I could tell you a story about how to be discharged from the psych ward overnight, but I don’t want to alarm the psychiatric nurses. They are some of my favourite people in the whole wide world. Instead, I’ll tell you about my adventures in August 1969. Something like Tom Sawyer Adventures. Not really. (Ten Minute Read)
As a preamble, let me get you up to speed. I was placed in my 5th foster home in July 1969, where they were paid to look after teenagers but got our labour for free. We cut, raked and coiled hay fields with no benefit to us. We used pitchforks, as there wasn’t a bailer machine. We also hoed the vegetable garden as I recall.
The Master of the house took my tobacco away almost immediately when I arrived there, I saw him go into the kitchen with my contraband. At least in July 1969, I had Johnny Cash on my pocket radio to keep me company. “A Boy Named Sue” was comforting.
Then came the time in late August when our work in the fields was done, and we got some rest. I woke up one morning before everyone else and decided I needed a smoke; this was Day 1 of my adventure.
I went into the kitchen and found my tobacco, then decided to hit the road. Being near the Canada/US border, I figured I could jump the border into the USA! I walked a couple of miles at least, towards the Peace Arch crossing. When I thought I was close enough, I went for it. I crossed a hay field that was uncut and soaked my jeans with the dew from the high grass, then found myself in a golf course.
It was a very hilly golf course and to avoid detection I decided to take the hills one by one, commando style. I found myself in a neighborhood, knowing if I ran down the streets it would draw attention. It took no time for the US Border Patrol to stop me and start asking questions. My Canadian tobacco probably gave me away. Although, the officer later told me that it was my wet jeans that made him think I had just walked the beach.
The officer took me to a Station. After giving him my particulars, he told me they had to fingerprint me, I was only 14 years old. Turns out they couldn’t get a decent set of prints off me because of how shredded my hands had become from the haying all summer. Apparently, the Canadian authorities weren’t looking for me so they could just drop me off at the border crossing and let me go.
We drove past the Peace Arch to the Customs building. They let me out and said ‘Go Home!” Little did they know it would take me another 7 years to get home.
Since I was adopted and in the custody of Child Welfare there was a barrier to me returning home. The Deputy Superintendent and Child Welfare supported my adoption. If you find yourself in the situation of being a prisoner of war as I was through adoption, then by the Superintendent of Child Welfare, you have one mission be as much of a disturbance as possible to your captors.
Because the border patrol just dropped me off, I had already caused a major disturbance and embarrassment to the Superintendent of Child Welfare, that the local media probably picked up on the story.
When the Border Patrol turned me loose, I noticed an American back packer walking into the Canadian Customs office. When he came out, I stuck to him like glue. We hitch hiked together up to the Number Ten Highway, then went East. We never exchanged names, but hitch hiked to Chilliwack. At the end of the first day of my adventure, we camped in a forest near Atchelitz Creek.
In the morning, we went into Chilliwack because my hiking partner wanted a coffee. I hung around outside the coffee shop because I had no money. Upon his return, I noticed a freight train stopped just down the tracks and encouraged my partner to investigate with me. Beside the train, there was a worker whom I asked ‘What do you know about jumping a freight train?’ He said, ‘If you’re getting on, I don’t know about it!’ I asked about the boxcars, which were apparently all full. He said there was a gondola down farther that was nearly empty, and heading to Montreal. I thought I had hit the jackpot!
We found what must be the gondola car and took a look inside. There was nothing inside except about 5 sheets of 1 inch steel that filled the bottom of the car. This turned out to be a coal car. Not to miss the opportunity we both climbed in.
We started off from Chilliwack, BC. This train took us up the Fraser Canyon, going through tunnels which were each dated. 1909, 1915, 1906 something like that. One tunnel had water leaking through it which splashed down on us. We rode for several hours before the train stopped.
My companion had some wet-wipes and asked me to wipe off the coal dust from his face. He gave a half-hearted attempt at wiping my face too.
We met up with someone in the railyard that told us where the nearest hostel was. I had no idea what a hostel was, but I went along.
When we arrived at the hostel my companion got past the desk clerk but when I tried, he told me to sit in a nearby chair. The cops were called.
RCMP Kamloops eventually came to pick me up. I gave them my particulars and was expecting to be placed into a receiving home and sent back to the Lower Mainland. That’s not what happened.
I was tired and hungry by this time. The officer drove me to a location, which he referred to as a place called Tranquille. Tranquille was a mental hospital and before that it was a tuberculosis sanitorium (where 1,600 people died and is said to be haunted). While being a tuberculosis sanitorium the place was known originally as The King Edward Vll Sanitorium. There were even tunnels built underneath for staff to move around.
When I was dropped off at the front door a caretaker met me, then told me to wash off my face. This was the only human contact I had while there. No food or drink, not even lights. I did find a bed without linens.
I bedded down for the night in a vacant wing of Tranquille. This was the end of the second day of my adventure.
The third day was uneventful. Still no food, just tap water. No human contact. By nightfall, I was beginning to think the authorities had forgotten me.
Remember the tunnels? Possibly the mental health staff had come up and drugged me by injection. I say this because my next memory was being positioned into a vehicle. Another memory was being transferred into another vehicle at Cache Creek or Boston Bar. It was likely I had received a punch to my abdomen during this ride, as I awoke with a very sore stomach like I had been slugged.
When I woke up after that 3rd night of my adventure, I found myself tucked into the same bed where I had started this epic journey 3 days before. There it is! 3 days and 3 nights in August 1969. Mind games or mental abuse, take your pick.
One last note…. Back to the Superintendent’s embarrassment at the border, within days I was hustled out of the Lower Mainland and placed in a new foster home in the Interior.* The Superintendents embarrassment came from Border Patrol telling me to “Go Home!” The Superintendent upheld my Adoption as a barrier to my returning home. Quite so.
*At least the town had a railroad!