Central Etobicoke High School - Etobian Yearbook (Etobicoke, Ontario Canada)

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Salad Girl at Bigwin Inn Now that I look back on it all I believe it was the best summer I ever spent. I went to work as salad girl atone of Canada 's largest summer resorts, Bigwin Inn on the Lake of Bays. Here dwelt the epitome of wealth far from the reach of the outer world and surrounded by virgin wilderness. The main lodge, called the Rotunda, reminded me of a medieval castle. lt was immense, rustic, and beautiful. Great massive beams arched the lounge, and a woollen shop in the upper balcony had rich plaid blankets draped carefully over the railing. Wealthy, bored-looking guests strolled across the long, oriental carpets or played a game of chess by the fire. The atmosphere breathed importance, elegance and aloofness. In this big, white-washed barn of a place, fifteen cooks, twenty-one salad girls, ten dish washers, a head chef, an advisory chef, and a dietitian lived together amid the rush and confus- ion of culinary activities. I saw this life through the eyes of a pantry maid. I can still smell the trays and trays of lettuce that littered our counters as we feverishly worked to fill one hundred and fifty little lettuce cups by twelve o'clock with iust the right amount of salad garnished to please the eyes of our kitchen superiors who demanded nothing less than perfection even to a sprig of parsley. lt was usually at this moment that Albert, our little advisory chef, would appear from around an ice-box and demand in his Swiss-Austrian accent, Vat are you doing? You cannot send dose saladz out like dat! Look! l'Il show you! and in a second, one hundred and fifty salads lay in a heap while Albert made the example to copy. And we began again. He was a philosopher in everything from making caviar to peeling onions. Look here! he would often say, l don't care if it takes twenty crates of lettuce, you make dise saladz and you make dem right! They must be beaootyful, dey must have colah, life, build them up, high, like dis! Not flat on de plate! I had never thought of building salads as an aesthetic accomplishment, but I soon learned that unless one worked with fruits and vegetables as an artist does with paints and brushes, one never was allowed to make salads. l literally felt like Picasso himself the day I made my first three-fifty salad plate. And it was beautiful! It was like a lettuce sea shell and it was filled with lobster salad. On top were some shredded almonds, three carefully placed Spanish olives, and two half slices of tomato, the climax was a lobster claw on one side and a sprig of parsley on top. This was a creation of the salad pantry. But never think we were .a world apart. Often it was necessary to go to the cold meat table to get a tray of sliced turkey or ham. Here Tony, the Austrian king of gravies and dressings, held sway. He couldn't have been better fitted for his part as a cook if he had stepped from the cine- ma. His favourite expression was Holy Shmokes! and every salad girl was Duchess. Yet he was a master at arranging a tray of hors d'oeuvres and spicing meats. One of my jobs was arranging cheese trays. This was a very boring, laborious task taking about three hours of my day. For this reason, I was always glad when Bill, a scholarly youth who was in charge of cooking the steaks and filet mignon, would stop by to chat. After I had presented him with his favourite bit of roquefort cheese, our conversation usually turned to books. He was not a college student, but his knowledge of literature was amazing. What have you read of Milton? he would ask, or land this literally was truel You know I find some of the translations of the ancient Hindu treaties very interesting. My iaw would drop!-and I would go on cutting cheese. There were other colorful people in the Bigwin kitchen. I remembered first hearing a volley of cursing and then seeing Max, the head chef, trying to get a banquet out on time. There was the tall, butterscotch-complexioned Latvian soft-pudding chef who, I heard, came in second in the ski olympics. Paul, a young French-Canadian chef across the way, suddenly received much sympathy when a stove blew up in his face. Honey, a blonde waitress, was the only one able to brag a date with the head of the hotel. She could even ruffle Albert's hair and get away with it. I shall never forget Mr. Lyons, dietitian, who, more like a mouse than a lion, silently appeared from time to time and left iust as silently. Let the Brahmin guests walk the forbidden paths, fill the exclusive dance pavilion, and stroll the Rotunda. This was my kitchen, I wanted no more. I6

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Cfikecib QQ I , Qlln Q! ecmfedgfome rx s.,v-mains -.. I had never known a train to go so fast. All afternoon my sister and I had watched trees, houses, streets, and telephone poles go whizzing by, and we both fully expected to find ourselves sailing through the clouds any minute . And yet, I reflected, we were going so slowly. Sheila, curled up beside me, would have agreed had she been awake. For the last mile is the longest mile, and in one hour we would be home . What would it be like to be home again, I wondered, home on the little farm by the sea? What would they be like-the family and the friends I had left last summer? I remembered the hill covered with blue- berries and spruce trees, the wharves, the odour of freshly-tanned fishing nets, the cows in the pasture. Would they all be the same after my year in the city? Was I? I heard a snicker from Sheila's direction . Was she thinking of the same things, things like the pile of old magazines in the attic where we had hidden time after time to escape the dreadful chore of doing dishes, or of the blankets we had stuffed against the crack under our door so Mom wouldn't see our light and know how long we stayed up to read? No, I doubt it. She was probably thinking of the boys she had met the summer before, and planning ways to 'be with them oftener this summer than Mom thought she should . 7 We looked out the window again . The same old telephone poles were still whizzing by, but the houses and the streets were different. The houses were Nova Scotia houses, nestled in valleys or perched on hills-little frame dwellings that seemed to say, You're almost home , and the streeets were quiet little streets of Nova Scotia, winding east- ward to the Atlantic. Slowly, the train pulled through Bedford and into Halifax. Soon we would see them-Mom and Dad and the kids - craning their necks in the direction of the platform . The porter came through the car to pick up the bags, and the lights came on as we entered the station . Ahead of us was the station waiting . Down the platform we headed, on feet kept from flying only by suitcas and shopping bags full to overflowing, down the platform and into Q rush of , Hello and How've you been? George was a bit taller, perhaps, Mom, a bit grayer, but they hadn't really changed. Neither had the hill, the wharves, or the tempermental old wood stove in the kitchen, we found out later. I don't think they ever will, because to my sister and me, those things will always spell Home . DHNSYDNA I5

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Driving Lessons There comes a time in almost everybody's life when he wishes to graduate from the foot-sore class of the pedest- rian to the relaxed class of the driver. Psychologists say it is a sudden wish to be the hunter instead of the hunted, and if the individual locks himself away in a dark room for a few weeks, the condition might pass away. lf, however, it persists and the patient succumbs to the urge to get behind the wheel, there is nothing that anyone can do about it. After this decision has been made, quite naturally the patient will begin to look for an instructor, as driving is not an art picked up from last month's Ladies Home Joumal or similar mechanics magazine. Assuming the beginner has acquired his teacher from the local driving school, rest home, or ulcer ward, he is now ready to hit lamong other thingsi the road . This road, by the way, should be long and straight if possible, however, this is optional, as the beginner will be too busy with more important things than the road and where it is. The instructor will inform the novice about the various pedals, levers, and dials that confront him on the first run. For instance, he will point out the difference between the choke and the nob that opens the ashtray. After the pupil has learned for thinks he has learnedl the importance of these items, he is now ready to take over at the helm with his trusty instructor who is trying to look as confident at his side as is humanly possible. The command to start the engine is given . Nervously the novice turns and pushes the various objects he knows will start the engine. We're off! shouts the instructor. The accelerator is cautiously pushed down now-nothing happens except the gurgling groans of the dying engine . At this point the beginner learns of another lever device, the brake. The trainer casually infomws the novice it is a customary proceedure to release the brake when pulling away. Several tries later the two occupants of the ill-treated car are speeding along at the dizzying rate of first gear. Next step is second gear. Grind-groan . Oh, yes, the clutch goes down when changing gears, doesn't it? Quite a natural mistake. Sooner or later fin the case of females much laterl the beginner progresses from this stage and becomes a full- fledged driver rushing around the streets with houses and most of the people whizzing by. Naturally even the professional driver is not perfect. For this reason l have concluded with a list of books which he will find very informative. - One Thousand and One Methods of Removing One Thousand and One Dents. - Law Courts and Their Operation . - Crossing the Bar. - Taxidermists' Handbook. Johnnie Gopher and the Dance There was a time when animals lived exactly as we do, and here to prove this is the story of Johnnie Gopher and the dance . Johnnie was worried, here it was two days before the annual school dance, the Stay-at-Home , and Marilyn Mongoose hadn't said that she would go. As he rounded a corner in the hall, he saw Marilyn talking to Joe. A wave of iealously swept over him, for Joe, the Goat, was a great football hero and played alongside his brothers the Rams. But he, Johnnie, was only a Gopher. Visions of Marilyn, dancing in her white strapless formal, were fast becoming dreams in which he would play no part. Then he thought maybe he did have a chance to take Marilyn . Joe, a great football hero, was conceited at times. So when noontime came, Johnnie hurried to find him. He walked up in his most unassuming manner. Say, Joe, he said, who are you taking to the 'Stay-at-Home ? Why, I thought you would know, he replied, Marilyn Mongoose. Oh, her, Johnnie answered, is that all? l'm taking Ruth Robin, one of the cheerleaders at Hill and Forest School. ln fact, l shall be meeting her at her house iust before the dance . She lives quite a ways, maybe ten miles walk or so. But gee, he added, it's sure worth it! Bye, kid, Joe shouted back. Hope l see you at the dance. l hope it will work. Will he be surprised when he gets there,-a good ten miles from nowhere. Johnnie said . When after the next class Johnnie saw Marilyn in the hall, she looked as if she had been crying. What is the matter? he asked . Oh, Johnnie, she sobbed, Joe iust told me he had another important engagement and he can't take me to the dance. What can l do? Don't worry, l'll take you, said Johnnie. And when the next night came, Johnnie and Marilyn, in her white formal, were dancing beneath the stars. Joe Goat was also under the stars, about ten miles away though, still looking for a Ruth Robin's house. So you see, even then, long ago, things were much the same-dances, parties, and football games. And if you have ever heard of a person on the wrong end of a joke being called Joe Goat it might easily have come from this incident. You never can tell. i7