April 05, 2023 – Regina, Saskatchewan
I am in Regina today, part of a dregs-of-winter-family-heritage-tour. I flipped on the hotel TV this morning and watched a local news program while I prepared for the day. Commentators were discussing a proposal to open the Scarth Street Pedestrian Mall to vehicle traffic.
Nobody bothered to ask for my opinion. As a former resident of that downtown Regina block, I would have given them a balanced perspective.
In 1975, the 1800 block of Scarth Street wasn’t a pedestrian mall, like it is today. It was a street, with decrepit retail shops on both sides, and seedy apartments on the upper floors.
Rental housing was difficult to find in Regina in 1975, even more so if you didn’t have much money, which was the situation I was in at the time. I had just landed a job in Regina, and I badly needed a place to stay that wouldn’t break the budget of my entry-level employment.
The job I had taken was a sales position, which included a company car, but that wouldn’t be available until after my three-month probationary period. I had wrecked my own car in a spectacular side-on collision with another vehicle (which I would rather not talk about), so I was looking for accommodation within walking distance of my new downtown office.
Thumbing through The Leader Post, I came across an ad for a one-bedroom apartment on Scarth Street, available for immediate possession. I called the number and arranged for a viewing.
My first impression was “this is a dump”, but necessity exceeded repulsion and I signed up for a one-year lease.
My first impression, as it turned out, was generous. The apartment wasn’t a “dump”, it was a disaster. There was garbage piled on the floor when I had originally viewed the suite. I assumed the trash was part of the previous tenant’s moving out process and I expected it to be gone when I arrived. Not only was it not gone, the garbage had grown into piles that reached the windowsills in every room.
I had been given an “as is – where is” speech by the landlord, so I never deluded myself into thinking that he might help me clean it up. My first purchase for the new digs was a box of green garbage bags and a small shovel, which I used to scrape the floor clean.
As revolting as it is, I have to tell this story. I have used it as one of those “up hill both ways” legends parents tell their children, so it needs to be put on record:
Once the overflowing garbage had been removed, I started working on cleaning walls, windows, and appliances. I was well into the second bottle of Mr. Clean by the time I got to the stove. I had the top and the oven acceptably sanitized, then I pulled open the lower drawer. Brace yourself for it…. there was a batch of dead kittens in the drawer, laying on what was once the broiling pan!
I will never forget that experience. A war went on in my head between revulsion and necessity. Necessity won. I used the shovel and the second half of the second bottle of Mr. Clean to detoxify my cooking apparatus. I could never bring myself to store anything in the stove drawer, but I cooked many meals on that feline mausoleum.
1818 Scarth overlooked a row of mostly vacant storefronts on the east side of the street. My tenement, apartment “G”, was on the third floor above a shoe store.
This is not the “G” that was on my apartment door. It is a ground-floor elevator sign, but it is a “g”.
Viewed from above, Scarth Street had a gap-toothed appearance – boarded-up stores mingled with struggling retail establishments lined both sides of the street. There were some heritage buildings on the block, but their appearance had been badly damaged by neglect. Vagrants occupied unheated rooms above many of the vacant stores.
Street-level parking spaces were plentiful, but a vehicle left unattended on the 1800 block of Scarth overnight had a 90% chance of being broken into. If drivers left meter money visible in the vehicle, the probability of being robbed rose to 100%.
1818 Scarth Street as it appears today.
The building has been given a facelift, there weren’t any funky vertical-coloured stripes when I lived there.
Before I get back to the news story and my advice as to whether The City of Regina should open Scarth Street to traffic, I have to tell a few more Up-Hill-Both-Ways stories. They are integral to my recommendation on the proposed changes.
There was no refrigerator in the apartment when I moved in. I came to think of this as a blessing, based upon the condition of my other cookware, but I needed refrigeration. It was January, so I temporarily solved the problem by storing my frozen food in a box on the roof of the adjacent building, outside my kitchen window. I placed my refrigerated food items between the inner window and the outer storm window of the kitchen. The frozen food on the roof stayed frozen but the “refrigerated” food ranged from frozen to warm, depending on the outside temperature and the direction of the sun’s rays at any given time of day.
After I received my first paycheque, I went around the corner to Sears Department Store and bought a small fridge. I couldn’t afford to pay for it all at once, so I applied for a Sears Credit Card to handle the balance. Nothing was done on-line in those days. I was directed to the Credit Manager’s office to apply for the card. The Manager looked over my application, gave me a lecture on paying the monthly charges on time, and handed me a cardboard credit card.
Once my shiny new refrigerator was delivered, I loaded it with food from the window ledge. I could only afford the most basic model, which meant the refrigerator only had capacity for ten eggs in the door. Every time I bought a dozen, I had to find a place for the two spares.
I introduced myself to some of my neighbours in the building, which proved to be a mistake.
The guy across the hall was a Procurement Officer. Any time I mentioned that I needed something he would magically produce it, usually the next day. My apartment was poorly furnished, so the PO assisted with several items. When I told him I had need of an extension cord, a slightly used one was provided at a very reasonable price. I mentioned that I could use a set of encyclopedias. Two days later I was the proud owner of a full set of The World Book. When it finally dawned on me that the PO was stealing all this inventory, I had to quit buying from him.
The thief wasn’t actually a bad neighbour, and the drug dealer at the end of the hallway I could tolerate, but the guy in apartment “D” gave me the creeps. Apartment D Guy was a well-dressed extroverted, charmer. He always called me by name and was over-friendly to a gag-me-with-a-rag degree. The door to his apartment had a sign on it which read; “Church of Scientology”. The sign and the door were adorned with clouds and rainbows.
Apartment “D” Guy wasn’t Tom Cruise, but close.
I tried to avoid Apartment D Guy, his backslapping and glad-handing was a bit much, but one day I couldn’t side-step him. D Guy invited me into his church. He began to extol upon the life-altering benefits of membership in his organization. For a very small monthly fee, I would be included in a world where all suffering ceased, enlightenment would fill my days, and ecstasy would be my constant nighttime companion.
After much smarmy cajoling and encouragement to sign on to his flock, I managed to escape. I went straight down to Procurement Guy’s apartment and asked him if he could please find me a baseball bat and a can of bear spray.
The apartment had originally been designed as office space above a retail store. It had a tall ceiling and floor-to-ceiling windows in the front room. Once I had it cleaned up and some furniture was installed, the lofty space and abundant morning sunlight gave the apartment an airy feeling – during the day.
At night Scarth Street was a sinister place. The street pulsed with nocturnal activity of the homeless, depraved, and dispossessed. I kept a kitchen knife wedged in the door jamb as a make-shift deadbolt, and another sat on my bedside table in case the first one didn’t work.
I knew I wouldn’t be there long, so I never bothered to buy window coverings. I put a sheet of cardboard in the bedroom window for privacy but the living room was wide open.
There was a well-known men’s clothing store directly across the street. The haberdasher had been selling men’s garments in Regina since buffalo roamed the plains. The store had a giant flashing neon sign mounted on the outside of the building, which shone directly into my apartment. To this day, this image is etched in my brain:
Mac & Mac’s Menswear has moved on, replaced by various tenants in The Northern Bank Building.
CTV Regina reported this morning that Scarth Street business owners want to open the 1800 block to traffic to encourage shopping and discourage vagrants from inhabiting their storefronts. Merchants believe that opening the road to vehicles will improve business and make the area safer.
Scarth Street merchants should be careful what they wish for. The 1800 block of Scarth seems charming today, compared to what it was like when I lived there. There were some scruffy characters hanging around when I dropped by this afternoon, but I didn’t feel like I had to carry a knife.
Before the City of Regina tears out the mall and opens the road they might want to talk to previous residents, like …
… Me, and Mac and Mac.
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