The Perras Files (1-3), 1937-, by Bob Perras

From MemoryArchive

Who: Bob Perras
What: The Perras File
When: 1937-
Where: Canada-USA

The Perras Files. By Robert W. Perras. A novel based upon a true story.

Foreward

The morgue was appropriately cold and ineffably dreary, much as you would expect any morgue to be. I hadn’t been there too long. I knew very little of morgues. Truth is, I knew nothing about morgues, and even less about where I was. All I knew at this point was that I was cold, I was alone and I’d better start raising a ruckus if I was to change my situation.

They told me some years later, that soon after I was born, they were not able to discern any heartbeat so; evidently, I made that short trip from delivery room, to the morgue downstairs. When told the heartbreaking news about her newborn baby boy, my mother, in total hysterics, demanded that she see and hold her baby one last time. Moments later, in an effort to pacify this frantic patient, they discovered in a tiny basket, a very angry baby furiously kicking off his tiny shroud. I had been born with arrhythmia, also an abnormally slow heartbeat (twenty-six at rest) and in later years developed sleep apnea. Combined, all three helped carve a few distinct bends in my road, starting with day one.

Chapter 1. Day One.

Needless to say, I actually remember nothing of the above incident. This was only one of the myriad stories told to me over a half century or so. To start this story at the beginning, which seems like a good place to start, I will have to rely on many and varying tales told to me by those who allegedly were there. The validity of their recounts I have no reason not to accept as truth. However, the incidents related in first person, I can attest to, allowing perhaps some degree of memory enhancement. This then is my story.

Gwendolyn/Gwen. Mother.

Jean Gwendolyn Phyllis Wright, in her teenage years, was a fine figure of a woman. She was a Rhonda Fleming redhead with a figure to match. Another time, another place, she might have made a name for herself in Hollywood. Her mother, Anna and father, William, had their hands full with her three brothers and two sisters. Unlike her sisters, Margaret, and Marion, Gwen decided early in life to free herself from family responsibilities and move on to bigger and better things. The depression was over and jobs were becoming more available. Schooling held little appeal, but making money did. Unfortunately, as most of us learned much too late in life, limited schooling severely limits one’s future employment opportunities.

A series of nondescript jobs eventually had her looking elsewhere for personal worth and satisfaction. The hotels, with their separate pubs for men and women became her chosen domain. As soon as her work was through, she would rush home, change to a figure accenting outfit, highlight her hazel eyes and vigorously brush her long, auburn hair and then hurry to her favorite playground, the Lincoln Hotel in beautiful downtown St. Catharines.

Big entrances probably gave her a lot of self satisfaction. Entering the Hotel and sashaying across the lobby towards the “Women & Escorts” entrance, she just knew every male eye was watching her closely. She also knew that, several of the women were watching her. It’s possible though, that they were not watching with the envy that she happily assumed. But, she really didn’t care what they thought anyway. She was trolling for the male eyes.

Albert’s Boys.

Albert Perras had five sons. He was a respectable and much admired barber. Clients had been getting their trim from him since the end of the last century. Ottawa, on the waterfront would never have been most people’s choice for the perfect environment to raise a family. The neighborhood was predominantly French with strong Catholic morals. Albert, a holdover from the old school, ruled his boys with an iron hand, presumably, as required. When the back of the hand wasn’t adequate punishment for the crime, the leather strap he used for stropping his straight razors, served the purpose. Five inches wide and two feet long, it became a formidable enforcer, in the hands of a skilled user. For Albert Junior, John, Leon, Marcel and young Ralph. It was usually enough of a deterrent, to assure that only, the most foolish would become a repeat offender. As Albert struggled to control his son’s bodies, the Catholic Church strived to control and save their souls.

The mandatory penance dispensed by the Priests and the obligatory time in the confessionals of the Catholic church, after a night or two of reveling, did little to curtail their quest for ways out of Ottawa. Anywhere, away from home and the French community. In fact it may have added impetus to the quest for a new and anarchical lifestyle. Eventually, all five brothers gave up on their schooling and headed for the steel mills in Ontario. Unfortunately, there was not a lot of opportunity for young men who didn’t speak English. So the first priority was to learn English, second, get a job, and third, hopefully, find a good woman.

Ralph Perras was the baby in the family. Four older brothers to pick on him and order him around. Four older brothers who wore the clothes first. Shoes that had been worn by everyone, first. Underwear that would never see white again. But when you’re the baby, you don’t spend too much time analyzing, yet you do wonder occasionally, if someday you just might get to wear something brand new. By the time he reached the teenage years, he had a new more important problem to deal with. He had stopped growing at only five-six. Added to this unfortunate burden was that he was overweight. However, in spite of the height and weight dilemmas, Ralph was a handsome man with a lot of ladies’ appeal. He lived for the good times. Unfortunately he was an emotional disaster waiting to happen.

The steel mills in St Catharines offered good pay, long hours and many opportunities to meet new people who already spoke English. Ralph, the smallest was surprisingly, the most outgoing. He quickly learned the language and he just as quickly learned the ropes. After his first day on the job, he was invited by his new pals to join them for a few pints at the local pub at the Lincoln Hotel. Ralph was most happy to accept the invitation. The first payday was still several days away. But, he’d worry about that later. The job would always be there, but drinking buddies in the pub, well, everyone knows that friends are more important than work. And so, with a draft in one hand and a cigarette in the other, Ralph Perras had, early in life, found his niche.

The Wright Sisters.

Gwen left the restaurant early and nearly missed the cross-town trolley. St. Catharines, in the thirties, was not a large city, but it was much too spread out to walk across. The few pennies that it cost to ride were well worth it. Besides, it gave her the opportunity to look at all the displays in the windows of the shops. Shops she hoped someday to actually go inside. The mannequins seemed to call out to her, with outstretched arms and their Perras style hairdos. Fancy dresses slid magically across her body as the passing displays filled her head with visions of her grand entrances. So alluring was her daydream that she almost missed her stop. Jumping up she pulled the cord and ran to the trolley steps. At the corner, waiting was her sister Marion. Marion laughed out loud as she watched Gwen scramble to get to the exit in time. Fantasy and daydreams would have to wait. She had promised Marion a high time on the town tonight and she jumped from the trolley, practically falling into her sister’s arms!

Marion was the oldest of the three sisters. She was the plain vanilla one. Marion would marry for love. Younger sister Margaret was considered the brains. She was voted most likely to marry money. Gwen ever the opportunist would vie for romance and excitement. Mother Mae Wright’s working schedule left little time for inter-family socializing. She worked two jobs from early morning through the evening hours. Thus the girls were left to generate their own pleasures and futures.

By the time Marion reached her twenties she had made a wise choice. Her first and only love, Mark provided her with security and family, but, unfortunately, later in life she became plagued with health problems. Mark found himself relegated to caretaker-husband.

Margaret met and married Johnnie, a bigger than life dreamer, on whose dreams they kept pinning their future plans. His early death left Margaret with a large void of emptiness and loneliness. In later life she began to fill the too many solitary hours with booze and cigarettes. Margaret’s early marriage filled Gwen with a certain degree of jealousy. She decided it was time to concentrate her attentions on the most current pool of available male genes. The Lincoln Hotel.

The Land of Lincoln.

Hotels, in Canada, in the thirties were more than simply abodes for weary travelers. Most had some sort of neon beacon, beckoning both the timid and the curious, to come in and check us out. Rooms for rent and beer and booze! But in the thirties, all was well within the proscribed parameters of the decorum of the day. The pubs were well defined by the signs, “Men Only” and “Ladies and Escorts”. The “Ladies” side permitted men, but only if they were escorted by a lady. The presumption was that all females on that side were ladies. Some cared more about getting a date for Saturday night, than being viewed as ladies. The obvious drawback was that men could not walk around the women’s side and of course, the “women couldn’t troll the men’s side. The obvious answer was to find an available female friend to sit at the table nearest the door. That way any available male standing in the doorway might have a chance of being invited in. A methodology Gwen was already too familiar with.

Marion chided Gwen for her openly flirting with each guy as he peered through the open door. She need not have worried though. Most of the young men stealing furtive glances through the doorway were probably more nervous than any possible threat to the women. One by one they came, they looked and they retreated. Another night was wasted talking with her sister. Gwen began to think there has to be a better way to meet that man of her dreams.

Chapter Two. My Name is Ralph.

The Dream Maker.

Across the Lobby, in the Men’s side, Ralph was sitting at a table with two of his buddies, telling bawdy jokes and generally trying to impress them with his knowledge of the art of the pick-up. Casual conversations eventually grew more serious as the evening hours wore on and the window of opportunity slowly closed. All had at least two or three times, prowled the doorway to the women’s side. All had returned with the same answers. Nothing worth going for.

Earlier, there were thirty to forty females in the women’s side and by now that excuse was wearing thin. It was time for the man of the group to stand up and show the others who was the master at pick-up. One last glass of beer, on top of the other uncounted glasses and Ralph was ready. Through the open door, Ralph could see that the room has thinned out. Maybe only twelve to fifteen left. He leaned against the doorway. scanning above the heads, hoping no one would catch his eye. Slowly his gaze circled the room, back to the door. Beside him was the redhead. She was a knockout. No sense even hitting on her. She’d drop him after his first line. He looked behind. The guys were watching. Faced with failure in front of the guys or ego busting from the redhead? What a decision. Ralph, on leaded legs, moved in. He mentally phrased his opening line, ‘Hi Red, my name is Ralph, and I’m from Ottawa’.

Gwen watched the embers on her Players’ cigarette burn to a white ash. Marion was in another world, staring deep into her glass. She had just dropped a bombshell on her. She said she’d decided that she was going to join the Army. Gwen contemplated the news for a moment. This scene was boring, maybe Marion was right. Maybe she should sign up too. The usual din of laughing females slowly dropped to an almost inaudible level. She was alone with her thoughts. Work was a drag, her sisters and friends were all getting married, why not her? This was the wrong dress for this place. How soon can I get out of here? The ash fell. She watched it dissolve into the spilled ale. From somewhere a voice brought her back. She looked up and smiled as the nervous young man, fidgeted nervously awaiting her response. Though a most inauspicious beginning, it was indeed a most special beginning.From that moment in time, I began my life’s journey. Gwen and Ralph’s meeting that night was the opening act in my journey.

The Family

It’s not known, the number of days, nights, weeks or even months until Gwen and Ralph made their union official. Some say a year other say less. But all agree it was long, drawn out and most tempestuous. Ralph proudly brought Gwen home to meet his family. In reality, mostly to show off his trophy catch. The brothers were of mixed opinions. Albert Junior and John smiled politely. Leon scoffed at Gwen’s obvious lack of social amenities. But Marcel, the other short brother, found her fascinating. Ralph meanwhile, had found another apparently more interesting young lady, named Lucille, and summarily abandoned Gwen. For several months it was Marcel and Gwen and then Marcel met Lucille. She stole his heart and Gwen was, once again history. Fortunately, for me, Ralph was once again available and so the two began anew. In June 1936 they married. During the next four years, she recorded at least four pregnancies, with three ending in miscarriages, before finally bringing one to fruition. Accidental falls down stairs, tripping off curbs, and falling in general was reasons for her pregnancy failures. But, nature had her way, and eventually Gwen carried the only child that made it past the portal to humankind. And one fine day in June, a baby boy, Robert William Albert Perras was delivered.

I barely made it out of the morgue.