On Monday, when I learned that Jimmy Ginakes had died unexpectedly from a heart attack while on vacation in Greece, my mind was reeling. I've spent a lot of time thinking about Jimmy since then, and have realized what a profound impact he had on our city.
In the summer of 1988 my dad, Dave, called me on a Sunday afternoon and told me to meet him that evening at the Pony Corral restaurant in the Fort Richmond Plaza. Members of the Manitoba Street Rod Association were meeting there for a car show. The show was so close to my apartment that I could have walked over, but I didn't, I polished up my shiny gold 1986 Pontiac Fiero, drove three blocks over to the Pony and rolled in as proud as a peacock.
My dad and his buddies were already there, and we walked around the lot together checking out the 30 or 40 cars on display. The father-and-son ritual I shared with my dad always included a cheeseburger, and we soon found ourselves inside the restaurant. Before long Jimmy showed up at our table and shook my father's hand. They were old friends. Jimmy was everybody's friend, and from that day on he was my friend too.
The Pony was so close to home, and the food was so good, that there were days when I would eat breakfast, lunch and dinner there. Jimmy always made sure my plate was full. He also always commented on all the different cars I was driving. The truth was that I was an auto detailer and they were my customers' cars. In the beginning, part of me wanted to pretend the cars were mine, but although he never let on, I'm reasonably sure Jimmy had already pegged me as a mutt from St. Norbert. He was curious where all the nice cars I drove came from. Once I explained what the deal was, Jimmy was always interested in my business, and sent me more than a few detailing jobs. Jimmy always had time for me, and in short order I also became friends with his son, Peter, who's the same age as me. Over the years, as the Sunday night car shows continued to grow, so did our friendship. Jimmy always had a compliment and a smile for me whenever we met. "Keep polishing those cars, kid," he'd say with a grin. "That's why you have those big muscles."
Cars have since become not only my hobby, but my passion, my career and my lifeblood. Jimmy shared that passion for cars, and was always right there, telling me what a good job I was doing, encouraging me to keep plowing along, "Stick with the cars and you're gonna' make it big one day kid," he'd say to me. "You got what it takes."
For a number of years I've been the official host of Sunday night cruise, first at the Pembina Highway Pony, and now at the Grant Park Pony Corral. If you're a regular reader, you already know that there is no place I'd rather be on a summer Sunday night in Winnipeg than right there in the middle of that parking lot talking cars with my friends.
A couple of weeks ago, when I pulled into the parking lot at the Pony behind the wheel of Jimmy's beautiful white 1976 Cadillac Eldorado convertible, the car show was already starting to heat up. I was his driver for the night, and Jimmy was waiting for me in the restaurant, anxious to head over to the Lieutenant Governor's residence for a Safe Cruise parade that the Shriners had set up. I was polishing his Cadillac when he walked up, dressed to the nines like he always was, and said, "Hey, Willy the kid, the car looks great." Then he told a few of my buddies that were standing around that the reason why I had such big muscles was that I had polished every car in town. He made me blush like a kid. The truth was, even at 74, Jimmy's arms were bigger than mine.
As we participated in the parade, Jimmy smiled and waved at the people on the sidewalk, and he also took me for a stroll down memory lane, offering a rolling commentary on the city he knew and loved. He told me hilarious stories of the old days and the Town and Country nightclub, like the time when Frank Sinatra, Jr. figured he only had to play one set a night. "We convinced him in a hurry," he said with a wink. I'd heard a few of the stories before, but I wasn't about to interrupt; they were the kind of stories that I could hear over and over again. Jimmy told me that he hated when people talked bad about Winnipeg. "If you work hard, you can make a really good living for yourself in this city, it's a good place to live, and there are a lot of nice people here."
Then he looked at me and smiled, and said, "You made a good life for yourself, nobody handed you nothing. You're like me; I used to ride a donkey, and now I drive a Cadillac. You're still a young guy, you started out washing a few cars, and look at you now, you've got a beautiful wife and daughter, a nice home, a good job and a new Cadillac -- what more does a guy need? Just enjoy your life and have a good time."
Later that night Jimmy pulled out a packet of photos and showed me the pictures of his beautiful house in Greece. Then, like he had so many times before, he invited me to come and visit him there one day. "My place is your place," he told me. "You could use a vacation. you wouldn't believe it; it's like heaven there."
Sometimes people ask me why I like heading over to the Pony Corral for the Sunday night or Wednesday night cruises so much, and I always answer that as much as I love all the beautiful cars, it's all the great people that show up each week that keep me coming back. Build it and they will come. Jimmy not only built it, but he made sure folks kept coming back. You can't play baseball without a diamond, and the field of dreams that laid the foundation for Winnipeg's legendary reputation as the cruising capital of Canada was planted by Jimmy Ginakes on the parking lot of the Pony Corral restaurant on Pembina Highway back in 1988.
We all need to thank him for that this weekend by paying our respects at both the Cruz In Downtown car show and the Grant Park Sunday night cruise. Jimmy would have liked that.
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