We lived the small town of Renabie population of 200; next closest town was 13 miles away. The town of Missanabie, 300 people here, at the time it was a big town to us. The only time we got to go to this large town was on Friday night when Merven's parents or mine would go to the bar. We were given $1.00 each to play pool, have a pop and a chocolate bar. At the time this was plenty of money to make us happy. We would play our pool, and then head over to the sawmill to play in the sawdust pile. This was a no-no from our parents, so we had to be sneaky with our access to this property. Punishment was in separating Mervin and me for two or three days. We had an agreement to blame it on each other, so we both got nailed every time. If we were to go to Missanabie the next week our punishment was . . . THEY! Would bring us to the bridge, and we were to catch all the fish we could until they picked us up. If there wasn't a good catch of fish we were accused of playing instead of fishing and more punishment was given.

        Potter, Mervin’s dad, was 75 years old and had a wooden leg. They had eight kids and believe it or not Mervin was the oldest. The youngest was Punkey she was about 2. Potter was the blacksmith for the mine (not a trade used in mining these days.) a very serious man, quiet and mean. When he did smile, or laugh it made us feel good. My dad was a mill man and never said boo, only three of us left out of six lived in the small town. My three oldest brothers left home, each one of them gone at the ages of 15, 16 or l 7. My mother, the “Mike Tyson” of the family, was the tough one. All punishment came from her, not only for me but for Mervin too. For some reason or another Potter would listen to her.

        Our chores consisted of only one, both Mervin and I were responsible for cutting splitting and filling the wood shed. Summer holidays were non existent until both our wood sheds were full to the top. Inspections of both woodsheds were made by mom before the ok was given. All the cutting was done by bucksaw, for two12 years old boys, this was no easy task. The only thing that was enjoyable about this job was a 1952 ford truck that had only reverse gear, so we had to back the truck to where ever we went. Funny to who ever saw us but a joy in the hardship. We would back the truck to the old Camble Lake road then back and push the truck around until the back of the truck was pointed towards the town. From there we would walk into the bush with our saws looking for easy dry trees to cut. Both of us would get on one saw to cut down the tree then after 3-4 were down and cut into lengths, we would carry them to the truck. We did this for about 2 years, then being the brats we were we stole a chain saw from the mine.

        It didn't take Potter very long to figure out who stole the saw from the mine, but understanding the big chore on our shoulders he kept quiet. "I will keep this *%*ing saw sharp for you boys", he said. “But if someone sees it you are on your own.”

        This saw gave us a much longer holiday for the next couple of years. Looking back at all this work it helps me to understand why we grew up being the tough kids we were.

         As the years passed we got to work at the mine in the summer and save our money for the times we would be able to go to Wawa or Timmins. This happened on my 16th birthday. Mervin and I had an old car, I don't remember what year it was but it was the first year the road from Missanabie to the 101 was open. We left Missanabie at 10:00, on a Friday morning after a game of pool with Ernie Martell. Ernie's parents owned the pool hall then, and it's Ernie's place now, and we still play pool, but without Mervin. Anyway, we headed to the big town of Wawa not knowing if the road was open. We got just past Dalton where the road was finished coming from our end and there was a dozer operator pushing the road fill to join the two roads together. The operator shook his finger at us, as to say "don't try it" we looked at each other, and again being the brats we were floored it. I looked back to see the operator get out of his dozer and hold his hands on his hips in disgust.

        This was the beginning of one of the most memorable days of my life. As we were headed down the road Mervin noticed the gas gage on empty. We stopped got out and could smell gas. Looking under the car we could see gas pouring out of a hole in the tank. Mervin crawled under the car and put his finger over the hole. I got some chewing gum and with a small stick, the gum and some tar we found in the trunk, the plug worked. About 5 miles further down the road we ran out of gas.

        For an hour or so we threw rocks at some pop bottles that were in the trunk, until a truck came from the other end. It was Mr. Moore the mine manager. "What the hell are you boys doing here?"

        Mervin and I confessed our encounters with the dozer operator and told him that we wanted to see a big town.

        Mr. Moore laughed for what seemed for ever and said, "I have known you boys for years, and if anyone deserves to be the first ones through this road it’s you.” He gave us gas and got into his new truck, looked at us laughed, and drove off.

        We got in our car and continued down the road to our next problem. About 5-6 miles from the 101 we hit what seemed like a big bump, but looking in the rear view window Mervin saw a gas tank tumbling down the road. He stopped and backed up only to find that it was our gas tank. We got out of the car and stood the tank up, not to loose any gas. Standing on the road for 10 minuets or so not knowing what to do, Mervin being the half ass mechanic had an idea. He took a screw driver and drove a hole in the top of the hood. We took the tank and roped it down on the hood and took the gas line and put it over the carburetor (without the air filter on) we pinched the line enough for the gas to drip slowly into the carburetor. Getting just enough fuel to move us at about 10-15 miles an hour, we continued down the road again. After several hour of driving the car finely pulled into Wawa, thank God there was a gas station at the corner of 101 and Broadway. Because we were bushed, two boys in what seemed to be a huge city.

        A guy came out of the station with a bewildered look on his face, "It looks like you guys have a problem," he said.

        Mervin jokingly replied, "Yes, we have a low tire.” Instant friends with this man after a comment like that.

        Every one that came to the garage for the time we were there was told this comment. This man was very nice to us, I think he knew how bushed these two boys were and would do anything to help us, even haywire our tank back to the car, and only charging us for the tubing to hook the tank up. We did manage to walk down the street and to go into the theater for a look at this huge place. A restaurant was out of the question, something like this would have been too much. Loading up with all kinds of neat junk food, we gassed up and headed home.

        The trip back was without incident, and we got home at about 3:00 in the morning. My dad was waiting for us and all that he said was, "Mr. Moore wants you guys to attend a calibration party in Dalton tomorrow, now get to bed".

        There are hundreds of stories I can tell you about Mervin and I, tree cabins, high swings, fishing, hunting, our first girl friends, exchanging girl friends and being the best buddies ever. And the saddest moment of our young lives, was the closing of the mine, and our families parting. I am sure that Mervin is a best friend to someone somewhere because he is a best friend kind of guy.