From a letter written home to Scotland in Jan. 1926, Dad’s own words describe his ship jumping escapade. He was 23.
“After having accepted just what came along in the way of work in Toronto, which consisted of dish-washing, truck driving, waiting on table, and on two occasions playing ‘extra’ theatrical parts, I secured a berth on a Great Lakes steamer. I lived in the ‘glory hole’ for the remainder of that season, during which time I travelled from Niagara Falls via the famous Thousand Islands and Lachine Rapids of the St. Lawrence River to the sea.
At the close of the season, I spent some time and money on a hopeless endeavour to obtain work again in Toronto and finding myself almost penniless and with an American passport which was overdue, I decided that something had to be done immediately – and it was.
I left the bulk of my luggage with a friend and selecting only a kit bag packed with necessary equipment, I set out to break the immigration laws of the United States of America. Entering into the spirit of the thing I was doing, I cast all my cares to the very winds that I faced as I took to the road, and I assumed some of the careless confidence of the vagabond.
Later I boarded a ship on the Canadian side and asked the mate if I might work my way to Montreal. He agreed, and that night after dark, at Rochester on the American side, I contrived to help a number of deck hands in the task of wheeling a truckload of freight ashore to the customs house. My kit bag was right in the middle of that freight!! While we were unloading at the customs shed, I threw my kit bag with all my might and it landed in a clump of bushes. To avoid suspicion, I remained until the truck was empty and then, unnoticed in the hustle and noise, I dissolved into the kindly blackness of the night. It was important that I should travel as far inland that night as possible so I invested seven cents in a street car ride and when I reached the other end of the city I commenced walking. I walked all that night with the exception of two hours when I tried to sleep in a rat-infested grain car.
“After having accepted just what came along in the way of work in Toronto, which consisted of dish-washing, truck driving, waiting on table, and on two occasions playing ‘extra’ theatrical parts, I secured a berth on a Great Lakes steamer. I lived in the ‘glory hole’ for the remainder of that season, during which time I travelled from Niagara Falls via the famous Thousand Islands and Lachine Rapids of the St. Lawrence River to the sea.
At the close of the season, I spent some time and money on a hopeless endeavour to obtain work again in Toronto and finding myself almost penniless and with an American passport which was overdue, I decided that something had to be done immediately – and it was.
I left the bulk of my luggage with a friend and selecting only a kit bag packed with necessary equipment, I set out to break the immigration laws of the United States of America. Entering into the spirit of the thing I was doing, I cast all my cares to the very winds that I faced as I took to the road, and I assumed some of the careless confidence of the vagabond.
Later I boarded a ship on the Canadian side and asked the mate if I might work my way to Montreal. He agreed, and that night after dark, at Rochester on the American side, I contrived to help a number of deck hands in the task of wheeling a truckload of freight ashore to the customs house. My kit bag was right in the middle of that freight!! While we were unloading at the customs shed, I threw my kit bag with all my might and it landed in a clump of bushes. To avoid suspicion, I remained until the truck was empty and then, unnoticed in the hustle and noise, I dissolved into the kindly blackness of the night. It was important that I should travel as far inland that night as possible so I invested seven cents in a street car ride and when I reached the other end of the city I commenced walking. I walked all that night with the exception of two hours when I tried to sleep in a rat-infested grain car.
I look forward to reading more of Arnold's extraordinary adventures -- but even more so, to re-tellings of those through the writings of his daughter, Lesley.
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