Posted on August 5, 2015 under Storytelling with one comment

Brenda and Georgina – Op Shop stalwarts

 

 

“The trouble with opportunity is that it always comes disguised as hard work.” – Anonymous

Most small enterprises spend a lot of time developing business plans, marketing their ideas and finding a location that is highly visible. They hire and train staff, select product lines that are attractive to consumers and work long hours hoping to turn a profit. They are constantly buffeted by the winds of change and the whims of the economy. Failures outnumber success stories.

And then, there’s The Opportunity Shop; an establishment that has been operating in Antigonish since the early 1950’s.

It began under the auspices of St. Ninian’s Parish and in the early years, St. Vincent de Paul, the Knights of Columbus and Family Services of Eastern Nova Scotia all took a turn running it. Donations of used clothing were collected, sorted and made available at a reasonable cost to those who could use them. In 1984, the shop was floundering, the main problem being finding a suitable location for an ever-expanding service. The Op Shop closed for several months and, when it reopened, it was under the guidance of the Catholic Women’s League. The finances were also precarious at the time so the group undertook a campaign to solicit funds from local merchants. These businesses were later repaid when the Opportunity Shop became self-sufficient.

In the fall of 1993, many hands contributed to the construction of the present facility on Main Street. On January 24, 1994, the Op Shop opened its doors in its new digs … debt free and without government assistance. This was a testament to the acumen of the women in charge and the generosity of the community.

While the Op Shop was originally set up to provide clothing at a low price to help families and individuals with limited resources, it has become something much more. It is also a vintage fashion connoisseur’s delight; and these days, retro is “in”. Where better to find something from the 60’s than here.

Over the years they haven’t changed the business model all that much. As a matter of fact, their prices have remained constant for decades. And their clientele is international. Yes, they have their regular locals who come by every week of the year to see what’s new in the bins. But people also come from as far away as Cape Breton, Pictou County and Goa, India and Tanzania. Our friends from the Philippines are welcomed with open arms. The students from the Coady International institute are among the most ardent supporters of the Opportunity Shop. They come because of the selection and the prices but also because of the staff, many of whom have been there for years.

The Op Shop has the equivalent of one full time paid staff person along with a small army of volunteers who sort the merchandise, price it and put it in the bins. While they encourage the public to drop off good, usable clothing and household goods only, some people see it as a place to discard items that would otherwise find their way into the landfill. But there is very little that doesn’t get used. Items that don’t sell locally are often sent to a Mennonite community in Truro. What they can’t use is incinerated or shipped overseas, arriving in far off places like Russia. If I ever see President Putin wearing my old St. F. X. football jersey, I’ll know where he got it!

Everything that comes through the door gets recycled in some fashion. Well, almost everything.

The staff never know what they are going to find when they open up the collection bin first thing in the morning. It’s like Christmas 365 days of the year. Among the most unusual discoveries was a grocery bag full of marijuana, a half a bottle of rum and on a few occasions they have found human beings! One suspects that these people lost their GPS devices, were looking for a place to sleep or were possibly trying to elude the police. Or maybe their significant others threw them in hoping to recycle them.

The Opportunity Shop is amazing in so many ways. When inventory gets perilously low, it just seems that new donations magically appear. Ditto for volunteers. The place never runs short of goods or good people willing to put their shoulder to the wheel.

Despite the ravages of inflation and the aforementioned pricing structure, the Op Shop always turns a profit which is redistributed to worthwhile causes. You can call it the multiplier effect or the domino effect but all of this money (like the clothing) gets recycled back into the community. There is simply no other business quite like it.

Like any good organization the Op Shop even has its own mascot. Georgina’s dog, Fitz, is a regular attendee and much loved by the customers.

They say that opportunity knocks but once. That may be true in other places, but at 314 Main Street, opportunity knocks every day.

Posted on July 28, 2015 under Storytelling with 7 comments

” Sunny side up!”

 

 

“You’ve got to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative,

Latch on to the affirmative …”

Accentuate the Positive – Sam Cooke

Some people have everything and want more. Others appear to want little, having found joy and contentment in its purist form.

Pat Evans had it all. She was a successful teacher, admired by her peers.  She was fiercely independent and was athletic, participating in several sports. She had just acquired a new English Springer dog and was about to take possession of a new home the very day her world was turned upside down. In the early hours of a late September morning thirteen years ago, Pat’s car was struck by a moose and, in an instant, she became a quadriplegic.

The house deal never did go through.

She was rushed to the nearest hospital in Baddeck. She already realized that she was in very bad shape. As she lay in her hospital bed, immobilized, she stared up at the ceiling and mused to herself: “Well missy, this could go either way. You can be sad and angry the rest of your life or you can just suck it up and get on with it.” Luckily for every person that knows Pat, she chose the latter. But this was no surprise to her friends. She had always been a “cup half full” kind of person.

Prior to the accident Pat had never been hospitalized. Once there, however, she became fascinated by all the technology, and by the way the medical fraternity was able to help patients in their darkest hours. She spent about six months in the provincial rehab centre before moving back to her beloved Cape Breton. She arrived to her new home on the lake, designed specifically for her physical challenges. There had been no compromising on one feature: she had to be able to see the water.

Not many people would see it this way but Pat claims that “If I were going to have an accident, I couldn’t have picked a better time.” First of all, there was the stroke of luck that someone was following close behind her when her car left the road, enabling first responders to find her quickly after she hurtled down an embankment and into some trees. She had insurance at the time that allowed her to build the home she needed along with all of the specialized equipment. She requires assistance 24 hours a day and has been blessed with wonderful caregivers.

And, speaking of caregivers, sometimes things are just meant to be. Pat’s first caregiver was Debbie Hibbs, who was aching from the loss of her son in a tragic plane accident. During their very first face to face meeting, they talked about many things. Pat mentioned that, by necessity, she would be using the internet a great deal to communicate with the outside world. And like many people do, Pat had a name for her computer: Melvin. I’m sure there was an audible gasp when Debbie disclosed that this was the name of her beloved son. Debbie had silently prayed to Melvin to find her a job. He knew where to send her.

Debbie says that in the six and a half years that she spent with Pat, she never heard her complain. Not even once.

Throughout my conversation with Pat she repeated the refrain “I am so lucky. There are other people who are worse off than me.” I’m sure that most able bodied people wouldn’t see it this way. “I didn’t change as a result of the accident.” she maintains. “I am who I am.”

And who is Pat Evans? Simply put, she is one of most uplifting people that you could meet anywhere. She has always surrounded herself with like-minded, positive people. “I have no time for negativity!” she declares.   Pat points to family and friends who never deserted her. And who would probably tell me that they receive much more than they give, thanks to this inspiring woman.

“My family are all nuts,” Pat claims. Even when she was in hospital and on a ventilator, they teased her unmercifully because they could get away with it. As in most large families, good natured ribbing is a given. Her legendary verbosity was compromised for a time but soon she was able to come right back at them.

Pat’s former colleagues come in a group several times a year including Christmas, when they roll up their sleeves and decorate the house. One of them commented that Pat was the embodiment of the expression from Epictetus: It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters.

And what has been the hardest part of this life-changing journey? “It took me a long time to accept that I wouldn’t be able to return to teaching. It was the only time during this whole ordeal that I cried.”

But one would argue that Pat never stopped teaching. She has inspired children when she has visited schools to give talks and she has a profound impact on young people who have disabilities. On a recent trip to the Mayflower Mall, she noticed a young boy in a wheelchair who looked to be about seven. He was marvelling at Pat’s ride, which she activates by head movements through a neck device called a Peachtree. After explaining how it worked, she asked him if he wanted to race. One can only imagine the stares from the mall patrons as Pat and the young boy spent a few joyous moments of exuberance together.

Pat has had the travel bug her whole life. Prior to the accident she had visited Australia and New Zealand on a number of occasions. She was and is a firm believer in “not putting off tomorrow what you can do today”. That spirit of wanderlust continues as she travels south in the spring of each year.

Getting from A to Z is not easy for Pat. Nothing is easy, but her indefatigable and unwavering spirit and zeal for life outstrip the many barriers she faces on a daily basis. During our conversation, Pat mentioned that she had to wear a halo for a long period of time during her recovery. I suggested that she still had one! We had a good laugh over that; one of many chuckles shared throughout the afternoon.

Her dog, Abbey, has been her constant companion. Abbey knows Pat’s routine every bit as well as do her caregivers. She lays low in the morning, but once the wheelchair swings into action, Abbey does likewise and is there by Pat’s side. In the early, dark hours after the accident, Abbey discovered Pat’s lap. They’ve been inseparable since then.

And when asked what is her greatest joy (besides family, friends, caregivers and Abbey!), Pat is quick to reply; “I love to be outside in the sunshine.”

I’m not sure if Pat can sing (I bet she can!) but I suspect that she knows the lyrics to this song:

”Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side, Keep on the sunny side of life. It will help us every day; it will brighten all the way If we’ll keep on the sunny side of life.”*

Next time I’ll bring my guitar.

* Keep on the Sunny Side of Life – Ada Blenkhorn/Howard Entwisle

Posted on July 8, 2015 under Storytelling with 2 comments

Frank and Colin Patrick MacDonald ( circa 1970 )

( Buckley photo )

 

 

When we get older we become more reflective.  We review the ups and downs, the joys and sorrows and the trials and tribulations of our lives.  It’s all a part of who we are.  We look at the events that shaped our future and the people who crossed our paths.  And there are those who leave an indelible mark.

Frank McGibbon was one of those people whose influence has not faded with the passage of time.

Frank was a fixture in many places: the track at Columbus Field, the old Memorial rink, St. Ninian’s Cathedral, the rear booth in Wong’s restaurant (another Cathedral of sorts!) and the McGibbon home on St. Mary’s Street.  And he was known to prowl Main Street, sending home miscreant young athletes the night before an important hockey game or track meet.

When you ask people on the street what stands out most about Frank, it was his dedication to young people.  If you ask his family, it was his profound commitment to the McGibbon children.  Most of us knew Frank as a coach of many sports, a man who was, in many ways, ahead of his time.  But overall he was a family man who loved his family, his community and his church.

It would take volumes to write the story of Frank’s athletic prowess.  He was a superb goaltender but could also play forward.  In one memorable hockey game in which he was between the pipes, the offense had sputtered badly and the team trailed heading into the third period.  Frank was grumbling during the intermission about the dearth of goal scoring.  The somewhat frustrated coach declared that if Frank thought he could do better than the forwards he should just doff his goalie equipment and play forward.  He did just that and scored a hat trick in the third period.

Frank was one of the first official recreation directors for the Town of Antigonish but he was much, much more than that.  Today, every sport has its own own coach and in many sports, multiple coaches and specialists.  Frank knew just about every sport on the go and he was a one man operation.  He cared deeply about the youth in the area and dedicated his life to their development as athletes and good citizens.  And he didn’t have all the modern training equipment.  He was an incredible improviser and could fashion devices out of nothing more than old rope and used tires.

Frank was particularly concerned about the young men he mentored.  His mantra was well known: “We gotta get these young fellas into sports before it’s too late.  First it’s the smoking and then it’s the drinking, then it’s the other thing.”   Frank never elaborated on “the other thing” but I think he might have been talking about chasing girls!  He had a strong sense of Christian values and morals and was scrupulously honest.  On many a road trip, it was not uncommon for one of the young boys to help himself at one of the roadside fruit stands.  Frank would wait until everyone was back in the cars before going back to pay the owner for the “slippage”.

Frank spent the winters in the rink and summers at Columbus Field but the track was really his pride and joy.  He treated it like it was his own, carefully tending to it as if it were the Garden of Eden.  In its heyday it was reputed to be the best track of its type in Eastern Canada and would attract elite athletes to the Highland Games track and field meet.  You could often see Frank out in the wee hours of the morning, rolling the track and even picking dandelions from the field.  He mowed the grass with a manual push mower.  Long before irrigation was in vogue, Frank had a method of keeping the field and track in pristine condition even when the worst of weather would blow in before a meet.

His “office” was the equipment shed that stood precariously off to the side of the field.  If you happened to be close by when Frank opened the shed in the morning, you would witness something hard to describe, including the smell.

When asked about the charms of the shed, one former athlete wrote: “Are you too young to remember the leaning shack at Columbus Field, with the musty, pancake catcher’s gloves, twisted masks, assorted baseball bats, pole vaults for Brian McVicar, rusted shot puts for Cat Thompson and Supermarket to toss around, the unmatched assortment of rakes, shovels and an open bag of lime or two?  And the newspapers.  My God, the newspapers.  Clearly without their counterbalance, the shack would have succumbed to gravity long before it did.”

As most locals know, Columbus Field was and is prone to flooding.  In addition to the aforementioned smells, the shed also housed some of the finest silt, left behind as the raging waters of the Brierly Brook and West River met and spilled over onto the grounds time and time again.

Despite the apparent chaos of the shed, Frank knew where everything was.  Like any good store manager worth his salt, Frank knew his inventory.

Back to the magazines and newspapers.  Frank was a voracious reader when it came to sports and he was constantly looking for the newest trends, especially when it came to training techniques.  The good folks at the Diana Sweets restaurant in New Glasgow collected reading material for Frank, as he often stopped there during his travels over the years.  He was one of the early adherents to year round training in sports and almost single handily introduced the notion of dry-land training to local athletes.  It was not uncommon to see a hockey player stick handling a golf ball in the middle of summer or an aspiring ball player throwing a ball off the back of a barn with one hand and catching it with the other to improve hand/eye coordination.  And many a young person could be seen wandering the town squeezing a rubber ball for strength training.

In 1968, Frank enjoyed the thrill of a lifetime with a trip to the Summer Olympics in Mexico City.  When he returned home, he couldn’t wait to impart new techniques that he had witnessed by the best in the world.  One sport in particular was revolutionized at these games: shot putting.  When Frank arrived back in Antigonish, he had already mastered the technique and began to pass it along to the youth of the area.

And he returned home with reels and reels of 8mm film from a brand new camera that he took on the trip.  According to one of his track stars, he and a fellow runner “sat through hours and hours (and hours!) of grainy black and white video demonstrating what we needed to learn from these Olympic athletes.  As painful as it was at the time, Frank apparently was at the forefront of modern day tape video, now used in every sport to learn from the best and model our training to be the best that we can be.”

Decades later, athletes still talk about Frank.  One of his star runners back in the 60’s still thinks of Frank every time he laces them up for a 5K run.  It’s not hard to remember the people who helped mould you.

Frank was known to grumble and to be gruff but this was a classic case of “the bark is worse than the bite”.  He was a good man and a kind man.  He marched up to church almost every day of his life and could be seen doing the Stations of the Cross.  He lived with his brother Irving’s family until they ran out of space.  He was often thrust into the role of babysitter (once again, ahead of his time) and it wasn’t uncommon to see several McGibbon children in tow as he marched them off to Columbus Field to look after them while tending to the track.  As if it wasn’t reward enough to spend time with Uncle Frank, he often slipped them five cents to pick up some candy at Veronica’s store on the way home.

The extended community was family as well.  He spent many an evening having dinner with Blaise and Olga Cameron and often travelled with them on road trips, with a horde of kids in the back seat.  Frank sat in the front on a bench seat beside Olga.  Often Frank would nod off and awaken to find his head resting on Olga’s shoulder.  He awoke surprised and a tad flustered every time this happened.

Old habits die hard.  St. Ninian’s Cathedral welcomed Frank home for the last time in 1998 to celebrate a life well lived.  At the conclusion of the Mass, the congregation filed respectfully from the church.  A former baseball teammate lit up a smoke just as the pallbearers were about to put Frank’s mortal remains into the hearse.  Instinctively, he butted the cigarette fearing that Frank might rise from the coffin to chastise him.

Frank never married nor had children of his own.  But he helped to raise every child who ever tied on a pair of skates, swung a bat or ran a lap of his beloved Columbus Field.

Frank’s family was very large indeed.