In my lifetime I have been fortunate to have had many job experiences in many parts of Canada. Add to this the many organizations that I have been privileged to be a member, throw in some travel and you have a formula to meet a lot of people. Some good. Some bad. Some black. Some white. You get the picture. The common thread was they were all characters once you took the time to know them, and I learned something from each one.

Take Nick my barber. He had a little shop not far from United College, where I went to school in the mid-fifties. I roomed not far from there and I always walked to school. Whether it was 7 in the morning or 7 at night, Nick was in his little shop. When he wasn’t cutting hair, he was looking out the window at Life's passing parade. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and clippers in the other - ready for conversation or work. Your choice. If you voted left, he was your man. If you voted right, no bigger ally could be found. Nick just wanted to clip you. If you couldn’t afford a haircut for that important date, so what? Go and have a good time, pay me when you can. His one passion was hockey. To be precise, he was a dyed-in-the-wool Toronto Maple Leaf fan.

Nick was also an Interlake farm boy. He had two older sisters who worked as hard as their parents on the farm. His parents had come from Eastern Europe as children before the Great War. Their parents, Nick’s grandparents, were tired of endless games the Czars, Kings and Emperors played - starting a war or inventing some intrigue to claim territory. In Canada they were free. The language and customs presented a bit of a problem, but if you were prepared to work, your belly would be full at night. Throw in a little homemade schnapps on Saturday night and the world would unfold as it should.

As a boy growing up he would borrow his father’s crystal radio set and listen to the hockey games. He desperately wanted a Toronto Maple Leaf sweater but his parents simply could not afford such a luxury. His father said, “I will let you have the team of horses when I am not using them. There is a stand of Poplar trees not far from the road. You can cut cord wood and deliver it to the Red & White store.” The owner of the store would accumulate upwards of 100 cords of firewood and then have the C.P.R. spot a car for transportation of the wood to a fuel dealer in Winnipeg.

It would take 10 cords to buy the sweater, but Nick was determined. Every chance he got he would cut the green poplar with a Swede saw and then haul the wood one cord at a time to the Red & White store. As Spring was approaching, he knew he was not going to cut and haul enough wood to buy the coveted sweater. His sisters, seeing his plight, came to help and he got his Leaf sweater later that Spring. He wore it every day until it became threadbare.

Nick was now a young man. He was restless. Farming had disciplined him to hard work but he wanted more than farming. So instead of running away to join the circus, he got a job with the Railroad. The Bridge and Building Department to be exact. The B & B gang was to be his new home and they travelled all over Manitoba. They were a rough and tumble bunch, Nick recalls, but good guys. Necessity forced Nick to cut his fellow workers’ hair. He liked it and he was reasonably good at it. Eventually he would make a permanent career change and start up a little shop in Winnipeg.

Nick has long gone to his final reward. But his message of hard work and determination was an inspiration to me my whole life.

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Ken Kristjanson

December 2011