Time Travel (without a Machine)
Yesterday I kept my promise to myself to do a little time-traveling.
I started off with taking the Canada Line to Oakridge to check to see if they had any items I required. It turns out that the back to school rush is not the best time to shop as a lot of the merchandise had been removed from packaging and rummaged through.
I then took the line back to King Edward where I walked west to Ash and then cut north off the busy street and into the shady tree lined streets. It was another hot sunny day but I’d opted to go hat-less earlier and didn’t regret it as it was a marvelous late summer outing.
First I decided to visit the house formerly owned by dear friend Bruno Castellan and his family where I shared many a delightful meal and where Bruno often tucked a $20 bill into the shirt pocket of this penniless friend of his.
I couldn’t find the house however nor even see the school I remember was opposite them. So I continued west along 23rd for a few blocks until I reached the outskirts of Douglas Park. It climbs a ridge and from there I could see the bell tower of the school; I had not traveled far north enough. It was on 21st Avenue.
So I backtracked and in short few minutes saw the familiar outline of the high roof of Bruno’s old home towering above the others on the street . Imagine my delight when I neared the house and saw that it had been refurbished by someone who knows the value of these old properties and obviously had the resources to do it justice.
It was newly painted and the staircase leading up to the front door was now paneled with buffed wooden planks on either side, so that whoever placed their hands there for balance would meet a sleek almost nouveau art natural surface.
From my vantage point on the sidewalk I could see the living room through the picture window and that it too had been updated with modern furnishings, plants and paint. I said a short prayer of thanks in memory of my dear friend and could almost feel his pleasure knowing his beloved home which he’d labored to renovate and imagine/invent new furniture designs for his family (and where he’d passed away after his battle with cancer) had been so lovingly preserved.
Next I headed back towards Douglas Park to see if the Rosicrucian Temple was still standing. I had been introduced there in the early 70’s after a chance meeting in the Jolly Alderman pub near City Hall with Bill and Deena Howard who were members and who lived just up the street from the temple. They were volunteer caretakers as well and invited me in on a tour.
It looks more like a community hall and as I approached I could see the large ark-like structure rising from its surrounding garden with the blue letters AMORC emblazoned over the door. In contrast to the house once owned by Bruno it looked far more deserted.
I went to the side door where I had entered in the past only to find a huge spider’s web blocking the sidewalk and an enormous garden spider with its exotic hieroglyphic markings hanging dead centre. It would have been a startling wake up to any pedestrian who happened to blunder through.
From there I took a walk back around the park and under the enormous and ancient weeping willows where I used to meditate in the days of working up the street at the old veteran’s hospital which is now part of Children’s Hospital. In those early 70’s days I could often be seen walking to work with one of Madame Blavatsky’s enormous weighty tomes under arm, which I would read on my lunch break. In my imagination I was only days away from discovering the true and hidden message of The Secret Doctrine.
I paused at the Douglas Park Community Centre to walk up the steep set of concrete steps to the office and to use the public washroom there. It was a challenging climb and on way out I opted for the wheelchair ramp and its more user-friendly grade.
Then I went back up to 23rd and took one more look at the Rosicrucian Temple which brought back the memories of the huge Egyptian frescoes inside and finally spotted what appeared to be the old home of Bill and Deena.
There was a man on a stepladder on the upper floor level working around the windows which were covered in plastic accidentally smudged with new paint. The house had been newly repainted a deep burgundy and looked quite elegant. It was in that house at a dinner one night that I spoke with the old Rosicrucian elder who told his friend (they were discussing me as if I was absent) that I had a connection with India. Of course I didn’t believe him.
After this I traveled a little further west up 23rd to find the house of my dear friend Roger Apperley who I first met in California in the late 60’s. He was working as a bartender at The Cats Restaurant in Los Gatos where I played music every night. Although he was 10 years my senior we soon became good friends.
After I moved to Vancouver in 1970 with Veronica steered in this direction by Roger who was then working at the Banff Springs Hotel as a barman, he rented the house on 23rd with some friends and there we spent many a lovely evening sharing memories and food (Roger was a great cook; his rack of lamb with mint jelly was a favorite) and talking and drinking into the wee hours.
Veronica and I lived a few blocks away in a rooming house on W13th just behind the Vancouver General Hospital and it was an easy walk to Roger’s place from there through Douglas Park. We both fathered our first children there who were born within days of each other in the VGH’s Willow Pavilion and so our families had a lot more in common.
I had more difficulty spotting the house he used to live in as I couldn’t remember the number but it was a choice between 2 of them in the 500 block north side, both with similar layout but in vastly different states of repair. One was neatly renovated and up kept and the other run-down and badly in need of work. I am still not sure which one was his, although I suspect it was the run-down rental property which in the early 70’s looked much more presentable.
From there I walked up Oak to the Shaughnessy Crescent where the towering old mansions of the early railway barons still reign supreme over the surrounding neighborhoods. There I cut through the circular park and exited on Angus which took me further up Granville than I had anticipated. I should’ve found McRae which would have taken me past the elegant University Women’s Club and down to the corner of 16th & Granville.
I walked past the Falun Gong tribute site on Granville where 2 pensioners were seated in meditation on the grassy boulevard in front of the stone wall and reading religious texts. The city has successfully torn down the little structure they maintained but the group has maintained its spot and presence without it. The old man looked up at me suspiciously as I passed and smiled but the old lady smiled back and gave a generous and child-like wave.
That was the route we used to take on our way to breakfast or lunch at Szasz’s on Granville, the Hungarian restaurant and deli we were so fond of. Roger liked it so much he named his son Szasz. The restaurant is now gone but in its place is a new restaurant with much the same design. I was tempted to stop in for a snack on my way past but that would have been stretching my time trip into the immaterial realm and in an irrelevant direction.
I was satisfied that my day’s mission had been accomplished and continued on my walk towards Granville Island and from there across the Burrard Street Bridge home.