In 1967, a discouraged but determined Tom Connors arrives in Kirkland Lake & once again, Gate Lepine comes to the rescue

“I'm not giving up” Tom kept saying. “I'll try Toronto again. I'll go back to the Horseshoe Tavern and see if I can get in there somehow. I'll get records, albums, radio. I'm not giving up.”

Tom Connors - January 1967

From Gate Lepine’s book, Hark Knock Graduate

Canada's hundredth birthday – 1967. Centennial Year with the big project – Expo 67. In the coldness of January, in Kirkland Lake, with the boys from the band gone, (patched up with Jimmy and they will be playing Rouyn Quebec). Oh well, it was fun. They stayed with us a few months.

I'm sitting in my office, looking over the mail coming in when I spot one letter from a booking agent. There’s a list of entertainers he had on hand. Tom Connors! What? Wow! Tom?

I got on the phone to the agent in Toronto and made arrangements to get Tom here. It was perfect.

The agent said. “Tom is waiting for a job. I’ll book him now. He'll be there in a week. I'll get in touch with Tom. He's been wondering if I'll ever book him again. It's far north and winter time but Tom will be happy to work.”

“Oh, one condition”, I said. “Do not mention my name. Just the hotel and the town and tell him to see the manager when he arrives. It's a surprise. Don't mention my name.”

Now I can't wait. Wow, this will be great. I tell Jean and I put an ad in the paper and I'm on the phone calling people up, even from Timmins. Tom is coming! At this point, it’s still Tom Connors, no Stompin’ yet. He’s still struggling, trying to make it.

Here he comes. I'm in my office, and I've got my Sunday best grey suit on, vest, and all, shoes shined. I’m leaning back in my chair, my feet are on the desk and I’m puffing a big cigar. There’s a knock on the door. “Yes, come in”. You should've seen the look on Tom's face when he saw me. “What the hell? What's going on here? Jesus, what the heck?”

“Sit down, lad, have a beer. I'm the big boss man here.” I've got a bottle of Cointreau in front of me with ice in a bucket, the works. And you know we're going to have a good time now. I tell him the whole story on how I got to run this place. I've never seen Tom laugh so much.

“I needed this Gate. I've been in the dumps down in Toronto. I've been wondering where my next job would be and then this happens. Wow.”

I show him his room, and Gene has some good homemade soup and steaks ready for us. He's hungry and it's late afternoon now after his long drive here in the cold winter. We sip some more beer and wine as we dying like two kings while the winds are blowing wild. I help him set up and he's on stage doing his thing. He's got the crowd going as I knew he would. I even jump up there to do a few numbers. The party is on. - swinging gates, and soon to be stomping Tom. The twins again. Don't fuck around with the twins. When these two meet, anything can happen and does most of the time.

Good old hockey game.

After closing time, I can't wait to show Tom this table hockey game I have. My wheels are clicking again. You know me. What Tom doesn't know is that I'm a whiz at this game. I was the “Rocket Richard" of table hockey.

“Oh, the good old hockey game, is the best game you can name,

And the best game you can name, is the good old hockey game.”

For me, that is. We set it up. Two bits a game. I said “OK Tom, you're on”.

I place a case of beer his feet. “Here, dig in”. I place a bottle of rum next to me with ice and cokes. The only time we get up is to go to the bathroom. Cartons of cigarettes for Tom. All set, ready, face off.

This goes on night after night, after everyone is gone home. We play until four or five in the morning. When Tom leaves, most of the money he's made stays here, one quarter at a time, one game at a time. I would call the play-by-play, “here comes the Rocket to pass to Boom Boom, over to Cournoyer to Richard, he scores.”

In the net it went. Poor Tom, and I do mean poor. He did get some quarters back at pool. It was not all that bad. At snooker, we're even. We would play pool each afternoon, have supper together, a few suds, then it was back to business. Taking care of customers. Then back to Hockey Night in Canada from the floor of the Franklin hotel in Kirkland Lake Ontario.

We sure had fun Tom and I. The two weeks went so fast. We would laugh our fool heads off, coming up with the craziest things. Such as one night when we had a blizzard in Kirkland Lake. There were very strong winds from the north. I'd gone to the front desk and watched the storm through the window. I saw the hardware store sign across the street swinging back-and-forth. Those wheels again, clicking away, click, click, click. I get this great idea on how to make a few more quarters. You see Tom was getting tired of handing me quarters by the handful, and was steering away from the table hockey game. So I come up with a new game. With everyone gone, I said, “let's skip hockey. Let's go to the front desk and sit by the window and watch the storm. We can bring some beer and rum, and have a great talk. Anything to get away from the hockey game” he says, "yeah. Sure. Hell, why not? A good serious talk will do us both good. Yeah, I like it.”

The plan is working. You see, I had done my homework, the kind you do when you go to the Hard Knock school. I had noticed how the sign swung almost always to the left. The reason was simple if you study it close. The north wind was pushing the sign to the right a few times per minute but, it was swaying even more to the left. Tom and I are sitting there and I pretend I just noticed the sign swinging away. I said, "hey Tom, we got nothing to do and you don't want to play hockey (making sure I mention hockey), you see the sign across the road? Let's bet a quarter. Oh shit, let's say each time the sign goes to the right, you know, when you're sitting, (I made sure he was sitting there). Each time the sign goes your way, I'll give you a quarter and each time it swings my way to the left, you give me a quarter. “Sure” he says “blow wind blow”.

To the left, to the left, to the left.

By the time Tom caught on, it was bedtime for Bozo. A fella needs to sleep. I leave to go to bed and he yells, “come back here you asshole.”

I say “would you rather play hockey?”

"Go to bed god damnit Lepine.

“Adios amigo”.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck off Frenchie.”

But it was great for Tom, great for myself to laugh and relax. Tom said it was beneficial to him. It lifted his spirits and he's got a job in Barrie. Things are looking better.

“I'm not giving up” Tom kept saying. “I'll try Toronto again. I'll go back to the Horseshoe Tavern and see if I can get in there somehow. Get records, albums, radio. I'm not giving up.”

And he didn't when many would. There's not too many that could follow in Tom's footsteps, including myself. Those who were jealous of him didn't have the guts to follow him. He's a one-man show on a one-man crusade of Canadiana.

The last day comes. Saturday night and it's one heckuva storm again. Blowing snow. Lots of snow. Warning is to stay off the highway. But you know Tom, he's going. He's playing Barrie on Monday and he's going. I help pack his gear and now we've got to find the car under a thick fresh blanket of snow. We find the old Ford and shovel off the snow. It’s sitting on ice, in a rut, and I begin to push. He rocks the car back-and-forth to get it out. Determined. He's going.

“This is crazy” I say. "It's a blizzard. Shit it's 36 below zero and the winds are blowing snow drifts all over the roads and highway. There's a warning.

“Fuck the warning and push.”

I'm pleading.”Leave Sunday.”

Tom says “if it's still coming down Sunday as they say it will, then what. I've got to get out of here. Besides I'm running short on quarters.”

We both laugh at that one. "Jesus Christ” says Tom. “Now I've lost my damn beer. I'll tell you everything is going wrong.

“It's OK, I got a couple more in my big winter coat here.”

The car is out, windows clean, and he's gunning it to make the small hill behind the hotel as I fall on my ass. All I can see is Tom's arm out of the window, waving. He knew if he stops, he's never gonna leave Kirkland lake before spring time. As far as he's concerned, the hockey season is over and I won the damn cup. He's gone. I see the tail lights disappear in a puff of circling snow. Yep he's gone.

Later, Tom told me he met no one but a single snowplow all the way to North Bay. He slept there. It got rough but he made it to Barrie by late Sunday afternoon. The show must go on.

The rest of the winter is cold and and things are quiet. The mines are closing down. Not much money around. I'm drinking way too much. Jean is tired and depressed and has a hard time with my heavy drinking. We're beginning to hate it here and it's worse for Jean. She does not drink. Never did. Me, I've got the bottle. It's long and lonely here and it's hard on Dennis. Poor kid, comes in from school, does his homework in the dining room. We play some hockey at the back of the hotel, him, and I. Then after supper he goes up to his room to watch TV. On Sundays, we go for a drive and to a restaurant. To be honest, we're lonely, and we’re still doing all the jobs here. We miss Timmins. I miss Tom. We paid our debts at least and will wait until they sell the place. Or leave before?