CAR TRIP TO CALGARY
The earliest travel experience that I remember was in 1930, when my grandparents took me to Calgary to start school. The only thing I remember about the trip was going down into the Badlands in the Red Deer River valley around Drumheller. At that time the highway was not paved and wound around the hills.
It was certainly a new experience for me to see something different from the relatively flat prairie land around Byemoor.
CAR TRIP TO TURNER VALLEY
Later that fall my grandparents took me on a trip to see the gas well flares in Turner Valley. From our farm, which would be almost 200 miles away, we could see a red glow in the sky from these fires. The fires were burning off excess natural gas produced from the oil wells. It was certainly a different sight seeing them up close.
On the way back we were involved in some sort of accident with a taxi in Calgary. This was the only time that I remember seeing my grandfather lose his cool. He was criticizing taxis in general, and this one in particular, for the poor quality of the drivers. We went to the police station in Calgary and I can remember the policeman checking the alignment of the headlights on the car. I don’t know what he concluded or what the final outcome of the accident was
CHRISTMAS TRIPS
During the 1930s and 1940s, we customarily went to visit our uncle, who lived about 6 miles away from our farm, at Christmas and New Year’s. We alternated going to their place and them coming to ours. These trips were usually made by horse drawn sleigh. We would take several blankets and sometimes hot rocks to ward off the cold.
On one occasion, we went by car. On the way home in the evening, we were 4 miles from home when, for some reason, the car stopped working. I was sent home, on foot, to get a team of horses to pull the car home. This required more than three hours to accomplish. The family waiting in the car was getting quite cold by the time we arrived home.
We were only a half mile from a neighbor’s farm and it would have been reasonable, I think, to have gone there. Probably the reason for the decision to pull the car home that night was because Dad was the type of person who liked to “plow his own furrow” and not rely on others.
On another occasion, my brother and I took the truck the night before and shoveled out the snow drifts on the road so that we would be able to drive to our uncle’s place on Christmas day. However, the weather was against us and overnight the wind blew the snow and filled the trail we had shoveled out the night before. Consequently, we made that trip by horsepower.
ANOTHER TRIP HOME FROM SCHOOL
During one of the years that I was in school in Big Valley, Easter came early and spring was late. This meant that the roads were still snowbound and it was impractical for us to go home for the Easter break. When a farmer from the Byemoor area came to Big Valley, Bill and I decided to catch a ride home with him. He actually lived closer to the next town than to Byemoor, so that I would have to catch the train at this village, named Leo, and ride the seven miles to Byemoor.
We set out from Big Valley early in the morning and started for his home. Whenever we came to a spot in the road that was drifted with snow he made us walk ahead of the horses to break trail for them. This meant that we walked a good portion of the 25 miles to his farm.
I had decided to use the trip to take a couple of extra quilts, which I was not using, home. This turned out to be a bad decision. When we got as close to Bill’s home as we were going to get, he left us. The farmer and I continued on to his farm, which was 2 miles from the railway station. Considering all the trail breaking we had done for the horses I thought that it would be reasonable for him to take me to the station. But, No!. As we got to his gate he said, “You’re on your own now”. So I continued walking towards the station, carrying the bundle of bedding. I could see that the train bound for Byemoor was approaching and seemed likely to arrive at the Leo station before I did. Fortunately, the conductor saw me walking across the field towards the station and held the train until I could get there
When we arrived at Byemoor, luck was with me again. My brother was in town and I was able to complete the journey in comfort, compared to the preceding parts of the trip.
RAILWAY TRIPS
When I was going to school in Big Valley, I occasionally wanted to go home by train. The problem was that the trains ran in alternate directions on alternate days. The train from Big Valley to the junction with the train to Byemoor ran north on the same day that the Byemoor train also ran north. The solution to this problem was to ride from Big Valley to the junction on a freight train and then catch the southbound train to Byemoor. Since the train to Byemoor was basically a freight train with one passenger coach on the end, I would frequently continue to ride the freight to Byemoor.
In 1943, my first year in the Air Force, I was stationed at Rivers, Manitoba. We were given leave over Christmas and New Years, so I decided to go home. The CN train was scheduled to arrive in Edmonton at 8.00 AM and the CP train to Lacombe departed at 10.00 AM. This should have provided ample time to get from one station to the other
Unfortunately, the CN train was three hours late arriving in Edmonton. The only possible solution to the problem was to try to hitchhike to Lacombe in order to catch the train to Stettler. Accordingly, I took the streetcar as far as possible on the road to Lacombe and started from there. Hitchhiking was slow that day and by the time I reached Lacombe, the train to Stettler had gone.
It was getting dark, so the possibility of a ride to Stettler was unlikely. I thought that the railway station would be good place to get warm and decide what to do next. When the agent saw me, he said, “There was a woman phoning from Stettler to ask if I had seen an airman. I will call Stettler and see if she is still there. My mother was still at the station in Stettler, so they were able to come to Lacombe to pick me up.
During my time in the R.C.A.F. I made six relatively routine train trips , from Alberta to Eastern and Atlantic Canada, and the reverse. It was normally a four day trip that became quite boring.
After leaving the R.C.A.F., I travelled on the train going to university in Edmonton and Saskatoon and going to work in the Peace River country. By this time the branch line railways were being shut down, consequently rail transportation became a rarity except on the main lines.
THE LAST TRIP TO STETTLER
In 1946, while I was attending the University of Alberta, I decided to go home for the Thanksgiving long weekend. I took the train to Lacombe and then transferred to the train to Stettler.
Since it was Saturday, I expected that there would be someone from the Byemoor area in Stettler and that I would be able to get a ride with them. When I arrived in Stettler, this plan fell apart. It had been raining all day and the roads were in very poor driving condition, consequently there wasn’t anyone from Byemoor in Stettler.
The only alternative was to walk. So I set out. By the time I had reached Hackett, 15 miles away, it was late in the evening and I was tired. The elevator agent in Hackett had been in Byemoor previously and I had known him there. I went to his house and asked if I could sleep in the elevator overnight. He said, “You’re one of the Knowles’ from Byemoor. You can’t spend the night in the elevator. Come on in. Have you had any supper?”
The next morning I walked to my uncle’s farm, about 15 miles away, on the road home. He gave me a ride the rest of the way.
THE AMERICAN ADVENTURE
Early in 1951, when I was working in Moose Jaw, a classmate from the University of Saskatchewan suggested a motor trip to Los Angeles. This seemed like a good way to get a reprieve from the Saskatchewan winter, so Norm, his brother Glenn, another friend Pete and I set out in Norm’s car.
We went more or less straight south to Arkansas without any particular incidents that I remember. We turned west on Route 66, which at the time was a famous highway in American culture and song. One of the things we noticed was a small roadside sign of a rabbit every so often along the road. We couldn’t understand the significance of these signs until we got to New Mexico, when they became bigger and more frequent. Finally the mystery was solved; we came to the Jackrabbit Tourist Shop. They didn’t have anything we were interested in, so we didn’t stay long.
Arriving in Los Angeles was a big change from Moose Jaw and Regina. We managed to find our way around and take in the sights. One evening we found ourselves in South Los Angeles in a neighborhood that we quickly decided was not the place for tourists. The residents were all colored and didn’t appear at all friendly. We quickly found our way out and stayed away.
We visited all the standard tourist attractions, such as Hollywood. One day we took a return flight to San Diego. I had convinced the others that it would be a four engine airplane, something of a novelty in those days. However, it turned out to have only two engines. So much for my knowledge of airplanes.
On the return, we went further north and crossed the mountains in Utah and Wyoming. As we were nearing the Black Hills, in South Dakota, we encountered a severe blizzard. We managed to find a place to stay for a couple of days, to wait out the storm and the clearing of the snow from the roads. From there the return to Regina was uneventful, except for a minor incident in Weyburn. Somehow several overripe avocados from southern California found their way into the bed in the hotel where Glenn and Pete were staying before heading home. They reported that the hotel staff were not favorably impressed.
TO YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK
In 1951, my sister Betty, her friend Grace, and I drove to Yellowstone Park in Wyoming. It was the first trip to the U.S.A. for Betty and Grace.
It was the first time that any of us had seen buffalos. I wanted to get a picture so I stopped the car and tried to get a picture of a big buffalo busily eating grass about 100 meters away. Although it was a bit too far to get a good picture I took a couple of shots and started to walk back to the car. I became vaguely aware of a flurry of excitement in the other tourists. When I reached the car I turned around and was surprised to see the buffalo about ten meters away still eating grass. Apparently his decision to move was related to the grass, not to attacking me
“Old Faithful”, the geyser, was performing as expected, spewing steam and hot water into the air on schedule. I was interested in the information about geysers that was provided on the sign boards. I had never realized exactly the causes of geysers and how they function. The water that soaks into the ground is heated when it comes in contact with the hit rock in the earth’s crust and is forced back to the surface by the underground pressure.
We left the park both entertained and more knowledgeable.
TO THE DOMINICAN REPUBLIC
Later in 1951, I went to Vancouver for an interview regarding possible employment on a sugar plantation in the Dominican Republic. The plantation was owned by The B.C. Sugar Company. After the interview at their headquarters in Vancouver, I accepted their offer of employment.
Until this time the only idea that I had of the Dominican Republic was the vague notion that it was located somewhere in Central America. The discovery that the country is located on an island in the Eastern Caribbean increased my knowledge of geography.
The operation was known as The Ozama Sugar Company, primarily, I suppose, because the plant was located close to the Ozama River, about twenty kilometers from the capital city.
The capital city was known as Cuidad Trujillo (Trujillo City) because the autocrat at the time was Generalissimo Trujillo. The locale of the future metropolis had been named Santo Domingo by Christopher Columbus, on one his voyages, and after the assassination of Trujillo in the late 1950’s, the original designation came into use again.
I stopped over for a day in Miami on the way to the Dominican Republic. As I was wandering around the city I became aware that many of the theater announcements were in some foreign language, which I assumed was Spanish. In particular I noticed that the cinemas had signs saying “NOW PLAYING” and also “HOY”. I assumed that HOY must mean NOW PLAYING and felt that I was well on my way to learning Spanish.
At the plantation (Ozama) I began to hear the word OY. Initially I didn’t make the connection that this was the pronunciation of HOY. Once this was apparent, it was obvious that HOY, in the context that I was hearing it, didn’t mean NOW PLAYING. I soon learned that HOY means TODAY.
Spanish is one of the easier languages to learn. Generally the pronunciation is phonetic, the spelling is consistent, and words tend to have only one meaning.
THE NEIGHBORLY VISIT
During the 1952 rainy season, when the factory was not operating, Ian, the General Manager, suggested a trip to Porto au Prince in Haiti. I eagerly accepted the idea and he, two other gringos , and I obtained the numerous permits required by the Dominican and Haitian authorities.
The trip to the Haitian border was some 200 kilometers and the road was not all that good, so it took a few hours. When we arrived at the border, we were held up while they inspected our papers and tried to decide if we were suitable entrants. The most memorable thing for me was the soldier who was playing with his rifle, which I assumed was loaded, and also a stray dog. He was pretending to shoot the dog and I tried to keep away from the line of fire.
Eventually, we were admitted to Haiti and proceeded on a very poorly constructed road that led to Port au Prince. It was nearly evening by the time we arrived, so we found a hotel, had supper and called it a day. The next morning we drove around the city and could hardly believe the poverty level that was apparent. Compared to this, the Dominican Republic was prosperous.
Somehow we met two missionary doctors, who were serving in the area. They eagerly accepted our invitation to join us for supper. I think that their stipend did not include much for food. They were able to give us a good deal of information about the situation in Haiti that we wouldn’t have found out by ourselves.
The next morning we made the return journey and were generally glad that we didn’t live in Haiti. At that time the population was about three million people. By the time of the recent earth quake, it had grown to eight million, who were sharing approximately the same resources as the smaller number when we were there.
THERE IS ALWAYS A STEEPER HILL
After I became more familiar with the country, and met some of the other unmarried Canadians working there for the Bank of Nova Scotia, we would travel around the island using the company car, when it wasn’t needed to take the children to school. On one occasion, four of us were traveling along the north side of the island. We decided to cross over the relatively small mountains in order to get back to the capital city sooner. I asked a man at a service station if the road was suitable for our vehicle. The man said, “There is only one bad hill”.
Accordingly, we set out on the southbound road. The road was certainly not up to a high standard. However, after we had gone over two or three steep hills and across some small brooks I felt that we had probably passed the worst of the road. Then we came to the steep hill, that we had been warned about, and the car did not have enough power to climb the hill. Just then a group of six or eight Dominican youths, in a festive mood, came along. My initial concern was that they might decide to push the car off the road so they could watch it roll down the cliff. One of the fellows in our group was a smoker and he passed out cigarettes to the Dominicans. This may have been the introduction needed, in any event, they helped us push the car up the hill. There were no more problem hills after that. It was certainly a relief to get back on a more traveled road and to accept that trying to travel off the beaten path was not a good idea.
THE POLICE AT WORK
Another hazard when driving was the local police force. One of the laws that they attempted to enforce was “When you come to an intersection – Sound the horn- If there is a policeman there –Don’t sound the horn – “.
One day, driving on the highway, I came to an intersection and saw a motorcycle cop behind a sign. To sound the horn or not sound it? I decided not to. He came out from behind the sign and stopped me. “Why didn’t you sound your horn?” I replied, “I saw you at the intersection and considered that it would be illegal to use the horn.” His response, “I was there, but I wasn’t directing traffic, therefore you should have used the horn.” The result was a traffic violation ticket.
When I mentioned this to the Field Superintendent, he said, “My secretary is some sort of local official in the ruling party. I’ll get him to go to court for you.” I gave the secretary $25.00 and sat back to await developments. The next morning he advised me, “I was able to get you off with a $5.00 fine and $5.00 costs. My taxi fare was $10.00 and my lunch was $4.75.” He didn’t produce the 25 centavos in change. I knew that the group taxi fare was $0.35 per person each way and that a lunch at the most expensive hotel in the city cost $5.00. I had a feeling that I was being taken for a sucker, but there wasn’t much I could do.
THE OTHER TRAFFIC VIOLATION
Another unusual law prohibited driving in the city with the head lights on. Since there was only one small streetlight on each block, it was almost impossible to see without the headlights, especially since the black pedestrians, who shared the streets with the vehicles because there no sidewalks, often wore black clothing. One night I was driving along a street in the city when a policeman stopped me and began to ask me about the lights. I pretended that I could not understand Spanish and responded to his questions in English, but he persisted and finally asked to see my driver’s license. I automatically reached for my pocket and the policeman said, “So you do understand Spanish”.
After he looked at the license, he said, “You’ve been here for two years. It is time you learned the language”. So he wrote out a ticket and I proceeded on my way. The ticket indicated that I should appear at the local District Court at 10 AM in about two weeks.
Since this was during the rainy season when the factory was shut down, I wasn’t too busy at work, so I decided to go to court myself. On the designated day I went to the specified location a bit early. There was no one there so I sat around and waited. An hour or so later a man, who was the clerk of the court, showed up. Sometime later the judge arrived and the court session started.
Most of the cases dealt with disputes about trespassing and claimed thefts of chickens. After some time, I approached the clerk and told him that since I had been there for several hours I would appreciate having my case heard. He agreed to advance my hearing.
When the judge read out the charge, the violation was “Only one headlight in operation”. The judge asked me what my explanation of this situation was and I told him, “Your Honor, you can be driving along and a headlight will burn out without the driver being aware of it”. He agreed that this might be possible and assessed the standard fine of $5.00 and $5.00 costs.
I felt that this was not unreasonable and cheerfully paid the $10, then went to have a late lunch, which I bought for myself, not someone else. My better understanding of the legal system also augmented the financial saving. My belief that one should not attempt to avoid personal responsibility through delegation was also reinforced.
HOME TO ALBERTA FOR VACATION
In 1953, I became eligible for two months vacation. I planned a fairly extensive tour through the United States on my way home to Alberta.
My first stop was in Columbus, Indiana, where I visited the Cummins engine factory. The Dominican army had a fleet of over 300 trucks powered with Cummins diesel engines. When I mentioned to the receptionist that I came from the Dominican Republic, she advised the export vice president and he, aware of this large number of engines, assumed that I had something to do with them. He rushed down to meet me and was disappointed when I explained that we had only four locomotives with Cummins engines.
He arranged for a tour of the factory and offered me the opportunity to spend a week on the road with one of their service men. This would have been a very interesting experience, but I did not feel that I could spare the time because I wanted to be home for my mother’s birthday.
I next went to Peoria, Illinois, to visit the Caterpillar factory. I spent two very interesting days there, with one of their junior engineers explaining the various operations. I then proceeded on to Alberta and arrived in time for the birthday.
When it was time for me to return, I took the bus to Great Falls, Montana. At that time, a Canadian entering the United States from any other country than Canada required a visa. Consequently, I had a multiple entry visa. The immigration officer apparently had never before seen such a document.
I explained to him that I intended to fly from Great Falls to Detroit, where I would leave the United States, on my way to Montréal. There I was to spend a week at the Stelco welding rod factory. Then I was to go to New York, where I was to take another welding training session, for a week, before flying to Puerto Rico. At this point I would again be leaving the United States. All of this seemed to be too much for him to comprehend. He kept the bus waiting for over half an hour while he interrogated me on this fairly complicated itinerary. Finally he agreed to let me go and I proceeded to Montréal as planned.
At the Stelco plant in Montréal, one of their engineers was assigned to give me instruction in welding. He soon decided that I knew more about the practical aspects of welding than he did and suggested that we spend the time at his summer cottage in the Laurentians. I’m not sure why this was his first visit to the cottage that year because it was late in August. When we arrived at the cottage we found that the roof had been caved in by the snow. We then spent the next few days trying to salvage as much as possible of the cottage.
The stay in New York was very pleasant. The training course covered the use of special welding rods with which I had no previous experience. I knew two young women, who had been to Ozama visiting their uncle. I had some enjoyable evenings with them attending various functions.
The trip from New York back to the Dominican Republic, via Puerto Rico, was uneventful.
CARIBBEAN ISLANDS AND VENEZUELA
In 1954, I was eligible for two weeks vacation. I planned a trip to some of the Caribbean Islands and then on to Venezuela.
When leaving the Dominican Republic it was necessary to have a permit to leave the country (Permiso de Salida) and an additional permit (Permiso de Reentrada) to reenter the country. This reentry permit had to be validated by a Dominican Consulate outside of the Republic.
My first stop was in Barbados, where I visited some friends who had been working at Osama, and had since returned home to Barbados. I then went on to Trinidad, where I planned to spend three or four days before continuing on to Caracas, Venezuela.
When I went to the Dominican Consulate in Trinidad to have the reentry permit validated, the Consul advised me that he would have to get permission from the State Department in Ciudad Trujillo. I had never encountered this requirement before, but I couldn’t convince him that it was unnecessary. When I went back to the Consulate three days later he claimed that he had had no response to his request. I could not leave Trinidad before getting the required validation because I didn’t know anything about the situation in Caracas.
I went back to see him every two or three days for the next 10 days. When it was apparent that he was going to be unable, or unwilling, to carry out his duty, I contacted the office in Ozama and explained the situation. They had the company lawyer go to the State Department to see what the problem was. The explanation that he was given was, “When we got this request we knew that it was unnecessary, so we didn’t bother answering”. After the lawyer’s visit, they sent instructions to the Consul in Trinidad advising him to validate the permit.
The stamp which was applied to the permit cost $10, and the Consul normally charged an additional $10 for his services. This Consul charged me $20 for his services, presumably either because of my numerous visits or because of his greed.
I then continued on to Venezuela where the airport for Caracas was located on the coast and the city was some 30 kilometers inland. The road to the city from the airport had a military post every 3 kilometers, with armed soldiers standing guard. I found this somewhat surprising.
We arrived in Caracas in the midst of the afternoon traffic jam. After considerable time spent sitting in an immobilized taxi, the driver suggested that it might be faster for me to walk. I took his advice and walked to the hotel where I had made a reservation.
After a short rest, I went out for supper. When I returned I was surprised to find that the hotel was filled with women. I paid no attention to this situation and went to my room.
The next day, when I went to visit my friend, who worked in the bank in Caracas, he asked where I was staying. When I told him the name of the hotel, he commented, “Is that hotel what I’ve heard that it is?” I could only agree that his information was probably correct and suggest that if his mother came to visit that he should not put her in that hotel.
My return trip to Ciudad Trujillo was uneventful and I arrived back at work two weeks late. Fortunately, because of the problems beyond my control this was not considered to be serious.
BACK TO ALBERTA
I had advised the management at Ozama that I would be resigning after my vacation in 1955.
I decided to take the bus from Miami to Detroit. This was my first experience with the Jim Crow regulation on public buses. The back half of the bus was designated for “colored” passengers and the front half for others. There were only a few people in the front half of the bus so some of those standing in the back sat down in the “whites only” section of the bus. The driver refused to move until they had gone back to standing in the rear of the bus.
The young woman who later got on the bus, and sat next to me, was a very talkative type. She insisted on it giving me the details of her three marriages and divorces. The only way to diplomatically get out of the situation was to get off the bus. Accordingly, I left the bus earlier than I had intended and spent the night in a city on the route.
My seat companion, the next day, was young man who delivered cars from the factory in Detroit to dealers in other locations. He had, as baggage, the equipment necessary to tow one car behind another. Some of his stories of the problems he encountered were interesting.
I had previously made arrangements to pick up a new car at the factory in Oakville, Ontario. While I was there, I took a tour of the Ford factory. When I went to buy insurance for the car a problem arose. I had no address in Ontario. Eventually, we got around this problem by buying the insurance from a company with an agent in Byemoor who could be named as the insurance seller.
The drive back to Alberta was relatively uneventful and the new car worked satisfactorily. To avoid the long drive through the relatively uninhabited part of Ontario, north of the Great Lakes, I went through the United States.