What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

In my last year at Blakelock, the student council or administration had this wonderful idea of a winter carnival. Two of the activities were to be a campout on the Thursday night and a dance Friday evening. I suspect somewhere along the line in the planning for this event, no one thought to ask the most important question: What could possibly go wrong?

There was the obvious challenge of girls and boys camping out, unsupervised at night, even in the dead of winter, who would inevitably try to, using today’s lexicon, "hook up". The answer was simple: girls would camp inside the track, the boys outside, and hire a few security guards to ensure never the two shall meet.

Being the ever-resourceful Bronte Boys, Gary Welna, myself, and Terry Houghton decided to "participate" in this fun event. Welna and I had considerable experience camping out in his backyard in summers past. Those experiences are worthy of a story or two and in part are the source of the title of this blog, Parading the Streets.

First stop was Lakeside Marketeria, where Welna, Houghton, and I were gainfully employed part-time driving delivery trucks. We borrowed one of the vans and a few “supplies," and then it was on to Gary's house for a tent and sleeping bags. We had three objectives: first, was to party, and the second, not to freeze our asses, and I forget the third. Next stop, Hopedale Plaza and the LCBO. Being underage somehow never presented a problem. Patience and a few bucks, and soon we were in possession of the drink du jour back then, lemon gin and vodka. How sophisticated were we?

It was then on to the old farm located near what is now the Glen Abbey Golf Club. There we "borrowed" a few bales of hay. Honestly, we were going to give them back.

We arrived at Blakelock somewhere around 7 or 8 pm and the track area was a hub of activity with groups of people setting up camp in the designated areas. Transistor radios were dialed in to CHUM, and there was a din of conversation and laughter in the air.

By about 10 p.m., things began to settle down, and people retired to their tents. In our case, and I suspect at a number of camps, "supplies" were opened, and plans were developed to infiltrate the secure female encampment.

The organizers realized camping on a winter's night required a back-up plan for those who could not endure the cold. As a result, the rear access to the boys’ and girls’ change rooms was left open. A serious planning flaw.

Now, the age difference between the security guards and the older high school students was not that great. With very little encouragement, they were soon visiting tents and provided with a steady supply of liquid warmth. By 1 or 2 a.m. in the morning, the track no longer provided a barrier between the male and female encampments. Along the line, someone came up with the idea, “It might be kind of fun to drive or race a car around the frozen track” It worked for a while and then got stuck.

Back in the day, locking things up was really not an issue. On the other hand, giving 16-17-year-olds unsupervised access to an area is not a particularly good idea either. The basement of TAB included a rifle range (no, we did not try to pull out the guns) and the storage area for the band instruments. The idea of playing drums and trumpets at 3 o'clock in the morning seemed like it could add some culture to the evening. 

On the west side of the track, there was a row of houses. Soon after the drums and trumpets were put into service, lights quickly turned on in each of the houses. I suspect with the constant chatter and radios, our neighbours were not having a particularly restful night of sleep in any event.

It didn't take long for the local constabulary to arrive, and the school administration was summoned. It was too early to send the kids home, and by then, everyone was played out. Calm was restored. Dawn saw groups of sleepy, cold, and hung-over students huddled around camp stoves. The local media had been alerted of the event, and reporters and photographers were recording this hardy group of students braving a Canadian winter. Somewhere in the archives of the Oakville Journal-Record, there is an article and pictures. 

Meetings of the student council, principal, and teachers were convened, and the rest of the carnival activities were cancelled. There were reports of hung-over students in the hall, classes disrupted by queasy stomachs, and the odd girl or guy falling asleep at their desk. The Friday night dance was cancelled. For some reason, it stands out in my mind that the group scheduled to play was Bobby Taylor and the Vancouvers. Rumor has it that they were the first Canadian band signed by Motown and that they were the ones to find the Jackson 5. Maybe more of an urban myth than truth.

And that, people, is my story; hopefully, time has not transformed reality into fiction.