Gimmie Shelter

I never thought that a piece devoted to “the warmth, comfort, and the joy found during winter’s coldest moments” would involve the bus services of my hometown, but this is where I found such peace of mind and all the combined elements above during what was surely the coldest and darkest time I had on a return trip home.

I was born and raised in the city of Hamilton, Ontario, a place that gave the world Martin Short, Eugene Levy, Daniel Lanois (musician and music producer of Neil Young, Bob Dylan and U2), and even the man famous for telling customers the following, “Don’t Squeeze the Charmin”. It is also a city that has seen better days. Once described as the Pittsburgh of the North, it is still known as the Hammer, or Steel City, but the glory days of its reign as a steel producer has passed. Since this passing, the city has faced all of the problems that any city that relied once on only one specific industry now faces (think of the industrial decay you can see in certain cities in the American Midwest, or Detroit after the glory days as a car producer). There was always poverty in my hometown – I lived in it for many years with my immigrant family – but it seems to have grown to a point where it is not something that we can now ignore. I have seen beggars and panhandling in the places where I used to play as a child, and it depresses me. What is there to do about this?

What can you do?

I had a teacher once who would often say, “If you are not a part of the solution, you are a part of the problem.” And I thought that I had solved a problem that I would never get past: I left. I had been living overseas, came back briefly to my hometown to work and earn a little money for school, and then left to go to graduate school in Montreal. I was living a life that was often difficult, but it was my own; it was my own creation.

There was only one hitch: the family.

I made a promise to myself to always come home for the winter holidays, and it is a promise that I have managed to keep through lean times and little money. I have seen my family celebrating events that I might have not heard about except through my mother’s uninformative letters (she would usually write only to ask about my life and health). I would make the circuit of particular homes and meet relatives, have dinners, and hand out or open gifts when Christmas passed by. It was all set and became a pattern that was familiar and expected. And that was why I decided one year that I had had enough.

We watched the New Year come in on television, never in public at a space set up for fireworks and celebrating. You had to travel to Niagara Falls or, if you really wanted to, Toronto, to see a city that would be willing to celebrate in public. My hometown is what you might call “sleepy”; a city that often behaves like a small town. And there was where my frustration lay. Relatives I had known for years were often taking the trip down the road to T.O. (Toronto, or Hogtown) to stand near city hall in Nathan Phillips Square to see the old year out and the New Year in. I was much more faithful to my family, but even I had to admit that I was missing out on something.

“I want to go to Toronto this year.”

Now, I had already celebrated Christmas with the family. My mother was happy to see me there and I was happy to see her, my brother and his family, and all of the other relatives who passed by. I think that was why I felt so bold about this change in routine.

“Well, be careful.”

And that was it. I was out of the house.

Now, it was not easy to negotiate this trip at that time. I gave myself several hours to head out into the cold and I knew that I had no ride to Toronto available (my driver’s license had long expired without me having any interest in renewing it). I would be taking at least two buses to get there.

Now, this is where I have to go into the details of the Hamilton Street Railway (HSR, for those of us who need to know): the buses would run until just after 1 a.m., and after that, I would be on my own. This was not a problem, as I intended to stay in Toronto until the first intercity buses started their schedules. The only problem was where to catch that intercity bus (Go Transit, for those who really are desperate). I did not want to go to the main bus terminal which had been moved from one depressing location to another location that was beginning to become just as depressing. After a careful reading of the schedule I carried with me on the return home, I could possibly find a bus ride to Toronto from a very odd location: my old university.

I had been an undergrad in Hamilton many years earlier, and the experience was one of many that made me determined to leave the city. I knew that campus better than I wanted to and all of the main bus lines took the same route around the main buildings. My bus would be stopping in front of the hospital and medical buildings and then I would be off.

Needless to say, it is needless to say that it did not work out at all.

I took two buses to get to the campus in the cold and dark, walked across the abandoned quad that faced the stop, and entered into the shadowy bus shelter that had a Go Transit stop sign attached to its outer metal and plastic glass.

It did not take me a long time to realize that I had made a terrible decision. After twenty minutes past the time when the bus was supposed to be there, I knew that I was either going to freeze to death or have to wait for one of the few rare city buses that would pass by for nonexistent student passengers.

So, why does this make me think of “the warmth, comfort and joy found during winter’s coldest moment”?

The heat button.

I am not sure how long such a shelter existed on campus – I was often waiting for the bus in a distant stop – but I am eternally grateful that the shelter had a button that would send electricity into a set of coils in the roof that glowed red and made me think of how silly I was to be out there on my own without a clue as to what I was doing. And I must have pressed it at least five times before the bus arrived with a rather surprised driver.

I went home, surprising the family and myself, and forgot about any of the distractions and lies I had been telling myself about why was home with the family over that particular season.

And I never celebrated away from home again...

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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