Monday Memoirs: There is nothing to do but sort the countless memories - Part 2

I spent most of my formative years in the small and relatively peaceful village of Norwich, Ontario.

Residents often said ‘you could shoot a cannon down Main Street and not hit anybody’ or ‘there’s nothing to do’ and I’ll be the first to admit not much has likely changed in the 40 years I’ve been away.

But it doesn’t take long, if I motorcycle or mentally wander down a few streets - Main St., Stover St., Washington Ave. or North Court - to conjure an array of memories that prove a cannon would knock down quite a few people and I usually had lots to do.

Main St. was home to several grocery, furniture and clothing stores when I was growing up and busy shoppers vied for parking spots along the bricked-covered streets on most Saturday mornings.


[Norwich: Years before the bricks and the bustle]

After school my friends and I would visit one of the handful of five-and-dimes or hang-outs for candy or coke and fries (the restaurant next to Tokarz’s garage on Stover St. had a jukebox so it was usually hopping) and we hardly ever felt we needed more places to park our butts.

When our social break was over and if our sports team wasn’t holding a practice we’d soon be putting a few hours into part-time jobs to save up for a transistor radio, sneakers, 45 rpm records, tires for our bikes, gas for the car on date night or a college degree.

I speak from experience.

I delivered morning papers, held an after-school job at Maedel’s Red and White grocery store for more than six years and during the summer I worked at local tobacco and produce farms.


[Photo by GH: "Tobacco farms and transistor radios"

The money paid for date nights with a few special girls and I somehow had enough left over to pay my way through a year each of university and teachers’ college.


[Photo by GH: "A Few Special Girls"

I also played hockey, football, basketball and baseball for more years than I can recall and learned that a burst of speed would compensate for lack of size. (“Harrison dekes left, skates around the big, burly defense man and fires the puck - he scooooooores!”)

My blazing speed provides advantages to this day, but mostly in my dreams.

I’m grateful I was a small town boy until I was 18 years old and not just because I could occupy my time with lots to do, both good and bad.

Yes, the time I spent sorting out which was which was responsible for many gray hairs on my parents’ heads, but I benefitted in many ways from village life and have thick albums of black and whites and a head full memories to prove it.

Maybe my homespun philosophy - live small and prosper - came about as a result.

[Click here for more Monday Memoirs and more homespun philosophy]