Corner Boys

Robert Hunt

• Publisher: Flanker Press
• Year: 2011
• Print ISBN: 9781926881508
• eBook ISBN: 9781926881515
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Social Science Biographies
• Index: Social Sciences

Corner Boys is Robert Hunt's memoir of growing up on the mean streets of St. John's in the 1950s and '60s. Within the working-class neighbourhoods that are central to this tale, trouble seemed to lurk behind every corner, ready to be found by those who were looking for it. This dark yet humorous coming-of-age story follows a young and mischievous boy along the sidewalks and into the backyards of a turbulent—and sometimes violent—city.

young years

I was born on February 23, 1949, at St. Clare’s Hospital in St. John’s, a little more than a month before the province of Newfoundland and Labrador joined Canada. This makes me a true Newfoundlander. I was the second of five children, all sons: Edward, Robert, Calvin, Hubert, and the youngest of the lot, Angus. God didn’t bless Mom and Dad with a daughter.

I lived at 36 McKay Street for the first six years of my life, but my memory is vague when it comes to those years. The house we lived in had two storeys, and someone else lived in the upstairs part. I think it was an elderly lady. Mom was always going upstairs to check on whoever lived there, anyway. The four or five steps leading to the front door were concrete. The house had a big front window that Ed and I used to look out before we went to bed, staring at the stars and dreaming far-off, boyish dreams.

I do remember sleighing, one incident in particular. A bunch of kids, including me, were sliding down Leslie or Richmond Street, and going under an oil truck that was making a delivery in the process. I had a small sleigh made of wooden slats with steel runners, and it got jammed under the truck. I would have been run over or dragged off by the truck if a woman hadn’t spotted me and alerted the driver before he got back in and drove off. The driver took me home, and Mom and Dad gave me hell for my escapade.

I also remember going to St. Clare’s on a stormy winter day to have my tonsils removed at the tender age of five. My dad sat next to my mother in the back seat of a large car and held me in his arms all the way to the hospital. It was snowing hard and the roads were slippery. Whose car it was will always remain a mystery: Dad couldn’t drive, and there weren’t many vehicles in St. John’s in those days.

Years later, I met a girl on McKay Street who became my first steady girlfriend. Her name was Rita Powell, and what a beauty she was.

Even though I was only six, the family’s move from McKay Street to Brazil Street in 1955 shattered my little world. Dad told us many years later that we were supposed to live on Brazil Street for only a little while. He had intended to find another house in the city, he said. We ended up staying on Brazil for twenty-one years. Later in life I realized that Dad couldn’t afford to buy a better house, and I think that leaving McKay Street for Brazil bothered him (although he never said anything, being a proud man). McKay was considered a better neighbourhood, and CN workers such as my father tended to live in the west end, on streets such as McKay and Craigmillar. (The Reid Newfoundland Company, which built the Newfoundland railway, gave mortgages to its employees to build houses on the south side of Craigmillar. These houses, which are still in existence, were known as Railway Range.) But once we settled in on Brazil and he met some neighbours, Dad seemed to be at ease with the move.

the centre

of the city

It was on Brazil Street that I met Dickie White, who was to become my best and closest friend, and who would lead me from the age of innocence into the age of mischief. (Of course, even at six, I was no angel myself.) I remember my first meeting with Dickie White well. It was in June of 1955, the day we moved to Brazil Street.

It was a fine June day, and Dickie and his younger sister, Louise, were sitting on the front steps of 38 Brazil Street, the house next to ours (which was number 40). Neither of them said a word to us as we settled in. They just kept staring at us as if we were intruders.

Dickie’s stare scared the living crap out of me. He just had that look. Also, he was big, and that intimidated me. (I soon became very happy that he was my friend and not my enemy.) And then he came into our house and sat down as if he were part of the family. Mom and Dad took to him right away, and he ended up becoming an honorary Hunt for many years.

It only took a small part of the day to move in. Our family didn’t own much. We didn’t have a lot of furniture. Mom and Dad came home a few days later with more. We were now living in the poor section of town.

After we finished stowing things away, I sat on the front steps. Dickie approached me, speaking in his quiet, steady tone. He was about a foot taller than me and weighed around ninety or a hundred pounds. But it turned out that he was as pleasant as a sleeping dog. Unless he got angry, which was rare. Whoever got him mad was in big trouble.

(When he got older most people backed off after one look at him, saying, “Yes, sir.” I know I did.)

“Want to have some fun?” Dickie said.

I was hooked. “Why not?” I said. And that was the start of a wonderful friendship.

The first place we visited was “the corner, ” where we would trade stories and secrets for the next twenty years. The corner was situated at the bottom of Brazil and Casey Streets, and extended over to Central Street. It was Y-shaped and extended halfway out into Casey Street. There were no trees. There was no sidewalk, either. Cars always seemed to zoom by at breakneck speeds, and we had to be very careful when we stepped away from the store or the houses. Only three or four feet separated the houses from the road.

There was a store, which was the focal point of the corner. The steps to the store were curved, and the door was on the corner. It had two large windows, one on the Casey/Central Street store side, and another on the Brazil Street side. At the end of the store on the Central Street side were three steps that led to the Taylors’ (the family who lived above the store). Next to the store on that side were the Kings, in an old three-storey house (Jimmy King and his older brother Edward would become good friends). On the Brazil Street side of the store lived Kay Hann, a sweetheart of a lady who was always good to us when we were young boys. Next to Kay’s was Dickie’s house, and next to Dickie’s, of course, was our house. The corner is long gone, but both our houses are still there. (In fact, Dickie’s mother, who is in her eighties now, is still there; I drop in and have a chat with her from time to time.)

The store was owned by three different people when we were growing up. The first owner was Kevin King. Many years later it was owned by Frank “Fossie” Furlong, a great dart player who competed in many of the city’s dart tournaments. The last owners I remember were Bette Royal and her husband “Socks” Phelan, from Casey Street. Bette’s brother Pat was a long-time sports fan and a great contributor to sports, especially baseball and softball.

The corner, and later our clubhouse, would be our main hangouts. In those days we didn’t know what boredom was. We never had time to get bored.

Back then, the centre of St. John’s was different from any other area of the city. It was the hub of downtown. All the real action took place on Water Street, the busiest section of the city, which was only a stone’s throw from our homes. Dickie took me everywhere, showing me the new neighbourhood, all the hiding spots and interesting places. I was in awe: I had never been out of my own neighbourhood of McKay Street, although I had heard about other parts of town from school friends. I had never even been to Water Street— it was too far away from McKay for me to be allowed to walk there at my age—but I had envisioned it many times in my mind.

The area in which I now lived, just up from Water Street and New Gower Street, was the heart of the city: its bustling crowds and loud noises were new experiences for me. It was very exciting to explore the streets I had heard so much about. Before the days of malls, Water Street was the main shopping district for all of Newfoundland. People from the surrounding areas of the city, and indeed from all over the island, went to Water Street to take care of their families’ needs. My aunts and uncles came in from around the bay once or twice during the year. Before they made the trip, Mom and Dad would send them stuff cut out of magazines, and catalogues from Bowring’s, Woolworths, and other stores on Water Street, especially before Christmas. Bowring’s had their Christmas catalogue out at the end of October, as did Woolworths and other stores. If you couldn’t get in to town, you ordered from the catalogues and your goods were shipped by train or coastal boat.

Not too many people owned a car in those days; most people walked wherever they needed to go. Everyone walked from all corners of the city to shop on the oldest street in North America. Everything new was to be found on Water Street, until the Avalon Mall came along in the late 1960s.

Water Street was always crowded in its heyday, especially during Christmas, when it was decorated to the max. The Water Street merchants made a fortune when Christmas came around. As a boy, I loved the charity raffles that took place during the Christmas season.

The Mount Cashel Raffle was the main one. Our family always went there. It was in support of the boys at the Roman Catholic Church’s Mount Cashel, an orphanage for boys. The Mount Cashel Raffle was held in a building on Water Street near the lower end of George Street. It usually started during the first week in December and ended on Christmas Eve. It was a big event, and there was always a crowd. The boys of Mount Cashel sold the tickets, supervised by members of the Irish Christian Brothers (the order that founded Mount Cashel). Tickets were usually three for five cents, and a spin of the big wheel determined the winner. Certain draws resulted in cash prizes ranging from $1 to $3. Others were for boxes of cookies or chocolates, coats, shirts, slacks, games, or toys. Businesses all over St. John’s donated the prizes. Turkeys, strutting around in the window, were also drawn for, and to win one was a real treat because they cost a lot of money. It was very hard for us kids to get tickets while a spin was on the go because the grown-ups would muscle us out of the way.

The orphanage would eventually become the centre of a sexual abuse scandal that shocked Newfoundland and the world. But I wasn’t a bit surprised. I knew some of the Christian Brothers who were convicted— they taught in Catholic schools throughout the city. I always felt in my heart that there was something wrong with the way they behaved toward us. Some of the Brothers were powder kegs waiting to explode.

Many of the stores on the Water Street of my day now exist only in memory. There was Parker and Monroe’s shoe store, which sold shoes of “all shapes and sizes, ” as their window sign said. Variety stores like The Big Six, and The Arcade, owned by former St. John’s Mayor John Murphy. Templeton’s paint shop was a downtown fixture and it still is. Dickie and I delivered paint for Templeton’s on foot for years to different areas of St. John’s, before they bought a delivery van, around 1960. Ayre & Sons was a big, family-owned store in the heart of Water Street.

Bowring Brothers was another one, providing shoppers with every modern item, things that couldn’t be found anywhere else in Newfoundland. The store had two levels, with two sets of stairs. Bowring’s was always trying to outdo Woolworths with respect to pricing. It was the first business in St. John’s to have parking on top of the building. Bowring’s served some of the best food, bar none, that one could ever eat in St. John’s. Mrs. Jean Abbott from Conception Bay South ran Bowring’s restaurant, the Captain’s Cabin, for many years. It had a fantastic view of the harbour and was considered a fancy restaurant, but the prices weren’t high. Everyone went there. Their hot turkey and hot roast beef sandwiches were second to none in St. John’s. A specialty was pork chops; no one made pork chops like they did. The desserts were beyond compare; I particularly remember their butterscotch pudding and cobbler pie.

I remember when the London, New York and Paris, another landmark store, first opened its doors. The building it was in was constructed after the fire of 1892, and first housed James Baird, a fishery supply and general import business. My mother shopped at the London many times over the years. Money was always in short supply, of course, so Mom was always very thrifty, as mothers were in those days. She bought shirts, shorts, underwear, socks, etc., at the London and the Arcade because they had better bargains than most of the stores on Water Street. I seemed to be always trying on clothes at both stores when I was with Mom. My brothers and I were all about the same size, so I got to be the family mannequin—she would get me to try things on, and gauge whether they would fit my brothers. But I didn’t mind: I knew there would be a treat at the end of it. We usually ended up at Marty’s Restaurant for a snack so she could rest before the walk home to Brazil Street.

At its height, Woolworths, which opened in the early ’60s, was the most modern store of its kind in the province. It had some of the first escalators in Newfoundland, and also one of the first PA systems; you heard the latest hits by the top artists—Elvis Presley, Neil Diamond, Roy Orbison, Peggy Lee, Tammy Wynette, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Dave Clarke Five—while you shopped.

Of course, the very top band of the day was The Beatles. I worked at Woolworths part-time during my school years, and I used to ask the person on the third floor who controlled the music to play their songs over and over. Beatlemania arrived in Newfoundland in 1963. The Beatles’ music was everywhere. Around the same time, a song called “The Monster Mash, ” by Bobby “Boris” Pickett, made it really big—it was the most popular song on the airwaves and in the store for a full summer.

As a young child, it was a special thing to go shopping with my mom or dad in the evenings. When my brothers and I tagged along downtown, we knew that we would receive a treat. Of course, we had to tag along with our parents anyway, to help bring home the packages. Dad always made us go with Mom while he was working, because of her heart condition. She wasn’t allowed to go anywhere alone, especially to Water Street, because she wasn’t able to carry parcels up the steep hill of Casey Street on the way back to the house.

For me and my friends, Water Street was not only a place to shop, it was somewhere we could earn money. I worked part-time at Woolworths from 1963 to 1965, and I have many fond memories of manning the candy counter. In the first six months of that particular stint, I gained about ten pounds, since I frequently sampled the merchandise.

My boss at the time was a rather unsavoury person named Mr. Church. He was a smart business person, but very mean when it came to the customers. One woman used to frequent the store regularly with her three kids, and she always came to the candy counter. I would always add a few extra candies to the bag, because she couldn’t afford to spend much money on her children. At least I di...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half-title
• Title
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Preface
• Chapter 1 - Young Years
• Chapter 2 - The Centre of the City
• Chapter 3 - Brazil Street
• Chapter 4 - Mom and Dad
• Chapter 5 - The Corner Boy Area
• Chapter 6 - Making Our Own Fun
• Chapter 7 - NHL Hockey in Newfoundland
• Chapter 8 - The Assassination of JFK
• Chapter 9 - Holy Cross
• Chapter 10 - The Beating
• Photographs
• Chapter 11 - The Ghost of Tessier’s Lane
• Chapter 12 - The Bully
• Chapter 13 - The Return to Tessier’s Lane
• Chapter 14 - The Catholic Boys Club
• Chapter 15 - Where We Once Roamed
• Chapter 16 - The Belmont
• Chapter 17 - CN: A New World Opens
• Chapter 18 - Time Moves On
• Acknowledgements
• Back Cover