LABRADOR RETRIEVER
Thomas F. Pado
Presented November 25, 1991 at the Chicago Literary Club.
©Copyright 1991 by Thomas F. Pado
LABRADOR RETRIEVER
The rugged coast extends farther east
than any point on the North American mainland.
The mountains are the highest east of the Rockies. It is a land that has forbidding
landscapes, glaciers, beautiful forests, crystalline lakes, rivers and
fjords. This is Labrador,
the mainland section of the province
of Newfoundland, and a
part of the world that is not very well known.
Called the "Coast of Labrador"
or the "Labrador Peninsula”, it is
situated east of Quebec
and north of the island
of Newfoundland. The ownership of Labrador
is still being disputed between the Canadian provinces of Quebec and Newfoundland.
This was a shore that
Europeans probably discovered 500 years before Columbus, and where some areas still
remain unexplored. Although, on the same
latitude as Scotland,
the icy Artic Ocean waters flow south along the coast
to become the Labrador Current. This
current contributes to the harsh climate, leaving the coast icebound from
October through May. Ferocious storms
help keep the ground covered with snow most of the months, up to 170 inches a
year. Temperatures that fall as low as
50 degrees below zero, along with an almost inaccessible terrain, has kept the
population sparse and many of its resources still untapped. The original inhabitants were the Inuit (commonly
called Eskimos) and the Naskapi-Montagnais Indians who now are a
minority. The Portuguese and Basques
followed the Vikings and were fishing off the coast in the 16th Century. Control of the coast subsequently was
contested by the British and the French.
It eventually became part of the British Empire
as a result of the Treaty of Paris in 1763.
Coastal fishing remained the major resource until a military
base was established by the U.S.
and Britain
at Goose Bay during World War II. Then vast iron ore deposits were discovered
and made available in the 1950's when a railroad was pushed through the
wilderness to the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Additional resources were tapped when the
Churchill Falls Hydroelectric plant was put into operation in the 1970's
distributing much of its power to the U.S. The great timber reserves of
the southern areas still remain uncut mostly do to their inaccessible
locations. Presently there are only about 25,000 people living on about 100,000
square miles of land. In the 1950's
the population was only about 10,000.
I came to this place 33 years ago as a
young officer assigned to the Strategic Air Command (SAC) of the United States
Air Force. This is a retrieval of memories of the 18
months I spent at Goose Bay Air Force Base in Labrador.
Goose Bay is located on the western
shore of Lake Melville, 150 miles from the coast. It is situated on top of a large
plateau of sand dunes 600 feet above the Hamilton Inlet
basin. The surrounding area is quite
beautiful, with deep green forests of black spruce and balsam fir along with
majestic, white birch stands. The tops
of the mountains are covered with snow the year round. In
the winter it reminded one of illustrations found on Christmas cards. This was often highlighted by the Northern
Lights that painted the night sky with an eerie green fire.
The facilities were mostly typical "wood
building military", but due to many civilian enterprises, the whole melded
into more of a feeling of a small town.
There were chapels, a hospital, living quarters, stores, hotels and
other structures that would be found in a typical village. The air facilities,
of course, dominated one end of the town, with the hangers, runways and
aircraft parking areas. In the winter, steam rising from the stacks of the main
power plant was a kind of focal point, identifiable from miles away.
The base was totally isolated except for two
places nearby: the Canadian air base, which was about 3 miles away and the village of Happy Valley, about 2 miles away. Happy
Valley was the living
area for the Eskimos and included a Christian church and a Hudson
Bay store. The village
provided a glimpse of what the early native culture of Labrador
might have been. The dog sled was, at
that time, still a much used form of transportation during the winter. The Eskimos still fished and hunted for food
and skins. They were the only people in
the province permitted to hunt big game such as elk, moose and deer. They made
their own parkas and sleds and created marvelous small stone sculptures and
fanciful paintings - mostly of the wildlife.
It has always been my deep regret that I did not acquire more of these
inspired pieces of folk art. The majority of the Eskimos worked for the
military doing menial tasks for very
little pay. They lived in wood sheds and
tents with only a wood burning stove for warmth. It was hard to imagine how the families kept
from freezing during the very harsh
and long winters.
The airbase was established during
World War II as a staging point for aircraft flying to Europe. It also was a base for planes
surveying the coast for German submarines. After the war it
maintained its importance, again because of its location. Goose
Bay would be familiar to
travelers going to Europe in the 1950's as
this was a refueling stop for military aircraft and commercial airliners, prior
to the long range jet service of today.
During this time it was the second busiest airport in the
World.
Goose Bay was also a vital link for
our bomber forces heading for the Soviet
Union. Bombers (B-47's and
B-52's) were refueled over the area on the way to their targets. The
refueling aircraft (KC 135's and KC 97's) flew to Goose Bay ahead of the bombers, landed, filled up their
tanks, refueled the bombers in the air and repeated the process as often
as required. The bombers and refueling planes came from SAC bases scattered
across the U.S. and, because of the enormous amount of fuel the bombers needed
for take-off, they required additional fuel en route in order to get to their
long range targets with the heavy bomb loads they carried. Those bombs were, of course, nuclear. We were also there to maintain these aircraft
in case they had mechanical problems.
They had to be repaired and back into action as quickly as
possible. So there we were, a large gas
station that stores parts with a "mechanic-on-duty" 24 hours
a day, 365 days a year. Except during
the alerts or practice exercises that simulated actual bomb runs toward the
Soviet territory, we actually had no planes of our own.
These were the Eisenhower
years, some of the more anxious times of the Cold War. The U.S. and Soviets were eyeing each
other across the North Pole, each with doomsday nuclear arsenals capable of
destroying the earth many times over.
This was the era preceding the ICBM's and the space age. It was the Strategic Air Command and their
bomber force that constituted the entire U.S. nuclear deterrent -we
were keeping America
safe. These were the "Dr. Strangelove”
years. The military attitude of the time
was exemplified in a quote by one of my bosses, General Curtis E. LeMay who
said, "If I see that the Russians are massing their planes for an attack,
I'm going to knock the shit out of them before they take off the
ground". SAC consumed 50% of the
entire U.S.
military budget at that time. SAC commanders held awesome responsibility and
wielded enormous authority.
We could get anything we wanted.
This was the atmosphere
when I went to Labrador. I was a young, eager
1st lieutenant full of trepidation about being sent into the middle
of what seemed to be nowhere. During flight school I was given a
choice of remaining a pilot or practicing my profession of architecture during
the rest of my duty contract (there were more pilots than needed
at that time). I chose the latter.
All military bases have a support group that is responsible
for the buildings and infrastructure. Architects and engineers
did the planning and building of new facilities and directed the repair
remodeling and maintenance of existing buildings. The staffs consisted of professionals as well
as tradesmen and most were civilian. Soon after my arrival I was made Acting
Chief Engineer for the base; the civilian who held that position was
"transferred" to a healthier climate to cure his penchant for
booze. To add to this, I was also
appointed Snow Removal Officer. The snow
removal operation at Goose
Bay was
the largest in the world.
Fortunately, this operation was headed
by a civilian named Ray who had run the operation for years. Ray lived on the
base the year round except for a month each summer when he traveled to large
cities in Canada to recruit the civilian "army" that was needed to
operate the heavy equipment. The gang
that he assembled was generally a tough group.
Ray was the toughest of them all.
They lived in their own compound where the machinery was stored and
maintained. The operation began in
September, getting the equipment up and running, and ended in May when the
equipment was prepared for storage before the next winter assault. This was an army of about 200 men operating
more than 100 vehicles.
The machinery was awesome as
was the task before them. There were snow blowers with powerful diesels,
which exceeded the power of a railroad locomotive, with the capability of
throwing snow hundreds of feet. Other
equipment included high speed plows, large open trucks and small snow blowers
that acted as snow loaders. Clearing the
narrow runways and taxiways was relatively easy, snow could
be thrown that far. The problem was our
vast aircraft parking lots. The snow had
to be put into windrows, or continuous mounds.
These were then devoured by the snow loaders and put into cavernous
trucks which discharged their loads onto a snow dump. An actual mountain of snow was created every
winter which seldom melted even though summer temperatures climbed into the 80's.
As soon as the snow accumulated to 3
inches on the parking areas, a snow alert was put into effect. The snow could never exceed 3 inches
for safe operation of taxiing aircraft.
So here was this rag-tag civilian army toiling away, sometimes for 3
days non-stop, moving tons of snow in anticipation of military
aircraft that seldom came; aircraft were present only during
practice alerts that took place about once a year. These surprise alerts were usually held
during the winter in order to test our ability to respond in a worse-case scenario. "White-outs" where the snow was so
thick you could only see a few feet in front of you, were our biggest fear.
These storms strained the capabilities of man and machine. Breakdown of equipment was always a problem -
some due to the extreme cold which effected everything, even steel. It was a
grueling and dangerous task; often resulting is serious injuries and even
death. During the two winters I spent
there, three men lost their lives in snow removal accidents.
During these operations I
had little to do except "be there" day and night in case a specific
military order had to be carried out. I
never made a serious move without first consulting Ray. Most of my time was
spent at the Snow
Command Center
or in my jeep doing what amounted to "on-the-job-training. The jeep was a typical canvas sided type
with minimal protection from the cold which was offset by a
gasoline burning heater inside the jeep that was capable of creating
both noxious fumes and a sauna-like atmosphere.
Whenever I learned that a
B-52 was on base during an alert, I tried to get as close to the runway as
permitted where these great, slacked-winged monsters would lift off with a
thrilling earth shaking sound. It is a tribute to their builders that after
almost 40 years in service these great bombers are still
being used today.
In the meantime, I was attempting to
practice architecture, such as it was in this remote location. My most interesting project was the design
and building of two war rooms on base.
One was a mini "red-telephone" war room, the other a
maintenance operations room. They
performed well and were quickly made a prototype for the entire command. Right after the successful alert in which
they were first used, I was awakened by my identical twin brother, who had a
similar job as mine at an air force base in Newfoundland. He had been sent to my base and told that he
had to build similar rooms at his base ASAP.
I had not seen or talked to him in months, and there he was in the wee
hours of the morning saying, “I want to see those damn war
rooms."
What about the society of a place like
this? To say the least it was adventurous, spirited and
colorful. The common mission of this
uncommon group was of the highest order - "to keep the
world from being destroyed".
As
in any small town, you knew just about everybody and made many friends. Because it was remote you created your own
diversions to augment the sometimes limited facilities. There were the usual movies, bowling and the
like, but there was no doubt that drinking the very inexpensive
booze was the most popular form of recreation. We had the NCO and
Officers clubs which were always active, but there were more colorful
and popular places available. A favorite spot was the infamous
Polaris Hotel, where visiting families or en route airline
passengers stayed. Every night the bar and restaurant was a smoky
scene from a classic 1940's Foreign Legion film. Heavy equipment workers, bush pilots, single
women (some "working girls"), Eskimos and other crusty types imbibed
there. Television was new and a small
station transmitted a few programs a day.
For many it was a curiosity and they filled the television room when
programs came on. I will always remember
when a very drunk French speaking Canadian became irate at what he saw and to
vent his anger he went up to the TV screaming, dropped his pants, urinated on
the screen and left - relieved in more ways than one. A bar to be avoided unless you liked to
watch, or inadvertently be involved in a drunken brawl, was the bar in the snow
removal compound. The M.P.s were there
almost every night settling disputes. Another bar, located in Happy Valley,
was almost as rough but that did not stop us when we were seeking
variety.
We occasionally did other things besides
drinking for entertainment, I remember one Christmas a group of us cut down a
fir tree, dragged it from the woods, planted it in the snow outside and
decorated it with lights. The tree was
then misted with water which froze into icicles through which the lights glowed,
creating a magical effect. These were
some of the last non-commercial Christmases I remember.
In the summer there was a little more
opportunity to breath the fresh air, there were even tennis courts. The base was kept livable in the summer by
spraying DDT every evening over the base to control the voracious flies and mosquitoes
that spawned there. If you went off
base, jungle type mufti was a prerequisite for survival. In a country dotted with thousand of lakes Labrador is a fisherman's paradise. Even today, as difficult as it is to gain
access to these isolated lakes, sport fishing remains the only tourist
attraction. I did not have a great
interest in fishing but would enjoy an occasional float plane trip into the
very remote fishing camps. Sometimes you
threw your line right from the plane after landing. Occasionally
the lucky angler would get their limit within minutes (yes, there was a
limit). These beautiful fresh fish were
cleaned, breaded, sprinkled with salt and pepper then fried in bacon fat and
butter - that is all. Not many fish
is my memory tasted as good.
What about the people that
made up this society? The military, of
course, was obliged to come here and spend the 18 months or so required of
them. The civilians, which made up half
of the population were here by their own choice. What brought them here? The pay generally was good and living not
expensive. Single men and women came
here to save money, or because they could not find jobs elsewhere, or because
they wanted adventure. Some had
businesses that provided the necessary services of the town and usually
profited greatly by it. For many it was
an escape from something - getting far away from somewhere.
Some were lonely, some were castaways.
An interesting
cross-section of this society could be found in the people working with me. For
instance, there was my assistant Josef, a very able civil engineer and
architect. He was a Luftwaffe bomber
pilot in World War II and had been shot down twice over Belgium. He escaped his first internment, but was
brought to a Canadian POW camp after his second misfortune. After the war he stayed on and managed to
find work in Goose
Bay, subsequently
bringing over his surviving family. He
grew up in Bavaria
and had a passion for skiing. When I
arrived on base I expressed interest in that sport and he immediately recruited
me to assist him in finishing his "ski resort". With
very little help, he had built a ski-lift on the side of the bluffs near the
base. He had crafted a mini-chalet that
contained the engine for the rope tow and a room with a wood stove that housed
the ski equipment. It even had the
traditional Alpine wood scrollwork detailing and only needed
some final touches. The skis were World
War II, white painted, wood troop skis with bear trap bindings. The
boots were heavy leather, the pools bamboo.
No one could explain how these got to Labrador.
Josef could not fathom
that, of the thousands of people here, no one seemed to be interested in
skiing. I was now his man, despite the fact
that I had never skied before. The
materials and equipment used to build the little chalet were not
"officially funded". In those
days this activity was referred to as "Midnight
Requisitions".
Winter was fast approaching and there
was work to be done. A major problem was
finding a proper rope for the tow. It
had to be found on base - we did not have the resources to order or buy one, so
we continued our midnight
scrounging and finally found some 1 3/4 inch thick manila rope that seemed to
suit our purposes. The engine was
gasoline and the usual truck wheels on telephone posts carried
the rope in a continuous loop.
Josef and I became very excited when
at last the snow started to fall. There was a problem however - although we
were knee deep in snow on the base, it was lacking on our particular
area of the bluff. Driven by mysterious
winds, the snow accumulated everywhere except on our ski resort.
Finally we had enough to
ski on. Word got around but interest
in skiing continued to be nonexistent. So
it was just the two of us.
Everything was set, and with great anticipation we cranked up the engine
and found we had other problems. Josef
was familiar with the tension requirements for these devices, but it seemed
that the assembly was not adequate to keep the rope off the snow as it dragged
skier upward. The thick rope became laden
with moisture and probably doubled in weight.
Holding the rope while being carried up the slope was almost impossible
- it was easier to abandon the rope and climb back up the hill.
So, snow permitting, Josef
and I were skiing on weekends. He taught
me the basics of skiing and I was gaining confidence as the winter
progressed. Josef was in his fifties,
had graying hair, a tall, ramrod straight body and a serious disposition. Despite the crude ski equipment, Josef
managed the slopes skillfully and was an inspiration.
Then came a Christmas day
I will never forget. It was a bright windless and very cold (-10 degrees) day
and we were enjoying the sport. Josef was beautifully negotiating a slalom
course he had set up when suddenly he took a bad fall near the bottom of the
hill. I offered assistance but he grumbled a refusal. He then said it was
getting late and we should head home to the Christmas dinner his wife was
preparing. At this time of year the sun
headed for the horizon by 3:00
in the afternoon. We climbed the slop
and headed home. During the winter the roads were plowed and graded and this
provided a nice surface to ski on. We skied the mile to his home, and Josef complained
that his ankle was bothering him a bit.
After dinner he soaked his foot while we drank schnapps and he
reminisced about skiing in the Bavarian mountains and about some of his war
experiences. Josef did not show up at
the office the next day - he was in the hospital with a broken ankle - which he
insisted he did not have, even after being shown the x-rays. When he did return to the office a few days
later, with cast and crutches, he proclaimed that he would be
back on the slopes this winter before the snow retreated. However,
the break was a bad one and the damage done was compounded by his refusal to
accept help and his insistence on skiing that last mile home. No high-tech sports medicine was available in
those days to make things right for Josef - from that day forward he had a limp
and never skied again.
Now for Raymond - Raymond was my chief
mechanical engineer; a man in his fifties with deep grooves in his forehead and
hardly a hair on his head. He also
had a very serious disposition. Originally from Belgium, he lived alone on the base
and never discussed his family or other details of his life. Raymond and Josef worked together but did not
get along. There were often loud arguments
between them and at times I had to intervene.
It is hard to believe, but Josef was convinced that Raymond, a former
antiaircraft gunner during the war, was the person who shot him down - twice. And probably Raymond secretly wished
he had.
There was no lack of other
interesting civilian characters in the office.
There was a young English engineer with straight greasy black hair, who
never removed his goulashes or his hat, despite the sometimes stifling heat
pumped into the building. Henri, a
Belgium/Polish emigrant, who very generously sacrificed many of his lunch
periods helping me learn French. To make
these lessons more palatable (so to speak) he often brought lunch that his
French wife prepared for us. Despite the limited resources on the base, she
managed to prepare savory French dishes, which she assured would help me absorb
the language more quickly.
Our office janitor was an Eskimo who
liked to take me hunting for partridge during the winter. I was not much of a hunter, but shooting
partridge required little skill. He made
snowshoes and sold them to military and civilians on the base and I could not
resist a pair of my own. When the snow
was deep and soft they were a necessity on our long treks in the forests. During our hunts he would also check his fur
traps, which offered another source of income.
He was a little, brown man in his 70's who always had a
broad, toothless smile for everyone. Even during the extreme cold weather he would
cut some pine boughs to sit on, build a fire and make lunch. Usually it consisted of pan fried bread and
venison sausage which we washed down with a little whiskey. I know that I should not have given away those
beautifully crafted snow shoes when I left Labrador,
they were works of art.
Karl was a German-Jew and
a civil engineer. He lived most of his
life in Africa growing up in a prosperous family
that owned large holdings in diamond mines. Somewhere along the way he
experienced misfortunes which he never fully revealed. I only knew that his wife had died before he
found his way to Canada
many years ago. He was a very short,
frail man, in his 60's, with
few friends. He lived
alone in one room with a shared bath in the bachelor's barracks. I would occasionally be invited to his room
for a drink and a chat. He was very
intelligent and reading was his only true pleasure. He was not interested in
eating out but managed to prepare meager meals on his electric hot plate. He spoke proudly and lovingly about his two
daughters now living in Germany. He always looked for a Christmas card from
them, but none ever came. He admitted to
me that he had not heard from them in three years and when they had written it
was to ask for money. I can still see
his very small figure bent over his drafting board, cigarette
smoke curling from his ashtray, looking very alone.
Then there was Charles, a young
draftsman from Montreal
with only a high school education. There
was something different about him that seemed to set him apart from the other
staff. Harsh yet sensitive, crude yet
elegant, he took on the character and appearance of his personal hero
Balzac. We became good friends and
drinking companions and were habitués of the infamous Polaris Hotel bar where
he stood out among all the other characters that frequented the
place.
As we got to know each other he was
shocked to learn that I, who had a college degree, knew so little about French
culture. He immediately took it upon
himself to educate me to wonders of the French language, French literature, and
music. As part of this educational
process it was agreed that we would meet in Paris.
Neither of us had been there before; he was to precede me by a few weeks
and scope things out before I arrived.
It was the sunny September
of 1959 and the city still had all its beauty and charm. No TV antennas or god-awful high
rises or modern architecture had invaded the city yet. I
stayed in an old left bank hotel, which was very nice, for $2.50 a night,
including breakfast. Charles met me
there and invited me to his place across the Seine. His apartment building was very old and his shabby
room was located on the fourth floor. Charles had his priorities, and
the last thing he wanted to do was waste money on a fancy
hotel.
His most important
criterion for living in Paris
was location. He resided on the Rue St.
Denis - where most of the Parisian prostitutes plied their trade - and this was
where a lot of his money seemed to go.
He made a few friends in this neighborhood and was anxious for me to
meet them. He was
also, unfortunately, running out of money. Would I lend him
some? Of course I would, it was the
least I could do for his efforts in educating me in the nuances of French
culture. Although his friends made fun
of Charles7 Montreal patois and my beginning French, we managed to
have a raucous three days. Charles also
introduced me to a beautiful young Parisian girl who was a clerk in a left bank
rare book shop. He had fallen in love
with her and with a beautiful leather bound set of the complete
works of Balzac. My cultural life was expanding. I left Paris and returned there a
week later. Charles was really
glad to see me - for now he was truly broke - having spent almost his last
franc on those beautiful volumes. I was
returning to Labrador via New York and was pretty low on cash myself -
but managed to lend him a little more.
We calculated that if he stuck to modest restaurants for the next week
of his stay and kept away from the temptations downstairs, he could
survive. I returned to Labrador
about 10 days later hoping to see Charles in the office - but he was not there. He had persuaded his girlfriend, who lived in
the Polaris Hotel, to wire him more money - allowing him to
partake of the pleasures of Paris
for yet another week.
Charles has become a collector of rare
books and antiques. His original volumes
of Balzac may not be the most valuable in his collection, but I believe one of
his most cherished.
A number of years ago I was awakened
in the early morning hours by a phone call.
It was Charles, he was in Chicago
and desperate for, guess what, a quick loan.
He was calling from a police station and had just been
"jack-rolled" by a Rush
Street lady-of-the-night. It was somehow comforting to know that the
true character of this preeminent collector of books had not changed after all
these years.
Recently I took the great circle route
to the U.S.
from Europe. It was a clear winter day, I knew that I was near
and I scanned the horizon for Goose
Bay. Suddenly, there it was. The winds were light and the smoke from the
central power plant was clearly visible, rising many hundreds of feet in the
air. Looking at this scene brought back memories. I had been
there during an interesting, exciting time in history and it turned
out to be a very special time for me. I
consider myself lucky - I had stumbled into a romantic adventure and hardly
knew it at the time. The experiences I had and the wonderful people
I met added fabric to my life and are as much a part of me today
as they were then.
In September of 1991, President Bush
announced a relaxing of the U.S.'s nuclear strike potential. The U.S. was going to take a
portion of its nuclear arsenal off 24 hour alert. For the first time in 34 years the Strategic
Air Command's B-l and B-52 bombers will not be poised to strike
the Soviet Union.