Close calls (Part 1)On the stereo:Highway 29 :Bruce Spingsteen
In my bloodstream: the regular pain meds, blood pressure and heartburn drugs. Most to counter lasting side effects of my cancers.
Glasgow, Scotland. On my first date with an older woman.
I have lived a life that put me in some anxious situations too many times. I know that sounds a tad melodramatic, but when we finish all this, you might agree that I have had more than my share of close calls - and spent way too long in hospitals, or at home, recovering.
In the summer of 1949, Mom disregarded doctor’s orders to put me in hospital so that we could make our booking on the ship that would reunite us with her husband, and my Dad. He had already left Scotland several months before, to find a job and a place to live in Canada.
I had whooping cough and was, apparently very ill and quite fragile. But she was unable to delay our voyage and we left before I was able to receive adequate treatment. She did what she had to do, I guess. As a result, the health of my lungs would always be an issue. They were forever compromised and to this day, still threaten my everyday life (if there is such a thing). If I neglect pulmonary-driven exercise I get an immediate cough which heads straight to my lungs and pneumonia is inevitable. The good news is that, as a result, I have never smoked and regular exercise is a part of my daily routine. Kind of, out with the bad, in with the good.
I had whooping cough and was, apparently very ill and quite fragile. But she was unable to delay our voyage and we left before I was able to receive adequate treatment. She did what she had to do, I guess. As a result, the health of my lungs would always be an issue. They were forever compromised and to this day, still threaten my everyday life (if there is such a thing). If I neglect pulmonary-driven exercise I get an immediate cough which heads straight to my lungs and pneumonia is inevitable. The good news is that, as a result, I have never smoked and regular exercise is a part of my daily routine. Kind of, out with the bad, in with the good.
You are taking me away from all my relatives to go where?
I don’t remember much of this trip. We arrived in New York Harbor and found our way to Grand Central Station, where I clearly remember falling asleep on a bench and then getting on a train. I was quite sickly throughout the entirety of the trip. My mom never talked to me about the details of our trip - ever. I did get some hints from some of her conversations that I never left our berth because of my cough. We basically stayed confined for the entire trip. A lonely wife and a sick kid. Not much of a cruise for either one of us, I guess.
Whether out of some kind of guilt or the need to put it all behind her, I remember little and heard nothing from her as to why we left all of our family, friends and home in Scotland. At this point in my life there are no people alive to help me understand what was really going on with my parents during this young period of my life. It will always remain a mystery to me.
Whether out of some kind of guilt or the need to put it all behind her, I remember little and heard nothing from her as to why we left all of our family, friends and home in Scotland. At this point in my life there are no people alive to help me understand what was really going on with my parents during this young period of my life. It will always remain a mystery to me.
The train carried us to Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Mom and I, after an exhausting and meandering odyssey, reunited with Dad in Toronto. In a borrowed car, he drove us north to our new home. It was coming into winter in northern Ontario. It was cold and snowy and Christmas was just around the corner. God bless us every one.
I coughed regularly and heartily. Chronic bronchitis and bronchiectasis remain with me to this day.
I coughed regularly and heartily. Chronic bronchitis and bronchiectasis remain with me to this day.
So, back to other examples of my not so normal upbringing. When I was five, I was asleep in the back of my parents car, heading south on a two lane highway near Bracebridge, where we lived, when a car heading toward us crossed the solid line and hit us head on, demolishing both cars.
Those ancient days did not include infant seats, constraints or any seat-belt laws. There were none. I was lying down, trying to sleep, on the rear bench seat. Normal in those days. I woke, flying around the car as it took its time rolling over and over, finally settling in a ditch, a long way from the highway. Chaos.
Mom and Dad were struggling to get me out of the car. Motorists quickly stopped to help. Almost, instantly, it seemed, cars and people were everywhere. Headlights shone like spotlights, pointing in every direction, as more and more people stopped to help. . Mom huddled with me by the car as Dad went to see if everyone was all right in the other car. A policeman must have been close as he was one of the first people on the scene, with blue lights flashing, adding to the jumble of lights already in play. He grabbed my Dad's arm and told him that the inside of the other car smelled of alcohol and the driver had likely fallen asleep at the wheel. He was not in good shape. He told him not to go over where the other car had come to rest. I don’t remember any other real details except that my dad was unbelievably angry and wanted to go and get that man and make him pay for what he had done. I guess he thought we could all have been killed because of his negligence . I don’t know if the driver of the other car was as lucky as we were. I kind of doubt it. In my entire memory of my Dad, he only twice ever showed any semblance of anger. That time was the first time.
Those ancient days did not include infant seats, constraints or any seat-belt laws. There were none. I was lying down, trying to sleep, on the rear bench seat. Normal in those days. I woke, flying around the car as it took its time rolling over and over, finally settling in a ditch, a long way from the highway. Chaos.
Mom and Dad were struggling to get me out of the car. Motorists quickly stopped to help. Almost, instantly, it seemed, cars and people were everywhere. Headlights shone like spotlights, pointing in every direction, as more and more people stopped to help. . Mom huddled with me by the car as Dad went to see if everyone was all right in the other car. A policeman must have been close as he was one of the first people on the scene, with blue lights flashing, adding to the jumble of lights already in play. He grabbed my Dad's arm and told him that the inside of the other car smelled of alcohol and the driver had likely fallen asleep at the wheel. He was not in good shape. He told him not to go over where the other car had come to rest. I don’t remember any other real details except that my dad was unbelievably angry and wanted to go and get that man and make him pay for what he had done. I guess he thought we could all have been killed because of his negligence . I don’t know if the driver of the other car was as lucky as we were. I kind of doubt it. In my entire memory of my Dad, he only twice ever showed any semblance of anger. That time was the first time.
The car and me, obviously prior to the wreck.
A few years later, I slipped on ice walking along the road on the way home from school. There were no sidewalks and the roads were cambered to more quickly shed rain and sleet and snow. My feet flew from under me, leaving me lying sideways with my head banging the road. From behind me, a bread truck braked and skidded, pushing me forward, for about six feet, my head squeezed by the front right tire, before the truck finally stopped. The driver jumped out to find me absolutely fine, albeit a bit shocked and very frightened. I continued my walk home. For some reason I was embarrassed by what had happened, and had decided not to tell my parents. It didn’t matter. The driver, who recognized me and knew my parents, had already been to my house to tell them, and to make sure that I was alright.
Way back, in 1952, in Orillia, Ontario, in the world in which I lived, people mostly did what was right. I clearly remember my fall, but what is more strongly imprinted in my brain was the concern and caring of others. A delivery man put my well-being ahead of all else. He could have put the incident behind him, moved on and said nothing. After all, I got up and continued walking . Instead, he went straight to my parents’ house and told them what had happened and that if his brakes had not locked, his truck would have rolled over my head and I might well have been dead. And all I thought as I continued my walk home was what a klutz I was for slipping on ice. My mom was crying when I walked in the door. I didn’t know why. Much later she asked me why I didn’t tell her what happened.
“I dunno”, was the best I had.
“I dunno”, was the best I had.
Kids. Hard to figure.
About a year later, I was sitting on a pony in the parking lot in front of Harry Shore's Restaurant, right on Hwy. 11, north of Orillia. My mom worked for Harry and Lou, as a waitress. The pony belonged to a customer-friend who brought him over so that I could have ride. No sooner was I on, with my feet in the stirrups, when that pony bolted towards the highway, leaving its owner standing, watching. Mom chased after us and pulled me from the saddle. My pant leg ripped up one side and a shoe flew off. That was the extent of my damage. The pony continued the short run to the highway and was hit by a car. And killed - on the spot. Could have been worse for me, I guess. Not so for the horse.
About a year later, I was sitting on a pony in the parking lot in front of Harry Shore's Restaurant, right on Hwy. 11, north of Orillia. My mom worked for Harry and Lou, as a waitress. The pony belonged to a customer-friend who brought him over so that I could have ride. No sooner was I on, with my feet in the stirrups, when that pony bolted towards the highway, leaving its owner standing, watching. Mom chased after us and pulled me from the saddle. My pant leg ripped up one side and a shoe flew off. That was the extent of my damage. The pony continued the short run to the highway and was hit by a car. And killed - on the spot. Could have been worse for me, I guess. Not so for the horse.
We are off today for Tuscaloosa. This Thursday is the funeral of C.M. Newton, whom I talked about on Facebook. He was a gem and will be missed by a lot of us, for a lot of different reasons. A couple of years ago, he and Nancy drove over to Florida to see me as the doctors were not giving me much hope of living the year out. He was around 84 years of age and he told me I was on his bucket list. I'm still here C.M. Thank you.
We will stay with the Buttrams and see some dear friends, including the Thompsons and the Paleceks, and hopefully some more. Maybe Elliott, at his brewery. Keep 'em cold. friend
See the rest of y'all next week.
We will stay with the Buttrams and see some dear friends, including the Thompsons and the Paleceks, and hopefully some more. Maybe Elliott, at his brewery. Keep 'em cold. friend
See the rest of y'all next week.
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