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work-in-progress. On account of all the babies about, it was known
as Diaper Hill.
A few years after the family took possession of its new bungalow,
Mr. Rhodes, who drove a truck, was killed in a traffic accident. The
Mrs. had already lost her firstborn, a girl, to a heart defect.
In the early days of the Project the streets were unpaved and
unidentified, lined on both sides by the skeletons of unfinished
homes. It was a world of lumber and brick, of bulldozers and mud,
the air rank with dust and diesel fumes.
Fender dropped out of school in Grade 8. He busied himself
doing jobs others declined: cutting lawns and weeding gardens,
washing cars, helping out with paper routes — whatever he was
asked to do, whatever he was capable of. He was rarely seen without
his red baseball cap.
When I was working for Kellman’s Drugs, stocking shelves and
delivering prescriptions, Fender was running lunches to store owners
too busy to abandon their counters. He swept walkways and cleaned
windows. Occasionally somethingwould happen to remind us Fender
was different. He would anchor himself on the gravelled shoulder of
Rupert Street at rush hour, oblivious to the cars speeding under his
nose, unresponsive to concerns for his safety.
– Where’s he going so fast? Fender might ask of a passing motorist.
Fire someplace?
And if you, strolling by, should shrug your shoulders and walk
on, Fender might give chase, as he once did with me, whispering
into my ear, Maybe he’s going to the dentist! Maybe he’s late for
work! Then he flashes those green eyes of his as though it’s you
who’s the simpleton.
Most of the time, though, Fender was simply a little strange. He
was a devoted fan of the lowly Vancouver Canucks, following their
ineffectual tribulations on a transistor radio. He felt compelled to
announce each home-club goal to the world, running breathless into
shops to deliver the news.
More troubling was Fender’s habit of scaling telephone poles. He
used the steel service pegs running up both sides to make his ascent,
positioning himself centimetres from a live wire.
– It’s dangerous, Sgt. Toby McManus warned Mrs. Rhodes. The
lad will sizzle.
Hellenic Canadian Literature 