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• June 18, 2013
• SCHOOL DAY 2

140 Years of Free Press Memories

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Nov. 30, 1872. The brand new Manitoba Free Press hit the streets of Winnipeg and beyond. The only Canadian daily paper west of Toronto printed on the only cylinder press north of Minnesota, it was truly one of a kind. Soon, its 900 subscribers were paying 25 cents a week for all the local news fit to print and then some.

In 1931, it became the Winnipeg Free Press and continued to live up to its motto of "Freedom of Trade, Liberty of Religion, and Equality of Civil Rights," those words still gracing the paper’s editorial pages today.

This Nov. 30, the Free Press will mark 140 years of telling Manitobans’ stories. Now, we are inviting you to tell us your memories of the newspaper. Did you have your own paper route? Did you enter the Christmas colouring contest? Did your group do something special for the paper’s Pennies from Heaven campaign? What about that time your team got its photo in the paper?

We want to know. Fill out the form below and tell us your best story about the paper. If you have a photo, even better. We’ll run a few in the paper and all of them online.

We’re calling this memory project, Your Lives, Our Pages. But really, think of them as your pages, too. Because that’s what they are.

• An early paper carrier

  Circa 1927 to 1935

  The Free Press' Your Lives, Our Pages project has done me a big favour. On reading the article about the paper boy who lived on Toronto Street, I decided to tell you a little about my days delivering the Free Press back in the late 20s and early 30s.

  More

  The Free Press' Your Lives, Our Pages project has done me a big favour. On reading the article about the paper boy who lived on Toronto Street, I decided to tell you a little about my days delivering the Free Press back in the late 20s and early 30s.

  My father, John Allan, had a store in Keewatin called Allan’s Confectionery. He was a Free Press agent and also a Tribune agent, much to their disgust, but that’s the way it was.

  The Free Press arrived on the 10 o’clock train which he met with a wagon, sleigh or his Tin Lizzy Model T Ford, to get the papers. I would go with him on Saturdays and holidays.

  I started delivering a shorter route when I was eight, then by 16 it included all the East End of town. I had to attend the Kenora High School because Keewatin didn’t have a 5th Form (Grade XIII).

  There was no road to Winnipeg until 1935, just to Granite Lake, so there was a lot of bush. I delivered my Free Press after school (4 p.m.) I didn’t like carrying a bag so just held the papers against my chest and in the summer had newsprint on my dress.

  Where the channel bridge is now, there was a path through the bush on the other side of Superior Street to Daley’s and Mrs. Payne’s camp. I enjoyed this area in the summer as it was cool walking by the water. Daley’s camp had to be torn down to build the bridge. We no longer had to go through Norman to get to Kenora after the bridge was built.

  One very cold day, Rev. and Mrs. Churchill took me into the manse, sat me on a comfortable chair, took off my overshoes, put my feet on a register and served me cocoa and cookies.

  Mrs. Cornish lived at the end of Ottawa St. Her husband was head of the Five Roses Flour Mill. They had an only child and she had died when she was a young teenager. Mrs. Cornish was the only Free Press customer who ever gave me a Christmas gift.

  My sister Eva and brother Bob also delivered the Free Press and Tribune. I delivered the Tribune to the west end of town before school started at 9 a.m.

  When Eva and I went to Winnipeg every summer to visit my Gramma Kelley on Young Street, of course, we walked to Eaton’s and The Bay. On Portage, across from The Bay, a boy would be selling Free Presses, hollering, "Free Press today’s paper, read all about it."

  When we passed the Free Press building on our way to Eaton’s we would look in the windows and would like to have gone in, but didn’t have the nerve.

  I must say we didn’t have to collect. The customers came to the store to pay. Oh, I must also say, I liked how the Winnipeg carriers folded their papers and threw them at your door.

  I’m almost 94 and still enjoying reading and doing the Free Press crossword puzzles. I thought I would just share a little history for those interested.

  - Mildred (Allan) Smith

• The death of a type-setter

  1962

  My family’s relationship with the Winnipeg Free Press began with my great-grandfather Nathaniel Insch. A compositor by trade, he arrived from Scotland in 1912 and retired in 1938.

  More

  My family’s relationship with the Winnipeg Free Press began with my great-grandfather Nathaniel Insch. A compositor by trade, he arrived from Scotland in 1912 and retired in 1938.

  A resident of Ashburn Street, he used to walk to and from the Free Press building down Portage Avenue. As he remained healthy into his late 80s, his penchant for walking long distances served him well.

  Then, he was found in a heated argument with a ghost named John W. Dafoe.

  "You and your damn 'a picture is worth a thousand words.' If that is so true Dafoe then why the brief caption? Honestly, did you really expect the reader of that to determine the rest? Newspapers are part of our literary tradition; you’ve turned this paper into a gallery for fools. Oh, you’ll be back, and with a friend next time. The only friend you have Dafoe resides in Hell! Get out of my house!"

  Nathaniel died in Selkirk at the age of 89. A few weeks before his death, he was allowed to go out for walks. He was found at the side of a locked church.

  As there were two witnesses, the person sent out to find him and a retired police officer out for a stroll, foul play was ruled out and all that followed was handled discreetly.

  However, one year later at just past eight in the evening on July 1, 1962, as my father was told, about 30 people socializing in the church gasped when a Scotsman, frantically pleading for help, pulled violently on the front doors, which weren’t locked. Moments later, as the windows turned black on one side of the church, there was a horrifying scream and two flashes of light. Many people fainted.

  Having already met the two shaken witnesses at Nathaniel’s funeral, and heard their account, none of this surprised my father.

  "Was it d’Foe?" I asked my Dad.

  "Aye, and his friend," he said while dowsing the candle, "the PHOTOGRAPHER!" Flash! Flash!

  Trivializing aside, Nathaniel destroyed every photograph in his possession. The Free Press was not mentioned in his obituary. The church was wooden, white and on a residential street. The two witnesses went mad.

  - Scott Insch

  Winnipeg

• Papers 'gone with the wind'

  1950

  This story goes back to the spring of 1950.

  More

  This story goes back to the spring of 1950.

  My brother was the paper boy in a small town in southern Manitoba. One day, Mom and Dad took him to see the dentist. So on my own, I took the bag to carry the papers with me to school.

  The papers came in on the noon-hour train. I was at the station at noon. The papers were dropped off. I put them on the ground and without putting them in the bag first, I cut the twine.

  Well, this being on the wide open Prairie and a very windy day, my papers were literally "gone with the wind." I might have saved five or six out of 30.

  Needless to say a nine year old boy went home crying to his older siblings. After a few frantic long distance phone calls, a new bundle of papers was sent out. Everyone eventually did get their papers.

  I did learn a very valuable lesson that day, and I did get to inherit the route after my brother "retired."

   

  Herb Martel

  Steinbach

  

• First your news... now your weather

  No photo

  I had no idea all the years I spent delivering the news to people’s homes would one day lead to my delivering the news inside people’s homes.

  More

  I had no idea all the years I spent delivering the news to people’s homes would one day lead to my delivering the news inside people’s homes.

  I shared my first paper route with my older brother, David, when I was six years old. We delivered the community newspaper The Lance once a week to our neighbours in South St. Vital. From there, we graduated to become carriers for The Winnipeg Free Press.

  This is the part of the story where I get to say "when I was a kid" for it was back then that newspapers were delivered in the afternoon.

  I vividly remember walking home after school, grabbing my giant, cloth, over-the-shoulder paper bag, which was almost as big as I was, and heading to the stack of papers that would be wrapped in plastic and tied with twine, waiting for my arrival.

  The drop-point was Minnetonka Street. If you drove by around 4 p.m., you would see David and me kneeling on the boulevard folding each and every newspaper so they would fit in the carriers for the long trek up Woodlawn and Riverbend.

  We each took a side of the street. Up sidewalks and driveways, across lawns and over hedges we went, delivering the Free Press into mailboxes and through front-door slots.

  Some days we raced to see who could finish first. My brother will tell you he often beat me, but he and I both know the truth.

  If I close my eyes, I can still smell the paper and see my small hands stained black from the newsprint.

  Then came the task of collection. This was all before automatic withdrawal and online payment. So once a week we would set out with a pencil case as a cash register and collect payment for subscriptions. I learned quickly how to make change while standing in someone’s doorway after interrupting dinner or, more importantly, a Jets game.

  It seems so long ago and just yesterday all at once.

  It was at the encouragement of my parents that I become a newspaper carrier. I know now they were trying to teach me a lesson. But when you’re 10 years old, you don’t necessarily understand what you’re supposed to learn.

  When I look back on those years, I can clearly see the values I’ve carried with me throughout my working life. I learned how to be reliable, how to organize, follow through with responsibility and how to do quick math on the spot! I also learned the value of a dollar, and perhaps more than anything, to take pride in my work -- and deliver.

  Thanks for the memories.

  Kate Gajdosik

  Weather Anchor

  Global TV, Winnipeg

• Paper carrier Renee felt very special

  1979

  In 1979 our daughter Renee, 11 years old, became a Free Press carrier, along with her sister, nine years old. Renee was very excited about her very first job.

  More

  In 1979 our daughter Renee, 11 years old, became a Free Press carrier, along with her sister, nine years old. Renee was very excited about her very first job.

  Through all kinds of weather, trudging through snowbanks, in the rain and mud puddles, dealing with angry dogs and customers on collection day. At that time, papers were delivered after school. All school activities were put on hold, including all sports and playing with friends.

  The Free Press was looking for a carrier to participate in an advertisement in a TV commercial. Each manager in each area was asked to choose a carrier. Renee, much to her surprise and delight was chosen.

  So down to the Free press building we went for the actual interview. She was asked a few questions and her picture was taken with a Polaroid camera. It was all over very quickly.

  Not a day later, she received a call to tell her that she had been chosen to take part in the commercial. Also, her colour picture would appear on the front page of a special edition May 4, 1979. She said she felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

  On the day of the shoot, she was picked up by the Free Press, along with her old bike. The location was a residential street where a group of people greeted her. They were deciding whether she needed makeup or not. Two different shots were taken, one on her bike and another walking up steps and dropping off a newspaper. They finally chose the one of Renee and her bike.

  The commercial ran for several months and Renee was paid accordingly, which to her was not as important as making her feel rich and famous. Among all her family and friends, she became a celebrity and was teased. Each little newspaper stand in stores wherever the paper was sold sported a picture of Renee. It was a very unique experience for Renee.

  — Shirley Pantel

• Grey Cup the highlight of father’s life

  1984-90

  My father, Peter Ahoff, was a long-time employee of the Winnipeg Free Press. He was the supervisor of the mail room for many years.

  More

  My father, Peter Ahoff, was a long-time employee of the Winnipeg Free Press. He was the supervisor of the mail room for many years.

  In 1984, Peter’s wife, Rosa Dodokin Ahoff, was inducted into the Manitoba Basketball Hall of Fame as an athlete, also inducted that year was the team she played for, which Peter coached, the 1936 Western Canadian Senior Women’s Champions, the Winnipeg Olympics.

  In 1985, Peter was also inducted into the Manitoba Basketball Hall of Fame as a builder.

  When I think of the Free Press of those days, I also think of the O Kum Inn, just south of the Free Press, owned by Maurice Duchov (Moe.) Quite a few employees of the Free Press gathered at the O Kum Inn.

  Across the street was Moe’s apartment. The door was always open to his friends.

  Peter was a true Blue Bomber fan since the 40s when his brother, Ernie Ahoff, played for the team. He made many road trips to the Grey Cup with two of his Free Press buddies, Don Ramage and Doc Raddis, and then more Grey Cup trips with his grandsons, David and Peter Sherman, joining up with the Don Ramage and various members of Don’s family.

  Peter’s last Grey Cup trip was in 1990 to Vancouver, the Blue Bombers last Grey Cup win. On his return from Vancouver, he said it had been the best Grey Cup trip, his Bombers won their division, then the Grey cup, and it was the best trip ever with The Men (his grandsons David and Peter.)

  About a week after returning from Vancouver, my father passed away.

  I like to think he went out of life on a high.

  — Ellen R. Sherman

  West St. Paul

   

• Fort Rouge memories

  1940s

  Our 1940's Fort Rouge appeared to be a protected enclave where most families had little money but really didn't care. There were few neighbourhood cars as most people walked, rode bicycles or took the streetcars plying Corydon, Stafford and Osborne to downtown.

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  Our 1940's Fort Rouge appeared to be a protected enclave where most families had little money but really didn't care. There were few neighbourhood cars as most people walked, rode bicycles or took the streetcars plying Corydon, Stafford and Osborne to downtown.

  We regularly attended Saturday matinee movies at the Crescent, Park, Garry, Osborne or Tivoli theatres often overstaying our admission fee of 15 cents, wanting to see newsreels prior to the early evening movies.

  Our radio programs, for example Boston Blackie, provided our imaginations with dangerous situations in far away locations when we huddled in front of the speaker. Lighter programs included the Saturday morning radio reading of the coloured comics that arrived with the newspaper or the big band music with singers such as Frank Sinatra or Frankie Lane.

  So many neighbourhood fellows worked in the CNR railway shops and returned home daily covered with soot. Every New Year's Eve, Steam Engines would sound whistles at midnight for a lengthy time.

  My brother, Bob, and I shared a Winnipeg Free Press paper route in excess of 100 papers on Warsaw Avenue from Pembina Highway to just beyond Lilac Street, each taking a side of the street to deliver. We picked up the papers at the shack at Jessie and Osborne when the delivery truck driver threw big bundles onto very large wooden tables.

  Bob collected every two weeks. We shared experiences when visiting the Eaton's Stables after school to watch the delivery men brush the wonderful black and brown horses to a sheen and apply their feedbags.

  Not far away was the Rancho Don Carlos with a fenced area and a couple of large security dogs. Our mere presence outside seemed to rile them. Our older sister was very kind to purchase tickets for her brothers to attend the Louis Armstrong concert held at the Civic Auditorium.

  At the time, there was no Earl Grey Community Centre but rather two railway boxcars placed end-to-end with a wood stove where children warmed their hands, dried mittens and socks after an afternoon of skating. Of the two rinks located at Daly and Fleet streets, one was for family pleasure and the other for hockey. Our father, who had been a U of M Bison athlete, was a hockey coach as well as a summertime baseball coach, sharing his knowledge with the neighbourhood boys.

  Often, he would borrow grandfather's car to transport his team members to game locations.

  I participated in a school skating race at the Amphitheatre near the Osborne Stadium (where now stands Great West Life building).

  Our area produced good athletes following high school, playing for the Winnipeg Blue Bombers: Ron Kelly, Elton Taylor and Jerry James. And one of the fathers was a Canadian Boxing Champion: Steve Trojak.

  I attended Canada's first Kindergarten class at La Verendrye School followed by other grades at Earl Grey School where we played soccer and sang in school operettas. My brother and I were also members of the Winnipeg Boys Choir until 1948 and then the St. Luke's Anglican boys/adult choir for another 10 years. Two little guys took the streetcar to the Graham Avenue location of the Holy Trinity Annex building for the Boys Choir under direction of Frances Christie and accompanist Jean Broadfoot. After church Friday night practice, we would occasionally go to the Margaret Rose Tea Room or perhaps to Dutch Maid for heavenly ice cream (located in the Osborne Village near River Avenue).

  - Harry McFee

   

• Memories of a paper boy or girl

  1970s

  I am the mother of four sons who are now in their 50s. They all took turns delivering papers after school on the same route, Valour Road and St. Matthews Avenue.

  More

  I am the mother of four sons who are now in their 50s. They all took turns delivering papers after school on the same route, Valour Road and St. Matthews Avenue.

  Their father told them if they wanted to sign up for after school activities, their mother would do the papers. I did quite a few papers but never collected the money owed.

  At that time, the Free Press presented watches to carriers with three months service with no complaints.

  One of my sons received his watch in June 1975 and still wears it.

  - Lorraine Burkett

   

   

• Selling papers in 1912

  1912

  Reading the Winnipeg Free Press was a daily part of my father’s life, even as a resident of a personal care home in his later years.

  More

  Reading the Winnipeg Free Press was a daily part of my father’s life, even as a resident of a personal care home in his later years.

  His connection with the paper, however, began many years earlier. Dad was only 12 years old in 1912 when he heard the Free Press was hiring men (and boys) to sell their newspaper on the streets of downtown Winnipeg. As the eldest of six children, he decided it was time to contribute to the family income.

  Dad presented himself at the newspaper office, hoping to get hired, but instead was given a consent form to be signed by his father as he was still under age. Doing that, unfortunately, meant a long trek home to the North End, then another trip back to the Free Press building the next day. He was afraid his opportunity for employment was lost.

  As he stood in the hallway with paper in hand and tears in his eyes, an elderly gentleman stopped to ask about the dilemma. After Dad blurted out the story, the man took a pen from his pocket, reached for the form, signed it and handed it back. Dad rushed over to the frenzied clerk and was promptly hired.

  Dad soon learned the perils of selling papers on the streets. At that time, every corner had its own vendor who wouldn’t hesitate to thump a scrawny newcomer trying to encroach on his location.

  So my father sold his newspapers on the streetcars. He’d get on at one stop, sell as many as he could for the next few blocks, then catch a ride back, doing the same thing. He would make 25 cents, but twice in his short career he earned more.

  One of the dangers on the streets of Winnipeg, at that time, was the new automobile. Dad tells of the time he stepped off the streetcar into the path of an approaching car. He was hit, and his papers went flying. Although he wasn’t hurt, the driver had such a scare that he offered my father a whole dollar. Dad was so excited with his good fortune that he left the papers where they were and ran home with his unexpected earnings.

  The next time he earned a considerable amount was when the Titanic sank. The Free Press was one of the first newspapers to publish the story and dad was working on the streetcars that day. With everyone anxious to learn more about this tragedy, he sold enough papers to make the large sum of $1.

  Quite an experience for a young lad in 1912.

  - Lorraine Lay

• A special way to read the Free Press

  1930s-today

  When I was a teenager, we went on Saturdays to Eaton’s for the “5-cent special.”

  More

  When I was a teenager, we went on Saturdays to Eaton’s for the “5-cent special.”

  On the way, we passed the Free Press building on Carlton Street where the vast low windows displayed pages from the Free Press.

  We could stand on the street and read the paper. I thought how kind of the Free Press, as during the Great Depression of the 1930s many people did not have money to buy a paper.

  I am now in my 98th year, and the Free Press arrives at my door early in the morning. I sit in my comfortable chair to enjoy the reliable news, the colour comics, cartoons and cryptoquotes.

  Thank you, Free Press, and every good wish.

  - Joyce B. Frame

• Elm Creek paper boy

  1946

  The 11.47 train from Winnipeg was on time and I was waiting on the platform for the papers.

  More

  The 11.47 train from Winnipeg was on time and I was waiting on the platform for the papers.

  Grampa Sim, the postmaster, was there to collect the mail. Two important events in any day in Elm Creek in 1946.

  I was doing well enough in school to be allowed to leave early for my important job as paper boy. The papers had to be folded carefully, one third folded over and the other third tucked in. This was so that when delivered they were placed between the storm door and the inner door.

  None of that stuff you see in American movies where the paper boy rides by on his bike and carelessly chucks the paper at the front step. All carefully loaded into the giant canvas carrier bag. I was 10 years old and not very big. I could have been blown away by a strong wind if not for the weight of the papers. I had to modify the bag by tying a big knot in the shoulder strap so that it wouldn't drag on the ground.

  I set off on my round -- on foot of course. Half way around, the blizzard started. I was dedicated and determined as all paper boys are.

  The last house on the edge of the village was that of the CPR Section Master, right by the railway line. I found it by following the track as the visibility was just about zero.

  I started home by walking along the track towards the station as the only chance of finding my way. I spotted a little cave in the snow where the snow plow had passed and stopped for a rest. But we children had been taught what to do in these situations and I knew that if I fell asleep I would never wake up. So I trudged on.

  Just before the station the track branches off to the south and from where it crosses Church Street, I was home. They were awfully glad to see me. I didn't have to go back to school that afternoon as it was too dangerous to go out in that kind of weather.

  Everyone got their newspaper on time. As always.

  - George Jamieson

  Paper boy from Elm Creek

   

   

   

• Carriers take train to '66 Grey Cup

  1966

  More

  One of the most memorable experiences of my youth came courtesy of the Free Press in 1966 when I was an 11-year-old paper carrier in The Pas.

  Every now and then, a sales manager would come to town to encourage us to get new subscriptions with contests that promised all sorts of prizes.

  Being the enterprising sort, I set out to canvass not only my own route area but a good portion of 5,000 residents of the town. I managed to get 15 new subscriptions and was awarded a plastic AM radio for my hard work. It was actually a great radio that played for years on top of the fridge at home, but the real prize was having my name entered in a draw to attend the Grey Cup in Vancouver, and would you believe I was one of the eight lucky carriers drawn!

  There were four from the city and the rest from rural areas of the province. What made it even more memorable was that the airline pilots were on strike at the time, so we had to go by train. I’m sure the two Free Press chaperones responsible for this group of youngsters had their hands full trying to keep us safe, especially shielding us from the rest of the train passengers, mostly exuberant, intoxicated football fans.

  I’ll never forget tossing water balloons off the train car as we crossed the Rockies, but I have no idea how we were able to get out on the platform between cars to do it.

  The other memory that sticks in my mind was looking out the window of our Vancouver hotel and seeing someone mowing the grass – in November!

  I wasn’t much of a football fan at the time, but I do remember the West won as Saskatchewan beat Ottawa 29-14.

  I would love to hear from any of the other carriers who made the trip – email fpcarriers1966greycup@hotmail.ca .

  - Bob Palmer

• Brother and sister paper carriers

  Date unknown

  Just a few words to let you know that my brother and I delivered the Free Press in the country when we were young.

  More

  Just a few words to let you know that my brother and I delivered the Free Press in the country when we were young.

  We went to school so we had to deliver them after school, but we were very dedicated to our work.

  Then we had to collect on Saturdays with our little perforated "tickets" we’d punch out as the receipt.

  This responsibility taught us to be dedicated to our people that we served.

  Of course, we receive the Free Press daily now and enjoy it very much.

  - Gisele Vermette

• Reasons to love the Free Press

  Pre-1976

  The Free Press has been important in my life for several reasons.

  More

  The Free Press has been important in my life for several reasons.

  1. That was my first office job (production office). I was a Girl Friday, delivering memos to all the mechanical areas. All men but they were all friendly and teasing, never had a problem with any. It was interesting and (noisy) to see production in action.

  My bosses were Bill Bolter (he bolted everywhere!) and George Vennels (he didn’t like me saying he looked like Rev. Billy Graham.)

  I liked the bright red elevator.

  2. One of the best reasons I like the Free Press is that I met my husband through the personals column. We’ll be married 37 years in May.

  I look forward to reading my Free Press daily, no e-copy for me. I also collect some of the nice photos and make scrapbooks for hospitals and doctors offices.

  Kathy Harris

   

   

• Youngest paper carrier ever

  Date uncertain

  Memories of a paper boy for the Winnipeg Free Press brought back memories also for me.

  More

  Memories of a paper boy for the Winnipeg Free Press brought back memories also for me.

  I’m sure my son was the youngest paper boy the Free Press ever had.

  My husband and I were on our way down south, and my parents came in from Dauphin, Manitoba to pick up our son, Marlow who was three years old.

  They got on the train at the CNR station and headed out to Dauphin. Dad always had a paper to read. When he finished with it, he folded it up and put it on the seat beside him.

  Three-year-old Marlow left mother’s side and picked up the paper and put it under his arm and walked down the train aisle shouting "Get your Winnipeg Free Press!" Needless to say, the passengers were all amused and laughed and clapped as the little tyke went by.

  - Shirley Kirton

• Paper boy memories

  1940s

  I am a senior at 79 years old. My first paper route was on Carlton Street and the area downtown up to Garry Street. It was a small route. I was 10 years old.

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  I am a senior at 79 years old. My first paper route was on Carlton Street and the area downtown up to Garry Street. It was a small route. I was 10 years old.

  I asked for a larger route but none was available at that time. So I went to the Tribune, but the Free Press understood.

  I had a large route, 140 papers, Balmoral Place, Spence Street to Portage Avenue.

  That area had three Free Press routes.

  When the Tribune had their 60th anniversary, the paper was so large that my little sister helped me. The Tribune sent a reporter there to write the story.

  - George Crouch

   

• It's a small world

  1970s

  Here is my contribution from being briefly employed in the Free Press circulation department when some long-term staff were fixtures of stability among other dedicated workers there. My recollection is poignant and remarkable for being filled with serendipity and coincidence (or Karma) later in life.

  More

  Here is my contribution from being briefly employed in the Free Press circulation department when some long-term staff were fixtures of stability among other dedicated workers there. My recollection is poignant and remarkable for being filled with serendipity and coincidence (or Karma) later in life.

  As a person who had always loved to read books in libraries as a student and then newspapers from around the globe as an adult, my opportunity for learning the business in part (such as "How they do it") came one year in the late 1970s. There was an FP ad for "term/temp help wanted." This involved phone work out of the old circulation department on Carleton Street.

  Weather was cold and snowy outside, but warm and cheery inside the old FP building with its large windows showing its press rollers that, to me, rivalled the spectacle of Christmas displays at Eaton's and The Bay. I was escorted with other new workers, while being further awe-struck by turn of the century details in the building's rich architecture. As we got to our floor, the more-modern desks with a battery of phones everywhere helped us to settle down after a brief orientation from one of the supervisors.

  This floor seemed to be a hive of activity as the heart of its operations focussed on people rushing to and fro -- except for us, phone workers who were tied to our desk by ancient technology: rotary dial phones.

  We marvelled at how the supervisors kept staff up-to-date and able to remain calm despite obvious deadlines and closing times they were shouting to various queries regarding different areas of the city.

  It was a short tenure, but fascinating. One evening, I had a question that needed a fast response. My co-workers said, "Ask Mr. Babb, the shift manager." I raised my hand and waved him over. He gave his remedy and moved on.

  Most staff were cordial considering that we were only temps. After it ended, I forgot most of this experience and those with whom I had worked. Such is life when your career aspirations lay elsewhere.

  But, a dozen years later, I was working as a nurse at a local hospital and encountered a female patient who was troubled and asked me for some items. The hospital refused to provide them, so I got them. She later thanked me, as did her mother and father. As you might guess, her father (then in 60s) was my former boss at the Free Press. This is serendipity and a bittersweet memory.

  - Ron Bell

• 

  (Eric Bailey)

  The Homecoming

  Jan. 7, 1946

  For the past few weeks I have thoroughly enjoyed reading Your Lives, Our Pages and the many ways in which the Winnipeg Free Press has become a part of so many lives. I, too, have a story to share about the Winnipeg Free Press and its role in my life.

  More

  For the past few weeks I have thoroughly enjoyed reading Your Lives, Our Pages and the many ways in which the Winnipeg Free Press has become a part of so many lives. I, too, have a story to share about the Winnipeg Free Press and its role in my life.

  During the Second World War, I fell in love with Doug Manness, a soldier from the beautiful province of Manitoba. He was a farmer’s son and I was a city girl from Hamilton, Ontario who worked in the Stelco Steel Plant in Hamilton. We met at a dance in Hamilton, and it was love at first sight. We were engaged for six years while the war was on, and many times during the war I would travel by train out to Winnipeg to visit with Doug's family, especially when Doug was able to get harvest leave.

  In January 1946, Doug was finally coming home from the war in Europe. We had not seen one another for years, and I was very excited to see the love of my life. So during the Christmas holidays I said to myself, “I’m going out to meet Doug and surprise him. I have a $50 Canada Savings Bond that I can cash in for the train fare to Winnipeg and back to Hamilton.”

  You can imagine how excited I was to see Doug and had lots of butterflies in my stomach. The CPR train station at the time was packed with returning servicemen and their families. I could not see Doug in the crowd. When I stood on tiptoes I thought I saw Doug, but I wasn't sure. I didn't want to make a fool of myself, but I knew I just had to get to where he was. So I politely pushed my way through the crowd and when I was right behind who I thought was Doug I whispered, “Dougie, Dougie, is that you?”

  He turned slowly and his face registered how surprised he was to see me right there, in Winnipeg, in the train station, welcoming him home. He had such a tired, haggard face with all the travelling he had done over the many weeks. I was so happy that Doug came back to me and we were together again after all the stress and turmoil of the war.

  Needless to say, we threw our arms around one another and clung like two lovebirds and just at that moment a Winnipeg Free Press reporter took our picture and spoke with us about who we were and where we were from.

  That picture ended up in the Monday, Jan. 7, 1946 newspaper under the heading Warm Welcome Given Returning Veterans.

  I am now a 90-year old widow and remember so fondly our joyous meeting at the CPR station. Thank you, Winnipeg Free Press, for catching “our moment in time.”

  And just as you were a part of my life and my husband’s life, I hope that you continue to be a part of many more lives in the future.

  - Vera Manness

• 1961

  1961

  I have fond memories of reading the Free Press throughout my life.

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  I have fond memories of reading the Free Press throughout my life.

  As a child, I remember sprawling out on the living room floor with the paper spread out, especially enjoying the coloured comics.

  I remember how thrilled I was when they featured the numbers in the year 1961, in that you could turn it upside down and it still read as 1961. That was the only year that this would be possible.

  I still use the information from the pages of the paper to add interesting tidbits of stories to conversations.

  Thanks for the memories.

  - Marlene Regier

• The day our Free Press Weekly arrived

  1950 -1962 or so

  As a child on the farm, our connections with The City were quite few and far between. So the day of the week that our Weekly Free Press would arrive by mail was very exciting.

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  As a child on the farm, our connections with The City were quite few and far between. So the day of the week that our Weekly Free Press would arrive by mail was very exciting.

  Our father would bring home the mail and instantly the sections would be pulled apart. Carefully, mom claimed the Home Loving Hearts Page; the comics were snatched up by a younger sibling. I was quick to pick The Pathfinders, I think it was called.

  It was a section where I once sent a letter asking for pen pals, only to get around 25 letters in a short period of time. I then ’fessed up to dad, who wondered about my sudden popularity, how this came to be.

  There was a portion of the paper of interest to our father, whether it was about business or farming I don't remember. But I do remember one thing clearly and that was we had to put the paper back together before the end of day, after our respective choices had been read.

  Interestingly, I still have that habit today. Our daily Free Press is put together in the correct order A - B - C - D and so on, before the day is done.

  Thanks for much good reading.

  - Edith Redekop

• Youngest Free Press paper boy

  1955-1964

  Reading the story Memories of a paper boy has brought back a flood of memories I had long forgotten.

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  Reading the story Memories of a paper boy has brought back a flood of memories I had long forgotten.

  My name is Albert Prokopowich, and I was probably the youngest paper boy the Free Press ever had. My brother, Jim, was probably the second youngest.

  We started delivering the Free Press in the small village of Newdale, Manitoba in September 1955 when I was only five years old and my brother was only seven. We kept our paper route for nine years until our family moved to Winnipeg in August 1964.

  We also delivered the Tribune for a few months before our Free Press route manager found out about it and forced us to give it up.

  Although we never thought of ourselves as poor, money was tight and the $15 or $16 a month we made with our paper route came in handy to buy our first two-wheeled bicycles among other things. We actually gave our paper route money to our mother who used it to buy us clothes and other necessities for the family.

  My brother and I kept only 25 cents or so per week for ourselves. Growing up in a small village where close parental supervision wasn't the norm, and my brother and I frequently invested this hard-earned money in the local pool hall where we would shoot pool for money with adults.

  Needless to say, this early experience with gambling wasn’t the smartest thing we could do with our money. However, today I see this early introduction to financial management as an excellent life learning experience and this probably explains why I am not much of a gambler today. I suppose I should thank the Free Press for making this early education possible.

  Growing up in the 50s and 60s in a small village was certainly much simpler than growing up in a city such as Winnipeg. In addition to making money from our paper route, my brother and I also collected pop and beer bottles along the highway to raise extra cash to support our unusual recreational activities. It’s unfortunate that kids cannot be bothered to pick up beer cans and bottles today for the refund. It didn’t hurt me or my brother to learn at a young age how to manage money that we actually had to work for.

  Although I was a very young paper boy, two of my customers left a lasting impression on me. One of them was a very old man by the name of Mr. L.E. St. John. Mr. St. John was a veteran of the Boer War (1899-1902) in Africa, and he used to marvel me with his wartime recollections. Another customer was the mother of June Sifton, yes, of the same Sifton family who used to own the Free Press.

  Thanks, again, for the memories.

  - Albert Prokopowich

• Plugged in?

  January 1967

  In January 1967 I was transferred from Montreal to Winnipeg. Driving a US route my first encounter with Winnipeg was Confusion Corner. I had to seek directions in order to find Portage Avenue.

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  In January 1967 I was transferred from Montreal to Winnipeg. Driving a US route my first encounter with Winnipeg was Confusion Corner. I had to seek directions in order to find Portage Avenue.

  My first stop that cold January day (-28) was at the Village Inn. Over supper that evening, I struck up a conversation with a Winnipegger. He asked me if I was "plugged in."

  My comment was, "Plugged in? What's that?"

  He asked whether I had a block heater. I'd never heard that term. "Well, if you don't have a block heater your car won't start."

  "Impossible," I replied. "I'm driving a Volkswagen Bug."

  Well the next morning, I could not move my gear stick, nor turn the engine over. My first introduction to Winnipeg's cold and a block heater. In Montreal I'd never had to plug in and the term "block heater" was unheard of.

  GO HABS GO!

  -- Walter Tkach

   

• My Canadian friend

  1960-2013

  I came to Canada from Ireland in May 1960. I chose Winnipeg because I had friends here with whom I could stay.

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  I came to Canada from Ireland in May 1960. I chose Winnipeg because I had friends here with whom I could stay.

  May in Ireland is a time of beauty. Trees are green, flower-filled gardens blaze with colour and gentle breezes carry the scents and sounds of spring.

  This is what I left behind one day in May when, filled with a euphoric sense of adventure, I travelled from Ireland to Montreal and then by train to springtime in Manitoba. No flowers here, just oceans of dead grass stretching away to the horizon with not a tree in sight.

  What a shock.

  Despite the warm welcome of my friends and their efforts to teach me “Canadian Ways,” sure I would never adjust to Canada, I started saving for the fare to return home.

  Fortunately, on a sunny Saturday in June, at a newsstand near Eaton’s, I met you, and through you learned to appreciate Canada.

  Since then, you have been a constant in my life. Every season of the year, we start each day together. Not only do you bring the world to my door, you have faithfully recorded the most important events in my life, the happy and the sad.

  Despite our friendship, we sometimes disagree. Politically, we are miles apart, and there have been times when you have annoyed me so much I have threatened to sever our relationship though I never have.

  Instead, I express my displeasure by strongly worded letters of complaint to the editor. Other than allowing me to vent, these letters do not effect change as most of the time I don’t send them in.

  Early each morning we get together, and over the first coffee of the day, catch up on local, national and worldwide news.

  We follow a well established routine.

  Cryptoquote, crosswords, letters, articles and finally, the news.

  What a lot we have shared. From “peace, man” to assault weapons and the horrific murders of innocent little children.

  I love your recipes, these I faithfully cut out, file, but seldom use.

  You are amazing for your age, still vibrant, fresh and full of energy. I have not fared so well.

  Like an old fishing boat that has sailed through too many storms, I have lost most of my paint, am pretty much rusted out and held together with bailing wire. Due to faults in my navigation system, I am in constant danger of shipwreck, and on several occasions have needed a tow to port.

  As for your future my old friend, I wish you continued success. May you never go completely online, and may future generations as yet unborn, still experience the pleasure of starting each day with the joyful cry of “Paper’s here."

  - Emile Clune

• 

  Yvonne and Marcel Raffard met through the Free Press' Home Loving Hearts section in 1939 and married within four months. ()

  The Free Press brought parents' Loving Hearts together

  1939-1954

  My parents’ love story began in 1939 thanks to the Free Press Weekly Prairie Farmer newspaper, a small newspaper published by the Manitoba Free Press for the Prairie Provinces.

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  My parents’ love story began in 1939 thanks to the Free Press Weekly Prairie Farmer newspaper, a small newspaper published by the Manitoba Free Press for the Prairie Provinces.

  The newspaper’s middle section Home Loving Hearts contained ads from people requesting pen pals across Canada, recipes, ads for patterns of aprons, dresses, pot holders and baby clothes, knitting patterns as well as recipes.

  My Mom, Yvonne Grandmont, a 23-year-old farmer’s daughter from Argyle, Man., working in Winnipeg as a nanny, was sad and lonely after the loss of her fiancé in an accident in 1938. She put an ad in the Home Loving Hearts section in July 1939, requesting a pen pal, with friendship and possible marriage in mind.

  Her ad said something like “Little blue bird who wants to build a nest” and used the pen name Blue Bird.

  My Dad, Marcel Raffard, a 30-year-old farmer from Saint-Hubert Mission, Sask., replied at the end of August. But to reach her, he had to send his letter to the newspaper to be forwarded to my mom.

  On Sept. 10, 1939, only days after their correspondence began, a CBC broadcaster interrupted Smoke Gets in Your Eyes to announce Canada had declared war on Germany.

  My parents’ letters spoke about their families, World War II and the suffering in the Dirty 30s, with dust storms on the open prairie, droughts, no crops, scarcity of money and mortgages against many homesteads.

  They corresponded during September 1939, at least one letter a week. Their first letters began Dear Friend, then by Oct. 1, “My dear friend,” by Oct. 15, “Dearest Marcel/ Yvonne,” by Nov. 6, “Darling.”

  They phoned each other a few times during those short months. Dad was thinking of enlisting because many of his friends had already left. He thought that it would be a chance for him to see a bit of the country. But love was blossoming, and he quickly changed his mind.

  Dad rode seven miles on horseback to the Saint-Hubert Mission Post Office to send his weekly letter or pick up his cherished letter from mom. He had been batching with his older brother on the family homestead, was lonely and anxious to meet his dear pen-pal and her family.

  On Nov. 2, he took the train from Whitewood, SK to Winnipeg, got a hotel room, and then met mom. Mom loved telling stories about her life, and would always smile when telling me how they went shopping that “magical” day, out for supper, then to a movie at the Crescent Movie Theatre on Academy Road.

  She gladly accepted his marriage proposal on Nov. 4, and they married Dec. 27 in the Roman Catholic Church Christ the King in Stonewall.

  The Free Press Weekly Prairie Farmer was instrumental in bringing mom and dad together, first as pen pals, then as a loving couple, husband and wife. They had a beautiful life together, married for 56 years, raising seven children, working together on the farm and enjoying life.

  For many years, my parents kept the tiny ad in a small red box with all the letters of their short pen-pal/ courtship days. Eventually, the ad was lost, but the letters saved, tucked away in a dresser.

  Around 1954, when my siblings and I were young, our parents would occasionally go to Winnipeg, leaving us children alone. So, to entertain ourselves, my older 14-year-old brother Denis, would take out the little red box of their love letters. Our siblings would sit around us on the old double bed, while Denis and I organized the letters by date, with Denis reading dad’s letters, and I reading mom’s letters.

  Of course, all the while we were giggling at the mushy words that we never heard during our parent’s busy life bringing us kids up on the farm!

  We used to love reading the tiny ad signed by Blue Bird. After a while, Denis would carefully return the box to its hiding spot, and our younger siblings (bless their hearts) never said a word of this secret fun we used to have when mom and dad left for the day.

  - Dolores Carrière

• Thanks to Peter Crossley and Julie Dale

  1972+

  Way back in 1972, I had written an article on the origins of the ancient traditions of Ukrainian Christmas.

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  Way back in 1972, I had written an article on the origins of the ancient traditions of Ukrainian Christmas.

  It was more for me rather than anyone else and was later used in a church bulletin. Peter Crossley, then editor of New Leisure Magazine of the Winnipeg Free Press, saw the article at the Mamaj Art Gallery, grabbed it and exclaimed that he needed it right then. I was told he would use it in the paper, but I had no chance to edit it.

  To my great surprise, on that Ukrainian Christmas Eve, there was my article -- the first page of the magazine had a gorgeous colour illustration by Julie Dale, and the third page was my long article!

  The next November, Peter called me to tell me he needed another Ukrainian Christmas article. This went on for about six years -- an article on a different aspect of Ukrainian Christmas traditions. Each was beautifully illustrated by the late Julie Dale.

  I am so grateful to Peter and Julie and the Free Press for their interest and their support. As a result of those articles, I have had many requests for speaking engagements and other articles.

  There are still so many fascinating aspects of Ukrainian Christmas to research and write about.

  -- Orysia Tracz

• 

  Ab Sproul retired in 1969 after working as a pressman at the Free Press for 54 years. ()

  Free Press a big part of her life

  1900-1969

  I was brought up on the Free Press. My dad was born in 1900, and his first job was as a Free Press paper boy.

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  I was brought up on the Free Press. My dad was born in 1900, and his first job was as a Free Press paper boy.

  When he was older, he got a job inside as a pressman. He was a pressman for 54 years.

  I was born in the 20s as were my brother and sister, and it was my dad's work that supported us. Back then, there were few radios, certainly no TVs, cellphones, etc. The local and world news came to us through the Free Press.

  We learned about the start of the Second World War when newsboys ran through the streets calling, "Extra, extra, read all about it."

  I learned to make the newspaper hats the pressmen wore to keep the ink off their hair.

  When my dad retired in 1969, his fellow pressmen made up a special newspaper for him with the headline, "Ab Sproul retires" and presented it to him as a group.

  I'm now in my 80s, and the first thing I do every morning is to get my newspaper out of the mail box.

  I am still the proud possessor of the 1963 copy of the Winnipeg Free Press Club Yearbook.

  Keep up the good work and good luck for the future.

  - Shirley King

• 

  Alex Ritchie and his dog, Skipper, prepare to deliver the Free Press in 1939. ()

  Gold watches run in the family

  1938-1969

  From 1938 to 1942, my Free Press paper route was on Spence Street from Portage Avenue to the river. It was Route #193 with 80 papers.

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  From 1938 to 1942, my Free Press paper route was on Spence Street from Portage Avenue to the river. It was Route #193 with 80 papers.

  The papers were thin. You could get all of them into one paper carrier's bag, but on Saturdays, the papers filled two bags.

  In the 30s, I lived on Simcoe Street, so I passed Gooch's Bicycle and Hobby Shop at 173 Sherbrook St., daily on my way home. They had a really neat new bicycle in the window. I had a really old bicycle and wanted one just like the one in the window!

  Finally, I went in and asked how much it would cost. Mr. Gooch said, “It's $30.”

  "If I give you $2 every Saturday, how long before I can get it?" I asked.

  He said, "You can get it in 15 Saturdays. I'll put it away for you."

  That was a very special day for me when I came home with my fancy new bicycle!

  The highligHt of my paper carrier career finished in Oct. 1942. If you had perfect service (no complaints) you could earn a gold watch. That was 70 years ago, and I still have my watch tucked away. I wind it a little, and it still ticks.

  My wife, Deb, and I had three sons, Grant, Ray and Paul. Each of our sons delivered the Free Press on Spruce Street and part of Valour Road. I am proud to say that they each received either a watch or a new bicycle for perfect service from 1964, 1967 and 1969.

  I continued as a Free Press employee in several positions throughout the company from 1944 to 1990. It was a great company to work for and I enjoyed my whole career there.

  We still take the Free Press and enjoy it daily.

  - Alex Ritchie

   

   

• 

  Alex Ritchie stands atop a very wonky ladder to post the latest war news in 1943 at the old Free Press building on Carlton Street. (Winnipeg Free Press archives)

  My 46 years at the Free Press

  1943-1990

  I did many different tasks during my 46-year career at the Free Press.

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  I did many different tasks during my 46-year career at the Free Press.

  In 1943, I posted war-news bulletins on a huge map on the front wall facing Carlton Street. These were the latest reports on the activity of our troops on the front lines during the Second World War. Large crowds gathered each day to see these latest front-line reports.

  By the way,I was atop a very wonky ladder!

  I also delivered complaints about missing papers via bicycle from 6 p.m. to 8 p.m. each weekday.

  Mr. John Cameron, circulation department manager, got to know me, and in June 1944, after I graduated from Daniel Mac, Mr. Cameron hired me as the Office Junior. This led to my having several positions throughout the company. They included district manager of paper routes. Then after many duties in the circulation department, I was transferred to the Free Press Weekly Prairie Farmer as manager of circulation for 18 years.

  In 1970, I was transferred to the accounting and credit department. From 1973 to 1990, part of my duties included having my "mechanical signature" appear on all employees' cheques. During that time, I got to know many FP employees very well, and this part of my position was most enjoyable to me. My career ended as manager of administration and accounting.

  I signed the last cheques in November 1990 and headed off to my retirement. I enjoyed a total of 46 years and a most interesting career at the Free Press. At the time of writing this, it has been 22 years of interesting retirement time. My wife, Del, and I are keeping well and feel very fortunate and forever thankful.

  - Alex Ritchie

   

   

• Peter Kuch's satire

  1950s - 1970s

  My favourite memory of the Free Press is the political satire.

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  My favourite memory of the Free Press is the political satire.

  I grew up looking at that, the funny pictures of Juba and other Great Manitobans. They forever make me laugh. All by Peter Kuch, long-time editorial cartoonist and art director.

  - Ted Jaworski

• Route 454

  1969-1972

  My memories of the Winnipeg Free Press to back to the 1960s.

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  My memories of the Winnipeg Free Press to back to the 1960s.

  When I first aspired to have a newspaper route, I soon realized I'd have to work my way up. I began with a Star Weekly route, followed a few years later by a Winnipeg Tribune route.

  Eventually, a coveted Free Press route became available: the west side of Lenore Street from Wolseley to Portage Avenue, Route # 454.

  My bundles of newspapers would be waiting for me after school across from Laura Secord School, dropped off by one of the Free Press’ signature dark blue delivery trucks, pick-ups with enclosed fibreglass canopies, driven by our district manager.

  During a subscription drive one year, I had enough new subscriptions to be awarded an electric football game which I still have, with my route number on the side of the box. I remember our two-ring collection books with the tear-off tabs for each two weeks of collection, blue for regular customers, pink for Saturday-only subscribers.

  A few years ago, Winnipeg artist Darryl Jones produced a painting, showing a FP carrier on his appointed rounds. The route he portrayed? My route, #454. A copy of the print hangs proudly in our home and brings back many fond memories.

  - Mark Strople

   

   

• 

  Maria Rogalski and her chocolate soldier, Cornelius O’Sullivan, finally met nearly 50 years after the British soldier shared his chocolate with a little German girl on her birthday. ()

  My chocolate soldier

  1983

  I owe a great debt to The Winnipeg Free Press because it was instrumental in bringing about an incredible story that made my dream come true.

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  I owe a great debt to The Winnipeg Free Press because it was instrumental in bringing about an incredible story that made my dream come true.

  It was August 25, l945, my 12th birthday, just months after the end of World War II. A kindhearted British soldier went out of his way to fulfill my birthday wish.

  Having fled the Russian regime, we were refugees in Germany, living with four other refugee families on a large farm in Schleswig- Holstein, Northern Germany. Our home for our family of four consisted of one room we shared with a pet chicken. It provided us with fresh eggs to round out our meager diet of corn meal porridge eaten hot for breakfast and sliced cold and fried for lunch and supper.

  I’d watched a British soldier eating some chocolate while he waited in his jeep for his officer to return. I was desperate to taste some of that unattainable luxury.

  One of the refugee ladies knew some English and helped me memorize a simple request. On the day of my birthday, I gathered up my courage and with my pet chicken on my arm for moral support, I stepped up to the jeep and solemnly declared, “Today is my birthday, please give me chocolate.”

  With the help of his wristwatch, holding up three of his fingers, he made me understand that he would return. Although nobody in the house believed he would, he went out of his way and brought me some chocolate that afternoon, proving that even amidst the enmity of war, there is room for individual love and kindness.

  Many frightening memories of the war were still fresh in my mind: huddling in cellars during air raids; passing burning villages on our flight from the advancing Red Army; seeing men hanged on crudely made gallows at the side of the road.

  That is why this single chocolate soldier memory stands out for me. We immigrated to Canada five years later, and many years after that, I realized how significant this act of kindness was by a former enemy soldier. I wanted to find him to thank him personally and let him know how much it had meant to me.

  I started my search in l983, entering my short story, Looking For My Chocolate Soldier, in the annual Winnipeg Free Press non-fiction contest. It won first prize and was published.

  Eventually that, and some letter writing, including a letter to her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, resulted in the London newspaper, the Daily Mirror, picking up the story and publishing it with the headline, “Help me trace my chocolate soldier.”

  It was there that the grandchildren of Cornelius O’Sullivan of Beddau, South Wales read the story and exclaimed, “Grandpa, that’s you. That’s got to be you.” He had told them this story many times over the years.

  The incredible had happened. After a 10 year search, almost 50 years after his gift of chocolate, I had found my chocolate soldier.

  Through the generosity of the BBC, I met him and his family to thank him personally, in perfect English this time. Our meeting was broadcast on British television.

  We attended the Remembrance Day Service at the Cardiff Cenotaph and visited Willows High School in Cardiff in the area where he grew up.

  This led to the students of Willows High writing and publishing a book about our story entitled, “My Chocolate Soldier” with all proceeds going to the school library.

  Two years later, on May 8, 1995, the 50th anniversary of the end of World War II, I was present at the book’s launch, held at the Cadbury Chocolate Company in Birmingham, England. It was a Cadbury Chocolate bar that the special soldier had given me. In fact the Cadbury Chocolate Company donated 100 Cadbury chocolate bars for me to give to the students when I went to the book launch.

  To have our paths cross for the second time in our lifetime, half a century later, under such different circumstances, miles away from the place of our original meeting is incredible indeed. I thank God for that. Sadly Cornelius O’Sullivan has since passed away, at age 72.

  For the last 14 years, I have been sharing this amazing story at many Manitoba schools for their Remembrance Day assemblies, encouraging the students to work for peace, accept each other regardless of nationality or colour and to remember to be kind.

  All this happened because the Winnipeg Free Press published my chocolate soldier story. Thank you, Winnipeg Free Press.

  May you continue to publish the news with integrity for another 140 years.

  - Maria Rogalski

• Christmas flight to Tadoule Lake 1975

  1975

  I remember flying home for Christmas from Thompson to Tadoule Lake in 1975 and Winnipeg Free Press reporter Bob Lowery was on the flight with us.

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  I remember flying home for Christmas from Thompson to Tadoule Lake in 1975 and Winnipeg Free Press reporter Bob Lowery was on the flight with us.

  Of course, we did not know who he was as we were just a bunch of kids. He wrote the story and took pictures of my twin sister, my brother and I when we landed.

  It was a memorable flight as the plane was full of students flying home for the holidays and we were very excited, sang Christmas carols and shared our candy canes and mandarin oranges.

  - Jessie Thomas

• 

  A line of traffic finds its way to Morris on Highway 75 on May 5, 1997. (Ken Gigliotti / Winnipeg Free Press)

  Flood of the Century

  1997

  Very few people had the chance to see the 1997 Red River Flood of the Century up close, in all its glory, a massive, slow-creeping, sea of water moving north through our province.

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  Very few people had the chance to see the 1997 Red River Flood of the Century up close, in all its glory, a massive, slow-creeping, sea of water moving north through our province.

  But photographers for the Winnipeg Free Press had full access. I was out with writer Randy Turner, driving in the floodwaters looking for a couple of Lake Winnipeg fishermen who were delivering gas to keep the pumps running at isolated houses.

  We drove until our rented 4x4 pickup truck was completely surrounded by water. Water to the horizon in every direction. It was an eerie, fantastic, oddly calm sight. We were at sea; the road just disappeared in front of us. I thought we had gone as far as we should go, but Randy was on the case of these mysterious boat drivers

  There was a forced evacuation notice so everyone was supposed to be gone -- but the gas delivered by these two experienced fishermen kept the pumps going 24 hours a day.Somehow we found the fishermen and abandoned our truck on this vast sea. I didn't think I would ever see it again. We jumped into their Lake Winnipeg yawl and blasted across the sea at high speed and in God’s hands.

  There was no way to tell what we were going over as the rising Red River completely covered the road beds and fence posts. Then a hard bump against the hull, and the driver yelled, “Road.” We crossed over the low draught of a road bed. Then another bump, and he yelled, “Fence post.” We hit a fence post but just kept going, not slowing down. Someone needed gas, and this was life or death for a home.

  “Bang” and a rooster tail of god only knows what shot up from behind the speed boat. The driver yelled, “Cow.” We’d hit a dead cow submerged in the water.

  Finally rooftops began to show. The dikes were high and the stealth profile of sand bags and water and roof peaks began to take shape. It was like a scene from Mad Max set in water. There were half submerged buildings, farm equipment, floating debris and road signs to nowhere. An empty house, then another.

  Forced evacuation, but wait. Is that someone in the house? This was the reason for the seemingly reckless speed. We saw a shadowy movement, then it disappeared only to pop up again , and we heard a desperate voice: “You got gas?” The boat driver yelled, “Yea, these guys are OK.” We were welcomed because they were hiding out against the law , trying to save their homes. Desperate times, desperate people.

  We went from home to home, witnessing the greatest naval battle ever to be fought on prairie soil.

  - Ken Gigliotti, Free Press photographer 

• Free Press colouring contests were tops

  1936

  I am a senior going on 87 years of age and I sure remember the Free Press arriving at our home.

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  I am a senior going on 87 years of age and I sure remember the Free Press arriving at our home.

  I was a child of about 11 or 12 years of age. At that time, I was attending art classes which were held in the Winnipeg Art Gallery (the old auditorium building). I did not care to go to these classes because they cut into my Saturday favourite activities, such as going down to the Red River catching tadpoles or going to a cowboy movie.

  One Saturday morning, a Free Press photographer came and took some photos of all the children at work. It was printed in your paper around 1936 or 1937. I believe I was in that photo.

  Also a great joy to me was the Saturday edition in which the paper had a special section, I believe it was called The Prairie Farmer Review or something like that. In this section, they printed all sorts of neat stuff for children: games, comics, puzzles, stories and my favourite, colouring contests.

  I won the colouring contests many times and was delighted when I could go to 300 Carlton Street and collect my prize which was most often a colouring book and crayons.

  I still read the Free Press and enjoy it very much. Thank you for letting me tell my story.

  - Patience A. N. White

• 

  Royal Winnipeg Ballet principal dancer Evelyn Hart takes part in an amusing skit with Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra composer-in-residence Patrick Carrabre in 2003. (Ken Gigliotti / Winnipeg Free Press)

  Stunning Evelyn Hart

  1980 - 2003

  One of my favourite memories of working at the Free Press was meeting Evelyn Hart, principal dancer of the Royal Winnipeg Ballet. She is one of the funniest and most comfortable people you would ever want to meet.

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  One of my favourite memories of working at the Free Press was meeting Evelyn Hart, principal dancer of the Royal Winnipeg Ballet. She is one of the funniest and most comfortable people you would ever want to meet.

  I first met her in 1980 when she arrived at Winnipeg Airport after being the first Canadian to win a gold medal at Varna International Ballet Competition in Varna, Bulgaria.

  I once shot a picture of her at a 2003 WSO Concert during an onstage skit to explain the finer points of dance. This was a very funny intro, and she actually puts a tutu on onstage the way a firefighter would put on his turnout pants. When it seemed she had been on stage too long, the MC carried her off, rigid as a board, under his arm. Hilariously funny for the high-brow crowd.

  Once, I was supposed to meet Evelyn at the RWB rehearsal hall. She had been going over a dance with her partner, in a difficult rehearsal that had lasted hours.

  They needed to work out the problems with the choreography before her partner had to leave for the airport.They would not meet again for several months. I was supposed to take a “non dance” portrait of her after the session. I got there early because she was also flying off to somewhere exotic.

  When I saw her in that hall, my heart just sank. She was in sweats, wore no makeup, and had been doing the hard physical work of her art for several hours. I thought, “What am I going to do? This is hopeless.”

  I poked my head in to tell her I was there, her serious expression quickly turned bright red as she remembered I was coming. She said, "I'll see you in 15 minutes.”

  While I waited, I walked around outside the RWB building, thinking it would be impossible to get the good portrait I was after. Exactly 15 minutes later, right on cue, she emerged from the building looking absolutely beautiful, actually stunning. I am sure my jaw had hit the floor. With admiration I thought, “Theatre people, you gotta love them."

  The portrait was quickly taken, and she liked it so much, she used as her holiday card.

  - Ken Gigliotti, Free Press photographer

   

   

• Memories of a paper boy

  1950s

  Who wasn’t a paper boy when they were growing up? On Toronto Street between Sargent and Ellice, I can remember four of us. My brother Dave, who became a Free Press photographer, two friends, who opened their own business and me, now over 70 years old and still reading the Press after 60 plus years.

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  Who wasn’t a paper boy when they were growing up? On Toronto Street between Sargent and Ellice, I can remember four of us. My brother Dave, who became a Free Press photographer, two friends, who opened their own business and me, now over 70 years old and still reading the Press after 60 plus years.

  I started as a carrier when I was 10 years old and continued until I was 15, and I’m sure I was only allowed to be a carrier because Dave, two years older, was a known quantity to the circulation manager at the time.

  My first paper route was on Toronto Street between Ellice, half way to St. Matthews, and up to Portage Avenue on the east side, with only 43 customers and quite close to home.

  In those early days, we had to pick up our papers after school and on Saturday mornings from a Free Press shack behind the Blind Institute on Portage and Sherburn, quite a haul some days, especially in minus 30 degrees.

  Carriers in those days had to be a hardy lot. In winter, it was a toboggan or sleigh. Summer was a bicycle with a steel carrier attached to the handle bars and front axle, quite a ride with a full load of overbalanced papers. Many a carrier went over the handle bars when we hit a hole or curb with our load.

  On the plus side, I believe we learned a lot of life’s lessons in handling money, responsibility and customer service. The money part at times was a tough lesson. Back in the day, we had to do our own collections and over the years, on many occasions, we got stiffed. A customer would just quit the paper or move and as kids we had no way of collecting our hard-earned cash. We paid cash for our papers on the Saturday following collection day, and if we didn’t collect for the papers, it was our hard luck. Circulation managers didn’t take the hit, we did.

  Our collections were made on or after every second Wednesday, and we used a two-ring flip-over book with the customer’s name and address on the top of a yellow or green page with a one inch square perforated tear-off coupon on the bottom. This little coupon with the date on it was the customer’s receipt and proof they paid. I vividly remember having many a discussion with customers saying they had paid, but the tear-off coupon was still in the book: “I didn’t forget to give you the receipt. You weren’t home, and I couldn’t collect.”

  If a number of customers were a bit tardy, your only hope for spending money was the cash-only Saturday paper sales. Boy, those sales got us into many a movie at the Rose or Max Theatre with popcorn and a drink.

  Theatres in the 50’s were a very big thing and the Press would periodically try and increase their circulation by running contests. The carrier motivation was, get a certain number of “new starts” and one would get a movie pass. The carrier in your area that got the most starts got a larger award: a trip to Minneapolis or some other faraway place. We all tried hard and a new customer only had to receive the paper for a month, I believe. So we’d sell our services on the basis of, “Try it. It’s only for a month.”

  Of course, the passes weren’t for just the local movie houses; they were big time, downtown, the Capital or the Met. This type of promotion did result in increased circulation as I remember infringing on other carriers’ streets, especially apartment blocks on either side of Toronto Street resulting in my route increasing to over 70 papers and of course more spending money.

  Sometimes success gets noticed and not always in a positive way. In my case, it was a paper route on Sherburn between Sargent and Ellice of near equal size. We got our first female carrier, who lived one street over on Beverly Street. She was given the vacant Sherburn Street route. After a few months, it was decided that it was too hard for her to carry the papers on her route and walk all the way to and from her home to Sherburn so it was decided to give her my Toronto Street route, and I had to take the Sherburn route. “They were close to the same size so I’d still make nearly the same amount of money,” I should understand because, “she was a girl and I was a guy; ladies come first.”

  The change wasn’t that difficult because by that time the Free Press had changed to a vehicle drop-off system. The circulation managers had trucks, and ours travelled down Sargent Avenue, and we would meet him on the corner of the street and pick up our papers. Actually, he would throw them at you.

  On Saturdays, if we wanted to get done early, we could pick up the papers directly off the belts in the garage of the Press where they loaded the delivery trucks. All we needed was a note from the circulation manager, or he was standing there getting his truck loaded, and it was a done deal.

  In a way it was a big advantage, the bus to the Press was only a nickel and the truck loading staff would only give out bundles of 50 papers. My route by then was again near 70 with my regular Saturday-only customers, but you’d end up with 100 papers. Those of us that did this pickup would tell the truck loaders we only needed 70 or the route amounts, and they’d reply with comments like, “Get lost kid, take the two bundles. We don’t have time to split things up. Can’t you see we’re busy?”

  I made a few other Saturday-only customers on days we’d do a Press pickup. One learns to be a business manager at even 12 or 13 years old, and I only had to sell one extra paper to pay for the bus ride both ways.

  There were big pluses to being a paper boy and having your own hard-earned money. We got to go to the Saturday afternoon show with all the other kids because we finished our deliveries early, and Christmas tips put us over the top. What a thrill, we could buy our family presents with our own money if we saved a little.

  There is a small caveat to me sending this in: Remember it’s Christmas, and remember your paper boy.

  - Don Johnson

• 

  An editorial cartoon by Olaf Reinart, marking the arrival of the Assiniboine Park Zoo's first Siberian tiger. (Olaf Reinart)

  Cartooning at the Free Press

  1959 and 1971

  In 1959 the Assiniboine Park Zoo acquired its first Siberian Tiger, and the citizens of Winnipeg played an important role in making it possible. I don't recall if it was through some form of fundraising.

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  In 1959 the Assiniboine Park Zoo acquired its first Siberian Tiger, and the citizens of Winnipeg played an important role in making it possible. I don't recall if it was through some form of fundraising.

  At the time, I was an art student at the University of Manitoba School of Art and I submitted two cartoons (not at the same time) on the topic to the Winnipeg Free Press, which were published on the editorial page.

  The first one showed then mayor Stephen Juba with the tiger, thanking the people; the second one showed the lion lamenting the fact that he was no longer the star attraction at the zoo.

  In 1971, H.R.H. Princess Margaret, Countess of Snowdon and Anthony Armstrong-Jones, 1st Earl of Snowdon, were in Winnipeg to officially open the new Winnipeg Art Gallery on Memorial Boulevard.

  The province hosted the Royal Couple on a luncheon cruise on M.S. River Rouge to Lower Fort Garry; the art gallery staff, as I recall, and the Women's Volunteer Committee, of which my wife was a member until this year, and spouses, were invited.

  At the luncheon, by sheer coincidence, we found ourselves seated at the same table as Peter Kuch, the editorial cartoonist at the Free Press. We had an interesting discussion on a wide range of topics.

  Wonderful memories.

  - Olaf Reinart

• 'I have a paper to get out'

  1950

  My Dad worked at the Free Press for 50 years. 

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  My Dad worked at the Free Press for 50 years. 

  His loyalty to the paper was most apparent during the 1950 flood. He and my brother had been sandbagging on the Friday night, but the dike had broken.

  Saturday morning, I got up to see my friend on the next street, Bartlett, going by in a canoe. Our street, Maplewood, was still fairly dry. However, many folks were walking up to Osborne with clothes and suitcases (never to be seen again for three months.)

  Not my Dad. He was up, dressed and ready to go to work. My mother said, “Where are you going?”

  My Dad replied, “I have a paper to get out,” and off he went, with my mother muttering, “The furnace is not even turned off.”

  By noon, my Dad walked down Maplewood in hip waders and a stick tapping his way home. Our furnace was off and water surrounding the house, but the paper got out that day.

  - Joann MacMorran 

   

• Business career started with paper route

  1957

  I began as a Free Press paperboy in 1957.

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  I began as a Free Press paperboy in 1957.

  In those days, a Free Press carrier had one side of the street. Tribune carriers had both sides of the street as about 66 per cent of the houses took the Free Press.

  My route was the north side of Ottawa Avenue from Henderson Highway, east. After a year the paper boy on the south side of Ottawa quit, and I added his route, and then I took over a route one street over on Washington.

  I had a helper (employee) to help deliver, but I collected the money and paid him. I had 150 papers and an extra 25 papers on Saturday for Trib customers who bought the Free Press on Saturday.

  When the district manager, Gus, went on holidays, the substitute manager asked why I was picking up papers for two other carriers. Soon they asked me to give up two routes as the policy was one route per carrier.

  Delivering papers was the basis for my business career, teaching me how to deal with people, handle money and deal with credit problems.

  One of my fondest memories was attending a private showing for Free Press carriers of Moby Dick at the Odeon Theatre.

  -- Bill Markusa

• 

  Debbie Wall and her dog, Sage, make a supply run on the Assiniboine River on a snowy day. (Ken Gigliotti/ Winnipeg Free Press)

  A man and his dog -- sort of

  Jan. 22, 2001

  One winter day, I was on the Assiniboine River, trotting behind my dog Sage who was in harness and pulling a sled bearing supplies.

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  One winter day, I was on the Assiniboine River, trotting behind my dog Sage who was in harness and pulling a sled bearing supplies.

  I noticed someone on the river bank who had a large, long camera lens trained on us as we went by. I had forgotten all about it until sometime later, on the morning of Jan. 22, 2001, one of my co-workers called me at home saying, "I'm your biggest fan."

  Not knowing what she was talking about, I picked up that day's Free Press... and there we were.  The picture must have been selected from the archives to accompany an article entitled "Build daily fitness activity into life by hoofing it" and the caption read "A man and his dog use Assiniboine River walking trail to get home from shopping."

  The photographer was identified as Ken Gigliotti.  Needless to say, I wanted a copy, so I called the Free Press saying, "Yes, my name is Debbie Wall, and I'm the man with the dog."

  - Debbie Wall

• 

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  Winnipeg's own Santa Claus

  1950s

  I worked for the Free Press from 1960 to 1995. I was the pressroom superintendant in 1978 when Thompson took us over.

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  I worked for the Free Press from 1960 to 1995. I was the pressroom superintendant in 1978 when Thompson took us over.

  The new company had our boardroom pictures thrown out, and I decided to keep them as keepsakes. They sat in my furnace room till last year when I started clearing things out and found them again.

  One of the pictures that I remember with fondness was of Kris Kringle, a Free Press newspaper street salesman from 1925 till 1960. The company had a pastel picture of him made because he looked so much like Kris Kringle.

  He sold newspapers on Portage Avenue between The Bay and Eaton's. His real name was Christopher Kendall.

  - Sandy Spence

• Our newsroom

  1970s

  After 10 years with The Winnipeg Tribune (I had immigrated from Germany in 1956 to an initial job with a German-language paper here), I arrived in the Free Press newsroom in September, 1970 to be the paper's medical reporter. (I retired as a general assignment reporter on Dec. 31, 1999.)

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  After 10 years with The Winnipeg Tribune (I had immigrated from Germany in 1956 to an initial job with a German-language paper here), I arrived in the Free Press newsroom in September, 1970 to be the paper's medical reporter. (I retired as a general assignment reporter on Dec. 31, 1999.)

  I was given a desk immediately. However, there was a row of chairs along the newsroom windows in 1970 for reporters who did not have desks and typewriters. City Editor Harold Wilson would call on one or the other of the desk-less reporters, hand them a slip of paper bearing assignment information such as "fire at Ellice and Beverley" and give them a taxi slip to get there or send them with a photographer.

  Returning from the assignment, the reporter would use one of the rewrite desk typewriters to do his story. When none of these reporters was there, Wilson would send a copy boy to the pub across the street to fetch one, who then would be addressed by the city editor, "Sorry, old boy -- would you mind, there's a fire at..."

  There were very few female reporters.

  Most reporters' desks had no telephone. There were several telephones on the wall across the room from the windows reporters could use.

  Gordon Sinclair Sr., who hired me, was a kind, quiet-spoken man. I can't remember him ever criticising anyone. Occasionally, however, he praised some members of his staff -- and the highest compliment a reporter could expect from Gordie was for him to say, "That story you did on (such-and-such): Reads rather well." 

  As for attire, by 1970, nothing had changed since 1948 when the picture shown recently in the paper was taken: Reporters were expected to wear neckties. At The Tribune some years earlier, Publisher Ross Munro's rule required reporters to wear neckties as well as jackets "in all areas to which the public has access", i.e. the newsroom. There was no air-conditioning then. We were not always comfortable.

  How times have changed.

  - Manfred Jager

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  Our tribute to the Bombers

  August 30, 1975

  It was the summer of '75. My best gal pal and I were huge Bomber fans and one evening we decided to pen an ode to our favourite team.

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  It was the summer of '75. My best gal pal and I were huge Bomber fans and one evening we decided to pen an ode to our favourite team.

  It was sung to the tune of The Wabash Cannonball and included the name of every member of the team as well as a verse for each of the other teams in the league.

  Names like Ron Lancaster, George Reid, Jimmy Young, the three Forzanis and Garney Henley. On our team, it was Brock and Bonk and Swift and Frank and Beird and Crump.

  We sent it in to the Winnipeg Free Press and lo and behold, the entire things was printed. That meant a lot to two 16-year-old girls. We called ourselves the J section idiots, and we went to all the games with my dad and sat in the cheap seats and made a lot of noise.

  My friend, Cindy Gleason (now Risi) resides in Calgary but has kept the clipping all these years.

  - Laura Hawkins

   

• First Summer Job

  July to August 1977

  In the summer of 1977 when I was a boy of 14, I got my first summer job at the Winnipeg Free Press.

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  In the summer of 1977 when I was a boy of 14, I got my first summer job at the Winnipeg Free Press.

  I was hired by my Scoutmaster, Ted McLennan who was the boss of the mailroom on the second or third floor of 300 Carlton. My job was to watch another kid fill flyers into a stack of newspapers, with great skill and speed, and then pull the stack back and shuffle them so they were all neat and tidy and then put them on a cart to be sent out.

  The mailroom was a tough place full of tough guys and I was pretty nervous most of the time.

  The funniest day was when the power went out and a guy got stuck in the elevator right at lunch time, and he was very hungry. The other guys tied a hotdog to a string and were dangling it above him in the cage.

  We all went into hysterics when we could hear the guy jumping up to get the hotdog and then there would be a huge crash when he landed. He never did get his lunch that day.

  - Mark Brown

• No smoking, Mr. Asper

  We need to look at the photo for a date

  I was sent to Izzy Asper's Wellington Crescent home to photograph a portrait of Mr. Asper, which was in some way connected with the branding of the Asper School of Business.
  

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  I was sent to Izzy Asper's Wellington Crescent home to photograph a portrait of Mr. Asper, which was in some way connected with the branding of the Asper School of Business.
  

   I rang the doorbell and was met by a tall, 50ish well dressed man, wearing a black T-shirt and khakis. It was a very hot day, and I know he had a suit jacket somewhere. I told him who I was, and he introduced himself, kind of sarcastically, as Mr. Asper's personal butler.

  I wasn't in any position to doubt it, but my first impression was that good help was surely hard to find.

  I finally met Mr. Asper, and he was very outgoing and calm, a gracious host. He suggested we start the portrait session indoors. I am pretty sure he caught on to how intimidated I was just being in his presence. He was very patient. But I was getting very frustrated because I just could not get the kind of photo I thought was expected.

  We went outdoors into the beautiful garden where I took a few more pictures. Still, I was very uncomfortable. I was supposed to be making him feel comfortable, and here he was going out of his way to make me comfortable.

  He finally suggested a picture near the fountain. This picture had finally come together. Everything was perfect -- almost. Mr. Asper was a chainsmoker and it was now up to me to ask him to put the cigarette down.

  I think this was the thing that had caused me all the anxiety from the beginning. I explained that the Free Press had a strict no-smoking policy. The butler now was getting a little worried, and I thought I might be getting tossed out soon. The cigarette was put out of sight and the photo taken.

  This would be as close to my version of the story about Josef Karsh taking the cigar out of Churchill’s hand during that famous portrait, except that I was no Karsh. As it turns out the butler wasn't really his butler at all. He was one of the UofM bigwigs and I was interrupting their meeting.

  I will always remember the kindness , calmness and the generosity of Mr. Asper.

  Many years later I shot a candid photo that best captured that larger-than-life person, dealmaker, businessman, father, at a board meeting of shareholders that looked more like a family wedding. This time he had the cigarette.

  - Ken Gigliotti

  
  

• Couldn't have been prouder to be a FreePresser

  1979-80

  One of my first and fondest memory was a photo assignment to go and meet then-premier Howard Pawley.

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  One of my first and fondest memory was a photo assignment to go and meet then-premier Howard Pawley.

  Mr. Pawley was meeting with a Soviet dissident and contemporary of Alexander Solzhenitsyn and survivor of the Soviet gulag. I walked into the premier's office while Mr. Pawley was greeting him.

  I can't remember his name, but the dissident turned and looked at me incredulously wondering why I was there. His interpreter told him in Russian that I was from the Winnipeg Free Press. He stopped and looked at me straight in the eye and said to me in English with a laugh, “Free Press. I like that name.”

  I don't think I could have been more proud to be part of any organization.

  -- Ken Gigliotti, Free Press photographer

• Saturdays at the Freep

  1960s

  My dad worked at the Freep for 41 years. He used to take my sister and I in on the odd Saturday, into the press room where those big, noisy presses worked their magic. It was loud and frightening and I remember it fondly. I loved that old building.  

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  My dad worked at the Freep for 41 years. He used to take my sister and I in on the odd Saturday, into the press room where those big, noisy presses worked their magic. It was loud and frightening and I remember it fondly. I loved that old building.  

  Dad used to make pressman's hats for us out of newspaper sheets. His name was Bill Bolter. 

  My granddad (Edwin "Ted" Bolter) was Victor Sifton’s stableman. He looked after the team of horses Vic Sifton, former editor and publisher of the Free Press, kept in the 1940s and 1950s.

  Karen (Bolter) Hanuschuk

• 

  Paul Williamson, 9, of St. Norbert cools his feet in a welcome puddle Sunday after a 20-mile walkathon to raise funds for the St. Boniface Hospital research fund. (Unknown)

  Photo first point on path leading to Free Press

  May, 16, 1977

  My first memory of the Winnipeg Free Press was May 16, 1977. That was the first time my photo ever appeared in the paper. There I was on the front of the City News section, standing in a puddle, wearing a tank-top and cut-off denim shorts.

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  My first memory of the Winnipeg Free Press was May 16, 1977. That was the first time my photo ever appeared in the paper. There I was on the front of the City News section, standing in a puddle, wearing a tank-top and cut-off denim shorts.

  More than 35 years later I can still vividly remember the Free Press photographer directing me to smile as I held my shoes and socks at my sides. I can also remember that for a few days after the photo ran I was a ‘celebrity’ in our small town.

  The caption below the photo read: Paul Williamson, 9, of St. Norbert cools his feet in a welcome puddle Sunday after a 20-mile walkathon to raise funds for the St. Boniface Hospital research fund.

  Not sure how I even heard about the walkathon, but at the time I was basically a young Forest Gump who lived to walk. I walked everywhere! Somehow I convinced my mom to let me participate and collected pledges from family and friends and even went door to door all over St. Norbert. I received a prize (can’t remember what it was) for being the kid who raised the most money, I think I raised about $30.00.

  My mom drove me to the starting point and I walked the entire 20-mile route, alone. She pulled up in the car a few times to see if I wanted to stop but I kept on walking all the way to the end. There were blisters on my blisters.

  This was my first real experience with the Free Press, but not my last. Later that year I started delivering the Freep, as well as the Winnipeg Tribune, every day after school until I was about 12. I liked the Trib better back then because it wasn’t as heavy and the comics were better.

  In 2007 when I was hired at the Free Press and my photo appeared on the front page with the caption "We’ve got Willy" below my mug shot it was ‘almost’ as exciting as that very first time I appeared in the paper.

  Nowadays when I see a young person doing something good I like to get them in our paper, I know how much it meant to me when that Free Press photographer spotted me and made me a ‘star’ for the day. Despite the blisters on my feet the encouragement shown to me that day by that photographer and everyone who saw the photo had me walking on air.

  -Paul ‘Willy’ Williamson
  Winnipeg Free Press Autos columnist.

If you don’t have access to a computer, you can drop off your stories and photos to the Free Press office at 1355 Mountain Ave. Photos cannot be returned so please submit copies only. Thank you.

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