Vancouver Fish Monger

Well he wasn't really our uncle, but this story is really true! We called him Uncle Louie but he was actually one of my Dad's second cousins or something - Italians don't distinguish relationships that much - he was family.


Uncle Louie was a small man with a very imposing wife named Litzie Ann (this name is written the way the name is pronounced - spoken Italian was the only way I ever knew the language). He was a fish monger. As a mater of fact he was Vancouver East's last fish monger and appeared on Front Page Challenge (an old Canadian show from the 60's and 70's) He was the celebrity in our midst!


My Dad told us other important things about Uncle Louie, things that belied the feeling we got whenever he came to visit - he worked with fish all day and we realized that never got the smell of it out of his clothes or skin. His wife was very a fastidious person. Their home was the first one I could remember that had a shower installed in their basement - Louie was not allowed to come up from the basement after a day selling fish to the housewives in Vancouver's suburbs until he had a shower and washed off the smell.


But the Uncle Louie story that my Dad told the best was the one about Uncle Louie and his beloved truck. You see, as a fish monger, Louie would drive down to the wharf in Vancouver every morning in his Model T truck and buy fish from the commercial fish boats. Talk about fresh fish! He would buy the best catch of the day and ,with his vehicle full of ice and fish, he would travel up and down Vancouver's residential streets, yelling "Fish for Sale". His customers ranged from immigrant women living in Vancouver's East End to the paid cooks and housekeepers working for wealthy families in the South End of Vancouver. Uncle Louie developed a long term relationship with his truck - Uncle Louie considered it his best friend.

One Saturday afternoon, there was a knock on our backdoor and it was Uncle Louie. He needed Dad's help. He had just come back from the auto repair shop and they told him that his Model-T was no longer repairable. It had to be retired and he was going to have to buy another one.

Uncle Louie asked my Dad to tow him to the dump ( with the truck no longer running ... in those days the tow was legal ...) with a strong rope between two cars. My Dad was a busy man but never too busy for family. He said that Uncle Louie had tears in his eyes when he talked about taking his truck to the dump but, with a resigned shrug of his shoulders, he said he knew it had to be done. And so the truck was towed to the dump. My Dad sat in his car, driving and pulling the Model T and Uncle Louie steered the old vehicle from behind.

My Dad said that on the way to the dump he watched Uncle Louie in the rear view mirror. He was crying. He was also talking, patting the worn dash of his truck, giving little kisses to the steering wheel. All in all, my Dad understood how attached Louie had gotten to his truck, so, at the dump yard he left Louie alone to give a final goodbye to his best friend. Driving Louie back home was a sad ordeal. Uncle Louie sat quietly, with tears in his eyes, first looking back at the dump yard and then off into the distance of the long road home. When my Dad left Louie at his home, he knew that the first night would be the hardest for Louie. He would have a tough time forgetting about his truck.

The next morning, very early, there was another knock at the backdoor. It was Louie again and .... to Dad's surprise, Louie was beaming. "Dick" he said, "I need your help again. I want to bring my truck back home!". They drove out to the dump yard again, my Dad said he was so curious about why he didn't even question Louie. This time it was a totally different Louie. He was chortling and bouncing up and down on the seat all the way to the dump ... he was excited about seeing his little truck again. When they arrived at the dump yard, Louie jumped out of the car, ran over to the truck and hugged it! He spoke rapidly to it in Italian with little gentle pats and strokes. Out came the rope again and they towed the truck back home. Uncle Louie and his truck in the back, and my Dad in the front driving his car. This time, in his rear view mirror, he saw Uncle Louie talking rapidly, patting the dash board and giving little kisses to the steering wheel. But this time he had a huge smile on his face.

When they arrived at Louie's home, he directed my Dad to tow him around to the backyard of his house. To Dad's surprise, where the vegetable garden had been, was now a gigantic hole. Louie said he had been up all night digging the hole! My Dad helped Louie push the old truck into the hole. They covered the truck and smoothed the ground down so that you almost couldn't tell there had ever been a hole. Louie thanked him, shared a glass of his wine and my Dad went home shaking his head. Uncle Louie could not bear to leave his old friend (the truck) in an unfriendly place. He needed to make a final resting place for it near his family.

From the next growing season on, my Dad used to say the Uncle Louie's garden grew the neighbourhood's prize tomatoes and other vegetables. He said it was because of all the minerals and iron in the soil from the rusting truck. I think it was from all the love radiating out of the old truck and up to its beloved master, Uncle Louie.