Golden Years

It may as well be a million years ago, if it were a day.  Memories of my youth are fleeting at best.  They were scarce when I had a fully functional brain, but are mostly gone since my accident.  What I've learned about memories, recently, is while they may be gone, they're not always one hundred percent disappeared.  Some glimmer of them remain, secluded in some dark passageway within our minds, just waiting to emerge into present day, once again.  Earlier this week, I happened to glance over onto 2nd Avenue, downtown, noticing a pile of rubble where the old Baldwin Hotel used to stand.  Then it hit me with a wallop -- Andre the Giant.

There's not much written about the old Baldwin Hotel.  I was unsuccessful in digging up much dirt on the location, short of actually visiting the Saskatoon Library to dig through old archives.  I believe it was built in the early 1900s, stood for nearly a hundred years before falling into disarray and finally demolished.  As a kid I remember going to the restaurant in the basement of the once distinguished hotel, to visit my aunt, Jacquie.  There she'd share tales about her encounters with wrestlers when they'd wander over from shows put on at the old downtown arena.

As a kid, I remember going to the old arena when it was located downtown on 19th Street.  Long since gone, it's footprint looked tiny compared to the incredible size of the arena.  Then again, I was a tiny child, so everything looked gigantic.  I recall going to Blades games with my grandpa.  I remember going to the circus with thousands of other screaming kids.  Seemed like our parents weren't there.  Just dropped us all off to run amuck within it's overwhelming confines.  I remember having full reign over the premises, roaming through all the halls, past the dressing rooms.  I remember encountering a dressing room where all the clowns were, applying their various facial designs.  This is where I came to realize that clowns aren't necessarily a happy bunch.  Many are only as happy as the makeup they apply.  Most are sad, miserable or angry, all characteristics well masked by coloured grease paint.

In addition to the circus and various sporting events and concerts, the Saskatoon Arena would also cater to the cavalcade of professional wrestlers who'd travel throughout the western provinces via Calgary's Stampede Wrestling.  The owner, Stu Hart, was born and raised in Saskatoon, before joining the army and rushing off to World War II, when he returned home, he took up residence in Calgary, Alberta and founded the infamous wrestling company and it's many stars.

Before folding up and closing it's doors in 1984 after being sold to Vince McMahon of the (then) World Wrestling Federation (WWF), there were many big stars who cut their teeth in the infamous Stampede Wrestling.  The British Bulldogs, Davy Boy Smith and the Dynamite Kid, Bret Hart and Jim Neidhart, as well as a few appearances of Andre The Giant.

After nights of bashing the hell out of one another, a gaggle of wrestlers would clean up and mosey on down the street to the Baldwin Hotel and grab a bite to eat.  My aunt, Jacquie would often find herself working on many of the nights with this motley crew of performers would conglomerate for food, drink and wild conversations.

My aunt would marvel us kids with stories of chatting with, chumming around and sharing laughs with the wonderous personalities who'd grace her with their presence.  While I don't recall any of the stories in detail, I do remember Jacquie sharing her amazement with one wrestler in particular, who would nearly eat the restaurant out of every morsel of food they had in stock.  He was a colossus.  Hell!  He was dubbed the "Eighth Wonder of the World" for good reason.  Andre was a bona-fide giant and was billed as such.  Pictured here with Bruce Hart (L) and Dynamite Kid (R), Andre stood at a towering 7'4".  His hands, I'm told, were the size of catcher mitts.  When he shook my aunts hand, it disappeared well within his gentle grasp.

My aunt would pass away in the late eighties.  A brain aneurysm, which put her in a coma for a very long time before my grandpa made the difficult decision to remove her from life support, thus ending her suffering.  I remember him making that decision, speaking to the doctor over the phone in my very own living room.  The sorrow on my grandpas face on having to make that choice, but it had to be done.  My aunt suffered from migraine headaches for most of her life.  I do, as well, which always had me concerned for my own well being.  I don't suffer as frequently as I once did, having undergone an experimental treatment which had the headaches virtually disappear completely.  That is until I took that fateful tumble and completely destroyed my brain as it once was.  The migraines have returned, thankfully not as frequent as they were.

My aunt passed away quite young. Still in her thirties, if I recall correctly.   Andre the Giant would pass away young, too.  Only 46 years old when his heart finally gave out.

Gone are they, just as the old Baldwin is gone and the Saskatoon Arena.  Many of the aspects of the downtown area of the city is gone or reimagined.  There are towering business buildings where "The Barn", as it was affectionately referred to as, once stood.  Across the street from there, used to be a car dealership, if I remember correctly.  My dad bought a car from there, but now it's only an empty parking lot.  Where the parking lot is in the photo above, now stands the Scotia Center Movie Theater, formerly known as The Galaxy Theater.  I wanna say that "Folks", pictured in the lower right of this photo, still stands, but I think my memory is pulling tricks on me.  I can't remember. 

We, as a society, are so quick to destroy, rather than refurbish, replenish and reserve.  Built in 1937, I'm sure the arena couldn't be saved, just as the Baldwin Hotel couldn't be saved.  All that once was prestigious in the downtown district has now gone to ruins.  Plagued by the homeless and the downtrodden.  Seems like the city would rather throw money at new development rather than take care of it's lost citizens.

As a transit operator, I've been witnessing the city in a brand new way.  Like shining a black light on a hotel room, I'm discovering hidden truths about our fair city and it isn't looking good.  I've watched "The Walking Dead" since it's debut in 2010 and viewing the folks who line the streets in the downtown isn't too far from the atrocities seen on the television program.

So many memories, lost to the annuls of time.  Was it a better time, then? Were they truly golden years? Who can say for certain?  It was different.  More innocent.  Or maybe it was just me.  Viewing the world through rose coloured glasses.

Six Hundred and Sixty-Six

Last week, I was driving down the street when the radio DJ came on and began speaking about the Iron Maiden album, The Number of the Beast.  She praised the whole album, claiming that the songs were all placed perfectly in a manner that compliments them all.  Another disc jockey was present for the conversation and he sounded equally as enthused.  The day marked the fortieth anniversary of the album's release.  It also marked the debut of the band's new lead singer, Bruce Dickinson.  I was never a big fan of the band, not necessarily because of any disdain, I was just never exposed to it as a kid.  My heavy metal fandom went in another direction.  Although, I would eventually come to realize a connection to this album, within days of hearing this conversation on the radio.

The DJ's eventually played a track from the album, the titular track, Track #5, The Number of the Beast.  It was heavy, but not too heavy, and having never heard this song before, I was quite enamored with said track.  A couple of days later, I would find myself at one of the remaining music stores left on the planet, and I had picked up the CD of this Iron Maiden album.  My first Iron Maiden CD for my vast collection of CDs taking up space in my home.  I plunged the disc into the deck in my truck, which incidentally, is the only operating CD player I have left in my possession.

A huge smile filled my face of whiskers, the music filling the cabin of my vehicle and dancing around me.  It was invigorating.  Nothing comparable to The Quickening*, but enjoyable all the same.  Eventually, I would make it to Track #6, Run To The Hills.  I was overjoyed.  I'd not read any of the tracks on the back of the CD cover, so this song was a huge surprise and a welcome one at that.  I'd heard this song played on the radio for years.  I'd always turn up the volume and belt out the chorus in the best manner I could muster.  I had a connection to this song.

People often reminisce about where they were when they heard about this news or that event.  We can remember where we were when we learned that the World Trade Center was hit by a plane.  Or when the towers came crashing down.  I remember what I was doing when I learned that Andre The Giant has passed away, just as I can remember the first time I ever heard the song "Run To The Hills" by Iron Maiden.

I was just a small boy.  We, my dad, sister and I, were visiting my uncle Murray and his family in Yorkton, SK.  My cousin, Bob, had a new car, a Plymouth Turismo, a small two-door hatchback.  I remember it was night time and he was taking me for a short boot in this speedy little sport car.  He instructed me to listen to this song that depicted a history lesson that he'd learned in school.  The song was "Run To The Hills" by Iron Maiden.  He played it for me twice and the volume got louder each time and I loved it. 

Given all the pushback from media and religious groups, pertaining to this [then] recent album release, describing it's contents as evil and devil worship, it's hard to believe that there'd be a song that, in my opinion, is more of a protest song than anything harbouring evil intent.  According to Wikipedia, the song documents the colonization of the Americas.  The song tells the story from the perspective of a Cree Indian, followed by an American Cavalryman.  It describes the pain and misery of the Cree people.  Hardly a demonic song, although evil is present in the song, if you carefully dissect the lyrics, but on evil in the horrors that were inflicted on the Cree Nation.

As bad as the subject matter is, I do have to say that it's a kick-ass song.  One that puts me in a rockin' good mood when it airs on the radio and one that always transports me back in time, to that brisk winter's evening, racing through the streets of Yorkton, SK, with my cousin Bob.

(*The Quickening is a fictional concept related to the immortal characters of the Highlander franchise, first introduced in the 1986 film Highlander. Originally, the Quickening referred to the energy immortals are born with, which makes them invincible to death unless beheaded.)