Our uncle George, (the name has been changed to protect the author) had a couple of Halloween stories he told us as kids.
I’m not certain that George was challenging us to better his exploits on October 31 or whether they were cautionary tales advising us young fellers to behave on the haunted night. This much of the column is true; the rest of the column you should take with a grain of salt unless you have heard the stories of Halloween in Restoule in the late 1920s.
Restoule is the hamlet between Commanda Lake and Restoule Lake near the end of Highway 534 (Restoule Provincial Park). If you have never been there, go, visit. The little settlement was apparently named after Ojibway chief, Joseph Restoule. There are about 450 people in the community (Patterson Township - unorganized), a population that swells in the summer. If you have tasted honey from Board’s, you will have sampled some of Restoule. If you are a bass fisher, you will have travelled through Restoule on the way to Sand Lake.
Our uncle did not regale us with childish stories of tipping over outhouses (privies) in the dark of night; nor even how they got into the school, took the principal’s fancy chair (it had roller casters), tied it to the rope on the school flagpole and hoisted it to half-mast.
This was during the era just before the Great Depression and things were already getting economically tough in the back country. Trick or treating was by necessity becoming tricking as the number of homemade cookies a family could give out was limited. Creative tricking was the trend for teenage boys and girls. Mostly boys as the girls were better behaved. Right.
Anyway, there was a local farmer on the edge of the village who was a little crusty to his neighbours, and although he had good bottom land that produced great veggies, was loathe to share his good fortune unless you could pay his higher prices. The end of October found farmer ‘K’ with a load of excellent turnips piled high on his new, rubber-tired, farm wagon.
These nice round, spotless turnips could be peddled to the people in the village for at least 5 cents apiece. Tuesday, November 1st would be the day for him to sell turnips door to door from the horse-pulled wagon.
Uncle and several of his chums decided to enter the farm marketing business. They had no tractor nor team of horses to pull the wagon loaded with turnips, so they brought ropes and hitched themselves to the wagon tongue. The farm dog was appeased with a bone, and it knew most of the boys in any case. The gradient was down to the village and although it took the better part of two hours, every home in the village got a free turnip on their doorstep. The empty wagon was returned to farmer ‘K’ and the boys went home to their beds, anticipating Turnip Tuesday.
Farmer ‘K’ went to the man who worked as the local bylaw officer with his complaint of theft. Inquiries would be made, but it seemed that most of the evidence had disappeared inside the houses and may have already been cooked. The farmer threatened to go to every house demanding his 5 cents, but his lack of proof of owning said turnip soon dispelled that notion. Perhaps, the bylaw officer, suggested, the farmer ought to spread the word that he had given a free turnip to everyone in the village as a sign of the bountiful harvest.
Only the guilty parties would know the truth and they might slip up.
The lesson, the schoolteacher said on Wednesday, was that of economics and marketing, where the middleman had been cut out of the cost of turnips from field to table. Or as one astute student said, this may be an example of a ‘loss-leader’ where farmer ‘K’ gave away sample turnips hoping people would see the quality of his veggie and buy some more at the regular price of now 7 cents per turnip.
The next year the target was not farmer ‘K’, but the store owner.
He was a leader in the community and considered a friend by most. His one weakness was perhaps a tendency to flaunt his good fortune, and although the minister did mention the sin of pride on occasion, the storekeeper continued to show off his wealth. That summer he had purchased a new Ford Model A roadster. A fine little car it was for Sunday afternoon drives around Restoule and environs. The car was the envy of every young man and there were often a few boys just standing around examining the car. The owner would come out and explain the working of the various features to the boys.
The General Store had a sloped roof with a false front that displayed the name of the owners.
We have all heard the urban legends of how quickly the GTA hoodlums can strip a car in moments, taking the wheels, the catalytic converters, the stereo, and even the engine leaving only the skeleton of a new car for the owner. Thus, the advent of locking wheel nuts, car alarms, and disabling electronic technology, as well as gun-toting owners.
The 1928 Model A had no such safeguards.
The store roof had an anchor system for a hoist to haul up new shingles and materials and this was conveniently in place for the execution of the plan. The boys, all young farm and woodsmen, knew about ropes, hoists, sheaves, pullies, and the lifting power of said devices. They had seen loads of hay, bags of feed, and even 16-foot logs lifted easily; but as of yet, not a Model A Ford Roadster.
The Model A had many bolts, the idea being that it was easier to repair and replace parts if you could put a spanner on a part rather than breaking a welded joint. The farm boys were familiar with wrenches. The plan was to disassemble the little car, haul the pieces to the flat roof, reassemble the vehicle, and steal away into the night. Or, as it turned out, into the dawn.
Working by moonlight, the ladder was placed at the back of the store and the hoist system was set up. The wheels went up first, followed by the seats. The heaviest part was the engine, but it too was fastened to the frame by sturdy bolts. A little oil leaked out of the transmission but a stain of oil on the tar roof was of small consequence as they put the car together. They did not tighten the bolts to road-worthy specifications because someone would have to get the car back on the ground.
For three days, crowds gathered at the store not only to look at the spectacle of the roadster on the roof but also to gossip about who and how such a thing could happen. The bylaw officer could understand the how but had no idea of the ‘who’. Or at least so he said. Word spread and the Ford dealer in North Bay sent a photographer to get pictures, thinking that this could be turned into a great advertisement.
The local blacksmith/wheel-right/welding & repair shop owner who was transitioning into automotive repairs, offered to get the car down, but would need a few helping hands to man the hoist. The bylaw officer suggested some young fellows who might help.
The following Halloween saw the beginning of the Great Depression and people were starting to be more serious about money and the cost of living. The young ruffians of prior years were now young men looking for employment and Halloween pranks were a thing of memories.
Uncle George, now a respectable parent, advised us to behave on Halloween – unless we thought we could top the exploits of those young fellers in Restoule some 20 years ago.
Now in 2024, it is best to stick to carving or decorating pumpkins methinks.
