I take some pride in the knowledge that my little town of Blaine never contended for the crown of moral superiority in Whatcom County. It allowed us a freedom not universally available in the county.
For me, when it came to moral superiority, I was happy to cede the field to the fine farm folk to the east of us. They toiled in their fields and tended their herds in the calm certainty that only the proud descendants of the reformation could enjoy.
Now, to be fair, we were not with out our combined moral compass. We had a great tradition of diversity of faith. In Blaine, change the block, change the church. We had ‘em all. All the good old Baptist this and Methodist that. Throw in the Catholics and Unitarians and you’ve got it from right to left. But, for the most part it was religion that got along perfectly well with its neighbors.
We also had taverns, probably the most famous was Bill’s. As you all know, lets say it together, “It’s where Loretta Lynn got her start.” OK, we have that out of the way.
Uptown were the Pastime, Border Town, Wagon Wheel, the “Intro” and others. Art Lawrenson owned the Intro, more formally known as the International. Art was acquainted with everyone in town a friends with most. My brother Larry used to like to hang out there. To a certain extent where you drank said a bit about you.
Dad and mom’s tavern was the Crossroads. Mom cooked there and dad would stop by for a cold beer after work. He’d be joined by other guys from the Packers as well as their friends that knew when they’d be there.
Dad would play drums at the Crossroads on Friday and Saturday nights and Sunday afternoons. They played all the old songs that the Canadians love. And down they would come across the border.
Driven south by a strong Canadian dollar, the Canucks would wash up on our beach starting on Friday night. Saturday and Sunday Kenny Dolan and the men in blue, more like old west gun slingers than modern day cops, would patrol the taverns and keep things under control.
Once in a while some liquored up guest would decide he was going to “kick some cop’s ass.” This never turned out well for them. Oh, our boys took their lumps along the way, they earned every dime they were paid. We were lucky to have ‘em.
It was the summer of ’65 and I was working for Big Ed Johnson at the Shell station across from Don’s Snack Bar. Gary Gibbons was also working there that summer. It was a good way to fill in the days between commercial salmon fishing openings.
I think by today’s standards, our operations at the station might seem a bit sketchy. People couldn’t cross the border with a pistol. They’d be sent back to us. We’d put a tag on the trigger guard and put the gun in the storage compartment under the cigarette machine.
Next door the family owning the theater had suffered through the decline of attendance due to the rise of television. It pleased me that porn was available for them because it was a way the family could prosper. And prosper they did for every Sunday there was a bumper crop seeing the matinee.
As it was Sunday, and it was in the afternoon. It did not conflict with church for our neighbors to the east. I always smiled when I’d watch a man drive up, get out of his car and pull his hat down and walk toward the door of the theater, hay still clinging to his cuffs.
My sister and brother in law Harv once went down to Bellingham to a place they called the Arena to watch a Dean Martin concert. Part of Dean’s act was to carry around a glass with ice and colored water looking like whiskey, and a cigarette.
Dean sat there and looked at the crowd and said, “Ya know, I hear there’s this town north of here called Lynden where people are afraid to have sex standing up.”
The crowd responded with a few harrumphes and more than a few titters.
Dean took a sip of his whiskey, savored it and said “Yeah, they’re afraid they might get arrested for dancing.”
If you live long enough and pay attention you start to see connections. I looked at some of these connections and got to thinking about unexpected consequences. I think you need to be real careful about telling people what to do or not do.
I always remember the class below mine at Blaine had been called “The Unteachables” by a teacher. Instead of sucking it up, and cracking the books, the class gloried in their new sobriquet. In some cases with their new nick they in fact became unteachable.
I think the same thing applies when you start yakking about sin. If yer up there in the pulpit, leaning over and looking at the folks in the pews and telling them all about sex and sin, yer gonna start making some folks curious. The more sinful you make it, the more exciting it seems and folks want to try some of that.
I worked with a fella who had been the principal at Lynden High School. Second semester of the school year there was always an unexplained number of gals transferring from the other school in town.
Blaine was tolerant about porn, religion, and sexual preference. Folks just never talked about it. There seemed to be an understanding that people were all trying to make their way through life and some had more issues than others.
The entire traffic crossing the border at Blaine went right down our main street that summer. A slice of it pulled into Big Ed’s Shell to fuel up. I saw a lot, late at night…but I didn’t care, it was all interesting. It was fun. It made you grin.
It was the last summer I ever spent in Blaine. I seemed to be busy every hour of every day with some damned thing. A lot of it pure foolishness. A lot of it worried about college in the fall. My grades hadn’t exactly been Boone and Crockett at dear old Blaine High and I hoped I wouldn’t fail out.
That summer was long and magical but eventually fall rolled around. By the grace of God and an open enrollment policy I was off to Skagit Valley College in Mount Vernon. I enjoyed the new school where people didn’t already know how dumb I was. I was determined to fool ‘em and I did.