Big trucks were another life-long passion of mine along with heavy equipment and cars of course.
I had to settle for the class 3 license which enabled me to drive any heavy trucks other than semis which required a class 1.
To obtain a class one I had to be 21 in those days, but I eagerly looked forward to being trained on any large trucks.
The school was located on an abandoned W.W.II air base in Delta that featured runways and the roads from an old town site which made it perfect for training purposes.
The school offered truck driving, motorcycle and police driving courses and had quite a fleet of vehicles.
The two week course covered 8 hours per day, plus classroom training four hours in the evening for the air brake course.
I enjoyed every minute of it and obtained valuable insight from the instructors who were former long haul drivers and were good natured , patient teachers.
I had hoped to learn on this veteran which was my favourite truck type, but it had recently been retired and replaced by a pair of new Hayes Clippers similar to the photo. One was a flat deck, the other a tractor for class 1 training.
Both featured the screaming Detroit diesels that were ear split tingly loud, but great fun for a youth my age to operate. They also had a very peppy feel compared to other diesels.
The tractor came equipped with the 5&4 which I had to master and spent a whole day on.
The 20 forward speeds were common in the old low powered trucks, but were tricky to operate with two shifters to move at once and not forget which gear I was in.
Luckily for truck drivers these transmissions were nearing obscurity even when I was learning their operation. Also nearing obscurity was the lack of power steering on both trucks giving us a good workout when slowly maneuvering to park etc.
One afternoon as we were driving through Vancouver I was informed my road test had begun and after about half an hour I was told I was a born driver and had a feel for the big trucks.
Feeling very flattered I received my certificate and was ready to go out and find a job.
I began my job hunting by visiting the larger trucking companies and several major breweries and lumber companies in Vancouver.
I was soon against a brick wall on learning most employers would not hire drivers under age 25 unless married for insurance rules.
I had to temporarily shelve this idea and look for something to do in the mean time.
Phil was now working at Ralph's Auto Supply near East 2nd and Main Street which was an auto wrecking yard.
He once again provided a good lead telling me they were hiring yard men.
I went down there and was interviewed by Jerry, a most disagreeable character who asked me two questions: " Do you have your own tools?" I did. And "Do you know your way around cars?" Again I felt qualified.
Phil left the place just before I began to work at a fabrication shop in Richmond.
I went to work in the early winter rainy and cold yard dismantling vehicles and sorting parts such as rear axles with the use of a Colchester crane. I enjoyed that aspect of the job as well as moving cars around with a big Bull moose forklift. I was also sent out on deliveries in the Ford F350 flat deck which was my first commercial driving experience.
Dave "Muggy" Muggleston was another friend also working there who carpooled to work with me.
I was there about two weeks when Jerry called me into the office to say I was let go for being too slow.
I remember not being too disappointed and wasn't unhappy to leave there.
I was collecting unemployment insurance while searching for another position when a family emergency came up.
My sister-in-law's Dad had a terminal brain tumour and as she wanted to fly out to Ottawa to be with him, my brother asked if I'd come over to Victoria where they lived to look after my active 2 year old niece, Sara for a few weeks.
Being eager to be of help I loaded my old poodle, Nipper into my Galaxy and took off for the Island.
Back home my Mum had the family home up for sale as the maintenance and taxes were becoming a concern and she felt a condominium would be easier for her to manage.
Her real estate agent's husband owned a busy electronics importing business in Vancouver and was in need of a warehouseman/driver.
Mum phoned over to tell me this news and as my sister-in-law Peggy was due home in a few days as her Dad had sadly died of his illness I returned home to apply for the position.
I went down to 196 West 6'th the following Monday and was hired immediately by Frank Weston, the operations manager.
There were quite a number of people employed within this fairly small facility who soon became like an extended family to me.
Although the pay was low even by what I was used to earning, the conditions and treatment I received was very good and ranks among the best places I have yet to work.
Jim Forsyth was the shipper/receiver and, in his late fifties was like an uncle to me.
A RAF veteran radio operator of the war, he regaled me with endless exploits of his war contributions.
His hobby as a ham radio operator kept his Morse coding skills up and he kept an elaborate radio with tall radio tower in his yard which I saw on visits to his home.
He was also a raging sex maniac and didn't set me a very good example of how to deal with women as he fondled and groped his way through the half dozen ladies on staff.
These ladies worked in the office and some in the warehouse with us where they blister packed the small components prior to shipping to businesses in Vancouver and across Canada.
This was a cosmopolitan place with two ladies from Fiji, one from Singapore a technician from France and Frank from Australia.
Most of the ladies were in their early thirties and would tease and flirt with me and teach me swear words in Hindi and Cantonese.
They would laugh until tears rolled down their cheeks when I responded, parrot-like to the requests to repeat phrases I had been taught.
The Fijian ladies lived in Richmond and after my Mum bought her condo out there I often drove them to and from work.
They re paid me by often bringing home made delicacies from home which I enjoyed sampling.
Another warehouseman named Tom Kennedy worked closely with me.
We had many laughs on the job site through the nearly two years I worked there.
My job mainly involved driving to deliver the products and pick up shipments from the airport and post office using the CEO, Keith's new '76 Chevelle station wagon.
The car was very smooth driving and had air conditioning, making my work even more pleasant.
Each morning I had the assignment of going about taking lunch and snack orders from everyone in the place, then walking up the street to a small convenience store run by a little jolly German fellow and his wife.They had very fresh baking and sandwiches on hand that were legendary in the area.
John, the owner on filling my order always said "And take sumpting for you Johnny!" I was given my choice of a kaiser bunwich or pastry.
After returning with my large bag of food for my co workers I loaded up the boxes to be delivered and checked with "Ronny"(veronica) in the office for other instructions before grabbing my lunch and heading out.
My route covered most of the Lower Mainland, but I never seemed rushed and had plenty of time to carry out my tasks before finding somewhere nice to park and have lunch.
I always had everything accomplished in time to return to "base" in time for the afternoon coffee break.
A few months after I started, Keith turned in the Chevelle for a new Datsun pickup for my use and got himself a cool Pontiac Grand Prix which I used on occasion.
The little truck was great for the job and was fun to run around in.
Another duty in the warehouse involved the use of an ancient printing press to make up the cards that the components were blister packaged to.
The press was malfunctioning and not picking up the printed cards to drop in the box once done.
I had to manually place the card before the press came down, then quickly reach in and remove it.
I got out of sync once and CRUNCH!! went my right hand.
Jim was nearby and heard it and rushed over to examine my injury. His face paled on seeing the ink and blood covering my hand and hurried me to the bathroom to rinse it off and then produced a bottle of Scotch I was forced to drink from.
I was driven by Tom on a hair-raising ride to VGH where I was attended to and kept overnight due to the over crowded conditions even in 1976!
I had pins put into my little finger and a cast for the rest in a late night operation and was picked up the next morning by Mum and taken home where I was off work a month before going to the WCB facility in Vancouver for rehab each morning and working in the afternoons for another month.
The hand healed nicely, but to this day I can't make a tight fist.
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