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Back in the mid-1960s, there was a dance for young people in the Carpenter’s Union Hall on the south end of Gottingen Street in Halifax every Wednesday and Saturday nights. Commonly known as ‘the Carps,’ it was mostly attended by young sailors, Dalhousie University students and lasses from both Halifax and Dartmouth (across the harbour). For the Navy guys it was a great place to have fun and to meet girls. In fact, I met my former wife at the Carps in 1965.
One night back in the fall of 1964, my friend Wayne Robertson and I had just exited the Carps when a brawl broke out, with a few sailors on one side opposed by some local fellows from Creighton Street on the other. It wasn’t long before the cops were amongst them trying to break it up. They always posted a cop on the door and a paddy wagon across the street in case of such incidents.
Of course, a crowd of spectators gathered around the excitement. Wayne and I were amongst the spectators, when a cop was knocked to the sidewalk in front of us. His cap fell off and landed at my feet. I quickly grabbed it and stuffed it up under my jacket. After looking around to ensure that nobody had seen me do it, I said to Wayne, “Let’s get outta here!”
As we laughed our way up the street towards the base, Wayne kept exclaiming, “What a trophy!” And it would have been except for one thing.
By the time we reached the Palace Restaurant, a cap-less cop passed us while chasing one of the combatants up the centre of the street. With that, I reached under my coat, donned the cop hat and yelled, “Stop in the name of the law!” while joining the real cop in the chase of his culprit. By the time he reached the Casino Theatre, the real cop finally gave up the chase and turned back, only to encounter the ‘wannabe cop’ – me. I gave him a sheepish smile, took off the cap, and tried to present it to him saying, “Is this yours?”
He said, “I thought the other guy had it.” With that, he grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and threw me into the paddy wagon that had just arrived on the scene.
I spent the night in the crowbar hotel – the ‘bull pen’ of the Halifax Police Station lockup. The ‘bull pen,’ as we called it, was a large common cell where they locked up the non-violent offenders. The violent ones were locked up in cells whose doors opened into the bull pen.
I was released the next morning after paying the standard $7.75 fine for being drunk in a public place. I could have fought the charge in court I suppose because I wasn’t drunk at the time – just in a mischievous mood. They told me that I could fight it, but would have to remain in cells until court time on Monday morning. I took the pain and paid the fine rather than spend an additional 24 hours in cells.
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Three weeks later, my buddy Wayne and I decided to go to the dance at the Carps, but were diverted by the aroma of freshly fried steak as we passed the Derby Tavern. The Derby served the best beefsteaks in town. About one beefsteak and eight beers (each) later, we left our favourite steak house and walked the hundred yards to the entrance of the Carps. It was close to 10 pm by this time.
The cop on the door said, “Sorry fellows, we’re full to capacity tonight and can’t allow anyone else inside”. Being a little cocky and tipsy, we started to protest. The cop told us to move along but we were persistent in our pleas for entry. Eventually though he had had enough of us and said, “Listen fellow; if you don’t carry on (get out of here) right now, I’m going to call the paddy wagon and have them take you away!”
I exclaimed in a rather indignant fashion, “OK! We’re outta here! You caught me once you SOBs, and I’m not going back to that ‘Hell Hole’ again!” With that, we left and started wandering slowly northward on Gottingen Street.
We were outside the Palace restaurant – just up the street from the Carps – when an unmarked patrol car pulled up. Big fat Sgt. Bishop, the morality officer on the Halifax Police force, got out and indicated that he wanted me to get into the back seat. I asked, “Why me?”
He responded, “What did you call that police officer back there? Get in! NOW!”
With that I said, “Oh! Oh!” and took off running.
I ran southward on Gottingen Street and turned right on Cogswell. I looked behind and the cop car was in hot pursuit. I turned right on Creighton Street, and realizing that I couldn’t outrun the cop car I decided to run between the houses, jump the fence and try to hide somewhere back on Gottingen Street. Unfortunately, I picked the wrong houses to run between, because the two I chose had a large six feet high picket fence between their backyards and those of their back neighbours.
I managed to get on top of the fence, but fell backwards towards the original yard. I didn’t hit the ground though because one of the pickets went up under my jumper (I was wearing my Navy uniform that night). I was hung from the fence when Sgt. Bishop got to me.
I yelled, “Ok, you caught me you S.O.B.! He in turn grabbed me by the hair and punched me twice on the left side of my face. Needless to say, I shut up!
He and his partner dragged me down from the fence and threw me in the back of the patrol car. I spent another night in that dreaded ‘bull pen’ at the Cop Shop.
The next morning when I was released after paying the $7.75, I had a big shiner (black eye). Needless to say, I watched my Ps and Qs around the cops from that night forward. |
