The year was 1954 and my family had just moved to John Street when Hurricane Hazel struck, postponing completion of our highly anticipated arena. Since then, it has stood in a place of prominence, drawing townsfolk through its doors for 70 years.
In the good ole days of the late ’50s and ’60s, we walked to the arena in snow, sleet, sun and wind and in a wide variety of Canadian temperatures, ranging from cold to frigid. In the gentler times of that era, we children felt safe and were comfortable walking, in my case, 12 blocks by ourselves. With skates tied together and slung over our shoulders, we arrived at our destination unphased by the cold feet we could no longer feel. A few minutes later, after rubbing our stockinged feet, we donned our frozen skates.
Our arena was a happening place. A place where all the kids in town congregated on Saturdays. Round and round we’d skate with boys chasing boys or boys and girls skating in unison as they held hands. On and on, we skated, barely taking a break-just skating and day- dreaming to the music. When the music stopped, we would change direction from skating clockwise, to anti-clockwise. In those days, it seemed as though there was a commodity shortage of old 45 vinyl records, because I can only recall one song ever, being played, although there had to have been at least one or two others.
Over and over again, every Saturday during the halcyon days of our youth, we skated, to Bobby Helms’ song, My Special Angel. Ask anyone of my era and they will all tell you the same thing. The song was dreamy and we skated in a trance-like state as Helms serenaded us.
It was not just the public skating that invited folks through the arena doors. It was a happening place. When the Detroit Red Wings came to town, not once but twice, to play hockey with our local boys, the whole town turned out.
The structure hosted more than public skating and hockey, it also played host to our teen dances and a myriad of other functions. The old arena was not merely a structure made of cement and steel—it was a stalwart friend and companion of our youth, one which we took for granted, thinking it would always be there. And now it is gone. We will drive by with tears in our eyes for the memories it gave us of the carefree days of our youth.
You, old friend, were more than mere cinder blocks and steel. You were Our Special Angel.
Farewell old friend.
Sherry Pringle
Napanee