A City for a Playground
As told by Russ Brown to Lindsay Kroes, excerpted from Gather by the Avon: The Stratford Story Project Book
photos from Stratford Perth Archives and Ann Baggley
Russ Brown grew up in the East End of Stratford, right in the heart of the manufacturing district. A stone's throw from his childhood home, Imperial and Kroehler's were churning out high quality solid-wood furniture while Preston-Noelting was shipping furniture across the country. A few blocks away, Avon Knit made yarns, and Avalon Fabric produced upholstery for chester elds. The Sealed Power plant was right in his backyard. When he was three years old, it caught on fire. He strained to watch the black smoke billowing out of the building and darkening the sky, but even a fire would not stop his mother from putting him down for his afternoon nap. He was miffed to have missed the excitement.
Like many others in the city, Russ's father worked at the Canadian National Railway shops. He was a crane operator, lifting the huge steam engines so that men could make repairs to the undersides. Russ's five uncles also worked in the shops as welders. The rail industry then was the lifeblood of the town, and the daily traffic of trains through the city core was simply a part of every day. Housewives living close to the track would learn to listen for the whistle of the steam engine and run out to grab their clothes off the line, to avoid them being sullied by the blast of soot released by the engine on its way through town. During the 1950s, Stratford's manufacturing heyday was beginning to wane, as steam engines were replaced by diesel engines. When the shops closed their doors in 1958, the town was devastated. Two hundred men lost their jobs, in addition to those who had already been phased out through the decade. The face of Stratford industry was left very changed.
However, these troubles were far from the minds of young boys. For them, the gritty industrial yards were nothing more than jungle gyms and obstacle courses. Russ and his gang of neighbourhood kids would climb in the piles of lumber out behind Kroehler's and play hide and seek in the out-of commission steam cars at the rail yards. Another favourite pastime was exploring the storm sewers. Crawling into a culvert at the corner of Romeo and Douro Street, the boys would make their way underground all the way to the middle of the Juliet school grounds, climbing out before that pipe joined up with the main sewer that would have sent them straight into the Avon at Queen Street. It was dark and clammy down there, and there were all manner of slimy treasures for curious youngsters to discover. They crawled out of the sewers so smelly that nobody wanted to comenear them.
As well as exploring underground, Russ and his friendsalso ventured in the other direction, climbing the four storey Imperial Furniture factory at night to gallivant on the rooftop. The view of the city (as well as the adrenaline rush) was magnificent. One night, there was a close call when in the midst of their play, one of the boys was heading straight for the edge of the roof. Russ reached out just in time to pull him back.
On summer nights, the ball diamond behind Kroehler's and Avalon Fabrics was busy with players and spectators. The factory had a men's and a ladies' team which competed against the other teams in "The Big Four": Hamilton, Kitchener, and London. Russ's aunt played for the Kroehler Chicks, so the family often went down to watch the game.Russ would wait out behind the diamond, chasing foul balls. He brought them back in exhange for five cents each, which funded the occasional trip to the candy store. The baseball diamond has since been replaced by tennis courts. As Russ and his friends grew up, their favourite haunts changed. From the sewers and rooftops, they moved on to Clarke's Pool Room, or the CPR as it was fondly known.
It was located on Wellington Street, making it a convenient spot for a few rounds of billiards between school and after school jobs. He still spent many nights at the ball diamonds, but by then he had graduated from foul-ball retriever to player. After games, he and his teammates would head over to the Empire Hotel, the biggest dive in town, or the Mansion House to see if they could get served without ID.
After grade twelve, Russ was convinced that he had put his school days behind him. He took a job at Collins-Aikman, weaving upholstery fabric on a night shift. It didn't take long to realize that was not the life for him. He returned to grade thirteen and eventually spent many years in university. Though his sewer-roaming days are behind him, Russ is as active in Stratford as he was when he was a boy. He can still be found chasing balls on the baseball diamond.
The young boys stood at the top of the hill, delight written all over their pink cheeks. It was late fall of 1953, and the inaugural season of the Stratford Festival had ended over a month ago. The crowds had dispersed, the wooden stage had been dismantled, and the great white tent collapsed and folded away for next year. All that was left was a series of passageways and holes carved into the ground which had formed the backstage walkways during the season. For most people, the excitement had passed, but for the children of Stratford, the fun was only just beginning.
The boys had not been very pleased to see the excavation beginning on the tent site that spring. They were dismayed to watch the best tobogganing run in the city being torn up. From their perspective, the eloquence of Shakespeare couldn't compete with the pure thrill of flying down the hill on their rickety wooden sleighs, sailing across the wide field, and finally skidding onto the frozen Avon River below. However, the sight before them was making them reconsider their earlier scepticism.
The rain had accumulated in the alleyways, pooling in the gullies and forming deep puddles at every corner. It was a muddy paradise that would make mothers cringe just thinking of the piles of laundry it would create. As the first few drops of rain fell, the boys looked at one another mischievously. With wide grins, they hopped into the mucky hollow, slipping and sliding as they tore through the passageways, their giggles and shouts muted by the rain.
