Readers of old “Dusty Corners who frequent the second Tim Hortons store, on Concession Street, clustered about my table plying me with questions like, “Haven’t seen any stories lately in the Mountain News!” and “Did you fall off a cliff looking for Fish Lake under the Henderson Hospital?”
Most of all, I was flattered by the scores of comments I heard about how much the Mountain News and Dusty Corners means to history buffs.
I am proud to say that over the past 22 years, I have been privileged indeed to tell the Mountain people facts and fables about the city above a city.
Had it not been for a meeting with Roger Brabant, second owner of the paper, and David Butler, who was impressed with my ability to write stories based on legends and tattered facts, “Proud Yesterdays” and “Dusty Corners” would never have been inked. That was way back in 1990-91 and I have been spinning yarns and facts ever since.
A great tragedy occurred three weeks ago, when my back-to-the-future computer, which I know very little about, gave up the ghost, riddled with gremlin viruses, and crashed! For a guy whom as a kid only had a battery-operated “crystal set” to pick up Hamilton’s “Happy Gang” and wrestling from Buffalo, the progression electronically to AM and FM radio with international bands was a gigantic technological venture into the unknown.
Over my 80 years, starting with Boy Scouts, I was introduced to the most primitive methods of communication. Yes, at Nemo we learned Indian smoke signals, mirror signals and the old naval standby, the semaphore with flags. We took a huge step sitting down to a Morse code sounder and keyboard, wading into the “dit-dah’s” till we caught on slowly. How can I forget “Save Our Ship” which was “… _ _ _ …”?
How many old scouts remember rehearsing Morse ? My early stories were hammered out on my trusty Underwood manual typewriter at the amazing rate of 15 words per minute. Polished up with whiteout, I proofread the masterpiece, whereupon I rushed to a nearby corner store that had what I thought was a space-aged communication system, a fax machine.
A printed receipt was returned to me magically and I was clear to sit back and await that magic moment, end of week, when my favourite newspaper was on the stands. Racing through the preceding pages, heart pounding, there was my little story!
Even today, I still get that writer’s rush when I skim through the paper or go online to see that “leather-faced old guy with the brown slouch hat.” It tells me that I am still vital to cause. That means a lot when old people feel they are being flung aside.
I am blessed to have the full support of senior staff at the “Little Paper That Could!” My mentors, editors Gord Bowes and Rod Jerred, both believed in me.
I dedicate this imperfect column to Rod, who recently passed to the other side. Please remember him!
Mountain historian Colwyn Beynon can be reached at crsw389@sympatico.ca.