Pop 89: Anybody Seen the Sandwich Board?

By Madonna Hamel
madonnahamel@hotmail.com

It’s showtime again. Time to pull out the lawn chairs and thermoses and maybe bring a blankee to snuggle into because Oldies on the Elevator is back. Along with a 4 pm to dusk farmer’s market, movies will be projected on the Val Marie heritage elevator as of May 20th, every two weeks until the Fall.

The movie idea was initially dreamed up as a unique event to raise money for the Elevator Heritage Committee. Ever since I moved here, I’ve been eyeing that white clapboard wall, which, as far as I was concerned, was begging to be painted or projected upon. Finally, one evening Shelly from Grasslands National Park office, at the other end of Centre Street, just hauled the park projector down to the elevator yard, and we gave it a whirl.

Those moments, waiting for the sky to darken and the Joad jalopies and the face of Henry Fonda to come to life on the side of the building, were some of the best seconds in requited anticipation I’ve ever had. We were not disappointed, and we haven’t been since. Every time the elevator comes to life and the moon rises behind us, whether it’s High Noon or High Sierra, Oldies on the Elevator never ceases to thrill and entertain.

Just in case anyone’s wondering, the movies are free ( donations for popcorn and hot cocoa are appreciated but not required). Nobody’s making a fortune off this. I kind of took over in the content department and insisted we stick to oldies. We want everyone to enjoy the evening, and the classics have something for everyone, which means great scripts written in a time when writing mattered, and plot twists and non-raunchy humour and fine acting and, yes, the richly nostalgic and subtly attenuated poetics of black and white imagery.

Now is as good as any time to invite anyone who would like to sell their special craft, snack, or root vegetable at our market. Try and show up a bit before 4 pm on every second Friday, starting May 20th. Bring a table. Give us ten bucks and watch the dollars roll in. At the very least, join us for a visit and hang around for the movie. We are hoping to get a special meal at the hotel going, but they have great Chinese cuisine as it is. And by then, we should have our new popcorn popper!

Oh, and bring a lawn chair.

Now all I have to do is design the posters and set up the sandwich board at the end of the street. Where is that sign? First stop is the Senior’s Centre to ask Maurice, who made the sign for events like the pancake breakfast and bingo and the Ham supper. He’s playing crib with the boys, Monday being “men’s” day.

“Since when have you been segregating coffee days?” I ask Maurice.

“We’re not really. It just ended up this way. Tuesday, the women gossip make quilts, though mostly they gossip. Stitch ’n’ bitch. that’s what they call it.”

We look around in the storage room, which though it has at least two of everything, from electric fry-pan to coffee urn to mop and bucket, does not seem to have the sandwich board. It is suggested that the last time anyone saw it was at the nurse’s, next to the library when they were advertising flu shots.

I enter the library, where one of the new park staff is getting grilled by Judy and Betty, the librarians. The new young thing has that robust, outdoorsy, fresh and friendly shyness of all new park employees. She’s polite and is answering all Judy and Betty’s nosey questions, and I start in on my own none-of-my-business inquiries: “Where do you live? Who do you live with? What do you think of so-and-so? What do you think of us? Staying long?”

Eventually, I remember why I’m there. “Oh yeah, anyone seen the sandwich board?” “It’s at the hall,” says Betty. “Used it for the election.”

“Ah, right!” I say. “That makes sense. Are you done with it? Any civic events, special suppers coming up? Can I use it for the movie poster?”

This is a one-sandwich-board town. And we all, eventually, know where it is. Such is life in a village. Sure, I could just build a new one. Everybody here is handy enough with a screwdriver and a hinge they could make one in their sleep. But what fun is that? Better to prowl the town looking for it instead. This way, I can find out who is seeding, calving, branding. Who got hired back at the park. What Don plans to do with that new stove he’s moving into the diner. What new booze Jody has stocked on the entire west shelf of the grocery, Val Marie Grocery & Liquor, now under her management. Everyone swears she is going to “do really well” come summer, with the tourists, who are already parked in the village campground behind my place.

As luck would have it, I was crossing the road from the library to the hall when Ervin pulled up and offered to take me to lunch where we sat next to Cal and bemoaned the lack of moisture. “Just barely made it through last year and don’t see we’ll be able to do it again this year if we don’t get some real rain,” the men agree.

Over pork chops and won-ton and green tea, Ervin and I are catching up on our lives when his phone rings. Something about somebody needing a tractor or a flatbed or something. All I know is somebody’s borrowing something, so we cut our visit short. On the way home, I make Ervin stop to help me load into his truck an exercise bike with a sign scotch-taped on it that says: FREE. Then he’s off again, and I get down to writing this column. I never did find that sandwich board. But tomorrow’s another day.

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