The Photograph in Rigolo's Pub
I'M MAKING A NOTE here, Marlais, to not forget to tell you about a photograph in Rigolo's Pub.
Living on the little savings I had from wages paid by my uncle, which Cornelia had kept in her combination-lock safe at the bakery, and rent from my Robie Street house, I'd looked for employment all winter of 1948 -49. During that time I twice changed rooms in the Evangeline Hotel, each time downward in rent a few dollars a week. The Evangeline was quiet, and the manager, desk clerks and bellmen were friendly and pretty much left me alone. But the cleaning ladies, Mrs. Tompkins and Mrs. Delft, seemed to run the place. For instance, they kept no formal schedule, and my being blunt with them, that I didn't like sitting in the lobby at all hours, waiting for them to attend to my room, hardly put me better in their favor.
I applied for all sorts of work, and finally, in late June of 1949, I was hired on as a "detritus gaffer," as it was officially categorized on the payroll of Harbor Associates, which was the principal custodian of Halifax Harbor and subcontracted out specialty jobs such as detritus gaffing. I was now part of a crew made up of two women, Evie Michaels and Hermione Rexroth, and three men other than me, Tom Blackwell, Sam Kitchen and Sebastian Firth. We cleaned up around Queen's Wharf and Smith Wharf, along all the beachfronts on both the Halifax and Dartmouth sides, the whole coastline all the way out to Pennant Point. Our main task was to maneuver around in lifeboat-sized outboards, or lean from tugboat railings, gaffing in flotsam and jetsam in order to keep the lanes clear for the Halifax-Dartmouth commuter ferries, fishing trawlers and behemoth freighters. And Marlais, you can hardly believe everything that finds its way into the harbor, and I mean everything, from picture frames to lampshades to shoes. One time a crate full of brooms, another time a shipment of exotic potted plants.
We were required to itemize everything we hauled in. But the time Evie Michaels and I gathered up a set of the Encyclopaedia Brittanica—individual volumes bobbing out there under the Angus L. Macdonald Bridge — Evie said, "Say, Wyatt, you know what? My family doesn't own a complete set like this. So if you don't mind, I'm not going to write these up. I'd like to dry them out and hope they're still readable. My kids could really use them for homework."
All manner of death and near death, too. For instance, we often found waterlogged gulls, and we had a sea duck choked on a plastic necklace, a goner. Then there was a pet dachshund in a wooden crate with breathing holes. When we approached, we heard the dog barking and whimpering, so we knew it was okay. Sorry to say, we've had one suicide, too, floating face-down near the mouth of the harbor. Fishing line had twisted his fishing pole around his leg like a splint. That sight was hard to take. Again that day Evie had partnered with me. We held the poor fellow against the hull of our boat with gaffing hooks, used the walkie-talkie, and waited there until the harbor police took over. We knew it was a suicide because next morning the article in the Mail said he — his name was Russell Leminster — had left a note to that effect. "Who knows," Evie said, "what goes through someone's mind, eh? Maybe he felt a sense of order was important, so he went fishing first. Then came the next thing."
We each were issued a one-piece dark blue uniform with an accordion waist. Also dark blue caps with Harbor Assoc. stitched in cursive across the front. We were given galoshes, a rain slicker, thick sweater, insulated vest, five pairs of woolen socks and two pairs of waterproof gloves, and if you lost an item of clothing, Harbor Associates replaced it but docked the price from your next paycheck, no exceptions. I admit that sometimes I wore one of the pairs of socks or galoshes or a sweater outside of work, as part of my day-to-day wardrobe.
I don't know why I just used the past-tense "wore" when I should've used "wear," because I'm about to enter my eighteenth year as a detritus gaffer. In fact, along with Hermione and Tom, I'm a senior gaffer and have received an increase in salary — beginning at $18 per week — every year, plus there's the Christmas bonus. Philosophically speaking, in 1949 when I first landed the gaffing job, I remember feeling that I'd come up in the world from being in Rockhead Prison, but I'd come down in the world from building sleds and toboggans.
Considering what I do for a living, I realize it's a pretty awful pun to say that motion pictures are the one thing that buoys up my spirits. Nonetheless it's true. I trust that your mother told you that for fifteen years now, I've put $20 a month into a Halifax bank account under your name. But aside from that, motion pictures are my one sizable expense. With rare exceptions, I take supper at home, and I'm provided breakfast and lunch by Harbor Associates, except on Saturday and Sunday, but I seldom work weekends anyway.
From my first day back in Halifax, I wondered if Cornelia Tell would ever take up her own invitation to go to the pictures with me. And for four years, though I hadn't seen her, we stayed in touch. Letters and the occasional telephone conversation. My letters were all written on hotel stationery. She did visit Halifax a number of times, but did not telephone. Her choice, and her own business. But she'd always write and tell me which movie she'd seen, and then I'd go see it, too. Then I'd write her a letter and ask her what she thought of The Return of Monte Cristo or A Notorious Gentleman or Holiday in Mexico, which starred Walter Pidgeon and had Xavier Cugat and his orchestra in it. Or The Strange Woman, with my favorite actress of all time, Hedy Lamarr, who I thought was the second most beautiful woman in the world next to Tilda. All of those movies played at the Casino Theatre. I'd ask Cornelia's opinion of Nobody Lives Forever and The Show-Off. And I remember a sign out front of the Capital Theatre for Undercurrent, starring Robert Taylor and Katharine Hepburn (who grated on my nerves), that read NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN. The Shocking Miss Pilgrim with Betty Grable, Notorious with Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant, No Leave, No Love with Van Johnson. Believe me, Marlais, when I say that Cornelia Tell was generous with opinions about movies, pages and pages worth, on everything from A to Z.
Cornelia never once apologized for not contacting me on her visits to Halifax, and I thought, Well, when she's ready she will contact me, that's just the way she is. Finally, on the evening of January 8, 1953, she telephoned my room at my most recent hotel — the Glendale, on Hollis Street — and said, "I was thinking how about tomorrow, since it's a Friday and I could get weekend rates?" And so I met her at the Halifax bus station, her bus roughly ten minutes late.
I carried her small suitcase to the Dresden Arms Hotel, at 103 Dresden Street, where I'd arranged a room for her. We had supper at Halloran's restaurant on Sackville Street, and she caught me up on this and that news from Middle Economy. For whatever reason, Marlais, she did not mention you or Tilda at dinner. From ice water to dessert, it was as if we'd read each other's minds, that certain subjects should wait until later in the evening, when we could sit for tea back at her hotel. Toward the end of our meal, she reached into her handbag and took out a piece of paper on which she'd written the schedule of pictures then playing in town.
"Now, my preference would be 49th Parallel, a war movie," she said. "It originally came out in 1941 in the U.S., but for some reason it's only just got to Nova Scotia. Movies keep the war with us, huh?"