Back in the day before technology and communication destroyed the simplicity of outport Newfoundland and Labrador, the local store was the pulse of the community. Beside supplying almost everything required to sustain outport living, it was a gathering place where news was shared, rumours spread and escalated, lies started and jokes told. My uncle had such a place in Seal Cove, White Bay. I remember the smell of the apple barrels, the wooden boxes of grapes packed in sawdust and the big round bulk cheese. I witnessed on many occasions several old geezers plucking a grape from the open box of grapes as they passed it, as if they had the right to sample them before they were sold. Acts such as this were carried out when the storekeeper's head was turned. One day, one elderly chap, not very "fleet of foot" and with failing eyesight, fell down the stairway to the basement as he attempted to obtain a sliver of cheese, undetected. My uncle was well aware of these "free samplings," but chose not to confront the culprits. He chalked it up to occupational annoyances. I recall one unusually hot and dry summer. My uncle joined forces with the school principal in pulling a prank on one of the afore mentioned samplers. In the 1950s the teacher was a revered figure in the community. This, along with the fact that the old guy they were tricking was unable to read and write greatly increased the likelihood of a successful conclusion to the prank. The two tricksters fabricated a letter and placed it in an official looking envelope with the pretense that it came from the government of the day. The school teacher opened the letter and read it aloud as the old fellow cut his plug of beaver tobacco in preparation for smoking his pipe. The letter stated that there were to be no open fires, no lighting matches, etc. until further notice. The old chap put his pipe and matches away and chewed his tobacco, instead of smoking it for weeks, until he found out he'd been duped. My uncle also had the movie theatre in the cove with movies every Saturday night. I remember some of the older gentlemen perched on the back of the seat at the rear, so as not to miss any of the action. Most of the movies were western with the same theme... the smart feller versus the crooks. The guys in the back, having had little exposure to the outside world, thought the movies were the real deal. When the scenes resulted in fisticuffs, they would shout out remarks like "Give it to the S.O.B.!" or "Kill the S.O.B.!" The movie theatre was located right next to the house I grew up in. As a boy, I galloped home many a night after the conclusion of a good western movie. The theatre was a place where my older brother and his friends would group together and have their weekly band practice. At one of these practices, a rat made the mistake of scampering across the floor. After being cornered with no means of escape, he ran up my brother's pants leg. He quickly stopped the rat about 6 inches from the place that makes boys different from girls. I raced next door to get my father. At the theatre my father, after locating the rat's head inside the pants leg, twisted its neck. It then fell to the floor, much to my brother's relief. Occurances such as those I have written about here were plucked from a reservoir of memories that 70 years of outport living had no problem keeping full. - Gary Rideout   Submitted By: NULL