Tuesday, 11 February 2025

February 10, 1964: The Most Extraordinary Day of High School


      Moles, God, I hated moles.  Not the furry blind animal that burrowed under the ground, leaving the scattered eruptions of dirt across the lawn that exploded into dust when I mowed over them.  Those moles were okay, animals were interesting.  It was those chemistry moles; gases with weight, that were giving me the grief. 

    I’d always liked science, at least I thought I did.  I had been looking forward to this chemistry class in high school, envisioning myself in a room full of bubbling beakers, test tubes, and little hoses coming out of boiling flasks, mixing colorful liquids, and creating powerful reactions.   Nowhere in those visions were there moles.  

    With a sigh, I glanced back down at my notes.  At the top of the page I had already jotted down the date:  Feb. 10, 1964, the day after the big Beatle appearance, and under that I had written the word ‘Moles’ then under that, “Number of moles” with a dash behind it, but that was as far as my enthusiasm had gotten me so far that morning. 

            Mr. Kirk, was up there droning on, and clicking the chalk board with his pointer near the ‘CO2’ symbol which he had just circled.  All this talk of moles, could only mean it was going to be a very very long hour, but the monotony was broken by a knock on the door and a 10th grade girl who came in and handed Kirk a note.

    “David Marchant, gather up your books and come up here please.”

    His words instantly vaporized the fog that had been gathering around my brain, and immediately Mr. Kirk had my undivided attention.  I closed my notebook, reached under my chair and grabbed my Chemistry book.

    As I stood up, I was suddenly aware that all of the 48 eyes that shared this chemistry class were on me.

    “What in the world was going on?” I wondered, as I slipped my Bic pen into the hip pocket of my jeans and tried to be nonchalant, as I walked up to the front of the class where Mr. Kirk handed me the pink piece of paper.

    “Looks like you have an appointment with Mr. Buck.” he said in his dry tone of voice.

    Now my mind was racing.  Mr. Buck was the Vice Principal.

    I knew who he was of course:  Sculpted dark thick oiled hair, above the heavy black rimmed glasses, as he went strutting through the halls with his suit coat open, held back by the hands in his pockets.  Mr. Buck was the one who dealt with the trouble-makers.  I had heard hundreds of stories, and rumors about him slamming tough guys up against the lockers and handing out weeks of detention and suspensions.

    What did he want with me?  Maybe something had happened to my family?  He probably was the one who had to break tragic news to students.  Suddenly, I was filled with dread and fear.

  That must be it.  I was a straitlaced, easy going, good natured, obeying all the rules, sort of 16 year old.  I had never even ever had the opportunity to say “Good morning” to Mr. Buck.  What did he want with me, unless something unexpected and terrible had just happened to my family.

    As I closed the chemistry room door behind me, the sound echoed down the long empty hallway.   My eyes focused straight, down the long hallway to the far end, where it gradually disappeared down a slope.  I had heard this was the longest hall in any school in Indiana.  Over a quarter of a mile from one end to the other.

    Normally, the hallway was filled with the hub-bub of students which limited your awareness of its length, but now with everyone in class except me, I could see past the long mid-section with the social studies classrooms, down past the area which held the business classes part of the school, then past the industrial shop class section, and finally down to the boy’s and girls gyms.   

    At the hallway intersection, I flashed my pink note to the Hall Monitor, the student assigned to oversee and secure that section of the building, made the left hand turn out of the long hall and headed toward the Front Office.  I entered Mr. Buck’s office and held up my note to the secretary and told her that Mr. Buck wanted to see me.  Instead of bursting into tears with sadness about me losing my family, she without emotion, pointed to the bench and told me to have a seat and wait.

    Strange, surely, if my family had been wiped out, she would have immediately put her hand on my shoulder and walked me into Mr. Buck’s office.  Why was I just sitting here waiting?   What was going on? 


View my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

Monday, 10 February 2025

February 9, 1964: The Night That Changed America


       Then came February 9, 1964, and my world and life changed forever.  I knew the event was going to happen, but little did I realize just how big an impact it was going to have on me personally.  That evening, I joined 74 million other people who sat in front of their television sets and watched The Beatles as they made their North American debut by performing on the Ed Sullivan Show. 

    For a few days before the big event, the media had been doing stories about the Beatles coming to America for their scheduled North America debut performance on the Sullivan Show.  The news stories were pretty much all used the same angle.  They took a humorous theme: The four funny, girlish-looking, but good-natured British lads who made all the girls scream in England, had arrived in America.  Jokes and sarcastic comments were made about their long hair, it was their humorous attempt to lighten up the generally tragic-filled news.

    But after 40% of the US public tuned in to watch them, America was suddenly divided.  Many of the viewers, mostly young, really liked the Beatles, while most of the older observers and parents recoiled in horror.  Unfortunately, it was the Beatle-haters that held all of the positions of power.


Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

Sunday, 9 February 2025

My First View of the Beatles Performing (On Jack Paar)


In January 1964, a few month or so after I first became aware of the  the Beatles, I happened to discover that a clip of the Beatles was going to be shown on The Jack Paar Show, which was one of the early "late night" television shows.  Armed with this little-known tidbit of information, I spread the word to my girl friend and all of my other high school friends.  I made sure I was in front of the television late that night, when the Beatle clip was shown.  

       It was a dark, black and white clip that showed the Beatles performing, and the whole first part of the film mostly featured closeups of screaming girls, with a few clips of the Beatles playing in the background.   Then it went into a segment showing closer views of the Beatles playing “She Loves You”. 

    Despite the brevity of the film, I was excited by what I saw of the Beatles, and I could tell from the song, that their rock and roll had a different sound from what was normally being played on the radio.  It had a good beat and vocal harmonies.  The group was tight, and very animated in their playing.

    Those of my friends who had bothered to tune in to see the Beatles gave positive reviews of what they saw and my girl friend liked them, but for most of North Americans, the Beatles remained unknown for another month.

       At the end of the clip, Jack Paar announced that The Beatles would be appearing live on the Ed Sullivan Show on February 9th.   That set me anxiously awaiting for another whole month.


Here is a link to that film shown on the Jack Paar Show: 


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dYd5oYlutgU


View my paintings at::  davidmarchant2.ca

Saturday, 8 February 2025

1963: "Are You Trying To Look Like A Beatle?"


     The following is something that happened to me several months before The Beatles “hit” North America and appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show.


            One Sunday morning in November of 1963, I was sitting in the back pew at Salem Methodist Church with my friend Jary.  We had the job of being ushers during the service, and one of the perks of the job was that we could sit at the very back of church, away from our families, and be on our own, which gave us a little more freedom.  It allowed us to quietly talk during the boring sermons.

      I was just about to turn 16, and Jary, who was older, was a grade ahead of me.  I admired Jary because he was the most “intellectual” of my group of friends.  His range of knowledge was vasty superior to any of the rest of us. 

            As we sat there, I was playing with one of the little pencils I had taken from the pencil holder on the back of the pew in front of me, and was doodling on the margins of the church bulletin.  Jary bent over close to my ear, and asked me in a low voice, “Are you trying to look like a Beatle?”

    At the time, I didn’t understand the question.  It didn’t make any sense at all to me.  How could I look like a beetle?

With a confused look on my face, I inquired as to what he was talking about, and he explained that there was this new singing group from England who had long hair combed down on their foreheads, that were called “The Beatles”. 

    Naturally, to discover that I reminded Jary of someone else filled me with an immense amount of curiosity, so I was eager to find out more.   I told him I had never heard of them and asked him to explain.  He then told me there had been photo and a little article in Newsweek magazine and  said he would cut it out for me, so I could see the picture.

    Since I had never cracked a cover of Newsweek magazine, I had totally missed the event.  Jary was true to is word, because the next morning, when he sat down beside me on the school bus, he reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet from which he took a small piece of folded paper.  He handed it to me and when I opened it, I saw that it was a narrow horizontal photo of these mop-topped lads from England.  I thought they looked pretty neat.

    The photo peaked my interest in the Beatles even more and I was determined to seek more information.  During my lunch hour at school, I went into the school library where they kept copies of Newsweek magazines and looked through the most recent copies until I came upon the November 18, 1963 article entitled “Beatlemania”.

           Gleaning what I could from the article, I wasn’t sure if I would like their music--the article was fairly negative and described Beatle songs as “one of the most persistent noises heard over England since the air-raid shelters were dismantled,” and “high-pitched, loud beyond reason, and stupefyingly  repetitive.”--not exactly a glowing review,  but I sure did like the way they wore their hair.

    My hair was already heading in that direction, with my hair coming down across my forehead.  Mine was longer than most males, but there was an immense difference in the length of their hair and the length of mine,  but even my mini-version was already beyond what was normally seen on males in Southern Indiana, and long enough for Jary to notice.


Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

Friday, 7 February 2025


    Every week I look forward to Tuesday Night.  That is the night when our jam meets to play music and to lose ourself in song.  Everyone is on their own, but together, with each of us striving to perfect our playing and singing, and maybe trying something a bit different in our attempts.  We are all learning new songs, new chords, and growing musically.  There is no pressure, just laidback, comfortable fun.

    Yesterday, I came across this old photo I had clipped from an old high school newspaper.  I think it was probably taken in 1964.  It shows the members of “The Folk Club,” a group of wanna-be students all interested in playing and singing folk songs.   None of us had ever taken lessons on how to play our instruments, we were just teaching ourselves, and learning from each other.

    During that time the “Folk Music Revival” was taking place in universities across the country.  Starting in 1963, there was a TV series called “Hootenanny” on Saturday nights which showed concerts featuring folk singers performing at universities.  That was where I first became enamored with folk music and became motivated to learn how to play the banjo (that’s me in the dark shirt with the banjo).  I formed the Folk Club, and we met weekly to play and sing.  We had a few “performances” at our high school and for local organization events.

    Anyway, I thought it is interesting how history is being repeated today with our jam, which I also organized in order to play music with other people who wanted to do the same.   Today we do some folk songs, but also rock, country, and even a few show tunes.  We don’t play for fame or fortune, just for our own enjoyment, but when asked, we do play for community events.  Some of the best fun I have had in my life has been while playing music.




View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca


Thursday, 6 February 2025

Getting More Hay During Winter


         Everything gets more complicated in the winter.  Here is an account of me getting hay in January of 1993.

    That Saturday, I needed to get some more hay for my goats, because I only had about a week’s worth left to feed them.  The temperature had moderated a bit, rising to -21°C (-6°F).  Hefting and hauling hay bales was always a pretty physical job, but having to do it in the winter made it worse, because of all of the additional chores that needed to be done first.

    I hadn’t driven the truck for several weeks, so I plugged in the truck’s block heater, hoping the engine would warm up and be more apt to start.  Because the truck had just been sitting outside for weeks, it was covered with snow.  About 10 inches of hardened snow had accumulated on top of the truck’s cab, its hood, and in its bed.  I shoveled it all off best I could, trying not to put any more scratches or dents on its already scar-covered body.

    Once the snow was off of the truck, I carried my snow shovel over to the area in front of the barn doors, clearing all of the snow away, so that once I got the hay, I would be able to drive to the barn to unload it.  Happily, when all those things were done and I was ready to get the hay, and when I turned the key in the ignition, my old GMC truck started.

    I had made arrangement to get the bales of hay just up the road at Zimmerman’s farm.  Their barn had been very moist inside because of the cows, and the moisture had condensed around the edges of the barn doors then iced up, so we had to spend some time breaking the ice loose, before we were able to get the barn doors open.  

    That done, I loaded 49 bales of hay making a high stack on the back of my pickup, tied it down, then carefully drove it back home to my barn.  Unloading the bales from the truck was a time consuming job.  I loosened the ropes securing the bales, then climbed up onto the roof of the pickup’s cab, and started throwing the hay bales bales down to the ground.

    Once a pile bales had piled up down in the snow, I climbed down from the cab roof and began carrying those bales into the barn and stacked them. Then once again, climbed back onto the top of the cab, and continued that process of throwing the bales down, then hefting them to the barn, many times until I had finally gotten all of the heavy bales stacked in the barn.

    It was a lot of work on a cold day, and I was exhausted, but I was also satisfied to have finally secured enough hay to get the goats through the rest of the winter.


Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

Wednesday, 5 February 2025

Understanding Our Winters


     When people hear of the low temperatures we get up here, then can’t understand how we we take it.  Last night it was -24°C  (-11°F).  Granted, that is cold, but it is certainly tolerable if you are appropriately dressed, and understand some things about where we live.

    While I am not a fan of frigid weather, when we do get it and the thermometer give us scary looking minus temperatures, here in the Robson Valley, there are few positive things that makes our cold more tolerable.  First of all, it is a “Dry” cold, which means that the cold doesn’t “go through you” as quickly as in those places where the air is damp with a lot of moisture in the air.  

    I remember during our first winter in BC, the temperatures plummeted, but things weren’t as horrible, as the thermometer readings suggested.  We were surprised when over Christmas, we traveled down to Indiana.  Although the temperatures there indicated it was warmer, to us it felt a whole lot colder than what we had experienced in BC.

    When we get long, really cold spells here, we don’t get any wind.  Outside it is very peaceful and still.  It is wind that makes things feel brutally cold.  I don’t think I have ever felt so cold as I did on the shores of the North Sea on the Belgium Coast, with that horrible wind.  I am sure that the temperature there wasn’t even below freezing.

    Lastly, our high-pressure arctic cold fronts give us very clear skies.  It is those clear skies that make the temperature plunge at night.   Those clear skies mean very sunny days, which are nice.  There is a bit of warmth in the winter sun, and everything in our mountainous surroundings, sure look beautiful


Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

Tuesday, 4 February 2025

Picking Up What The Birds Drop


     Every day I put out food for the birds.  I put peanut butter in a log hanging from a willow tree, and sunflower seeds into a bird feeder hanging from a cottonwood tree.  The birds are happy for the food, but there is always bits of it that fall to the ground.  Yesterday afternoon there were two deer that came into the yard to clean up the food that the birds had dropped.

    The photo above shows a mule deer standing beneath the peanut butter log, after scooping up the bits of peanut butter that had fallen to the snow.  You can see a chickadee up on the log eating peanut butter.

    At the same time across the yard, a second deer was busy picking up the sunflower seeds that had fallen from the green bird feeder above.  It is good that nothing goes to waste, especially when it is so cold, and everyone needs more food.  This morning our temperature was -23°C (-9°F).

    Besides the two bird feeders, the deer always clean out most of the vegetable waste that I put on the compost pile.  As a result, our compost pile never seems to grow during the winter.



View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

Monday, 3 February 2025

Life During A Cold Snap


         Here is something I found in my 1993 diary, telling of what a couple of days were like during a cold snap:

        During that first full week in January, I heard that there was an arctic front coming our way.  Frigid weather always caused problems, so I braced myself.  First thing Monday morning, I asked my wife what the temperature was.  She checked the thermometer outside the kitchen window and told me it was -24°C (-11°F).  Hearing that, I had decided to have mercy on me goats, so I gave them their hay in the barn, and kept them inside for the day.  However, when I got to work, I discovered that it was really, only -15°C (5°F), a temperature that the goats could have dealt with outside.  I guess my wife had misread the thermometer.

    The next day the frigid air did arrive.  The first thing out of my clock radio when it woke me, was that it was -35°C (-31°F) in Valemount, our neighboring village.  Mother Nature took mercy on McBride giving us a more balmy temperature of -32°C (-26°F).   I had my fingers crossed for luck when I sat in the cold car and turned the ignition key.  Fortunately, the car started. 

        I drove my wife (a teacher) to the high school to drop her off, then noticed that it was her keys in the ignition, so before she walked into the school, I turned off the car so I could them to her, and inserted mine into the ignition.

    When I turned my key to start the car, the engine gave a very feeble whimper, then nothing else.  After that, the engine no longer even tried to turn over.  The battery was completely dead, so realizing the car was not going to start, I zipped up my down coat, pulled down my wool hat and had myself a very cold one mile walk, across town to my work at the Forest Service.

    During the morning coffee break, Robert Frear a co-worker, gave me drive in a pickup back over to the high school, and helped me jump start my car with jumper cables.  Once my car started, I drove it back to the Forestry building, and was able to park it inside the warm Inspection Bay.  During my lunch hour, I discovered that the battery was very low of water.  After I topped it up, I no longer had any trouble getting it started.


View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

Sunday, 2 February 2025

First Light


     It was 7:20 when I first ventured outside to give Kona a chance to pee.  The temperature was -19°C (-2°F).  It was a still, calm, and peaceful morning, and I liked the lighting, so I snapped this photo with my phone.  I think it does give that impression of cold peacefulness.   

    For most of this winter, I have been hoping for snow and we are finally getting some.  For me, winters are a period of very little outside activity, unless we get snow.  Snow gives me just about the only exercise I get, mostly from clearing the driveway, shoveling the sidewalk, and snowshoeing paths around the pond, that I can then use to walk around.

    My phone keeps track of my activities, and looking at the graph it makes, clearly indicates when we got snow, because the amount of my exercise I get goes up quite a bit.  We got 2 inches of snow overnight, so sometimes today I will go out and clear the driveway, because it is easier to remove the snow now, rather than wait until it slowly piles up and it packed down by driving on it, besides it gives me some needed exercise. 



You can see my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

Saturday, 1 February 2025

Winter, After All


     After months of unusually mild winter temperatures and very little snow, things have suddenly changed and we woke up to -16°C (3°F) this morning.  Over the last few days we have also gotten maybe a foot (30cm) of snow on top of the 5 inches we had on the ground.

    The photo shows that I plugged in the block heater on the car to warm up the engine a bit in case we need to drive into town for something.  I have gotten the snowblower out maybe four times over the last few days to clear the driveway, and will get it out again as soon as I am done with this blog.

    While I like the snow, I am not a fan of really cold weather, and sadly, the forecast for Monday night is -30°C (-22°F).  We’ve been through much colder in the past, but that doesn’t make the prospects any easier to face.  It looks like we will be into the frigid air for at least a week, which doesn’t thrill me, but we will muddle through.



Take a look at mu paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca