We Are Jackie

CHAPTER ONE CHILDREN OF THE FORTIES Whatever happened to Randolph Scott Ridin’ the trail alone? Whatever happened to Gene and Tex And Roy and Rex and the Durango Kid? The Statler Brothers   War babies! Jackie and I were both born in east Toronto during the early forties. We were not to meet for a number of years, but we shared some commonalities despite our separate backgrounds. Toronto was a hub of industry dedicated to the war effort. Daily newspapers reported the current events of the world conflict as it raged far away in Europe and Asia. My earliest memories included observing sailors in navy whites strolling downtown and along Gerrard Street while my mother visited grocery stores to use her rationing coupons for family meals. Every family either had members attached to the armed forces or knew of one directly involved. Two uncles enlisted in the air force and went overseas while my father was a deferred volunteer due to the age of his children and his designated job, which provided for the war effort. Jackie’s father enlisted and landed in England for the duration. Not all enlisted men served on the front line. When the war ended, Toronto began expansion into a major metropolis, second only to Montreal. The post-war boom fueled further growth turning farmland within city limits into subdivisions. This growth kindled a positive financial outlook for the average gamily which had sacrificed through the years of depression and war. Both Jackie and I recalled seeing durable black cars from a previous era being superseded by more stylish, colourful ones as the automobile industry literally powered the economic engine. We both lamented the passing of horse-drawn city wagons. Jackie was a horse lover who enjoyed sneaking into the urban dairy and bread barns which housed these animals. There she would pet these mounts while daydreaming of riding each one off into the sunset. Alas, the horse-drawn wagons went the way of the ice truck, which carried the ice chips we coveted, into extinction. Radios were a key source of home entertainment as we gathered in the living rooms to listen to and imagine the stories being enacted, Jackie’s favorite programme was “Maggie Muggins” and she had the doll to prove it. Television was a dream waiting in the wings. Movie theatres provided an escape on Saturday afternoons. On Danforth Avenue it meant the Century, Palace, Odeon, Allenby and the Prince of Wales. Jackie’s favourite was the Community while I was partial to the Ace. No Cineplexes, all theatres were single auditoriums. These single entities held a fascination for me especially the ones with ornate settings. We watched the heroics of Tarzan, Robin Hood, and the Three Musketeers while chuckling through the antics of Abbott and Costello, Laurel and Hardy, and the Bowery Boys. But it was the westerns which captivated us. Hollywood produced cowboy heroes who created magic on the screen. The westerns defined good and evil. Jackie and I would debate the merits of Roy Rogers and Gene Autry. Jackie preferred Roy and his wife Dale Evans while I was inclined towards the latter. Jackie indicated a desire to have Roy and Dale as parents. An innocent enough comment, but one that would have significance. The westerns provided us with our first contact with “Indians”. The question was, to how much the film industry was factual in its portrayal. A blue eyed Jeff Chandler playing the role of Cochese left us with some doubts. How many other historical events were marked by distortion or a lack of facts? Our young frame of reference would someday change with first hand encounters. Churches dominated Sunday. Recreation was limited. City officials chained the playground swings and slides. Open Sundays were decades away. A puritan element still prevailed in Toronto as religious organizations reached their zenith in congregational attendance. A small “c” conservatism was the order of the day. Jackie’s family lived originally on Chester Avenue about a kilometer away from mine. It was from here that she shared some of her first memories with me. “I remember my house on Chester Avenue, I was five. I remember the school principal taking me on his knee and being very kind to me. I liked my grade one teacher, Mrs. Barber a lot. I remember dressing up as a bride and using the dining room lace tablecloth as a veil and then going outside to play with the boy next door who was the same age. We lived right next to a banquet hall which was often used for weddings. People from the hall spied us playing and took us into the hall where they took pictures of us and gave us wedding cake. My mother was not pleased to see the absence of the tablecloth and I was lectured. I loved my school and my teacher. It was traumatic to move away from both during the school year. My father was home from the war and had built a one bedroom, one story home for us to live in. I had Mrs. Black to complete grade one at my new school. I was scared of her and her pointers. She hit hands when displeased. I wanted to go back to Chester School. The next year I had Mrs. Barber again in grade two. She had transferred into my new school. I asked in grade two if she would take me home. I don’t remember why...” Discipline or abuse? This was a routine happenstance of the time. Striking children at school was seldom questioned. After all, wasn’t there a strap in the principal’s office? Many educators believed there was a direct connection between the butt or hand and the brain; strike one of the former and the latter end lights up. Admittedly, not everyone was disciplined in such a manner, but fear had been instilled to lessen the thought of transgression. “I was the first child, then “D” about 18 months later, then “K” about 3 or 4 years after. “M” was about 5 years after me, then “C” about 10 years younger. Five children were born within ten years.” I was also a member of a blue collar family, the middle of seven children. Our extended family of cousins came and went as they pleased. Inter-generational contact was prevalent then. My mother talked on the phone to her mother at six o’clock every night. These vertical family bonds we came to value. I met Jackie on March 7, 1958 at precisely 8:28 p.m. Normally, I’m not that good with exact times, but on this occasion I took note. We attended different high schools, but on a whim, I crashed her high school dance. She actually crossed the floor and asked me to dance. Fascinated, I took her into my arms. Later I learned the true story from Jackie. A girlfriend of hers bet her a nickel to ask me. We spent the evening dancing to the strains of the current sounds which pervaded the airwaves. If I had known, I would have paid the nickel myself. This was one girl I wanted to know better. On the surface our families were similar with numerous children. Jackie enjoyed her brothers and sisters and became like a mother to them. There were vertical connections as well with her maternal grandparents. Money was a little tighter due to her father’s employment situation. Jackie preferred to spend time at her grandparents’ house, which was just down the same street. We often watched television during its infancy. Black and white images emerged from the set bringing our beloved westerns into the living room. Jackie’s screen mom and dad, Roy and Dale, were soon joined by a grandfather conscript, Ward Bond. Jackie likened him to her cherished maternal grandfather. It seemed possible one could create an imaginary family for reasons yet unknown to me. Jackie’s maternal grandparents doted on her and the other children. Financial help was also given from time to time as it was in many families.