Lost Arts: How to Commit a Train Robbery

Bill Miner wanted poster

Never let it be said that we at the ol’ raincoaster blog stood by passively and watched our proud Canadian heritage slip into oblivion unmourned, unrecorded, unblogged. Now that the last of The Grey Fox‘s victims has been enveloped by the sweet embrace of the eternal, it is time to pause and reflect for a moment on that archetype of the Old West, the train robbery.

Consider this post to be the blogosphere equivalent of all those Schools of Chinese Culture, Roots Regained Circles, and those noble, innumerable, federally-funded oral history projects staffed by earnest future spinsters equipped with digital recorders and, always, the wrong shoes for the weather.

In true Canadian tradition, the art of the train robbery was introduced to Canada by an American, who brought it up from the States. Bill Miner, AKA The Grey Fox, AKA The Gentleman Bandit, was often taken for a Canadian by his own countrymen, perhaps on account of his legendary softspokenness and courtesy, despite possessing, all of his life, a telltale trace of his Kentucky birthplace in his accents.

Miner was no ordinary bandito when he arrived in British Columbia. Having been a stagecoach robber since the age of 16, he was as famous throughout North America as the man who first put crime and syntax together in the felicitous and elegantly simple catchphrase, “Hands up.”

But I digress…

Put simply, there are several traditional methods of holding up a train.

First (and this is common to all methods) select your train. It is advisable to select one carrying a great deal of money and moving slowly through rough, deserted territory. Steam trains taking safes full of gold dust south from the Cariboo mines are ideal. As you can see, here we tawdry moderns face our first insurmountable obstacle: the Cariboo gold fields are relatively played out, and you could probably get more money sticking up a bingo hall on Welfare Wednesday. Sic transit glamour mundi.

Now that you have selected your train, the methods diverge:

  • Method A is simply to put something big on the tracks, in hopes the driver will simply become so confused he’ll stop and sit there, perhaps wondering how that large, freshly-cut log got there, or cursing the obscure illness that struck that moose dead right across the tracks. At this point, the robbers pop out of the woods, flourish a weapon, and either take the loot or, for the more discriminating robber, proceed to Method D’s advanced steps. This method, however, is easily thwarted by train drivers who simply back up instead of sitting still. A variation of this method was used in the Great Train Robbery as late as 1963. I guess those Brits don’t watch a lot of Westerns.
  • Method B is simply to put something on the tracks that will derail the train, thereafter following procedures as outlined in Method A, only maybe sometimes horizontally. This has the following disadvantages: it is hella noisy, drawing unwanted attention even on the most desolate of mountainsides; it kills a lot of people, and this is always a disadvantage when you factor potential jail sentences vs potential lynchings into the ROI; and the entire thing may catch fire, preventing you from making off with the gold and rendering the entire episode needlessly gruesome and unprofitable.
  • Method C, favoured by film directors who’ve never left Los Angeles County, is to gallop up alongside the train and climb aboard, flourish your weapon in the engineer’s startled face, and take the loot, although not before stealing the heart of a winsome blonde passenger.
  • Method D, and this is the method favoured by the Grey Fox himself, is to wait till the train makes an scheduled stop at a mail depot or some other unpopulated spot, sneak aboard, climb over the tender (which carries the wood or coal for the engine) flourish your weapon in the engineer’s face, and proceed to the advanced steps.

The advanced steps are as follows:

  • You want the money. You don’t want the passengers; they’re a lot of hassle, just ask any porter. So you stop the train and uncouple the passenger cars, taking great care to keep the engine attached to the express car, the one with all the gold in it (some robbers were not so careful about this and even The Grey Fox’s team screwed it up from time to time). You then proceed forward with the train; this has the advantage that, if another train is following up the track, it’ll hit the passenger cars and that will slow down pursuit as well as buffer the cars that the gang is in. You convince the guard, through effective flourishment of your weapons, to open the safes. If he fails to open the safes, you proceed to use dynamite to open them. You then stop the train at a prearranged point, where your getaway man is waiting with the horses, bid the beleaguered train crew good evening, and ride off into the night with gold and securities worth a king’s ransom.

Any questions, class?

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Starbucks Explosion: and you shall know us by the trail of the dead

Starbucks Explosion, Broadway and Heather

Ten years ago I worked here and, strangely enough, was just talking about it yesterday, although when I worked there there were no assplody taco shops next door; it’s the beans, people. Beans are the devil’s work.

Witness Lesley Jackman said: “The flames were almost completely across the road. They were probably 15-feet high and all you could see was the fire.”

Two other witnesses told CBC News that immediately after the explosion, they saw a man dressed in dark clothing running from the area. It is not known whether the man was fleeing the explosion or was involved in the incident.

Starbucks Explosion, Broadway Avenue

I’m kind of bitter about this. When I worked at the Broadway and Heather Starbucks (and Stephen Hayes and I opened it) the most interesting thing that would happen is when the head cases from the hospital would come down and…be headcasey. One fellow shuffled down in his paper gown and paper slippers, toting his IV, because he just wanted a cigarette and a decent coffee, dammit. We called the hospital and said, “You’re missing a guy,” and they actually said, “How do you know he’s our guy?” I guess they just didn’t want him back.

Then there was Apparent Eating Disorder Woman, who ordered one of every pastry and one glass of orange juice and a big empty cup. She very slowly took the pastries apart, chewed them, savouring the flavour, and then spat the chewed bits into the cup. We didn’t see her do anything in particular with the orange juice, but when she left we saw that the cup with the food mash was very moist and quite orange.

David Duchovny, himbo extraordinaireThere was, though, the time I was working with Sam (we think it was short for Samantha, but she was sensitive about it so we never asked) and, it should be explained, Sam had the mother of all crushes on David Duchovny who, it must be admitted, is pretty sweet-looking, especially if you’ve got a weakness for doe-eyed, soft-spoken, sexy-professorlike brunets and we surely don’t know anyone like that around here, do we? And she was puttering away behind me, making a fresh batch of decaf or some such attention-occupying task, and a customer stepped up to the till and ordered, and I still remember it, “A tall Kenya, please,” which he pronounced correctly and everything. I rang it in and took his money and asked Sam to pour it for me, as she was right there, and I used her name and everything, and so she did. She poured it. And she turned around, said, “Here you go,” handed David Duchovny his Kenya, and then she looked up and smiled, and then she froze, and then, magnificently, her knees gave out and she sank sloooooowly to the floor, like some kind of mesmerizing reverse levitation. He watched her sink and when her head was even with the counter he smiled a slow, sexy smile, said, “Thank you, Sam,” and left.

Oh yeah, and the beggars who sat out in front of London Drugs paid some guy a “management fee” because he “owned the block.” Some of them were quite short in the wits department and we used to give the guy hell for renting out a public sidewalk and taking money from people, but you can’t argue with a born capitalist. He was greatly insulted at the suggestion he’d done anything wrong. “Don’t I make them feel a part of something bigger? Don’t I make them feel protected?” Yeah, maybe, but they, of course, were deluded to think so and when one of them got mugged and beaten we finally reported the whole deal to the cops. Apparently, it’s not illegal to rent a public sidewalk to a mentally handicapped dude? Or apparently those cops were particularly lazy.

The “sidewalk manager” controlled a lot of sidewalks around town outside prime spots like liquor stores and London Drugs, and he spent his days gambling. When he was finally put away for something, the beggars could not BELIEVE how much more money they suddenly had.

Oh yes, and there was the (literally) prize-winning story of the lumpenprole. I really don’t know what else to call her. She was there when I got back from my break: large and squashy and overflowing the chair, like soft serve ice cream poured out of a cement mixer and into an acrylic tracksuit. She was quite clearly drunk, which may be against the law but as long as you’re quiet who really cares, but at some point she reached into one pocket, pulled out the most noxious-smelling weed I’ve ever encountered and lit up; with her other hand, she reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of, I believe, Captain Morgan rum. It took three increasingly firm “You can’t do that. You must put it away. We will call the police. Oh yes we WILL.” to get her to put the doobie out, which she did in her latte. We let her continue to drink it and indeed, she didn’t notice till she’d gotten to the bottom, whereupon she screeched complaints about someone putting a joint in her latte. “Look,” I said, “would we put it in your latte or would we keep it to ourselves? Hey? That stuff doesn’t grow on trees!” and she laughed heartily, passed out, and peed herself all over the floor.

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How we roll

A continuation of Jingoistic Canadian Patriotism Week on the ol’ raincoaster blog.

Married To The Sea

The Canadian Conspiracy

I see the NFB flick which originally exposed the Canadian Conspiracy has been expunged from public records, more thoroughly erased than the memory of that guy…that guy in Egypt…whatsisname. But where there’s a web, there’s a way. By painstaking restoration work and the spiriting of ancient parchments out of the National Archives where they lay, to all intents and purposes buried, expunged from the collective consciousness, we have brought the truth back into the light. Gaze upon our works, ye mighty, and despair.

Jim Carrey

From The Canadian Conspiracy, ‘eh? [sic]

The foundations for the Canadian conquest of the American entertainment industry were laid in 1909 when “America’s Sweetheart” and Toronto, Ontario native Mary Pickford arrived in Hollywood on orders from Canadian Prime Minister Sir Wilfrid Laurier. Her plan was endear herself to the American populace through cinema and then use her clout to take over the industry. The plan was hugely successful as Mary Pickford climbed the social ladder to the top, marrying film celebrity and heart-throb Douglas Fairbanks in 1920. The United Artists studio was formed by Pickford, Fairbanks, D.W. Griffith and Charlie Chaplin in 1919. It was to be Pickford’s base of operations for her future plans of conquest. But Chaplin, an agent of Britain’s government, soon sensed something was amiss and moved to head off each of Pickford’s moves. A rift formed between the two, and between Canadian and British celebrities in Hollywood.

After losing his seat in the Canadian Parliament in 1911, future Canadian Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King was employed for a short time by the Rockefeller Foundation in the United States. It was Sir Wilfrid Laurier’s last decree as Prime Minister that Mackenzie King use his new position to layout what would come to be known as “the Canadian Conspiracy”.

Download the rest of “The Canadian Conspiracy, ‘eh?”

But the truth will out, no matter how politely, and so it is with the great Canadian Conspiracy. We, along with Gawker, Anonymous and the entity known only as extremelydusty, have banded together to ensure that the truth is never more forgotten.

Canadians are taking over the USA…the takeover of the American Media, in every possible form, has already been done.

The top bands Americans listen to nowadays are Canadian. The news they watch is controlled by Canadians.

The shows they watch are filled with references to Canada. Example: the producers of South Park and many of the actors, even though having an Anti-Canadian film, note that is actually an attack on America, and that many of the people who work with South Park are actually Canadian. Trey Parker and Matt Stone have said “We love Canada!”. The Simpsons, the biggest cartoon show on the planet, is the greatest example of the takeover. Homer Simpson is based off a Canadian. Canadian references are everywhere. In fact, Springfield could be actually based off the Canadian City “Ajax” in Ontario.

Over 20% of Hollywood is now Canadian. For example, the highest paid actor, and the funniest man on the planet, a proud Canadian and Toronto Maple Leafs fan, Jim Carrey, is a Canadian. Big hit rock bands, like Nickelback, make the top of America’s charts and control.

Yay!


The North-West Passage


If I Had a Rocket Launcher


The War of 1812

Hail your lumberjack overlords, y’all!

* raincoaster acknowledges the ongoing indifference shown by the Government of Canada through The Canada Council for the Arts and the (non-existent) Blog Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP); and the Government of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council.

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Listen Up!

There are bandleaders in Brooklyn starving because of people like me. Thanks, Jack Valenti, for giving all Canadians the right to freely download music from the internet. I mean, I’ll miss the hell out of Dal Richards when he goes, but it’s him or this Slave 4 U remix, and one must have priorities!

Married To The Sea