Thank you to Jeremy Mills and the class of 2001 for the first story from beyond the circle....sorry Jeremy but have to chuckle at your misfortune here, but believe me, I am not alone in saying that we have all had nights like this (ok maybe it is just me and Jeremy). Beer goggles don't even work sometimes.
2001 was kind of a bad year for the radio class. Wayne had a tough time with a bad cold so we did some of assignments via e-mail. I have to agree though, the trip to Moncton was very "educational".
Jason MacDonald, Ed Barfitt, Mark Cameron and myself left the night before to enjoy Moncton's nightlife.....why we went to Memeracook, I'll never know. We all got lapdances and a couple of the strippers were all right except for the one that i got. I don't think she had graced a shower for a couple of days and she looked exactly like the women from the Royal Canadian Air Farce show on CBC!!!!
Aside from that though the whole night was a blast.(We taught Mister Cameron that yes....you do sometimes need alcohol to have fun....or at least have the guts to the strip club in Memeracook!!) One of the best times of my life, and I have the late Radio Studies course at NBCC Woodstock to thank for it!!
Here's another one that sticks out. One night the entire radio class gathered at my place before we all ventured to JR's for a lovely night of Karaoke. Well the Journalism class was out in full force as well and we decided that we were going to show them how to sing. We signed Mark Cameron up to sing Sweet Caroline but we all got up to sing. The ovation at the end of the song was LOUD!! The next day in class we all had a good laugh about our crooning and Wayne must of over heard us because after lunch on all of our desks were the lyrics to Sweet Caroline. From that day on the official song of the Radio Studies Class of 2001 was....you guessed it, Sweet Caroline!
Monday, May 14, 2007
Chapter 12 - My first standing ovation
Chapter 11 - My first standing ovation
We can all remember our first college party’s right. If you answered yes to that question, you were obviously at the wrong ones. As I assume most of us (especially between the 1997 and 1998 Journalism classes) are still trying to piece together our years, yes I said YEARS in college. Thanks to a few kind souls here's what I remember, (or what I was told) about my first big college party.
Most students lived in close proximity to the college, however I didn’t. If you know where the fire hall in Woodstock is, I was about two streets above that staying with a friend of my mothers. So when the “gang” was going out for beers, it was a little out of the way for me to join them. (that is a long ass stumble home) Oh yeah, and not that it mattered much, I was only 18 at the time.
One day after a couple of heavy classes with Victor, Susan, Bernie and Steve (ok, Steve's classes were a breeze) Danik mentioned he was having a "get together" at his place (the aforementioned Club Kennedy) and that I should come along. I was like, cool, my first invite to a “party.” I’m not going to pass this up.
I told the lady I was boarding with that I was going out and not to wait up for me, as I would probably be out most of the evening. I arrived at my destination, and most of my first year journalism class was sitting around a table playing cards and drinking various drinks. There were even a few second year students there, setting a really bad example and I believe, the culprits were, Mr. Jean Bertin and Ms. Katie Stokes. I forget who jumped up to make me a drink first; it was either Disco Dave Wilson or Danik "the flying Frenchman" Boudreau. Either way I was handed a tall glass that looked like it had orange juice in it.
“It’s a screwdriver,” Danik said. “Orange juice and vodka go ahead it’s good.” This may have been the first drink Danik had made for me, but by the jesus, it sure as hell wasn't the last one.
After a couple of these I had loosened up a bit and had a couple really stiff rye and cokes to boot. This wasn’t the first time I had been drinking, it was however my first experience with hard liquor, so my head was starting to tell me I had enough.
Danik was feeling pretty good at the time (which meant he had a couple dozen into him) and announced that they were heading to the only bar in town called JR’s. This is the place where thousands and thousands of our hard earned government student loans would be spent over the next couple of years. (you are very welcome Mr. Rose)
Being only 18, I was afraid I wouldn’t be allowed in, and didn’t want to cause a scene my first night going to the "big bar.” The gang reassured me that I would be fine, just look like you belong there and you will be fine. Due to the amount of liquor I had poured down my throat, confidence wasn’t a problem. So we headed out. But, we didn’t take the Meduxnekeag Bridge. No no no, you see that would have been the SMART thing to do. We all decided (well at least the vast majority of us anyway) that we were going to take the TRAIN BRIDGE.
For all you students who started at NBCC Woodstock after 1996, this wouldn’t have been a big deal cause the TransCanada trail had already been built. Not in 1995!
The rickety old rail ties were still there, and they weren’t spaced all that evenly either, so just when you think you had a good rhythm going. You had to stop. Which also meant you were probably going to trip or be pushed over by someone coming up behind you. I think this is the time that Danik and Dave scared the bejesus out of Kim Elliot as they were trying to hurry her across the tracks. Hearing her scream was priceless.
Eventually we all made it. And I surprisingly got inside. I wanted to jump around like a little kid, but that would have meant my immediate exit. And being that the bouncers went to the college, I think you can figure the rest of it out yourself.
Thus is the begining of my demise!
We all find a table and sit down, and before I know it Danik puts three screwdrivers down in front of me. There was a 3 for 1 special on that night, and he had intended on taking full advantage of it. I thanked him for them and quickly drank them down.
A couple of rockin songs came on and we all headed out to the dance floor. Which I think Dok described earlier as being about 20x10 in size. But there weren’t many people there yet, so we basically had the floor to ourselves. About 3 songs later, I stumble in the direction of the table, and what do I find on my arrival….ding ding ding ding….yep, yet another round of screwdrivers thanks to the flying Frenchman. Again I thanked him for his generosity, but told him that I was going to throw up on him if he bought me anymore. One thing I quickly found out about Danik, he was very good at pretending to pay attention.
So those drinks go down, and I am pulled back out onto the floor. I don’t know if you have been in this position before, but too many drinks + dancing and getting all hot and sweaty = a straight line for the bathroom. So I calmly but quickly made my way to the back of the bar and into the bathroom. And on the way past the table, yep, were again more drinks on the table for lil’ Dave.
I spent what seemed like an eternity in that bathroom. Danik eventually rolled in to tell me that he was going to finish what drinks he had (which no doubt included the ones I wasn’t going to drink) come in and get me. Danik leaves and the next thing I hear this big gruff voice behind me say that I have to get my ass out of the bathroom cause the bounce staff was on to me, and they were going to kick me out.
I think I had a pretty good grip on that toilet bowl for a small guy, but this guy, who could have passed for the WWE’s Kevin Nash, (Wayne from Graphics circa 1995) promptly removed me from the stall and held me up long enough to get out the front door. Man did that fresh air ever feel good.
WHUMP!
I retreat to the steps and continue with what I was so rudely interrupted doing in the bathroom. Slowly the fresh air got to me, and I wasn’t feeling all that bad. Mind you I couldn't remove my head from my hands in fear of motion sickness.
“What is he doing out here, I told him (me) that was coming in to get him,” Danik sputtered in Franglais (half french half english) on his way out the front door. Wayne and Danik got into a pretty heated argument right in front of me (I know this cause their feet were getting closer and closer together) over who was supposed to take me out of the bathroom. Feeling quite honored and flattered that two grown men were fighting over me, I felt I was the only one that was going to be able to stop it. They were mere inches apart when I finally caught their attention.
“It’s my own damn fault for being in the position.” Not only was I surprised what I said, I was surprised nothing else came out of my mouth.
Finally the war was over and soon enough we were all laughing about the whole ordeal. The next thing I remember is waking up in a very dark room the next morning. Danik opened the door and informed me that if I didn’t get my drunken ass up out of bed, we were going to be late for Victor’s class. I peeled myself off the mattress and probably could have killed anything within 100 yards with the way I smelled.
And there was the light streaming in from the door. You know the scene in many movies where people die and they walk towards the light. That was exactly what I was doing. Club Kennedy's walls were white, their floors were white, everything in the damn place was WHITE, mix that in with some bright ol sunshine and you have one very mad very hungover college student. But alas I made it across the Bridge and up the stairs to class.
Danik had to run to his locker to get something, so I headed right in. Most of the class was already there, and proceeded to give me a standing ovation. Unaware at the time, that this was a very regular occurrence at the first of every year.
I walked back to my desk and very quickly closed my eyes and went to sleep. Minutes later, our fearless leader Mr. Victor Stanton came over and gave me a good ol pat on the back and continued on with the class. Something about a movie with Japanese prisoners of war…(snoring insues)
We can all remember our first college party’s right. If you answered yes to that question, you were obviously at the wrong ones. As I assume most of us (especially between the 1997 and 1998 Journalism classes) are still trying to piece together our years, yes I said YEARS in college. Thanks to a few kind souls here's what I remember, (or what I was told) about my first big college party.
Most students lived in close proximity to the college, however I didn’t. If you know where the fire hall in Woodstock is, I was about two streets above that staying with a friend of my mothers. So when the “gang” was going out for beers, it was a little out of the way for me to join them. (that is a long ass stumble home) Oh yeah, and not that it mattered much, I was only 18 at the time.
One day after a couple of heavy classes with Victor, Susan, Bernie and Steve (ok, Steve's classes were a breeze) Danik mentioned he was having a "get together" at his place (the aforementioned Club Kennedy) and that I should come along. I was like, cool, my first invite to a “party.” I’m not going to pass this up.
I told the lady I was boarding with that I was going out and not to wait up for me, as I would probably be out most of the evening. I arrived at my destination, and most of my first year journalism class was sitting around a table playing cards and drinking various drinks. There were even a few second year students there, setting a really bad example and I believe, the culprits were, Mr. Jean Bertin and Ms. Katie Stokes. I forget who jumped up to make me a drink first; it was either Disco Dave Wilson or Danik "the flying Frenchman" Boudreau. Either way I was handed a tall glass that looked like it had orange juice in it.
“It’s a screwdriver,” Danik said. “Orange juice and vodka go ahead it’s good.” This may have been the first drink Danik had made for me, but by the jesus, it sure as hell wasn't the last one.
After a couple of these I had loosened up a bit and had a couple really stiff rye and cokes to boot. This wasn’t the first time I had been drinking, it was however my first experience with hard liquor, so my head was starting to tell me I had enough.
Danik was feeling pretty good at the time (which meant he had a couple dozen into him) and announced that they were heading to the only bar in town called JR’s. This is the place where thousands and thousands of our hard earned government student loans would be spent over the next couple of years. (you are very welcome Mr. Rose)
Being only 18, I was afraid I wouldn’t be allowed in, and didn’t want to cause a scene my first night going to the "big bar.” The gang reassured me that I would be fine, just look like you belong there and you will be fine. Due to the amount of liquor I had poured down my throat, confidence wasn’t a problem. So we headed out. But, we didn’t take the Meduxnekeag Bridge. No no no, you see that would have been the SMART thing to do. We all decided (well at least the vast majority of us anyway) that we were going to take the TRAIN BRIDGE.
For all you students who started at NBCC Woodstock after 1996, this wouldn’t have been a big deal cause the TransCanada trail had already been built. Not in 1995!
The rickety old rail ties were still there, and they weren’t spaced all that evenly either, so just when you think you had a good rhythm going. You had to stop. Which also meant you were probably going to trip or be pushed over by someone coming up behind you. I think this is the time that Danik and Dave scared the bejesus out of Kim Elliot as they were trying to hurry her across the tracks. Hearing her scream was priceless.
Eventually we all made it. And I surprisingly got inside. I wanted to jump around like a little kid, but that would have meant my immediate exit. And being that the bouncers went to the college, I think you can figure the rest of it out yourself.
Thus is the begining of my demise!
We all find a table and sit down, and before I know it Danik puts three screwdrivers down in front of me. There was a 3 for 1 special on that night, and he had intended on taking full advantage of it. I thanked him for them and quickly drank them down.
A couple of rockin songs came on and we all headed out to the dance floor. Which I think Dok described earlier as being about 20x10 in size. But there weren’t many people there yet, so we basically had the floor to ourselves. About 3 songs later, I stumble in the direction of the table, and what do I find on my arrival….ding ding ding ding….yep, yet another round of screwdrivers thanks to the flying Frenchman. Again I thanked him for his generosity, but told him that I was going to throw up on him if he bought me anymore. One thing I quickly found out about Danik, he was very good at pretending to pay attention.
So those drinks go down, and I am pulled back out onto the floor. I don’t know if you have been in this position before, but too many drinks + dancing and getting all hot and sweaty = a straight line for the bathroom. So I calmly but quickly made my way to the back of the bar and into the bathroom. And on the way past the table, yep, were again more drinks on the table for lil’ Dave.
I spent what seemed like an eternity in that bathroom. Danik eventually rolled in to tell me that he was going to finish what drinks he had (which no doubt included the ones I wasn’t going to drink) come in and get me. Danik leaves and the next thing I hear this big gruff voice behind me say that I have to get my ass out of the bathroom cause the bounce staff was on to me, and they were going to kick me out.
I think I had a pretty good grip on that toilet bowl for a small guy, but this guy, who could have passed for the WWE’s Kevin Nash, (Wayne from Graphics circa 1995) promptly removed me from the stall and held me up long enough to get out the front door. Man did that fresh air ever feel good.
WHUMP!
I retreat to the steps and continue with what I was so rudely interrupted doing in the bathroom. Slowly the fresh air got to me, and I wasn’t feeling all that bad. Mind you I couldn't remove my head from my hands in fear of motion sickness.
“What is he doing out here, I told him (me) that was coming in to get him,” Danik sputtered in Franglais (half french half english) on his way out the front door. Wayne and Danik got into a pretty heated argument right in front of me (I know this cause their feet were getting closer and closer together) over who was supposed to take me out of the bathroom. Feeling quite honored and flattered that two grown men were fighting over me, I felt I was the only one that was going to be able to stop it. They were mere inches apart when I finally caught their attention.
“It’s my own damn fault for being in the position.” Not only was I surprised what I said, I was surprised nothing else came out of my mouth.
Finally the war was over and soon enough we were all laughing about the whole ordeal. The next thing I remember is waking up in a very dark room the next morning. Danik opened the door and informed me that if I didn’t get my drunken ass up out of bed, we were going to be late for Victor’s class. I peeled myself off the mattress and probably could have killed anything within 100 yards with the way I smelled.
And there was the light streaming in from the door. You know the scene in many movies where people die and they walk towards the light. That was exactly what I was doing. Club Kennedy's walls were white, their floors were white, everything in the damn place was WHITE, mix that in with some bright ol sunshine and you have one very mad very hungover college student. But alas I made it across the Bridge and up the stairs to class.
Danik had to run to his locker to get something, so I headed right in. Most of the class was already there, and proceeded to give me a standing ovation. Unaware at the time, that this was a very regular occurrence at the first of every year.
I walked back to my desk and very quickly closed my eyes and went to sleep. Minutes later, our fearless leader Mr. Victor Stanton came over and gave me a good ol pat on the back and continued on with the class. Something about a movie with Japanese prisoners of war…(snoring insues)
Chapter 11 – Have another one Ossifer!
Chapter 10 – Have another one Ossifer!
“You’re drunk you just don’t know it”
On the surface any person would think that this statement would be well thought out and relatively harmless. But coming from a police officer who was to know that this statement would disrupt an entire evening. Curious aren’t you?
Every year Halloween Havoc wrapped up with a wet/dry dance whether it be at the college or another nearby establishment. It just so happened this one was the last one to be held at the college. Myself as well as a host of other people were in charge of organizing this year’s dance. So we arrived early afternoon to start setting up the music table and add a few decorations here and there. A couple of hours before the dance started we went over to the liquor store and picked up the mass amount of booze that would be required to keep all of the students and some staff happy.
Finally people started to show up and the music started pumping, before you knew it, the place was absolutely rocking, people having a good time and the booze was flowing like water. Now, where the wet bar was located, there was a large window that looked out to a commons area just in front of the college along Broadway St. where on a really nice day people would come out and eat their lunch.
It was also a very common place where Woodstock’s riff raff would congregate to smoke dope and drink. (College Students were a lot smarter, they did it where no one could see them) On this night the riff raff were about 30 kids between the ages of 13-15. All night they would be knocking on the window asking the bartender to pass some booze through the window to them. This got to be such a problem that a couple of us were asked by then Student Activities Co-ordinator Lori-Jean Johnson, to go out and see if we could disperse the crowd. Remember this was a Halloween dance so when we went outside, we were still in our costumes. I was dressed like Garth (Wayne’s World) Chris McGarrigle was dressed up like Aunt Jemima, there were others that followed us out, but I can’t remember what costumes they had on.
The confrontation began with just mere words being slung back and forth. Being as intoxicated as they were, the “children” didn’t have very much ammo in the way of insults. The verbal jawing continued for about 15 minutes when Woodstock’s finest arrived on the scene with lights a blarin in two cruisers. By this time, no physical action had taken place, but as soon as one of the police officers were getting out of their car, this very brave, stoned and very stupid girl decided to rush across the lawn at Chris. All Chris could do to protect himself was extend his arm to keep her at bay, but of course all the police saw was Chris lifting his arm, and the girl falling over. (She did run right into his arm) This seemed to be enough grounds for them to arrest him for assault.
Chris was rather intoxicated, as he and a bunch of friends decided to play century club before attending the dance. But he knew and the rest of us knew that the police had the wrong person, so he put up a little bit of a fight in protest.
Thinking it was the right thing to do at the time, I approached the officer that was placing Chris in the back seat of the first car and told him that they had no right to apprehend Chris, at least for what they were basing it on. As soon as I spoke my piece, another officer approached me and led me back to the second cruiser where I thought I would be questioned as an eyewitness. I couldn’t have been any more wrong.
The officer opens the back door of the car and asks me to get in. Right now I am thinking to myself how weird this is because if all they wanted to do was ask me a couple questions, they could do that OUTSIDE of the cop car.
“Why do I have to get in the car when all you want to do is ask me some questions?” I politely asked the officer.
“Please get in the car,” the officer grumbled again.
I was really confused at this time and began to get a little irate. I told him I wasn’t getting in the car until he told me what was going on. He then proceeded to inform me that I was in fact being detained under the suspicion of being drunk in a public place.
Sure, I had a couple of beer before the dance even started and had a couple more in the short time I was actually in the dance. But I was far from drunk. But being that he smelled booze on my breath, and evidently trying to tell them how to properly do their job was warrant enough for Woodstock’s finest to detain me.
I protested a little stronger and a little louder now and was in the middle of a long rant when the officer put his hand on my head and pushed me into the back of the cruiser and stated those famous words......
“You’re drunk you just don’t know it.”
If you all of a sudden hear a loud laughing noise, sorry that is the voice inside my head cause he still finds that very very funny.
He closed the door and peered in through the glass with a little smirk on his face. I gave him the double finger salute and called him everything but late for dinner.
I sat in the back of the car for a good 15 minutes before we made our way up to the station. While still outside the dance one after another, friends of mine came up to the car to ask me how I was and they were doing everything they could to make sure I would be released shortly. Oh how I wish that were true.
During the drive, the officer decided he was going to place nice guy and try to chat me up, I would have none of it.
“So, what are you taking at the college?” he asked, to which I replied, “you can go f*** yourself if you think I am going to start a conversation with you.” Needless to say he shut up in a hurry.
We finally arrived at the station, and Chris and I were being led in at the same time. We were laughing and saying how stupid the Woodstock police force actually was because this all seemed to be a little ridiculous. If the officers even had half a brain in their head, they would have noticed that we were all having a good time, trying to protect our dance from the little hooligans, and let us go with a warning or something but of course that would have been too easy.
They took Aunt Jemima (Chris) directly to the tank where they tried to take off his work boots. During the process he was in fine form, shouting protests of racism and sexual harassment. I couldn’t help but laugh and was paying no attention to the officer asking me questions. There was even a little game of "chase the drunk around the drunk tank."
“Do you have anything in your pockets?”
I reached in and found a couple of pennies and a rather large ball of lint to show him. He pulled a plastic bag from the drawer of his desk and asked me to place the contents of my hand into the bag. Being in a rather un-cooperative mood, I threw the pennies and the lint across the room, when all of a sudden some lackey comes running into the room and retrieves the items I sent flying no more than 30 seconds earlier.
All though this was a little weird, nothing would prepare me for the officer’s next statement.
“Please remove your shoes and your watch please.”
“You give me a good reason why I should take my shoes off, and I might just think about it.” The officer looked a little stunned and informed me at this time that I would be placed in the holding cell with Chris for a little while so we both could, get this now, “sober up a little.”
I stopped laughing and before I had the chance to wipe the tears out of my eyes, some one came up, grabbed my feet and removed my shoes and placed them in the bag as well. My repeated requests for a Breathalyzer fell on deaf ears, I was escorted across the hall to the “drunk tank.”
The officer closed the door behind me and stated he would be back when he thought a sufficient enough period of time had passed for us to sober up. The bastard returned just a little under FOUR hours later. Chris and I had tired ourselves out by this time, all of the laughing and yelling that we did definitely sobered Chris up and I just didn’t care anymore.
During that time, I had asked the "nice" lady on duty for a blanket. This request seemed a bit odd to her, but hell it was a cold October night, go figure. I did recieve my blanket, it was what was on the blanket that I disapproved of. To put it lightly, the blanket could have gotten up and walked out of there by itself it was so crusty. And on a couple of occcassions we had asked for some toilet paper, cause at seperate times we both had to use the lovely drunk tank facilities. Hehehehehehe, we each recieved two squares of TP each. Even if we had put our winnings together, we still wouldn't be able to wipe one of our asses let alone two.
He peered at us through the door and stated that it looked like we had sobered up enough to be released. In his mind we still weren’t 100% sober, but we were enough to return to public.
We walked across the hall into the office we were in four hours earlier and were given our personal items back. I reached into the bag, put my shoes back on, put my Garth blonde wig and nerdy glasses back on and threw the pennies and lint across the room again, much to the displeasure of Mr. Police man.
“If you had been able to control your liquor consumption a little better, you wouldn’t have been here in the first place!” he said in return of me throwing those items across the floor.
“I had controlled my liquor consumption thank you very much, and if you had half a brain in that little head of yours you would have realized that I wasn’t drunk in the first place,’ I retorted.
The little officer man was getting a little angry now and decided it was in his best interest just to get us out of the station. He handed me a pencil and wanted me to sign a release form that basically released the cops from any wrongdoing. I politely took the pencil and snapped it in half.
“Number one, I shouldn’t have been here in the first place, number two there is no way in hell that I am signing this form, you can sign it for me, but forgery is a very illegal offence.”
He said he was done with us and that we could leave. Now, being dressed like we were the minute we stepped outside that station, we would have been jumped in a second. Mind you it was only about a 10- minute walk back downtown, but by this time of the morning, the dance had been over for a couple of hours, so we really had no where to go. Plus it was rather cold out.
I told the officer that since he was so kind to have driven us up to the station, he was going to be just as kind and drive us back downtown. He refused over and over until I told him we had no problem standing right where we were and annoying him more and more until he decided to drive us down.
He grabbed his keys and the three of us walked out to the car. Chris called shotgun and beat me to the front seat, so I again had to sit in the back. He drove us down to where Chris was living (Club Kennedy), Chris got out of the car and walked upstairs. The officer pulls away with me still in the backseat. After not noticing for a couple of seconds, I knocked on the partition that for some reason surprised him.
“Oh you are still back there, I thought you got out with your friend?” he stated in all of his infinite wisdom and chucked to himself at the end.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the backdoors of a police car do not open from the inside, and I informed him of this. He finally stopped the car and let me out. I had a few choice words for him as I walked away, and I continued up to Chris’ place as well.
The two of us sat around and got shittered over the next couple of hours, when I finally decided it was time for me to get home myself. I had a couple of hours sleep to catch up on, so I missed my first two classes the next morning. When I arrived at the college just after lunch, I wasn’t prepared for the welcome that I would receive.
I crested the last two steps up to the cafeteria, all of my friends were sitting on the other side in the lounge area, and they all stood up and started clapping. Once everyone else in the cafeteria realized what was going on, they as well stood up and joined in on the clapping.
“Jailbird, Jailbird, Jailbird” rang through the entire floor. I was greeted with hugs and high fives. I didn’t quite make it to my afternoon classes either, as everyone wanted to hear the story. So we all filed out of the college and across the street to the pub to chat over a couple of pitchers of suds. When I walked through the pub door, who is there sitting at the bar but my jail mate Aunt Jemima. The two of us, as well as everyone else that followed me over sat around and laughed our asses off at the entire situation, well into the next morning.
“You’re drunk you just don’t know it”
On the surface any person would think that this statement would be well thought out and relatively harmless. But coming from a police officer who was to know that this statement would disrupt an entire evening. Curious aren’t you?
Every year Halloween Havoc wrapped up with a wet/dry dance whether it be at the college or another nearby establishment. It just so happened this one was the last one to be held at the college. Myself as well as a host of other people were in charge of organizing this year’s dance. So we arrived early afternoon to start setting up the music table and add a few decorations here and there. A couple of hours before the dance started we went over to the liquor store and picked up the mass amount of booze that would be required to keep all of the students and some staff happy.
Finally people started to show up and the music started pumping, before you knew it, the place was absolutely rocking, people having a good time and the booze was flowing like water. Now, where the wet bar was located, there was a large window that looked out to a commons area just in front of the college along Broadway St. where on a really nice day people would come out and eat their lunch.
It was also a very common place where Woodstock’s riff raff would congregate to smoke dope and drink. (College Students were a lot smarter, they did it where no one could see them) On this night the riff raff were about 30 kids between the ages of 13-15. All night they would be knocking on the window asking the bartender to pass some booze through the window to them. This got to be such a problem that a couple of us were asked by then Student Activities Co-ordinator Lori-Jean Johnson, to go out and see if we could disperse the crowd. Remember this was a Halloween dance so when we went outside, we were still in our costumes. I was dressed like Garth (Wayne’s World) Chris McGarrigle was dressed up like Aunt Jemima, there were others that followed us out, but I can’t remember what costumes they had on.
The confrontation began with just mere words being slung back and forth. Being as intoxicated as they were, the “children” didn’t have very much ammo in the way of insults. The verbal jawing continued for about 15 minutes when Woodstock’s finest arrived on the scene with lights a blarin in two cruisers. By this time, no physical action had taken place, but as soon as one of the police officers were getting out of their car, this very brave, stoned and very stupid girl decided to rush across the lawn at Chris. All Chris could do to protect himself was extend his arm to keep her at bay, but of course all the police saw was Chris lifting his arm, and the girl falling over. (She did run right into his arm) This seemed to be enough grounds for them to arrest him for assault.
Chris was rather intoxicated, as he and a bunch of friends decided to play century club before attending the dance. But he knew and the rest of us knew that the police had the wrong person, so he put up a little bit of a fight in protest.
Thinking it was the right thing to do at the time, I approached the officer that was placing Chris in the back seat of the first car and told him that they had no right to apprehend Chris, at least for what they were basing it on. As soon as I spoke my piece, another officer approached me and led me back to the second cruiser where I thought I would be questioned as an eyewitness. I couldn’t have been any more wrong.
The officer opens the back door of the car and asks me to get in. Right now I am thinking to myself how weird this is because if all they wanted to do was ask me a couple questions, they could do that OUTSIDE of the cop car.
“Why do I have to get in the car when all you want to do is ask me some questions?” I politely asked the officer.
“Please get in the car,” the officer grumbled again.
I was really confused at this time and began to get a little irate. I told him I wasn’t getting in the car until he told me what was going on. He then proceeded to inform me that I was in fact being detained under the suspicion of being drunk in a public place.
Sure, I had a couple of beer before the dance even started and had a couple more in the short time I was actually in the dance. But I was far from drunk. But being that he smelled booze on my breath, and evidently trying to tell them how to properly do their job was warrant enough for Woodstock’s finest to detain me.
I protested a little stronger and a little louder now and was in the middle of a long rant when the officer put his hand on my head and pushed me into the back of the cruiser and stated those famous words......
“You’re drunk you just don’t know it.”
If you all of a sudden hear a loud laughing noise, sorry that is the voice inside my head cause he still finds that very very funny.
He closed the door and peered in through the glass with a little smirk on his face. I gave him the double finger salute and called him everything but late for dinner.
I sat in the back of the car for a good 15 minutes before we made our way up to the station. While still outside the dance one after another, friends of mine came up to the car to ask me how I was and they were doing everything they could to make sure I would be released shortly. Oh how I wish that were true.
During the drive, the officer decided he was going to place nice guy and try to chat me up, I would have none of it.
“So, what are you taking at the college?” he asked, to which I replied, “you can go f*** yourself if you think I am going to start a conversation with you.” Needless to say he shut up in a hurry.
We finally arrived at the station, and Chris and I were being led in at the same time. We were laughing and saying how stupid the Woodstock police force actually was because this all seemed to be a little ridiculous. If the officers even had half a brain in their head, they would have noticed that we were all having a good time, trying to protect our dance from the little hooligans, and let us go with a warning or something but of course that would have been too easy.
They took Aunt Jemima (Chris) directly to the tank where they tried to take off his work boots. During the process he was in fine form, shouting protests of racism and sexual harassment. I couldn’t help but laugh and was paying no attention to the officer asking me questions. There was even a little game of "chase the drunk around the drunk tank."
“Do you have anything in your pockets?”
I reached in and found a couple of pennies and a rather large ball of lint to show him. He pulled a plastic bag from the drawer of his desk and asked me to place the contents of my hand into the bag. Being in a rather un-cooperative mood, I threw the pennies and the lint across the room, when all of a sudden some lackey comes running into the room and retrieves the items I sent flying no more than 30 seconds earlier.
All though this was a little weird, nothing would prepare me for the officer’s next statement.
“Please remove your shoes and your watch please.”
“You give me a good reason why I should take my shoes off, and I might just think about it.” The officer looked a little stunned and informed me at this time that I would be placed in the holding cell with Chris for a little while so we both could, get this now, “sober up a little.”
I stopped laughing and before I had the chance to wipe the tears out of my eyes, some one came up, grabbed my feet and removed my shoes and placed them in the bag as well. My repeated requests for a Breathalyzer fell on deaf ears, I was escorted across the hall to the “drunk tank.”
The officer closed the door behind me and stated he would be back when he thought a sufficient enough period of time had passed for us to sober up. The bastard returned just a little under FOUR hours later. Chris and I had tired ourselves out by this time, all of the laughing and yelling that we did definitely sobered Chris up and I just didn’t care anymore.
During that time, I had asked the "nice" lady on duty for a blanket. This request seemed a bit odd to her, but hell it was a cold October night, go figure. I did recieve my blanket, it was what was on the blanket that I disapproved of. To put it lightly, the blanket could have gotten up and walked out of there by itself it was so crusty. And on a couple of occcassions we had asked for some toilet paper, cause at seperate times we both had to use the lovely drunk tank facilities. Hehehehehehe, we each recieved two squares of TP each. Even if we had put our winnings together, we still wouldn't be able to wipe one of our asses let alone two.
He peered at us through the door and stated that it looked like we had sobered up enough to be released. In his mind we still weren’t 100% sober, but we were enough to return to public.
We walked across the hall into the office we were in four hours earlier and were given our personal items back. I reached into the bag, put my shoes back on, put my Garth blonde wig and nerdy glasses back on and threw the pennies and lint across the room again, much to the displeasure of Mr. Police man.
“If you had been able to control your liquor consumption a little better, you wouldn’t have been here in the first place!” he said in return of me throwing those items across the floor.
“I had controlled my liquor consumption thank you very much, and if you had half a brain in that little head of yours you would have realized that I wasn’t drunk in the first place,’ I retorted.
The little officer man was getting a little angry now and decided it was in his best interest just to get us out of the station. He handed me a pencil and wanted me to sign a release form that basically released the cops from any wrongdoing. I politely took the pencil and snapped it in half.
“Number one, I shouldn’t have been here in the first place, number two there is no way in hell that I am signing this form, you can sign it for me, but forgery is a very illegal offence.”
He said he was done with us and that we could leave. Now, being dressed like we were the minute we stepped outside that station, we would have been jumped in a second. Mind you it was only about a 10- minute walk back downtown, but by this time of the morning, the dance had been over for a couple of hours, so we really had no where to go. Plus it was rather cold out.
I told the officer that since he was so kind to have driven us up to the station, he was going to be just as kind and drive us back downtown. He refused over and over until I told him we had no problem standing right where we were and annoying him more and more until he decided to drive us down.
He grabbed his keys and the three of us walked out to the car. Chris called shotgun and beat me to the front seat, so I again had to sit in the back. He drove us down to where Chris was living (Club Kennedy), Chris got out of the car and walked upstairs. The officer pulls away with me still in the backseat. After not noticing for a couple of seconds, I knocked on the partition that for some reason surprised him.
“Oh you are still back there, I thought you got out with your friend?” he stated in all of his infinite wisdom and chucked to himself at the end.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the backdoors of a police car do not open from the inside, and I informed him of this. He finally stopped the car and let me out. I had a few choice words for him as I walked away, and I continued up to Chris’ place as well.
The two of us sat around and got shittered over the next couple of hours, when I finally decided it was time for me to get home myself. I had a couple of hours sleep to catch up on, so I missed my first two classes the next morning. When I arrived at the college just after lunch, I wasn’t prepared for the welcome that I would receive.
I crested the last two steps up to the cafeteria, all of my friends were sitting on the other side in the lounge area, and they all stood up and started clapping. Once everyone else in the cafeteria realized what was going on, they as well stood up and joined in on the clapping.
“Jailbird, Jailbird, Jailbird” rang through the entire floor. I was greeted with hugs and high fives. I didn’t quite make it to my afternoon classes either, as everyone wanted to hear the story. So we all filed out of the college and across the street to the pub to chat over a couple of pitchers of suds. When I walked through the pub door, who is there sitting at the bar but my jail mate Aunt Jemima. The two of us, as well as everyone else that followed me over sat around and laughed our asses off at the entire situation, well into the next morning.
Chapter 10 – BBQ sauce for those eyebrows sir?
Chapter 10 – BBQ sauce for those eyebrows sir?
Ahhhhh just the thought of barbeques makes my mouth water. The smell of burning meat on the grill, the sound of that first beer of what normally would be many beers opening. Yes there’s nothing quite like a good ol fashioned barbeque with friends. And to tell you the truth there’s really nothing like almost turning yourself into a human fire ball infront your friends as well, like you will quickly find out.
Sherri is one of my best friends, even to this day. She was and still is the type of person that would go out of her way to make sure her friends were all right. Every once in a while she would invite a bunch of us up to her house for a little get together, whether her two children were around or not cause we all got along with Scotty and Jillian really well.
So on this evening three or four of us showed up at her place to cook a little cow and throw a little cold barley soup down our throats. We sat around long enough for a few of us to get pretty well lit, not polluted by any means, but like Sherri likes to call it, “happy feet.” We totally lost track of time, and before we knew it , darkness reigned and we hadn’t even started the barbeque yet.
Either I was nominated or I volunteered myself to go out and start the fire demon. Said demon was located just outside the porch door at the very back of her driveway. Being as dark as it was, the only way I was able to pick the thing out was because of the small light over the porch door, other than that, it was like trying to look through a pint of Guinness. (nice alcohol euphimism there huh....)
I am reaching around the back of the barbeque turning on the juice when I hear Sherri’s voice ring out from the kitchen.
“Oh yeah Dave, I meant to tell you, the electric ignition doesn’t work, so you have to light it manually.”
"Oh wonderful," I think to myself. The ignition doesn’t work and I don’t have anything to light said demon except for the lighter I have in one hand and a freshly torn beer label in the other.
Just a little side note, if you have been paying attention, you would realize the propane has been on for about 5 minutes now
Somehow, I have to light the beer label throw it on the grill and just pray to god that it falls through and ignites all the while planning my escape route from the impending fire ball. I know you are thinking, why don’t you just turn off the propane for a couple of minutes and just light it then, but only a sober person would think of something that easy.
So I light the beer label and throw it in the general direction of the barbeque.
DAMMIT!!
Just my luck. Sure, the label is lit, but it’s sitting on TOP of the grill. For some reason, even with as much propane that HAD to be in the air at that time, the frickin thing still didn’t light.
So at this time I think to myself, I say "Myself what in the hell do I do now?” Yes the propane has been running for a good 10 minutes by this time, and at any second could ignite and burn Sherri’s house to the ground, or at the very least remove her porch from the rest of the house. I continue to wait. Still nothing. In the meantime I am scrounging around in the dark looking for something long enough (hoping about 15 feet in length by now) to prod the surprisingly still lit label to fall through the cracks and start our fire. Can’t find a goddamn thing.
So I approach it quite cautiously knowing that at any moment the thing could ignite. With my outstretched arm and lighter in hand…yes I was using a lighter, begin to move the almost burned up label around the grill…
WOOOOOOFFFFFFFF!
Everyone else was still in the kitchen still pounding the booze back, other than the light over the sink, there wasn’t a whole lot of light in Sherri's kitchen. That was at least until I lit the barbeque.
Dok was one of the people inside and he told me, the flash from the barbeque was so bright afterwards that for a split second nobody could see anything.
Little ol retarded me was still outside and on the ground by this time. The concussion from the barbeque lighting sent me to the ground in a hurry. The very first thing I hear from the kitchen aren’t voices of concern, IT WAS LAUGHTER! They were all laughing at me. But as the reality of the situation set in, I began to laugh pretty hard myself. But just to be a prick, I decided I would play a little prank on them. But you know what, even though I did fall over, I didn't spill a drop of my beer.
I walked around to the front of the house and ran in the front door with my hands over my eyes screaming, “Ahhhhh, I burned my friggin eyebrows off someone get me some water.” And I quickly collapsed to the ground in pain.
Most of them will claim to this day that they didn’t believe me for a second, but I honestly think I had them. The only thing that gave me away was the fact that I was laughing like a little school girl on acid and tears were pouring out of my eyes.
Not surprisingly, the next time we had a barbeque, I wasn’t allowed anywhere near propane or fire…Oh well, you gotta do what you gotta do.
Ahhhhh just the thought of barbeques makes my mouth water. The smell of burning meat on the grill, the sound of that first beer of what normally would be many beers opening. Yes there’s nothing quite like a good ol fashioned barbeque with friends. And to tell you the truth there’s really nothing like almost turning yourself into a human fire ball infront your friends as well, like you will quickly find out.
Sherri is one of my best friends, even to this day. She was and still is the type of person that would go out of her way to make sure her friends were all right. Every once in a while she would invite a bunch of us up to her house for a little get together, whether her two children were around or not cause we all got along with Scotty and Jillian really well.
So on this evening three or four of us showed up at her place to cook a little cow and throw a little cold barley soup down our throats. We sat around long enough for a few of us to get pretty well lit, not polluted by any means, but like Sherri likes to call it, “happy feet.” We totally lost track of time, and before we knew it , darkness reigned and we hadn’t even started the barbeque yet.
Either I was nominated or I volunteered myself to go out and start the fire demon. Said demon was located just outside the porch door at the very back of her driveway. Being as dark as it was, the only way I was able to pick the thing out was because of the small light over the porch door, other than that, it was like trying to look through a pint of Guinness. (nice alcohol euphimism there huh....)
I am reaching around the back of the barbeque turning on the juice when I hear Sherri’s voice ring out from the kitchen.
“Oh yeah Dave, I meant to tell you, the electric ignition doesn’t work, so you have to light it manually.”
"Oh wonderful," I think to myself. The ignition doesn’t work and I don’t have anything to light said demon except for the lighter I have in one hand and a freshly torn beer label in the other.
Just a little side note, if you have been paying attention, you would realize the propane has been on for about 5 minutes now
Somehow, I have to light the beer label throw it on the grill and just pray to god that it falls through and ignites all the while planning my escape route from the impending fire ball. I know you are thinking, why don’t you just turn off the propane for a couple of minutes and just light it then, but only a sober person would think of something that easy.
So I light the beer label and throw it in the general direction of the barbeque.
DAMMIT!!
Just my luck. Sure, the label is lit, but it’s sitting on TOP of the grill. For some reason, even with as much propane that HAD to be in the air at that time, the frickin thing still didn’t light.
So at this time I think to myself, I say "Myself what in the hell do I do now?” Yes the propane has been running for a good 10 minutes by this time, and at any second could ignite and burn Sherri’s house to the ground, or at the very least remove her porch from the rest of the house. I continue to wait. Still nothing. In the meantime I am scrounging around in the dark looking for something long enough (hoping about 15 feet in length by now) to prod the surprisingly still lit label to fall through the cracks and start our fire. Can’t find a goddamn thing.
So I approach it quite cautiously knowing that at any moment the thing could ignite. With my outstretched arm and lighter in hand…yes I was using a lighter, begin to move the almost burned up label around the grill…
WOOOOOOFFFFFFFF!
Everyone else was still in the kitchen still pounding the booze back, other than the light over the sink, there wasn’t a whole lot of light in Sherri's kitchen. That was at least until I lit the barbeque.
Dok was one of the people inside and he told me, the flash from the barbeque was so bright afterwards that for a split second nobody could see anything.
Little ol retarded me was still outside and on the ground by this time. The concussion from the barbeque lighting sent me to the ground in a hurry. The very first thing I hear from the kitchen aren’t voices of concern, IT WAS LAUGHTER! They were all laughing at me. But as the reality of the situation set in, I began to laugh pretty hard myself. But just to be a prick, I decided I would play a little prank on them. But you know what, even though I did fall over, I didn't spill a drop of my beer.
I walked around to the front of the house and ran in the front door with my hands over my eyes screaming, “Ahhhhh, I burned my friggin eyebrows off someone get me some water.” And I quickly collapsed to the ground in pain.
Most of them will claim to this day that they didn’t believe me for a second, but I honestly think I had them. The only thing that gave me away was the fact that I was laughing like a little school girl on acid and tears were pouring out of my eyes.
Not surprisingly, the next time we had a barbeque, I wasn’t allowed anywhere near propane or fire…Oh well, you gotta do what you gotta do.
Chapter 9 – The Dark Side of Woodstock
Chapter 9 – The Dark Side of Woodstock
EDITORS NOTE: Due to the context of this story, some strong language has been used. Read at your own risk
Before beginning this unfortunate story I must make one thing clear, even though I lived in Fredericton for 22 years, I can also say that I grew up in Woodstock as well. It is where my grandmother still lives and is the stomping grounds of my father and his brothers and sisters as well.
Woodstock was like a second home to me as well as the many students who populated the college. So it is never easy to talk about such a place with negativity.
Racism is everywhere, it’s on every street corner, it’s in every school, and it’s in every city and every town. But just because it is everywhere doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. A few of the students of the college could call Dwayne a friend or colleague, but even fewer could call him a brother, like some of us did. He would always greet you in the hallway with a smile or sarcastic comment or was always one of the first one to buy you a drink at the bar. (Especially on cheap night) Dwayne fit the college like a glove and vice versa. But the same couldn’t be said about the town itself. You see, Dwayne was just like everyone else, except he was black.
In the hundreds of years that Woodstock has existed, it has never really boasted a large population of African-Canadians, barely any at all to tell you the truth. It would be easy to estimate that 60% of the residents of the small town of Woodstock are over the age of 50.
In an earlier story, Dok eluded to the term “bible-belt,” which is a reference to Woodstock and surrounding area and their love affair with the church. African-Canadians weren’t always a popular people in Woodstock, not only with the elderly residents but the younger generations as well.
It wasn’t uncommon for a group of us to be walking up the street, Dwayne being part of the group. A school bus full of junior high or elementary children would drive by and stare in amazement that white people were walking with a person of color. Even if he wasn’t with us we would be approached by some of the town folk, which I will refer to from here on out as hardcore rednecks and we would be asked, as if it was no big deal to them “how can you stand to be friends with a nigger.” (editors note: I will no longer be using the entire “n” word for the rest of the story. It upsets me greatly to even think of it.)
Such rednecks didn’t even have a problem approaching Dwayne himself on the street and calling him the n-word directly to his face. But we would just keep walking and calm him down.
Being at the bar was a totally different story. It wasn’t an easy task to calm him down after an altercation on the street. It was one hundred times harder when alcohol was involved. For the most part the 300+ students that filled the college any given year weren’t overly popular in the town. It was like we were stomping on their toes or something. Some people would show their displeasure at us in a grander form at the bar. For the better part of the school year it was the NBCC students that ran the bar, (and were told as much by management on a number of occassions) in our minds we were just giving it back to the town while we were gone for the summer, and get it back once September rolled around again.
Sixty percent of the people on the dance floor at any given time were students, cause we were just out for a good time, while the rednecks would be sitting around or even standing in close proximity to the dance floor eyeballing each and every one of us. Once a song was over, or once we decided it was time to sit down, more times than not we would be tripped or purposely bumped into while leaving the floor as their sign of disapproval.
One night, myself, Dok, Homer, Brucie, Dwayne as well as some other friends were leaving the floor and someone bumped into Dwayne basically to get a rile out of him. Words were spoken and the bouncing staff was quick to jump in to prevent the altercation from heating up any further.
Once our buddy Kevin the DJ played the final song and the house lights went up, these “brave” souls decided to confront Dwayne on the floor. By this time I was already half way to the coat check. Dwayne, who rarely brought his jacket to the bar passed me and once outside lit a smoke. I followed him outside then all of a sudden was bowled over from behind by someone who had been after Dwayne the entire evening.
“You’re mine now n*****” Dwayne’s assailant muttered as he began to rain haymakers to the side of Dwayne’s head. Once I regained my balance and actually realized what was going on, I grabbed on to the assailants arm to prevent him from landing another blow. Before I knew it, I was being detained by another person, obviously a friend of the guy who was using Dwayne as a speed bag, who grabbed me by my jacket, pushed me up against the outside door and said to me very calmly that I shouldn’t interfere or I will “get exactly what the n***** is getting.”
During this very brief conversation, Dwayne had been pushed the rest of the way down the stairs. As I am still being detained I say calmly back to the prick who is holding me. “If you are going to hit me, hit me mother f**ker, otherwise get the fuck out of my way.” I grabbed his hands removed them from my jacket and promptly pushed him down the steps.
Luckily by this time, more of our group of friends had come outside, so the numbers were now pretty much even. Reddawg and I would be holding Dwayne back cause I am certain if we had let him go, Dwayne probably would have killed the guy. But everyonce in a while the waste of skin would get to close, so RD and I would “temporarily” let go of him and the coward would retreat.
I would like to say this was an isolated incident, but it wasn’t. It seemed like every second week or so Dwayne was being harassed or assaulted sometimes by the same group but often times by different people. But the assaults weren’t just limited to Dwayne himself. Another friend of Dwayne’s, who at the time of these incidents was to young to get into the bar, McCormick was also assaulted on his way home from class one day.
As he was walking towards his house, vehicle drove by him and stopped soon after. Next thing McCormick knew he was being attacked from behind, after being kicked and punched repeatedly, one of the assailants said “you are being beaten because you are friends with the n*****.” This sickened all of us who were McCormick’s friends, and unfortunately after the attack and after talking it over with his friends and teachers around the college, McCormick returned to his hometown, fearing for his safety.
The worst incident that I can remember was one night after the bar, the same sort of story inside, words being thrown around and such, but it was a different story outside. Instead of having a fair fight, which 95% of them were, this time around Dwayne was gang beaten in the parking lot of the bar by a group of infamous brothers, The Jecartins. The rap sheet on these boys was as long as a Stephen King novel, everywhere they went they instilled fear in most people. On this night, the brothers made their point clear. Four on one, they un-mercifully beat Dwayne down to the ground and even continued to beat him while he was down. What makes this tale even more horrific, there were two Town of Woodstock police cars sitting no more than twenty feet away. Two police cars means four officers, who decided to do nothing but stick their thumbs up their asses while an innocent man was being beaten.
Finally a friend of ours Nick ran over to one of the police cars forcibly opened the drivers side door and asked “are you fucking pigs going to just sit around and watch this or are you going to do your f**king jobs and stop it.” By the time the officers approached the scene, the brothers were already in their vehicles and allowed to drive off with no questions asked. Not only were the some of the younger generation of Woodstock bigots and racists, but so were a handful of the police force. The only one taken to the police station and questioned was Dwayne, after he got out of the hospital of course.
In a later court hearing, the police officers would testify that the only reason they didn’t interfere when the fight broke out was because “they didn’t want to create a mob scene.” The only reason they didn’t do anything cause the police force consisted of guys who grew up either in Woodstock or in the Woodstock area, they all had the same frame of mind. A good portion of the force were just as bigoted as the rest of the town, probably even more so depending on who you talk to.
Of the three years I spent in the town, I would safely say that this was the only dark side. It’s just to bad that most of it had to do with the color of Dwayne’s skin. Now like I said, I really have nothing against the town, I grew up there for the most part and anytime I’m in that part of the country I continue to visit the friends and family that I have there. Gram, Grampie (May he rest in peace), Chucky, Sherri(Scott/Jillian), Carina (Greg and Rianna and now Victoria), Kevin, Mike, Stacy….you all know who you are, and you all stood behind him in his time of need. You all are the true souls of Woodstock.
EDITORS END NOTE: Opinions expressed in this piece are those of the editor(s) and do not reflect those of NBCC Woodstock or the town of Woodstock.
Before beginning this unfortunate story I must make one thing clear, even though I lived in Fredericton for 22 years, I can also say that I grew up in Woodstock as well. It is where my grandmother still lives and is the stomping grounds of my father and his brothers and sisters as well.
Woodstock was like a second home to me as well as the many students who populated the college. So it is never easy to talk about such a place with negativity.
Racism is everywhere, it’s on every street corner, it’s in every school, and it’s in every city and every town. But just because it is everywhere doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. A few of the students of the college could call Dwayne a friend or colleague, but even fewer could call him a brother, like some of us did. He would always greet you in the hallway with a smile or sarcastic comment or was always one of the first one to buy you a drink at the bar. (Especially on cheap night) Dwayne fit the college like a glove and vice versa. But the same couldn’t be said about the town itself. You see, Dwayne was just like everyone else, except he was black.
In the hundreds of years that Woodstock has existed, it has never really boasted a large population of African-Canadians, barely any at all to tell you the truth. It would be easy to estimate that 60% of the residents of the small town of Woodstock are over the age of 50.
In an earlier story, Dok eluded to the term “bible-belt,” which is a reference to Woodstock and surrounding area and their love affair with the church. African-Canadians weren’t always a popular people in Woodstock, not only with the elderly residents but the younger generations as well.
It wasn’t uncommon for a group of us to be walking up the street, Dwayne being part of the group. A school bus full of junior high or elementary children would drive by and stare in amazement that white people were walking with a person of color. Even if he wasn’t with us we would be approached by some of the town folk, which I will refer to from here on out as hardcore rednecks and we would be asked, as if it was no big deal to them “how can you stand to be friends with a nigger.” (editors note: I will no longer be using the entire “n” word for the rest of the story. It upsets me greatly to even think of it.)
Such rednecks didn’t even have a problem approaching Dwayne himself on the street and calling him the n-word directly to his face. But we would just keep walking and calm him down.
Being at the bar was a totally different story. It wasn’t an easy task to calm him down after an altercation on the street. It was one hundred times harder when alcohol was involved. For the most part the 300+ students that filled the college any given year weren’t overly popular in the town. It was like we were stomping on their toes or something. Some people would show their displeasure at us in a grander form at the bar. For the better part of the school year it was the NBCC students that ran the bar, (and were told as much by management on a number of occassions) in our minds we were just giving it back to the town while we were gone for the summer, and get it back once September rolled around again.
Sixty percent of the people on the dance floor at any given time were students, cause we were just out for a good time, while the rednecks would be sitting around or even standing in close proximity to the dance floor eyeballing each and every one of us. Once a song was over, or once we decided it was time to sit down, more times than not we would be tripped or purposely bumped into while leaving the floor as their sign of disapproval.
One night, myself, Dok, Homer, Brucie, Dwayne as well as some other friends were leaving the floor and someone bumped into Dwayne basically to get a rile out of him. Words were spoken and the bouncing staff was quick to jump in to prevent the altercation from heating up any further.
Once our buddy Kevin the DJ played the final song and the house lights went up, these “brave” souls decided to confront Dwayne on the floor. By this time I was already half way to the coat check. Dwayne, who rarely brought his jacket to the bar passed me and once outside lit a smoke. I followed him outside then all of a sudden was bowled over from behind by someone who had been after Dwayne the entire evening.
“You’re mine now n*****” Dwayne’s assailant muttered as he began to rain haymakers to the side of Dwayne’s head. Once I regained my balance and actually realized what was going on, I grabbed on to the assailants arm to prevent him from landing another blow. Before I knew it, I was being detained by another person, obviously a friend of the guy who was using Dwayne as a speed bag, who grabbed me by my jacket, pushed me up against the outside door and said to me very calmly that I shouldn’t interfere or I will “get exactly what the n***** is getting.”
During this very brief conversation, Dwayne had been pushed the rest of the way down the stairs. As I am still being detained I say calmly back to the prick who is holding me. “If you are going to hit me, hit me mother f**ker, otherwise get the fuck out of my way.” I grabbed his hands removed them from my jacket and promptly pushed him down the steps.
Luckily by this time, more of our group of friends had come outside, so the numbers were now pretty much even. Reddawg and I would be holding Dwayne back cause I am certain if we had let him go, Dwayne probably would have killed the guy. But everyonce in a while the waste of skin would get to close, so RD and I would “temporarily” let go of him and the coward would retreat.
I would like to say this was an isolated incident, but it wasn’t. It seemed like every second week or so Dwayne was being harassed or assaulted sometimes by the same group but often times by different people. But the assaults weren’t just limited to Dwayne himself. Another friend of Dwayne’s, who at the time of these incidents was to young to get into the bar, McCormick was also assaulted on his way home from class one day.
As he was walking towards his house, vehicle drove by him and stopped soon after. Next thing McCormick knew he was being attacked from behind, after being kicked and punched repeatedly, one of the assailants said “you are being beaten because you are friends with the n*****.” This sickened all of us who were McCormick’s friends, and unfortunately after the attack and after talking it over with his friends and teachers around the college, McCormick returned to his hometown, fearing for his safety.
The worst incident that I can remember was one night after the bar, the same sort of story inside, words being thrown around and such, but it was a different story outside. Instead of having a fair fight, which 95% of them were, this time around Dwayne was gang beaten in the parking lot of the bar by a group of infamous brothers, The Jecartins. The rap sheet on these boys was as long as a Stephen King novel, everywhere they went they instilled fear in most people. On this night, the brothers made their point clear. Four on one, they un-mercifully beat Dwayne down to the ground and even continued to beat him while he was down. What makes this tale even more horrific, there were two Town of Woodstock police cars sitting no more than twenty feet away. Two police cars means four officers, who decided to do nothing but stick their thumbs up their asses while an innocent man was being beaten.
Finally a friend of ours Nick ran over to one of the police cars forcibly opened the drivers side door and asked “are you fucking pigs going to just sit around and watch this or are you going to do your f**king jobs and stop it.” By the time the officers approached the scene, the brothers were already in their vehicles and allowed to drive off with no questions asked. Not only were the some of the younger generation of Woodstock bigots and racists, but so were a handful of the police force. The only one taken to the police station and questioned was Dwayne, after he got out of the hospital of course.
In a later court hearing, the police officers would testify that the only reason they didn’t interfere when the fight broke out was because “they didn’t want to create a mob scene.” The only reason they didn’t do anything cause the police force consisted of guys who grew up either in Woodstock or in the Woodstock area, they all had the same frame of mind. A good portion of the force were just as bigoted as the rest of the town, probably even more so depending on who you talk to.
Of the three years I spent in the town, I would safely say that this was the only dark side. It’s just to bad that most of it had to do with the color of Dwayne’s skin. Now like I said, I really have nothing against the town, I grew up there for the most part and anytime I’m in that part of the country I continue to visit the friends and family that I have there. Gram, Grampie (May he rest in peace), Chucky, Sherri(Scott/Jillian), Carina (Greg and Rianna and now Victoria), Kevin, Mike, Stacy….you all know who you are, and you all stood behind him in his time of need. You all are the true souls of Woodstock.
Chapter 9 - Porcelain -- The Other White Meat
Chapter 9 - Porcelain -- The Other White Meat
House parties during my time in college were always…well let’s say interesting bordering on infamous. For instance the party at Anthony’s place that Dok detailed earlier in this book. Whether it was at my place with Bruce or at Dok and Homer’s place or even at Kimmy and Val’s place, there was always a story to tell afterwards.
Back when I first arrived in Woodstock (circa: 1995) there was really only a couple of places to party. One being Club Kennedy (King Street above Greco Pizza which I am sure you will hear of in another tale or two) and the old green house up on Broadway. At the time a bunch of radio guys and I think some graphics folk lived there. The radio guys (Quinn and Slaney; I will tell you about their Halloween drag party as well)
Of course, over the years many different people chose this place to be their abode for the year, and of course it remained a pre-bar or pub night hang out for a bunch of people. In late 1998, well after I had graduated a bunch of friends of mine decided to take this place over for their final year. Lance (whom you know of through his car/ambulance GUMBY) and McCormick were two of many whom packed this place. There were a couple of reasons people picked this place. One being that it was close to the college and on the college side of the river to boot, so they didn’t have to walk across the Meduxnekeag River (By the way, Meduxnekeag was native for “FUCKING COLD WATER”)
The other reason people chose it was because it was stumbling distance from the pub and the bar, albeit an uphill stumble.
I arrived in Woodstock at the very beginning of the 1999 school year. As I was leaving for Calgary shortly after, I wanted to say my final goodbyes to everyone. Myself, Homer and Kimmy would often take the hour's drive up river to Woodstock on a whim, just to surprise some friends who remained at the college or lived in town. Yeah we would pop by some instructors houses as well. (Right Jeffy!).
During my tour I was informed that a party would be happening that night up at McCormicks and Lance’s place and that I was invited. I had spent most of my money on my bus ticket getting to Woodstock so didn’t have much money for food. (had to think of the alcohol I would be buying first) Thankfully I knew some folks who worked at the store/pizza house located right across the street from the college who kindly threw me a couple of pieces of pizza. (Thanks TJ)
It was about time for me to make my appearance at the party. And I was struggling over whether to spend my last $10 on more food (cause the pizza was sooooo good) or on beer. Being fresh out of college this wasn’t really a struggle. Many a night Brucie and I would agonize whether to fill the cupboards with Kraft Dinner or the fridge with booze. Needless to say many a night booze won. So I went to the candy store to pick up an 8-pack and headed up to the party.
The house was completely packed with people, most of which being college students I knew but of course in a party this size there are always going to be people you don’t know. There was also enough weed around to kill a small elephant, which wasn’t overly surprising if you knew half of these people.(not that students or instructors at the College did that sort of thing) It was getting a little crowded inside and due to all of the pot being smoked around me I was also getting quite high, so I moved through the house and out on to the back porch.
The two Christa’s, Radio's Jill, Dok and a few new Journalism students from St. Thomas University taking their Bachelor of Arts in Journalism degree were sitting on the porch. Chris Connors was one of them, I think Kaveri made and appearance as well. Chris, a really cool cat from Cape Breton (trust me, the accent gave it away) was sitting back on the railing of the porch drinking R&R right from the bottle.
Due to the very limited amount of food in my stomach, the beer was starting to take it’s toll after about six or so. I took a small rest from drinking to get my composure back then continued. The longer I talked to Mr. Connors, the more he kept offering me a swig of his rye. I thought what the hell, one little sip won’t hurt me. Yeah right, try five or six big ones.
Have you ever heard the saying “Liquor before beer you’re in the clear -- beer before liquor never sicker.” I wish someone would have informed me of that before indulging in the rye, cause the world starting taking me for a spin not to long afterwards. Now I have been very very drunk before(shocking I know). I have even passed out on one or two occasions, this night was as drunk as I can sort of remember being without passing out completely...that would come later on. I walked through the house through the blue cloud of smoke and out to the front step where I spent a good part of the rest of my stay at the party.
Everyonce in a while, someone would come out to make sure I was still breathing, and I guess sometimes it was a pretty close call. Eventually a couple of brave brave souls decided the best thing for me was to get some sleep. I was staying at Dok’s that night anyway, so Dok and McCormick drug me home. Being as polluted as I was, my legs weren’t working all that well, so when I say they drug me home, they literally drug me home.
Dok’s place was on the second floor of a three-story house. The inside stair case was twisty and turny, and the outside stair case was very steep, neither one was good for getting drunks home. But they chose the outside stair case anyway just incase I decided to lose what ever was left in my stomach. (The beer and the rye were still fighting for supremecy)
Dok's Edit:(*Dave's sidenote*: Dok was way more sober and vertical than I was, so take his word as gospel....) As Joey and I are standing in the bathroom, making sure that our buddy is going to be OK, Joey as he normally does, whilst drinking decides to start acting the fool. After one too many smartass remarks, Joey decided show off his trademark crotch chop. Unfortunatly to do so, he leans up against the sink. Not made to support the weight of a 19 year old pointing at his crotch, it begins it's quick decent to the floor. I try to decide to stop it but it's a lost cause, causing nothing but a cut finger on my part. With water everywhere, Dave decides that it's time to exit stage left, but as he mentioned earlier in this tale his legs are not working as they should. So he crawls out to the deck (really a 3foot by 5foot landing and a great entry route for those drunks who just couldn't find their way to THEIR OWN HOUSES)
Back to Dave's recollection: Once inside, they immediately took me to the bathroom. And the first thing I held on to was the sink. A small porcelan thing jutting from the wall. Now, I either went to the toilet to hurl and tried to prop myself back up with the sink or lost my balance leaving the bathroom and fell back on it, regardless next thing I hear is a loud bang and water at my feet. Somehow the sink was removed from it's rightfull spot on the wall, and hot water was burning my feet.
Someone cut their finger on the porcelain either by trying to catch it on the way down, or fumbling with it while it lay on the bathroom floor. While all this is happening I am sitting on the edge of the tub hoping beyond all hope that I wasn't the one who broke the sink. My head is in my hands, my feet are still burning from the hot water (still coming from the pipe) and then I noticed the blood. Thankfully it was only a small cut, which stopped bleeding quickly.
Fearing that I might cause more damage, Dok helped me crawl to my post, where he would have been well within his right to push me down the stairs or throw me over the edge, but like the brother he is he sat me down and handed me what was to be my best friend for the rest of the night. My red bucket. Things were spinning, my head was ringing from the eminent hangover that I was to have the next day and I could still hear the party going on across the street.
After what seemed to be a couple of days, (mere hours) I crawled back into the house and found the nearest thing to rest my head on, Dok’s beanbag chair. Dry heaves followed and I think it was either Dok or Devon put the bucket over my head. The thing is, I don’t remember them doing this, so when I woke up the next morning or afternoon whenever it was, I thought I was laying in a pool of blood. All I saw was red. And everytime I called out to someone, there was this strange echo. It didn’t take long for me to realize I had indeed slept in a bucket the whole night. Evidently, they put the bucket on my head so I wouldn’t lay face down on beanbag chair and suffocate myself. What are friends for right?
(Dok's Final Thoughts: The night of the first class bash at the green house, all of the returning class was sitting on the back porch, discussing things that had happened over the summer. As it tended to do when we all got together when drinking, things got a little personal. Turns out that the cute chicky in Graphics (can't remember her name) lived in the house between mine and the green house got to know a lot about all of us before any of us knew what she looked like. She was the one that showed up at the apartment with Conners, dry humping on the floor. Poor Lance, sat there and watched it)
House parties during my time in college were always…well let’s say interesting bordering on infamous. For instance the party at Anthony’s place that Dok detailed earlier in this book. Whether it was at my place with Bruce or at Dok and Homer’s place or even at Kimmy and Val’s place, there was always a story to tell afterwards.
Back when I first arrived in Woodstock (circa: 1995) there was really only a couple of places to party. One being Club Kennedy (King Street above Greco Pizza which I am sure you will hear of in another tale or two) and the old green house up on Broadway. At the time a bunch of radio guys and I think some graphics folk lived there. The radio guys (Quinn and Slaney; I will tell you about their Halloween drag party as well)
Of course, over the years many different people chose this place to be their abode for the year, and of course it remained a pre-bar or pub night hang out for a bunch of people. In late 1998, well after I had graduated a bunch of friends of mine decided to take this place over for their final year. Lance (whom you know of through his car/ambulance GUMBY) and McCormick were two of many whom packed this place. There were a couple of reasons people picked this place. One being that it was close to the college and on the college side of the river to boot, so they didn’t have to walk across the Meduxnekeag River (By the way, Meduxnekeag was native for “FUCKING COLD WATER”)
The other reason people chose it was because it was stumbling distance from the pub and the bar, albeit an uphill stumble.
I arrived in Woodstock at the very beginning of the 1999 school year. As I was leaving for Calgary shortly after, I wanted to say my final goodbyes to everyone. Myself, Homer and Kimmy would often take the hour's drive up river to Woodstock on a whim, just to surprise some friends who remained at the college or lived in town. Yeah we would pop by some instructors houses as well. (Right Jeffy!).
During my tour I was informed that a party would be happening that night up at McCormicks and Lance’s place and that I was invited. I had spent most of my money on my bus ticket getting to Woodstock so didn’t have much money for food. (had to think of the alcohol I would be buying first) Thankfully I knew some folks who worked at the store/pizza house located right across the street from the college who kindly threw me a couple of pieces of pizza. (Thanks TJ)
It was about time for me to make my appearance at the party. And I was struggling over whether to spend my last $10 on more food (cause the pizza was sooooo good) or on beer. Being fresh out of college this wasn’t really a struggle. Many a night Brucie and I would agonize whether to fill the cupboards with Kraft Dinner or the fridge with booze. Needless to say many a night booze won. So I went to the candy store to pick up an 8-pack and headed up to the party.
The house was completely packed with people, most of which being college students I knew but of course in a party this size there are always going to be people you don’t know. There was also enough weed around to kill a small elephant, which wasn’t overly surprising if you knew half of these people.(not that students or instructors at the College did that sort of thing) It was getting a little crowded inside and due to all of the pot being smoked around me I was also getting quite high, so I moved through the house and out on to the back porch.
The two Christa’s, Radio's Jill, Dok and a few new Journalism students from St. Thomas University taking their Bachelor of Arts in Journalism degree were sitting on the porch. Chris Connors was one of them, I think Kaveri made and appearance as well. Chris, a really cool cat from Cape Breton (trust me, the accent gave it away) was sitting back on the railing of the porch drinking R&R right from the bottle.
Due to the very limited amount of food in my stomach, the beer was starting to take it’s toll after about six or so. I took a small rest from drinking to get my composure back then continued. The longer I talked to Mr. Connors, the more he kept offering me a swig of his rye. I thought what the hell, one little sip won’t hurt me. Yeah right, try five or six big ones.
Have you ever heard the saying “Liquor before beer you’re in the clear -- beer before liquor never sicker.” I wish someone would have informed me of that before indulging in the rye, cause the world starting taking me for a spin not to long afterwards. Now I have been very very drunk before(shocking I know). I have even passed out on one or two occasions, this night was as drunk as I can sort of remember being without passing out completely...that would come later on. I walked through the house through the blue cloud of smoke and out to the front step where I spent a good part of the rest of my stay at the party.
Everyonce in a while, someone would come out to make sure I was still breathing, and I guess sometimes it was a pretty close call. Eventually a couple of brave brave souls decided the best thing for me was to get some sleep. I was staying at Dok’s that night anyway, so Dok and McCormick drug me home. Being as polluted as I was, my legs weren’t working all that well, so when I say they drug me home, they literally drug me home.
Dok’s place was on the second floor of a three-story house. The inside stair case was twisty and turny, and the outside stair case was very steep, neither one was good for getting drunks home. But they chose the outside stair case anyway just incase I decided to lose what ever was left in my stomach. (The beer and the rye were still fighting for supremecy)
Dok's Edit:(*Dave's sidenote*: Dok was way more sober and vertical than I was, so take his word as gospel....) As Joey and I are standing in the bathroom, making sure that our buddy is going to be OK, Joey as he normally does, whilst drinking decides to start acting the fool. After one too many smartass remarks, Joey decided show off his trademark crotch chop. Unfortunatly to do so, he leans up against the sink. Not made to support the weight of a 19 year old pointing at his crotch, it begins it's quick decent to the floor. I try to decide to stop it but it's a lost cause, causing nothing but a cut finger on my part. With water everywhere, Dave decides that it's time to exit stage left, but as he mentioned earlier in this tale his legs are not working as they should. So he crawls out to the deck (really a 3foot by 5foot landing and a great entry route for those drunks who just couldn't find their way to THEIR OWN HOUSES)
Back to Dave's recollection: Once inside, they immediately took me to the bathroom. And the first thing I held on to was the sink. A small porcelan thing jutting from the wall. Now, I either went to the toilet to hurl and tried to prop myself back up with the sink or lost my balance leaving the bathroom and fell back on it, regardless next thing I hear is a loud bang and water at my feet. Somehow the sink was removed from it's rightfull spot on the wall, and hot water was burning my feet.
Someone cut their finger on the porcelain either by trying to catch it on the way down, or fumbling with it while it lay on the bathroom floor. While all this is happening I am sitting on the edge of the tub hoping beyond all hope that I wasn't the one who broke the sink. My head is in my hands, my feet are still burning from the hot water (still coming from the pipe) and then I noticed the blood. Thankfully it was only a small cut, which stopped bleeding quickly.
Fearing that I might cause more damage, Dok helped me crawl to my post, where he would have been well within his right to push me down the stairs or throw me over the edge, but like the brother he is he sat me down and handed me what was to be my best friend for the rest of the night. My red bucket. Things were spinning, my head was ringing from the eminent hangover that I was to have the next day and I could still hear the party going on across the street.
After what seemed to be a couple of days, (mere hours) I crawled back into the house and found the nearest thing to rest my head on, Dok’s beanbag chair. Dry heaves followed and I think it was either Dok or Devon put the bucket over my head. The thing is, I don’t remember them doing this, so when I woke up the next morning or afternoon whenever it was, I thought I was laying in a pool of blood. All I saw was red. And everytime I called out to someone, there was this strange echo. It didn’t take long for me to realize I had indeed slept in a bucket the whole night. Evidently, they put the bucket on my head so I wouldn’t lay face down on beanbag chair and suffocate myself. What are friends for right?
(Dok's Final Thoughts: The night of the first class bash at the green house, all of the returning class was sitting on the back porch, discussing things that had happened over the summer. As it tended to do when we all got together when drinking, things got a little personal. Turns out that the cute chicky in Graphics (can't remember her name) lived in the house between mine and the green house got to know a lot about all of us before any of us knew what she looked like. She was the one that showed up at the apartment with Conners, dry humping on the floor. Poor Lance, sat there and watched it)
Chapter 8 – Trouble at the Border
Chapter 8 – Trouble at the Border
Dave: The three years I spent in Woodstock I compiled hundreds of very fond memories, as you can attest by this book Chris and I are writing. And of all those memories there are a few that I can recall as if they happened yesterday. The following is one of those and has a little to do with our friends south of the border.
Woodstock, New Brunswick is located along the Canada/U.S border in the western part of the province. If you were to take a 20-minute drive a little further west you would reach the small American town, Houlton, Maine. Every once in a while, and if we could find a willing person with a car (usually Lance and his car Gumby) a crew of us would head over the border to get something to eat or do a little cross-border shopping.
Enter April, whom we affectionately nicknamed “Psycho.” (and trust me, if you ever drove with the girl, you would understand. To date she is the only person I know of that has passed an off duty police officer on the shoulder of the road.) April used to be a student at NBCC Woodstock, till a severe bout with a brain stem infection, insifilitis put her in the hospital for six months. She never came back to Woodstock as a student. (Her family is another story all together.)
Once she was cleared to drive again, April would often make the three hour trip from Moncton to Woodstock to see us and we would most always head over to Houlton to play a little mini-golf (There was a great little 18-hole miniature golf course located in the basement of a video store that we stumbled on the previous year) and on the way back would stop at Burger King for some greasy American burgers and then head back through to Woodstock.
On this day we packed myself, my girlfriend at the time Dawn, Dok, Homer and of course Ms. Psycho herself into her golden Chevy Cavalier and headed off to Houlton. There is a tiny history lesson that will probably make the story a little easier to understand. Homer had just recently broken up with his girlfriend whom we called Big-E (Erin was probably 90 pounds soaking wet), and before dating Homer, Big-E dated this guy named Shannon whom Homer didn’t like a whole lot.
Homer: Hey there, This is Homer, I know I have been mentioned a few times in the previous chapters. I figured that since this story would never have happened were it not for me, that it was only appropriate for me to throw in my two cents worth. Because let's face it, if you don't come out of an afternoon of cross-border galavanting with at least one story, WHAT'S THE FREAKIN POINT!
So, as my cohort mentioned, I noticed this guy stopped at the border. I'm not sure if his name was actually Shannon, but sunce his name is neither important, nor worth remembering, he is now, and forever will be, known as Shannon.
It would be safe to say that this guy would never get a Christmas card from me, but, it had nothing to do with him dating Big E. I never liked the guy.
His idea of having fun was to get as drunk as possible and drive "the loop." This was a circuit that literally looped through downtown Woodstock. Locals would spend hours a night driving the loop, and this was called "fun." Hey, it was a small town.
Dave: Usually, we had absolutely no problem getting through the border, we would just explain that we were heading over to play a little mini-golf and wouldn’t be any longer than a couple of hours at the most, and we were waved through. We wouldn’t have the same fate on this day. As we were approaching the booth at the border, Homer happened to spot Shannon just on the other side of the border having his van searched by American authorities. To prove his dislike for the guy, Homer who had called shotgun back in Woodstock, proceeded to give Shannon the D-Generation X crotch chop. (Arms crossed like an X and a chopping motion towards ones groin area) We all found this a bit entertaining, but the problem was Homer was spotted by the border guard, and we were the next vehicle to go through.
Homer: Naturally, I found it hilarious that his vehicle was being searched, so, in my mind, it made perfect sense for me to taunt him about it. This is how my mind works, you see.
Dave: We approached the station and the usual questions were asked, but this time we were actually asked for identification. So the five of us handed our I.D’s to the guard to examine. As he was doing this, small bits of laughter could still be heard coming from the car.
“Please pull ahead and you can obtain your identification inside,” said the surly guard. With a worried look on our faces we all looked at each other wondering what the hell was going on. We immediately began to razz Homer who by this time was feeling like a piece of crap for putting us in this predicament. April pulled ahead parked and as we entered the customs building were met by a few American officials who wouldn’t have looked out of place on any NFL offensive line. What was even scarier about these dudes, they were carrying 9-mm pistols on their sides.
Homer: So there we are in the border station, a little nervous, but still able to see the humor of it all. Unfortunately, as Dave pointed out, the linebackers didn't share our point of view. Damn Yankees!
Dave: Being from Canada, I don't believe our border guards are permitted to holster a weapon, so this was a little out of the ordinary for us.
Being seated and awaiting further instruction, we were still laughing about the entire situation. Cause at the time, it was actually rather humorous.
“I don’t think you guys are in any position to be laughing,” said another guard behind us. "You are being detained for on a very serious matter."
It actually wasn't too long before this incident happened that the whole Beanie Baby craze had hit. You know the little stupid stuffed toys that some people were giving their kidney's away for. People were stopped at the border like normal but if Beanie Babies were found on their person entering the States, they were confiscated. So being in the jubilant mood we were in, that's what we figured we were being detained for. Smuggling Beanie Babies into the U.S. to sell on the black market.
I don’t know what it was about all these American border guards, but none of them had any sense of humor whatsoever. Trying to chat them up a little failed miserably, even our genuine "Canadian" smiles were returned with just a blank stair. One by one, we were led into a small room where we were patted down and asked a series of questions, most of which involved the use of drugs.
While waiting for his turn, Homer decided he was a little hungry so got up and was walking towards the M&M vending machine when Mr. Surly himself yelled out. “SIT DOWN.”
Homer didn’t have a chance to explain himself, “Bu-Bu but I was just getting som…”
“I said sit down!” the guard boomed. Bad knees and all, it didn’t take Homer too long to get back to his seat. April wasn’t even allowed to use the bathroom for god sakes. We knew it was something serious by that time. But we still kept a pretty light attitude about the whole ordeal. After all, it isn't everyday a couple of good friends get to share a moment like this.
Homer: I happened to be the first one of our band of outlaws to be taken into the room by Mr. Linebacker, and of course I am fearing the worst. I figured there would be a search involved, I was just a little concerened what kind of a search it would be.
Immediatley, the movie Beavis and Butthead do America came to mind, with the body cavity search, and this guy had pretty big hands!
So he gets me into this room, and does the whole "if your hands ever come off this wall, you and will no longer be friends,' bit. I, of course immediately thought "I never really considered us friends in the fiirst place," luckily, common sense over-powered my natural smart ass tendancies and I kept the comment to myself.
So the first thing Linebacker guy says is for me to empty my pockets. So, since he was big man with one gun and I was little man with no gun, I emptied my pockets of change.
He noticed that one of the coins was a toonie, and proceeded to ask me if it was one of those new two dollar coins. I'm thinking these have been in circulation for more than two years, but since he is big man with a gun and I am little man with no gun, it is new.
At this point, I realise that he is just a dumbass American and I am a smartass Canadian, (did ya catch the little play on words there) so I decide to have a little fun. I figured that since there were no signs of latex gloves, my sphincter is probably safe.
As Dave mentioned, we were all known as being smartasses, but, without blowing my own horn too much, I think I was probably the king of smartasses. I am sure Dave would atest to this, having been the victim of many well-timed zingers (remember the Irving comment?)
I proceeded to tell him that we were coming out with a five dollar coin next. It was going to be the size of a hockey puck and contain five different metals including poutin. He actually bought it, which sent my inside voice into hysterics.
So after all the formalities are taken care of, he proceeds with the patdown. Let me tell you how releaved I was about the fact that it stopped at that!
It has always been my philosiphy that the best laugh you ever have is at someone else's expense. So, I was actually thinking about coming out of the room walking a little bowlegged, but I figured we were in enough trouble.
He then asks me when the last time was I had taken drugs. I again saw the opportunity to have a little fun with my new-found "friend". I proceeded to tell him that I have never taken them (at the time, that was true). Naturally, due to our afore mentioned behaviour, he found this a little hard to believe.
This was where the fun began. I proceeded to spin this elaborate tale about drugs interfering with my football career in high school. This peaked his interest, and we started chatting about it.
I had him convinced that I was a starting middle linebacker in high school, with a full scholarship to play at McGill University until I blew my knee out my senior year. The story was made more believable because I was actually limping a little bit that day.
The funniest thing is, thanks to the two bad knees that Dave mentioned, as well as having only one eye that works, I was never able to play high school football!
This really lightened the mood and the rest of the time spent in the little room was not all that unpleasant.
Dave: My turn came around, and was led into the room by one of the linebackers. I was told to empty out my pockets and place the contents on the table in front of me. I was then instructed to take my position on the wall with my arms and legs spread so he could pat me down.
”Please spread your arms and legs on the wall and if you feel it necessary for your hands to come off the wall, we will fail to remain friends.” Now usually I would find a remark like that quite funny, and the little person inside my head was laughing like a little schoolgirl, but I remembered that the guy was carrying a very powerful handgun, and even the smallest outburst would probably mean a big ouch for me. So I maintained my composure and followed the very nice man’s instructions.
"When was the last time you used drugs," Mr. Linebacker asked me. Now, again we were all known for being huge smartasses while in the college atmosphere. And if it weren't for the gun it would have been open season and a perfect opportunity for a sarcastic outburst. Being that Houlton time was an hour behind Woodstock time, it was quite tempting to ask him which time zone he was refering to. If I had smoked a joint at 2 o'clock Woodstock time, I wouldn't had smoked it yet according to American time. But alas the saner part of my brain thought it best just to sit there and shut up.
Dok was next. Now one thing you have to remember here is that when we were asked to take everything off our person while in the detention room, they meant everything.He emptied his pockets on the table, but had forgotten about his sunglasses that were hanging from the chain around his neck. The guard proceeded with his pat down, and once he reached around to Chris' chest area, he found the glasses.
Dok: "As soon as he touched them was when I realized that I had forgotten them." "I felt him reach for his gun and was thinking to myself, oh man, I am a gonner. I think this is where the friendship ends."
Dave: After we all had our turn, we all sat back down by the happiest guard in the world and awaited our fate. Electric chair was swimming through my brain, and I think Dok was picturing us before a firing squad. But finally the time had come to bid our friends a found adeiu. THREE HOURS LATER!. As we continued into Houlton the conversation centered on our recent experience. Since we were basically sworn to silence while in the customs building, we couldn't converse much.
“Holy Shit, they thought we were stoned,” I blurted out.
We had all the tell tale signs; We were giggling when we got to the border, and continued to giggle and act up inside -- Homer was hungry for M&M’s which could have easily been misconstrued as having the munchies. -- and April needed to go to the washroom, which they probably viewed as a great chance to dump the evidence before she could be searched. The laughter erupted again, and we all took turns harassing Homer for putting us in that predicament in the first place.
“Next time we come over to Houlton, we are taping your hands behind your back,” April said to Homer. But not even a three-hour detention could have stopped us from our final goal, and that was mini golf. I can’t really remember who won, or even if we kept score that day. The only thing that any one remembered was our encounter with our ‘brothers’ to the south.
Homer: I would like to think that if nothing else, we did our little part to improve Canadian-American border relations. Although, in reality, we probably set things back a few decades.
Oh well, at least we achieved our goal of never going on an adventure without having a story to tell.
Dave: The three years I spent in Woodstock I compiled hundreds of very fond memories, as you can attest by this book Chris and I are writing. And of all those memories there are a few that I can recall as if they happened yesterday. The following is one of those and has a little to do with our friends south of the border.
Woodstock, New Brunswick is located along the Canada/U.S border in the western part of the province. If you were to take a 20-minute drive a little further west you would reach the small American town, Houlton, Maine. Every once in a while, and if we could find a willing person with a car (usually Lance and his car Gumby) a crew of us would head over the border to get something to eat or do a little cross-border shopping.
Enter April, whom we affectionately nicknamed “Psycho.” (and trust me, if you ever drove with the girl, you would understand. To date she is the only person I know of that has passed an off duty police officer on the shoulder of the road.) April used to be a student at NBCC Woodstock, till a severe bout with a brain stem infection, insifilitis put her in the hospital for six months. She never came back to Woodstock as a student. (Her family is another story all together.)
Once she was cleared to drive again, April would often make the three hour trip from Moncton to Woodstock to see us and we would most always head over to Houlton to play a little mini-golf (There was a great little 18-hole miniature golf course located in the basement of a video store that we stumbled on the previous year) and on the way back would stop at Burger King for some greasy American burgers and then head back through to Woodstock.
On this day we packed myself, my girlfriend at the time Dawn, Dok, Homer and of course Ms. Psycho herself into her golden Chevy Cavalier and headed off to Houlton. There is a tiny history lesson that will probably make the story a little easier to understand. Homer had just recently broken up with his girlfriend whom we called Big-E (Erin was probably 90 pounds soaking wet), and before dating Homer, Big-E dated this guy named Shannon whom Homer didn’t like a whole lot.
Homer: Hey there, This is Homer, I know I have been mentioned a few times in the previous chapters. I figured that since this story would never have happened were it not for me, that it was only appropriate for me to throw in my two cents worth. Because let's face it, if you don't come out of an afternoon of cross-border galavanting with at least one story, WHAT'S THE FREAKIN POINT!
So, as my cohort mentioned, I noticed this guy stopped at the border. I'm not sure if his name was actually Shannon, but sunce his name is neither important, nor worth remembering, he is now, and forever will be, known as Shannon.
It would be safe to say that this guy would never get a Christmas card from me, but, it had nothing to do with him dating Big E. I never liked the guy.
His idea of having fun was to get as drunk as possible and drive "the loop." This was a circuit that literally looped through downtown Woodstock. Locals would spend hours a night driving the loop, and this was called "fun." Hey, it was a small town.
Dave: Usually, we had absolutely no problem getting through the border, we would just explain that we were heading over to play a little mini-golf and wouldn’t be any longer than a couple of hours at the most, and we were waved through. We wouldn’t have the same fate on this day. As we were approaching the booth at the border, Homer happened to spot Shannon just on the other side of the border having his van searched by American authorities. To prove his dislike for the guy, Homer who had called shotgun back in Woodstock, proceeded to give Shannon the D-Generation X crotch chop. (Arms crossed like an X and a chopping motion towards ones groin area) We all found this a bit entertaining, but the problem was Homer was spotted by the border guard, and we were the next vehicle to go through.
Homer: Naturally, I found it hilarious that his vehicle was being searched, so, in my mind, it made perfect sense for me to taunt him about it. This is how my mind works, you see.
Dave: We approached the station and the usual questions were asked, but this time we were actually asked for identification. So the five of us handed our I.D’s to the guard to examine. As he was doing this, small bits of laughter could still be heard coming from the car.
“Please pull ahead and you can obtain your identification inside,” said the surly guard. With a worried look on our faces we all looked at each other wondering what the hell was going on. We immediately began to razz Homer who by this time was feeling like a piece of crap for putting us in this predicament. April pulled ahead parked and as we entered the customs building were met by a few American officials who wouldn’t have looked out of place on any NFL offensive line. What was even scarier about these dudes, they were carrying 9-mm pistols on their sides.
Homer: So there we are in the border station, a little nervous, but still able to see the humor of it all. Unfortunately, as Dave pointed out, the linebackers didn't share our point of view. Damn Yankees!
Dave: Being from Canada, I don't believe our border guards are permitted to holster a weapon, so this was a little out of the ordinary for us.
Being seated and awaiting further instruction, we were still laughing about the entire situation. Cause at the time, it was actually rather humorous.
“I don’t think you guys are in any position to be laughing,” said another guard behind us. "You are being detained for on a very serious matter."
It actually wasn't too long before this incident happened that the whole Beanie Baby craze had hit. You know the little stupid stuffed toys that some people were giving their kidney's away for. People were stopped at the border like normal but if Beanie Babies were found on their person entering the States, they were confiscated. So being in the jubilant mood we were in, that's what we figured we were being detained for. Smuggling Beanie Babies into the U.S. to sell on the black market.
I don’t know what it was about all these American border guards, but none of them had any sense of humor whatsoever. Trying to chat them up a little failed miserably, even our genuine "Canadian" smiles were returned with just a blank stair. One by one, we were led into a small room where we were patted down and asked a series of questions, most of which involved the use of drugs.
While waiting for his turn, Homer decided he was a little hungry so got up and was walking towards the M&M vending machine when Mr. Surly himself yelled out. “SIT DOWN.”
Homer didn’t have a chance to explain himself, “Bu-Bu but I was just getting som…”
“I said sit down!” the guard boomed. Bad knees and all, it didn’t take Homer too long to get back to his seat. April wasn’t even allowed to use the bathroom for god sakes. We knew it was something serious by that time. But we still kept a pretty light attitude about the whole ordeal. After all, it isn't everyday a couple of good friends get to share a moment like this.
Homer: I happened to be the first one of our band of outlaws to be taken into the room by Mr. Linebacker, and of course I am fearing the worst. I figured there would be a search involved, I was just a little concerened what kind of a search it would be.
Immediatley, the movie Beavis and Butthead do America came to mind, with the body cavity search, and this guy had pretty big hands!
So he gets me into this room, and does the whole "if your hands ever come off this wall, you and will no longer be friends,' bit. I, of course immediately thought "I never really considered us friends in the fiirst place," luckily, common sense over-powered my natural smart ass tendancies and I kept the comment to myself.
So the first thing Linebacker guy says is for me to empty my pockets. So, since he was big man with one gun and I was little man with no gun, I emptied my pockets of change.
He noticed that one of the coins was a toonie, and proceeded to ask me if it was one of those new two dollar coins. I'm thinking these have been in circulation for more than two years, but since he is big man with a gun and I am little man with no gun, it is new.
At this point, I realise that he is just a dumbass American and I am a smartass Canadian, (did ya catch the little play on words there) so I decide to have a little fun. I figured that since there were no signs of latex gloves, my sphincter is probably safe.
As Dave mentioned, we were all known as being smartasses, but, without blowing my own horn too much, I think I was probably the king of smartasses. I am sure Dave would atest to this, having been the victim of many well-timed zingers (remember the Irving comment?)
I proceeded to tell him that we were coming out with a five dollar coin next. It was going to be the size of a hockey puck and contain five different metals including poutin. He actually bought it, which sent my inside voice into hysterics.
So after all the formalities are taken care of, he proceeds with the patdown. Let me tell you how releaved I was about the fact that it stopped at that!
It has always been my philosiphy that the best laugh you ever have is at someone else's expense. So, I was actually thinking about coming out of the room walking a little bowlegged, but I figured we were in enough trouble.
He then asks me when the last time was I had taken drugs. I again saw the opportunity to have a little fun with my new-found "friend". I proceeded to tell him that I have never taken them (at the time, that was true). Naturally, due to our afore mentioned behaviour, he found this a little hard to believe.
This was where the fun began. I proceeded to spin this elaborate tale about drugs interfering with my football career in high school. This peaked his interest, and we started chatting about it.
I had him convinced that I was a starting middle linebacker in high school, with a full scholarship to play at McGill University until I blew my knee out my senior year. The story was made more believable because I was actually limping a little bit that day.
The funniest thing is, thanks to the two bad knees that Dave mentioned, as well as having only one eye that works, I was never able to play high school football!
This really lightened the mood and the rest of the time spent in the little room was not all that unpleasant.
Dave: My turn came around, and was led into the room by one of the linebackers. I was told to empty out my pockets and place the contents on the table in front of me. I was then instructed to take my position on the wall with my arms and legs spread so he could pat me down.
”Please spread your arms and legs on the wall and if you feel it necessary for your hands to come off the wall, we will fail to remain friends.” Now usually I would find a remark like that quite funny, and the little person inside my head was laughing like a little schoolgirl, but I remembered that the guy was carrying a very powerful handgun, and even the smallest outburst would probably mean a big ouch for me. So I maintained my composure and followed the very nice man’s instructions.
"When was the last time you used drugs," Mr. Linebacker asked me. Now, again we were all known for being huge smartasses while in the college atmosphere. And if it weren't for the gun it would have been open season and a perfect opportunity for a sarcastic outburst. Being that Houlton time was an hour behind Woodstock time, it was quite tempting to ask him which time zone he was refering to. If I had smoked a joint at 2 o'clock Woodstock time, I wouldn't had smoked it yet according to American time. But alas the saner part of my brain thought it best just to sit there and shut up.
Dok was next. Now one thing you have to remember here is that when we were asked to take everything off our person while in the detention room, they meant everything.He emptied his pockets on the table, but had forgotten about his sunglasses that were hanging from the chain around his neck. The guard proceeded with his pat down, and once he reached around to Chris' chest area, he found the glasses.
Dok: "As soon as he touched them was when I realized that I had forgotten them." "I felt him reach for his gun and was thinking to myself, oh man, I am a gonner. I think this is where the friendship ends."
Dave: After we all had our turn, we all sat back down by the happiest guard in the world and awaited our fate. Electric chair was swimming through my brain, and I think Dok was picturing us before a firing squad. But finally the time had come to bid our friends a found adeiu. THREE HOURS LATER!. As we continued into Houlton the conversation centered on our recent experience. Since we were basically sworn to silence while in the customs building, we couldn't converse much.
“Holy Shit, they thought we were stoned,” I blurted out.
We had all the tell tale signs; We were giggling when we got to the border, and continued to giggle and act up inside -- Homer was hungry for M&M’s which could have easily been misconstrued as having the munchies. -- and April needed to go to the washroom, which they probably viewed as a great chance to dump the evidence before she could be searched. The laughter erupted again, and we all took turns harassing Homer for putting us in that predicament in the first place.
“Next time we come over to Houlton, we are taping your hands behind your back,” April said to Homer. But not even a three-hour detention could have stopped us from our final goal, and that was mini golf. I can’t really remember who won, or even if we kept score that day. The only thing that any one remembered was our encounter with our ‘brothers’ to the south.
Homer: I would like to think that if nothing else, we did our little part to improve Canadian-American border relations. Although, in reality, we probably set things back a few decades.
Oh well, at least we achieved our goal of never going on an adventure without having a story to tell.
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