It was 1964 when Tom Charles Connors entered that bar and met Gaetan Lepine. They didn't know it at the time but it soon became apparent that they were both at a crossroads in their lives, both having yet to find their place in the world. Their journeys leading up to that year were strangely similar and in fact, they would soon learn they had a great deal in common.
At first glance, it didn't look like it would be much of a friendship at all. Here was Tom, an English Canadian itinerant bum, turning to a gainfully employed Quebecker for a handout and a gesture of goodwill, simply to feed himself and get a warm bed for the night.
Even their personalities were at odds. An underfed, shy and sullen Tom Connors, spirits deflated, body in a desperate state, finds himself sitting across from a man with his own troubles, but facing them with a job, a community and an easy, light-hearted manner. It might have been a short lived encounter except for the two things they loved with all their heart, alcohol and music.
They were inseparable for Tom's 14 month long gig at the Maple Leaf Hotel in Timmins. As Gate tells it, it started the night Tom arrived.
It's cold and raining in late October in 1964. Almost snow. I'm at the bar. The lounge is empty now. I guess it's 10, or closer to 11 p.m., I forget, when I spot this tall, lanky, wet stranger walk in. Kind of shy, almost turned away. He's carrying a guitar and that caught my eye. The Guitar. I now he's from out of town.
He hesitates, then reluctantly wanders over to the bar and said, "Hello, I was looking for the Sally Ann and somehow missed it and spotted this hotel. I thought I'd have a beer and you could show me where it is so I can sleep and head down the highway tomorrow. I'm planning on going to Vancouver before the heavy snow comes. I'll have a draught first."
"No draft on this side" I say. "Only cocktails or bottled beer.
"Err, mmm, oh, give me a Black Horse". That was Tom's beer at that time. "How much?" as he empties his pockets.
"Forty cents" I said.
"Oh, I'm a nickel short. Could you recap it? Sir."
He's calling me sir. I like this guy. He's no bum or hardened criminal. I detect something special. He's been around and knows stuff. I can read his eyes and his handshake was good and strong. He'd look you in the eye, all the right signs. And I knew how to read characters, let me tell you.
"So", I said. "No problem. Here's a nickel and enjoy the beer. My name is Gates, that's short for Gaetan."
"Okay. My name is Tom. That's short for Thomas. Tom Connors."
We both smile, talk a bit and I grab another bottle from the fridge and place it in front of him.
"What's that? I got no money.
"I know" I said. "But you got a guitar. And if you play and maybe sing a song, then the beer is on me. I'm sure you don't carry that guitar around as excess baggage unless you can play it. Let's see it." He opens the case. I can see a shirt wrapped around the neck, and there it is. A Gibson. "Hey, let's hear it. Sing us a song. Do you know some old country songs?"
"Oh, I know a few. Name one."