Brazil Street and Brazil Square

Over the years, people have had theories about the origins of Brazil Street and Brazil Square. Growing up there, I heard many. Some believed that Brazil Square was a continuation of Brazil Street, while others believed they were one and the same street. Definitely not so. Other people had both streets confused with one another as to which one was which, and where the people in boarding houses lived, and which was the regular street with only a few boarding houses. It confused people who lived in the city, let alone those who lived outside St. John’s. Here is what I know.

As Jack A. White said in his 1989 book, The Streets of St. John’s, Brazil Street, on the north side of St. John’s, was for people living in the city who were called townies. Brazil Square, on the south side of St. John’s, was for out-of-town people who were often classified as baymen. Brazil Square was known by many in St. John’s as “Baymen’s Paradise.” Townies, or people from St. John’s, were those people inside the overpass located on Topsail Road, and baymen were those outside. Each side had something to prove to the other. Many a fight erupted over this sense of entitlement on either side.

My father was from Harbour Breton, Fortune Bay, on the south coast of Newfoundland. He didn’t like anyone calling him a bayman. To him, the term was derogatory. He was a short man, about five feet seven inches, and built like a boxer. Dad was a quiet person and a good man who hated fighting, but like most men of his time, he was very proud of his heritage. He always said that we should not make fun of one another, as we were all Newfoundlanders born and raised here on this island. We should not call each other townies or baymen. He always accepted his lot in life and rarely complained about what he didn’t have.

Whoever thought up those labels must have done it as a joke. They are still used today but on a smaller scale. My mother was from Port Royal in Harbour Buffett, on Long Island, Placentia Bay. This island, like so many others, became part of the resettlement program of Joey Smallwood’s day, in the early years after Mom came to live in St. John’s. The term “bayman” didn’t seem to bother her. It didn’t have the same effect on her as it did my father. But that was Mom, a quiet lady who didn’t waste her energy on trivial things.

Brazil Square, I was told, was part of the row houses that were built years before World War I. Hundreds of these row houses threaded St. John’s from the 1900s onward. Boarding houses eventually sprang up on Brazil Street, one house joined to the next, as people knew that there was money to be made in housing those people who came from outside the city for short stays. People who owned these homes saw how easy it was to make a quick income renting to people who came to town from rural Newfoundland. Prices for staying there could run a person three to four dollars a day or night for lodging, and many had meals that were included in this fare. Prices varied accordingly depending on where one stayed on Brazil Square.

This street became the biggest boarding house area in the city, and possibly in Newfoundland. A bitter rivalry soon started between outport people and townies. Those in St. John’s figured that the people from around the bay, or baymen, were coming in to St. John’s to take away their jobs, scarce as they were. Thus developed an animosity that started pitting Newfoundlander against Newfoundlander.

One time while I was delivering newspapers in the downtown area, I passed by the Belmont Club on New Gower Street and witnessed a fight between two guys—one guy was from St. John’s, and the other was from around the bay. Each was making fun of the way the other talked. The words “bayman” and “townie” were being flung back and forth.

A large crowd gathered around to watch. Amid the pushing and shoving, two more guys came out of the club to break it up. They seemed to be foreigners, probably from a ship docked in the city’s harbour. By the way they talked, I could tell they were from away. All hell broke loose as the first two combatants, townie and bayman, turned on the two foreigners. Of course, all involved were drunk.

Afterwards, the first two, the townie and the bayman, walked inside the Belmont, arm in arm, to share a couple of cold ones, patting each other on the back for showing those two outsiders a thing or two. The foreigners who had jumped in to break up the fight were left bleeding on the sidewalk. As my father has said many times, Newfoundlanders are a unique breed, fighting each other one minute with sheer hatred, and the next minute becoming the best of friends.

My best friend, Dickie, and I saw it happen time and time again on Brazil Square, Water Street, and in clubs that dotted the downtown St. John’s area, such as the Belmont Club on New Gower Street, the Porthole on Water Street, Gosse’s Tavern on Duckworth Street, and the Station Tavern on Hutching Street. There were no bars on George Street at that time. The Belmont, the main watering hole for many, was a few doors down from Kenny’s Fruit Store on New Gower Street, at the bottom of Brazil Square—and of course it became a favourite gathering spot for people who came to St. John’s from rural areas.

At that time, women were not allowed to enter a drinking establishment without being accompanied by a man, or sometimes by another woman. Those were the rules set down by the clubs. Rules were different for women and men then.

On any given night, the club was blocked with people, and the fights would start when someone was trying to take away another guy’s girlfriend or if a townie and bayman looked at each other the wrong way after a few drinks. I was there one evening when most of the club emptied for a fight outdoors. I heard it said a bayman had eaten a townie’s sandwich he had left on a table while getting a beer at the bar. You could go by the Belmont and on to Brazil Square most any given time after supper and see a fight.

In our day, tough guys would head toward Brazil Square just to pick a fight with a someone from around the bay. Sometimes, though, a townie came out on the losing end, as most baymen were fishermen, tough and big in stature. Not everyone in the city lost a fight to someone from out of town, but they knew that they were in for a good scrap when they took on these out-of-towners.

There was always a bully trying to make a name for himself. We stayed away from some of the guys we knew, the ones Dickie called “nuts.” They picked on both big and small. We had a rule of thumb, so to speak: do not let yourself be bullied by anyone. A bully would continue to push you around, and possibly hurt you, unless you faced him. It was a hard way to learn, and sometimes the consequences could be severe, but it worked. Most of them were brave when they were with their buddies, but they usually backed away when you caught them alone.

There was this guy, Earl, who was from the Battery. Earl had a bad attitude. He would hang out at the Belmont and always look for a fight. He left Dickie and me alone because we were small fry, but he was always looking for baymen to fight. One night he got his wish and challenged a guy who looked like he couldn’t fight. Boy, did he ever figure wrong! He called the guy outside after the bayman told him to stay away from his wife. Earl thought this one was a shoo-in. But when all was said and done, the smaller guy knocked Earl on his back, out cold, with a few well-placed left and right hooks. It was the end of Earl’s reign as resident bully.

Of all the boarding houses on Brazil Square, the Brownsdale was the biggest. Its address was not actually on Brazil Square but rather around the corner, 194 New Gower Street. It was next door to Parsons Grocery, at the lower end of Pleasant Street, and became an inexpensive lodging house for its clientele. Dickie and I thought it was haunted, or at least lived in by evil people who did weird things, as we had seen people in white coats come and go from time to time. One evening while coming home, as we passed by the house on Halloween, we imagined we heard screams echoing from the upstairs bedrooms. Yes, the Brownsdale was indeed haunted!

In later years, we found out that it was used by a Dr. Roberts who kept his surgery practice there in the home. What we had seen were probably orderlies bringing in patients to visit the doctor. I know one thing. It was always crowded. I’d say it had about thirty to forty rooms. People flocked there because it was the largest boarding house in the city’s downtown, but also because there was a doctor there who could attend to their needs if anything happened.

We heard the story of a Chinese man who was executed in St. John’s for the killing of three of his countrymen. In 1922, in a fit of rage, a man named Wo Fen Game shot three of his friends. Hong Kim Hi, Hung Leon, and So Ho Ki were executed at the Jim Lee Laundry on Murray Street. He also injured another Chinese gentleman, Hong Wing from the Hop Wah Laundry. He was hospitalized but survived the ordeal.

Rumour had it that it all revolved around a poker game, but that was never really determined as true until after the trial when the rumours spread. The bodies were taken to Dr. Roberts at the Brownsdale Hotel for autopsy. Wo Fen pleaded to the court that he was innocent. But during the trial, a number of his peers found that not to be true. The injured Hong Wing also testified against him, sealing his fate. Wo Fen was found guilty and was hanged on December 16, 1922. He was thirty-one years old.

We believed that one or maybe all three of the Chinamen who were killed still haunted the house. One could hear them screaming, especially when Halloween came around! Their bodies were brought there after the murders, and surely their spirits were there, too. One night, when I was about ten years old, I was passing the Brownsdale on my way home after dark, and I could hear strange noises I was sure were coming from the house. I approached the front steps, and I was sure I saw a guy with a hatchet above his head chasing a guy running up the stairs.

I’ve only been inside the hotel once, when a lady working inside asked me to go across the street to Casey’s Meat Market to pick up some meat for her. I stood inside while she went off to make a list. I waited patiently for her in the hallway. The first thing that caught my attention was the beautiful stairway to my left leading up to the second floor. It had a beautiful artistic design carved in the railings, and it was polished to a shine. There were hardwood floors in the hallway, and the hallway led to a parlour with two sliding doors.

I could hear women talking in low whispers at the end of the hallway. I assumed this was the kitchen. The place had an eerie silence to it as I waited, and I hoped the lady would not be too long. I was sure the place was haunted, but I wasn’t too afraid because it was daytime.

Soon the lady came back with a note and some money. She said she had a quarter for me for going and told me not to be long. Eagerly, I rushed across the street to Casey’s Meat Market and passed the note to the butcher, Tom Casey, the owner’s son. He knew me through Dad. Tom asked why the lady at the Brownsdale had asked me to go and not one of the young girls working there. I didn’t care about that, as I was about to make a quarter for my troubles! He gave me a huge package of meat, and I hurried back to the hotel to collect my reward.

Anther favourite hotel on the street was Eddy’s Boarding House, within shouting distance of the Brownsdale on Brazil Square. We always thought that Old Man Eddy, as we called him, was once a police officer who had to retire because of a shooting injury he suffered while he was on the beat in St. John’s. We never knew if it was true or not, but the rumour spread, and no one ever thought any different. He walked with a slight limp, which only added flavour to it. Old Man Eddy was a big man, and he would scare the crap out of my friends and me when we were brave enough to try and take some pop and beer bottles from behind a shed in his back garden to sell. In an instant, he was out through the back door, and we scampered over his fence in one jump.

His beautiful words have always been embedded in my mind over the years, as they were said with such kindness and meaning. “If I ever catch one of you little bastards, you are going to live to regret it.” Such words of wisdom!

Another boarding house was the Lindbergh House, which we believed may have been named after the baby Charles Lindbergh, who was kidnapped on March 1, 1932, in Hopewell, New Jersey. He was the son of famous aviator Anne Lindbergh. He was found dead a little while after his abduction. Other houses that people frequented were Chatfield House and Chaytor House. There were other, smaller boarding homes there, but these were the ones most frequently used when I was growing up in the area. There were probably as many as thirty boarding houses operating on Brazil Square.

Along with the boarding houses on Brazil Square were family homes and businesses. Robert Glasco’s Meat Market, where I worked part-time while going to school, was located three or four doors up from Kenny’s Fruit Store. Mr. Glasco always seemed to have the best meats available to his customers. He was in competition with Casey’s Meats on New Gower Street, catering mostly to the boarding houses that bought a ton of meat from him every week. Jack Kidney’s Shoe Repair was right next door to Bob Glasco’s. Mr. Kidney was one of the best shoemakers in St. John’s. He could make any pair of shoes look new again. His shop always smelled of burning leather when you entered. Jack was the elder statesman of Brazil Square. He held meetings at his shop with prominent business people of the day. There was nothing he wasn’t versed in when it came to the city and world news. Dad frequently went to chat with him.

White’s Fish and Chips, at the top of the Brazil Street, was also a staple for years. Directly across the street from it was a small store called Peddle’s Convenience, which was owned by Helen Peddle (Woodfine). Bob Woodfine, her brother, lived next door, and her brothers Edward, Tom, Dave, Frank, and sisters Lorraine, Carol Ann, and Helen also made up the Woodfine body. Bob and I are good friends today, and we are in the same seniors club.

One of our first cousins, Isabel Dicks from Rushoon, stayed with us in St. John’s in the early 1960s. Her mother, Violet, was Mom’s sister. Most of the time, relatives from around the bay didn’t board on Brazil Square if relatives had a house in the area. However, people had no choice but to stay in these boarding houses when relatives couldn’t afford to feed them. This sometimes created a problem when they came to St. John’s and didn’t want to stay with strangers.

Mom and Dad always took in a few boarders, mostly those who were related to us, who came to the city to go to university or to hospital or just to spend a few days shopping, especially during the Christmas months. We always had cousins, aunts, and uncles stay at the house who paid my parents a modest fee for food and the running of the house. Of course, any money was kindly accepted but never expected.

Older cousins like Cyril and Kevin Barry from Placentia also boarded with us while they were going to school at the old Memorial University on Parade Street. Cyril was absolutely brilliant. He was studying to become an aeronautics major. This type of course was virtually unheard of then. When he graduated, he was at the top of his class and became one of the youngest satellite workers in eastern Canada. You could give Cyril any algebra problem, and he would have the answer for you in about two seconds. He never worked it out on paper. We always went to him when we were given a mathematics problem that we needed solved. Kevin was also very smart. Both cousins were polite, poised, and very intelligent. They seemed to have it all.

One thing Cyril had that we enjoyed, especially our parents, was a brand new car. He would always trade in his car after keeping it for only a year. From the early 1960s on, when he stayed with us he owned a different car every year. His was the sharpest vehicle on the street! He always seemed to be working and studying; by then he was working at the new satellite station located in Pouch Cove. I can still see his shiny, new 1958 Ford parked in front of our house. I can’t tell you how many rides my brothers and I took in it!

At our house, phone call after phone call came for Cyril from satellite stations around the Atlantic provinces and all across Canada. People would phone to ask him questions. We lost track of how many times the phone rang in a week. We would make fun of the callers and mimic them talking to Cyril. Because of these calls, he would always pay the phone bill for Dad every month. Our phone was constantly ringing.

Cyril’s brother Kevin was the classiest dresser I have ever seen. We all envied the clothes he wore. He always dressed immaculately, with a perfect crease in his pants. They were pressed, and his shoes were shined to a gleam. The eyes of many ladies followed Kevin whenever we were with him. He looked like a movie star.

When he came into town, he would take one or two of us shopping with him on Water Street, which was a treat in itself. We had to spend the whole day with him while he found the clothes and shoes he was looking for, but the wait was worth it. He would always take us for something to eat in one of the fancier restaurants, like Marty’s Restaurants or the Captain’s Cabin at the Bowring Brothers building, or to Woolworth’s cafeteria, all located on Water Street. Sometimes he would buy us something for school. He once bought me a new shirt that I loved. I kept it clean and wore it for years. It cost two dollars. I was so proud of it, I wore it at least twice a week.

Another of our favourite cousins, Anna Dicks (Greene), Isabel’s sister, came to live with us for two months during a summer in the early 1960s. Here is how Anna described her first time in the city.

“I arrived in St. John’s by taxi from my home in Rushoon. It was my first time in the big city. I was amazed by all the streets and large houses so close to the streets. Where I was from, in Rushoon, I was living by a big meadow on a piece of land in the outports. It was all so very exciting. I rang the doorbell and was greeted by my aunt Carmel (my mother) and Uncle Ned (my father) and my five little boy cousins. I immediately became their big sister. Two years later, I again went to St. John’s to work and stayed with my relatives for almost a year.”

It was an adventure for people to come to the “big city” of St. John’s. One can imagine the culture shock the first time they came in via the old Kenmount or Topsail Road routes. Anna was about twenty years old at the time and found it amazing how huge the city was compared to where she had come from. Of course, there is no place like home when you live around the bay, and a lot of people became homesick after only a few weeks in St. John’s.

Isabel’s boyfriend, Charlie Norman, also from Rushoon, always boarded on Brazil Square. He didn’t stay in the same house as Isabel. It was a sign of the times. Having been raised Catholic, we all abided by the rules set down by the Roman Catholic Church generations ago.

Charlie was a great guy, tough as nails. At that time, he was working as a linesman for Newfoundland Light and Power. He was about five foot ten, very broad, with thick, wavy black hair always neatly combed. He was as strong as an ox and tough as any NHL hockey player we had heard of. He had a strong, handsome, rugged face and always wore a black suit, white shirt, and black tie with a white raglan. My brothers and I never saw him without it. He was a gentleman, and he courted his lady in such a manner.

My brothers and I would joke with him about taking him on in a fight. Charlie would just look at us all, then laugh and ask, “What, you or the five of you together?” He was about ten years older than us. We were all in our early teens. But we believed that he could indeed take all five of us in a scrap. He would come to the house at night, and he and Isabel would go for a walk, to a movie, or just stay outside and talk as young lovers did.

Isabel was a beautiful young lady. She was about five foot four and as pretty as a leading lady. My brothers and I loved her humour and soft-spoken way. We would go to the store on messages for her and her summer school friends any time they wanted something done. She was a true beauty with an easy disposition. Her friends Marion Augot and Betty Baker were like her sisters, and all three were usually giggling in their room whenever they were carrying on. Marion and Betty were not too bad in the looks department, either, and of course we were always at their command. Of course, young boys in adolescence are always giddy for a pretty face.

Charlie Norman and Isabel Dicks married in June 1967, and they had four children: Charlie Jr., Deirdre, Charlene, and Rodney. At the time of this writing, they are still living in Rushoon. Anna Dicks married Ray Greene, and they had two children: Ray Jr. and Yvonne. They are all still alive and well and living in Freshwater, Placentia Bay.