Slowpoke

Dave Gray was a regular visitor at The Times office. Most often he would stop in with a short but punchy letter to the editor. He wasn’t afraid to voice his concerns or opinion, although he would often ask if I thought he would upset anyone. I recall one particular visit. Dave brought with him a copy of a sprialbound book he had put together chronicling his life. He was a little nervous to hand it over. I can remember him telling me that as an ‘old broken down bus driver’ he never had the chance for higher education, so to please excuse his mistakes. It sat on my desk for a while. I would flip through it periodically. It was a deep look into the life—both hard and rewarding—of a man I called a friend.

Dave was born in 1940 into a world at war on Kilnarvie Road in Crookston, Scotland. Glasgow, which was just a few miles south, was a city built on the river Clyde, and was an easy target for bombing raids by the German Luftwaffe. During the raids, his mother would grab him and his sisters, and run for safety. His father worked on a family farm 12 miles south and had no way of getting home to know if his family was in danger.

Dave’s younger years were spent living in a confused world. At that time, he and his two sisters, Pearl and Evelyn, enjoyed their childhood, although Dave did feel the effects of conflict. “During the war, as a preschooler, life was lonely for me. I never had the chance to play or interact with other boys.” Dave recalls that when the war finally ended, he and his family celebrated. “We joined the children from Crookston, and had a big bonfire. We danced around yelling ‘V for victory, dot, dot, dash, Hitler lost his wee moustache. When he found it he lost his head, V for victory, Hitler is dead.”  Much of Dave’s childhood was spent working on the family farm. “Farm kids get a very early education on farm life. Some very good that stays with you for the rest of your life. Others you wish you could forget, but never can.” Dave’s chores included collecting eggs, and making sure not to break any, feeding the newborn calves and lifting hay. He never got paid for his farm work, but if he needed new shoes or clothes, his parents would make sure he had them.

Dave left Scotland in 1957 along with his family. They arrived in Quebec and then took a train to Toronto. From there, Dave ended up in Uxbridge, working from dawn until dusk on a small farm for $2 a day. As a 17-year-old, Dave recalled that the working conditions were terrible. “I had to clean out a large metal building that housed chickens. It was a very hot July day, a huge change from Scotland’s moderate weather. I was stripped to my waist with dirt and chicken feathers sticking to my sweating body. I truly thought it was hell.”

His first steady job was at Acme Farmers Dairy Limited, where his father also worked. He was quickly promoted to foreman for his hard work ethic. But, in 1962, he was laid off. This is when he started his dream job with the TTC, working out of the Eglinton station in 1964. He would work split shifts, a few hours in the morning and a few at night, winding his way through the busy streets of Toronto.

On any given day he would see hundreds of faces. Some memorable. Some not. He told me a story one time that was almost hard to believe. At the end of his shift he had to check the bus for lost belongings. At the back seat was a briefcase. Dave opened it, and it contained over $100,000 in negotiable bonds. Dave turned it in, and his next shift he was told the owner wanted to give him a reward. “Drivers did not expect rewards. It was part of my job. More importantly it was the right thing to do.”

Dave could be easily spotted around town by the vinyl graphics on his truck. I always wondered where the Slowpoke moniker originated. One day I asked Dave. He explained that in 1977 he bought a brand new GMC pickup with a 350 cubic inch motor—the best pickup he had ever owned. He and the daughter, Trish, explored Canada with it. It was the first truck to be called Slowpoke by his daughter. “My daughter thought I drove like a little old lady,” he laughed. All of his trucks after that would share the name.

On one camping trip, Dave and his daughter, along with her best friend visited Sandbanks Provincial Park. At that time, Dave’s daughter was a teenager, so she asked that her and her friend attend the beach “without dad hanging around so they could check out the guys.” Dave obliged, and went on a tour. He made it just west of Wellington, where he pulled over to admire the beauty of Lake Ontario. Dave noticed an acre lot for sale. He walked to the water’s edge and looked down from the 25 foot drop. He had always wanted to retire to the country. To get back to the small-town feeling of rural Scotland. A gentleman from the house next door approached him and asked if he was interested in the land. His name was Ross Clark. The price for the lot was $35,000, but the only problem was Dave had forgotten his chequebook in Toronto. Ross asked if he had a dollar on him, as that is all it would take to make the deal legal. So, Dave bought the lot for a dollar down. A few years later he started planting trees on the property—over 100 in total.

It was many years later that Dave retired, after 30 years of working for the TTC. He and his wife, Paula, built their dream home on the lot. “In the summer with the bedroom window open and the moon reflecting on the water, waves lapping on the shore, it was sheer bliss,” said Dave.

After his move to the County, Dave began having some heart issues. In 2012, the County learned that its hospital was in danger. Not on Dave’s watch. According to him, that hospital was the reason he was alive, and he wouldn’t sit back. He decided to form a group to fight and save Picton Hospital. P.O.O.C.H was an initiative he formed to protest disproportionate service and bed cuts to Prince Edward County Memorial Hospital. That was when QHC officials concluded that to balance its budget it would do so by cutting 40 per cent of the beds and nursing resources from PECMH—but just five per cent of the beds from Belleville General Hospital. This seemed utterly unfair to Dave, particularly given that the Picton hospital had already lost half of its 42 beds since being forced into amalgamation with Belleville General, Trenton Memorial and North Hastings Hospital in 1998.

Dave made P.O.O.C.H. pins and sold them for $5 a piece. He sold over 1,000 of them. He formed an executive for P.O.O.C.H. which included Betsy Sinclair, Wolf Braun, Ian Batt and Al Reimers.With their help, he organized a grassroots campaign to fill four buses to take the fight to Queen’s Park in Toronto. There a delegation met briefly with Ontario health minister Deb Matthews and other officials, including local MPP Todd Smith. Dave handed over a petition with over 5,000 signatures. The Queen’s Park meeting would not have happened if it were not for Dave’s tenacity.

Dave truly cared about people, especially children. Most recently he approached me about a fundraiser for the children of Ukraine. Having himself grown up during war, he wanted to help in any way he could. He felt that no child should have to experience the pain he did. With the help of the community, Dave was able to send over $6,000 to the Canada-Ukraine Foundation.

Dave passed away on Friday. He was an active member in the community, working with groups like the Ameliasburgh Garden Club, PEC Field Naturalists, Wellington United Church, Wellington Lions, Wellington Garden Club, the Salvation Army and Community Care for Seniors. Dave ended his book with a quote. “I love this country for the chance it gave my family to build a new life. Many people gave me a helping hand along the way. I hope I have returned the favour.”

You certainly did. You will be missed.

corey@wellingtontimes.ca