Shattered Dreams

By Curtis Walker

In this heavily sarcastic tale, idealistic social worker Gavin York sets foot in Winnipeg, Manitoba, a city of over 700,000 on the eastern edge of the Canadian prairies, to begin his career, convinced of his opportunity to change the world. After enduring many trials and tribulations in Canada's toilet bowl, Gavin eventually sours on his insufferable adopted home city and opens his eyes to the harsh reality of socialism and its disastrous long-term consequences once the unsustainable welfare state in Manitoba comes crashing down on him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Curtis Walker
• Release date: May 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463996713

Curtis Walker

Born and raised in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Curtis Walker lives in St. Catharines, Ontario. He is an avid historian of both the Winnipeg Jets hockey club (1972-1996) and the World Hockey Association.For more information on his books, please visit http://curtiswalker.com/books.php.

Book preview

Shattered Dreams

Diary and Downfall of a Utopian Socialist in the Heart of the Canadian Prairies

© 2015 Curtis Walker

Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. The actions of and views expressed by the characters are solely for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a representation of the author’s political or racial views. The author does not advocate discrimination against any ethnic or socioeconomic group.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the author’s written permission.

Cover image © Curtis Walker

Table of Contents

Introduction

The Birth of a Career

Settling In

Trials and Tribulations

Summer’s Over

An Early Winter

House Guests

Happy New Year

Bankrupt

New Accommodations

Switching Sides

About the Author

To all my friends stranded in Canada’s toilet bowl.

Introduction

This story is based in the author’s hometown of Winnipeg, Manitoba, a city of over 700,000 on the eastern edge of the Canadian prairies. The city was once thought to be the future capital of the country, but it has never achieved the greatness it continually strives for and has instead evolved into a place many of its citizens desperately want to escape. The most common and obvious factor driving the exodus is the harsh winter climate, where wind chill values can reach as low as -50° Celsius. The bitter cold and the everlasting snow have earned the city the derisive moniker of Winterpeg.

Climate, however, is but one of many reasons its citizens migrate elsewhere. Despite the Friendly Manitoba slogan on the province’s license plates, Winnipeggers are among the most rude and obnoxious people in the country. The city is a cesspool of hate. North America’s toilet. A place very few take pride in.

Crime is rampant, and the city often ranks at or near the top in homicides, earning it the title of Murder Capital of Canada. Winnipeg’s downtown is to be avoided at all costs at any time of day. Rarely can you walk more than a few blocks without being accosted. Stabbings are a nightly occurrence. Police respond with indifference and arrogance. They ignore real crime while they madly pursue trivial cases such as taking pictures in a public park. They won’t even come out for a residential break-in, and when a pedestrian is hit on the street, knocked down and nearly killed, they don’t even deem it to be a reportable offense. Meanwhile, the police chief clings to the fantasy that the solution to crime prevention lies in social development.

Winnipeg’s infrastructure, particularly its roads and sewers, is crumbling. Ignoring the pleas of the masses, a series of successive mayors instead remained fixated on big-ticket, white-elephant projects in a vain attempt to elevate Winnipeg’s reputation into the first-class city it is not and never will be. Virtually all of its industry revolves around government, and most of its workforce is employed in the public sector. Even Winnipeg’s major sports teams are wholly dependent on government funding for their day-to-day operations. The minimal private-sector industry in the city survives in spite of itself. Much like government, the buck doesn’t seem to stop anywhere, and there is little entrepreneurial spirit to be found. Customers and employees alike are taken for granted.

Yet for some, such as Gavin York, the book’s main character, Winnipeg is like heaven on earth. A steady supply of marginally desirable jobs made available by a disproportionate level of federal funding draws in wide-eyed and naïve young professionals from around the country. Winnipeg’s vibrant arts scene along with the generous government funding it receives attracts artists and writers. Many idealistic professionals in the growing social-services sector, like Gavin, also flock to the city to tackle its persistent and growing homeless population.

Upon graduation, Gavin arrives in Winnipeg to begin his career, convinced of his opportunity to change the world. Once the unsustainable welfare state in Manitoba comes crashing down around him, however, Gavin eventually opens his eyes to the reality of socialism and its disastrous long-term consequences.

The viewpoints raised in this story, likely seen by some as controversial, do not necessarily reflect those of the author. Though based on many factual incidents, this is entirely a work of fiction. As with any other story, the reader is free to judge its similarity, if any, to real life.

The Birth of a Career

Saturday, April 21, 9:30 am

It’s hard to believe four years have gone by. It seems like just yesterday that I first set foot on campus and here I am done with my last exams. Gavin Miles York, Bachelor of Social Work, is going to have a nice ring to it. But as much as I would like to celebrate this weekend, I have to get ready for my big day on Monday.

I know there’s plenty of work to be had here in southern Ontario, but that job opportunity in Winnipeg sounded almost too good to be true. It’s all I’ve been thinking about ever since I saw the ad from the Social Justice Advocacy Center for a program and policy analyst almost a month ago. I can’t describe how excited I am for the chance to really make a difference in the lives of the underprivileged.

I figured they would have had over a hundred applicants and I couldn’t believe when they called me to come for an interview. It was like a dream come true. At first, I thought Chuck was playing a practical joke on me and I nearly hung up on them. Good thing I didn’t because it wasn’t a joke at all.

Chuck keeps telling me I’m crazy. The job doesn’t pay well, plus it’s in Winnipeg. The middle of nowhere. The coldest place on Earth. The Murder Capital of Canada. Listening to him makes it sound like everyone there lives in an igloo and that the streets are filled with knife-wielding gangs who run around stabbing each other.

Just as I suspected, it’s not like that at all. The Winnipeg Daily News paints a much different and, I think, more realistic picture. I was surprised to learn what a warm-hearted community Winnipeg is, and they have some fantastic night life and a lively arts scene. It’s truly a showcase for some of the most brilliant creative impulses out there. Plus, it’s one of the most culturally diverse, cosmopolitan cities in the world. The potential there is absolutely unlimited. Personally, I think he’s the one who’s crazy.

I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I almost feel like a Winnipegger already. I can’t wait to get there. I just hope I can contain my excitement and get some sleep so I don’t make a fool of myself on Monday.

Monday, April 23, 5:15 am

Finally, the big day is here. I went to bed early last night, but I couldn’t sleep a wink. All night, I was thinking about everything that could go wrong. What if my car won’t start? What if I get held up at security? What if the flight is delayed? What if I can’t find a cab at the airport? What if I forget the address? What if there’s an accident? What if I forgot my phone? Or my wallet? I just need to settle down and focus on the interview. But first of all, I have to get to the airport. Time to go.

Monday, April 23, 9:35 am

It’s such a relief to finally be airborne. After being so anxious all weekend, I feel light as a feather. I could probably fly without a plane.

I was worried about missing my flight, but I got to the airport in plenty of time. Luckily, there were only a handful of people in line at security and I passed through in no time. I keep reading about these horror stories at airports, but I couldn’t believe how friendly and courteous everyone was. Here is another classic case of how the news media latches on anything negative and blows it way out of proportion. It’s such a shame that this American-style sensationalism has infiltrated our culture, but at least Canadians have a balanced outlet in our public broadcaster to keep us informed of what’s really going on in our country. I don’t know what we would do without it.

As we started turning northwest towards Winnipeg, I made sure to set my watch one hour ahead to Central time. I think my heart is racing faster than the plane’s engines. I can’t wait to get there.

Monday, April 23, noon

We’ve crossed into Manitoba airspace and I think I can see Winnipeg, the jewel of the prairies, 700,000 strong and growing, the city I hope will be my future home. An agricultural and transportation hub with a growing technology and business sector that is the envy of the nation. In his book on how the West was settled, Pierre Berton said that Winnipeg was thought to be a future capital of Canada. With its booming economy, maybe that dream will come to fruition in the not too distant future.

Winnipeg might very well be the most progressive city in the country, but like many other urban centers, it does have its share of challenges, social exclusion and the unequal distribution of its immense wealth being foremost among them. It is a caring community, but so much more can and should be done to help those marginalized by disability, addiction, language, racism or mental illness. That’s why agencies like the Social Justice Advocacy Center exist. I only hope I can make a positive addition to their small but dedicated team whose goal is to help plan and build an inclusive society where no one is left behind.

Monday, April 23, 3:00 pm

My feet are aching after walking halfway across the city. I must have done a terrible job explaining to my cab driver where I needed to go because instead of taking me downtown, he dropped me off on a deserted highway somewhere in the suburbs. I felt awful at being unable to communicate in his language, but he didn’t let my shortcomings cramp his style one bit. He couldn’t stop talking and was laughing and giggling the whole way. I only wish I could have understood what he was saying. He was an excellent driver, but red and green lights obviously mean different things in Canada than they do in his original country.

Even though I had such a long walk ahead of me, I left his cab with a great sense of satisfaction knowing that new Canadians like him are getting the opportunities they need to build a better life here. I made sure to leave him a nice tip for his efforts, but I wish he had left me in an area that was served by local transit. I’ll have to call to let them know I’ll be late for the interview.

Tuesday, April 24, 4:00 am

Just a few minutes ago, the flight attendant woke me and instructed me to fasten my seat belt as we were about to begin our descent into Toronto. It seems like it was a month ago that I was last here, but, in fact, it was just yesterday that I was lying awake in bed, giddy with anticipation over my flight to Winnipeg for the interview. Even though I was late, it went fabulously well. We had a long discussion on the issues of income inequality and our mutual desire to lend a helping hand to the poverty-stricken, less fortunate members of society. Our values seem to mesh hand in glove. I couldn’t be more pleased and I hope they feel the same way.

I had another delightful new Canadian as my cab driver, and this time, I learned from the mistakes I made with the last driver. In order to break the language barrier, I just flapped my wings like a bird to indicate that I wanted to go to the airport. It seemed to work as he took me to the cargo building that was only a couple of kilometers from the passenger terminal. Just like the last driver, he was such a good-natured fellow and laughed hysterically during our little game of charades. His laughter was contagious and I couldn’t help laughing right along with him. Everyone smiles in the same language.

The entire episode at the airport seemed like a blur. I missed my original flight, and I’m not sure how much it cost me to get on the red-eye. Going through security, I seem to remember being swabbed for drugs and getting the once-over in that full-body scanner. Something sure made them angry, but my third-grade French wasn’t good enough to be able to understand them. Hearing the snap of the latex gloves instantly made me regret not studying harder in Monsieur Brunelle’s class.

Tuesday, May 1, 2:30 pm

I just got off the phone with Harold Litwin, the agency’s director, who offered me the job. I’m so happy that I nearly started crying. They want me to start next Monday and I told my new boss I would start packing right away.

Monday, May 7, 8:00 pm

My first day on the job is now officially behind me. Between my jitters and packing up my meager possessions, I’ve been going nonstop ever since I got the offer last week. I hope I was able to make a decent first impression today.

After filling out all the paperwork, I met each of my new colleagues. It’s a small group, but I can tell they’re all tirelessly dedicated to our common cause of social justice, and they welcomed me with open arms.

Harold is such a down-to-earth, warm-hearted fellow. Officially, he’s my boss, but I already feel like he’s my friend. I am amazed as to how humbly he spoke of the great work he has done both here and in many developing African countries. I am so jealous of his wealth of experience. I will consider my life’s work a resounding success if I can accomplish half what he has done.

I will be working more closely with Mariana Carboni, my fellow analyst. She is so proud of her work championing women’s causes and I am just as proud to call her a colleague. She’ll be showing me the ropes over the next few weeks and I can’t wait to get started. There’s so much to be done and I feel like I’m getting in on the ground floor of a movement that is just beginning to blossom. I’ve never been more inspired to help people get the services they deserve. Together, we will push ourselves and push the system.

Friday, May 11, 8:00 pm

My Camry finally arrived today. There were a few dings and scratches, but it’s otherwise none the worse for wear. Registering it was a breeze. Registration and insurance are all handled in one step, and it was so much cheaper than what I was paying in Ontario. If this isn’t proof positive that the public insurance model is the way to go, I don’t know what is. Why the entire country doesn’t adopt Manitoba’s system is beyond me.

The savings should eventually make up for the higher food prices I’ve noticed at the grocery store. For now, I’ll have to cut back on a few extras, but I know I’ll be saving in the long run. It’s all part of the Manitoba advantage I’ve heard so much about.

The rest of my stuff should be arriving early next week. Now I just need a place to put it. This hotel room is nice enough, but I’m anxious to get settled into my own place. Mariana was nice enough to hook me up with Penelope, a real estate agent friend of hers, and we’re going house hunting this weekend. I can’t wait.

Sunday, May 13, 5:00 pm

I must have seen over a dozen homes this weekend, but I fell madly in love with that cozy, one-bedroom Victorian-style home in Wolseley. It’s is a little older and needs a little TLC, but just like the area, it has so much charm and character. Despite being one of Winnipeg’s more established neighborhoods, Wolseley’s beauty has obviously not faded over time. Lush elm trees line the streets, lovely parks are only a stone’s throw away and there’s an incredible vibrancy from all the teenagers, university students and young professionals living there. Music fills the air from the aspiring musicians, and you can’t help but notice the immense pride these people take in their community. It has its own distinct subculture, and if I didn’t know better, I would have thought I was in San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury district.

I couldn’t figure out why Penelope was trying to talk me out of buying there. She kept going on and on like a broken record about Wolseley’s high crime rate and made it sound like there was a drug dealer or a sex-trade worker on every street corner. Honestly, it sounded like she was doing an ad campaign for those right-wing extremists who prey on our fears of the big, bad bogeyman, filling us with hatred to promote their own misguided agenda. This neighborhood is probably full of wonderful people. I think she just wants me to buy a more expensive property out in the suburbs so she can get a higher commission.

My mind is made up. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to put an offer in on that house.

Monday, May 14, 7:00 pm

Harold sent me on an Aboriginal cultural awareness training workshop today, and it was an incredibly heartrending and enlightening experience. While receiving instruction on their traditional teachings on how to live a good life on mother earth, I was shocked to learn how badly those who identify as Aboriginal have been suffering from the indignities of colonization and racial discrimination. So many of us do not understand the structural processes at work that have led to widespread poverty among Aboriginals. It goes so much deeper than our failure to honor our treaty obligations.

The residential school system has been particularly damaging to the Aboriginal people. I can’t begin to imagine how tough it must have been for children to be separated from their families and indoctrinated with the belief that their culture and values are inferior. Listening to the many stories of physical and emotional abuse made me start bawling like a baby. It is no wonder that Aboriginals are still suffering generations later. The many settlements they received totaling hundreds of millions of dollars can hardly begin to repair the damage.

As a man of European heritage and descendant of the early settlers of North America, I am ashamed at our treatment of the Aboriginal people. These glaring prejudices must end. We need to start educating people and take responsibility for the harm we have inflicted. Once I composed myself, I took the first step towards the healing process when I apologized to each of the Aboriginal elders who taught the workshop. I hope I can play a role in helping to work towards meaningful partnerships with First Nation groups in the future.

Next week, we will visit a sweat lodge, where we will take part in a ceremony designed to cleanse our bodies of evil spirits. I really want to discover more of their fascinating culture. It’s so wonderful to see Aboriginals keep their traditions alive.

Wednesday, May 16, 11:00 am

Penelope told me the sellers are receiving other offers. She says my offer was competitive, but I might have to increase it if I want to make sure I come out ahead. I’m not sure I can afford it, but the lady at the credit union says I’m approved for more if I need to go higher.

I can’t get over how nice and helpful everyone has been at the credit union. Unlike the case with the big banks, where you’re just a name and a number, the credit union makes you feel like a member of the family. I was even more impressed with their philosophy on corporate social responsibility. They are truly committed to the communities they serve, and they back it up by moving in to service the low-income,