in front of others. We though it was a big deal. It was fun.
One summer I got a job working on the trains. I was third cook on the Vancouver - Jasper and the Vancouver - Winnipeg runs. On my first trip I found out how much work was involved. Up at 5:30 getting the galley ready for the day. Make toast on the stove top! The problem was the stove had this high bar at the front to prevent pots from sliding off. That bar was so hot as soon as a wrist would come in contact, the skin would burn. At the end of the day. anyone looking at my wrists would have thought I tried to slash them many times. I washed dishes, made toast, peeled potatoes and veggies, boiled water, opened food packages, mashed potatoes, sliced, diced, and chunked every known food while trying not to fall on the stove. The train car was swaying back and forth. After a couple of hours of this motion my legs were very tired. When a meal ended we hurriedly prepared for the next. When that one ended, we would get ready for the next, when that one ended we were exhausted, but we had to make rooms out of the dining car and prepare our beds for the night. Sleep for 3 minutes (it seemed) and it happened again at 5:30 AM. The trips were uneventful except one. Somewhere near Kamloops, one evening, a huge boulder about 5 feet in diameter came crashing through the wall of the dining car about 10 feet from my workstation.
Starting Grade 12 at King Edward, we knew we were the last class that would use the school. It was becoming an adult education centre next year. My friend and I started the radio club, set up our own station, broadcasting at noon and after school to the school yard. We started the first network of its kind in that city, we extended our broadcasts to Kitsilano High. We weren't your run of the mill teenagers just having fun talking on the radio. We constructed a complete stereo radio console in 1961 (right from the resistor up) and had it approved as broadcast quality by RCA. We applied to put a radio station in Revelstoke, BC. The DOC were impressed by our technical expertise, our well constructed management strategies, our 5 year business plan, but we lacked age. No one was 21 yet, not a good thing according to the regulators, "come back when you grow up", was the attitude.
I woke my mother one morning because I had a feeling, a feeling like no other I had experienced in my 20 years. "We have to go to Grandma's house" I said, reacting to the feeling. We went across town, used our key to get in, went to the bedroom where Grandma had died that night. There was a funeral. I went to the front step of the church and stayed until everyone left the church.
I became a very good bowler, 5 pin type. I played at least 20 games a day and on Sunday 30 or 40 games. By the end of the regular season I was sporting an average of 315 in the Wednesday night mixed league and 250 in the Friday night Men's Pro league. The Men's league intimidated me so I couldn't hit the head pin as often. Every second Saturday morning I would set up rails and for the next 3 hours we would lead the blind to the lane and help them bowl and have fun.
I didn't go to my graduation. I put on a tie, walked to the door but couldn't go in. I didn't know these people. I went to school with them but I was so busy with my job and my hobby that I felt out of place at my own graduation. I thought about University but knew there was no money and therefore, no way to attend. I didn't get to make that choice, however, my direction was set by the Vancouver school system. I had two Maths, Economics, Physics, three languages (Spanish, Latin, French), two English (Literature, Grammar) and two electives (Typing, Theater Arts), along with oodles of credits to get into university, and decent marks, but I got 48 out of 100 in a grade 11 course - Social Studies and couldn't get entrance to UBC.
My uncle was getting older and more tired. He asked me to work for him in Chilliwack, BC. I said yes and, a bus ride later, I was dropped at their farm house. A dairy farm in the heart of the Fraser Valley, I didn't know about dairy stuff but I was about to learn in a hurry. I thought, wow, cows to chase, tractors to drive, trucks to cruise with, chicks to meet, what a gold mine. That's what I thought. What I got was work, work, work. I helped clean the barn right after putting my guitar, my three shirts and other clothes in my room. What a smell! No, not my room... the barn. Doesn't anyone smell it? It stinks in here! The cows came into the barn, made a mess, ate the hay put down for them, slobbered on my shoes, and whipped me with their tails. I didn't, well, couldn't milk the beasts. I could tug on their teats with both hands and nothing would come out. After that first milking experience, my uncle stepped me through withdrawing milk from a cow. It worked! I was an expert now!
The next morning I was shaken awake at 5:30 by this large "farmer" hand, a hand grizzled by rough work for 35 years. What a terrible initiation into the working world, can't cows wait until sun up at least? I grabbed a cookie on the way by the kitchen and headed out to the back field to get the cows. I didn't know the cows knew more about this routine than I did. I ran all over the field hurrying the cows along, until I was told to let them walk, unless you want butter by the time the cows get to the barn. Close the stantion, holding the cow in place, feed, prepare buckets, cleaning chemicals and the farmer's 3-legged stool. I tried to milk a cow. I did get milk but it would have been time for the second milking by the time I got it all from this one cow. And my hand ached so bad I thought the cramp was now permanent. I learned a lot that winter. There were no cows to chase, they were walked to and from the barn, the tractor was for the sole use of the farmer in charge, the keys to the trucks never hit my hand even once and the chicks I saw, laid eggs.
I enjoyed throwing bails of hay onto the wagon. There is something about working outside, with a food that will make a cow happy during the winter. During the harvesting of one field I had to get my eye teeth out, they were gross. I left the field, went into town for my appointment, got six needles for two lousy teeth, had them pulled, went back to the field, just like the experience was a coffee break. Dairy farmers don't get breaks, there is always work to be done. I was never a dairy farmer, I was just passable as a field hand. I did milk 10 cows twice a day, spread cow stuff on fields, repair fences, and perform all other duties of a farmer but that doesn't make you a farmer. It is hard to explain. Let's say I have the greatest respect for anyone who does that work for a living, it is not a treat... it is very hard work.
My father called one evening, "How would you like to come and work for me?" "What will I do," I asked? "Work as a construction flunky. We are building a new mine here in Newfoundland." Wow! all the way across the country... sure why not. It seems my parents gave up the jungle life and moved east. I boarded the train for Cornerbrook, Nfld. An uneventful trip. My one encounter speaking French in Montreal soured me on talking to anyone else. I stopped a passerby and asked for the time please. I got obscenities in return, and something about learning how to speak properly before you talk here Anglais!
Changing trains in Truro was a pain, the day liners don't hold very much luggage and I had a big suitcase and a guitar. I also helped a lady with her small child. There was no porter or any other assistance, just cold weather and a blowing January wind. The ferry crossing was something to behold. We weren't on a regular ferry, this was a regular ship. I had a cabin high up on the ship at the front, not the bow, the front of the people area, overlooking the bow. What a rough crossing, tossing and turning violently, the waves hitting my window way up here. There were only 9 passengers, eight Newfoundlanders and me. They were all sick from the rough seas. Me too. I went to my cabin and slept as much as I could. Port Aux Basque, Nfld., another province, another adventure. The Bullet, as the train on the island was known, took us to Cornerbrook. The hotel was great but there was nothing to do for the weekend. My father couldn't come the 150 miles until a couple of days later.
There were 6 trailers lined up in a row, facing the mine. We lived in the first one on the right. The next morning I was given a job of washing used mine parts, removing grease, and years of use from bearings, rollers and other moving parts. Every part was recently used by a mine somewhere in Canada and they left their dirt for us to clean off. Cushy job, I think not. I started at the bottom and stayed there for a while. I made friends very quickly, being the interpreter for my father. he couldn't hear through the accent but I had no problem understanding everything. I never helped build anything, I just cleaned. When the mine was up and running I became the mill office flunky, working the huge manual spreadsheets designed by my father. I also did the ordering, the accounts receivable and payable and other misc. duties. I became very good at my job and had some free time. During slack time I would go to the assay office and learn how to measure the amount of copper, zinc, gold and silver in the tons of ore being processed in the mill (assaying).
In my spare time I was taught troubleshooting by my father. "Stand right here and listen," throwing the words my way through the noise of hundreds of motors. I would hear noise. He heard a belt slapping against a cowling. The operator fixed that, I heard more noise, he heard a bearing struggling to keep going. After a few session I could hear other things too. I trained myself to hear individual sounds in a sea of noise. That was one of the greatest learning experiences I had. One day I was calculating some of the statistics in my office when I heard this out of place noise. I rushed out into the mill, no one had noticed. I stopped, listened harder, then ran for the power plant. A diesel generator had gone full throttle and caught fire. I immediately took it off line, protecting all the motors in the mine while the operator put out the fire.
I gained respect from the local employees. My father thrust me into a position of responsibility one day. He told me to get a crew together and disassemble the cone crusher so the foundation could be replaced, then put it back together. I selected a good team and we did it without any glitches setting us back. And we got good words from management for our effort. The highlight of my working experience at this mine so far was driving the backhoe. I drove the backhoe, moving equipment, digging holes, pushing cars, all sorts of tasks. I want one to take home!
I was getting bored, there was no TV, and the radio stations were probably the worst I had ever heard. VOCM wasn't too bad but it was geared to the housewife with their contests and baking hints, not my favourite topics. I said hello to Joey Smallwood during one visit, but politicians held no thrill for me. I needed wheels. I was working, earning my $1.50 per hour, not paying rent and could afford a car. We went to Cornerbrook and shopped around. I bought my first car, a 1964 VW beetle. Driving it the 150 miles back to the mine was a thrill, especially when that huge moose came up beside me and walked along for about 200 feet. I cruised Baie Verte every night. I drove into the police car one Sunday. The mountie at Baie Verte was a friend of mine and I watched him wash the cruiser. He then turned the hose my way. I bolted for my car, started it up, slammed the gear shift into reverse and drove forward into the back fender of the cruiser. The VW had an annoying fault where you had to push the gear shift down and toward you to get it into reverse. I forgot the down part and ended up in second gear.
I needed female companionship but my shyness was an overwhelming obstacle. I said to myself, "Self, you want a girl friend, you are shy, so why not start with the prettiest." I looked around and found two prettiest. My first choice said she would go out with me and we stayed together for 12 years. We cruised town, every night. A lack of activity reduced us to going to the dump watching the rats move stuff around. She moved in to our house just before Christmas, my mother thought she needed a housekeeper.
I was busy at the mill, expanding my expertise in the research lab. I set up a small process that resembled the big mill and I started experimenting with various chemicals. We were spending a lot of money on the extraction chemicals and not getting super dooper results. After testing until I was tired of testing I tried a series of Xanthates and the results were astounding. I tested these chemicals again and again, assaying myself and received good news each time. A truck load of the chemicals were ordered and incorporated into the process. The profits soared, my father was very happy. He went to the Mine Manager to see about a reward for me. The millers were making up to $3.00 per hour. The Manager said great job, here is a 10 cent an hour raise lifting my salary to a lofty $1.60 per hour. I quit on the spot. My father resigned right behind me. I guess the moral of that story is don't throw disrespect at us Galloway's, we will go elsewhere. (Maybe that's a good way to get rid of us). Actually, I am glad I found out I had courage of my conviction to leave when unjustly treated.
My father thought for a moment then made a phone call to a long time friend in Yellowknife, NWT. My son blah blah (he went on about the latest stuff), blah and he needs a job. "Ok send him up," was the reply. But, what about my girlfriend. I proposed on Thursday, "We're getting married, ok?" "Sure," she replied. We were married on Saturday evening, leaving at midnight for the ferry ride. We loaded the VW with all of our possessions, said goodbye and drove across country to my new job. Saskatchewan tried to keep us. There was a bad snow storm but the temperature was high. I got out every 5 miles to clear snow packed between the fender and the wheels. We left Peace River, Alberta early in the morning heading north for a 20 hour drive. The weather was very cold, -40 degrees. My poor car froze up and wouldn't work very well. First, the windshield wipers froze up, the gas heater was useless, the brake pedal wouldn't go down any more. For the last two hours, we were going 40 miles an hour and the gas pedal froze. It took two of us to turn the corners because the steering wheel was so stiff. It was a harrowing experience being on the Mackenzie Highway in an inferior vehicle, knowing if the car stopped we would too.
But, we made it. We drove up to the Yellowknife Hotel, shut the car off just before getting there and used the hand brake to stop at the front door. I went in and ordered a room for two please. The clerk said, "Who besides you is going to be in that room?" "My wife," I replied, exhausted by the terrible experience I had just come through. "Only if you have a Marriage Certificate," he said, confronting my inexperienced look. I went to the car and attempted to open the bonnet, the location of our marriage certificate but it was frozen shut. I went back to plead my case but this idiot was having none of it. Here we were in the '60s, a time of free love except at the Yellowknife Inn. I hope they have changed their policy since then, I don't know of too many married couples who carry their proof of marriage. I called Rod, my father's friend, explained my case, he came to rescue us from the freezing cold. We slept in his guest room, ready for the next day. We moved into a bachelor apartment right downtown in this place of 3000 people plus a nasty hotel clerk. I worked in the mill over a span of two years, starting on flotation, moving through solutions and finally to the roaster. I handled enough cyanide to kill every human on the planet many times per month.
We got pregnant right away so I had to find a bigger place. I looked around for something in my price range but cardboard boxes weren't insulated and winter was approaching. A fellow worker sold me his house for 3500 dollars, 1 block from the downtown post office. We moved in. The walls were made of pressed cardboard, warm but with a floor oil heater, rather dangerous. I sold that place for 10,500 dollars to the KFC franchise, the north's first nationally recognized fast food restaurant. Susan was born that winter, in the old hospital, 3 months before it went up in flames. I got home from work at 3:30 AM (extended shift for overtime) to find my wife in the bathroom sitting on the floor. She told me to go away, that tone was enough to not argue. At 6:45 AM she said, "Let's go to the hospital." I pushed the car to a start (no battery), loaded these two into it, drove to the hospital, where Susan was born 10 minutes later.
Phillip arrived 1 year and 1 month later. We went to the new hospital because we were having good old labor pains. We arrived at noon, not a good time at that hospital. We tried to find someone but everyone was on lunch. I wandered around, found a nurse at about 12:30. She came to look over the situation and summing it up, said, "Yup, she's gonna give birth alright." She disappeared into the halls, emerging about 10 minutes later with a wheel chair. We were driven down the hall into a prep room where clothes were removed, gowns donned and moans endured. It was 1 PM, everyone returned from lunch, at least they were prompt. Phillip was born in the hall on the way to the delivery room at 1:10 PM.
I took an electronics course as soon as I arrived up north. I passed in record time and opened the first television repair shop in Yellowknife. TV was soon to make an appearance and I got in on the ground floor by securing the warranty work for the only store selling TVs. That lasted only about a year or so and I burned out, turning the business over to another poor unsuspecting fool.
That summer I began a library system to organize the 5000 records in our library. The previous system had each announcer put their favourite records in their personal slots. Also that summer, I saw a glaring need to play contemporary music. So I started a top 10 count down. The first #1hit was Anne Murray - Snowbird. I organized all of the high schools in the area, we served 14 communities through various land line links and 14 community transmitters. I had a representative from each home room of each high school pass out chits where students voted for their three favourite songs. All of these chits were compiled into the weekly top 10. The station gave me 1/2 hour a day for rock music. I, the oldest announcer, persuaded the youngest announcer, Pat, to take the show. He did, it was a success, he hated the idea at first but a week later was right into it.
I moved to the morning show after about a year. I mixed in rock, country and contemporary music and fought the "all news" eggheads that wanted to bring an overflow of information to the north. We already had a 12 minute newscast every hour, how many times do you want to hear the same story. I soon began thirsting for more creativity in my work. I began a weekly series of local folk music talent programs, recording in the evening, editing during the week and playing the show on Saturday night. A lot of people listened. There was very little competition. 4 hours of taped television, black and white, 1 week delay meant watching last week's hockey game plus Juliette on Saturday night. My show was a hit so I expanded it to include the local rock bands. We had a boarding school in Yellowknife and another announcer and I organized talent from all over the north to play for our show.
type bars of music. I found hundreds of them. I then wrote a whole bunch of public service and promotion spots and tied the words to music... I found money in a little used budget and bought a canned jingle service and spruced up the sound even more. I added everyone's voices to the mix, increased the numbers of spots by including promotions for all our shows... and network ones too, added tags to newscasts at the top of the hour. The other announcers never once said they liked this sound but they used them all the time. The disappointing part of the entire exercise was, no one, with one exception, wanted to contribute even a little effort to this project.
CBC brought television to the north by plunking down a Black and White Ampex tape deck and a small TV transmitter. Four hours of CBC programs were prepared in the south on tape. They would ship tapes to the north to be played on a 7 day delay. I am proud to say I was the first voice heard on TV. I recorded the sign on for the station, not a big deal for the listeners but it is nice to look back and realize where it started and you were a part of it.
After about 2 years in broadcasting I realized that getting off at 2:30 PM left a large part of the day with nothing to do. I became the manager of the local branch office of an Edmonton electronics company. Fun for a while until I proved the technician embezzled a bunch of money. The place closed. There were interesting people in that company, I discussed religion, actually history, with a technician from Edmonton who came north periodically. Doug Paulson, better known from "Thrill of A Life Time" was the salesperson who visited occasionally too. He was a dynamic, fun person to be with, full of stories, good salesperson, worked smart, had a very nice family (I stayed at his place a couple of times while in Edmonton), and we even got to see his wooden leg one night, a result of a nasty car accident. I see him on TSN with a diving show now, his voice draws people to pull up a chair and watch.
I had been into photography since I arrived in the north. For the first couple of years I read every magazine about photography I could afford... then I bought a camera or two. I set up my own darkroom, black and white at first, getting into colour a few years later. After getting some experience with still photography, I bought a 16 mm movie camera and hired myself out to CBC Television as a stringer, doing reports from the north for the National and other television news programs. I branched out later doing commercials and a ground breaking video for the Haflinger, a German 4 wheel drive truck that was going into production later that year. Occasionally I was asked by CTV to shoot a report but about half as often as CBC. I got $125 dollars a day in the late sixties and thought that was a lot of money, until I got my expenses and found out I was working for free.
I dabbled in audio design as a hobby, taking sound systems and making them work better. I studied acoustics and applied formulae to engineer the audio system for a new church and even had the chance to redesign and install an apartment sound system... for all suites.
Another hobby I resurrected was pitching ball. I learned to pitch many years before in River Jordan, BC and now it was time to see if I could do it as part of a team. Yellowknife only had one league in the '60s, Senior A ball, good quality ball, fast action, few errors and players who went to the nationals and the world championships. I tried out for the Giant Mine team and was placed second from the end on the bench. I made the team, just barely, and was thrown into a game when there was no hope or when there was no one else. Watching the ball go over the fence just after I threw it soon irked me. I learned better pitching, curve balls, risers, drop balls and the elusive changeup. The team also played me on first base because of my reach and I got rather good at digging the ball out of the dirt. Next year I was the second pitcher on a different team, I won a few games, lost many. Our team won that year, not because of me, rather in spite of me with my losing record.
I joined tournaments and pitched in weather no ball player should be subjected to. I never learned how to warm up properly and am paying for it now with arthritis in both elbows. I never even came close to going to the nationals but I did benefit from them. One year, Rick, who was voted all Canadan catcher, was catching for me during the regular season. What a difference a good catcher can make. It was like the ball had wings, heading for a target as big as cowboy's hat. I did better that year.
The sixties were a busy time, a good time, a time of learning.