An unforgettable haircut by my dad At a time when many people are sporting interesting haircuts, I thought I’d share my father’s story of his first job in British Columbia. In 1951, we had just bought a farm in Abbotsford. After clearing the land and building a little house on it, I looked for a job. I walked everywhere, stopping at every sawmill and factory along the Fraser River and Burrard Inlet. When I asked if they were hiring, they would tell me, “Yeah, yeah,” take my name down, and say they’d call me if they needed a man. I walked around for three days but couldn’t find a job. Finally I went to the government unemployment office. They said, “Oh yeah, we have a job for you. It’s just a little bit out of town.” Well, I figured, I live a little bit out of town, so it couldn’t be farther than Mission. “OK,” I said. I didn’t ask where it was. They just gave me a train ticket and told me to bring a pillow and a blanket. I’d been staying with friends in Vancouver for a couple of nights, who loaned me the pillow and blanket that I needed. At 8 p.m., the train left the main railroad station in downtown Vancouver (now Waterfront Station). When we passed Mission, I was kind of concerned. This was far out of town. I asked the conductor, “I am going to Donald, B.C. Where is that? They told me at the unemployment office, it was a little bit out of town.” “Oh,” he said, “you lay down and sleep. We’ll be there tomorrow! It’s close to the Alberta border.” “No!” I said. I had no money, nothing, so I had to continue travelling. In Donald, there were about thirty men laying railroad tracks for a new line for the Canadian Pacific Railway. When I noticed that the foreman was Ukrainian, I spoke to him in his own language. He asked, “Where do you come from?” I said I lived in Abbotsford. He said, “Oh, I have a brother in Abbotsford. He’s a blacksmith.” “He sharpened a tool for me just the other day!” I had pulled out a metal bar from a scrap car that I got him to sharpen. I used it to make holes in the ground that I then placed stakes in to support green bean plants. I planted about a half acre (.2 ha) of the beans that would grow up to six feet (two meters) tall. The foreman was overjoyed that I had met his brother, and became my friend. Then I told him my story. He said, “You signed up for three months. You can’t go back for three months.” I said, “That’s terrible!” “Well, they should have told you that!” “They didn’t say anything! They just said it was a little bit out of town! And I wasn’t curious, I was just happy to have a job!” I was stuck. I sent a letter home explaining where I was. There was no telephone where we lived in boxcars. A couple of days later, I noticed that all the men had long hair. There was no barber there, and they looked terrible. The foreman had scissors and other tools to cut hair, and I asked him, “Why don’t you cut the hair of these people?” He said, “I don’t know how!” I said, “I know how! I can do it. Give me your tools!” He did, and I started to cut hair that evening. That’s where I learned how to cut hair! I became a barber. Everyone who wanted haircuts, I’d do it for free. No one ever offered me money, and I wouldn’t have accepted it. I was really hoping to go home. Then one day the foreman said, “I don’t want you to do physical labour anymore. You’ll be the foreman at the track, because I can’t be there all the time, and you’re working so hard in the evenings.” So I didn’t have to work as hard during the day. I did work, because I can’t stand around doing nothing. And I made a lot of friends. After almost a month there, this foreman had compassion on me and said, “You know what? I’m sending you home.” I said, “Is that so?” “Oh yes. I already have a ticket for you. Tomorrow morning you’ll take the train and go home to your family. And say hi to my brother!” That was the end of my railroad experience in Donald, and my first job in British Columbia. I continued to cut hair for all my children, grandchildren, and anyone else who asked. They seemed to like the results! And the price was always right. - Peter Plett (with Irene Plett, writer)
6 Comments
Peter Plett Jr.
5/15/2020 04:42:04 pm
Very nice. I think he walked home from the train station through Mission, and got home around 3AM. Seems he missed Mom..... :-)
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Katie
5/15/2020 09:35:35 pm
What a great story. I do remember the barber 'kit' in the kitchen. Irene, your hair in the photo is quite amazing - so modern and stylish!!! Love KP
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Ruth
5/16/2020 02:42:26 pm
An intriguing story well told!
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WriterIrene Plett is a writer, poet and animal lover living in South Surrey, British Columbia, Canada. Categories
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