Geary Rural High School 1956 - 1967

“GRHS, A School with Class”

  It all started for me back in late fifty-five,

With two teachers, Blanche O, and Kay A.

‘Round the first of the month of September,

And great year ahead there did lay.

Now Blanche O was the kind of a woman,

That reminded me much of my Mom,

But she had different ideas ‘bout life,

That would change me in more ways than one.

Kay A was a little more friendly I found,

With a much more compassionate way.

She would even take time out to help you,

No matter what time of the day.

An old potbelly stove that stood upright,

In the center of the old one room school,

Would keep us all warm in the winter,

Though the ink in the wells would be cool.

 T’was a mile and a half in the morning,

And a mile and three quarters at night.

I walked every day- every step of the way,

Through the rain, sleet, cold, and the white.

There were snowball fights and baseball,

When it rained we would just stay inside.

The first year really wasn’t so bad,

I went on to grade two with great pride.

Now things were a gonna get better,

A new school’s goin’ up down the road.

The new Geary Rural High, would soon open its doors,

To reap seeds the community sowed.

I can’t tell you how much of a difference,

This would make for the students at hand,

Thanks to Samuel E. Carr and his family,

For selling us this piece of land.

 There were bright individual classrooms,

The bathrooms had been brought to inside.

New cold water fountains to drink from,

And chalkboards at least twelve feet wide.

There were closets for boots with coat hangers,

Designed to accommodate all.

Two piece desks with chairs that were separate,

And new floor tiles were laid wall to wall.

The new gym was downstairs in the basement,

And a kitchen for teachers and staff.

On the stage stood an upright piano,

Someone played while the pupils would laugh.

There were concerts with chairs for the parents,

Sometimes we would even hold plays,

Oh what I’d give, if I could relive,

Just one of those happier days.

 A playground outside with a flagpole,

There was a rink, and a place to play ball.

And if you were good you had recess,

If not, then you stood in the hall.

We played hopscotch, marbles and jump rope,

While the older ones just walked around,

Holding hands while they listened to music,

From the 50’s and 60’s great sounds.

Each day there were big yellow buses,

For students who lived far from school.

Lester and Roy, and then Willie and Fred,

To make sure you got home, was the rule.

Weekends and warm summer evenings,

We would swim and then so it would seem,

The school and its whole student body would meet,

By a pool on the old Rockwell Stream.

 Class dances and parties at Cameron’s,

On a Friday or Saturday night.

Tunes played by Buddy, The Big Bopper, or Ritchie,

After someone had turned down the lights.

Long hair and a taste of the British,

Which took over in late sixty-four.

Changed every child, their parents, and style,

All at once, and for ever more.

Boy friends, girl friends, and drive-ins,

Some in trunks, cars packed to the doors.

Tuesday was Buck Night, in our books,

And hot dogs were eaten in scores.

A canteen cross the way was our hangout,

A place we could go and just meet.

With a jukebox, pinball and burgers,

If you were feeling like something to eat.

 Good times, true friends, and great music,

Yeah we had it all way back then.

If you put all the pieces together,

What a wonderful message it sends.

Great moments in sports just don’t happen,

They’re created with thought, and a light.

Do your best with what you’ve been given,

T’is the reason we’re all here tonight.

Geary High School as we knew it,

Was one like no others have seen.

Many grads and eleven years later,

Came the end of a beautiful dream.

So we’re here today to rekindle,

Memories of those days gone by.

To unite once again with the classmates,

And pay tribute to Geary Rural High.

Written for all Geary Rural High School Classmates

George (Geo) Donovan. March 15th, 2011

Home

 

There is a house of many that I pass by everyday,

And sometimes I have to wonder, who could live there anyway.

The parking lot is empty, any hour I’ve gone by,

But there is a flag that proudly waves, its colors in the sky.

The mailbox at the corner of the building that I speak,

Is rusted, chipped and faded, and the hinges really squeak.

There are curtains on the windows, which will open now and then,

When someone’s expecting company, a loved one, or a friend.

 It’s very well looked after; flowers grow, with lawns of green,

You would think the house was vacant, because no one’s ever seen.

The sitting swing rocks back and forth, so easy with the wind,

A sign out front informs you, of the hours you can spend.

But the day is nearly over, shadows cast and night will fall,

The doors are locked until tomorrow, and will open at roll call.

The wheel chair at the entry, has been tucked away inside,

It’s not used much but is placed there, for someone who needs a ride.

Today’s a little different, because the flag now at half - mast,

Is telling us that some one will be going home at last.

The sign that reads “No Vacancy”, will once again be changed,

And the furniture that filled a room is being rearranged.

The swing now still and motionless, is empty as before,

And will wait until tomorrow, when the wind will blow once more.

The parking lot is busy, but the curtains keep their place,

There will be no smiling faces, as they sing Amazing Grace.

While the world is such a busy place, and time is of the essence,

There are those, who really need, to have you in their presence.

But, the mail is not delivered, by a postman anymore,

And words of love not written, down on paper as before.

A thumbtack holds a calendar, with nothing on the page,

But the occasional appointment, only marked with D and A.

It’s not much, to look forward to, a check up and a pill,

A Doctor gives them words of hope, strengthening their will.

The loneliness encountered, by someone who doesn’t get,

A visit from a loved one is compounded like a debt.

From day to day they sit’n wait, and count away the hours,

There is no mail on Saturday, and no one’s sending flowers.

Someone, will be in tomorrow though, the pastor will arrive,

To thank God, for the Sundays, and the week that has gone by

The day has been a long one, and so much like any other,

There was no mail and no one seen, a father or a mother.

I guess I’m rather fortunate, to have a family tree,

That was planted by my grand dad, long before I came to be.

And years from now, when I am done, and in retirement,

I’ll spend my days, not Home Alone, but in accompaniment.

Of family, and the friendship, of the loved ones I hold dear,

The mailbox will be painted, and the hinges oiled each year.

The day has been a long one, and so much like any other,

The family has gone home now, “What ya thinking about, Mother?”

 Geo W. Donovan March 22nd, 2005

Old folks are worth a fortune,

 with silver in their hair,

 gold in their teeth,

 stones in their kidneys,

 lead in their feet and

 gas in their stomachs.

I have become a lot more social

 with the passing of the years,

 some might even call me a frivolous old gal.

 I’m seeing five gentlemen every day!

As soon as I wake, Will Power

 helps me get out of bed.

 Then I go see John.

 Then Charley Horse comes along,

 and when he is here he takes a lot

 of my time and attention!

 When he leaves, Arthur Ritis shows

 up and stays the rest of the day.

 He doesn’t like to stay in one place very long,

 so he takes me from joint to joint!

 After such a busy day,

 I’m really tired and glad to go to bed,

 with Ben Gay!

P.S. The preacher came to call the other day.

 He said that at my age I should be

 thinking about the hear-after.

 I told him I do, all the time.

 No matter where I am,

 in the kitchen or down in the basement,

 I ask myself, “Now what am I here after?”

Author Unknown

The Big Yellow Bus

Wish there was a way, I could bring back a day,
To ride on a school bus again.
On a cold vinyl seat, where my friends use to meet,
In the mornings, and at the days end.

Lester and Roy would count each girl and boy,
To make sure we all would be there.
On the big yellow bus, there were many of us,
Who rode to and from with no cares.

When I look back now, I wonder somehow,
I made it as far as I did.
But what I wouldn’t give, if I could relive,
Just one of those days as a kid.

To ride once again, with some of my friends,
Are just memories for many of us.
But we rode every day, and I’m happy to say,
It was on an old “ Big Yellow Bus”.

Thank you, Lester and Roy

The Milky Way

I wonder what it would be like, to walk the Milky Way?

Or to take a trip in outer space, that would be nice some day.

To see the earth and all the stars, a different point of view,

The trip of a life time it would be, I’d take you with me too.

Just imagine looking down, from some place way up there,

Into miles of shiny oceans, through the crystal clear blue air.

A camera could not capture, all the beauty that was seen,

Snow capped covered mountains, or the trees of hunter green.

Now look out there somewhere beyond, and you will see the Moon.

The Little Dipper’s not so small, and in it there’s a spoon.

Oh look there goes a comet, Haley has come round again,

Joining universal fireworks, that never ever seem to end.

Just to the right if we wait till night, the Sisters will appear,

Bringing laughter and some happiness, which you can often hear.

If you look around for Venus, shining lady of the stars,

You will find her in proximity, of a planet known as Mars.

Way over on the corner, is the largest of them all,

I know you’ve heard of Jupiter, at it’s very best in fall.

There is Neptune and Uranus, but you have to strain your eyes,

These two are the quiet ones, the turquoise of the skies.

Just to the south of Venus, on a clear and pitch black night,

You’ll see the lights of Mercury, when the timing is just right.

And if you listen close enough, when it is very much in dark,

You just might hear Ol’ Pluto, in the background when he barks.

Then there’s Saturn in splendor, with it’s many shining rings,

Oh how wondrous it is out there, and all the things it brings.

Yet it is just as beautiful, from right here where I stand,

To look out into the heavens, from my home and native land.

Who knows I may just get a chance, to take the greatest trip,

To be where no one’s ever gone, without a rocket ship.

And if I could I’d take you there, just so we could say,

We visited the Universe, and walked The Milky Way.

Geo January 22nd, 2005

The Spirit of Christmas

Here is a little story I would like to share with you. We all have experienced, at one time or another, very special events or times in our lives that seem to stand out and are forever etched in our minds. This is a true story of a special Christmas and memories which will be with me forever.

If my memory serves me correctly it was around 1990 or 1991. Christmas was fast approaching and I was living alone at the time, in a small one bedroom apartment in the tiny community of Welsford, New Brunswick. While living in this community for nearly fifteen years, I had made many friends, but this is about two very special friends of mine. Twin girls, Sara and Kara had been born to a couple I had known quite well for a number of years. Kara was born with Spina Bifida, and Sara was as normal as could be. They were about five years old now and during this time the three of us had become very close. I would visit occasionally and both girls just loved to see me come around. I guess I was more like family to them and with each visit the bond grew a little stronger. Now you have to imagine a man living alone has really no reason, not to mention much interest in putting up a Christmas tree. But this year somehow seemed different, and I’m sure it was the Spirit of Christmas that was getting to me. As the 25^th of the month drew closer and closer, I knew that this year would be different, different than any I had experienced in the past.

I remember as a kid setting out in search of the perfect tree, not that many of them were perfect, but it was the thrill of dragging home some scrawny Charlie Brown which would be used to celebrate the occasion. So it was, I donned my winter apparel and headed out, knowing exactly what I intended to do. It was like something was directing me to follow every step that had been pre planned or laid out for me. After a thorough search of the area the perfect tree did appear, so down it came, and it was now on it’s way to the most wonderful Christmas that ever was for me.

What does one do when you have never been alone at Christmas? You now find yourself wondering how on earth you’re going to trim a tree, when you have absolutely nothing to trim it with. I stood the naked tree in a corner and wondered when the next part of my imagination would take over and give me some direction. All I knew at the time was that this was going to be a tree for my two little friends and somehow everything would turn out fine. It would be the special Christmas I had hoped for. Without thinking much more about it, I hopped in my truck and headed to the local general store to have coffee. You can imagine what a variety of goods would be available in a little local country store. Being the time of year it was, extra care was taken to order all kinds of things pertaining to the season, especially candy and the like.

While standing there sipping away at my coffee, I noticed a box shaped like a star with candy inside. Wow, my heart started beating a mile a minute and I knew what the next step would be immediately. I bought that star shaped box, and any other candy I could find that would make the ornaments for this special tree. Gum drops, life savors, round balls of bubble gum, popcorn, it didn’t matter as long as I could turn it into ornaments, it went home with me. I even bought a spool of thread to tie things together so they could be hung up. I remember tying two tooth picks together in the middle so they formed a + and then sticking one ball of bubble gum on each end of the tooth picks. I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning making ornaments and decorating. When I finished the only thing on the tree that wasn’t made of candy were the icicles and mini lights I had bought as well. Even the empty star shaped box was placed on the tree to top it off.

What a sweet little tree! Well not really, looks can be deceiving. Most of the candy I purchased as it turned out was of the sour kind. Remember me saying it was as if I’d been following directions from a power greater than mine. How could I know that sour candy was a favorite of these two special little friends, I didn’t, but could something or someone else know?

On the day before, the day before Christmas (December 23^rd) I asked their parents if they could bring Sara and Kara to my place, explaining I had a little surprise and a little gift for them. Boy, I want you to know if you ever witness the spirit of Christmas like I did in the eyes and on the faces of those two little girls; you would know what Christmas was all about. When the season of celebration ended my two little friends came to visit once again, and as promised, they helped me dismantle and undecorate their tree. When they left they each had a shoe box nearly full of sour candy, memories for a life time, and smiles that would melt your heart.

That my friends, was about 21 years ago. Neither they nor I will ever forget that very special Christmas.  

Thanks for taking the time to read this and letting me share one of life’s more pleasurable experiences.

                                        Geo Donovan

    

 Jack Frost

The Moon reached out, to wake Jack Frost,

And his coat of white appeared.

Ah haaaa he said, with the turned leaves red,

When he whispered through his beard.

The flowers of the summer past,

Have vanished over night.

Jack and the Moon have come too soon,

While the Sun was out of sight.

There is honking of the wild geese,

As they head to warmer climes.

Followed only by the wind blown clouds,

And days of harder times.

The Sun, now low, cannot support,

The life that lingers still.

The things that Jack has breathed upon,

Now fall against their will.

Jack pressed in vain against the pane,

To let himself inside.

But the glass stood tall and would not fall,

No matter how hard he tried.

By morning all that could be seen,

Were clues that he was here.

Droplets left on the windows,

As the Sun of the day reappeared.

Now you might consider Jack to be,

A Pro, who paints in white.

His canvas is the landscape,

That he works on every night.

The gallery where he shows his stuff,

Can be seen night and day.

On trees, on rocks, and windshields,

And on fields of non cut hay.

So go on Jack Frost, and color the world,

As you've done for many a year.

You, and the Moon, and I, well know,

Ol' Man Winter will soon be here.

With a brush that's a little wider,

He too is a Pro of White.

Then you both can work in unison,

On the canvas, every night.

Geo W. Donovan........... October 9^th, 2006

A Waklin’ Miracle

  Some time during the 60s, a group called The Essex had a song titled “A Walking Miracle”. The only relevance between this song and this story is the title. The paragraphs below describe what I believe was a true miracle, one that did actually happen to me.

  I was in Alberta at the time working as a property manager for a rather large firm which managed properties for different groups of investors. I was in Red Deer managing three units (buildings) having a total of eighty-eight apartments. This job required much care and attention and could sometimes get very demanding. There was much to do, and a lot of walking to do every day. Way too much for one person to look after if you consider the amount of yard work which must be done every day, summer and winter. After some discussion with my boss I was told to hire a grounds keeper. There are programs available through Canada Employment that will subsidize the employee's wages if they are currently on unemployment. I selected and interviewed several people before finally choosing what seemed to be the most likely candidate for the job. His name was David G and during the interview I found out that he had a young son and wife that he was trying desperately to support. At this time David was living in another apartment not under our care. I approached him about this and it was agreed that he would move into one of our vacant apartments. This would be a good move for him as he would not have to travel and would be available in an emergency, not to mention a better rate than he was currently paying.

  Prior to hiring David, as I've mentioned above, a lot of walking was involved and sometime in the months before, I was blessed with a troublesome Planter's Wart on my left foot. It was not only painful, but unwelcome discomfort which led me to walk on the side of my foot. Each night I would bathe and cut nearly an eighth of an inch of this off this wart. I suffered nearly two months and repeated the same procedure every night.

  It was nearing the first of November and David was packed and ready to move. There was a wet slushy snow on the ground on moving day but that wouldn't interfere or prevent him from moving. Now, I've told you something of David and how he was struggling trying to stay above water and provide for his family. Like most of us, at one time or another, we have all had to make sacrifices. In saying that I noticed that something was bothering him terribly and so I questioned him about it. He just said ah nothing much, my feet are cold, wet, and my running shoes are just about beat. I could see by the expression on his face, he was in pain but that he would rather just keep going and get it done as soon as possible. As it turns out, I had bought a new pair of running shoes just a week or two before that, thinking it might help my situation with the Planters Wart, but they didn't help and I only had them on once. I told David, when we get back to our complex, I'll give you a brand new pair and explained to him why I had them and that if they fit that they were his, no questions, no charge. I even threw in a pair of fresh clean socks to boot. They did fit him and for the rest of the day he felt much better. Normally this would be the end of the story but, let me tell you about that little miracle.

  Time went on as usual and each new day would be pretty much the same as it was the day before. Up to now I walked with a limp, cut away portions of my problem every night and would wake up to do it all over again the next day. Then one day about two weeks after David moved to our complex, he and I were outside talking about the ground maintenance and how well he had been doing with his job. I left him with a bit of praise and was actually walking on another property when I suddenly realized I wasn't limping around anymore. I stopped, pondered this for a moment and headed directly to my own apartment. Once inside I removed my footwear and my stocking. 

If I never live to write another word, I swear there was no visual sign, nor was there any pain where the Planters Wart had been. Truly, you could not tell it was even there at all. I marveled at this, and you can appreciate my happiness and overall joy. Then, I remembered, miracles do happen. I solemnly swear and truly believe this was a miracle. Because I helped someone overcome their misery, I was relieved of my own. To this day I have never had it reappear and I don't think it ever will.

So, let's go back to the title of this story. I really think you could call this, “A Walking Miracle”   

It kind of makes you wonder, doesn't it?      Thanks for listening.  Geo Donovan

A Legend or a Tall Tale

The Dungarvon River 

Dungarvon Whooper

A New Brunswick Ghost Story from the Miramichi.

The Dungarvon River begins in Central Northeastern New Bronswick and is a small fast flowing river that travels almost 100 Km before entering into the main Southwest Miramichi via the Renous River. 

It was a cold winter and the snow was deep in the woods surrounding the logging camp near the Dungarvon River. But there was plenty of game to be found if you were a good hunter, so the men didn't go hungry. The camp cook was a jolly fellow, and quite rich for a logger. He kept his life savings in a money belt that he wore at all times.

Now an Irish lumberjack named Ryan coveted the cook's money and concocted a plan to get it. He was the best hunter in camp, and he promised to teach the cook his secrets. The two men set off one Sunday on a hunting trip. When they were deep in the woods, Ryan turned his rifle on the cook and shot him dead. Then he took the money belt off the body, hacked his way through the ice and snow, and buried it deep in the ground.

When he returned to camp alone, Ryan told his fellow loggers that they had been attacked by a bear. Ryan claimed to have been knocked out by a glancing blow, and said that when he came to, he found that the cook had been dragged away. Ryan told the lumberjacks that he had tried to track the bear, but a snowstorm had obliterated the tracks. Search parties were sent out, but they found no trace of the dead cook. Meanwhile, Ryan made himself scarce while the men were out searching, and no one ever found out where he went.

At sundown that night, the lumberjacks heard a terrible screaming coming from everywhere at once, and from nowhere. The men recognized the voice as that of the cook. They searched desperately for the man as the screams grew louder and louder, but there were no tracks in the snow save their own. After ten minutes, the screams stopped as abruptly as they started.

The men searched again in the morning for the cook, but could find no trace of him. At dusk that night, the screams began again. The men were terrified, and decided that it must be the ghost of the cook screaming in terror. By this time, they knew that Ryan was gone from the camp, and the lumberjacks began to question the Irishman's story of the bear attack.

At dusk every evening for several weeks, the ghost of the cook shrieked out his terror and rage over his murder. All action in the logging camp ceased at the first sound of the "Dungarvon Whooper," as the ghost came to be called, and no one dared move until the sound died away. At the first sign of spring, the logger's packed up camp and hurried away.

The ghost was not heard so frequently after the camp was disbanded, but local residents were still subjected every so often to the terrible screams of the Dungarvon Whooper. The ghost hung around the region for many years, and the residents finally called in a priest to lay the spirit to rest. The holy man prayed over the area and tried to exorcise the spirit with bell, book, and candle, but the ghost was too strong for him, and he left in defeat.

To this day, people living in the Miramichi country sometimes hear the eerie screaming of the Dungarvon Whooper when they walk outside at dusk.

This tale was passed along to us by Eric (Rick) Carr 

"This Is My Tall Tale"

by

Bonnie Anderson Cogswell 

The year was 1964, 1965 'ish. 

The time of year....summer. 

The time of day....mid afternoon. 

The day....probably a Saturday or Sunday.  Why, you may ask?...Because the older cast members aren't working.

The place.....our back door yard.  Yes, I said "dooryard".  This saying has to be a "Herring Choker's".   Definitely not a "Bluenoser" saying.

The Cast

Bonnie Cogswell

Blaine Cogswell

Jimmie Cogswell

Richard Simpson

Dougie Simpson

Joey Simpson  (maybe)

Bobby Dickinson (maybe)

Garry Dickinson (maybe)

The 'boys' had a habit of congregating at different places.  They would talk about their cars, their breakdowns, their racing up the by-pass.  You know....the regular stuff that guys in their late teens do.  Yes, they probably talked about 'girls' too. 

Well on this day they happened to gather in our yard.  The scene opens with all these spotlessly clean cars all parked in front of our big barn in the back door yard.  Their is also dad's trucks, a bulldozer and a loader vying for space in the yard.  One of dad's 3 ton trucks was parked closer to the house and just underneath the clothesline.  Parked behind this truck?....you guessed it; all those PURDY CARS.

Just so happens that mom and I were doing a wash this beautiful, sunny day.  No dryer back then; ONLY THE CLOTHESLINE. 

I dragged a huge clothes basket full of clothes out to the stoop to hang them out.  Looked and saw that the truck was in the way.  The obvious thing for me to do?.....holler over to the bunch of hoodlums standing around smoking their cigarettes and laughing.   Only being 13 or 14; I didn't have a driving license nor had ever driven a vehicle.  I hollered over and asked Jim or Blaine to move the truck.  "Yeah, in a minute", was the response.  I waited and waited and waited but, neither one made a move towards the truck.  I hollered over again.  "Yeah, yeah, yeah, in a sec" was the response. 

By this time little sister was growing impatient and thinking I should get the keys to the truck, start it up and move it myself.  The thought actually scared the daylights out of me but, at the same time...it would look good on them.   Again, I hollered over and said, "Blaine, Jim....move the truck or I will." 

It got their attention but, only long enough for the bunch of them to take in to laughing at the thought of me trying to drive this great big 3 ton truck. 

THAT'S ALL I NEEDED!!!  I dropped the clothespin bag, stomped down the stoop steps and over to the truck.  The boys, at this time, hadn't noticed me getting in.   The keys were in the ignition.  My mind is trying to remember what dad or the boys did before, during and after starting this thing.  Okay, put it in neutral.  To do that I had to first push in the clutch with my left foot but make sure I had my right foot on the brake.  Okay....I can do this.  I only weighed 98 lbs at the time but, I'm sure I had 200 lbs of pressure on those peddles.  I turned the key.  My heart almost jumped out of my chest; the truck started.  Dear God keep me safe.  I grabbed the shift and grinded the motor into 1st; just like it showed on the shift knob.  TOO EASY!!  I looked into the rear view mirror.....the guys were still standing there but, their lower jaws were hanging open and their eyes were all as big as saucers.  I gave the truck some gas, let out the clutch.....IT STALLED!  Oh Dear Heavens.......I can't quit now.  Turned the key again and vroom.  Put it into gear and let up on the clutch.  THE TRUCK WAS MOVING BACKWARDS.  YEAH!!!!  I looked into the rear view mirror and all I could see was people running to their cars and spinning their tires to get the heck out of my way. 

Now, I only had to move the truck 5 or 6 feet and did just that but, those boys weren't taking any chances.  I can still see them all scattering.  Too funny. 

Admittedly, I have to thank Blaine and Jim.  The event of that day instilled in me a determination that I could do anything, if I put my mind to it.   It was also an eye-opener for my brothers.  DON'T PUSH LITTLE SISTER'S BUTTONS!!!

Exhibition Memories

  Every one of us has special memories of the Fredericton Exhibition. Depending on your likes or dislikes, memories will vary, and of course there will be those whose memory will be affected by different sights, smells and sounds of those days. The Merry-Go Round for example had a sound that no one could forget. Then there were the low moans and high pitched screams coming for the Haunted House. Who could forget some fellow within the gaming booths saying “Hey, hey, right this way, don't be shy, give it a try. Three for a quarter, nine for a dollar”. Do the math people, it was cheaper to spend four quarters individually, but who paid any attention, most of us spent the dollar anyway. Oh the hot dogs, cotton candy, and the taffy apples, were a must have at any exhibition, but it always had to be after a trip to the livestock barns before Mom or Dad would let us have any of the above. Whew, what were they thinking? 

  Yes friends we all have fond and not so fond memories of the old EX, but there is always one that sticks out no matter how many memories we have. Let me tell you of one that I shall never forget. To do this I’m going to set the stage so you will get a clear and vivid picture.

  Back in the early 60s, my dad owned a red 1959 GMC truck. A cap had been built on the back with a seat, minus seat belts of course, and it was common in those days to let people ride in the back. This particular cap over the box did not have a door or lift cover over the tail gate. You could see everything that was behind you and there was fresh air, thank God. That being said let's go back to the exhibition. 

  It was a nice day in September and as usual, Labor Day was the favorite of many to attend. It was just before school opening again, and what a great way to end the summer holidays. When we were much younger, Reece and I had to be led around, or dragged around by Mom and Dad. It was usually up to Mom to do this as Dad would be off in the livestock barns looking up old friends or trying to establish new ones. It wasn't until we were twelve or thirteen that we were allowed to wander about by ourselves. So, somewhere around that age, a couple of young pups were now able to go freely as long as we would meet Mom at a predetermined spot to check in every now and then. We did get on rides and by now we were able, and tall enough to participate in some of the available games. “Hey, hey, right this way, don't be shy, give it a try”. Temptation has spoken; you either listen up, step up, or loose a chance to win who knows what. Luck doesn't have much to do with winning anything at the exhibition, you either win or lose. I don't remember what game I chose to play but when all was said and done, I stood with one of the largest old stogies I have ever seen. Yes you heard me correctly, I had one big fat cigar in my hand for doing something, although I had my eye on a stuffed toy or something else, I wound up with this. Now most young boys would turn something like this over to an adult, or maybe their dad. Not me, I had other ideas. LOL… On the way home, after an exhausting day at the EX and while in the back of my dads truck, I took this cigar out and showed it to Reece. He being two years younger than me, thought I was completely nuts. 

  From Fredericton to Geary is approximately a half hour drive. That should give me plenty of time to light up, enjoy, or at least get a taste of what the adult world was all about. Now at that time there was no bypass in existence, you had to drive through Lincoln, and the neighboring communities to get home. I'm not sure if many of you remember the Irving Restaurant and Gas Bar in Lincoln, the one that had the big “EAT” sign with an arrow flashing on and off. That just happened to be Dads favorite place to stop, fuel up and if the mood was right, get something to eat. I hadn't counted on this stop that particular day, but it could have been the steady stream of smoke, that was drifting from the rear of the truck, that prompted him to pull over. TOO LATE, I knew I was caught and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. 

  Dad was a big man, but he was as gentle as a lamb. He didn't lose his cool much, so when he kind of rolled out of the drivers seat and headed to the back of the truck, I knew there was some hope for me. When he rounded the corner, I had my hand stuck out with this big old cigar in it, and I kindly offered it up to him. As he was reaching out for it he said” What's the matter young fella, to much for ya”? I’m not sure what color I was. There was some green from smoking, some red from embarrassment and fear, and there could have been some purple as well. All I knew at that point was that there would be no black and blue as the result of my experiment. You could have heard a pin drop and Reece’s mouth just hung open like that of a yawning Rhinoceros. Surprisingly enough, I don't think anything was ever mentioned to Mom. Whew, I had been spared. 

  Yes, we all have our memories of the old Fredericton EX and each of us has special memories. Not that anything would turn out differently but, I'd give anything to relive this one. I can't remember when I smoked my last cigar, but every time I do, I remember the Fredericton Exhibition.

Hope you have enjoyed this. It's not a tall tale, but it sure is a tall memory. 

Thanks, Geo Donovan  

September, 12^th, 2011

This was "Our Hangout", before the addition.

Pinball, Pennies, and Pauline's Canteen.

I’m about to take you back in time to a place most of us would hang out at noon hour, after school and on the weekends, at least a lot of us would if we lived close enough. I don’t think this place needs an introduction because by now you know I’m talking about Pauline’s Canteen. I’m not sure it was officially called that, but that’s the handle we gave it, and every school kid from grade one to twelve was a customer of some sort at one time or another. I think Pauline knew more about us than the teachers did. It was mostly popular with the teenagers rather than the younger ones and of course the burgers and coke gave us a good reason to be there. There were other reasons and benefits to be there as well. A juke box, with our favorite songs at a modest price and of course no hang out would be complete without another source of entertainment, a Bally Pinball Machine. This machine was temptation for the brave and those who could afford to spend a few nickels with the hope of winning a little extra pocket money.

Now you know and understand kids will be kids and more so, boys will be boys. If there is a way to make things better, faster, cheaper, boys being the creatures they are will find a way. Enter, Jimmy Cogswell, a fine young man with an ingenious mind, good looks, and wavy hair, a typical teenager at the time, with a hankering to beat the odds on the old Bally that stood defiantly, by the door and next to a large window. Jim wore a necklace as many of his friends did and it didn’t take long for Jim to figure out that the diameter of his necklace and a penny equaled the diameter of a nickel. I guess you know by now where this is going. When the chain was lowered into the coin slot, a penny would be dropped whilst pulling out the chain. Result, a new game would register and one could play for an hour without spending nickels that would later be used for a burger, or find their way to the jukebox. Of course with a group of teens gathered around cheering the player on, no one else in the room could see what was going on anyway. It lessened the chances of getting caught and was good entertainment for the on lookers. Pauline would come to wonder how all the pennies were getting into this machine, but what was even harder for her to figure out was why the nickel counter would be counting the pennies. We were taught in school that “for every action, there was an equal and opposite reaction. Oh how true that statement is. Pauline was loosing nickels to pennies, and Jim was gaining nickels for pennies. This didn’t last very long because Pauline threatened to pull the old Bally out of operation, and maybe after loosing many nickels, she did put an end to our fun, I really can’t recall.

I was about 14 or 15 at the time, but this has remained a part of my memory for over 45 years. Hats off to you Jimmy Cogswell for the entertainment provided, and for the youthful memories only young, fearless friends can make.

Thanks, Geo (George) Donovan   

One Fine '79

1979 Ford F 100 Lariat

 Factory Specs:

302 V8 Engine

 Automatic Transmission.

Coral Red & Wimbledon White. 

Aluminum Slot Wheels.

Duel Exhaust.

  Custom Lariat Interior.

  Sliding Rear Window.

Chrome Front Bumper Guards.

Custom Accessories

Style side 60's fender skirts.

Box mounted spare tire and cover.

Aluminum checker plate floor, highlighted with red, under box rail strip lighting.

Custom cut out rear bumper name and year lights.

Cab operated electric tail gate.

I bought this baby in 1991 at a classic car show and shine in Moncton. This truck was 11 years old when I purchased it from the original owner. It was completely original when I bought it, even the plug wires were factory marked with the year. I added all the custom accessories and done all custom work myself. New, it was listed on the lot for approximately $6900.00. I sold it in 1994 for $7500.00. Wish now I had kept it.

Hope you've enjoyed this.   Geo Donovan