The year was 1964, my dad was sitting in his basement study area trying to make a major decision, namely to uproot the family and move to Toronto to go to the Chiropractic College or to stay in Summerland BC and continue with a job that he hated. For the past twenty years he was the manager of the five and dime department store in Mission BC. In 1962 the store was bought out by Stedman’s, a department store chain that did not treat their managers very well, so he quit and took a job as assistant manager in the five and dime store in Summerland BC.
Dad wanted to be a chiropractor ever since my mother got very sick in the 1950’s. As a last resort he took her to a chiropractor in Vancouver who helped her so much and impressed my dad so much that he decided to become a chiropractor so he could help people too.
He realized that this would be a huge gamble, but thought it would be worth it. So he decided to do it. He talked it over with my mother, who agreed with him mostly because she did not want to disappoint him. She had one condition, which was to try it for one year, if he failed then we would come back, to which dad agreed. They kept it a secret from me until the end of the school year, as they did not want to freak me out. When they did tell me, guess what, I freaked out.
The move to Summerland was traumatic enough, coming from a house in the bush to a small town with people and paved roads. Toronto was too intimidating for me. I hated the very thought of it. Apparently, my opinion did not matter, because we packed up the house with everything that we thought we would need in Toronto. Dad built a huge roof rack for our 1955 Buick; then we stuffed it full of our belongings, including our washing machine. We were going to drive across Canada living in our camping trailer that dad and grandpa had built a few years ago.
Dad always wanted to ‘beat the traffic’, so he made us get up at 3 AM. This was 1964, there was no traffic! My sister and I were both prone to car sickness, made worse by our mother’s smoking. Dad had quit smoking cold turkey just before we left. They had an empty tobacco can for us to throw up in, and we made good use of it.
I do not remember a lot of the details of the trip, because it happened in 1964, and I am now seventy-two and have a hard time remembering my name. I do remember driving across the mountains on highway one, a windy and very treacherous road. The Coquihalla highway, a safer, not so windy highway, was not built yet. I remembered as a young kid going on holidays in the Okanagan, before my sister was born, we would take the same road. I was so scared going across those old wooden bridges between mountains that I would lay on the floor of the car and shut my eyes. Going across them again brought back those same memories, this time being older; I was able to hide my fear. My sister was only five; luckily we were able to entertain her so she would not look outside.
The scenery, however, was breath taking. At night we would stop at a camp site carved out of the forest with the Rockies as a backdrop, it was amazing. Once, dad let me drive the Buick. I was to just back it up so we could hook up the trailer. I wanted to show him how good a driver I was, so I took off and drove all away around the camp site then backed into the spot to hook up. He did not know that mom had let me drive the Buick, with her in it, since I was twelve. I got out expecting ‘the lecture’, as he thought all teenagers were reckless drivers. All he said was, “Ok, let’s get hooked up.” That was a resounding compliment coming from him. When we finally cleared the mountains, I was sad to see the last of them.
I had not seen flat prairies like the ones in Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba since our trip into the Peace River area to visit relatives a few years previously. The old joke about watching your dog run away for three days was true. The trip was uneventful as I recall, except that it was the only time dad let my mother drive the car. It was so flat that he thought that she could not get into too much trouble. It took us about three days to get across the prairies. We had a flat tire, luckily dad had a spare and we were on our way in no time. Gas stations were few and far between, so dad had to watch the gas gauge very closely.
Ontario was quite picturesque in its own way. There were forests, and little lakes around every turn. It was mountainous, not like BC but enough to give our fully loaded Buick a good workout. When we looked down the mountains we saw Lake Superior which was very scenic with many small islands in it. It took two days to get through Ontario. It was nice to see civilization again after the desolation of the prairies, although, with civilization came traffic. It was hard to navigate as we were not used to the roads or the chaos.
Finally, we pulled into mother’s cousin Reid Roadhouse and his family’s farm near Lindsey. They had invited us to stay with them for a few days to rest up before going into Toronto. Doreen, Reid’s wife, was in the hospital having a baby, their only son Roger. Mom jumped in and helped with meals and whatever she could do until Doreen came home.
When it was time to go to Toronto dad decided to lighten the load and leave me with Reid and Doreen. Dad, mom and Judy went ahead to Toronto to find an apartment, and enroll me in school. Meanwhile, I learned how hard farm work was. There were about twenty cows to milk, hay to cut and rake with tractors and wheat to harvest using a combine and dump trucks which I learned how to drive. He bought a brand new dump truck which I was one of the first to drive. Years later, dad bought it to get him, mom and Judy back to BC. Judy and mom named it ‘George’.
Finally, they came back to get me and leave the trailer in the field until it was time to go back to BC. When I first saw Toronto I could not get over how big it was with the high rises and all the cement sidewalks. Our apartment was a small one bedroom. Mom and dad took the bedroom, then dad split the living room into two sections – a bedroom for Judy and me and a living room section. Our first sofa was actually the back seat of our Buick.
I had to walk about three miles to Monarch Park Secondary School to start grade eleven. He had put me in the five year arts and sciences programs which did not interest me in the least. I wanted to go to trade school to learn something useful.
That one year trial that mom agreed to turned into nine years because dad failed every year of a four year course at least once. They finally made it back to BC to start his practise. I was not with them because I was married with a good job my then.
That was our big move that changed all our lives. Years later, after he had retired, I asked him would he do it all over again. With no hesitation, he said, “NO!” My jaw dropped to the floor.