Take off your hat, I want to stand up.

Chapter 12: Fulton's Drug Store.

Chapter 12: Fulton's Drug Store.

The corner of 13th and Elphinstone Street.

Tommy

I would go to the old Y.M.C.A., as a regular habit, three maybe four times a week. It would be Swim lessons or judo lessons, after the lesson I would buy $0.10 worth of jelly beans or peanuts from the glass vending machine. I put the money in the slot, turn the crank and a handful of stale treats would barge into a steel hopper guarded by a spring lid. I would pop the candies into my mouth all at once, probably so I would not get sticky hands.

Someone was always up for a game of ping pong, so I would grab a racket and play for fifteen or twenty minutes before pushing out the door. Crossing the street I noticed my wet head would instantly freeze in the sub zero night air. My dad's drug store was about 13 blocks down 13 th Avenue, I had a well practiced route, passed the National restaurant, that was elisiting a pretty good sweet smell of chard beef. I swung passed the Zenith T.V. Repair and radio shop, then by a number of closely built shops, shoe repair, butcher shop, local hardware with the shovels and tools in the window display, a few low slung street entrance apartments.

Then rising like the Greek Parthenon was the big celebrated church on the corner. I always admired this building as the place my parents celebrated their wedding vows in 48. The church seemed to smile at me as I hopped across another street. It was mid- winter time and my head would be completely frozen by this time. I should have worn a good old Canadian Toque.

Three more blocks, I hustled passed the neighbourhood library and then my dad's store. Fulton' Drugs, where according to the sign and reputation, a graduate druggist was always on duty, with Western Canada's first drive through prescription service. I was grounded and accepted here, I would gather a few comics and a chocolate bar before going down stairs to my dad' s office. I read every issue of every comic book for about six or seven years, or until I discovered driving, girls and alcohol.

My dad would close down the store every day at 9, he would cash out collect his briefcase a few odds and ends for home and then he would call out lets go home. I was a dutiful and compliant son happy to be with my dad, so I scrambled up the long stretch of stairs. He turned out the lights, did a last visual check and upon closing the door he would kick the bottom plate of the big glass, silver framed door with a loud and affirming thud, turn the key in the door, listen for the tell tale click, look around at the functioning display lights, driveway and complete a general ten second checklist before we turned for the car.

It was winter snow had piled up along the sidewalk, over on the side drive to the store there was a young kid, he had a hockey stick and a puck. He was drilling the puck up against the building. I said hey, kid, and my dad held my shoulder in a reassuring manner, he said no that is alright. He explained that kid's name was Tommy. He had been sick with some type of illness that made me feel like I was very fortunate and lucky all at the same time. A future for him did not sound like a kind thing, so I looked back and thought how we take things for granted sometimes. Tommy kept hitting the snapshot, thud and whack, his shot was getting better, he seemed happy.

I loved my dad, he demonstrated compassion for other people on a level I have yet to understand. I always wondered what became of Tommy. I saw him once for six seconds, and yet he is with me still, interesting