Introduction
All of my childhood, and most of my adult years, were spent living in Stoney Creek, Ontario, or “The Crick” as it is known by locals. My old neighbourhood in the Worsley and Millen Road area provided wonderful memories, events and people for my writing. While the storylines are true, they are written from memory and from my point of view. Family and friends in the photos that I share are real people, but in my stories they are represented by fictional characters. Names have been changed to protect identities, and any reflection of persons living or deceased is purely coincidental. I hope my memoir stories bring you the same joy in reading them, as they did for me in writing them. C.M.
New Neighbours: Part Three
From January to March of 2021, I was part of McMaster University’s Memoir Writing Project. Paired with a McMaster student, I had an opportunity to share and record my memoires through one-on- one Zoom meetings. With helpful suggestions and encouragement from Dr. Ellen Ryan and her assistant, Stephanie Wickens, I began, once again, to write my memoirs. I wanted readers to “feel” my childhood adventures, so I decided to “story tell” my memoirs with detailed description and conversation.
Carolyn MacArthur, writer and editor of SIDEBURNS: The Ultimate ETA Fan Magazine.
By the end of the three month project, and after reworking earlier writing attempts, I documented enough stories to create “New Neighbours, Part One, Two and Three”. I have chosen to share “Part Three: Beauty Pageant Day” with you as it was the story I was asked to read at the finale of the writing project on March 26, 2021.
I wish to extend a grateful thank you to Dr. Ryan and Stephanie for providing an amazing opportunity to write. Thank you to author and speaker, Viga Boland, for her wonderful courses on memoir writing. Thank you to all writers and readers who continue to find tremendous value in the written word. And thank you to all of you who read my writing and take time to comment. Best regards, Carolyn MacArthur.
Beauty Pageant Day
A Memoir Story by Carolyn MacArthur
I was fascinated by the beauty pageants that my cousin, Benji, and I watched annually on TV. After much phone discussion with Benji, and Twila, who was part of our party-line phone plan and who often listened in on my conversations anyhow, we decided to run our own contest.
We all agreed that the following Wednesday was the perfect day for our beauty pageant. Since it was the fifth week of summer vacation, we were sure that mothers in our neighbourhood would happily let their daughters participate in our contest because they were so tired of hearing, “I’m bored!” from their unimaginative offspring.
We made a long list detailing all the things we would need to make our beauty pageant a big success. I had a bag of dresses that family and friends gave to Mom so I could play dress-up. Not every kid was so lucky. It was unlikely that the Chabot girls had bags of anything old since space was at a premium in their crowded house. Also, Mrs. Chabot was an excessively neat person who wouldn’t allow dust to settle let alone keep bags of used, outdated, ill-fitting clothing. I would lend Chantelle and Bernadette dresses and accessories that were not just suitable, but flattering. I wanted every contestant to have an equal advantage so our contest would be fair.
I had already picked the dress I would wear from the bag of wrinkled garments. It was a lovely mauve crepe dress that once belonged to our dear family friend, Mrs. Bunting, or ‘Button’, as I lovingly called her. Button, a short, buxom woman who was as wide as she was tall, often wore this dress when she came to visit. The dress would look quite nice on me once I gathered the extra fabric of the plus-size dress around the back of my petite frame and secured it with a belt. The folded material would act as a train, giving my gown extra pizazz. The gaping bodice that fit snuggly on Button’s large bosom, hung loosely on my preadolescent body. It would need to be secured with an eye-catching rhinestone brooch.
My mom would allow me to cut only enough ribbon from her roll of broad satin to make one over-the-shoulder sash for the winner, so Benji and I decided we would make place cards numbered 1, 2, 3, indicating the winner, first runner up and second runner up.
“We will need nice flowers for the winner. Won’t we, Benji?”
“I have the flowers looked after. Do you like roses and carnations?” Benji asked knowing very well that I would squeal in delight.
“Roses and carnations!” I screamed into the receiver not disappointing Benji. Barely taking a breath, I went on. “But how and from where? We don’t have any money. I can ask Mommy, but…”
Benji jumped in. “Roger and I will stop at the cemetery on the way to your house. There are sure to be lots of fresh flowers available.”
“Oh,” I added cautiously after a long pause. I was remembering the corsages that Benji made for my mom and Aunt Betty when they were going to a dinner dance. Mom wouldn’t say anything to hurt her nephew’s feelings, but silently she cringed at the notion of wearing a corsage made from cemetery flowers no matter how nice they looked or how thoughtful the gesture. The corsage made it as far as the car that night, but never did see the light of the banquet hall.
“That will be really nice!” I continued, masking my concern and trying to hold onto my enthusiasm. Benji was older than I was, a teenager in fact, having just turned 13 on his last birthday. No matter what I thought, or what trepidations I might have about the source of our flowers, I bowed to his judgment. After all, the best I would be able to come up with would be bunches of flowers from my dad’s greenhouse, mostly dahlias and asters, and a few weeds from my backyard. Roses and carnations really would make more lavish bouquets.
One of the biggest and most exciting moments of any beauty pageant is the placing of the tiara on the head of the winning contestant, and we really wanted a tiara for our winner. In my circle of ordinary people, a few I asked didn’t even know what a tiara was; others offered hairbands; and absolutely no one that we knew had a real tiara to lend us.
“Why don’t we make one out of paper?” Twila suggested, wanting so much to have one of her ideas considered.
“Yuck!” I retorted. “Sorry, Twila,” I added quickly realizing I may have hurt her feelings. Twila, however, was not offended. She knew me well enough to know that I often blurted out things that I instantly regretted.
“If we can’t get a real tiara, we will just have to forget about it. Probably no one will even notice,” Benji concluded, and Twila and I saw no reason to disagree with the master planner.
“Does anyone have old drapes or curtains that we can use as capes?” Benji resumed.
“Yes!” Twila and I chimed in, so happy to move on from tiaras. Twila’s mom had just bought new drapes for their living room and she already said we could have the old ones. Benji suggested that if the drapes came with cords, we could use them to attach the drapes to the shoulders of the winners.
Benji had so many brilliant ideas and he sure knew a lot about staging a big event. It didn’t register in my naïve eleven year old mind that Benji was different than the other boys I knew. We got along so well, more like friends than cousins. None of the boys in my neighbourhood or at school knew as much as Benji did about the topics that interested me— fashion, gossiping, drawing, dancing, and, of course, beauty pageants.
Benji was the second son in a family of four very good looking boys. Philip, or “little Phil”, was the eldest, and six years my senior. I rarely saw him. Roger was two years younger than Benji, and Russell was the baby. Other than occasionally amusing me, Russell was of little interest.
Roger was closer to my age, but I had a much different relationship with him than I did with Benji. Roger liked that I was a bit of a tomboy. When he came to visit, we would play safari in the waist high weeds in my backyard or try to build a fort with leftover wood. But when it came to making up dance routines, putting on plays, or running a beauty pageant, Benji was my favoured cousin.
The girls in my neighbourhood had crushes on both Benji and Roger and were so excited that they were going to judge the beauty pageant. Not one of the girls questioned the boys’ ability or commitment in making sure the contest was fair or that the chosen winner was the most deserving.
The big day was fast approaching and there were still finishing touches that we needed to address. We definitely needed an audience. What would a contest be without one? We decided that we would invite all the little kids from my street, which tallied only a few, and all of the siblings of the contestants. The audience may end up being smaller in size than we wished, but at least it would be enthusiastic, we reasoned. The two Muskoka chairs my dad made would be reserved for the judges. The contestants would claim the picnic table with two attached seats, which meant that audience would have to sit on the grass.
On the day of the event, Benji and Roger rode their bikes from their street in East Hamilton to my house in Stoney Creek. Uncle Philip, surprisingly, had left change on the table so they could take the bus, but they opted for bike riding. It would have been nice to take the bus instead of pedaling the long distance on a hot August day, but they sensed trouble if the local guys saw two boys toting bunches of flowers. Besides, if necessary they could make a quicker exit from the cemetery on two wheels than they could on two feet.
They arrived on our doorstep midmorning. Mom’s initial response when she opened the door was one of pleasant surprise. She wasn’t expecting Benji and Roger to be holding large bouquets of flowers.
Mom welcomed them with, “Well, what a lovely surprise! What beautiful flowers.” The sight of the Miller boys and their flowers triggered something in her memory. “Little buggers,” she thought. “They’ve been at the cemetery again!”
“Come in, boys,” she said warmly, holding the door open for them. “Carolyn! Benji and Roger are here,” Mom shouted towards my bedroom.
I did a quick check in the mirror, and brushed my hair to the side with my fingers. I was always very excited when the boys came to visit. Today would not be as long a visit as I wished since they had to ride their bikes home. Sometimes Uncle Philip would drop Aunt Betty and the three younger boys off at our house on his way to work. On those special days, we had lots of time for fun. Today their visit would be all business.
“Hi Cuz,” I said to Benji, while acknowledging Roger with a quick wave and a smile.
Benji, in a whispered voice, asked, “Did you ask your mom yet?”
“No,” I replied. “I was hoping you would ask her for me.”
“Ok.” Benji retorted. Then in his most pleasing voice, asked, “Aunt Eloise, would you let Carolyn go to Cherry Beach with us after the beauty pageant?”
“Absolutely not!” was my mom’s swift reply.
Undeterred, Benji explained to his aunt that beauty pageants winners always receive a trip to a sandy beach somewhere exotic as part of their prize package. “So, we are offering our pageant winner an escorted bike ride to Cherry Beach on the rocky shores of beautiful Lake Ontario,” Benji said, hoping his Aunt Eloise appreciated his attempt at humour. Then Benji ended his spiel with a wink and what he thought would surely be the clincher, “Should Carolyn win, it would be nice if she could accept the prize.”
Benji’s sales pitch amused Mom and she softened her stance. She knew I was not fond of deep water since the time a big wave pulled me under, so I would be content dog paddling in the shallow water in my prize destination. Besides, Benji and Roger were excellent swimmers thanks to Uncle Philip’s “sink or swim” lessons he taught by throwing them in the lake when they lived in a cottage at Cherry Beach.
“Okay,” Mom relented. “Just keep a close eye on Carolyn in the water.”
Mom served an early lunch of baloney sandwiches and Kool Aid. She knew we still had some setting up to do before the pageant began.
The contestants began arriving just after twelve o’clock. Twila was the first to arrive already wearing her neatly pressed pageant dress. Teresa and Francine arrived next. Francine wanted to participate, and Teresa, her older sister, came along for moral support. Lola Lester came dressed in the same dress she wore to my birthday party. Still absent were Chantelle and Bernadette. I knew their older sisters, Pamela and Janine, weren’t coming; but where were my new friends Chantelle and Bernadette?
Benji suggested I start getting ready since the audience was arriving a little early. Some of Chantelle and Bernadette’s brothers were amongst the early group. Twila ran up to them to ask about their sisters.
“My mother said they can’t come because they have to watch David,” Bernard offered as an explanation.
“Can’t they bring him with them?” Twila asked with a hint of urgency in her voice. Twila had her own reasons for wanting Chantelle and Bernadette there. If they didn’t compete, there would be only four contestants, and that meant that there would be three winners and one loser. Twila feared she might be the latter. “Run home and tell your mom that David can come, too. There are more than enough people here to watch him.”
Minutes later, Bernard reappeared with Chantelle, Bernadette and baby David in his buggy. Benji was just about to step up onto the cistern to announce the starting of the pageant when he caught a glimpse of Twila and me whisking Chantelle and Bernadette into the garage where their outfits were waiting. Benji announced that there would be a slight delay. None of the audience, which had grown exponentially since mothers as far as two streets over learned we were “offering” two hours of free babysitting, heard a word he said. They were rolling around on the grass, playing tag, and in a couple of strange cases, taking a midday nap.
I gave a wave from the garage door that signaled to Benji that Chantelle and Bernadette were ready to compete. Benji, with his best Bert Park’s imitation, but thinking his acting skills were wasted on this crowd, announced the opening of the beauty pageant. To everyone’s surprise, the formerly rowdy audience settled down nicely. Maybe they had worn themselves out, or perhaps they sensed the verbal thrashing they would get from their siblings competing in the contest if they disrupted this big event and jeopardized their sister’s chance of winning.
“Our first contestant, Lola Lester, hails from Roxborough Road,” Benji began, using his very convincing emcee voice. “She is in grade five at Mountainview School, and her hobbies are skipping, drawing, and reading.” Lola walked the length of the broken sidewalk, did her best to complete a pivotal turn and walk back unscathed to her place on the picnic bench.
“Francine Smith is our youngest competitor,” Benji informed the audience. “She is in grade four at Memorial School where she enjoys recess, lunch, and throwing her ball against the wall.” Some of the younger kids started to giggle, but one stern glance from her sister Teresa put an end to it. Francine made a hurried walk to the picnic table, grateful that she hadn’t burst into tears in front of everyone.
Bernadette entered the staging area to a round of cheers from her four brothers. Benji noted that Bernadette attended St. Francis Xavier School where she excelled in religion classes. Bernadette took her time on the runway sidewalk enjoying the attention she rarely received at home. She was all smiles when she took her seat.
Chantelle entered to the same brotherly cheers as Bernadette. “Chantelle Chabot also attends St. Francis Xavier School. She is in grade 5 where she enjoys reading and helping with the younger students.” Chantelle didn’t milk the attention like Bernadette. She walked with confidence, but sighed with relief when the compulsory walk was over happy to be out of the limelight.
Twila was all smiles when she entered. Benji had warmed up to Twila during our planning phone calls. He didn’t know the other girls as well, although he commented on how pretty the Chabot girls were. Benji announced Twila as “a contestant who is a lot of fun, who works hard, and has an interest in plants.” Twila was bubbly as she did her walk. She felt that she may even have a chance of placing in the competition.
I was the last contestant. If I had an unfair advantage in the pageant, you would never have guessed it. Benji’s comments about me were no more glowing than those of the other contestants. “Carolyn is in grade five at Memorial School. She loves cats and art.” As I took my first step, it was obvious I was well prepared. I wasn’t cocky, but I did display certainty in my walk; and my pivot was exceptional. I looked at the audience, waved my gloved hand, and smiled my best smile. I was mimicking all the contestants I had seen in the numerous pageants I had watched on television. My mom’s gunmetal taffeta dress, which I ended up wearing after giving into Bernadette’s request to please let her wear Button’s mauve crepe, dazzled in the bright August sun.
The talent portion of the competition and the answering of the questions, which inevitably ended with “and world peace”, were omitted from our pageant. The audience was being picked up sporadically by moms missing their kids. Chantelle and Bernadette were told to be home by three to start dinner preparations. And Benji and Roger really wanted a swim in the lake before the long bike ride home.
For the first time all day, Benji seemed nervous. He cleared his throat, and announced the winners. “Thank you to everyone who entered our contest. In third place, we have Miss Twila McAdams.” Twila wasted no time in running up to the cistern to accept her card and flowers from Roger.
“In second place, we have the lovely Miss Chantelle Chabot .” Chantelle seemed surprised. She was sure Bernadette was going to place before her. “Please let Bernadette come first,” Chantelle prayed with sisterly love as she accepted her bouquet and second place card.
“And in first place, we have Carolyn Sykes.” I was so happy that I won! I jumped up and down, twirled, and fell a couple of times before Benji could place the banner over my shoulder. My joy and excitement were short lived, however. In the midst of my victory celebration, I saw in the distance that my two new friends were crying.
Bernadette, upon learning that as a runner-up she was invited to join us for a swim at Cherry Beach, burst into tears. Chantelle, knowing very well that there was no way their rigid father would ever bend to such a notion, was sobbing in solidarity.
Lola, who had been watching the drama unfold, quickly rode her bike home to get her bathing suit and towel knowing very well that rewards and duties fall on the next in line if a contestant cannot fulfill their obligation. And Lola considered herself next in line before Francine who was more than a year younger.
With the joy and tears of the Miss Stoney Creek Beauty Pageant behind us, and after we posed for a photo, our happy group of five headed to Cherry Beach for a swim in the cool water of Lake Ontario.
The End