The CTR Anthology Read online

  Frank: We’ll live on that. It’ll be tight but the wife’s pretty canny.

  Clerk: Frank, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask for your liquor permit.

  Frank: What the hell for?

  Clerk: Nobody on relief can have a permit. I don’t make the rules, Frank, it’s just one that’s there.

  Frank: You know I’m not a drinker.

  Clerk: Of course, so you shouldn’t mind partin’ with it.

  Frank: Well, I’m not a goddamn kindergarten kid either.

  Clerk: Another thing. I’m not sure this is a regulation but the district office says we got to tell you. You or anybody. Beer. If you’re seen in the beer parlour and somebody squawks, then your relief can be cut off just like that.

  Frank: Applying for the dole is bad enough but when you treat a man like a criminal –

  Clerk: I know, Frank, and when I walk into that beer parlour, I’m as blind as a bat but some ain’t. There are people in this town who would just like to squeal on you or the next guy. Just a meanful nature, hoping to make it hard on you. Three families already cut off. One fellow was drinkin’ hell and gone over towards Regina when he was spotted.

  Quiet woman: It’s left its mark on many a good man today, let me tell you. And the worst part of it all was this; the worst part of it all was that they didn’t know what was happening to them. They just did not understand it at all. Some still don’t. I’m not sure I do.

  Quiet man: It got so I hated those people coming to our office for the pogey. It was the way they had lost their spirit, almost their will to survive. They’d come shuffling into that office and ask for something more and sometimes I’d scream at them, “Get the hell out of here. Go down to False Creek and drown yourself. There’s the way, right down the hill, go on now, beat it.” They’d just stand there and take it.

  Farmer: My wife has pleurisy and the doctor won’t come to see us.

  Young man: The kids need shoes to go to school.

  Quiet man: I know what it was doing to these fellows, and I know that even without a Depression, most of them had been in a pretty lousy economic box even before. Talk about your Roaring 20s! Roaring in New York, maybe, or roaring in the slick magazines, but in Canada it was just a lot of whimpering. But back to me. I didn’t like what was happening to me. In that office I could see the rottenness of the relief system, what it did to people, the graft – oh yes, there was plenty of that – and the phoney contracts and the phoney people and especially the politicians. You know, there is something about politics that brings out the very worst in people. So I’d blow up and after, I’d apologize, and they would usually just look at me with those goddamned eyes they had. They didn’t hate me. Can’t even give them that much credit. I found myself turning into a hateful person, spiteful, taking it out on some person when it really couldn’t have been his fault. Yelling at my wife, cuffing my kids, snarling at my neighbours, and why? Why? Because I knew I was part of a system which was wrong, and it was turning me wrong, and to protect my wife and kids I had to keep going wrong, and more wrong, just like you can’t be a little pregnant.

  Strong woman: We lived on Lind Street in Toronto and I think everybody but my Dad was out of work on our block. In the summer they’d just sit on their porches, arms folded, and wait for something to happen but nothing ever did. There was this little man living a few doors down the street from us. You’d have to say he was a nothing, the type that never said anything much. You know. It was six miles downtown to where the unemployment offices were and you had to get there about six in the morning to have any chance of a job, so this guy would get up about 4:30, winter or summer, and down he’d trudge, day after day, but it seemed he never could get a job. Then he’d walk home.

  Farm wife: So, you walk into this office in the basement of the firehall downtown. That’s where they pass out the vouchers. There was one line for married men and women, and another for the single guys. Don’t ask me why. Don’t ask me about anything in those days. Everyone is waiting in line and at noon the boss, this little jerk, slaps his hand down.

  Quiet man: All right, lunch time. Come back at 1:30.

  Farm wife: These women have been standing in line for three hours with their kids crying.

  Quiet man: Too bad, but these are the hours.

  Farm wife: Where’s your assistant, the guy who handles the other line?

  Quiet man: I fired him yesterday because there isn’t enough work for two around here. And what goddamn business is it of yours, anyway?

  Farm wife: Listen, you little creep, it is my goddamn business! There’s enough work here for two guys, even four guys, so you’re going to stay in line and look after these women until you’re finished.

  Quiet man: I’ll miss my lunch.

  Farm wife: Then you can just go piss up a rope! And every time I wanted to make my point I jerks up on his tie and bounces my fist off his chin. I asked him if he understood. You’re goddamn right he understood.

  Quiet man: I’ll call the police!

  Farm wife: Then you’d better call a goddamned ambulance too!

  Quiet man: I’m going to report you. I’ll pull you off the dole. I know who you are.

  Farm wife: And I know who these women are and their husbands and when I tell them what is happening down here, they are going to come down with me this time next week and when we walk through that door you’re going to have my voucher ready and you’ll be serving these poor starving women, and if you call in every cop in Cape Breton, it still won’t matter a bit to you because you’ll look like an alley cat that’s been hit by a mainline locomotive.

  Music: “Skipping and Jumpin,” underneath.

  Strong woman: One day he came home about 7:30 at night, walking as usual, but somehow he’d got a job. He’d made five dollars that day and he let everybody know it. I guess you could say he was the proudest man in Toronto that day, and he sent his girl, about 10 or so, down to the nearest store to buy two quarts of ice cream and some other small stuff. There was going to be a celebration.

  Music up.

  Farm wife (Mother): Here’s you new boots, Jamie.

  Hobo (Jamie): They’re awful.

  Farm wife: They’re what we were given for you.

  Hobo: Bright red …?!

  Salesman (Father): Well, the boys’ll see you coming won’t they?

  Hobo: With white stitching!

  Salesman: Try them on, son.

  Farm wife: You can’t wear those canvas and rubber things for the winter.

  Hobo: Can’t walk in them.

  Salesman: They’re just stiff cause they’re new.

  Farmer: Come on out, Jamie.

  Hobo: I’m staying in.

  Farm wife: Jamie, go out now and play.

  Hobo: I don’t want to.

  Salesman: Son, you’ve got to go out and face them some time. (He plays a bit of hockey with boys who snigger, “santa claus shoes,” “Little Abner boots,” then the chant “Jamie’s got relief boots.” One by one Jamie kicks them in shins.)

  Hobo: Don’t laugh at my boots any more. Stop laughing at my boots!

  Strong woman: But somehow, on the way back between the store and the house, she lost the change. Don’t ask me how it could happen. She just lost the change. You could see it in … in pantomime, her father gesturing on the front walk and the girl going through the little pockets of her dress and looking into the bag, but the money was gone. Now here’s a man who apparently never got mad, but he lost his cool. He started to thrash that kid right on the front yard. Hit her, push her, hit her again, screaming all the time, and the girl just stood there and took it. Finally, the guy threw himself full length on the steps and started to cry. Sobbing. Hard. The first time he’d made any money by his own labour in maybe three or four years and it was gone. He cried, big sobs. And you know who went to comfort him? The little girl. She went over and sat beside him and spoke to him and put her hand on his shoulder. Mercy, you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  Song: Fred Bl
ake

  Young Fred Blake’s father refused the dole,

  Hammered on his bible to save his soul,

  Some went crazy, just had to go

  Others stayed home with the

  radio … the radio … yodel adio … the radio …

  SCENE FOURTEEN: THE GENERAL STORE

  Farmer: Howdy, Jim.

  Quiet man: Don’t see much of you since you got your radio.

  Hobo: How is the old whistler and his dog?

  Farmer: What do you fellas remember about last night?

  Quiet man: It was cold.

  Farmer: But it was clear and just guess what I picked up?

  Hobo: The flu?

  Farmer: Damn sight better.

  Hobo: Ottawa?

  Farmer: Got that plenty of times.

  Quiet man: Cleveland?

  Farmer: Always get that!

  Hobo: Then what?

  Farmer: WGN.

  Hobo: New York!

  Quiet man: You didn’t!

  Farmer: Yup, clear as a bell.

  Hobo: Christ! and I still have to depend on my kid’s crystal set.

  Farmer: They’re hopeless.

  Quiet man: Oh, if you get one rigged out right you might pick up something.

  Farmer: Yeh, if the broadcasting station is in the hay field next to you!

  Quiet man: Say, did you hear about Vance?

  Farmer: What, is he dead?

  Quiet man: No. …

  Farmer: He got a job?

  Hobo: No. …

  Quiet man: He just went out and bought himself a deForest Crosley!

  Farmer: No!

  Farm wife: $300.

  Farmer: Christ! Where the devil did he get the cash?

  Quiet man: He and the Lord only knows but there it is in his tiny living room, a monster.

  Farm wife: It’s like one of them opera singers.

  Quiet man: He turned it up full blast to show it off, and the panes in the windows actually shook. Vibrated.

  Farm wife: They got these little shelves along the walls with chinaware on it and each piece would go into a little dance.

  Quiet man: You wouldn’t believe it. People will be coming all the way from Pembroke just to listen.

  Hobo: There’s short wave.

  Young girl: That’s something.

  Young man: Ships at sea –

  Quiet man: A ship approaching the Strait of Belle Isle in the fog, asking for a position; now that’s really something.

  Farmer: You’re better off with a small one. Those big buggers really slurp up the juice.

  Quiet man: Vance’s wind charger has had a hernia already.

  Hobo: I’ll stick with the kid’s crystal set, but I think I might visit Vance Tuesday night.

  Farmer: Would that be by any chance the night Joe Louis is fighting?

  Hobo: Well, it’s a chance to visit Vance and see how Joe handles his latest Bum of the month.

  Farmer: Radio drew people together, families together.

  Young man: There was good music.

  Salesman: Jack Benny, Fibber McGee and Molly were funny.

  Balladeer: But the funniest of all was Fred Allen. There was a man who was just naturally funny!

  Quiet man: Everybody in town could say, “there’s a fellow in our town who has sense of humour like that.”

  Farm wife: One I never liked one iota was Bob Hope. Thought he tried too hard.

  SCENE FIFTEEN: THE RADIO

  Song: Fantasy Radio

  Men: Hey, hey it’s fantasy radio hour,

  Time to wipe those tears away,

  We’ll help you smile, laugh and forget

  That this week you worked for a smaller paycheck.

  Women: Hey, hey it’s fantasy radio time,

  Come on and drift away and dream,

  It’s just temporary trouble, don’t adjust your set,

  The best is coming soon and you ain’t seen it yet.

  1. Say, remember that Indian kid they hanged out at Headingly?

  2. Can’t remember the crime.

  1. Murder.

  2. Of course, but what kind?

  1. I believe he was the one who opened his brother-in-law up with an axe from throat to crotch.

  2. The condemned man gets his wish for his last meal?

  1. Anything he wants!

  3. You mean if he wants a roasted 15-pound turkey and everything, just like Christmas?

  1. Yeah, that’s what he gets!

  2. An old English custom.

  1. Anyway this kid was off a reserve somewhere up between the lakes.

  3. Everybody was poor up there in those days.

  2. If you were an Indian you had nothing –

  3. Nothing was what they expected –

  1. So when his time comes, the deputy warden goes down to see him and asks him what he wants.

  2. I want boiled whitefish.

  3. Christ, even in jail the grub is 10 times better than that.

  2. I want boiled whitefish.

  3. Anything else?

  2. Yes, boiled tea with lots of sugar.

  3. That all?

  2. Yes, just boiled whitefish and tea.

  1. They say he made a grand meal of it.

  Farmer (Listener): Poor bugger.

  1. All he’d known growing up all those years was fish and tea.

  3. And that tells you something about how we’ve treated these people.

  1. They always had their own Depression all their lives.

  2. Whitefish and tea.

  1. He was 19, I think.

  Woman 1: Dozens of men are working for wages which will provide only the bare essentials for themselves and their families.

  Woman 2: Their earnings will not permit the purchase of necessary clothing.

  Woman 1: Help a needy fellow citizen through the rigours of a Canadian winter!

  Woman 2: Buy yourself a smart new suit!

  Woman 1: And donate your old one to some needy man!

  Woman 1: Here’s the sort of neighbourliness we’ve all dreamed about.

  Woman 2: The sort that will cost you next to nothing.

  Woman 2: This public service announcement has been brought to you by courtesy of the Robert Simpson Company of Montreal.

  Balladeer: Ladies and gentlemen! Please stay tuned for an important message from the Prime Minister of Canada, the Right Honourable R.B. Bennett.

  Hobo: Bennett! When they made him, they threw away the mould.

  Quiet man: A fat, sleek, contented bowler-hatted toad!

  Farmer: He was a corporation lawyer, you know. A lawyer, God knows, is bad enough; but a corporation lawyer is pure dynamite. He’d steal the pennies off a dead man’s eyes and swear because they weren’t quarters!

  Balladeer: Ladies and gentlemen: the Prime Minister!

  Salesman (Bennett): The difficulty about these matters is that too much reliance is being placed upon the Government. The people are not bearing their share of the load. Half a century ago people would work their way out of their difficulties rather than look to a government to take care of them. The fibre of some of our people has grown softer and they are not willing to turn in and save themselves. They now complain because they have no money. When they were earning money, many of them spent it in speculation and in luxury. “Luxury” means anything a man has not an immediate need for, having regard to his financial position. I do not know what the result of the present movement may be, but unless it induces men and women to think in terms of honest toil rather than in terms of bewilderment because of conditions which they helped to create, the end of organized society is not far distant.

  Strong woman: Change it over!

  Farm wife: Here we are ladies with household hint number three from Housewife Hilda. First you take an empty flour sack from Maple Leaf Milling Company and wash it out well, bleach out the lettering, turn it upside down; cut two holes for the arms and one at the top for the neck. Tuck in here, do a little tightening and fixing there, put in a
hem and what do you have? A party dress fit for a nine-year-old queen. And now for household hint number four …

  Balladeer: And now we present a real life, true, Canadian drama. “Prairie Winter.” Part One.

  Salesman: Cold, day after day, around 45 below. The house wasn’t that much, no insulation then, fireburner in the kitchen and wood hard to get.

  Quiet woman: Just waiting for the next big wind to blow us into the gully.

  Balladeer: Anybody home?

  (The cast assume the various characters in the radio play.)

  Husband: Gosh darn, Gavin up from Regina.

  Wife: Gavin, how’d you get through in weather like this?

  Gavin: We railroad men stop at nothing. Here’s some National Geographics for the kids. No sense having them stinky pipes around without something to put in them, Jim.

  Husband: Well gosh darn to blankety heck, a whole tinful of the best brand! Thanks.

  Wife: Can I take your coat, Gavin?

  Gavin: No thanks, Mary; it’s a trifle cold. I’ve spent considerable time in the Arctic but how in the heck do you stand it here?

  Wife: I know, Gavin, God didn’t … God never meant people to live like this in the cold.

  Husband: Jumpin’ Jehosephat, she’s never cried in front of the children before.

  Wife: Well I am now.

  Gavin: I’m sorry, Mary, but it’s just I’ve seen Eskimos in igloos living warmer and cosier than this. How about you, little one; you like to live in an igloo?

  Little girl: Oh yes, yes.

  Gavin: Come on, then, outside. Now how deep’s the snow in this gully?

  Husband: Casting an eye I’d say nine feet.

  Gavin: Deep enough. She’ll do. Start shovelling, mouth faced away from the wind.

  Husband: Sounds loony.

  Gavin: Have it built in no time.

  Wife: Brought some coffee!

  Boy: Straw and boards for beds –

  Wife: Oil lamps, stove, magazines –

  Gavin: How you fixed for food?

  Husband: Just fine. Six dollars a month coming in regular from the Alberta Government.

  Neighbour: Well hello there. Where in the heck is everybody?

  Husband: Over here in the snowbank, John.

  Wife: Yooo Hooo!

  Neighbour: Well, cut off my legs and call me shorty. I heard about it but I didn’t believe it.