My Trip to Montreal via Detroit - April, 1941

My boat from Victoria, B.C. docked in Seattle, Washington,  at 9:15 p.m. I took a taxi to the Great Northern Station and boarded a train for Chicago that left at 10:15 p.m. 

It was a most interesting trip and as I recall I sat up all the way, talking with five American National Guardsmen who were going home on leave, and two American sailors off the battleship Maryland who had been honourably discharged after four years service.  Of course at this time my new American friends  were all blissfully unaware [as I was] that by December 7th the United States would be at war after the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbour, and no doubt all of them would be recalled to service.

  But for now it was a time of jokes and laughter with chaps about my own age.  They were of course very interested in the fact that I was going to England to join the R.A.F.  One of the sailors had a portable radio, a novelty at that time and while the train sped us through the night across the United States, we listened to some of the many radio shows popular at the time.  The Jack Benny show in particular was one of my favourites.  

There was a German refugee on the train. 

I can't recall now, but he was most likely Jewish and had got out of Germany earlier when he had the opportunity.  He had lots of tales to tell us.

On the Monday morning I arrived in Chicago, said goodbye to my friends and changed trains for Detroit.    As  arranged, when I got to Detroit I was met at the station by my cousin Ernest [he worked for the Chrysler Corporation], who took me  to mom's sister Edie, and her husband, my Uncle Otto.  Aunt Edie wanted to see me before I went overseas, and she also wanted me to meet her brother, my Uncle Bert, as he had a bad experience during World War 1.  Mom had told me something about it, but Aunt Edie said Bert wanted to speak to me personally.  

I was with them just a few days, not even a week, I think, and during that time Ernest and his girl friend Peggy took me out to a fancy movie house in Detroit, the Michigan Theatre.  I recall that Ernest drove the car right up to the front of the theatre under a covered entrance and a young lad in a fancy theatrical uniform with lots of gold braid and trimmings, hurried to the car, took the keys from Ernest, gave him a ticket and parked the car.  We then went in to see the show.  For the life of me I cannot remember what we saw. I know there was also a stage show with the Harry James orchestra. 

When we came out Ernest's car was paged and brought to the entrance.  Ernest gave the lad a tip and we drove home.  I had never experienced anything like that before, and especially in the "40's" 

The following day my Uncle Bert took me to the Meadowbrook Golf and country club that he managed. We had a steak lunch  and then we had a chat.  He asked me why I wanted to pay my way to England to join the Royal Air Force.  We had a long talk about patriotism.   I tried to convince him that at that stage of my life what I was doing had nothing to do with patriotism.  I just wanted to learn to fly, and it seemed like a great opportunity to get free flying lessons, now that Britain so desperately wanted young men for aircrew.  He tried very hard to dissuade me from joining up by telling me his personal story of World War 1, The Great War.  It goes as follows:

When Uncle Bert was in the army in World War 1, his regiment had taken so many German prisoners they were outnumbered by them. Also they did not have enough food to feed themselves and the prisoners.   They dared not release their prisoners as they would reveal all they knew and the position of Uncle Bert's regiment.  His regiment could not advance because of this and they were at a standstill. They had to dispose of the prisoners.  They could not shoot them as they did not wish to waste ammunition.  The solution arrived at was that each man had to bayonet six prisoners.  Uncle Bert could not do this and so at an opportune moment he deserted. 

In my younger years I had heard some of this story from my mom, but didn't think to ask her more questions about it, such as:  How did he desert?  How did he get out of Europe and to the United States?  At this time in my life I was so convinced, enthralled, excited etc., with what I wanted to do, that foolishly I did not ask my Uncle Bert those same questions when I had the opportunity to do so.  The lesson here kids is always ask your elders for more details and record them in a diary or journal.  One day you will be so glad that you did.

After only a few days in Detroit I received word through Capt. Biggs that it was time for me to move on.   On Friday, April 25th Aunt Edie and family took me to the train station to catch the 4:55 p.m. train for Montreal, where I arrived at 6:55 a.m. on Saturday.

On arrival in Montreal per instructions from Capt. Biggs, I went directly to see Mr. Rowley my contact in the CPR office in Windsor Station.  I was advised my ship would sail on the following Monday.   He arranged a room for me in the Patricia Apts., which were very close by, and told me to await instructions.  

As I recall my rooming house was kitty-corner from Windsor Station, separated by a lovely little park. There was still lots of day left, so I walked to the top of Mt. Royal to enjoy the view.  It was worth the exercise.  I also visited the Notre Dame Cathedral.

On the Monday I received another message from Mr. Rowley that there was a delay. He would be in touch.  Damn!

So, one evening I decided to live it up.  I had not really experienced, so to speak, much of life.    I walked out on to the street and stopped a cab.  I asked the driver where I could find some excitement, something interesting.  I wasn't quite sure what I wanted. [who knows, maybe I was seeking a brothel or something].  He took me to a place I will never forget, and for a very obvious reason.  Today I couldn't tell you in what part of Montreal it was located, but the name I still remember.  It was called THE HAPPY HOUR.   Looking back I think it was just a bar where men and ladies went, single or otherwise to pick up other ladies or men.  It was mostly little tables with four to six chairs at each, much like a beer parlour.  Once sat down one was [almost immediately] confronted by a waitress who was all set to sell you drinks.  I think I had a beer but I am not sure.  There was a small stage and on the stage there was a pianist banging out  songs one after the other, that were popular at that time.  I guess in some ways I was fortunate in that I had arrived there later in the evening, when things started to liven up.

The pianist left with a splattering of applause and then there was a lull of a few minutes and an MC came out and after lots of introduction and build up introduced another pianist, a young coloured lady of ample proportions.  She started off quite ordinarily playing the piano very professionally, gradually leading into faster-paced music.   Her gyrations on the piano stool, spinning around away from the keyboard and then back to it again, in time to the music, were astounding.  She grew into a frenzy and then finally at one point after building to a climax, ran her fingers over the keyboard from one end to the other a couple of times and then quickly reached up and with a flourish removed her already scanty top.   Now she was bare-breasted and playing and moving in such a way that all she had to display danced [should I say bounced], with the music. I can tell you it was quite an eye-popper for me.  Today, when I think back on that scene occurring in 1941, it seemed so far ahead of its time that it is hard to believe.  Although I suppose in those days Montreal was Canada's little bit of Gay Paree.  Ah, you are wondering about the rest of my evening.  Well I can honestly tell you that I have absolutely no recollection.  I don't think I stayed longer than maybe another drink, but I am not sure.  I know that I was concerned about missing a call from Mr. Rowley and word of my ship, and believe it or not that was uppermost in my mind at that time. [Oh ya? you say].

On Friday morning May 2nd. I received a call to come to Mr. Rowley's office.  He closed the door and motioned me to a chair at his desk and sat opposite me.  He couldn't speak to me over the phone, he said, as it was all very hush hush.  He leaned over and spoke quietly.  It was almost as though he thought his office was bugged, and that someone might be listening: 

"Get yourself ready to leave tomorrow," he said.  "Phone a taxi tonight and have him pick you up at 10 a.m. tomorrow.  Ask the driver to take you to Pier 'A'.   Make sure you reach the ship before 10:30 a.m. and don't lose these, you'll need them."  

He handed me some papers. He didn't even tell me the name of the ship.  It sure didn't seem like much information to me, but I knew he had done this sort of thing before with chaps who had preceded me, so I was confident everything would be okay.

I spent that evening writing a long letter to mom and dad, bringing them up to date on what had  transpired since my last letter from Detroit.   It was more or less a review up of my last few days in Detroit and Montreal.   TO BE CONTINUED