Moving to Laval

My Dad had just retired from the Air Force in 1969 and, after moving us around from base to base during that career, he had now decided to settle in the Montreal area where he got a job with Air Canada.We moved to Duvernay, a suburb of Laval just north of Montreal.

We arrived in late September. My older sister, Mary, was entering High School for the first time. Dad brought her to Laval Catholic High to register. Mary, like me, had always been shy and withdrawn. She wasn't what anyone would call a stunning beauty, but she wasn't an ugly duckling either. I loved my sister and the time she spent with me, mostly because neither one of us made many long-term friends with the constant moving.

By the time Mary went to her first class, it had already started. As she entered the classroom, her teacher, Mr. Bonaparte, stopped speaking and all eyes turned to this young woman with glasses dressed in a starched white blouse and navy blue woolen skirt. Mary sheepishly made her way to the only empty desk and slid into the seat.

"Miss?" Mr. Bonaparte's attention was focused solely on Mary.

"Yes?" Mary responded.

"Please stand." Mary complied.

"Do you have a slip?"

Unknown to Mary, being late for class required students to go to the office to obtain a late slip to give to the teacher, who would then record the information in the class's attendance log.

Mary, at first puzzled by the request, looked down at the edge of her skirt, then replied "Yes sir. I'm wearing one" and she lifted the edge of her skirt to expose a small portion of her undergarment. Now for those under the age of 25 who have no idea what a slip is because they have never worn a skirt or dress, a slip is a woman's undergarment worn beneath a dress or skirt to help it hang smoothly. It can also prevent chafing from coarse fabrics such as wool.

The whole class instantly understood Mary's confusion and broke out in a pandemonium of laughter and cheering. Mr. Bonaparte himself could barely conceal his laughter. "Just sit down." he enjoined and tried to continue the class, but the bell rang for end of period.

Mary became known as "slip girl" or "Slip" for short, and the story spread like wildfire throughout the school and teachers' lounge. For the rest of the year people who recognized Mary in the hall would smile or wink at her, and she became one of the most popular girls in school. The ensuing flood of phone calls caused my parents no end of confusion when the young men and women calling would ask to speak to Slip. They were also pleased but concerned about Mary's newfound popularity and busy social life.

My own first day of school was a completely different story. I was, without a doubt, the smallest kid in my grade 6 class. As a matter of fact, I was smaller than most of the grade 4's and grade 5's too. My name, Ron, was also a popular name in the school due to the prominence of the famous actor Ronald Reagan a few years earlier. In fact the most popular student in my class, whose size 11 shoes were clear pre-indicators of his eventual phenomenal growth spurt, was already nick-named Big Ron. Consensus was quickly formed that I could not be called Ron because that would be an insult to Big Ron.

I was introduced at the classroom door to my new teacher, Mrs. Roy, a plump middle-aged matron with impeccably coifed gray hair and granny glasses perched on the end of her nose. She shook my hand briskly in welcome, and after Dad left, she gently pushed me into the classroom announcing, "Grade 6 students, I would like you all to welcome a new student to our class. I know you will make him feel at ease and welcome here. His name is Ronald Finnigan."

The whole class began laughing, both to my and Mrs. Roy's puzzlement. Little Johnny raised his hand. "Yes John?" Mrs. Roy acknowledged. "Finnigan's a dog!" John offered. I realized immediately what he meant. My favorite TV show at the time was Mr. Dressup where one of the characters was a talking dog puppet named Finnigan. Finnigan would not do as a nickname, but for days nicknames like Woof-boy, Bow-wow, Spot and Boner were tried. None seemed to stick.

Then came Halloween. Halloween was Mrs. Roy's favorite class event. In an era where store-bought Halloween decorations were non-existent, Mrs. Roy conscripted her class in creating hand-made decorations with fall and Halloween themes until her classroom reassembled a haunted autumn forest. On Friday, October 31st, we had all been instructed to show up in Halloween costumes and there would be a prize for the very best one.

When I came home to announce the contest, my mother, who had recently acquired a state-of-the-art Singer sewing machine, put on her competitive "my son is going to have the best costume" face and began tearing through her closet for old dresses she could cannibalize into a "dream costume". I just rolled my eyes and went along. I had seen the same look when I started piano lessons. While watching Liberace on our weekly family TV night, I had made the mistake of saying how I would love to be able to play the piano like him. Mom, who was completely infatuated with the man and his bling immediately lit up and before you could say candelabra I was enrolled for weekly piano lessons. At every family event I was trotted out to play unforgettable tunes like "Three Blind Mice" and "Chopsticks". There was no worldly force that could stand in the way of my passionate stay-at-home mom and her "new project".

Every day for the next few weeks I was stripped to my underwear as soon as i got home as Mom measured me, tried pieces of material here and there and then finally dressed me in the final costume. It was a splendid suit of re-purposed wedding dress, cocktail dresses and sequins that would have made Liberace proud. All white from head to foot it sported the trademark wide lapels and flared bell bottoms that were popular at the time. Mom had added sequins and cannibalized costume jewelry, even adding them to my white sneakers. To complete my costume, Mom added fake sideburns and put eyeliner around my eyes, rouge on my cheeks and even a bit of lipstick. I was mortified, but I knew how much work she had put into the costume so I said nothing.

"You look just like Liberace!" she declared after I was fully dressed. "I have to get a picture." A moment later she appeared with her Kodak Brownie camera and began clicking away, while Mary, who had sneaked into the room unseen, began giggling in the corner she had concealed herself. "What's so funny?" my mother asked as she turned around to confront her. Mary didn't answer - instead she just ran out of the room laughing. "Don't pay any attention to her," my mother declared, "she's just being a silly teenager."

To prevent my damaging or soiling the costume on the way to school, Mom drove me in the car. She proudly held the door open and escorted me right to class bringing me right up to Mrs. Roy. It was the first time I saw Mrs Roy's jaw drop, then smile. "That's a wonderful costume, Olivia," she exclaimed, "but don't tell anyone who he is - we have a guessing contest too." My mother proudly smiled and nodded her understanding before she winked at me and left.

There I was, this brightly sequined piñata (oh yes, I knew what was coming) surrounded by witches, goblins, tramps and other less than perfectly dressed students who couldn't quite make out who or what I was. Then the guessing began. Elvis Presley was high on the girls list, but the boys pooh-poohed that suggestion claiming he would never look so "fruity". Since we had been studying French history the week before, Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI were also on the list. Then Andris, the son of a Latvian immigrant who had also just started school that week and was struggling with the English language, came up to me and asked, "Do you Elton? You know, Elton John?" the other students thought this was hilarious. They had no idea who Elton John was, but they all started shouting in unison, "Elton.. Elton.. Elton.."

"No, I'm Liberace!" I declared.

"Elton.. Elton.. Elton.."

"No, Liberace!"

"Elton.. Elton.. Elton.."

Finally I gave up. "Yes, I'm Elton."

"Yay, " the whole crowd cheered as my costume was the last one guessed and we could all now have some of the Halloween cake Mrs Roy had baked herself. "Do you Elton." became the catch phrase of the day and, except for it's length, would probably have been the nickname that stuck. Elton almost became the nickname until Conrad, our resident 4-eyes geek who loved word puzzles pointed out that "Do you Elton" could also be expressed as a vanity license plate as "DO-U-L-TON" and he wrote them on the blackboard. At that point Big Ron, returning from the bathroom, saw the letters on the blackboard and asked, "Who's Doulton?", at which point everyone pointed at me and my nickname was born. That is the name, or the often used contraction Dolt, that I lived with until I graduated from high school, when I adopted Ron as my preferred name.

Actually I was proud of the name. Unlike Stinky, Numb Nuts or Jerk-off, Douton didn't mean anything and was unique. Later on I learned about Royal Doulton, which made it sound even more special. When I finally got my dog, I resisted other people's suggestions to assign a name like Harry or Bob or Paul, and Doulton again came to mind. So Doulton it was.

At the park I find the story of Doulton's name is a great ice-breaker. It's lead to a bit of good-natured teasing, but also to some good friendships with dog owners and dog fanciers alike. Unlike me Doulton is not shy about approaching strangers with a frisbee in his mouth and getting people interested and curious in both him and his owner.

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