Dr. Dowd by Michael Averill Class of 61

Vic Gibb's (Charlie's brother?) piece on Dr. Dowd brought back streams of memories, not all in perfect condition, but still, enough for a nostalgic moment or two. He mentions "The Creek". As far as I can remember, we had two, one that ran behind Gary Ormerod's house, that every spring would swell up and we would go rafting on it. How no-one ever drowned I'll never know. The other one was the one that came out of the CIL plant and would occasionally be a bright red from the unburned waste from the TNT plant.

The school was added on to in 1950-51. I started grade one the year previous, and we were too many for the old school, so several grades were placed in the church basement. It was a wonderful old stone building that they tore down to put up a new research lab, I think, in the early 60's.

The photo of Richelieu boulevard showed a building on the right that was Raymond Messier's store, right across from the ferry, where we used to gather to play pinball, try to win at punch-board and to buy cigarettes for 2 for a nickel.

Dr. Dowd was the last of a breed, I am sure. He made house-calls at all times of the day or night – I remember one chilly winter evening he showed up because mom was sick, coat open, a scarf loosely hanging around his neck and rubber zip-up galoshes that he never zipped up. He went upstairs to check on mom without removing either coat, scarf or boots. Normally a gruff, loud man, he sat by mom's bed and showed a gentler side.

And the guy was the most skilled needle giver I ever met. Because of allergies, I had to have twelve shots every spring and to this day have never been given such painless medication. The guys who used to go for their annual typhoid shots at the plant, prior to swimming in the Richelieu off the barges at the "Dynamite" must have thought so too, because they never complained.

And one time when I got a deep slash on the arm from a falling piece of cement pipe while working at the Plant, I remember him patching me up with skill and quiet confidence.

I realise, in writing this, that I could go on for a very long and boring time, but I won't. Just wanted to put in my two cents worth on the passing of an important part of growing up in McMasterville/Beloeil.