WRITER - Truck Logger -
King of the Road (Continued)
I know every engineer on every train, all of their children and all of their names,
And every handout in every town, and every lock that ain’t locked, no one’s around.
I’m a man of no means by no means, King of the Road.
Angus Alison is the third in four generations of A.P. Alisons. There was his grandfather, Ambrose Picton Alison, and his father, Arthur Picton Alison; there’s Angus Philip, and his son, Andrew Philip.
Ambrose Picton Alison was a purser on the old P. & O. lines who found himself in Victoria in 1912. He pawned his grandmother’s wedding rings to get into the logging business, handlogging and running a shingle mill in the Homathco Valley in the late twenties and up in the Charlottes in the thirties. He began with steam donkeys and in the Charlottes built a railway with 5 locomotives, ran a camp with 300 men and built the first Davis raft to float out of the Charlottes with over a thousand logs in tow. He went broke six times.
In time, Ambrose Picton, built Lions Gate Lumber at the foot of Pemberton in North Vancouver, shipping Douglas Fir to England for door stock. That’s right. Here’s some Canadian wood. Make some doors.
Ambrose also saw the first spotted owl at 12th and Granville before World War I. He often lived in the Hotel Vancouver, and for his pioneering work with BC Borstal Boys and for creating both a home and school in the Hotel Vancouver for displaced families, he was awarded the Order of the British Empire. His 1929 Kodak wind-up movie camera can be seen in the B.C. Museum. Ambrose, who was the second president of the TruckLoggers’ Association, died in 1947.
Today, Angus buys over $200,000 worth of logs a day for Richmond Plywood, and with his son, Andrew, also in the business, we have here 4 generations of log buyers.
Angus’ favorite story about a logging truck on the loose concerns an otherwise quiet Sunday afternoon in Bella Coola in the early 50’s. The Northland Prince has arrived. And like every arrival of the Prince, everyone in town has been drawn inevitably down to the docks. For here and only here will be mail, supplies, returnees, new folk and always some surprise or two. It is a celebratory carnival atmosphere, the one true weekly event in Bella Coola.
A man named Boyd Hammer has got his empty trailer hitched to the roof of his cab. He starts slowly up the hill from the docks. As he gets to a crest in the hill, opposing traffic is staring at him. So he gingerly backs down the hill a bit to let the traffic through. Now comes the freaky part. Parked at the side of the road is a 1929 Essex, owned by one, Buzz Bazille. Buzz Bazille and Boyd Hammer.
So Boyd backs his rig down to let the traffic through and his compensator – a sort of hook-and-clamp for the reach – grabs hold and snaps shut on the front bumper of Buzz Bazille’s 1929 Essex.
This new hybrid thing starts back up the hill. Logging truck, trailer perched on top, Essex hooked in between.
Buzz comes hollering out of his house. He hops on the running board of the Essex. He’s screaming and yelling at Boyd Hammer for goddsakes to stop. But, as you know, a logging truck in full flight in one noisy creation, so Boyd can’t hear a word. And what’s a road in Bella Coola in the 1950’s, but pure dust in your eye. So Buzz Bazille is riding the bumper of his beloved ’29 Essex, which is clamped uninvited to the back end of Boyd Hammer’s rig, and Buzz is yelling and screaming, and Boyd is driving steely-eyed and unaware up the hill.
Now at the top of the hill stands a gas station, Bellco Service. The usual suspects are gathered in front. This being a Sunday, they’re smoking and jawing and swapping Tales of the Woods. But now this apparition comes rolling past them. One of the fellows runs out onto the road, screaming, “Stop! Stop!”
Boyd hits the airbrakes. The Essex accordions. It simply folds and crumples forward into itself, and into an unrecognizable hunk of metal and upholstery. And Buzz Brazille rolls out onto the road, ass over teakettle, about 52 times before he comes to rest. Boyd still seeing none of this drives on…
Trailer for sale or rent, rooms to let, 50 cents;
No phone, no pool, no pets, Ain’t got no cigarettes.
Ah, but 2 hours of pushing broom, buys an 8 X 12 4-bit room…
Trailer for sale or rent, rooms to let, 50 cents;
No phone, no pool, no pets, Ain’t got no cigarettes…
