I used to cheer for the Philadelphia Flyers when they were the Broad Street Bullies. A CBC Radio morning man talked about interviewing a hockey player who told him, “We used to hate visiting the Philadelphia Arena. You’d step out on the ice and the crowd would roar. There’s nothing like that sound.”
My Grade 9 teacher in Winnipeg spoke glowingly of a Flinflon compatriot who had enough and was drowning a kid in the school toilet until another teacher stopped him. “And the name of that kid,” said my teacher, “was Bobby Clarke.”
Still, when I was little I identified as “from Philadelphia.” That’s because I had spent my first few years there as my father toiled on his MA at Westminster Seminary.
I really don’t remember those years very well. I vaguely recall a white wooden garage. Me and a couple of guys tried in vain to budge a weight set.
And I remember a pool with a lion’s head near the top.
And that’s all, really. I was just a tot in cloth diapers.
Links: this is the official video to Bruce Springsteen’s “Streets of Philadelphia.” This is Low Cut Connie performing the same song.
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