I yam what I yam

An encounter with Popeye, the downtown Legion Man

by JOHNSON CUMMINS

It's Saturday night and my girlfriend and I are making our way past the sports bars that cling to the outer fringe of the Molson Centre on de la Montagne below Rene-Levesque. Passing by Moe's bar and grill, we hear a bellowing moan as the wall-sized TV screen announces that the Habs have let yet another puck pass their crease. We pay little attention and leave these sports fans to their own. It wasn't 25-cent chicken wings and hometown losers that made us leave our comfortable Plateau couches on this cold and windy night. We were looking for (insert dramatic musical swell here): A trip into the unknown! A trip to the Legion!

Known pretty much as a "bad date guy," I knew that our previous disaster date of a dinner and a movie (dinner at Hotel Dieu's hospital cafeteria, followed by a screening of "Backside of the Future" at Cinema l'Amour), would thankfully be forgotten after what this evening had in store. We were as excited as a couple of pre-teens in line for the new Pokemon movie, particularly since we had absolutely no idea of what goes on in Legion Halls. The only things we could agree on was that Legionnaires would probably appreciate a good Stompin' Tom Connors song, a fine pickled egg, John Wayne's acting talents, and, of course, have a deep-rooted love for the amber nectar.

Brushing up on some of the Duke's lines, we went through the door and down the mint-green hallway towards the tinny sounds of Oldies 990. We tried to make our entrance as unassuming as possible, but if this was the Flintstones Buffalo Lodge, then the Grand Poobah himself stopped us immediately in our tracks. Seventy-year-old Arthur Malcom, or as he is better known, "Popeye," had taken offense to my wearing a hat within the Legion's hallowed halls. But with a quick once-over of my girlfriend, I am atoned of my sins and am granted entrance.

Popeye is quick to pull up a chair with us, and we quickly find out he has never heard of Stompin' Tom and could care less about John Wayne. But, as his girth and beer muscle will attest, he does indeed love his amber nectar, as well as sharing a good story. As he white-knuckles Budweisers in both of his hands, we strap in for the next two hours as he spills tales (and beers) about life and living. Popeye may be unapologetically blotto, but like a real pro drunk, he remains a gentleman at all times.

One of the 26,791 Canadians serving in the Korean war, Popeye worked in the boiler room of a navy merchant ship which, as he explains, is responsible for his booming voice, the result of years of screaming to be heard over the clanging. Each story is punctuated with an "every girl loves a sailor" to my girlfriend and a wink towards me. Despite having a set of teeth that would make a citizen of the United Kingdom wince, Popeye has a smile that could light up a room.

Unfortunately, a lot of war vets steer clear of the Legions, as they would rather forget the action they saw on the field or at sea or sky. That, coupled with a non-caring new generation, makes it seem that Legions could be gone by the early part of the new millennium. "It would be really sad for Legions to go," says Popeye, "because it's a place I can go where I can really feel at home. Since my wife passed away, I really need to see people I have things in common with. This is like my second home."

To the strains of Burton Cummings and the Guess Who, we bid our adieu to our new friend and head out into the chilly night, both agreeing it was one of the best dates we'd ever had. Thanks Popeye.

Main: Legion hopping

Sidebar: Bingo battles and a shot of Bailey's in Verdun

Sidebar #2: The secret lives of Legionnaires

Sidebar #3: An encounter with Popeye, the downtown Legion Man

Sidebar #4: Looking for new blood at Legion #106 in NDG

Sidebar #5: I love a girl in uniform