by Robert Hunt
Hotel Newfoundland in the early 1950s. Behind the hotel is Prince’s Rink, where Norman Downey fought many of his famous fights. (Courtesy of Tulk’s Glass and Key Shop)
Norman Downey’s store on New Gower Street in the 1950s
(Courtesy of Norm Downey’s family)
Taxi driver and owner of Gulliver’s Cabs, Pierce Gulliver with his wife, Nora, at a dance in St. John’s (Courtesy of Fred Gulliver)
Kenney’s Fruit Store on the corner of Brazil and
New Gower streets, circa 1950s
(Courtesy of Ed and Rick Harris’s Barber Shop)
Norm Downey with the Earl Haig Belt. He was the only man to ever wear it, after losing only three of his 147 fights in Ontario and Newfoundland. (Courtesy of Norm Downey’s family)
One of many trophies won by Norman Downey in his fighting career. Inscription reads: Top: Boxing 1936. Bottom: Norman J. Downey, 1936-1937, Featherweight Champion 126 lb class. (Courtesy of Norman Downey’s grandson, also named Norman)
Young boys riding their bikes in St. John’s. In the middle is my nephew, a young Chad Hunt. (Courtesy of Harry Husk)
Paramount Theatre was the most modern of its time. Circa 1940s. (Courtesy of the Telegram)
Rows of dilapidated houses on Cuddihey Street, with an old car wreck, in the 1950s (Courtesy of City of St. John’s Archives, 11-02-076)
Slum houses that existed off Central Street, circa 1950s (Photo by Stanley Pickett Collection, Archives and Special Collections, Memorial University)
Home shows the deplorable conditions of many of the homes in Sheehan’s Shute, circa 1952. (Photo by Stanley Pickett Collection, Archives and Special Collections, Memorial University)
More slum houses. Above shows the last of the homes awaiting demolition, circa 1952–1953. (Photo by Stanley Pickett Collection, Archives and Special Collections, Memorial University)
The house to the left in Sheehan’s Shute had no floor, so when one stepped through the door they walked on bare rock. (Photo by Stanley Pickett, Archives and Special Collections, Memorial University)
East side of Casey Street looking down toward New Gower Street, circa 1950s (Courtesy of City of St. John’s, 01-12-005)
Four policemen standing outside Jim Lee Laundry on Carter’s Hill. Three people were killed there by Wo Fen Game in 1922. (Courtesy of the City of St. John’s Archives, 01-13-004)
Casey Street at Flower Hill, circa 1950s
(Courtesy of City of St. John’s Archives, 11-01-223)
Demolition of houses on James Street. Truck in front from
Institute for the Blind, circa late 1950s.
(Courtesy of City of St. John’s Archives, 11-01-386)
More homes being demolished in James Street area with
a group of adults and children looking on
(Courtesy of City of St. John’s Archives, 11-02-040)
Rear view of Walsh’s Bakery with Casey Street in the foreground and McFarlane Street to the left, circa 1960s (Courtesy of City of St. John’s Archives, 11-03-031)
Flower Hill east, looking north from Duggan Street, 1968
(Courtesy of City of St. John’s Archives. #18-02-009)
Healy’s Pharmacy, located on the corner of Monroe and Casey streets
(Courtesy of St. John’s Archives, 17-02-010)
Last picture of me and my good friend Dickie White at a party in his mother’s house in 1982 (Courtesy of my sister-in-law, Virginia Whelan)
Norm Downey’s family. Front row: Bill and Muriel. Back row: Wilson, Maude, Hazel, Sandy, Roy, and George. (Courtesy of Downey family)
Photo of Joey Smallwood, then premier of Newfoundland
(Photo owned by my brother Angus, signed by Smallwood)
Picture of my friend Steve Phillips (Courtesy of Phillips family)
Picture of Alex Faulkner playing with the Detroit Red Wings in 1961 (Courtesy of Alex Faulkner, Grand Falls, Newfoundland)
Station in Avondale similar to those used by CN Railways (Author photo)
CN train located in Avondale similar to railway we played on in Mahers (Author photo)
Plaque honouring war hero Tommy Ricketts located where his pharmacy once stood on the intersection of Job and Water streets across from the CN Railway Station (Author photo)
The altar inside the Anglican Cathedral on Church Hill, which Dickie and I visited one time to find out the difference between Catholics and Protestants (Author photo)
Picture of an old Kodak Hawkeye Camera (Author photo)
Bottom of Springdale Street. Harding’s Trucking is seen on the right. Circa 1960. (Courtesy of City of St. John’s Archives, 11-02-120)
Old cars parked at Sheehan’s Shute off Casey Street. Back of Walsh’s Bakery, circa late 1950s or early 1960s. (Courtesy of City of St. John’s Archives, 11-01-246)
War hero Tommy Ricketts (Courtesy of City of St. John’s Archives, 01-53-001)
Old house on Sheehan’s Shute off Central Street, circa 1957
(Courtesy of City of St. John’s Archives, 01-46-014)
Gulliver’s Cabs, Dickie, and Me
There were no malls in our day. One source of fun and adventure was a stone’s throw from us on Water Street. In the late 1950s, while roaming downtown for what we called a hobble—a place to make money for doing a message or a favour—Dickie and I came across Gulliver’s Cabs on Queen’s Road. It became another regular hangout for us, where we’d see if any taxi driver at the stand, or the owner, Pierce Gulliver, needed a task done.
One hot, sunny day, when we were leaving the Arcade store on Water Street, we decided to walk up Queen’s Street on our way home when we noticed a man cleaning a cab. Dickie and I sat on the sidewalk a few feet away and watched him clean the inside first and then the outside. While doing this, from time to time he would run inside to answer the phone. He would answer the call and then come out and begin cleaning another cab. We wondered what the hell he was doing, so we asked him.
“I’m taking calls from people who want to take a cab around the city.”
“Why would you do that?” I asked.
The man told us that he was the operator who told other cabbies where to go to pick up a customer. He had to stay at the outlet to send them on their way to another fare when they returned, or direct them to a new location when they phoned in. It sounded confusing.
We processed all this information and headed on up Queen’s Street to New Gower Street and home. All the while, we were thinking that maybe he would let us clean one of his cabs next time for a dollar or two. We would check in and ask him when we were in the area again. It could be the start of an enterprising business for us!
A few days later, we stood in front of Gulliver’s stand. The same guy came out, and we asked if he had any cars that needed washing. He went inside and came out with another man to have a chat with us. He was a stout man, about 250 pounds, with a bulbous nose and a gruff voice.
“The operator told me what you guys wanted, but I don’t need any cars washed today. But I was wondering if you could go to the post office for me to get some stamps so I can mail a few letters.”
The post office, on the corner of Water Street and Queen’s Street, was just a few hundred feet away. We wondered why he didn’t go himself, but we weren’t about to argue. Before he gave us the money, he said, “You guys look familiar. Who are your fathers? Do you kids live around here?”
Of course, we knew where this was leading. We were always asked the same question before anyone sent us on a message, in case we decided to take off wi
th the money. Many kids did errands for people in the city, only to run off, cash in hand, without completing the job. But when they were caught, a swift kick in the rear end usually brought them to their senses, and they made sure the message was delivered next time.
“Yes, sir. My name is Robert Hunt. People call me Bobby. My father, Ned Hunt, works for CN Railways. My buddy here is Malcolm ‘Dickie’ White. His dad is Blackie White, who is a fisherman. We live on Brazil Street.”
He wasn’t familiar with my father, but he knew Blackie from Water Street. When we told him our addresses, he allowed us to head off to the post office with his money. He told us not to take too long. When we returned, he gave us a quarter each and told us to check with him every once in a while to see if he had other messages he wanted done. He said his name was Mr. Pierce Gulliver.
In later years, his son told me that Pierce started his taxi business in the middle of George Street, off Springdale Street and down behind the old Horwood Lumber Yard. He operated in the city with five cars—four drivers and himself. Years later, he moved his cab business to Queen’s Street, where it is still in operation today.
Some of the cab drivers who worked with Pierce in the early 1960s were John Kavanagh, who owned Kavanagh’s Snack Bar next to the Fleetline Buses on George Street, and Walt Tucker, who lived on Springdale Street until he moved to Empire Avenue. I became friends with Walt and his family in later years. Other drivers were George Newell from the Battery, Herb Ryan from Blackhead Road, George Locke from Southside Road, Vic Stone of Major’s Path, Randy Hutchings, who lived by the Station Tavern on Hutchings Street, and Bobby Smith.
Over the years, Pierce’s family told me stories about him and his work. One time, he got a call to pick up three young men at the Parker & Monroe shoe store on Water Street. He picked them up, and they told him they wanted a ride to Prince of Wales Street. When they arrived, they decided they didn’t want to pay the fare. Pierce, noticing that one of them had left a new pair of John White shoes in the cab, told the man he would “hold” the shoes at the taxi stand until they came and paid their fare. An hour later, the three men showed up at the stand to try to confiscate the footwear from Pierce. A fight ensued, and the three soon learned that Mr. Pierce Gulliver was no pushover. Most were left bloodied, and they then decided to pay the fare, after which Pierce gave the guy back his shoes.
Another time, a man, quite inebriated, came into the taxi stand and said he wanted a ride to Queen’s Tavern. Pierce told him it was just down the road, but the drunk wouldn’t listen. He wanted a ride because he was so intoxicated he couldn’t walk. Pierce told him to go sit in the cab outside and he would be right with him. He drove the man 500 feet down the road, to the tavern at the end of Queen’s Street, and stopped to let him out. The ride took about three seconds. The guy then realized how close he was to the tavern and refused to pay the $1.50 fee for entering the cab. Pierce reminded him that he had asked for the ride in the first place. The guy ended up paying the fare before he got out and went into the bar.
Another time, a guy who was quite drunk fell asleep in one of the cabs, which was unlocked and had been parked overnight in front of the stand. Pierce found him the next morning and gave him a ride home, free of charge, after the guy told him he thought he’d gone home and fallen asleep on his couch. He said his wife was constantly nagging him, so he broke out after several years off the booze. He told Pierce he had no money left to pay him for the ride because he had spent it all on liquor. Pierce took pity on him.
Mr. Gulliver didn’t want his son Dave to enter the cab business, so he got him his first job at the Paramount Theatre on Harvey Road when he was eleven years old. When Dave was thirteen, his father got him a job as a bellhop on the ship Fort Townsell. You had to be seventeen, but Pierce knew the ship’s master, and before Dave knew it he was travelling from St. John’s to Corner Brook, Halifax, and New York, then heading on a twenty-one-day cruise to the Bahamas. Not a bad job for a boy in his teens! He moved on to become an apprentice with C. W. Benson, an electrical company on Campbell Avenue. He worked there for four years before taking on a second job driving a taxi.
So began his trial by fire when he went to work with A1 Taxi on Calvert Avenue, competing against Pierce. But there was no animosity between father and son. Dave then got another car and opened Super Ace Taxi on Adams Avenue, where the Salvation Army Citadel stands today. Dave was twenty years old when he, Ern Antle, and Jim Byrne started ABC Cabs. When Dave built up the business to eight cabs, Pierce told Dave he wanted to sell his business on Queen’s Street. Dave jumped at the opportunity. He knew that the area was a gold mine for cab business.
Much of the business for cabs in those days came from Americans soldiers who needed rides to one of their bases in Argentia, on the eastern side of Placentia, some seventy miles from Fort Pepperrell in Pleasantville, St. John’s. There were always Portuguese and Spanish fleets of ships in St. John’s harbour looking for cabs, too. Business was booming. Dave operated the business for years before passing it on to his son Peter.
Dickie and I did messages for Pierce for years. He was always good to us, and we never had to worry about getting paid. The cab company that started with Pierce Gulliver has been in business for more than seventy years. Today it’s known as City Wide Taxi.
I also got to know Dave’s son Pierce, who was named after his grandfather. That was when I went to work for Coca-Cola as a young man. Dave’s brother Fred and I went to school together at Holy Cross. In later years, when I began working with Rona Home & Garden here in St. John’s, I ended up working with Dave Gulliver’s wife, Linda. Dave passed away in 2014.
The Regatta
In the early days of our youth, we always looked forward to one particular holiday. This was a day that everyone in the city enjoyed. Regatta Day. The whole city of St. John’s, including schools, shut down for this day, and between forty to fifty thousand people would head to Quidi Vidi Lake to relax and enjoy the races. All businesses were closed when people heard the “all go” on the radio that morning, meaning the races would be going ahead. It was a holiday.
The St. John’s Regatta was always held on the first Wednesday of August, weather permitting. We had good summers then. We looked forward to it as much as we did the school Sports Day at the old Holy Cross Field on Leslie Street, held every year in June. Dickie and I would save our regatta money for weeks, to spend at the games of chance and to buy the food we would be enjoying lakeside. But one particular regatta would not be a godsend to us nor our pocketbooks.
We had enough money to enjoy a few hours at the lake. Basically, we stayed until the money ran out. To spend the whole day there would cost about six dollars, and we certainly didn’t have that. We would start on one side of the pond, by King George V Field, work our way up and down, then walk across the bridge and do the same on the other side of the pond, all the time looking for something exciting to catch our eye. We would usually head down there at about eight o’clock in the morning, stay for a few hours, and then regroup and check out our funds. Then we would head home for a few hours, from one o’clock until about four, and then head back down to the lake again for the championship race at seven.
One booth that we thoroughly enjoyed was the ticket spin put on every year by Mount Cashel Orphanage, where you could buy tickets for five cents each to win money or a prize. You could win as much as five dollars. The regatta that year just seemed to be our lucky day. We won twice in the space of an hour, two dollars each time, and we didn’t have to spend a lot in order to get it. Luck of the draw.
When we left, Dickie and I were walking down the Boulevard, the road that runs parallel to Quidi Vidi Lake, when one of our buddies from school came up to us and asked if we would help him unload a truck for a lakeside vendor. He said the pay would be fifty cents for each of us for about thirty minutes’ work. We unloaded the truck in record time, about ten minutes, collected our money, and headed dow
n toward the Royal Canadian Legion in search of more adventure.
As we neared the bandstand, we noticed a large, older man who was trying to get up the steep, grassy hill by the bandstand without much success. We felt bad for him, so we went to help. He was a big man, probably 300 pounds. Taking hold of both his arms, we struggled to get him to an upright position and manoeuvre him up the steep walk. After a few minutes, we gave him one final thrust on the last incline, and with all three of us breathing heavily, we got him next to his car, where he leaned against the door on the driver’s side. When he finally caught his breath, he thanked us profusely and got in and drove away.
It was then we noticed a wallet on the ground where his car had been. When we opened it, we found it had nearly seventy dollars in twenties, tens, and fives—and unfortunately for us, it also contained the owner’s identification. It would have been easy for us to just keep the money and throw away the identification, but we would have felt bad. This older man was probably poor and needed it. Back to the rightful owner it had to go.