Tag Archives: History

Hometown Hockey

I grew up in Toronto, where hockey is king.  In the 1960’s, I went to four Stanley Cup parades, all ending on the steps of City Hall, where my heroes gave speeches and held the cup high.  The huge crowd cheered.

The official Hockey Hall of Fame is downtown on Front Street.  Each year, many thousands of fans walk by the memorabilia of the National Hockey League.  But hidden in a back alley in the Weston neighbourhood of the city is a more informal shrine, featuring all things Toronto Maple Leafs.  To find this gem, walk along Weston Road to John Street.  Turn east and watch for the sign pointing to Peter’s Barber Shop.  Pantelis Kalamaris started cutting hair just around the corner in 1961.  As an immigrant from Greece, he decided to change in name to Peter and to embrace the sport of his new country.

On Saturday morning, I reached for the sliding glass door and walked into history.  Hardly a square inch of wall space was available … the rest trumpeted the Leafs in posters, pennants, newspaper articles, pucks and hockey sticks.  I stood there transfixed.  Seeing my wonder, Peter the Younger barber smiled.  He was busy putting the finishing touches on the do of an older gentleman.  The two of them were fully engaged in the merits of the Leafs’ current star – Auston Matthews.

I sat down amid a row of blue folding seats … originals from Maple Leaf Gardens, the team’s home until 1999.  As a kid, I too had occasionally sat on such seats, although we couldn’t afford the blues.

To go from waiting area to barber’s chair, you had to pass through a Gardens turnstile, again just like I had done decades ago.  The floor was covered with various hues of hair.  I asked Peter if any of that was from the Leafs’ stars of the 1960’s.  “No, but I do have some in plastic bags.”  Cool.

Here was one of Johnny Bower’s goalie sticks.  Here was a poster showing the Leafs’ 100 best players of all time, photoshopped into a team photo.  Here was a board hockey game that Peter sometimes plays with his customers.  Of course the barber always plays as the Leafs.

And here was a framed letter from Roger Neilson, a beloved coach of the Leafs and other NHL teams.  Peter the Older had invited him to come to Weston and sign the wall, alongside such luminaries as Gordie Howe, Jean Beliveau and Red Kelly.  In the letter, Roger said that his doctor wasn’t letting him travel long distances but sometime he’d get to Toronto and sign his John Henry.  But Roger died before that could happen.

It felt that my time was up at Peter’s Barber Shop.  The host and his customers were all friendly (as long as I assured them I wasn’t a fan of the hated Ottawa Senators!)  Like Roger, I vowed to return.  Hopefully unlike Roger, I will.

***

From Pantelis Kalamaris Lane, it was only a ten-minute walk to the Weston Lions Arena.  It was constructed in 1949 (just like me!) and hosted the Toronto Maple Leafs for many practices in the 50’s and 60’s.  Many of the players strolled over to the barber shop for a cut afterwards.

What I had read a few weeks ago was that the arena had the world’s best fries, and who was I to turn down an opportunity like that?  I approached a door that had a back door feel to it but it turned out to be the main entrance.  Then I was in front of the snack bar, with the ice surface beyond, full of boys skating hard and fans shouting encouragement.  I was tempted by the “Not so famous hot dogs” sign but settled for the world-renowned treat.  Pouring on the malt vinegar, I took my French fries and Diet Coke into the stands.

Spectators sat on five rows of wooden benches, some sections red and some blue.  The walls of the arena were two tone blue – robin’s egg contrasted with royal.  It was a lovely assault on the eyes.

  • The kids, maybe 12, were giving ‘er on the ice.  Some flew over the blue line.  Some fell unaided on their tushes.  Goalies stretched for the save.  Forwards dipsydoodled by defensemen, with few passes to be seen.  Coached yelled.  Fans screamed.  I ate.  Gosh, those fries are yummy!

The roof was a curve of bare beams, spotted with metal plates and inch thick cables.  The same as in 1949.  I imagined my Leafs heroes doing their drills on the ice.  Maybe some of these boys in front of me knew the history and were inspired by Dave Keon and Frank Mahovlich.  More likely, the names of current Leafs heroes will adorn their backs … Matthews and Marner jerseys.

So hockey has been played here on cold Saturdays for 69 years.  Oh, how a sport can seep into our souls.  Whether the seat is a barber chair or a hard bench,  we live the game.

Day Twenty-Nine … The Wild West

Lance and Nona took us exploring yesterday.  Their home faces west towards the foorhills and the Rockies.  Way over there, angling towards me, is a gravel road.  On my last visit with Jody, I loved seeing a truck kicking up a spume of dust.  It hung in the air for the longest time.  But it’s rained some since I got here.  Only one truck … no dust.  Ah but my time will come.  It’s supposed to be sunny today.

Yesterday I got to be on that very road.  I kept checking the side mirror for dust.  At first nothing.  Later on, though, I saw the telltale cloud – small but it met my needs.  Except I wanted to be back at the house to take in the spectacle.  “Irony,” Lance said.  Where’s the Star Trek transporter when you need it?

We kept driving along the gravel road.  It rolled way back into the foothills, across a few cattleguards (metal pipes in the ground that keep cattle from escaping).  Prairie and stands of birch trees to the left and right, plus expanding views of the mountains.  And then the road ended at someone’s driveway.  I wonder what that person’s life is like.  Living in paradise.  The nearest neighbour kilometres away.  Are they happy?  I hope so.  As they say, that stuff is “an inside job”.

Next we went geocaching.  New to me.  People deposit tiny containers in subtle spots on public property.  Inside there might be a treasure or maybe just a piece of paper so you can mark down that you were there.  If there is a treasure, and you take it, you need to leave something in its place.  The person who creates a geocache goes on the Internet and gives its GPS co-ordinates.

We drove to the entrance of the Bar U Ranch and the GPS said we were right there.  We found a path through the tall grass, which led us to a fence post.  I walked right by it, seeing nothing.  Lance, however, has the eyes of a western hawk.  A dark wire hung from the post, with a loop at the end.  Sitting inside was a little plastic container, about two inches long, which had been painted a dull green – perfect for blending in with fence posts and grass.  Inside were a few pieces of paper full of visitor scribbles.  There had even been someone yesterday morning!  Cool.  And people from the Netherlands recently.  I felt so much like Bruce The Explorer.

Now, on to the Bar U, a Parks Canada historic site.  The ranch started sometime in the 1800s.  We toured around the historic buildings and met historic people.  A woman in pioneer dress showed us her kitchen, including an old black metal stove that took me back to my grandma on the farm near Lindsay, Ontario.  She had just whipped up some cinnamon buns and I was too weak to resist.  She told us that when the men were having dinner (at noon) in the cookhouse, they weren’t allowed to speak.  It was all business.  Wolf down your food and get back to work.  Yuck.  I spent one summer working on my former father-in-law Ellwood’s farm.  I remember breakfast and dinner at a long table with the regular farmhands.  Those platters were sure piled high!  And we yapped a lot.  Back at the Bar U, our hostess also showed us a crokinole board.  I remembered it from my childhood.  You use checker pieces and try to knock your opponent’s pieces off the board.  It was fun, then and now.

I especially enjoyed visiting with Lewis, a saddlemaker who keeps a guitar in the corner of his shop.  Sure looked like a cowboy to me, with his Western hat, red bandana, rough white shirt and jeans.  I invited him to sing the song he was telling us about.  The title was something like “I’ll Pay You Back When My Sister Gets A Job.”  He was hilarious.  He told us about a friend of his who sings Italian arias.  Not to be outdone, I told Lewis “I’d like to sing you an area.”  “Sure.  Go ahead.”  And so I did.  Here goes:

“Two metres by three metres equals six square metres.”  He laughed.  Actually, he laughed all through our visit.  I liked him.

We ended our journey through Alberta history with a wagon ride back to the visitor centre, pulled by two white Percheron horses – really big guys.  I felt like chewing on a wheat stalk.  But I guess I’m more of a T-shirt and shorts type of fellow.

***

And now, a concluding message from Nona, the lady of the house:

“Ride on!”