Prince Rupert Station Yard /II
continued...

I grappled with the bar on the frayed wood floor hoping to avoid splinters, while trying to pick the damn thing up. It was cold, hard and very heavy.

I recalled in grade six doing research for the project everybody in the school (and most schools at the time) was involved with on Confederation, seeing pictures of laborers -Chinese and white- at the sides of the rails leaning into their labours using long staff like things. If these were the same, I figured I was either going to break this summer or get into some really good shape despite my skinny 19 year old frame.

Dragging one end of the first 'pick' on the floor, I was able to negotiate my way out of the shed to the side of the "car" which had it's wheels affixed to the sides of the rails on the spur. Even though I wore leather workman's gloves, I could feel the chaffing on the skin of my palms. The thought hit me like a slap in the face how I would complain in the autumn when raking the leaves with my dad, about the blisters forming on my palms. In my minds eye, I could see Jimmy Williams back in grade 10 up on the high bars being coached by Mr. Peterson. Despite the gymnast gloves and chalk used, he had callouses upon callouses on his hands. They were like thick pads of leather. I was seriously wondering now, how long I could take this. Whoever coined the saying was right. "Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it."

The sun was just blinking through the trees from the East. It had already done so in Montreal I imagined some three hours ago. There was a mist shrouding the yard, but there was no covering the ever-present smell of tar coming from the piles of rail ties.

I had managed to pull three picks out in about four minutes and was seriously considering a break and some coffee from my thermus.

A little ways over, by the side of the track, lit up from behind in silhouette, a small crowd was gathering to watch my progress. Everyone was in gray coveralls and billy boots topped with the CN helmet. The morning quiet was littered with bits of language I could not place coming from the group. It sounded like a combination of Hindi or Pakistani, some Greek and there was some other language which turned out to be Portugese. There was one thing they all had in common - their apparent delight in watching skinny white guy trying to lug the pry bar picks.

Off to the side of this giggling coterie of linguistic jibber-jabber, (which I would grow used to over the course of the summer), a loner sat, on his CN helmet no less, one leg draped over the knee of the other, the upper foot rocking up and down ever so nonchalantly. He was was smiling, shaking his head and it was at that point the realization dawned upon me that I was the source of some hilarity.

"OK guys - help him out!"
They all moved at once .
It was the man who had given me the instruction in the first place.
There were some more picks left in the shed.

"Put it down and watch." he said to me, chuckling still.

He went into the shed, bent at the knees lifting two at a time in the mid section and passed them to the others. They hoisted the bars in smooth swings onto their shoulders and then gently put them into the 'work car'. He put his arm around my shoulder and walked me over to the group.
As the sun rose, his face emerged magically from the dark. He must have been in his fifties, but he was built like me only fuller in the arms and shoulders. His hair was silver and rust. Life had etched mystic runes upon the tawny leather above and beneath the eyes. His smile was warm. Instinctively, I knew I had an ally - a guide .
"Welcome to the gang kid. I'm Jacob or as most call me - Jake."
He extended a bony hand and I, gratefully, shook it.

Wednesday May 1976
Journal Entry

My first day at work went very well...considering...that my day consists of 11 hours of very hard manual labour.

My muscles have gone stiff on me as I write. I shall have to take a bath down the hall. My room is without toilet facilities; just a bed, a shelf, and old stove. The milk I kept on the windowsill thinking it would stay cool has curdled.

After work I made my way over to a book store in the small mall. There was a friendly lady behind the cash.

"People in this town seem nice," I said, " But they are unlike other small towns I have been in, in that I sense a general 'holding back' from strangers which I suppose is only natural."

She considered what I had said for a moment, given I suppose that I was the 'stranger' and she of course, one of the towns people. The words had already slipped out of my mouth, too late to snatch them back.

"Outsiders", she said slowly, peering at my soiled jeans, dirty hands while appreciating my unmistakable musk of sweat, kerosene and creosote, " generally come in to Prince Rupert on their way to somewhere's-else and take jobs for a while, that the town-folk might otherwise have. When they have made their money - they disappear."

"Would you like the key to the city with that ?" Handing me the purchased book, she winked. And there it was again... the smile.

1976 May 7th. En Route

(Journal Entries)
I'm on my way to Edmonton.

Montie and I have been on the train for about 26 hours since leaving Montreal. We expect to arrive at the Edmonton station for about 7:00 a.m. on Sunday and then meet up with Scott Johnson later in the day at the Library. Hopefully we'll find a job on Monday...if we are lucky.

The prices on the train for food are ridiculous.

At least we have the entertainment factor - drunks who enjoy singing through the night. Could be worse - babies crying.

1976 Monday May 17
Prince Rupert BC
Inlander Hotel

It's late afternoon.

I have spent another day at the railway station...waiting, waiting, reading, waiting.
Such patience I never knew I had.
All this for a job.

Did I make a big mistake letting Montie have the job that I had fought for?

I guess after a day like this one would think so. I sure hope something turns up tomorrow. I understand that today is payday for the work gangs, which for me I'm told is good, since once paid, some of these people never come back. Well hopefully someone will quit.

I'll either have to get in touch with Montie for money soon or go home this Friday. I am paid up in this hotel until then.

I am not homesick for home... but I am for my girlfriend.

1976 Tuesday May 18
Prince Rupert BC
Inlander Hotel
7:13 AM

I'll be back at the Railway station in about 15 minutes. It's just around the corner and down the hill and looks out over the Pacific and Queen Charlottes. It is strange to think I am on the other end of Canada.

Hopefully by this evening, I will have a job.
Well here goes.


1976 Tuesday May 18
Prince Rupert BC
Inlander Hotel
10:15 AM

Well it's about time.

Got it! I took a job in the Prince Rupert Yards. I start tomorrow morning at 7:00 A.M.
I'll be making $4.52 per hour and the shift is minimum 9 hours per day.

1976 Wednesday May 19
Prince Rupert BC
CN Yards
6:30 AM

The sun is not yet up. I have met the yard master. He gets to wear the white helmet while the crew have to wear yellow ones. I'm crew.

(I'm glad I ran into Scott back in Edmonton. He warned me to get well stocked up on steel-toed construction boots and warm light hunting jackets to wear under the over-alls and rubber wet ware. You can almost set your watch to the rain-fall here. It is clear in the morning with sun until late morning and then it pours on you. Then it clears by 2:00 or 3:00 PM.)

"Hey you - get some work gloves on and follow me." A yellow helmet guy commands me. He doesn't even look at me or say good morning.

"Christ I'm just waking up! " I think to myself. What happened to the ..you start at 7:00a.m. bit?

I can make out a white shack in the emerging morning haze.

"Here..." He says, "...Take the key and open the shed. Then bring out the 'picks' off the floor. Bring out six of each and I'll bring the car over."

He looks me up and down in disbelief.
"Oh by the way, have you ever done this before?" He asks.
"No, but I'm a fast learner." I respond -trying to sound motivationally correct.
" Well you might learn fast, but the question is, will you last?"

"Oh come on, " I think to myself, "It can't be that hard..."

The shed is right beside a parallel side track or "spur".
I manage to unlock the big padlock and open the heavy doors.


It's dark in there and I stub my steel toed boot against something and fall making one hell of a racket while bashing my shin on the way down.

From outside a head peers in.
"Ya gotta turn on the light first. " He says, reaching in to the side wall.
The bare bulb on the ceiling goes on and I find myself sitting atop a bunch of heavy steel rods.
"Those are the picks." he says.
He leaves me to continue the task.

I look down.

The rods (picks?), gray steel, are about an inch to an inch and a half thick in diameter and are about six feet long. At one end a point and the other flattened.
"O.K." I think, "let us begin".

I reach down and get my fingers under one of these things and pull.
"Oh Oh"

"Did I hear an 'oh-oh'?" a voice queries outside.

"Shit".

Roddy McManus Directs

Tonight see CBC 9:00 PM
the production of 'Simple Plan' with participation of George Strombopolous of CBC.

Directed by our very own

Roddy McManus!

Way to go Rod! We're very proud of you.