The End of The Line (Revised)

After High School, sometime during my last year in Dawson and beginning of McGill, 1976, I and the brother of my then girlfriend, shipped out from Montreal on the quest for a job.

"What have you got in mind?" He asked.

"Well Monty, I have a plan, but you have to have faith in me- and this will test us both." I replied.

He never knew how really scared I was.

The plan was to get on a train in Montreal and not get off until the end of the line - somewhere out west -presumably Vancouver. That train came upon a divide -one way to Vancouver, the other to Prince Rupert BC....North West, just under Alaska across from the Queen Charlotte Islands - Haida Territory.

We had about $150 dollars between us. It would last a few days, but the last thing I wanted, was to use it up and beg my way home to Chateauguay.

"So, OK, we're here," Monty said, "Now let's hear some more of the plan."

An hour later we were in the Office of Mr.Louis Arsenault, stationmaster of the Prince Rupert CN yard.

"Who 're you?" He looked us up and down and then back to the statistics on his desk.

"What do you take in your coffee?" I asked while looking around the office. My eyes settled on his stained coffee mug - apparently used for years, it sat over near a pile of yellowed news-papers.

"What d' ya mean?" He barked, still not lifting his head to look at us.

"I mean, what do you take in your coffee -one cream two sugars?"

The head rose, as stubby workman's fingers, yellow-tanned with years of nicotine, gripped the desk and pushed back, revealing a generous beer gut, well worn belt with a CN train buckle. The two day stubble seemed to grimace into a painful smile. The bleary red eyes blinked behind the coke bottle glasses.

"I know a number of Arsenault's back in Quebec" I ventured, "They are good people. So- ah, what time do you start work in the morning?" I asked.

"Why da-ya want ta know d'ese-'tings-fer-christ's-sake?" He demanded, all in one word, voice beginning to rise

Monty was gently starting to back out of the room.
"Monty - stay here for a second. This won't take long." I said.

"Mr. Arsenault you should expect to see me every morning as you start work. I'll have your coffee and newspaper all ready for you."

His eyes began to bulge.
"What d-y'a want?" He laughed, unsure of what the devil was going on.

"I want a job" I said.

"But d'ers no jobs." he retorted.

"That's precisely why you will see me every morning from now on. I will bring your coffee, newspaper, run errands, do what needs to be done. I will be your 'unpaid' assistant."

"I don't need any assistant". He roared, turning red almost to blue ... (blood pressure?).
"I can't pay you not'n anyways."

" That's OK ." I replied gently, " Something will turn up and when it does, perhaps you will think of me."

Next morning, we went back coffe and newspaper in hand- nothing. The door was locked from the inside.

We went back the day after -nothing. But this time the door was open.

On the third day -finally - a job..in Terrace down the track, a little west of Prince Rupert.

"OK, now you can get 'da hell outta my office and leave me alone." He said, sighing with some relief.

"Why?" I asked quietly, still sorting through some of his papers and moving his freshly cleaned mug and ashtray.

His jaw did a whip saw double-take. He could not believe what he was hearing.

"I gotta job for you! You fukin crazy or somtin'? " He shrieked.

" No, - you got Monty a job, and we thank you very much, so I'll see you tomorrow morning as usual, -until you get one for me."

H tried to swallow a choke or a gurgle.
He just stared at me and then at Monty and then back at me.
He just couldn't believe what was happening.

Monty gave me his last twenty dollars before getting on the train leaving Prince Rupert.

"Thanks - I 'll visit, but somehow, I don't think you will lack for 'friends' or enemies for that matter - so be careful."

















The Tamper Machine, I shoveled gravel in front of for 8-10 hours a day.














The Federal Fisheries Boat that Scott Johnson worked on upon the Skeena River. I met him a month after I got my job.









The beautiful yet treacherous Skeena River
























The Mobile Home four of my crew and I lived in at Tyee Station at the side of the track- which was the only thing in the station. It was more a 'stop' than a station.





















My Crew was composed of ex-soldiers from Portugal (some shell shocked I figure) after their respective terms in Mozambique after their days of colonialism had come to an end. We had Pakistanis and Sikhs in search of a better life. Oh yes, there were two bunks to a room. I had mine to myself for a few weeks, until a tall, mustachioed, muscle bound man stood in the doorway and noted my record player. He took over the other bunk.

I asked him how his left eye had clouded over to such a milky white -eclipsing all color?
"Oh it's dead, lost it in a prison riot." He peered at me from the good eye.

I could not think of a better time to put my girlfriend's picture up on the wall for all to see.




We used to enjoy going back into town to the tavern. It became rather activated when the Haida fisherman would come in after getting paid by the cannery for their catch. I learned to camp carefully with my glass of beer beneath the pool table until things would settle. Other rail guys used to be up for the fun.

Well that was a long time ago.
But I hear that either Beverly or Barbara Hague now run a fishing bout out that way. Remember Barbara's infectious giggle?

Lesley and Rick create a midsummer night ambiance.

Note: Turn your room lights off to see this and then tilt your screen forward.

Bruce Craig and Rick Kilpatrick begin warming up

Many Will Recall Going West

After High School

Rick Rankin and His Wife Leslie's Place near Ottawa

with Rick Kilpatrick in from USA along with Bruce Craig, myself and my wife Jane.

You can't see me since I'm taking the video.

Bruce's words are telling...

Step Around The Three Hundred Pound Elephant ...please.
-----------------------------------------------------------

"Yes, I have been in contact -with "X", by e-mail, over the past two years since before the reunion -every now and then." I responded.

He said, "I find that some people are really quite 'unique' when it comes to communications."

"How do you mean?" I asked

"Well ...in that they don't always answer or can't be depended upon to respond to my e-mail- even given that we are 'friends' or on a closer level than acquaintances.

I mean these are people who have a history with me and when I send an e-mail greeting, in some cases I don't get an acknowledgment. They don't even answer!" He said.

"Hmmm... I know for a fact that the ones you mentioned, have always considered you to be one of their "chosen" - not best buddies or lovers or anything like that, but close to the centre of their being, if you know what I mean."

"Well what is it with these people?" There was a slight touch of hurt in the voice.
"Are they just out-right rude or something?.. or is their silence supposed to 'be' the
"message-meaning-more-than-words" - like don't call me-I'll call you?" He ventured.

"I know what you mean - it can be quite perplexing, but- I think you may giving the 'lack of response' too much credit." I said. "I suspect that people these days are just really busy and probably this element is combined with a little complacence or mild laziness, since they know you and consider you a 'friend' and that you will know better."

"I mean, I think you are the type of person who, once you receive a communication, are very sensitive to proper communication protocals and get back to people very quickly. You, I suspect are the type who truly respects the nature of 'dialogue', in that, if one initiates communication with you, you owe them a response -and in good time, for anything else would be rude and a poor reflection on your character. But you also expect others -especially those who you deem as being special to you, to be LIKE YOU and behave 'in-kind'. And you get disappointed when they do not."

"All I know" he said, "is that some people are special to me and to get nothing in reply makes me wonder.

"What do you wonder?" I asked.

He paused and thought for a moment.
"Well in So-and-So's case, we had been kind of, close in high school and when I communicate with that person, it's like that "close" memory- is a 350 pound elephant sitting in the room and it must be tip-toed around- we or maybe, I, pretend it is not there since we are all grown now, even though I feel it's presence."

"Wait a minute" I said, "You are now talking about someone you went out with, or came close to doing so -or maybe you wanted to but it never did?"

"Yes." He replied

"So you figure then, that due to the 350 pound emotional memory elephant and underlying potential feelings, (that still could easily be there, if paid attention to,) but pretend are not, ... that So-And-So is in fact communicating with you by 'not' responding, - that maybe the message is -that they don't want to talk to you. So sometimes the elephant- potential feelings are too hard to ignore for them and that this elephant complicates the possibility of communicating with you -at this time?"

"Perhaps" He said.

"Hmmm - this is perplexing."

" On the other hand" he said, " When it comes to long distance e-mail communication with "friends from the past", I believe there are three types of communicators:

Firstly, those who were close and are responsible when it comes to communication.

Second - there are those who may have been close, but are poor communicators -that they do not respond in good time or at all, for various reasons -laziness, complacency and taking the relationship for granted -'You'll understand if I don't respond', or the 350 pound elephant factor causing fear in communicating. On a very subtle level they feel that by responding, it may tacitly imply acknowledgment of special feelings from the past...which complicate being "just good friends" nowadays.

"Third and lastly" He announced, "There are those who have always had dust-free, clean and neat simple lives with a plan - compulsively so; who have thrown into the trash can of obsolescence, everybody from the past. For them, the past does not exist. There is only "now".

These people are 'black and white' in nature. We recognize them from high school. They considered themselves "all-grown -up" and knew precisely what they wanted and have got it now - perhaps- and anything else is a distraction. Going to a reunion, would not be considered a worthy expenditure of what of their time -no offense intended, ...and you are simply a distraction, similar to distant relatives wasting time with well meaning innocuous chain e-mails - to be deleted immediately.

"Wow - you seem to have it all figured out!" I said.

"While I do not like the third group" he said, " I respect them since they are consistent. They never communictaed then and never will, although, I do feel very sorry for them since I suspect one day, when it is too late, they will wake up to the realization that they threw out that which may have mattered most."

"So you like group one and three, but you are perplexed by group two because they cannot conform to your sense of proper communication protocol or being afflicted by the 350 pound invisible elephant wish can be side stepped ever so gently."

"Yes" he said..." but an elephant -invisible or not- never forgets -especially when ignored!"