Excerpt from "My Serendipity"

© Copyright 2011, Rick Walsh

I have two major projects on the go right now, the first an autobiography - of sorts - with the working title "My Serendipity". Here is an excerpt from those manuscripts, recounting my solo train trip to Calgary, Alberta in the summer of 1978. It was certainly a journey of self-discovery!

We were laid over for four hours in Winnipeg, while the train took on more fuel and passengers for the remaining trip to Calgary and points beyond. Many of my new-found friends were considered “minors” at the time and like me, under the legal drinking age. It obviously didn’t stop us as someone in the group picked up the leadership baton and led us in a parade to the hotel by the train station.

This group of half-dozen teenagers, male and female, entered the lobby bar and was soon approached by a middle-aged waitress. She asked for our order and then proceeded to look around the table, waiting for someone to speak up. The fellow next to me, Greg I believe, cautiously spoke up and said, “I’ll have an Export!” Dead silence fell upon the group as we waited in anticipation for the waitress to say, “Can I see some I.D.?” But those words never came and instead her response was, “OK, and who’s next?” A silent, yet very visible sigh of relief came from all of those around the table. “I’ll have a Blue,” I said and so the party began.

There was a great deal of laughter and cajoling emanating from our table and the energy seemed to spread to the rest of the bar. We traded stories about our homes, as varied as the map of Canada itself, while explaining our reasons for travel, exploration and self-discovery. All of my new-found friends seemed to share the same common goal, the same driving force that led them on this journey – the need to feel connected.

By this time, the liquor was flowing freely and so was the ugly truth in many of my friends’ stories, life-changing events that explained their reasons for running, for hiding, for longing and seeking. I could have written a book from the stories we shared that night – and perhaps one day I’ll write one – but these tidbits of information, so long hidden from other people, became my “raison d’etre” for starting this journey.

The reasons seemed all too familiar – divorce, drugs, alcohol abuse, violence, a sexually-abusive relative, the shame of poverty, the loneliness of orphanage, the constant moving of a military family – and the result too was the same in every case. Like me, they needed to escape, to find a place of comfort, acceptance and most important, love.

We were abruptly shaken from our “therapy session” by the sound of the train whistle. The refueling was finished, the new passengers had boarded and we were being summoned back to our vehicle of discovery. The need to continue our discussion outweighed the logic of stopping our alcohol intake, so it was suggested that we grab some beer “to go” from the bar and smuggle it back onto the train. The practice of “off sales” was a new one to me, never having experienced this perk of Western hospitality in the morally-staid province of Ontario. We quickly lined up at the bar to pay our bill and purchase whatever amount of alcohol we could fit into our pockets, boots, jackets and purses for the “Mission: Impossible” task of getting it back on the train.

With liquid courage in hand, we stumbled down the hill from the hotel to the train station. We approached our train car and the porter greeted us with his never-changing chant. “All aboard,” he said. The giggles and laughter I heard somewhat muffled the clinking of the beer bottles in our jackets, but I was sure we would be caught and have our liquor confiscated. Perhaps if it had been daylight and the porter had seen the unusually-shaped bulges in our pants or the girls’ now extra-large bosoms where once was none, he may have stopped us. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. We had made it safely back onto the train.

I followed the crowd, led by our self-appointed leader Greg, to the doorway between train cars. He opened the door and we all at once tried to fit through the narrow entrance to the next car. Like a scene from a Laurel and Hardy movie, we stumbled and crashed into one another, the clinking of bottles rousing people from their slumber. Many just shook their heads, while others mumbled “crazy kids” beneath their breath. A few of us said “sorry” and apologized for the noise, but quickly carried on to the staircase that led us to the top of the Dome Car. Ahhhh…the Dome Car!