Storymania - Rainy Day Kids by Jock Pichette

Rainy Day Kids
Jock Pichette

In the early fifties rainy day kids, always found a way to keep occupied, even when its raining, cats and dogs. Jocko, Tim, Moe, Andrew, Ross, Richard, and many others including John the perfume king, son of a junk shop owner, survived in a blue collar town, as kids on the go. Each day Jocko who had less supervision than most of his friends would saunter down to the Lachine Canal where many merchant ships, brought Coal, wood, steel, sugar, and flour to many plants within a bustling industrial town, called Pointe St.Charles. All along this viaduct, lock's, and bridges helped not only the ships reach their destinations, but also trains cross the canal. As kid's we looked at these ships as if they were monsters, huge buckets of bolts, the length of a football field and every now and then as the ship passed in front of their tinny little eye's the ship's cook would give a wave, but if we were nasty, a flush would certainly inhibit our daily swim. This Canal dates back to 1700 and was an essential waterway for Canadian commerce until it was made obsolete by the St.Lawrence Seaway in 1959. Fun came about when the Rainy Day Kids decided to swim across the canal as ships were just about to pass. The slower swimmers would dive in first, while the more experienced and confident swimmers would plunge timing their crossing to a tee. It was an easy task to swim across in time, after all, the boat slowed down for the bridge crossing. The Lachine canal was approximately twenty six feet deep, and once a year the authorities would drain the canal, and as kids we would actually walk the base and find all sorts of metal, which we sold of course, and it was not unusual to find a car or two ditched into the Canal, and one year while throwing stones into the emptied canal, we found a dead body laying face up in the mud, near Black's Bridge located over the Wellington tunnel. Black's Bridge was a train bridge, and as kid's we would never wait until it was completely closed, so we sort of jump onto it, and begin walking towards Griffintown. Unfortunately for a young Girl, she tried to jump, failed and dropped between the concrete wall, and the bridge losing her life, if only she waited that extra minute - The Rainy Day Kids, avoided that Bridge for months.

Like the Lachine Canal brought merchant ships to our banks each day, the Railways brought convoys of boxcars daily not only to the CN Sheds along Wellington Street, but in many cases would shunt along the industrial companies sidings either to unload raw material or pick finished products.

The Grain boxcars with it's special opening on the floor would drop tons of grain in bins between the tracks. The Rainy Day Kids would lift the plywood planks, and trap a white mouse, tie a string around it's neck and walk down Bridge Street for a laugh. If the Rainy Day Kids needed worms, the perfect spot Tim found was along a ramp, next to the Stockyard, where trucks would go up a ramp, and dump into boxcars, the day's manure. Excess manure would fall between the ramp and boxcar, creating on the ground a perfect farm for major size worms.

One incident which bothered Jocko for many years took place along the Railway sheds on Wellington Street, it was early Saturday morning, when he heard the clippity-clop hoofs of a horse coming towards his ears along the cobblestones road, a private road belonging to CN Rail. From his window, Jocko saw the horse being whipped by the young driver, who had a wagon full of groceries being delivered to neighbours, and owned by the Rothstein store on Centre Street. The young driver misjudged a parked truck along the shed when the right side of the wagon caught the back end of a truck body, sending the young boy for a loop onto the cobblestones, jarring the wagon lose from the horse, scattering grocery items all over the place, smashing beer bottles on the cobblestone. The horse turned back towards the young boy laying on the cobblestone, and drove his front legs into his chest, killing the young boy instantly. The local priest was brought to the scene for the boys last rights, and with the sign of the cross, the boy was then taken away by the coroners car. They later found the horse, near the stockyards, and shot the horse dead.

Although dangerous, hopping a train was not uncommon for the rainy day kids but there were good uses for boxcars. A great example was May 24th, Victoria Day, the Queens Birthday if you wish. It was time to create organized bombfires, and in order to achieve the biggest and best, you planned weeks in advance by stockpiling all sorts of flammable products, such as paper, wood, chesterfield, cardboard boxes, you name it we had it. We would store these item in sheds, mostly Moe's shed on Bridge Street until the big evening. On the eve of May 24th, we would raid the boxcars sitting on the tracks, open the break boxes, and take out the oil rags, sometime as much as five buckets. May 24th, was exciting for Jocko, Tim, Moe, John, Ross, Richard, because on this night we would be part of the bigger boy's who controlled the show. We would meet at Hector's corner store, sit around the steps, enjoy a pepsi as we planned our evening activities. We would bring together an organized procedure of which product is piled first to the last item of lighting the giant bombfire. Timing was of the essence, after all, we were famous for creating the biggest and the best. We had a huge field just across from Carney's park along St.Columban Street. The tenant's along the street were all looking out their windows, worried to a certain degree, after all they are about two hundred feet from the Bombfire site. On that day, and especially from four o'clock on, the police cars, fire inspectors were roaming the area, trying to find the stockpile of paper and wood. Even if they found some of our furniture they were always decent with us, and left enough flammables for us to enjoy an evening around the bombfire. At about eight thirty, when the bright of day is starting to leave us, a steady flow of teams spread out towards sheds, and yards, emptying the contents, and waiting for an ok from both corners of the street. Once we hear the whistle - ladies and Gentlemen, what is about to transpire is a sight for sore eyes, and most exciting for not only the residents of the area, but also for the throngs of visitors who each year sauntered towards

the area. Like organized ants, from every laneway, nook, and cranny the populace of St.Columban Street witness a parade of young boys hustling towards the open patch of green grass and dirt, some with the first layer of paper, cardboard boxes, others with oil rags, followed by wood, and on most victoria day's a sofa or two with the senior men putting a match, and running off back to Hector's corner store. From start to finish, approximately three minutes, the bombfire reaches heights of safety.

On every occasion, a fire inspector visited the bombfire, and there has been occasions when things got out of hand, but never did the gang cause any damage to property. As a matter of fact, the accumulation of paper, and wood helped the community clean itself of debris.

It did not end with only one Bombfire, Jocko and his gang always accumulated a ton of flammable products, and then the big hit, the railway cars. Later during the evening at about ten o'clock, trains coming from the grain elevators, stopped at Bridge Street, but we already had jumped the boxcar with open doors. So when we reached St.Columban Street, we threw from the boxcars all the brown paper, and planks of wood. One year Jocko got the scare of his life, when he pulled some paper from the inside corner of the boxcar, and before he could throw the paper out, he was grabbed by a hobo, upset that Jocko took his blanket. Screaming for help, Kenny Hughes jumped into the car, and told the hobo to relax, were just looking for paper and wood. The scene from Black's Bridge to St.Columban Street, illustrated a fair amount of paper and wood, strewn all along the tracks, we had removed enough firepower to create our last bombfire of the evening. Organization was the name of the game, work as a team, collect, and build like a steady stream, and put a match to the paper, all within minutes, producing flames of yellow's, red, umber, you name the colour we delivered it, a beautiful bombfiree.

The Rainy Day kids, most favourite place was the Stockyard, owned and operated by Canada Packers, located at the Corner of Bridge at Mill Street. Of course the stockyard was out of bounds for Jocko and his gang of ruffians, but what do you do when it Rains. On the East side, was the slaughter house, and we got in through the broken windows, which we did not break and our only worry was the security people, and although we heard them at times, not once did we get caught, if they did see our gang, they would shout a polite get lost noise, and we would scoot along. On this particular evening, John the perfume kid, and Jocko arrived early and managed to find a spot on the second floor, and waited for the gang to show up. Just minutes earlier John and Jock passed through the same chute a cow would pass going to the slaughter house, single file. They heard a bit of clamour, and ducked aside, thinking it was the police, but it actual fact it was the gang moving towards the slaughter house, instantly Jocko and John thought, let's scare the gang, but wait until they are all lined up, as soon as the last of the gang moved into the chute, Jocko, and John screamed out, police, don't move its the police.

They turned and some fell into the cow dodo climbing over each other, messing up their clothes big time. Jocko and John did not dare laugh, they waited a few minutes until all the boy's were gone, and only then began their trek back to the corner store. When Jocko and John did arrive at the corner, in unison, they all said, where were you guy's?, John said we had to help my Dad, what in hell happen to you guy's?, you smell like cow shit, we got chased out of the stockyard and fell over each other in that chute. Sorry about that.

The Rainy Day Kids, also penetrated the west side of the Stockyard, and it was within these confines that many of us, learned how to milk a cow, as a matter of fact we used the milk cow area to initiate new friends into our gang. We did that by making sure a new boy would sit on the top plank of the corral, and unexpectedly, the milker would fire a shot of milk towards the boy, who fell backwards wondering what happen. The Lambs corrals were just incredible places, we rode them with our feet touching the floor, or if we wanted a ride without touching the floor, we would open another corral, and push other lambs into the same corral making it possible to sit on a carpet of white fur.

Our most dangerous adventure came about, when a friend named Jackie wanted to ride the bulls, unfortunately the corrals are not huge, so that if you are on a bull, the worse case scenario is that the bull will take you a few feet and back. We decided on this night to expand the corrals into bigger units, by opening the gates, and giving the bull freedom to run a bit, not good! Jackie was the only one with the guts to ride the bulls, and managed to capture one, everything went well, until the bull decided to buck Jackie, not only off the bull, but over the corral, and down through an opening in the second floor, down to the first floor, we heard the thump, and we heard Jackie yelling, I think I broke my leg.

We managed to reach Jackie, and sure enough he could not walk. Jocko and his gang are now in deep dodo. Jackie leg's seems to be broken, he smells terrible, were ten minutes away from his house on Farm Street, its raining out, and his mother will kill us if she gets her hands on us. Andrew and John were the taller boys, so we decided they would carry Jackie while we give Jackie encouragements that everything will be ok, wait and see. As we approached Jackie's home just off St.Agnes Lane, the whole gang by now soaken wet, had an odor of forgiveness, boy did we smell, we sat Jackie down on his step, Richard fingered the doorbell, and we all ran away towards St.Agness Lane for cover, leaving poor Jackie to explain his predicament. The Next time we saw our brave Angel, Jackie, he had a cast on his foot. Never again did we fool around with the expansions of corals.