Memoirs of a Worldly Guy
During the the 1940s and 1950s the Calgary Brewing and Malting Company sponsored an organization known as the Calgary Buffalo Hockey Association. In addition to supplying funding and support for minor hockey activities they customarily had meetings on a monthly basis of those involved. These comprised executives of the organization together with coaches and managers of the minor league teams.
There was a large room inside the brewery which served as a meeting room (referred to as the 'Snake Room') and which was opened after working hours for the use of this and various other groups. Comfortable lounge chairs and sofas were placed at random around the room and chilled bottles of Calgary beer were available without limit to attendees as they arrived. Soft drinks were on hand for recovering alcoholics. I don't remember any such event becoming raucous or out of hand but the sound level definitely rose as the meeting went on. There were brief speeches by Jim Kerr, Brewery manager who represented the Calgary Brewery and Dave Duchak, also a Brewery employee but President of the Buffalo Hockey Association.
Following the obligatory speeches the cover cloths were removed from the food. In addition to buttered slices of a variety of breads there were Vienna sausages, many types of cold meat cuts, pickles of all kinds and jars of ketchup and mustard. This tempting array of food was prepared and laid out by Joe Zabaw, the chef at the Brewery and his assistants. Not that this has any particular significance, I would always get a guttural chuckle from him when I reminded him that I had seen him perform at the old Agriculture Building at the Stampede grounds when he was on the professional wrestling circuit. I can still remember a 'Wrestle Royal' in which he was pinned to the mat by three other wrestlers while a fourth pulled out handsful of the curly hair that grew in abundance on his back. He shouted in pain as the crowd roared with delight! At the risk of seeming cynical I would suggest that the attendance at these Buffalo Association meetings would have been substantially diminished if it were not for the free beer and food.
The meetings were adjourned about eight o'clock and the guests set loose to attempt to drive home without being arrested. On one occasion a few of us gathered outside the brewery wondering what else we could do. There were four of us; Henry Viney (since deceased), Hec McLean (since deceased); Bill Morrison (since deceased) and me (not yet deceased). I don't remember why the liquor stores were closed at that time in the evening but the Social Credit party was still in power and they limited the sale of booze at every opportunity. All we needed was a supply of liquor; we could then continue the party and that seemed to be the consensus.
'There's a case of booze at the office,' Bill stated helpfully. 'I bought it just this afternoon for the office Xmas party!'
'How incredibly serendipitous!' Hec exclaimed. He had recently purchased the Strathmore Standard, (and a dictionary!)
'Whatever the hell that means!' said Bill. It was agreed that whatever liquor we consumed would be replaced and we set off west along Ninth Avenue looking for fun. We parked in the lot north across Ninth Avenue from the old Robin Hood Flour Mill (since deceased), and walked about half a block to Bill's office. By the time we had disposed of a bottle of rye whisky we were all feeling merry and ravenously hungry.
'Who's for Chinese?' I cried.
'Great idea!' muttered Hec, 'onward to the Weak Kidney!' The 'Weak Kidney' was actually named the WK Chop Suey Restaurant in the telephone directory and was favoured by 'hoi polloi' presumably because the serving staff was not averse to customers ordering an empty teapot and filling it with their own bottle of rye whisky. Bill told me that the WK threw an annual Christmas party to which his father (No. 1 Constable) was regularly invited together with the mayor and other city dignitaries. There was apparently a full 26 ounce bottle of whisky sitting unopened at every place setting.
I was elected to drive the six blocks to Chinatown and all but Hec climbed into the car. Hec decided that he would be more comfortable riding up on the hood. We honked the horn and yelled for him to come in but he merely placed his face against the windshield and moved his head back and forth like a windshield wiper making appropriate lip smacking noises.
'You might as well drive on,' Henry said, 'there's no point in trying to argue with a drunk! Drive slowly, though, for God's sake!' We drove slowly east along Eighth Avenue just as the theatres were spilling their viewers out onto the street. We all prayed that there was no one who knew Hec. He stayed on the hood of the car until we pulled up in front of the W.K. I have no recollection of entering the restaurant or of getting home later but I naturally assume that we had an 'ever-so-jolly' time and that all the waiters were looking forward eagerly to our next visit. Anyone interested in true photographic art can see photos of the participants featured along the interior walls of the Stampede Corral, compliments of Lloyd Turner (after whom my brother had been named, incidentally).
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