"Being a Teen in Oliver Town"

by Charlie Howard

It was sometime in the Spring of 1950 when my Mom, Dad, 5 year old bro and 9 year old self left the goats, catfish and verdancy of Vancouver Island in an old van, make and year unknown. Miraculously, no one died of carbon monoxide poisoning en route. Within the space of several days, the lush green landscape of the island was replaced by dry grass, sagebrush, and a cactus in the foot if you were unwary.

The town itself where, eventually, my Dad bought and added an addition or two to the existing telephone office building seemed quiet and unexceptional… This, until the renovated premise became home and included a Paint Shop, a Bottle Depot, and a Second-hand Store. Soon, all manner of interesting individuals entered into my life and virtually my living quarters. Trust me, there was no shortage of beer drinking folk back in the day and as ours was the only Bottle Depot in town, I got to know some of them very well; 5 or 6 cases a month well.

We weren’t on a first name basis, as calling an adult by their first name would have resulted in a stern look and much in the way of physical bristling. I must say, that these folk were extremely good natured and forgiving as they maneuvered their way around 5 to 10 boys playing marbles at the entrance to the Second-hand Store. They knew full well that pre-teen boys played for keeps as reputations and, sometimes enemies, were made with a series of brilliant shots. Marbles represented wealth, the more marbles, the greater the prestige. Marbles, to rascals like myself were also used as ammunition for home-made sling shots that were used to annoy birds that frequented the beautiful Okanagan River which coiled through the lower part of the valley only several hundred yards east of Oliver’s main drag. The river, in stark contrast to much of the dry country it snaked through, was bordered by thick foliage which provided excellent cover for hunter and thankfully, prey, as few marbles met their mark, be it bird or boy.

Quarry of a different kind, fish, were easily caught by boys with hook, line, float and sinker. Easily caught, but with the exception of the odd bass, inedible. We, young guys didn’t care as the inedible fish, carp, suckers, and squawfish frequently were huge in size and fight and when finally landed, released to fight another day. No scaling and gutting required! What kid wants to do that? Sometimes, parents in tow, we boys would enjoy rock-hopping at McIntyre Creek while catching small brook trout which we did clean and very much enjoy thanks to Mom’s home-cooking. Adding to the excitement, was that the area teemed with rattlesnakes, one of which became horribly apparent to me while I was rock-hopping. This particular snake was coiled upon the rock that I was about to land on. Terror stricken, I managed to arch my body sideways and land hard on the rocks at the foot of the rattler. Dad, following closely in my stead, dispatched the menacing critter with a large rock before it had time to even flick its tongue at me.  This, one of my many encounters with these scary reptiles was certainly the most heart stopping. My buddies simply smirked when I told them of it. Clearly, no big deal!

Inevitably, hunting displaced fishing as the foremost passion and the four of us, Mom, Dad, bro and myself would pile into our ’53 Chev truck and head into the hills. Yep, it was four to a seat and not a seatbelt in sight. That’s just the way it was in those days and no one gave it a thought. And, yeah, even though we always packed a rifle and a shotgun with us, these outings in the main we designed to get us into the hills surrounding Oliver so as to enjoy their tranquility and beauty. Though we’d periodically spot the odd grouse or deer, while traipsing through the bush, very rarely would we fire a shot as they were long gone before the opportunity arose.

Simply put, we were too noisy. Periodically, we’d pick off a ‘Blue’ or two, while riding home. This, if we were lucky! No worries. Dad, an excellent hunter, would have the larder filled before season’s end and we’d eat venison the entire winter. Beef? We almost forgot what it tasted like.

And beef? Well, yes, there were a few guys who had a beef with me and my “Townie” buddies. To this day, some 75 plus years later, when confronted with the question, “What do you remember most when you recall those days of old?” Invariably, the response is, “Running!” Yes, whether a result of teasing (in those days bullying was called teasing), and chasing the weak, or madly trying to escape the clutches of the strong, we were pretty much always running. Why did we indulge ourselves in this ridiculous sometimes hurtful manner? Beats me, we were kids!

With the onset of puberty, marbles were relegated to the back burner and ultimately oblivion as High School, serious sports and yes, girls, occupied our attention. Looking cool took precedence over dunking one another in Oliver’s community swimming pool where the majority of us had learned to swim. This much loved venue of our youth was callously abandoned for the Okanagan River and Carter’s Crater where we, not the life guards called the shots. Incredibly, against all odds, not a one of us drowned. Sadly, at summer’s end, fishing, swimming, and baseball were lost to us and, to the great relief of our parents, school beckoned.

Fortunately for us, Oliver’s Elementary and Secondary schools, were staffed with capable and caring teachers. It was the subjects that were at fault. Sure, PE, Band, Music, and Industrial Arts were fun but Physics, Chemistry and Math? Like, take the equation 3x= 9. Who cares that 3x =9? What I and many of my peers who dropped out of Math, (and ultimately school) wanted to know is, “Who or what is x?” Come on! Sports, band, music, art and drama, were fun to partake in and were highly acclaimed year after year. Several of us, whether due to parents moving on, poverty, or just plain boredom never got to experience that acclaim. Having failed at least one grade, they determined that school wasn’t for them but all of us, without exception. enjoyed fulfilling lives thereafter. A couple of us, defying all odds and expectations, managed not only to graduate from good old SOHS but miraculously attained University degrees. Thankfully, luck was on our side as without exception we, “Townie” buddies have all enjoyed rewarding careers, close family ties and a goodly number of grandchildren. And we of the begrudgingly, “Silent Generation”, have enough marbles to know that we got lucky and should we be queried, would undoubtedly respond, with a politely considered, yet emphatic, “Yes, Oliver was and always will be home in our hearts!”