Jasper Evacuation: A Harrowing White-Knuckle Drive

         Above is a photo of Di and John, in amazingly good spirits, considering the life-changing event that they have experienced.   As residents of Jasper Alberta, they along with 25,000 others had to make a sudden nighttime evacuation of the town, before the inferno caused by a rapidly advancing forest fire engulfed it.

            DI and John were at our house for lunch yesterday; their lives in flux, and uncertainty, recounting their experience of the evacuation.   Here is the way their story landed with me, and I apologize for any misinterpretations and mistakes.

    

        The evacuation order came at 10:00 at night, telling everyone they must take Highway 16 west to BC, and must be out of town by 3:00 AM.  This only gave them five hours to escape.   In the rush, Di’s bag with her important mementos was left behind, sitting beside the door.  It was decided that Di, who dreads driving at night, would nevertheless have to drive their car, taking Harry their dog.  John would drive Al and Joy’s car.  They were friends, both incapacitated with medical problems who couldn’t drive themselves.  Al had just gotten out of the hospital.

        The entire population of Jasper was thrown into chaos with bumper to bumper traffic.  After driving just a couple of blocks from their apartment, Di and John came to a standstill for half an hour, unable to join the slowly moving line of traffic.  John then decided to just walk over to Al and Joy’s place.   On her own, Di was soon able to enter the line of exiting cars and proceeded nervously, at the crawling speed, along with the others in the lineup.

        When John got over to Al and Joy’s place his problems began.  Both were already sitting in their car, but John discovered that the driver’s side door plus two of the others were locked, and Al and Joy couldn’t get to the driver’s door to unlock it, so John ended up going through the unlocked back door, climbing past one of his passengers, and squirming his way into the driver’s seat.  

         John also had to wait a long while, but finally was eventually able to join into the bumper to bumper parade out of town.  It was very dark by the time he got to the “Shale Hill” just west of Jasper.  Night driving in someone else’s car carrying passengers with medical problems can be stressful enough, but then things got worse when a downpour of rain began.

        John turned on the windshield wipers, which began sweeping across the windshield, but they didn’t clear the water from it.  He could hardly make out the taillights of the car in front of him.  The windshield wipers just didn’t do anything despite their movement.  His vision of the highway and traffic was almost totally obscured by the rain and darkness. 

        To order to stay on the highway, John began driving with the tires keeping on the textured grated-patterned pavement marking the edge of the road.  By feeling the textured pavement, he could tell he was on the highway.  The highway from Jasper to BC is full of twists, turns, and hills with steep drop-offs along the side.

        At one point, full of frustration, John pulled out of the line of traffic onto a pull-off to see what was wrong with the windshield wipers.  He discovered that the reason they weren’t cleaning the windshield was because the actual wipers were gone.  It seemed that one of Al’s friends had taken them off so he could buy new ones, but then the evacuation happened before he could do that.

        It was bumper to bumper, all along the 100 km (70 mile) route before you reach Highway 5 and can turn off to Valemount, BC.  There were no other settlements, roads, or highways connecting to Highway 16 along the stretch to Highway 5.  All of the Rest Areas and pull-offs were already packed with vehicles and their sleeping evacuees.  Di didn’t have enough gas to make it to McBride, so she and John had planned to meet in Valemount which was closer.      

        After more than triple the time it normally takes to make the trip to Valemount, Di finally arrive at a parking lot there, and then later, John, and his passengers also arrived, after his eventful drive.  Al and Joy were able to get a motel room, while John, Di, and Harry the dog, spent an uncomfortable night trying to sleep in the car.  Valemount was packed with evacuees from Jasper.  A campground with 45 spaces, had 600 cars parked for the night.

        News of what structures were left unburned in Jasper is still unavailable, so Di and John don’t yet know for sure, whether their home and possessions still exist.  They heard from one acquaintance who thought that their complex was still standing.   Hopefully, that is the case.   Undamaged or not, much of Jasper has been destroyed, and it will be weeks before people will be allowed to return.

You can view my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

Jasper Alberta On Fire

    We, and the rest of the residents of the Robson Valley are shocked and reeling upon hearing the news that the townsite of Jasper, Alberta is burning.   Although Jasper is a two hour drive away, it is often viewed as a neighboring town, in our sparsely settled area of the world.  Jasper is the only town in the the internationally-known Jasper National Park.  Surrounded by mountains, it attracts visitors with its scenery, hiking, rafting, and in the winter, skiing.  

    Residents, including several of our friends who live in Jasper, were told to immediately evacuate at 10:00 Sunday night and given 5 hours to get out of town because of two encroaching forest fires.  This resulted in a quick scramble, forcing people having to leave everything behind.  Although Jasper has three highways going into it, because of the location of the fires, only the west exit which went to BC could be travelled.  

    Our friends John, Di, and their dog ended up having to sleep in their car in Valemount, BC, whose population had more than doubled with all of the Jasper evacuees.  The next day they drove to McBride to stay with friends.  I don’t know what happened to our other Jasper friends; Janet our Vet, and Matt, whose photography store printed my art cards and prints.  

    At this point, the news out of Jasper is very grim.  We have only seen one photo; a motel engulfed in flames, but reports of the historical Jasper Park Lodge, indicate that fire has reached its grounds.  News reports make it sound as though the whole town is in flames.  What an incredible loss that would be for for those residents, those businesses, and our part of the world.

    The extreme record breaking heat that resulted in the fires has now change to cool and wet weather.  It is now raining in Jasper, however, sadly, it has arrived to late for Jasper and our friends.

You can see my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Kona, The Pea Picking Dog

    Kona joined me out in the garden the other day, when I went to pick strawberries.  Kona was not interested in strawberries, instead she walked over to the rows of peas, tore down a pea plant, carried it over the the grass at he edge of the garden, and then began eating the pea pods on the plant.  While we have had other dogs that liked to eat peas, we’ve never had a dog like Kona, who really relishes plants often over meat.  She is forever pulling up and eating grass, and chewing on sticks.  

    She can be asleep in another room, but if we begin to grate a carrot in the kitchen, like magic Kona appears, wanting a chunk.  There has been many a time, when she refuses to eat her canned dog food, then happily when we go outside, she starts chewing on a stick or grass instead.   She seems to want to be a vegetarian.

View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

An Unsettled Night

    Last night was not very restful for me.  Just before I went to bed we got a call from friends who live in Jasper National Park.  They told us that the whole town had just been told they must evacuate within five hours because of a forest fire.   They were, of course, in a panic, and didn’t know what to do.  We told them they could stay with us, but they were also taking on the responsibility of helping an incapacitated  couple evacuate.  We didn’t hear any thing further.

    We then got Alberta’s loud and jarring, evacuation alert over our phone because we live close to the Alberta border.  In a confused sort of state I went to bed, only to be awakened a couple of hours later by a thunderstorm with close lightning.  The photo above shows the blue circle where our house is, and the red dots are lightning strikes.  Luckily the storm was giving us some rain at the same time.  

    Unsettled, I went back to sleep again, but at 2:30, my cell phone erupted with a loud repeat of Alberta’s evacuation alert for Jasper, so I was awaken again.  By that time our lightning storm was over, as was the rain.  After another hour, I finally fell back to sleep.

    Fortunately, the storm had ushered in a cool and damp weather system, which is very welcome.  Yesterday, we were under three weather alerts:  High temperatures (it was 99°F on Sunday),  a severe Thunderstorm Warning, and a very poor air quality warning due to all of the forest fire smoke. 

    We still have the smoke today (the nearby forest fire that was 250 ha (620 acres) yesterday, has now grown to 500 ha. (1,240 acres), but the damp, cool weather in the forecast for the nest few days is really welcome news.

    The photo below shows the dense smoke.  Can you see the bridge?

You can view my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Fires, Smoke, and Anxiety

    Conditions are hellish in the Robson Valley.  The Beaver Creek Fire that was 50 ha. (120 acres) in size yesterday, is now listed as being 250 ha. (620 acres) in size.  A thick blanket of smoke fills our Valley.  We can no longer see the Mountains, painting everything in an eerie hue.  The smell of smoke permeates every breath we take, and my eyes are weepy and tired, after just being up for an hour.  Our temperature yesterday was a record breaking 37°C (99°F).  These are not good times.

    Beside the Beaver Creek Fire, the radio reported that there is another fire in the Robson Valley on the Tete Jaune/Croydon Road.  That would be further away from McBride, east of Dunster.  There is a 60% chance of thunderstorms this morning, and I hope we get rain, and not lightning,  I have my fingers crossed.   There is cooler and and wetter weather beginning Wednesday, so I hope things don’t bet worse until we get there.

View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Local Forest Fire; What Our Summers Have Become

    After our long winters, we used to look forward to summer, but more and more, I am coming to dread it.  

    Lately our summers have meant thick smoke from far away forest fires blanketing our valley, obscuring the mountains and the sun.  The smoke would remain for weeks.  Last year we had our first nearby forest fire, which caused us to evacuate our house.  Now this year, after a relatively cool and showery spring, a very hot and dry period arrived, and we are back in the Extreme Fire Hazard Category.

    We had a lightning storm in the wee hours of Friday morning, then yesterday, hazy smoke began filling the sky from far away fire and the day was filled with the sound of helicopters.  On the Forest Service website, I saw that there was a 50 ha. (120 acre) fire, caused by a lightning strike that was just eight miles east of McBride.  On our trip to visit friends last night, we could see the fire and the helicopter flying back and forth from the Fraser River to the fire, carrying water to dump. 

    After getting back home, I received a text message from the Regional District declaring an Evacuation Alert for the area east of McBride.  Luckily, we are not in that area, but it is only three miles away from our house.  Hopefully we will not be getting any strong winds today that will cause the fire it to spread.

    It is scary to see how the Earth’s climate has changed and the disasters that change has wrought.  It is sobering knowing that our climate will just be getting worse in the future.  Sorry for the pessimism, but it is time to accept reality.

View my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Goodwill: Changing Living Dynamics

            This blog continues with my experiences starting in 1970, when I had to do two years of Alternative Service as a Conscientious Objector, working at the Indianapolis Goodwill.  I have mentioned how interesting it was working at the Goodwill, because you never knew what kind of things would be donated.  One day a whole collection of old classical style theatrical costumes came in.  I couldn’t help but buy a couple of them.  The photo shows me modeling one of them.

Jim had mentioned to me that the Carriage House had been the headquarters of the Socialist Worker’s Party in Indianapolis.  I thought that that was an an interesting coincidence, since it was a Socialist Worker’s Party episode that caused me some friction during my draft physical. 

    During my university days, I had once attended a speech given by the US Vice Presidential Candidate of the Socialist Workers Party and talked to him a bit afterwards.  Months later during my draft physical, we were given and had to read, a long list of “Communist” organizations and check any that we had had any association with.  The Socialist Workers Party, was one of those on the list, and so since I had attended the speech, I checked it.

    That resulted in an interview with an Army Officer, who wanted to know the details, and  I told him I just went to a speech.  The officer wanted me to stay overnight to talk to his superior, at which point I started to worry that the Socialist Worker thing might jeopardize the application I had sent to join the Peace Corp. 

     I pleaded with the military guy, telling him that after all, the man was on the ballot for the Federal election, and I figured it was my civil duty to hear what he had to say.  (This was pretty much BS, since I was not yet old enough to vote).  However, the officer did finally allow me to fill out a second “Communist Organizations” form and this time, not check the Socialist Worker box, and all was forgotten.

    Years later, back at the Indianapolis Carriage House where I lived, and had just heard Jim telling me that the place used to be the headquarters of the Socialist Workers Party, I thought that was an interesting fact and  I didn’t spend any more time thinking about it.  Then one day, when I returned from work I discovered a bound bundle of newspapers sitting outside our door.

When I picked them up I saw that they were Socialist Worker’s Party newspapers.  I took them in, opened the bundle, and began to read through them.  When I got the last page I found a bordered section that listed all the headquarters of the party, and to my great shock and surprise, discovered that “The Carriage House” at our address, was still listed as the Socialist Workers Indianapolis headquarters.  I figured that if I didn’t have an FBI file before, surely I must have one since moving to the Carriage House.

Bill, one of my good friends and the lead guitarist in the band I was in back in Evansville, followed in my footsteps, first in becoming a Conscientious Objector, then getting assigned to do his Alternative Service in the Indianapolis Goodwill, and finally ending up working in the Pricing Department with me.  He needed a place to live, so Jim and myself, let Bill move in with us at the Carriage House.  

Later, Jim hooked up with a girl named Carol, and invited her to also move in with us.  The Carriage House was beginning to look and feel a bit like a commune.  The addition of Carol living in our house really started to change the easy-going relationships we had had.  Carol was a stickler for cleanliness and order, and she began nagging at Bill and I over our indiscretions.  Bill and I were getting tired of living in the ghetto anyway, and since the arrival of Carol, our house dynamics had changed to the point where we began looking for somewhere else for us to live.

Luckily Bill and I found a nice small cottage beside the White River, just north of the newly completed Interstate Loop circling Indianapolis.  While there were other houses around us, it felt like we were living in the country, with the White River flowing slowly through our back yard. 

Homelife was again easy going for Bill and I.  Bill bought himself an old player piano that had come into Goodwill.  While I don’t remember all the details of getting it to our new house, I do remember it was a terrible struggle for the two of us to get the thing up the steps and through the door of our cottage’s enclosed porch.  Regular pianos are heavy enough, but player pianos were a lot heavier, making them a lot more difficult to move.

You can view my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

A Memory-Generating Toad

    Last night as I was walking to the greenhouse to water my tomato plants, I noticed a movement in the grass.   Once I got closer I saw that it was the big fat old toad that you see in the photo above.  Every time  I see one of these huge toads, I am appreciative of them, because they hold a special place in my life.

    I was always interested in photography, and carted around a lot of camera equipment in pursuit of a good picture.  In 1977, I was on Vancouver Island and came upon a very photogenic toad.  I set up my tripod, hooked my telephoto lens onto one end of a bellows, and attached my 35mm camera onto the other end.  Looking through the lens finder, I brought the toad into focus, and I held out my flash, and snapped the photo shown below.

    It turned out remarkably sharp and clear.  Later that year I found out that the newly created Harrowsmith magazine was having a photo contest and one of the categories was “Friends of the Garden”.  I entered my toad photo and then pretty much forgot all about it.  

    When we arrived back into our newly purchased home in McBride, after driving to Indiana for Christmas, there was a package waiting for me at the post office.  It was a Nikon camera, the Grand Prize in the Harrowsmith Photo Contest.  It was a wonderful surprise.

    However, my joy was somewhat diminished when I looked into the copy of Harrowsmith magazine that was sent.  There was a big blowup of my toad photo, a centerfold in the magazine, but below it, the caption said, “Grand Prize Winner:   Bob Marchant”    Yes, my big fifteen minutes of fame was blown because they got my name wrong.

You can view my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

      

 

Yet Another Guitar Stand

     Back on June 26th I blogged about guitar stands.  I had opened my electric guitar case, and discovered my guitar stand was not there.  I panicked because I really liked that particular guitar stand because it folded up which allowed me to carry it in my guitar case.

    I couldn’t imagine where I could have misplaced it.  I looked around my room, and since I hadn’t remembered using my electric guitar stand for half a year, I wondered if maybe I had left it in the Legion Hall, when we used to jam there.  I borrowed the key to the Hall, looked around, but it wasn’t there.

    I figured I would just have to buy a new one and happily I found the same type of stand on Amazon.  Since my wife has Amazon Prime, I ordered it using her name.  Unfortunately when I ordered it, I accidentally clicked on the acoustic guitar stand, not the electric guitar stand that I needed.  I immediately discovered the mistake, figuring I couldn’t undo buying the acoustic stand, I just went on and ordered the electric guitar stand.

    They both arrived on the day of our jam, and when I got to the jam, and dug out the crate with all of our PA equipment, I discovered my lost guitar stand, so I now have two electric guitar stands, and one acoustic guitar stand. 

    Yesterday, my wife was excited about receiving word that something she had ordered from Amazon was waiting for her at Horseshoe Lake Ventures, where we have to go to pick up our orders.  When she got there, there were two packages from Amazon to be picked up.  

    She was surprised at the size and weight of one package, because she had ordered small items.  When she opened it, she (and I) were surprised to find an acoustic guitar stand.  I don’t know why this second acoustic guitar stand arrived, I only ordered one, and that was by accident.  I am now guitar stand rich, with two electric guitar stands, and two acoustic guitar stands.  (I also have a couple of old stands, that I never use.)

    This episode is very similar to what happened in January of 2021.  I had ordered two guitar straps from Amazon, and mysteriously ended up receiving four of them.

Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

Goodwill; More Stories From My Alternative Service

 

            This blog continues with my experiences starting in 1970, when I had to do two years of Alternative Service as a Conscientious Objector, working at the Indianapolis Goodwill.  The photo is a blurry shot out my bedroom window from the carriage house I lived in.

During my lunch and coffee breaks, I enjoyed wandering through the different departments at Goodwill.  As someone who has always been intrigued by old and unusual things, I was in heaven.  Daily, I would scan the book and record departments in hopes of finding some treasures.

There was such a wide range of things that came into the Goodwill.  Some of it was just trash, but  most were good useable items and some things, were expensive antiques.  I was constantly wondering about the source of the things; ie, who owned it, what story could it tell.

The most extreme example of this was the day there was a commotion over on the conveyor belt, and I soon learned that among the clothing that had just been dumped onto the conveyor belt there was a dead baby.  The small corpse travelled the entire length of the belt, down the line, passing all the people who were doing the sorting, until it came to the end where the canvas-sided cart sat collecting the refuse.  I guess, no one along the belt knew what to do with it.  The police were informed, but I never did hear any more about it.

Our carriage house was a bit of a fortress, and we lived on the second floor of the brick structure, so felt safe, but one night after going to bed, I was lying in the dark.  Suddenly, a bright light streaming through the windows illuminated my room.  I was puzzled at first, but soon realized it was a spotlight from a police helicopter following someone through the alleyway besides our house.  I was shocked, having spent all of my previous life living a rural area, rarely seeing a helicopter, let alone a police chopper, tailing a suspect.

Jim had heard there had been some break-ins in the neighborhood and was concerned about his stereo and other possessions.  He was so concerned that he went to a Sears store and talked to the Allstate Insurance agent about getting some insurance.  Things were going well until the Allstate guy asked Jim where he lived.  When Jim told him North Delaware, the agent just shook his head and told Jim, “Sorry, but we don’t insure in high crime neighborhoods.”

Despite the very low pay, I was making 49.50/week, and my weakness for some of the interesting items that came in to the Goodwill, I was still able to buy enough gasoline to drive the MG (when it was running), down to Evansville to visit with my family and to be with my girlfriend.  One weekend when my car was not well enough for the drive, I was able to catch a ride with my Goodwill mentor, Mr Dennson, who drove me as far as his home town, Washington, Indiana.  Once I had gotten out of his car was left on the side of the highway, hitch-hiking.  With my thumb out, I experienced something that gave me an instant lesson in discrimination.

As I stood there trying to be optimistic about my chances of catching a ride in conservative, rural, Washington, a car spotted me and slowed down as it approached.  Great, I thought, some kindly soul is going to stop and give me a ride.  The car crawled very slowly toward me, and as it passed, the person riding in the passenger side, spit at me, then the car gunned the accelerator, and raced on down the road, having shown the long-haired hippie exactly how they felt about people with different values than theirs in their neighborhood.  

I was shocked, but unharmed, and eventually a good samaritan did stop to give me a ride, and eventually I did make it down to Evansville for the weekend.  However, the spitting incident did give me a taste of what it must be like to be black and have to face bigotry, sometimes daily, throughout their live.   It was something, I have never forgotten.

You can view my paintings:   davidmarchant2.ca

Goodwill: Eligible for Free Dental School Work

           This blog continues with my experiences starting in 1970, when I had to do two years of Alternative Service as a Conscientious Objector, working at the Indianapolis Goodwill.

    I didn’t have friends in Indianapolis, and really had no interest in spending my weekends there, and since I had my girlfriend, my family, and friends back in Evansville, most Fridays I would drive the 175 mile trip home, then enjoy Friday night, Saturday, and most of Sunday before making the return trip back to Indianapolis.   The photo above was shot on one of my Friday evening drives to Evansville.  On those weekend trips, I often brought back meager and unusual gifts from the Goodwill to my family.  My younger brothers enjoyed the old Mad Magazines I sometimes found.

    My girlfriend and I would go out to get spicy tacos or a Stromboli (hot Italian sausage, cheese, tomato sauce on French Bread) baked in a pizza oven, then cool our mouths with one of the 31 flavors of ice cream on a cone.  I would always pick her up so she could join my family for our big Sunday dinners.

    One sunny summery Sunday afternoon, I was returning from such a weekend visit.   I had the top down on my MG, and I was motoring down the highway with the wind in my face.  The cap on one of my front teeth had been starting to loosen for some reason, but as drove back to Indianapolis, I was too wrapped up in the immediate pleasures of music coming from the radio, and the sunshine on my face, to give much thought to my tooth.

    Suddenly, I experienced an overwhelming urge to sneeze, and when it exploded, the cap from my tooth shot out of my mouth, clearing the windshield, then as it hit the wind streaming over the windscreen, it made a U-turn and was carried over my shoulder, disappearing forever somewhere down the highway.

    The next day at work, keeping my mouth closed as much as possible, I discovered that because of my low income level, I was eligible to get dental work done at the Indiana University Dental School in Indianapolis.  There they fixed me up with a temporary cap, and scheduled me for weeks and weeks of future appointments.  It seemed I had a mouth that offered lots of opportunity for learning dentists.

    Having been used to small intimate dental offices, it was strange to sit in a large room, full of people in rows and rows of dental chairs, while an army of dentists-to-be walked around peering into all of the open mouths.  It was also a bit disconcerting to know that the dentist working on me was the same age as I was.  One of the student dentists there was even a high school classmate of mine.

    On one of my visits, after giving me a shot of Novocaine, my student dentist had to go and get a supervisor, before going to work on me.  I sat there and sat there, waiting and waiting.  I looked around, I waited, then I waited some more.  Finally, he returned with the supervisor, explaining to him how he was going to proceed.

        Once his explanation was over and he had gotten the okay, he began to grind away.  Unfortunately for me, by the time he finally began, the novocaine I had been given, had started to wear off.  After some violent twisting in the chair, and some jerks of pain, thankfully, my student dentist figured out why I was reacting the way I was, and gave me another injection of pain killer, before continuing.

    Another dental moment that I found a bit embarrassing, happened when a supervisor who had come over to check on the work that was being done on me, noticed a squirting gland in my mouth.  To my chagrin, he called out to the whole room, full of young dentists, to come over and take a look at my squirting gland.  So I had to sit there with my mouth open, while the whole group of dental students took their turn gawking at my over stimulated gland.

    Although, I realized that I was getting a lot of good dental care for cheap, after week upon week of tightly gripping the dentist chair and listening to the whirr of the drill, the experience was beginning to get a little old.  I was greatly relieved once all the work in my mouth was complete.

         Because the students had to get experience doing all kind of fillings, I had one cavity filled with gold foil.  For years, afterwards, whenever I went to a dentist, he would look into my mouth with surprise, and say, “Wow, you have a gold foil.” and I would have to tell the story of my contribution to future dentistry.

You can view my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

Indianapolis: Moving Into The Carriage House

          Continuing with my experiences in Indianapolis working in a Goodwill Store in 1970 as my two year Conscientious Objector Alternative Service:

    During one of my daytime ramblings through my rough, Indianapolis neighborhood, I met a friendly hippie-type guy with long hair and a straggly beard whose name was Jim (photo above), and he said he lived a couple of blocks away.  About four months later, I ran into him again, and he explained to me that he lived in an old carriage house located behind a big house that had been turned into apartments, and that he was looking for a roommate to help split the rent.

    By this time, the adventure of living on my own, (despite the fact that I had a stain glass window) was wearing thin, and so I told him I might be, and made arrangements to stop by and take a look at the place where he lived.

    The carriage house was situated behind one of the huge old brick houses that fronted N. Delaware street.  The carriage house was two stories tall, with a ground floor that featured a garage door, where carriages, and later, cars had once been kept.  To the right of the garage door was a door that opened onto a long stairway which we climbed, to enter the living quarters.  Upstairs was a fairly big area, with a huge living room filled with old sofas and raggedy overstuffed chairs, Jim’s bed room, a regular sized bathroom, a big kitchen, and a smallish room where he thought I could sleep.

    I quickly decided to accept his offer and I moved my meager possessions to the carriage house.  I decorated my walls with three large old (48 star) American flags, and threw another over my bed as a bed spread.  (The Goodwill was full of interesting and inexpensive, decorating accessories.)  After setting up my turntable, reel to reel tape recorder, plugging in my speakers and turning on the music,  I snuggled down into one of the old sofas in the living room, and for the first time since moving to Indianapolis, felt comfortable in my surroundings.

    Jim was a bit of a mechanic, and helped me out a lot with my MG, which was beginning to develop weekly mechanical problems.  Just turning the ignition key, was always an adventure.  The starter was always wearing out, and I was never really sure if the car would start.

    One morning when it did start, I headed off to work.  While idling at a stop light, I began to notice a huge British racing green bubble begin to appear on the hood of the MG.  I sat frozen with fascination as the bubble grew and grew, then I panicked out of my trance when suddenly, smoke began to bellow from under the car.

    Having an MG did have one advantage, it was easy to push to the side of the road when it broke.  Luckily, another driver saw my predicament, and had an extinguisher which he used to put out the fire in my engine.  We pushed my car to the side of the road, and I added dealing with my broken car to my list of things to do that day.

    Moving to the carriage house, and splitting the rent with Jim, enabled me to have a bit more money left over from my puny pay check.  If I hadn’t bought too much stuff from the Goodwill the week before (which took a lot of will power), I was able to afford to travel back home to visit with my family and to see my girlfriend over a weekend.

View my paintings at:    davidmarchant2.ca

Goodwill: Not Exactly As Advertised

         Continuing with my experience working in a Goodwill Store in 1970 as my two year Conscientious Objector Alternative Service:

       In my pre-Goodwill life, I had always thought highly of Goodwill Industries; how they helped the handicapped people and how they repaired and recycling items.  However, once I was employed there for a while, I began to see Goodwill Industries in a different, and darker light.   It was distressing for me to learn about the actual pay that most of the handicapped people received.

       Indiana State law required Goodwill Industries to pay me at least the minimum wage (1.65/hr), and when I began my Alternative Service, I had assumed that minimum wage was also what all my handicapped coworkers were also paid, but that wasn’t the case, because Goodwill Industries was classified as a “Sheltered Workshop”, and as such, they were exempt from having to pay their employees minimum wage.  As a result those handicapped employees were paid a lot less than minimum wage, some of them only got paid as little as $.35/hr.  

       Not only was their hourly pay so miserly, but like me, they only worked a 30 hour work week, so their take home pay was extremely low.  Someone making $.35/hr, earned $10.50/week, and $546/year.   My minimum wage income earned me a whopping $49.50/week, and $2,574/year.  It was so low I was forced into living in the  ghetto, and I couldn't imagine how the handicapped people were able to survive.

       I was further incensed to learn that all the non-handicapped big shot management types in the front office were being paid huge salaries, comparable to management salaries in private corporations.  The non-handicapped, Head Honcho’s salary was $30,000 a year.  It all seemed so typical of hardcore capitalism to me.  The poor people who did all the work, and were trotted out in front of the public when donations were needed, and they were only paid peanuts, while at the same time, the smooth-talking business-suited fat cat executives, were living the high life with their executive salaries and expense accounts.

       The most rewarding part of my job, was manning the “Employee Store” which we opened every day during the lunch period.  every day at noon, I sat at the in-house sales table where the employees would bring the items they wished to purchase. Workers were allowed to buy things from the warehouse floor, before the items were sent off to the stores.   

       On a form, I recorded the price of the item they wished to buy, along with the name of the purchaser, I attached a label to the item, showing the name of the purchaser.  These products were then put on a cart which at closing time was wheeled to the exit door.  When the employee clocked out, they would pick up their purchases as they left for home.  The price of the item was automatically deducted from the worker’s pay. 

       Being a pricer put me in a position where I (without official authorization) could give the employees a bit of a bargain to help make up for their ridiculously low pay.  If they wanted to buy an item that I had priced, I made sure that I lowered the price as much as I could get away with, in order to help them out.   It seemed the right thing to do, since they were being paid so little, and didn’t have much.    

            Below is a copy of the “Suggestion,”  my smart-aleck self filled out and submitted on my last day of Alternative Service.

You can view my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Goodwill: Other Conscientious Objectors

        Continuing with my experience working in a Goodwill Store in 1970 as my two year Conscientious Objector Alternative Service:        Continuing with my experience working in a Goodwill Store in 1970 as my two year Conscientious Objector Alternative Service:

    A really wide range of people worked at the Goodwill.  Of course, most were handicapped in some way, some physically, some mentally, and others emotionally challenged.  Most were friendly and good natured, and but some were almost constantly scowling or quiet, others had their “bad days” with loud angry outbursts.  Over time, I gradually learned to read many of their moods.  

    I was not the only Conscientious Objector working at the Goodwill; there were maybe ten other CO’s doing their two years of Alternative Service there too.   Most of them with the job of driving the Goodwill trucks. They would pick up the donated items from the drop boxes scattered around the city, and bring them in to be processed, and then once repaired and cleaned, they trucked them from our warehouse to the various stores.

    The group of Conscientious Objectors were also a very diverse group.  Most of them were very religious, but a few like myself, held beliefs that were moral, rather than religious.  Whenever they breached the subject of religion, I was always open with my views.      

    One of the “religious” CO’s who I will just call John, had nothing in common with me, except that we both worked at Goodwill.  While I worked as a “Pricer,”  John worked on the maintenance staff, walking around the building all day with a tool belt on his hip .

        We did occasionally talk to each other; he was a fundamentalist Christian, a Jehovah Witness, very strait-laced and conservative, while I was a free-thinking hippie.  I was open to John about my beliefs, so he was aware that I was an atheist.  

        One year as Christmas approached, I was approached by a member of Goodwill’s management staff and asked if I would play the part of one of the Three Wisemen in the upcoming Goodwill Christmas pageant.  This request had nothing to do with my religious beliefs, but was made because I looked “biblical” with my beard and long hair.  

        I was happy to help out, “Sure,” I replied after given the request, “I’ll be one of your Wiseman.”

        When John heard that I had been asked to be one of the Three Kings in the Christmas pageant, he was outraged that an atheist was going to be featured in such a holy story.  He confronted me and said “I hope that God strikes you dead,” and then walked away.  That didn’t seem very Christian-like to me, but I let it stand.   I assumed that he felt like he should have been offered the part, since he was more “holy” than I was.

        Although the pageant itself has totally disappeared from my memory, I do remember that I was in the Nativity play, as forgettable as it was, and I am happy to announce that God didn’t strike me dead for doing it.

        For John however, it was a different story.  

        Several months later, I was informed by the Goodwill grapevine that John lay in the hospital in serious condition.  I don’t remember what had happened to him, maybe it was an automobile accident.  He needed a blood transfusion, but because of his Jehovah Witness religious beliefs, he refused to allow that to happen.  A few days later he died; true to his beliefs to the end, but dead because of them, when his life could have been saved. 

      I was of course really sorry to hear about John’s death, but also very angry.  I couldn’t understand any justification for a religion to cause the unnecessary death of a young person, when it could have been avoided.    If getting a blood transfusion was such a major sin, John could have easily just asked to be forgiven for it, after he recovered.   I was pretty sure that one of the main pillars of  Christianity was that you could always be forgiven, no matter how horrendous the sin.

    The photo shows my “Biblical” look at the time. 

You can see my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca