Central Technical School
As it was late August or early September when I came to Toronto, I was going to have to register to go to school, and the school I had to register for was Central Technical School, and so off I Parkdale, which meant, I had to board the Queen St. streetcar eastbound to Bathurst St. and the Bathurst St. streetcar north to Harbord St. where Central Tech was. Going to school each morning this was was an adventure itself, what with the crowded streetcars, people trying to get in the middle doors to save paying, pushing and shoving to the rear of the car. The school itself was imposing, a huge square building with a hallway around the building, that was a quarter mile long, which might not have been big by Toronto standards, but it sure seemed big to me. Central Tech. also had a big swimming pool, a rifle range, and several gyms. I took English, Geography, Motor Mechanics, Woodworking, Mathematics, History, and Music, which I was surprised at because the only music we had at Elizabeth Ziegler was singing. I don't remember many of the teachers names, but I do remember a couple who will stick in my mind for obvious reasons. The first one I remember was Mr Graham, the English teacher, he was a Zoot suiter, and always dressed the part, with drape pants, with a big chain draped from the belt, and bright red oxblood shoes, and a wide short tie, he was a sight to behold. Another teacher I remember was Mr Satterwhite, who was close, but not quite there, to looking like one of my old teachers from Elizabeth Ziegler, as could be, conservative. There was Mr. Armstrong who was the Gym teacher and must have been 6ft. 4 in. and while changing classrooms en masse one day and talking while doing so, I was driven flying by a great slap on the back of my head by Mr. Armstrong, who said what the hell are you talking for. I was shocked, not by the hit on my head but that he had swore. I had the impression that my teachers in Elizabeth Ziegler, wouldn't have said shit, if they had a mouthful, and that wasn't an aberration, there was a lot of swearing going on by the teachers. The last teacher whose name I remember was Mr Watson the music teacher, who I think was very talented, but had his own problems. At the time there was a new movie come out " Blackboard Jungle" and while the school wasn't that bad I, thought at the time it was. I don't think there were gangs, as much as cliques, a subtle but important difference. No one in my time at Central Tech. ever bothered me, and I don't know why, but many years later friend of mine says I scare people because of my looks, that I'm naturally, off putting, I guess, as I have said in the past, I had an explosive temper but no one at Central ever experienced that except Mr Watson our music teacher.
I began to understand the standards at Elizabeth Ziegler were higher when attending my first woodworking class, taught by Mr Satterwhite. He gave us the plans for a 3 tier nick-knack shelf to be made, told us it was going to cost 2 dollars for the material, and sent us on our way telling us to come to him if we needed any help. I set about cutting out the pieces out and putting it together, it was a well equipped shop, and when it was finished later in the period, went to him , and asked for the varnish, to finish off the piece. He stood there agape for a while with his mouth open, and said, what are you going to do for the next three weeks. In other words it seems that was the amount of time they allowed for this project to be finished by the class. This project was one that we would have done in grade 6 at Elizabeth Ziegler, which was an early clue as to the standards of my old school. I said I don't know he gave me the varnish next period, and I finished the thing. I subsequently found out that unlike Waterloo, most Public Schools in Toronto never taught shop. The next week after finishing my project and getting bored, I had to think of something to do while waiting for the rest of the class to catch up. At the time those large foam rubber dice that hang from the rear view mirrors were very popular, and I thought that I would make a pair using a piece of scrap 4X4 lying around, so I cut it out drilled the dots, for the numbers, in preparation of painting them white, and the dots black, I was in the back corner of the room with another couple students who liked what I did, and then rolled them, as Mr Satterwhite comes around the corner, and accuses me of gambling, and sends me to the Vice Principal's Office, for gambling in class.
When we went to Mr. Watson's music class he told us all to determine what instrument we would like to play, and when he gets to me he asks what I wanted, and I said the trumpet, and he says, your playing the Tuba, I was a little disappointed but not entirely put off, at least to quite yet. I actuall liked the music class, as I love music and in the beginning thought, this guy will never make this thing fly, what group of losers. Mr Watson calls me aside one day and says I am going to have to take the Tuba home and practise, at which I say, are you for real, do you know how much trouble it is to get on the streetcar myself in the morning, never mind carrying a Tuba. Mr Watson insists and I tell him I won't do it. We carry on with our classes and one day a while later he comes to me again, and tells me I am going to have to take the Tuba home to practise. After a long discussion I relent, and take the Tuba home. Going home was not bad, as it is not really rush hour, but the next day coming back was a nightmare, with a Tuba on those overcrowded streetcars. I did make it back the next day, and when I returned to class Mr Watson says that I am going to have to take it home a few times a week from then on, at which I said no way I will not be taking it home again, and this is in front of the class who are all listening, Mr Watson becomes more insistent, and I become exasperated, still angry at having to carry that thing back on the crowded streetcar, and yell out to him, "YOU CAN SHOVE THAT TUBA UP YOUR ASS, SIDEWAYS". Mr. Watson then tells me to report to the Vice Principal's office, which I do, and am told, I am put on warning. I report back to Mr Watsons class and he tells me I won't be passing music if I don't take the Tuba home, at which I said, so be it, he took the Tuba away and from then on I just sat in the class and listened. One of the other kids in the class was Grant H. who lived not far from me and had a little job of changing the Marquee at the little show in the neighborhood the Avon, we became friends, and I could get in the Avon free from time to time. A year after leaving school, I met Grant and he told me that Mr Watson had been fired for fooling around with the girls. However I will say that Mr Watson did what I thought was impossible, making great music with that bunch of what I thought were losers.
The Geography Class had a dreamer, and schemer, for a teacher and seemed to always be trying to pull other teachers into get rich quick schemes, he seemed to be always scheming and was out of the classroom more than he was in. I liked Geography and was quite good at it, and got bored quite fast, as this teacher was learning, or not, how to get rich, more than he was teaching history. The classroom was on the third floor of the school, and at becoming bored one day with the teacher out of the room, I started making paper airplanes and throwing them out the window at the football team in the field below. The teacher enters the room as I launch one of my planes, and on seeing me, tells me to go to the Vice Principal's Office, now I didn't expect a medal for my airplane design, but being sent to the Vice Principal's office was not something I had thought of.
I go to the Vice Principal's office, and he says to me I see a pattern emerging here, dismisses me and off I go.
All of the boys at school were expected to be in the reserves, and were in fact issued uniforms while there. We had target practise in the rifle range at the school and were expected to go to various year, which I did. We went one time to an Armoury in Aurora and were given the In's and outs about Tanks, as well as being drilled. Another time we went to Niagara on the Lake Military Range, where we fired BREN Guns, and Lee Enfield 303's, which I loved. We also went to the range at Lakefield, which was at Port Credit, and a place I would subsequently have and adventure. I did like the reserves though, I guess because they had all the toys.
I get through the fist semester with no further trips to the Vice Principal's office, and we are well on our way into the second semester, and in fact are almost through it, and I am bored, and getting gentle hints from my mother, why don't you get a job, if your bored. We are into the exams for the second semester, and we are assigned to do them in a physics, room with electric outlets on all of the desks. The outlet on the desk where I am sitting has exposed wires because the Bakelite on the receptacle was broken. I finish the exam we were taking, with everyone quiet, and the teacher overseeing us reading a paper, with his feet up on the desk, kind of teetering back as one does in that position. I was fiddling with the broken receptacle with the metal end of my fountain pen, when all of a sudden, a giant flash, a big bang, the teacher flies backward, and the end of my pen is gone, and all the lights in the school are off. When the teacher determines it was me that caused the problem, he sends me to the Vice Principal's Office, telling the Vice Principal, he thought I was trying to kill myself. I found it hard to believe that a small fountain pen could cause that much of a problem. I didn't expect to be given a medal for finding a flaw in the electrical system of the school, and wasn't entirely surprised when the Vice Principal said, perhaps there is something else you would rather be doing, and I said it's funny you should say that, I was just talking about that at home. I had to get my mother's written permission, take some night school classes, which I never did and there I was out of school at 15 years old. The end of my formal schooling.
I began to understand the standards at Elizabeth Ziegler were higher when attending my first woodworking class, taught by Mr Satterwhite. He gave us the plans for a 3 tier nick-knack shelf to be made, told us it was going to cost 2 dollars for the material, and sent us on our way telling us to come to him if we needed any help. I set about cutting out the pieces out and putting it together, it was a well equipped shop, and when it was finished later in the period, went to him , and asked for the varnish, to finish off the piece. He stood there agape for a while with his mouth open, and said, what are you going to do for the next three weeks. In other words it seems that was the amount of time they allowed for this project to be finished by the class. This project was one that we would have done in grade 6 at Elizabeth Ziegler, which was an early clue as to the standards of my old school. I said I don't know he gave me the varnish next period, and I finished the thing. I subsequently found out that unlike Waterloo, most Public Schools in Toronto never taught shop. The next week after finishing my project and getting bored, I had to think of something to do while waiting for the rest of the class to catch up. At the time those large foam rubber dice that hang from the rear view mirrors were very popular, and I thought that I would make a pair using a piece of scrap 4X4 lying around, so I cut it out drilled the dots, for the numbers, in preparation of painting them white, and the dots black, I was in the back corner of the room with another couple students who liked what I did, and then rolled them, as Mr Satterwhite comes around the corner, and accuses me of gambling, and sends me to the Vice Principal's Office, for gambling in class.
When we went to Mr. Watson's music class he told us all to determine what instrument we would like to play, and when he gets to me he asks what I wanted, and I said the trumpet, and he says, your playing the Tuba, I was a little disappointed but not entirely put off, at least to quite yet. I actuall liked the music class, as I love music and in the beginning thought, this guy will never make this thing fly, what group of losers. Mr Watson calls me aside one day and says I am going to have to take the Tuba home and practise, at which I say, are you for real, do you know how much trouble it is to get on the streetcar myself in the morning, never mind carrying a Tuba. Mr Watson insists and I tell him I won't do it. We carry on with our classes and one day a while later he comes to me again, and tells me I am going to have to take the Tuba home to practise. After a long discussion I relent, and take the Tuba home. Going home was not bad, as it is not really rush hour, but the next day coming back was a nightmare, with a Tuba on those overcrowded streetcars. I did make it back the next day, and when I returned to class Mr Watson says that I am going to have to take it home a few times a week from then on, at which I said no way I will not be taking it home again, and this is in front of the class who are all listening, Mr Watson becomes more insistent, and I become exasperated, still angry at having to carry that thing back on the crowded streetcar, and yell out to him, "YOU CAN SHOVE THAT TUBA UP YOUR ASS, SIDEWAYS". Mr. Watson then tells me to report to the Vice Principal's office, which I do, and am told, I am put on warning. I report back to Mr Watsons class and he tells me I won't be passing music if I don't take the Tuba home, at which I said, so be it, he took the Tuba away and from then on I just sat in the class and listened. One of the other kids in the class was Grant H. who lived not far from me and had a little job of changing the Marquee at the little show in the neighborhood the Avon, we became friends, and I could get in the Avon free from time to time. A year after leaving school, I met Grant and he told me that Mr Watson had been fired for fooling around with the girls. However I will say that Mr Watson did what I thought was impossible, making great music with that bunch of what I thought were losers.
The Geography Class had a dreamer, and schemer, for a teacher and seemed to always be trying to pull other teachers into get rich quick schemes, he seemed to be always scheming and was out of the classroom more than he was in. I liked Geography and was quite good at it, and got bored quite fast, as this teacher was learning, or not, how to get rich, more than he was teaching history. The classroom was on the third floor of the school, and at becoming bored one day with the teacher out of the room, I started making paper airplanes and throwing them out the window at the football team in the field below. The teacher enters the room as I launch one of my planes, and on seeing me, tells me to go to the Vice Principal's Office, now I didn't expect a medal for my airplane design, but being sent to the Vice Principal's office was not something I had thought of.
I go to the Vice Principal's office, and he says to me I see a pattern emerging here, dismisses me and off I go.
All of the boys at school were expected to be in the reserves, and were in fact issued uniforms while there. We had target practise in the rifle range at the school and were expected to go to various year, which I did. We went one time to an Armoury in Aurora and were given the In's and outs about Tanks, as well as being drilled. Another time we went to Niagara on the Lake Military Range, where we fired BREN Guns, and Lee Enfield 303's, which I loved. We also went to the range at Lakefield, which was at Port Credit, and a place I would subsequently have and adventure. I did like the reserves though, I guess because they had all the toys.
I get through the fist semester with no further trips to the Vice Principal's office, and we are well on our way into the second semester, and in fact are almost through it, and I am bored, and getting gentle hints from my mother, why don't you get a job, if your bored. We are into the exams for the second semester, and we are assigned to do them in a physics, room with electric outlets on all of the desks. The outlet on the desk where I am sitting has exposed wires because the Bakelite on the receptacle was broken. I finish the exam we were taking, with everyone quiet, and the teacher overseeing us reading a paper, with his feet up on the desk, kind of teetering back as one does in that position. I was fiddling with the broken receptacle with the metal end of my fountain pen, when all of a sudden, a giant flash, a big bang, the teacher flies backward, and the end of my pen is gone, and all the lights in the school are off. When the teacher determines it was me that caused the problem, he sends me to the Vice Principal's Office, telling the Vice Principal, he thought I was trying to kill myself. I found it hard to believe that a small fountain pen could cause that much of a problem. I didn't expect to be given a medal for finding a flaw in the electrical system of the school, and wasn't entirely surprised when the Vice Principal said, perhaps there is something else you would rather be doing, and I said it's funny you should say that, I was just talking about that at home. I had to get my mother's written permission, take some night school classes, which I never did and there I was out of school at 15 years old. The end of my formal schooling.
posted by Allan at 3:15 PM
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