During the summer of 1964, Ontario’s Timmins district was the site of the biggest, craziest staking boom in the world. The activity resembled the rushes of the Klondike and California, and the wild years at Cobalt. But by the time the smoke had cleared, more fortunes had been lost than made, although Kidd Creek did become successful.
Staying at a hotel in Timmins, I was in the thick of things. On a warm afternoon in early July, with the air conditioner clanking away at full blast, a crowd of friends and acquaintances had gathered in my tiny room to tell tall tales. Those present included a helicopter pilot, two stock promoters, two lawyers, one company president, myself and my partner. The room was so crammed with smokers and boozers I had to leave the doors open to clear the smoke, to say nothing of the B.S.
All of sudden, a tall, buxom black woman slinked into the doorway. She sported long red hair, several colours of makeup, and enough jewelry to sink a battleship.
“They tell me the whirly-bird is here,” she said, flashing a set of bright white teeth.
The room went quiet. “That’s me,” the pilot answered. “What can I do for you?” “I’d like to go for a ride in your machine,” she replied.
“But that costs a hundred and fifty bucks an hour,” he answered.
“That’s funny. That’s what I charge too.”
“Just let me finish my drink,” the pilot said. “Would you like one?” “Nice big straight scotch on the rocks.”
“I’d better have another before we take off,” the pilot added, a big smile on his face.
A few minutes later, we watched them ascend into the sky. Everyone cheered and lifted a toast to the departing couple, wishing them bon voyage in more ways than one.
We didn’t see them after that.
— Paul Martin is a retired prospector and broker living in Quebec.
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