April 1968: Centralia’s bar scene

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

In April of 1968, Rita and I moved our family from London to Huron Park. There were five of us from 1 RCR who moved at the same time, and we were told that we could choose any house that we wanted. A one-and-a-half storey house rented for $58 per month at a time when oil was 17¢ per gallon. We moved in, and we lived there for 35 years.
In Centralia, there was a hotel owned and operated by Jim and Marg Cook. It was a going concern. There was only a “Ladies & Escorts” room, which meant that if a man was by himself, he would either have to get someone from the L&E room to sponsor him, or he could sit in the small lunch room on the north side. If he chose the latter, he had to buy something to eat. I had a small plate of cheese and crackers and dill pickle for which I paid 50¢; I never ate it. The cook wrapped it in Saran wrap, put my name on it and kept it in the walk-in. Whenever I came in for a beer, I paid the 50¢ and they put my plate in front of me.
In October of ’68, I was hired to work part-time as a waiter in the Ladies & Escorts lounge. Having no experience at waiting tables, the boss assigned me to one group of 15 people who came in every Saturday night. In those days, you were not allowed to serve any more than one glass of beer per person at a time. When the glass was empty – and not before - you would serve another. The matron of this group looked after the money and did the ordering for everyone. I didn’t make any tips but I learned fast.
As Huron Park quickly filled with mostly army families (80 in all) and industries opened, liquor rules relaxed and the bar picked up a lot of business.
The boss asked me if I wanted to learn how to pour draft beer. I said I would love to. There were two taps: one ale and one lager. Ale was the largest seller in those days so we’d load 15 ale and five lager per tray unless otherwise asked. Jim put a tray on the counter and showed me how to hold a glass in each hand and open the tap. I filled one and stood there mesmerized unable to figure out what to do next. The draft kept pouring and Jim just told me to put the glass upon the tray. I did so and then with my free hand I shut off the tap. He showed me again and the next time I caught on and soon had 20 on the tray.
From then on, it was a piece of cake. Next came the training on how to carry a tray with 20 draft on it. The manager Scott showed me how to spread my hand so that there was some flexibility and spring in it. I always had good balance so it wasn’t long before I could make my way up and down the rows of tables, dropping off drinks and collecting empties and making change.
In the following years, bottled beer and liquor came into the area and the Central Hotel and the Shillelagh bar in Lucan, the Dufferin in Centralia, Les Pines in Exeter, and the Dashwood Hotel all worked together, and were all busy watering holes. If we ran out of liquor or beer, all we had to do was phone around to see who had extra and send someone around to collect it. They’d do the same if they were short. The only one remaining today is Les Pines, now called Gar’s in Exeter. Before liquor became popular in bars, we were selling between 20 and 25 kegs of beer per week, and at one point had 23 people working at the Dufferin.

You think this winter’s bad! Remember 1971?

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

For some reason, I had driven myself to work at Wolseley Barracks in London instead of travelling with my normal carpool (five of us from Huron Park usually rode together).
It started to snow in the morning and by noon, reports coming from the radio indicated the weather was going to get worse. I told my boss I was going home early, and Highway 4 at #22 was still open, so I headed out.
The wind and snow were getting worse as I passed Arva and reached open country, but I persevered. By the time I reached Ilderton Road, the drifting and blowing were causing whiteouts and building up so much that I had to plow through some of them.
By the time I got to the north end of Birr I could go no further. The road was blocked such that I couldn’t go back or forward and had to abandon my car. In those days, we carried our winter gear with us so I put mine on and left the car in the middle of the road and headed back into Birr.
I didn’t have far to go before I noticed – through the blinding snow – the Birr meat shop. Reaching the shop I found that there were already a number of people stranded. The shop was warm and had plenty of coffee brewing. There was also a radio on with the weather report repeating regularly. It was then I discovered that the OPP had closed Highway 4 about 10 minutes after I left London.
The meat shop was not very big. To try to make ourselves comfortable, we used what furniture was there and emptied some of the shelving to enable ourselves to lie down; we figured we would be stranded there for quite some time.
The next morning word got through that the army was sending armoured personnel carriers loaded with blankets and bedding for all the people stranded at St. Patrick’s school between Elginfield and Lucan. I dressed as warmly as I could in my winter gear and went out to the road to await them; I waved them down and climbed aboard. After unloading at the school, I was informed that they were not allowed to go any further north, so I asked them to drop me off at the restaurant in Elginfield.
The place was packed.
There were a couple of other soldiers in the crowd. We were told that the water pipe was frozen, so we volunteered to melt snow and make soup. Supplies were running out and a call for help went out to the Shillelagh bar and restaurant; they sent skidoos with milk and bread.
Later that day, a tracked 16-passenger military vehicle – on loan to the OPP – arrived heading north, and took a few of us to the Legion in Lucan. The fellow operating the hall and bar wanted to go home but couldn’t without someone taking his place. I was working part-time at the Dufferin Hotel in Centralia at the time, so I contacted my boss Scott McNair, and asked him to track down Carl Stuckless, who managed the Lucan Legion. Soon after, Carl called to say I could take charge and keep the hall and bar open. I ran tabs for all the stranded – most of whom were from Centralia and Huron Park – and Scott promised to guarantee the tabs, saying he would collect the money we owed.
It was several days before the weather cleared, and we were all transported home. It was quite the adventure, but I arrived to find I wasn’t the only one who had a story to tell. Our oldest boys, Tom and Glen, had spent five days with Marlene Jeromkin because they couldn’t get home from Mount Carmel school. It was quite a storm!
Do you have a tale to tell? There are plenty of stories out there. Don’t be shy!

Elmer’s wake

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

Many years ago, I had the good fortune of working for a window and door company on Highway 4 southeast of Centralia. At one time during my employment, I was given the task of building plastoramic picture windows. My department was very large in area because I needed room to build windows such as four 5’ by 6’ units with sliders, side-by-side. With the trim, etc., they measured close to 25’ wide by almost 8’ high. I had to do most of the assembling on the floor.
In my spare time, I ran draws and a newsletter. My boss told me that as long as I could produce 12 good units a day, I could spend the extra time selling draw tickets and finding stories for my newsletter. Every Friday, during our afternoon break, I held the draws and we usually had about 13 prizes. You had to be present to collect your prize, so very few people ever took Friday afternoon off.
One day, one of the other workers came to me holding a dead mouse in his hand.
“What in the devil are you doing with that?” I asked.
“This was found in the women’s washroom,” he replied.
I told him to leave it with me, and as a reporter (for the newsletter), I would investigate.
Well, during my search, I found out that the mouse had had a heart attack, supposedly after seeing one of our elderly female employees with her pants down in one of the stalls.
I felt that it would only be right to hold a wake and a funeral for the mouse, which we called Elmer.
Since I had extra room in my area, I set up a small table and draped it in purple cloth. I had an empty “T”-nail carton, which I filled with a block of Styrofoam. After cutting a portion out of the foam I laid Elmer to rest and placed the coffin on the table. One of the employees gave me a box of Kleenex for the mourners, which I also placed on the table. Two unlit candles appeared from someone else, and to top it off, I had a visitation book for guests to sign.
So many people came to pay their respects that the coffin was on display for three days. At lunch hour on the fourth day, I had a minister perform the service; two mourners and four pallbearers attended the coffin. We proceeded outside the building where a plot had been dug. A cameraman took pictures of the burial and the cross.
Elmer will live in infamy.

Happy 45th anniversary to my dear wife Rita!

Cherishing memories of a Cypriot Christmas

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, CD

I spent Christmas 1967 stationed at Lizard Flats outside Nicosia, Cyprus, which had at one time been used during the Jewish exodus from Germany to Palestine. It was pretty run-down and in a way reminded us of Ipperwash.
A sergeant oversaw the junior ranks canteen. During the holidays, he would allow only one song to be played on the jukebox: “Green, Green Grass of Home.” Not a very cheery song for the young soldiers spending this time of year away from home. I’m sure the bartenders spent a lot of time mopping up the tears.
I was fortunate to be involved with organizing a Christmas party for the sick children’s hospital. It was the only place on the island where Turks and Greeks mingled. We sent home for toys, goodies and clothes for the kids, and got quite a load. We got one of the guys to dress as Santa, loaded up a couple of vehicles, and made our way to the hospital. The kids were waiting for us. Well, I was never so thrilled and choked up as when I saw the delight in those kids’ faces. They had a wonderful day, as did we.
I wonder if, after 40 years, any who are still alive remember that day. I do, and will never forget those little guys.

The ten-miler: army takes physical education to a new level

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

At 27 C.O.D. (the Central Ordnance Depot on Highbury Avenue in London), the only physical training I ever did was playing hockey in the London industrial league. Every Friday afternoon we had a practice at the fairgrounds arena. Our coach was an Indian sergeant who enjoyed his wine. We each took turns every week to go to the Brights wine store at Dundas and Adelaide to pick up at least a half dozen bottles of Katawba at about 50 cents a bottle. At every shift change, before we hit the ice he handed us the bottle to take a drink. When the two-hour practice was over, we were in pretty good shape.
I wanted to go to Germany. The only way I could get there was to take a posting with 1 R.C.R. (at Ipperwash), which was rotating in 1962; I grabbed the chance.
Being corps personnel, we were exempt from a lot of the training that the infantry did, with the exceptions being range firing and a bit of drill, until someone in Ottawa came up with the idea of a ten-miler. I’d never heard of such a thing but was soon to find out what it was.
I was told to get my packs, draw my rifle and report to the rec center. We were formed up, had our names checked off and our packs inspected. Everything I had in my pack was brand new since, being on the quartermaster staff, I had two of everything.
At timed intervals we were sent off in small groups. Off we went out the front gate and down the side road to the beach. Running in the sand with the extra weight was pretty demanding. After a few miles we finally left the beach and headed up the winding hilly road to Port Franks and Highway 21.
I was beat and hollered ahead that I wasn’t going any further. That was a stupid thing to say because the next thing I knew the guy behind me shoved his rifle muzzle into my back and hollered, “Nobody in my group quits!”
I eventually made it back to camp but I didn’t have the strength to carry anyone for the100 yards portion of the ten-miler, so Jack Crowe said he’d carry me. He gave me his rifle, which happened to be the one he used to prod me back at Port Franks camp. Off we went. I don’t know which was worse, carrying or being carried. Next we had to climb a wall and then jump a ditch. We completed everything with time to spare.
That was an example of life with 1 R.C.R. I had a great 11 years with a wonderful group of people.

Educating Tom

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

In 1953, I was having a difficult time at my high school, St. Jerome’s in Kitchener. It was an all boys’ school. My grades were bad. I missed a lot of classes and didn’t appreciate the teachers. I’d rather hang out at the pool halls or be caddying at the golf course. I made pretty good money caddying during the summer and setting up pins in the winter, which allowed me to buy my cigarettes, etc.
My 16th birthday was at the end of October, at which time my mother - who was fed up with my shenanigans - told me that if I wasn’t going to go to school full time she would take me to the army recruiting office in Kitchener. It so happened that there were openings for the apprentice-training program. All you had to be was 16 years old. I signed up and my mom co-signed. I received my call up in mid-October. Enclosed was my train ticket and meal tickets to get me to Sunnybrook in Toronto for my physical. About a week later I was ordered to report to the Royal Canadian Ordnance Corps School in Montreal (train and meal tickets again provided).
The apprenticeship included two years education Military Basic Training and group one trades training.
We were the RSM’s favorites in the camp and we could do no wrong. There were officer-training courses going on at the same time; they received all of his wrath.
The majority of the apprentices were borderline troubled kids. But the mess of us turned out all right depending on how you decipher ‘all right.’ Our pay was $49 per month less $17 deduction that included income tax and paying for a blue blazer, gray slacks, white shirt and regimental ties ($5 per month from J.P. Morgans Department Store). We could leave camp during the first year so we didn’t use our civy clothes until second year. It wasn’t much pay, but beer in the taverns was only ten cents a glass, so on Saturday nights a group of us would climb the fence behind the barrack block, take a bus most of the way downtown and find a tavern where no other servicemen were hanging around. Because we were in uniform and the Korean War was just over no one questioned us about age. Two dollars went a long way. No one in our group could handle more than ten glasses at one sitting. We stuck close together and made sure no one got left behind. Getting back over the fence caused a few of us some tears in our clothing but we could always find an excuse when questioned as to why our pants or jackets were sewn up. During the week we had homework sessions from 7 to 9 p.m. but our weekends were free unless we screwed up. There were regular forces N.C.O.C. who trained us in the military aspects of our courses and who also monitored the barrack block. Civilian teachers looked after the academic training.
The two best parts of my two years there were the firing ranges at Mount Bruno outside of Montreal and our driver-training course. Our driving instructor was a WWII vet Sgt. He was quite a guy. Every morning we had to do a thorough inspection of our 3-ton stake truck. The Sgt. insisted that we drink a couple drops from our radiators and taste it to ensure it was antifreeze. We were only kids and didn’t know any better. It was always drilled into our heads never to question a superior. So we didn’t and we tasted the poison.
Most of our driving was done on the back roads of the island where every afternoon coffee break just happened to occur outside a tavern (the Sgt. loved his beer). Anyone without money had to stand guard over the vehicles. As we progressed and became familiar with the trucks and the rules of the road he took us downtown. We never had an accident or a ticket driving during our whole course. It being 1954, there wasn’t near the traffic there is nowadays. It was a great training experience.
When I graduated in 1955 I was posted to 27 Central Ordnance Depot on Highbury Ave in London. I billeted in K Block at Wolseley Barracks, where the 2nd Battalion Royal Canadian Regiment was camped.

(Did Tom deserve award?) Somebody thought so

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

About 14 years into my military career - by this point the late 1960s - I was working in the quartermasters stores in Wolseley Barracks as a clerk for the RCR. I’d just come off a court martial, got a $25 fine and was promoted to corporal rank – back-dated six months - all in the same orders parade.
About 11 a.m., a call came through for me to report to the theatre. No one knew why, so I cleaned myself up and marched directly over there. When I arrived, there was a line of about ten other personnel waiting in the hallway, so I joined them. A while later the regimental sergeant major marched in and called us to attention before he moved down the line checking to see if we were properly dressed.
When he finally got to me, he seemed perplexed and said, “What are you doing here, Lessard?”
I replied, “I don’t know, sir. I was told to report to the theatre with no explanation. Sir!”
He responded with, “I’ll see about that.”
After a short time, he called us to attention and proceeded to march us onto the stage, where we were halted and turned left to face - of all things - a full house of our comrades.
I was stunned, to say the least. Some were looking at me and chuckling. I found it hard to keep a straight face.
Next on the agenda was the adjutant who inspected each soldier. When he got to me, he asked the RSM, “What is Lessard doing here?”
The RSM replied, “I’m not sure, sir, but I’m checking into it.”
The next thing I know, the commanding officer is presenting me with the Canadian Decoration (C.D.). My buddies were still chuckling at this turn of events.
After the presentations were over, we were marched out of the theatre and dismissed. The RSM stopped me and told me that he would get back to me about how I got the medal. He never did.
[I had qualified for the medal a couple years before this (you need 12 years of service, which I had already served), but by the time they got enough people to do a parade, it had been so long that people were confused about why I was getting it.]
After being dismissed, I paraded myself over to the canteen and knocked back a few while we all had a good laugh.

The trip to Egypt: Christmas 1956

Keeping the peace
Tom Lessard, former UN peacekeeper

It’s Christmas Day 1956, and I’m on leave at home in Waterloo. I had to leave at noon, so we had an early Christmas dinner. I hitchhiked to London (my parents didn’t want to drive in the weather). My last ride got me right to the CN station.
Being Christmas day the station was empty and I had a few hours to wait for the train. While I was sitting there, a gentleman wearing CN overalls came over and asked me where I was going. I said, “I’m going to Egypt.” He sat down and we chatted for a while. He looked down at my kit bag and he said, “Lessard. Do you know Warren Lessard?” I said, “That’s my father.” He said, “I’m George Cooper. I’m your uncle!” He had been with the merchant navy and had been torpedoed, and was living with his family in London. I didn’t know I had an uncle in London.
I get on the train heading for Kingston, where I was going to meet up with RCEME (Royal Canadian Electrical Mechanical Engineers) workshop - I was RCOC (Royal Canadian Ordinance Corps). We were forming there in a couple days to take a troop train to Halifax. With a troop train, especially with guys going overseas, there’s always some hanky-panky going on.
We didn’t have too much until we got to St. John, New Brunswick. The CO said “There’s a 45 minute stop in St. John.” We could go out as long as we were back in 45 minutes. It was a pretty dry town in those days, so we got a taxi and had him take us to somewhere where we could get a drink. He took us to a house where they had wine and other stuff. Of course time slipped away and we had to rush out and get a taxi. By the time we got back to the station, the train had departed. We wired ahead to hold the train. They did and we took the cab and caught the train 25 miles down the road. We got on the train and the MPs were waiting for us. They took us down to the CO. It wasn’t a formal orders parade – it was just a chat. He gave us a choice of either working our way across on the ship or he’d throw the book at us. We all said we’d work our way across.
We got to Halifax and all these troops were there – Queen’s Own Rifles and the Royal Canadian Regiment. We found out they were not going. Egypt did not want Royal infantry there, but we were non-combatant support personnel.
We got on the ship, the aircraft carrier Magnificent. We sailed out of the harbour New Year’s and we hit a storm for a day or so. That upset a lot of people’s stomachs. The waves were so high they were on the flight deck. One of my jobs was to inspect the chains holding down the 240 vehicles we had on the deck. That didn’t take too long, so I had quite a bit of spare time. We get out of the storm and two days later – near Bermuda – the CO came along and found me sitting reading a book on my bunk.
He said, “You’re not working Lessard?” I said, “Yes, I’m finished, sir.” He said, “Well, Sargeant Major, we need some more work for him.” So I had to clean the heads.
Every day we were out there and had our grog. We’d go down and meet and they’d pour us our grog in our mugs. A lot of my buddies didn’t drink, so we carried Coke bottles in our back pockets and as they were going by they’d fill them up. We made sure our jackets were covering it and we’d wander off and have ourselves a little party.
We carried on to Egypt, and got to Port Said. British and French warships were in the outer harbour; the Egyptians had scuttled a number of ships in the mouth of the Suez Canal so no one could use it. We anchored off the port. We weren’t allowed off the ship until we had our United Nations armbands and hats.
In the meantime we started to unload the ship into barges – rations and all the other things. They wanted someone to guard each of the barges overnight – it would be a long shift. He put me in charge of one of the barges (I had volunteered). Unbeknownst to me the barge was full of Black Label, Labatt’s India Pale Ale and Dow beer. He said, “Lessard, drink as much as you want, but you’d better be sober in the morning.” I did my duty – I drank my beer and I was fairly sober in the morning. We got our UN equipment and we were taken down to our new base at Abu Suwer and that was on the sweet water canal that runs between the Suez Canal and the Nile River.

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Deep trouble: Cyprus, 1970

Keeping the peace
By Tom Lessard, former UN peacekeeper

I was over in Cyprus in 1970 for a six-month tour. I was with the Delta Company, 1 RCR. I came off the outpost – I had been on the night shift – and I had a couple sandwiches and went into the shack, which was a bombed out schoolhouse. And my buddy Freddy is there and he’s down and out. Right out of it. I asked what was wrong and Freddy says, “Well, somebody stole my wallet.”
I said, “What was in it?” and he said 15 pounds. Fifteen pounds was a lot of money in those days, but his ID card and all his other stuff was in it, too, so I said, “Well what are you doing with it?”
He said the red caps are out looking for it – that’s the British military police. I said, “Well, I’ll go out and see what they’re doing.”
I found them and they were at our outhouse – a three-holer. I said, “Well, did you find the wallet?” and they said, “Yep.” Shone the flashlight down and said, “There it is right there.”
I looked down and said, “Well, are you going down to get it?” They said “No, we’re not getting the d@3^ thing… you want it, you go down and get it yourself.” So I said “All right.”
I went and got four guys, 50’ of rope, I got my respirator, and we took the seat cover off – it’s a corrugated box about 20×20x20 – and two guys got on one side of the wall and two other guys – one on each side of the hole – and we tied a rope around my feet. I had stripped down to my shorts and had just the respirator and a flashlight. They tied my feet and lifted me over the hole. I went down in and as I got past the corrugated steel, I hollered out, “Anybody else down here?”
Well, for Pete’s sake, they started laughing so much they dropped the rope. But I saw the wallet and as I went kerplush, I grabbed the wallet in my hand.
They hauled me out of there and as I got out it must have been 80 or 85 degrees anyway. As soon as they got me out, they just left me and took off. They couldn’t stand the stink and the sight of it.
So I undid the ropes, I called out for Freddy, gave him his wallet, he grabbed it, took his ID card out and threw it right back down in.
I went down to the canteen, which is right at the bottom of the building in the basement. I went in and had a couple of beer and everybody took off. Then I went and had a few showers and that was the end of that.
Six months later our time was up and they do an assessment. Sgt. Ivy, who was my platoon sergeant, wrote down under Tom Lessard: ”Volunteers to get himself in sh!t.”

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