From Coal Oil Lights to Satellites
Memoirs of a Haliburton County Redneck
Ray Miller
Dollo Brothers
Maybe I should have entitled this chapter, “1955”, as there were lots of things happening during that year, but working at Dollo’s was most of it.
A few significant things happened, like my niece, Joy Johnson, being born on February 27th, (the family hasn’t been quite the same since), and my nephew, Royce Miller, on May 12th, (he has tried to offset the effects that Joy has had on the family ever since, but has never quite achieved that!).
Morley and Keith made some maple syrup that spring and had sold some to a guy by the name of Dan O’Connor, who lived alone on what is now the old road near Kilcoo Camp. The boys rode their bicycles down on June 10th to deliver his syrup and found him dead under his car. He had been working under the car, with it up on jacks and the wheels removed. The accident occurred about a week earlier.
A fire started in Snowdon on the Schroter place, behind our beaver meadow, on July 23rd . It took 100 men three days and nights to bring under control.
July 12th , Ken Mar Lodge burned to the ground.
I have been wandering around the calendar here a lot, but I wanted to deal with some of the events of the year, before I settle down to the main part of this chapter.
Pete and Joe Dollo were both war veterans. Pete fought in France and Italy. While serving overseas, he met and married a Scottish girl, Christina Barkeley, who was serving in the Auxiliary Territorial Services in England. Joe was in the navy.
They arrived in town in 1946, driving Ford Anglia cars. Joe’s was blue, Pete’s was green. Joe lived in McKayville and Pete lived across from where Don Finn’s Law Office is now located on Newcastle Street. Pete and Christine had two children, Marian and David. Joe and Florence had Joan, twins Angie and Louise, and Rosie.
They opened a fruit store, on the east side of Minden’s main street, in a new building that had been built since the fire. This building housed Easton’s Meat Market, the Minden 5c to $1.00 store, which Ken Currie had just brought to Minden, as well as Dollo Brothers Fruit store. They boasted, and indeed provided, the best fruit and vegetables around. They would rather be out of stock on an item than sell poor fruit or produce.
By 1955, the 5c to $1.00 store had moved across the street, into the former E.A. Rogers store, where Stedman’s is now located. The partition was removed between the little meat market and the 5c to $1.00 store, and that portion of the building became Easton’s Red and White.
Charlie Plewman, CEO and founder of Kilcoo Camp, was going to build a cottage on the property for himself, so Doward hired me on April 13th to clear the trees off the site and burn brush. I worked there until the cottage was finished and, knowing that I would be laid off when the campers came after school ended, I began to look elsewhere for work for the summer.
Marg was working in the store for Dollo Brothers, and told me that they were looking for someone to help on their truck, so I went into their store one day. Joe was there.I approached him.
“Can I get you something?” he said expecting a sale.
“I want to talk to you about the truck driving job.” I said nervously.
“We have decided on hiring Brian Todd.” he said as he turned to straighten some fruit in a display.
“Oh, okay, I guess I’m too late.”
He wiped his hands on his apron and turned back, throwing his head back a little in an inquisitive manner.
“Have you driven truck much?”
“Around the farm, since I was nine. I drove for Bagshaw Lumber last year.”
“I know you drove around Bagshaw’s yard, but have you driven much on highways?”
“Oh yeah, I drove their lumber trucks on delivery around Lindsay and Oshawa some.”
“You have never driven in Toronto, though.”
“No, but I want to learn.”
“Why aren’t you still with Bagshaw then?” He straightened some more display.
“I got fired last fall.”
“FIRED... What for?” He looked me straight in the eye.
“He said I was dead from the arse hole both ways.”
He turned around and leaned against the display. “Well, at least you’re honest. Why would you tell me that when your looking for a job?”
“It’s better that you hear it from me, than from someone else, when I’m not here to defend myself.”
“What was that about anyway?”
“I really don’t know. I think there was some other personal reason. I made some mistakes but others did also, and they’re still there.”
He looked down at the floor. “Well that can happen. Why do you want to work here?”
“I want to drive truck.”
He lifted a case of trimmed celery off the floor, put it on a stand, and started to place it on a display.
“You’re working at Kilcoo Camp right now, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I will be laid off as soon as the campers come in .”
“What about wages. You likely want more than we can pay.”
“Well, I’m making fifty cents an hour, four dollars a day at Kilcoo.”
“We have to pay by the week. The hours on the truck are too erratic. You would be going to Toronto, and delivering to lodges. That means strange hours.”
“That’s okay.”
“We can only pay $15.00 a week and your meals on the road.”
“Sounds good to me. When can I start?”
He looked at a calendar, “June 27th , that okay?”
“What about Brian.”
“We haven’t told him anything definite.”
“What time on the 27th?”
“Be here at nine, when the store opens, okay?”
“I will be here. Thanks Joe.”
They had a well-kept dark green 1947-48 Chevrolet truck, with a sixteen-foot factory built wooden van body. There was no reefer*, just two little dropdown doors on the front above the cab and one on the back. This let cooler air blow through as you drove, but didn’t do much when the truck wasn’t moving.
I went to work on June 27th at 9a.m. They sent me to Joe’s, where I was to shine the truck and check under the hood. I was to bring it over to the back of the store and load empty six and eleven quart baskets, basket racks and dividers. Then go home for supper and return at 7pm to go to Toronto.
I was very excited. I had not been to the city much and this was going to be an adventure.
I drove to Steven’s Market at Myrtle, Ontario, where Pete stopped to talk shop with the owner. Then Pete took the wheel, as I had never driven on the new, four-lane 401. That portion of the 401 was just completed from Oshawa to Kingston Road at Toronto. Highway 2 was still the only through route along the lakeshore. The 401 put us right onto Kingston road at that time. The bypass around Toronto had been cleared of buildings, and work was progressing but far from finished. All traffic from the east went in on Kingston Road, to either highway 2 or 5 to get to the west end.
We arrived at Pete’s parents around 10 p.m. He backed into the lane between their house and Pete’s sister’s. These houses were so close together that only the body of the truck fit between them. The mirrors, even though they were only little four inch round things on a stick, wouldn’t go, so the cab stuck out in front of the houses.
Momma Dollo, a pleasant typical Italian lady was on the front veranda, as we walked across the lawn. She gave us both a mighty hug, then led us into the dining room, where the whole family was waiting to meet Pete’s new helper. There was a great hullabaloo as the whole gang hugged, kissed, shook my hand and patted my back. Some of the family members were beautiful young ladies, and I must admit, I was quite shaken by the time it was all over.
In two lively and confusing minutes I met Pete’s Dad, his brother Frank and his wife and children who lived there, his sister Teresa and her husband who lived next door and their daughter (a gorgeous young lady who I still can envision in my mind.)
Then a full course meal was served with lots and lots of Mazola Oil. (By the end of summer, I swear, I sweated Mazola Oil). There were all kinds of vegetables fried in Mazola Oil, salads, pastas, and Italian sausage fried in Mazola Oil. This was a fantastic meal and only the first of many I enjoyed during the summer. Being an eighteen-year-old guy, I cleaned off several platefuls.
Teresa and her family went next door about midnight. Frank and his wife went down the hall and upstairs. Papa Dollo disappeared somewhere. Momma Dollo made me a bed on the chesterfield and said goodnight with a big kiss. Pete trundled off down the hall at 12:30a.m. only to return at 3:00a.m. and shake me awake. I sat up, burped a couple of times, tasted Mazola oil, and said, “Huh?”
“Come on, we have to be at the food terminal, when it opens at five, to get the good stuff.”
“Food terminal...good stuff...five...huh?”
He gave that silly crooked grin that belonged only to Pete Dollo, and said, “Aw jeepers,” and went into the bathroom.
I sat up, yawned, scratched what needed scratching, and waited for him to come out.
We went outside into the hot, humid, still, morning air, heavy now with the smells of the city. A street sweeper went past, and traffic could be heard nearby.
We climbed into the truck. Pete eased it out of that tight slot and onto the street. I can’t remember the name of the streets we took, but it was a little way along until we pulled into a driveway leading to a brand new building with “Ontario Food Terminal” on the roof.. Pete showed a pass to security and we drove in.
I had never seen so many transport trucks. There were trucks there from all across Canada, Florida, California, Texas, Prince Edward Island, and anywhere else I could think of.
He drove around the building, where trucks like ours were lined up side by side at a dock, found an empty space, and backed in.
There was lot of rollup type doors all along the back side of the long dock. None was open yet, but there was a lot of shuffling, crashing and banging and yelling in different languages going on beyond them.
We went into a brand new restaurant right on the dock. There were a lot of guys in there having breakfast. Pete bought me ham and eggs, toast and coffee. I didn’t think I was hungry after the meal I had the night before, but once I started to eat, I found I was able to polish it off quite nicely.
When we returned to the truck, it was almost five. He showed me how to pack open six-quart baskets, and then counted the empties. We unloaded them and put them on the dock against the open tailgate. The dock was filling with people preparing their trucks and some standing around with clipboards in their hands with the look of warriors about to attack. There was a thermometer outside the restaurant door. It was ninety-four degrees.
The light of dawn teased the night darkness on the horizon as the roll up doors opened and all hell broke lose. There were sellers and buyers all over the place. Pete started to bargain with fellow selling cherries in one of the nearby stalls. There was a lot of discussion, both by speech and show of hands, then a slip was placed in a basket and another guy pushed a hand powered forklift under the skid jacked, it up and brought it to the truck.
“You Dollo?” he said.
“Yes, Dollo.”
“You get thirty baskets.” He said in broken English, as he piled thirty baskets just inside the tailgate. He then took thirty empties from the pile, had me sign the slip, and left.
I piled them against the head rack, using racks and dividers, the way Pete had shown me.
I never saw Pete again for the next three hours, but man, did the fruit and produce arrive. There were potatoes, turnips, carrots, peaches, pears, radishes, tomatoes, corn on the cob, oranges, lemons, lime, parsnips, every kind of fruit and vegetable you can think of. The truck was filling up. I was sweating buckets and sand from the potatoes was sticking to my arms and clothing.
I looked out between our truck and the one next to us. It was now broad daylight. The sun was appearing on the horizon threatening another hot day. The air was heavy, humid, and smelly.
I looked up and down the dock. There was produce piled behind every truck. Some had people piling it into their trucks, others were just piled high.
Confusion definitely prevailed. There were all kinds of people talking in different languages. They were arguing over prices. Buyers were criticizing value and quality, and racing from stall to stall. Forklifts and loaders threaded their way among stacks of fruit and vegetables with their operators yelling and making gestures with their hands. .
The truck was full from end to end and right to the roof. Nothing had arrived for a while, so I was about to close the tailgate when a fellow came along the dock toward me pulling part of a skid of cabbages. He looked at the load, looked at me and said, “You’re Dollo.”
“Yes.”
“You get three of these.”
What the hell was I going to do with three cases of cabbage and a full truck?
Pete came along, looked at the truck, looked at the cabbage, and said, “Aw Jeepers.”
He opened a case and took a cabbage out. He forced it along the roof on top of the load, and then another and another until all three cases were empty. He threw the boxes in the garbage.
We went back to Mom and Pop Dollo’s where breakfast was waiting. There was toast, coffee, eggs, and sausage, fried in Mazola Oil. I was hungry, the food was good, and I ate like a horse.
“It’s good to see the young man eat,” she said.
“He can eat,” Pete answered. I just kept on eating.
We went out into the back yard, where Pete’s Dad was working on his plants. We said goodbye and drove to Steven’s at Myrtle.
There was a blonde girl working at the stand. I looked her over and I really couldn’t see anything out of place. Everything was there and quite ample where it counted. She caught me looking, and a smile broke out on her pretty face. I went over and talked to her while Pete was talking shop with the owner.
Life was good.
I drove from there and arrived in Minden late afternoon. I blew the horn as I drove past the front of the store on the main street. Joe was waiting at the back door as I backed up to it.
“How did he do?” Joe asked as Pete approached him.
“He packed the whole load, so we will see when we unload.” Pete answered.
I started to hand things down, and Pete and Joe carried it to the cooler. Bill Coneybeare was working next door.
“I see you got a new helper Pete.” he called.
“Yeah.”
“Is he any good?” He joked.
“Aw, Jeepers,” Pete said with the crooked grin.
Some things should have been packed differently, which resulted in some damage. They showed me what I had done wrong, and what to do to avoid it.
When the truck was finally empty, Pete said, “We don’t usually make two trips to the city back to back, but we are down in product, so we are going to go down tomorrow afternoon. You can come in the morning at nine and we will show you how to clean and display fruit and vegetables. Then you can get the truck ready after lunch and we will leave.”
We arrived at Mom and Pop Dollo’s before dinner this time. It was hot. We waited for Frank to return from work. He came in complaining loudly about the heat, and described vividly how all the parts of his body were sticking to other parts, while Pete’s Mom loaded the dining room table with plates and bowls of food and a spare jug of Mazola Oil. Pete’s Pop came in from the back yard. They did a lot of talking in Italian. They all seemed to be upset with each other, but I learned to know that they weren’t; It was just their way of communicating. Frank’s kids were called in from the street and we ate.
After dinner, Frank turned to Pete and said, “Let’s take the lad to a show or something.”
Pete turned to me and asked, “Would you like to go to a show?”
“Okay.”
We went out the front door and got into Frank’s multi-coloured, Dodge van standing at the curb. I guess it was mostly blue, so I will call it blue. I got into the back and sat on a box.
Downtown somewhere, as we were sitting at an intersection waiting for the light, Frank and Pete were deep in conversation and Frank let his foot off the brake, just as an elderly fellow was shuffling across in front of us, in the crosswalk. The truck rolled ahead and the front bumper touched the gentleman knocking him off balance and he toppled over. Both Pete and Frank jumped out and helped the poor old boy up. They were dusting him off and apologizing profusely, when a bunch of people who had seen it happen, joined them. There was a lot of discussion going on, and at times, it looked to me as though the brothers were going to lose the battle, but loud language and a few hand gestures eventually won out, and they returned to the truck. The old gentleman toddled on.
Soon we were standing in line at a place called Casino Royale to buy tickets. I noticed that the whole line was made up of men, but not wanting to appear a Haliburton County Hick I didn’t ask. We went in and watched a movie. Then a comedian appeared and told a bunch of bad jokes. A voice on the speakers said, “Now gentlemen. It is time for you to meet Myra.”
Onto the stage walked a tall blonde, dressed in red from the floor up. She wasn’t too bad looking, and seemed a little on the heavy side, but with all those clothes it was hard to tell.
A band in the orchestra pit struck up a thumping tune. She looked down gave them a smile and a wave and began to dance and remove clothing. She had a lot of red feather boas and layers of thin shawls with feathers all over them, so it took her a while to get to the good stuff, but when she did it was well worth the wait.
This lady had a pair of pasties with six inch tassels, that she could do everything with, but tie them together. She spun them both to the right, then both to the left, then one each way. She bent over and let them hang to the floor. She stood on her head and chewed on them. She went over and put her foot up on a chair and I could see the promised land! That lady got this backwoods kid into a terrible frenzy. She disappeared into the wings, the band started a slow building drum roll, at the end of which she appeared, and flashed a totally nude body. The house lights came on, I tried to stand up, but my knees wouldn’t hold me.
Life was good.
When we unloaded in Minden the next day, we did it a little differently. We left some things on board such as potatoes, cabbage, turnips, carrots, and things that don’t need to be in the cooler.
The next morning we loaded some perishables and empty cases on the truck and drove up Highway 35. We stopped at all the businesses that prepared food from Minden to Halls Lake. Pete would go into the kitchen and take orders. Sometimes he would call out for me to bring in a bag of potatoes or half case of something. He would finally return with an order and we would make it up, put it into a case and carry it in. Then we would go to the next stop.
We always left Minden on this lodge run as soon as we could get away in the morning and never finished much before 6:30 or 7:00p.m. One night it was 9:45p.m when we finished. We had made three trips to Toronto that week and worked 81 hours.
A routine started now that lasted all summer. Work in store on Monday morning, and then go to Toronto. Load and come back and unload Tuesday. Go to lodges Wednesday. Work in store and go to Toronto Thursday. Load and come back and unload Friday. Go to lodges Saturday. This may look like a boring job, but the only thing that was boring was the heat. That summer could very well be the hottest summer I have experienced. The days were sunny and humid. The nights were hot and humid, with never a breeze. It rained hard in the city on July 15th , but it just came out hot and even more humid as soon as it was over. The remnants of Hurricane Connie went through in the afternoon of August 13th. Lots of rain, but the heat never let up. Residents of Toronto were concerned about this storm because it had not been a year since Hurricane Hazel caused so much death and destruction.
The first thing to break the monotony, was a truck break down at Pickering. The engine started to knock, so Pete shut it down. I don’t remember how we got it to a repair shop at stop 27 Kingston Road, but that is where it was to be repaired. Pete made some phone calls from his parents home, and arranged to have Ontario Produce deliver a load to Minden for us the next day. Pete took me to Fenelon Falls the next night, to borrow one of Fenelon Produce trucks to use to deliver to lodges on Saturday.
We went to Toronto on Sunday with Gareth Kellett. He was attending some kind of teacher’s class or seminar at the time.
While hanging around Mom and Pop Dollo’s the next day, we made a call to the garage and were told that there was strange pitting on the bearing throw of the defective engine rod. They had changed it and the truck would be ready very soon. Pete called a taxi and we went out to the garage. There were tiny etchings on the surface of the bearing insert, like tiny rivers leading to the edge, letting the oil pressure escape from the bearing, causing it to knock. The mechanics there suspected something in the oil was the cause. The oil had been changed not long before I began to work there and had been switched to one of the new multi-grade detergent oils just coming on the market. Phone calls were made, and both General Motors and the oil company showed great concern. They took the bearing for analysis and told us to drive the truck, but watch the oil pressure closely. Two weeks later, they called and asked to have the truck back at the same garage, so they could replace all the inserts including the mains, flush the engine and replace the oil with another kind.
Pete and Joe had cousins who operated a transport company. It only moved cookies from the factory to a warehouse. All these brothers had a truck of their own, and a new one was purchased for each boy as they reached a certain age. They had a new, 1955 International sitting in their yard waiting for the brother to come of age. It had never had a load on it. They loaned it to us for one trip, while our truck was in the garage. I remember their name was Tarranova; the name of their transport was Regent Haulage. Boy, I enjoyed driving that truck.
The next break in routine, was a night when it was terribly hot. In an attempt to survive the sweltering heat of the city, all windows, and doors were open. I slept in the living room on a chesterfield, right below a window that opened to the driveway between the houses. City lights filtered through the blinds, casting a low glow throughout the room.
Pete’s niece, who lived next door, was alone. Her parents operated a business of some kind at Washaga Beach in summer. She sang at a nightclub somewhere in the city.
Around 2:30a.m., a scream that would wake the dead, penetrated the whole neighbourhood.
I sat upright, just as I heard the screen door slam next door, and footsteps go toward the street. Our truck blocked the way, so they turned and headed toward the back yard, just as I saw the figure of a well-muscled young Italian race through the room heading for the back door with another one right at his heels. The footsteps outside quickened, as the screen on our back door slammed back against the wall. There was a flurry of yells, puffs, and pants as feet trampled Pop Dollo’s precious plants in the yard, then three crashes against the six-foot high board fence.
Momma appeared in the room, talking over her shoulder to Frank’s wife, as she headed for the back door. Frank’s wife reached for the phone, as Pop showed up. I fell in behind Pop.
In the pale light of the yard, I could see Pete and Frank dressed only in pyjama bottoms pacing back and forth along the fence, looking very much like hounds that had just lost a coon. I guess the intruder had more incentive to clear that fence than they had. I know I would have, with these two guys at my ass.
The women and children gathered around a vision of true loveliness. Standing in the middle was the tall, long black haired, dark skinned object of the attempted home invasion that had just occurred. Dressed in pink baby doll pyjamas, she was a vision of every man’s fantasy. Visibly shaken she laid her head on her grandma’s shoulder and cried.
There was a knock on the front door and I turned to answer it. Two police officers were standing outside the screen as I approached.
“Someone called about a home intrusion.”
“Yes come through here they are all out back.”
They followed me through and began their investigation.
By the time things were settled a bit, it was time for us to go to the terminal to start our day. When we came back for breakfast, we learned that the intruder had probably followed the young lady home from the club. Bare foot tracks, wet from walking through the grass, led from right inside the basement window, straight to the steps leading upstairs and directly to the young lady’s bedroom. The police thought the intruder had been in the home before, as it appeared he knew the layout of the house. No one ever discovered who he was. I don’t know if there was any follow up to the investigation.
Pop was busy repairing his trellises and trying to save his plants, when we went to say goodbye.
For a change in pace and to see his parents from time to time, Joe would go with me sometimes. The first time he went, I drove to Myrtle as usual, but when we went to go on, I got in the passenger side. I was sitting with the window down and was talking to the blonde girl, when Joe came to the truck. He walked up to the passenger side and said, “Get over.”
“You want me to drive?”
“You’re as good a driver as I am, and you have to start sometime, so get over.”
In ten minutes, I was pulling onto the 401 as the radio played ‘Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White’. I drove all the way, both ways, for most of the rest of the summer. Every time I hear the song, I think of driving down the 401 for the first time.
I have never been afraid of the four lanes since, and prefer four lanes to two-way traffic to this day. When I think how close we are to a head on collision every time we meet another vehicle on a two lane highway, it makes me shiver We miss each other by mere inches every time. When we travel at the speed limit of say 50 miles an hour, and the opposing vehicle is going the same, the collision would be like hitting a cement wall at one hundred miles an hour.
There are pileups on four lanes, but at least they are all going in the same direction, originally.
Business slowed down as the Canadian National Exhibition opened in late August. Our loads weren’t as heavy now and it was finally getting cooler.
On September 3rd, ,we went to the lodges for the last time. This was the very last time Dollo Brothers delivered to lodges, as they were on the move now.
Unknown to most of the townsfolk, their store had become an affiliate of the Independent Grocers Alliance group. On September 5th 1955, I began to clear the lot between the 5c to $100 store and Sam Welch’s General store for their new store on the main street. Inquisitive bystanders gathered as I removed the beige picket fence, along the front, and watched as I took down a large tree, that was hanging over Sam’s store. I did this by climbing the tree and fastening a rope from it to the truck. I cut the tree almost through, then drove the truck ahead. I received a glorious ovation from the crowd, as it hit the ground. I cut it into pieces and took the body to Dad’s, where he cut it into firewood. The limbs I took to the swamp across the back street, where Keaney Chrysler is now located.
On September 13th,,Joe and I went to Toronto. He bought a black 1952 Ford car, with a red top, he named ‘The Red Bird’. He was very proud of that car, so he had me build a garage for it at his place. He put his blue Ford Anglia up for sale.
During the next month, I helped Frank Bowron haul tie logs to Burnt River for Floyd, helped Dad dig potatoes, took a load of pigs to Peterborough for Floyd, helped Floyd put a roof on his house, traded my truck for a 1953 Ford at Deacon’s garage in Minden, made several trips to Toronto for fruit, worked in the store, and built a garage for Joe’s car. I recently (2004) drove past the house where Joe and Florence lived. The garage still stands.
The lot for the new store had been excavated in the meantime, and on October 11th Harry Cummins and I started the foundation for the new store. Various sub-contractors came and went, but Harry and I were the only steady workers, until November 22nd ,when Jim Trumbull joined us. On November 28th,, the steel beams arrived for the roof along with a crane to hoist them. By December 19th, we had the roof sheathed and the roofers completed their work in the next two days. It was 32 below zero that day. My new car wouldn’t start, so Dad had to drive me to work. How embarrassing!
I worked until noon on December 24th. When I was packing my tools to go home, Pete told me to go over to the store. They gave me $10.00 and a large basket of fruit for Christmas. This was the first time that anyone I knew ever got a Christmas bonus. Wow! Was I proud?
By February 25th,, the store was finished and they had started to stock shelves. Joe wanted me to take a meat-cutting course and be their head butcher, but I wanted to drive truck, so I went looking elsewhere.
The store operated for several years at that location, and then was moved to a new bigger building around the corner toward the bypass, then to the present location on the bypass in 1986 and was extended in 1998. Pete’s son, David, now operates a huge IGA that employs from 40 to 75 people.
Having served the community well, and being a loyal and faithful confidant to everyone he met, Peter Dollo died, a local legend in 2003. There were pages of his accolades in the local papers.
*Reefer; The refrigeration system used to cool the cargo area of a truck. It is the unit you see hanging on the front of the cargo body above the cab.
