ODDS’N’SODS — Waiting for the thaw

In 1911, the local mine in Hollinger (now Timmins), Ont., installed a pump and pumphouse on a nearby river in order to supply the town with water.

A steel bridge to carry the pipeline over Fullam Creek was constructed, but the pumping system was simple and consisted essentially of screens to keep out fish and animals.

By 1937, the town was consuming so much water that an additional pump and pipeline were required to keep up with demand. The Fullam Creek bridge, however, was sagging and needed reinforcement before an additional waterline could be installed. It was resolved that two sections of plate would be welded to the bottom of the bridge.

The sort of welding technique required was relatively new, and the job became a first in Timmins. New Ontario Machine Works supplied the welding generator, and the town provided workmen, timber, hundreds of clamps and the steel that would be used as reinforcement.

With jacks borrowed from the local rail company, the bridge was elevated in the centre, and tack welds to keep it in place were applied. The job, which included a lot of heavy welding, required six days from dawn till dusk.

The job soon became a spectacle. People would gather each evening on the river bank so their children could watch the blue sparks from the welders’ torches drop into the water.

A local resident infuriated the job’s foreman by carving figure-eights in the water (near the jack supports) with a speedboat. The horseplay ended when the foreman sprayed hot metal from a burning welding torch into the boat.

New Ontario Machine Works received a small bonus from the renovation; I managed to salvage some clamps (which the workmen dropped into the river after removing them) for use in our shop.

Whenever I visit Timmins, I am reminded of just how good that original river water tasted, though it was difficult for some residents to come by during the winter months.

Water mains and small connection pipes were supposed to be installed below the frost line, but, as a result of rock outcrops and the rush to keep up with demand for housing, some sections of pipe didn’t get buried very deep.

Frozen pipes soon became a common problem during the winter.

The water department took care of blocked pipes by stringing cables to the frozen section from a DC transformer. The resulting electric charge was enough to melt the ice. The procedure, which didn’t last longer than a couple of minutes, cost the homeowner upwards of $80.

The New Ontario Machine Works, owned by Karl Eyre, had a large, engine-driven generator for portable welding, but Karl figured he could use the machine to thaw frozen pipes for a little extra money.

We charged a flat rate of $5 for the job, which took just a minute or so longer than it did the city crews. Some miners’ wives complained bitterly about the charge and compared it with wages for a full shift’s work at the mines. However, I got used to the abuse.

Once, a woman refused to pay more than $1 and, tired of her nonsense, I told her I’d freeze the line up again. She produced the $5 but called me a “robber bastich” (she didn’t speak English well) while I was making out the receipt.

I never did receive a translation of her insult, but I’m pretty sure she was questioning my honesty and the marital status of my parents.

I have pleasant memories of gurgling coffee pots and the smell of great aromas in most Moneta homes. On the other hand, the long underwear hanging around the stoves in the Hollinger houses did not impress me, and the low-rent Union Coal houses left much to be desired.

We did brisk business during those long, cold winters, and when Karl bought two new Oldsmobiles, he winked and said, “Thaw money.”

— The author, a frequent contributor to this column, resides in Boyertown, Pa.