F 1 D 0 - 2003 10 27 at 2230 Geordie Bullock. Let me see. It wasn't today. Today I helped Mark load boxes into a UHaul truck. It wasn't yesterday. That was sunday, and while I managed to get a nice workout, I didn't go for coffee or anything afterwards. Oh, I picked up a coffee from Tim Horton's but I didn't linger. It wasn't the day before yesterday. That was Saturday, and while the weather was right, I was not right. I didn't feel good about getting up, and managed not feeling right about going to the dance later that night. It must have been the day before that. Friday. I got up early to catch the 915am class with Amy at the Rec Centre, where she teaches a very tough kickboxing class. We used handweights which tired me out almost instantly. I had a nice shower afterwards, and noticed that the lights were on at Grumbel's Bakery. This place is directly across the street from the Main Street Centre. Main Steet is very wide at this point, perhaps eight lanes wide. Next to Grumbel's is a dance studio where people can sign up for Jazz or Ballet. I was curious about what I'd find at Grumbel's. Once inside, a British lady with an apron asked what I'd like. The counter was full of things familiar, and not familiar. I saw sliced salmon on a plate. Pies which had a very round look, and a round top on them. Lots of meat could be sliced up. And there were many dishes of salad and stew there. This place was a bakery, but didn't have too many baked goods. In the window there were lots of things, but the treat which caught my attention was a baseball with lots of chocolate sprinkles on it. It was also dark like chocolate itself, but wasn't. It was a huge Rum Ball! Any of you who know me know I need this like I need another 20 pounds of body fat. So I got it anyway, and a coffee. $4. At the back was a elderly man, who identified himself as Geordie. He was born in 1926. He took issues with people who always had something to complain about. Like cold winter, or hot summer. "No pleasing these people," he said to me. He started working at 14, doing anything he could. In a trucking yard, he could make a dollar sometimes. He eventually got himself work at DeHaviland, as he went to Central Technical School, and learned to be a pipefitter by night, as he worked by day. He wanted to fight for Canada. He, like many, was part of a reserve when he was 18. He wanted to go where the action was, but the doctor said he had flat feet, and so couldn't do much active fighting. There weren't many men around during the war years, and so someone who was effective and diligent was in great demand. He eventually came to own two planes of his own, and bought a trucking firm. I'm not sure how. He explained how to me, of course, but I do not remember many of the details. He asked those who worked for him not to discuss what he paid them. "Let them talk to me. If they're good, I'll give them work too." If his employees needed money, he'd say, "don't talk to the banks. Talk to me first, and see what I can do for you." He got tired of the trucking business, and sold it off, and many of his staff were very sad. Over an hour of rum ball and coffee, I got to learn about the history of this man, someone who has been a part of Toronto for a long time. He remembered how the city keeps changing the names of some of the streets, but not all of them. He used to work on Geary Ave, near the train tracks. Geary is still where it used to be, but many of the other streets have come and gone. The Grumbel's bakery was strange, in that it was covered with plaques for those who had served their friends and their country. It was some kind of old building, a memorial to those who fought. Or to some of the living, like Mr Bullock, who can remember a different time, when someone could start without an education, and go to work early, and become an important leader in the community by caring and working hard. That's all I know.