Pilings still visible in Welland River, as Historian seeks complete story
17 March 1943-25 July 2016
[Guardian Express]
A lot of water has passed over the bridge since Tony Whelan was a kid. Yes-over the bridge. The Brown Bridge.
Growing up on River Road, Whelan remembers being told to stay clear of the old bridge pilings in the Welland River near Colbeck Drive, whenever he set out in his row boat.
He stayed clear, but remained intrigued.
Whelan believes the bridge is an important part of local history that has been overlooked. And with the only people who may remember it growing older all the time. Whelan said he he’s afraid the Brown Bridge chapter of the city’s history will be lost forever.
As a historian, Whelan isn’t happy about progress’s tendency to sever its ties with the past.
Although by trade he’s a professional entertainer, a deep interest in genealogy and history consumes most of the rest of his time. Whelan lives in the same house-even sleeps in the same bedroom-he was born in. While he’s reluctant to disclose just how many years ago that was, the fact the youthful-looking Whelan has two young grandchildren gives a clue to his approximate age.
“When you do find something,” Whelan says of historical research, “oh, the feeling, the rewards. You think you just won the lotter.
CHAIRMAN
Now second chairman of the Niagara branch of the genealogical Society of Ontario, Whelan says he became interested in family and local history “because it was there.”
“It was just something of interest. And as it gets under y our skin, that’s it-you’ve had it” he says, a bright white smile breaking on his tanned face.
A self-confessed admirer of the off-centre facts in life, Whelan says he’s looking for the “horse thief” in his family tree. So far, Benedict Arnold is the only high profile black-mark in Whelan’s mother’s lineage.
Whelan, himself, ran away with the circus as a young teenager. He says he can’t help wondering what future generations of Whelans will think of him.
In one corner of Whelan’s dining room, Reuben, a yellow cockatiel, oversees the interview perched atop the outside of his cage. Behind an antique dining set, a bay window opens the room to a view of a lush rear yard. At the yard’s foot flows the Welland River.
The mysterious Brown Bridge pilings poke out of the water about a mile-and-a-half downstream.
Whelan believes the bridge was built by John brown, who died in 1797. Recently Whelan was told by an elderly area resident that the bridge collapsed under the weight of ice, in 1926.
The 83-year old gentleman who told Whelan that also gave him a detailed description of what the bridge looked like, and Whelan was able to make a sketch of it.
So far, though, the ice collapse has gone uncorroborated. *There are many blank areas in the 1926 newspaper that might have corroborated this.
Whelan says that during the War of 1812, Misener’s Bridge, which ran parallel to Brown’s Bridge further east on the river was burned. After breaking away from the control of the American army in 1813, the Canadians (then United Empire Loyalists) apparently torched the bridge to protect themselves from anther invasion.
Whelan believes that William Lyon MacKenzie, in his 1837 escape to the United States, crossed the Welland River over Brown’s Bridge. A newspaper publisher, expelled member of the Ontario legislature, and open advocate of an independent Canadian government. MacKenzie later returned to Canada on an amnesty grant for rebels.
COMMUNITY
In researching the area near the Brown’s Bridge, Whelan discovered it was a bustling, self-contained community at one time. Welland’s first library was there, doubling as a public meeting house. The library wasn’t moved to downtown Welland until 1858. There was a schoolhouse near the bridge site, on the Thorold side of Townline Road.
“This bridge has a lot of historical value,” says Whelan wrinkling his brow. “If we don’t get the information on it now…”
“I’m searching out anybody who definitely know about the area and particularly about its bridge,” he says. “I need help from this area’s senior citizens.”
Whelan maintains he will make sure any information he gets will be properly recorded, so this will be available to future generations.
“If you don’t know where you’ve been, how do you know where you’re going?” he asks.
by Al Garner
When I was a teenager (17-18 years old) growing up in Welland in the mid to late 1950’s, one of the social events that helped pass the time was occasionally crashing weddings on Saturday nights at one the many ethnic halls in the city. For example there was the Hungarian Hall, Italian Hall, Polish Hall and the Ukrainian Hall.
Our modus operandi was as follows. We’d check out the Welland Tribune newspaper to see what was going on at a particular hall on the upcoming Saturday night. We’d dress up in our best clothes either a suit or sports jacket, white shirt and tie and of course shined dress shoes. We’d hit the hall of choice after the wedding guests had eaten their dinner, usually about 8:30pm-9:00pm. By that time everyone was well oiled from the booze and food and no one would pay attention to us. We’d saunter in usually one or two at time. We’d work our way up to the bar, order free drinks, usually beer or rye whiskey and munch on the food that was left over from dinner. At the Hungarian Hall, which was my favorite, there would always be paprika chicken or cabbage rolls and perogies to chow down on.
We’d hang out at the wedding for a couple of hours, have a few drinks, dance the polka or chardosh with the good looking girls, get half pissed and then jump in our cars and head over to Niagara Falls, New York and go drinking and dancing until the bars closed at 4am.
Now keep in mind this didn’t happen every Saturday night but when we got bored or were low on money, which for me was most of the time, it was a fun way to get free drinks and have a good time.
By Allan Garner
Myrtle Avenue – Main Street
In those days Welland was the armpit of Southern Ontario. Some would say it still is. There were many industries such as foundries, forge shops, textile mills and the bigger factories such as the Atlas Steel, the Electric Metals (Union Carbide), Page Hersey Pipe Mill and of course the Wabasso Cotton and Dominion Textiles.
These great industrial giants surrounded our blue-collar neighbourhood. As mentioned the Atlas Steels was the biggest and employed almost a thousand men during World War ll. We lived at 27 Myrtle Avenue with my Grandma and Grandpa Garner. The Canada Foundries and Forgings employed my Dad’s family. For example Grandpa Garner and his brother, Uncle Fred Garner started at the plant around 1918 or so. By the time they retired, they had logged about 90 years at Canada Forge between the two of them.
The factory was right at the end of the block at the corner of Myrtle Ave. and Major St. East. It was a two-minute walk for Dad and Grandpa to go to work in the morning.
The Atlas Steels Recreation Club was the predecessor to the modern day recreational facility. They had a bowling alley, and a projector and screen set up where they would show Hopalong Cassidy movies with William Boyd as “Hoppy” and Andy Clyde as his side kick. There were also cartoons and free donuts and chocolate milk. The rules were that it was for employee family members only, but I always managed to scam my way in. Thanks to the Brettell boys. Even at the tender age of seven or eight I figured out how to get in through the pass gate.
Winters
I remember the very, very cold winters of Welland. Jesus it was cold in the winter. Snow up to here, the cold crunch of your boots on the snow. Walking out to “The Pond” to play ice hockey. We would pack our lunches and walk out to The Pond. It was about a mile and a half walk from our house on Myrtle Ave. Maybe it wasn’t that far but it seemed that far when I was a kid.
We’d strap on the blades, play shinny all day long till almost dark. It seemed like ten miles on the way back. I’d skate back home on my very fragile ankles, tears in my eyes, exhausted but happy to be part of the gang.
WWII
The world from my eyes, those of a five year old was all black and white. I remember in those days that almost every movie that you went to was in black and white. There just wasn’t much colour. An event that sticks in my mind, even to this day are the blackout curtains and the air raid sirens going off. We had to practice for the dreaded German invasion of course! Because the Germans were about 4,000 miles from us! Welland in those days was a major supplier of war materials so we had to be very careful and aware of the consequences of the dreaded Nazi Blitz Kreig attacks. But there was hope, generally it was ok. And eventually we won the War!!!
One of the things that I remember as a kid was going to Plymouth Cordage Park in Welland after the Allies won WWII. It was a huge gathering of people, perhaps some 3000-4000. Effigies of Hitler, Tojo and Mussolini were burned as the bands played and people cheered. The war was over and we won.
Another post war memory is that the city had a parade for the returning vets. I remember walking down Main Street just about where the liquor store was in between River Road and Hellems Avenue with my uncle Willard proudly holding his hand at this victory celebration parade. The war was over. Uncle Willard was home from the war. He was my hero. Willard was captured at Dieppe and was a POW for some 31 months. He was released from a German prisoner of war camp, a hero. I don’t think he considered himself a hero though. He probably considered himself an unlucky SOB to get captured at Dieppe and held captive in a German POW camp for almost three years.
I often wonder how my Dad felt about Willard. My Dad you see was drafted to go into the army. Family and friends had a big party for him. He was on his way to war. He was on his way to Hamilton to get sworn in. At the last moment a phone call came and he was told that because he was the last surviving son in Canada he didn’t have to go to war. I often wondered if he was happy or disappointed. Probably a little of both because the war was such a big thing in those days.
Welland Canal
To write about Welland and not mention the old Welland Canal is almost sacrilegious. The Canal as it was rightfully called in those days ran right through the centre of town. It joined Lake Ontario to the North and Lake Erie to the South. The Canal was, and still is an integral part of building the trade routes between the United States and Canada via the Great Lakes.
The canal in those days separated the executive families who lived on the northwest side of Welland from the blue-collar worker’s families that lived on the southeast side of the town. We of course were of the blue-collar class. But the meeting place and focal point in the summer was the old Welland swimming pool. It was located right beside the canal. I was never a swimmer when I was a kid mostly because my Dad wasn’t a swimmer. So he never thought that I should be. I was always afraid of the water and would always make excuses not to go swimming in the deep end of the pool or dive off the pier. A fence at the deep end of the pool separated the pier and the pool. There was a wall about 12 feet high that all the older guys would dive off of into about seven or eight feet of water into the canal.
My buddy Jack Brettell was one hell of a swimmer. He could practically swim underwater halfway across the canal a distance of some 300 hundred feet. I remember one time he dove off the pier and he didn’t surface. We waited and waited and waited. A good fifteen minutes must have gone by and for sure we all thought he was a goner. Well old Jack he was a cagey SOB. He had swam underwater and surfaced along the banks of the canal unseen by us kids. He told me years later that he sat there laughing his guts out, listening to us worrying about him. I loved that guy and as matter of fact I still do.
Movie Theatres in Welland (1940’s & 50’s)
The Community Theatre located on King Street near the old Leon’s building was also called the Garlic Opera, because of its proximity to the Italian and Hungarian communities in the area. Whenever you went into the Community Theatre there was an omnipresent smell of garlic. Hence, The Garlic Opera. No disrespect meant or intended, just stating facts people.
The price for admission at the Community Theatre for matinees was 12 cents. We would go there on Saturday afternoon for the movie serials with Red Ryder, Lash La Rue, The Phantom, Wild Bill Elliot, Hop Along Cassidy and many more that are buried somewhere in my memory banks.
Admission to the Park and Capital theatres was 15cents. These two theatres were where we would go to meet up with a girl and go to the balcony and neck with each other. I often wonder where the term necking came from? You didn’t get much farther than “necking” more commonly known as fooling around, but it was still fun. Occasionally you could cop the odd feel but that was as far as it ever got. There was a lady attendant dressed in a nurse’s outfit whose job it was to catch us fooling around and kick our asses out of the theatre on the spot. Sexual desires and those types of things were stringently suppressed in the 1950′s. Of course we would be back there the following week to do it all over again.
Another thing I remember about going to the movies in those days was they would have additional entertainment at the Capital theatre. Photo Night was one promotion. Another one I remember is when I was about 12 or 13 years old going up on stage with several other people and being hypnotized. The hypnotist had us doing weird things like making animal noises or rolling around on the floor at his commands. Well I wasn’t really hypnotized because I faked it. I thought that being on the stage and being watched by people was cool. Obviously the so-called hypnotist wasn’t very good at his trade. But none the less for going up on the stage I won a free pass.
Crystal Beach
I remember we used to go on excursions to this great amusement park called Crystal Beach Park. It was situated right on the shores of Lake Erie across from Buffalo, New York, a few miles west of Fort Erie, Ontario. It had to be one of the greatest amusement parks of its kind in Canada, if not North America at that time. It had not one, but two roller coasters the biggest being The Comet. It was scary. The great thrill of the Comet was that it ran alongside of the lake. The first climb up to the top was about 100 ft. A chain pulled the roller coaster up to the top with about a dozen cars attached together. Once it got to the top it was a free fall straight down. After that it was gut wrenching and twisting and turning tracks that ran right alongside of Lake Erie. It was about two minutes of unrelenting thrills.
The second coaster was called The Giant, not as high as the Comet but certainly a rush for a young kid who was afraid of heights. The other amusements were the Funhouse, Laugh in the Dark, Moon Rocket, Miniature Golf, Bumper Cars, and of course the Ferris Wheel. They had a Kiddies section with rides such as the Merry-Go-Round, miniature airplanes even a mini roller coaster, The Little Dipper that was about 10 feet high and a wide variety of other kiddie rides. The best of all though were the cinnamon and butterscotch suckers from Hall’s. Candies.
Everyone has a special memory of their childhood and looking back over the years this is perhaps one of the nicest. An only child I was taken to visit my father’s family in Stevensville every Sunday and share in picnics, family gatherings and outings with the odd assortment of relatives who lived in the area. Because it was a weekly event, I sometimes resented the routine of my parents, but now I wish I could have one day with the Fox family eating scrumptious food prepared by my grandmother and listening to their stories. One of the best remembrances was the flavor of my grandmother’s icing that donned every cake. Made from farm fresh cream it is a taste one never forgets. Picnics were held on the farm under a shady tree and I can still see the grouping of people laughing and carrying on.
My father was raised on House Road, Stevensville, by his grandparents, and it was not an easy time. They had little money and he was often left to take care of himself, which he did quite successfully. The old house had a barn, circa 1860, that the Fuch family built on arrival to the area. I did not appreciate my roots until it was too late to record the stories which is often a sad fact of our past.
Last year I had the barn painted by my dear friend John Robert Bradley and it is part of a legacy to be passed on to my children. Taken from a photograph, the likeness is uncanny and a tribute to the artist. I wish to share John’s work with you and to see the value of preserving these images in whatever way we can.
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