Alumni Connection June 2020

Kazabazua, Quebec to Kamloops, B.C.
and Back via Los Angeles

In this little tale, I will attempt to relate some basic details of a successful 8,571 mile trans-continental trip to “rescue” a 1953 Series 62 Cadillac Sedan in the summer of 1968.

The story really began in the autumn of 1965 when, having completed studies in Montreal and returned from a summer job which involved travelling by ship into the Eastern Canadian Arctic, I entrained for Vancouver, B.C. in search of more fresh horizons. I’d been badly smitten with “the call of the wild” in the Arctic – steaming along the east coast of Baffin Island forever altered my ideas about what was important in life , and there was no way I was going to become a “ nine-to-fiver” at that stage . I really wanted to go to Japan, so I searched the Vancouver waterfront for a fortnight without success to obtain a working passage on a ship to the Orient. I was ready to give the game away when an American doctor on a Chinese ship suggested I register at the Norwegian consulate as their maritime laws did not require their ships to employ unionized seamen. This I did and waited impatiently for another two weeks and as my funds dwindled, I started a job with the Woodwards Service Station in downtown Vancouver. I had accommodation in a rooming house at 1774 Nelson St. and upon returning home from my first day of work, was informed by the landlord that there’d been a phone call for me about a job on a ship which had sailed at 4 PM.

I’d missed the boat, well and truly, but as often happens in life, unforeseen fringe-benefits can sometimes filter down through the cosmos. The first benefit came in the form of the straight, clean, and seemingly sound 1953 Cadillac Sedan- a dark green, no-frills ( except for the Autronic Eye which actually worked for a week or so! ) beauty which I bought for $120. Imagine, thought I – a twelve-year-old car with virtually no rust. Cars in Quebec, of course, fared nowhere near as well and I was rapt as the signal-seeking radio, the beautifully-quiet 331 cu in engine, and the miraculous four speed Hydramatic serenaded me with their wonderful sounds. I’d missed the boat to Japan, but this land-yacht was the finest consolation prize I could have asked for.

The next good thing to come my way was a chance meeting with a pretty lass from Australia who was on her way back home after working her way around the world. Patricia and I got along famously, aided and abetted by the ’53 Caddy, which was in my estimation, the ultimate “courting machine”. Although short in stature, Pat was an excellent driver and had no trouble handling the car on our weekend out-of-town excursions. However, when the next blessings appeared we parted ways temporarily in the autumn of 1966 as I’d been offered a teaching job at a boys’ school near Vernon, B.C., and Pat decided to remain in Vancouver to give birth to our Number One Daughter!

The private school was run by an enlightened Irish couple who provided considerable flexibility in the school’s curriculum. Two of the after- school options were a basic automotive mechanics course and the restoration of a holed 35 foot canoe, rescued from a lengthy storage at the army base. I purchased a fairly straight but dead 1952 Oldsmobile 98 for $10 and the boys who were interested in things mechanical learned to lift out and disassemble the engine , clean the components and rebuild the engine with new rings , ground valves and seats , cleaned hydraulic lifters , and new gaskets. I saved the automatic transmission fluid as the Caddy’s Hydramatic had started to leak. I had a feeling that the end was nigh as a connecting rod bearing had started to knock months earlier, but adding the old fluid from the Olds spelled the end for the Caddy’s gearbox.

The once-proud car was not scrapped but towed to the science teacher’s farmyard to await appropriate recycling. Doug, one of my students, asked if he could buy the car, and the Caddy was sold for $10 and went off to Kamloops on his dad’s truck. It was a sad day in the Okanagan for me and Pat, but I don’t think the science teacher was too upset!

At the end of the school year, Pat and I and Baby Jenny returned to Quebec in a 1954 Pontiac 8 which I’d owned since 1960 and had left in storage in St. Lambert, my home-town. ( We’d returned there by train at Easter to collect the Pontiac as the school had enjoyed a 3 week break . Although the straight-eight took ages to start, once running , it didn’t miss a beat on the trip back to Vernon.) On July 1, 1967, we crossed the bridge to Montreal over the confluence of the Ottawa and St. Lawrence Rivers. Our timing was perfect, for there to our north in the Lake of Two Mountains , we could see four or five canoes carrying the paddlers in the west-to-east Centennial Canoe Race ! I’m not sure which province’s team won the race, but the sunlight’s reflection from the flashing paddles was a sight I will never forget. They must have been paddling 60 strokes a minute as I think the finish line was nearby.

Photo of Jenny in red – Aylwin Station - Spring of 1970

In the autumn of 1967 , I secured a teaching job at an elementary school in Kazabazua, which lies close to the Gatineau River and is located about half way between Ottawa and Maniwaki. I had never been to the Gatineau before but the beauty of the region affected me deeply. Lumbering had been the mainstay of the local economy and the bush continued to give up spruce and balsam for the pulp and paper industry for 100 years. The ’54 Pontiac continued to give faithful service, but Pat and I talked frequently about the ’53 Cadillac and how much we missed it. There was only one way to sort out this dilemma , so we called Doug in Kamloops to see how he was progressing with the Cadillac refurbishment.“ Oh, I decided it needed too much work so I’m doing up a Valiant instead”, he replied. I was elated, and begged him to keep it for a few months longer, as I had discovered a 1952 Caddy sitting, ostensibly abandoned, in a farmer’s field near Campbell’s Bay, which lies on the Ottawa River about 40 miles west of Kazabazua.

Jenny and 1954 Pontiac - Kazabazua 1967

The ’52 was a black, Series 62 no-frills Sedan with fairly low mileage and was badly rusted. It had been sitting for several months but fortunately, the cooling system had been drained. It started right up with a drink of fresh petrol, and had a satisfactory exhaust system and even boasted half-worn Double Eagle tyres. The purchase price was $50, and what’s more, it moved!

Those really were “the good old days” as far as registering a car in Quebec was concerned. The vendor supplied the necessary paperwork and I supplied some cash to the country licence bureau operator ( a housewife whose “office” was a tiny room off the front porch of her home ) and I was mobile in my ’52 rust bucket.

I inspected the brakes and replaced leaking brake cups, gave the car a well-deserved grease job, oil and filter change ,checked the transmission and off we went. We had travelled about 200 miles into Ontario when on the second day, dirt in the carbie brought us to a halt. The fuel was getting to the carbie, but not through it, obviously, so I started to dismantle the carburetor as we’d managed to coast off the road, but were visible to passing traffic. I think this was probably the first time I’d dismantled a four barrel carbie, and in my state of anxiety, dropped a tiny, essential component into the valley. I could see it lying on the valley cover, but couldn’t retrieve it through the manifold. Just as I was thinking“ Oh well, we can camp here overnight“, Joey Peck, a friend from Danford Lake ( a village between Kazabazua and Campbell’s Bay ) just happened to be passing by, had recognized us and pulled in to help. He was a travelling salesman who sold Raleigh’s Products and luckily for me, happened to have a telescoping magnet. He didn’t know anything about 4 bbl carbies, but his magnet on a stick sure saved the day. I found grains of sand in the bowl and a blocked jet and amazingly enough, the car started and ran after this very basic cleaning.

For cash-strapped motorists, one of the most endearing features of the early-fifties Pontiac and Cadillac Sedans was the design and construction of the front seat. In less than 10 minutes, an enterprising person armed with a Philip’s – head screwdriver and a 7/16” spanner could create what had to be the most comfortable double bed imaginable for a weary family of three on the move. First, remove the 4 Philip’s-head screws which hold the trim panel and robe cord to the back of the front seat.This panel may be placed with one end supported by the dashboard and the other end can sit on the top of the front seat. If the (preferably) little woman is in the driver’s seat, ask her politely to move the front seat as far forward as it will go. Secondly, remove the rear seat cushion and put it in backwards so the forward edge of the cushion abuts the rear seat backrest. Finally, remove the 4 X ¼” bolts ( which have 7/16” hexagonal heads) which hold the front seat backrest upright and lay the seat backrest on the floor between the rear seat cushion and the front seat cushion. And presto ! You have a very comfy bed for mom, dad and bub as long as you’ve remembered to pack the sheets. It beats putting up a tent in the rain, this much I know for sure. There was one drawback with this procedure, however, as it related to the ’52. Field mice had invaded the cushions and became quite active at night. Baby Jenny and I coped with the rustling, but it took Pat a few sleepless nights to get used to their presence. Fortunately, it only took us a week or so to get to Kamloops, as the ’52 proved to be reliable for the most part. Exceptions occurred on the prairies when the stainless rocker panel strip came loose and started dragging along the road. There was no longer any way of securing it to the rusted body, so it was ripped off the remaining clips and left in the ditch. In the Rockies, it started to rain heavily and going up steep inclines, Dear Patricia had to lie on the transmission hump and manually assist the vacuum wiper motor. What a woman! Needless to say, she was delighted to hear me say “OK Pat, it’s all downhill from here, dear!“ We arrived at Doug’s safe and sound, owing more to good luck rather than good management, but Doug’s father paid me a great compliment when he said “I knew you weren’t afraid of much when you drove up in that thing!“ Come to think of it, where did all that youthful bravado go?

Doug’s parents extended wonderful hospitality to us and put us up in regal splendor. Doug’s Mom was a fantastic hostess who absolutely adored Baby Jenny and Pat had a lovely woman to relate to and was able to sleep easily at last. Doug and I swapped the engines and transmissions around but used the ’53 carbie and 12 volt ancillaries. It was a bit sad seeing the ’52 being towed away with the worn out ’53 engine and transmission pointing skyward from the ‘52s trunk.

Five days later, we went to Vernon to see the science teacher and his missus who had a brother living in El Monte , a suburb to the east of Los Angeles. She gave us some boxes to deliver and all the necessary instructions and for some reason which nowadays escapes me, we decided we had to visit the recently-opened Disneyland. We made it to White Rock, B.C. where, as usual, we camped in the car. It was with some trepidation that I faced the prospect of leaving the safety of my dear homeland, but the show had to go on. The ’53 ran beautifully with its ’52 running gear, and a few days later we were checking out San Francisco and just had to see what was going on at the intersection of Haight and Ashbury Streets. It was gratifying to see that a few flower children still existed happily ever after.

The only disconcerting moments of the whole trip occurred at San Luis Obispo. Some dark knight took it upon himself to hurl two large stones at the green dream while we were in camping mode, and one struck the stainless strip under the windshield. I called out to the brigand to come forth, but he ( ? ) declined. It took me a while to get back to sleep, and fortunately, the rest of the night was uneventful.

The accelerator pump in the carbie was not working, so to get the car started, I had to prime the system by pouring a fluid ounce or two of gasoline into the tiny dish in the centre of the air cleaner after I loosened the wing-nut . As a consequence, this 4,300 pound car returned over 20 mpg ( 22.4 on one occasion) when driven at 50-55 mph on those amazing California freeways.

We arrived in El Monte, I suspect to the complete amazement of our hosts. Their beautiful home was not quite their castle, however, as the man of the house slept with a .45 automatic under his pillow. His missus woke one night to noises in the bedroom and thinking it to be her man, turned over only to discover that her man was fast asleep beside her. I think she lost some jewellery in the process. He, as it turned out, had been a car guy. He sold a beautifully restored Model A Roadster to a movie studio for a tidy sum, thinking that his car might become a four-wheeled star on the silver screen, only to discover that the car was deliberately written off in an “accident scene”. It was a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t have wanted to live there. The smog was so strong it made my eyes water.

We left late one afternoon and headed for Las Vegas. We drove through the desert at night as I wasn’t sure of the cooling system’s capabilities. It was seemingly impossible to judge distances – it seemed to take forever to arrive at a town’s lights. We stopped in Vegas at 2 AM so Jenny could have a wee - we were operating in economy mode on all fronts. We visited the Mormon Church in Salt Lake City and then sent a telegram to the Secretary of the School Board at Kazabazua to ask if she could please wire $50 to us as we were running low on funds. She complied, thankfully, and we arrived home a few days later with $5 left in the kitty.

The dear old car purred faithfully all the rest of the way home. We were away for five weeks and travelled over eight thousand miles in two old Cadillacs whose combined value was less than $200. They don’t make them like they used to.

- Peter Storen

Harvey, here's a pic of Jenny, me and "Gordon", my '38 LaSalle ( referred to in my LOST AND FOUND story from last month) taken on March 27, 2018 which was the day we returned from our 2000 km trip to Renmark, S.A. where we attended the Australian Cadillac LaSalle Club's National Meet. The Yanks who visited named "Gordon" as their favourite and even awarded him a trophy!

Call the Midwife!

by Jennifer Exton (Stanley) Class of 1963

I graduated from Chambly County High School in 1963. I have received your newsletter for the past few years and have seen your request for anecdotal material to share. My course through life being a little bit different I thought you might be interested.

Following high school I spent five years at McGill University on the Bachelor of Science in Nursing Degree. The course had only been running for a few years. In those days registered nurses were trained by individual hospitals and there was a competitive edge. Then we arrived on the ward “supernumerary” (usual practice was to count students as part of the staff team complement) and in the most ridiculous uniform ever. Bright blue dress, brown shoes and a pork pie frill cap! Most teenagers today wouldn’t join up simply because of the embarrassment. Amazingly ten years down the line the introduction of CGEP changed nurse training completely.

I had always enjoyed obstetrics during training and so upon graduation I found a job in a small hospital in an Ontario town situated on the St. Lawrence River. I loved the obstetric ward. Several English trained midwives also worked there, and I was in awe of their knowledge and expertise, especially the delivery of the odd baby who came “too quickly”. I decided to go off to England to train. I had a classmate who was working with First Nation women in Alberta and she said she was delivering babies without really knowing the ropes, so she agreed to come with me. Then, she met her husband-to-be and decided not to join me after all.

So, I set out on my adventure alone. Midwifery training in the UK in the Seventies was in two separate six months parts, with a certificate issued for each part. I opted to do Part One in Kingston upon Thames, a town outside of London close to the lovely Richmond Park, but close enough to London to sample the sights and sounds of the big city. After a few days, I met up with an Australian girl on the course. We became firm friends and still are today. Despite London’s reputation as a multi-cultural city, my friend and I were always greeted by the staff on the ward with “here come the colonials!” Days off consisted of touring the country seeing as much as we could.

For Part Two we decided on York, a lovely city in the north of England with lots of beautiful countryside close by. As three months of this course was out on the “district” (imagine “Call the Midwife”), we were looking forward to working in pretty little villages. Then we were told that the two of us were going to a grim South Yorkshire mining town! After initial disappointment, we found that we quite enjoyed it. We were to be greeted at the railway station by our tutor midwife. Instead, a young girl came up to us and said that the midwife was busy delivering her sister, and since I was to be staying with her mother she would take us there. Talk about small town. My experience thus far had been mainly of life in Montreal.

The dear widow I was to live with for three months was lovely but she expected me to make up the coal fire every morning. I had no idea how to do that! That coal fire was the only heat in the house. My friend, who was billeted with the vicar and his family, and I had thermometers and checked in every morning with “how cold is your bedroom today?” as we scraped the ice off the inside of the window.

If you have seen the TV series “Call the Midwife” that was my life for three months, from the wonky bike, the long scarf and the oversized equipment bag! One morning it was white over with snow and I was amazed to see everyone trying to push bikes and strollers through the snow. Women shopped every day and had no option.

My stay in South Yorkshire coincided with widespread industrial action by the National Union of Mineworkers, the so-called “Winter of Discontent” of 1971/72. With limited supplies of coal to keep the power stations going, the electricity was cut off for three nights a week. We were hoping we wouldn’t have to deliver by candlelight. The widow was addicted to bingo and she would go out by torchlight to play bingo by candlelight.

One last amusing anecdote. I visited a young mother a week or so after her delivery to be greeted with the words “we are going to shorten the baby today”. As I lifted my jaw from the floor, my mind trying to envisage ways and means of accomplishing this feat, the mum explained. New-born babies wore long gowns with drawstrings at the bottom to keep their feet warm. These garments were very useful for the frequent changes of nappy required in the early days of life. Much better than the popper affairs of today. Shortening simply meant moving from these gowns to proper baby clothes!

My intention in going to train as a midwife was to come back to Canada and be ready for the time when midwives were recognized. I would have had a very long wait from 1972! Instead, I met my husband-to-be here in England, and I have been here ever since and I love it!

Cheers as they say.
- Jennifer

What do you remember about Victoria Avenue?

I haven’t received many comments about “Your old house” so we are changing directions for a couple of months. The photo below is an overhead view of Victoria Avenue between Horsfall and Webster with five establishments highlighted. Think back to the 50’s and 60’s - can you identify all five old businesses (not the current ones). The two people who answers correctly will be awarded three drink tickets for the 2021 Reunion, assuming we are out of the Covid mess by then and get to hold the event. The hints provided make it fairly easy, let’s see how good your memories are.


Maureen loved her children with all of her heart: Alexander Steenhill, Daphne and Diogo D'sa. She deeply wished to be there for all the milestones yet to come in their young lives and dearly hoped to get to know her little grandson, Ayden. Her sisters Isabelle (husband Josh), Denise and Alice had a close bond with their older sister and will miss her fondly, along with her nephews Isa and Zayn.


Maureen had many friends who supported her during her prolonged battled with cancer. Her church family at River's Edge lifted her continually in prayer along with other faith communities. Her colleagues at her work place were hoping for her return. The family would like to extend their gratitude to all the people who offered their time, friendship and love throughout this difficult period.
Because of the present pandemic crisis she is to be cremated and a memorial service in her honor will be planned for later on in the year.

An amazing mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and a true trailblazer for women in engineering in Canada passed away May 2, 2020 at the Garry J Armstrong long term care home in Ottawa. She was 92.



She was predeceased by her husband John, her brother Stewart (Watson), and son-in-law Ron (Mader). She was also predeceased by her mother Marion (Doane) and father Norman (Watson). She is survived by her children Norma (Halifax N.S.) and Robert (Dunvegan ON), five grandchildren, four step-grandchildren and three great-grandchildren.



Elinor grew up in St. Lambert, Quebec, attending local schools. She was the second woman to be admitted to an engineering program at McGill University, and the first woman to be accepted into McGill's Electrical Engineering program. Graduating in 1948, she became the first woman to be licensed as a professional engineer in the province of Quebec. She wore her iron ring with pride. After graduation she found it impossible to find work as an engineer who happened to be female, so she went to work for Bell Canada as a switchboard operator. She was offered her first engineering position by Shawinigan Engineering of Montreal in 1955, only to discover she was not permitted to visit the projects she was designing because there were no facilities on site for women. She lobbied for years to have that changed. After being transferred to Calgary in 1974, Elinor became extremely active in the Instrument Society of America (ISA). Through the Business and Professional Women's Club she mentored other professional women. In the fall of 1990, after a 35 year career in professional engineering, Elinor retired and moved to Ottawa.



Her love of music, gardening, sewing, and knitting meant hours of entertainment and song, fresh vegetables and flowers, and unique sweaters, socks and mittens for her children and grandchildren every Christmas.

The circle of life: Everything you see exists together in a delicate balance.

As we lay our Dad to rest, I am reminded of this balance. To weep and mourn for a man gone too soon, yet to celebrate his legacy and embrace the love he leaves behind. Our hearts are heavy to think what he shall miss, all of the memories we hadn’t yet made, but they are whole to know that he is now at peace.

Dad passed from this Earth, held by the family he has created and surrounded with the love he so greatly deserved. We are the luckiest family to be able to have called him ours.

As I sift through the memories, I’m reminded of just how much we’re similar, in so many little ways. In our knack for childhood mischief, ability to fall asleep anywhere, love for a good routine, and uncanny resemblance, no doubt I am my father’s son.

“Look at the stars. The great kings of the past look down on us from those stars. So whenever you feel alone, just remember, that those kings will always be there to guide you — and so will I.”

I know Dad is looking down on us, and that he will still be there to guide and protect us. We have learned from him to be incredibly strong, and to endure. We will continue to follow his example, make him proud, and to make the most out of this beautiful, short life.

- Posted by Greg's son Neil Saul

Heather worked at Via Rail for over 40 years.  Her favorite season was summer, and she had a passion for flower baskets of all shapes, sizes and colors.  Heather also had a love of dogs.  The last of which is Chewy, Heather took great pleasure in spoiling him with special treats, and walks at the dog park so he could romp with his friends. 

Heather is survived by daughter, Michelle; son, Christian; grandchildren Austin and Ryder. She was predeceased by brother, Kirk; her first husband, Kevin Pelham of Herring Cove and her second life partner Stephen Hart.

Saw this obit for Mike Stephens in the Gazette last Saturday, and thought since he was important to our era, you might want to include him in the Obits of the Alumni Monthly. Many of our classmates will remember him.

Passed away peacefully on Friday, May 8, 2020 in Kanata, Ontario, at the age of 92. He was born to the late Andrew and Mary Stefanyshyn (Holowachuk) in Yorkton, SK, on August 30, 1927. His family moved to Toronto in the early 1940s, where he completed high school and then entered the electrical engineering program at the University of Toronto. However, he soon realized his interest in radio broadcasting and got his first big opportunity in 1950 in Antigonish, NS, where he developed his unique style and ushered in musical groups like the Bunkhouse Boys. Soon after, he moved to CJAD in Montreal, hosting Club 800 and popular record hops, throughout Montreal and in particular at Belmont Park. As his radio career developed, he also hosted a television show from Burlington, VT, and eventually started his own business, Premiere Passbooks. He found his true love in the spring of 1954. He and Joan e were married three years later and were together for the next 61 years, until Joan e passed away in early 2018. Their memories and their love for each other will always be inspiring to their four children, ten grandchildren, and five great- grandchildren.

Not only was he there for the beginning of Rock n Roll music in the late 50s and through the 60s, he used to MC high school Sock Hops and dances in and around Montreal. And he was a really fine host for many Saturday evening events at "The Pit", up at L'esperance, and also at CCHS, 675 Green, in the gymnasium.

He influenced several Saint Lambert guys to get into media work too. (I recall Dave Morgan being involved setting up and running dances at which Mike Stephens MCd. There were others, like Robert Linney, also with CJAD who was influenced. I don't remember names of others, but there was also someone of the same age as Mike Stephens, who was with CFCF,  Barry King, a grad of St Lambert High. He used to live on Oak just above Green, on the east side heading towards L'esperance, next door to Jim Dyer).

Follow up note from Winston:
Forgot to mention that Club 800 was a Mon-Fri radio show on CJAD from 4:05 to 5: pm hosted by Mike Stephens (as he billed himself). Not only played music, but also interviewed H S students from in and around Mtl and Suburbs. Even had interviews with student reps on Eaton's Junior Council.

All water under the bridge now.

Thanks
Winston

The Breakfast Puzzle

A little silver-haired lady calls her neighbor and says, "Please come over here and help me. I have a killer jigsaw puzzle, and I can't figure out how to get started." 

Her neighbor asks, "What is it supposed to be when it's finished?"

The little silver haired lady says, "According to the picture on the box, it's a rooster." 

Her neighbor decides to go over and help with the puzzle. She lets him in and shows him where she has the puzzle spread all over the table. 

He studies the pieces for a moment, then looks at the box, then turns to her and says, "First of all, no matter what we do, we're not going to be able to assemble these pieces into anything resembling a rooster." 

He takes her hand and says, "Secondly, I want you to relax, let's have a nice cup of tea, and then..." he said with a deep sigh, "let's put all the Corn Flakes back in the box"

And here I was thinking it stood for Jerk