A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Museum - A Most Excellent Adventure in Small Town History, the Arts, Some Friendly Ghosts and a Ouija Board

Birch Hollow Photo by Suzanne Currie

      A friend of mine once called me the "Eddy Shack" of historians. And that included my attempt at being political, a mover and shaker of cultural enhancements for the home community, and for my unrepentant barging in to affairs that didn't involve me or my unwanted suggestions. Eddy was my favorite Toronto Maple Leaf back in the 1960's, and when he made a come-back in the later 1970's when Red Kelly was the coach. Eddy made his life a misery but the fans, including me, loved the guy. So to have been referenced in this way, in respect to Eddy's sharp shouldering and painful elbowing against adversaries, of which there were many, I was more than okay. I even suggested to my friend and sports writer Ross Brewitt, that he should talk to Eddy about finishing the biography Paul Rimstead had begun shortly before his death, and by golly, the old hockeyist agreed and the book was authored accordingly. Now if you think this is a weird way to start today's blog, after last evening's witch enhanced theme, thanks to the art work of Sarah Cole, for me, nothing is really all that weird when you've been writing about ghosts and such for most of years writing.

     The fact is I have often entered a project or more likely, a fray, as many involvements have become after I've entered the subject contest, I do barge my way into situations that I don't always understand from the onset. For one thing, how much a particular project is going to cost in human terms, and what it might do to my intrepid family members, who are, by the way, used to my rather awkward entry into things that tend to be all consuming. Take Woodchester Villa and Museum, for example. After I graduated university, and decided I wanted to return to Bracebridge, to get on with a professional life, I had a little extra time while looking for work, to embrace the idea hatched by others, to save the former Bird House, the octagonal house that had been constructed in the 1880's by Woollen Mill founder, Henry Bird. The ink on my history degree hadn't dried yet, when I decided that I was ready for full immersion in the historian's life. It was classic Currie. I even organized the first meeting of the soon-to-be-ready for prime time, Bracebridge Historical Society, held in the attic of the former home and office of Dr. Peter McGibbon, on Manitoba Street. It's where I was living and working at the time, as my parents and I had just opened Old Mill Antiques downstairs. One person attended the meeting, and it was a short one. But the life changing event that came next, was the direct result of another citizen not being able to attend the first meeting, and calling me to apologize, and ask for a secondary meeting. At his house. Well, it was Wayland Drew on the other end of that phone, and I was speechless. I had read all of his books to that point, including "Superior; The Haunted Shore," and finding out that this accomplished author / historian wanted to work with me, to set up a full fledged, well financed Historical Society, blew me away. Awkward Ted had hit pay dirt early in the project. I met with Wayland and his wife Gwen at their Bracebridge home, and they treated me with the utmost respect. Which, for the life of me, I couldn't understand. I wasn't qualified to carry his briefcase or dust off his typewriter, but here we were, talking as equals, about the future of the soon-to-be launched Historical Society, with plans to purchase, refurbish and open the Bird House as the town's first museum.

     Wayland took the awkwardness out of me that evening, and although I was a little rough around the edges, and pretty green when it came to dealing with local politics, and lobbying for money to make the museum dream come true, he gave me just enough rope so that I wouldn't get into to much trouble if I elbowed the wrong politician or benefactor in the community. He appointed me the first Recording Secretary of the fledgling Historical Society, and in a short time, there was a community wave of enthusiasm to get the museum project off the ground. There were hundreds of volunteers who put together dozens of major fundraising events to pull in the funds, to assist the Bracebridge Rotary Club complete the purchase of the scenic hillside property overlooking the north branch of the Muskoka River, and the cataract of the Bracebridge Falls. I had to take a hiatus in the middle of this because I had to leave town temporarily, while looking for work in Toronto. I was offered a job at Black Creek Pioneer Village, as a, get this, "water toter." I didn't show up for work, but I did find my way to the Bay Street bus terminal, and bought a ticket back to Bracebridge. I was out of commission for two months, and I hated every minute of it. So I arrived with many new hopes and aspirations, a second time,  just as awkward and intrusive as before, but when I started working as a cub reporter for the Muskoka Lakes - Georgian Bay Beacon, out of uptown MacTier, I had to continue my hiatus from the Historical Society due to constrained time off. But I did vow to get back with the project, in time to take in the opening ceremonies in the early 1980's.

     Well, a funny thing happened on the way to the museum several years after that official opening. The directors of once, who had been so instrumental getting the Bird estate back up and running, had been baling for many personal reasons. It was a beast when it came to operating the heritage site, and keeping up on the administrative aspects of a lowly funded museum facility; that always needed more money that any funding agency was willing to give us with our unproven track record. I fell right into the pot, the Eddy Shack way, and knocked over a lot of exhausted and frustrated directors who were just waiting for the right opportunity to hand in their resignations. Seeing me burst through the gates with my gung-ho approach, that always compromised either my family or, maybe yours, these folks couldn't sign their notices fast enough. Suzanne had to become both a new director to make sure we could keep a quorum for voting and accounting purposes, and needless to say, the former president of the group slid the official "president's box," my way, (down table) announcing that "Mr. Currie for the next president? All in favor" Carried?" Now this story isn't in the history books, even in the abridged version, but this is the thumb nail version of how the Curries took over the helm of Woodchester Villa for a couple of really colorful, drama filled years. In fact, it got so bad with volunteers and directors willing to put up with all the work that had to be done to keep the doors open, that Suzanne and I were hired to be site management on a temporary basis, so that the community wouldn't be embarrassed with a premature closure of a museum that had been such a big deal three years earlier. Now I don't want anyone to think these directors and volunteers had let me down, or that there was any particular conspiracy against the Curries. But it did present some interesting stick handling in order to make it all work out during our time of stewardship. I couldn't have lived with myself, if the museum I helped launch, had gone bankrupt within the first ten years.

     Woodchester Villa was an amazing old house that was gloriously haunted, and our family had many, many experiences with the occupying spirits, presumably of Bird family members who weren't terribly interested in leaving their property to a guy like me. And they reminded me of this all the time, but in a most endearing way. I never felt frightened to be there, but Suzanne admittedly had more misgivings and experiences within than I did. The only serious misadventure with the paranormal involved a Ouija Board, that somehow got smuggled into the museum by a rogue summer staffer, and during a lunchtime seance, or something like that where the board was deployed, things are said to have happened that warranted, apparently, contacting the local television station to report a long ago murder in the house. I found this out when I was watching the nightly news, and I caught the film segment of our employees talking about a resident of the house, and presumably the Bird family, who had suffered a deadly fall down the upper staircase of the third floor. They even went to the trouble of pointing out that there was a tombstone at the United Church Cemetery adjacent to Williams Park that had not been inscribed; which to these busy-body teenagers, that a murder was obviously be covered up. The calls incoming commenced ten minutes after the segment aired, and yes, they were from the remaining Bird family members in town and beyond, wishing to place my head unceremoniously, but securely on a platter after being first severed, and then kicked about for awhile. Some of the Birds were my friends by the way, and seeing as I was also editor, at the time, of The Bracebridge Herald-Gazette, I had double duty, as one of my bosses, Bob Boyer, also a friend of the family, called me later that night to find out how I planned to make restitution to all the people Ouija and associates had insulted by the baseless claims. According to some of the folks who also watched the broadcast, who knew a little something about Ouija Board interventions into the "let sleeping dogs sleep" concept, wayward and undesirable spirits can drift through the newly opened portal between life and the after-life, and take up residence where they weren't officially and properly invited. In other words, our staff at the museum, according to those who know about these things, opened up a spiritual bed and breakfast establishment, but short on the breakfast accommodation. Oh boy, did I have a lot of unexpected grief taking care of this stuff, including the ghosts that we kind of had to live with for the rest of our tenure that rather controversial decade.

     Now you probably know by now that I am a true and committed art lover, and promoter, although I've been a little more intimate about this as a full time antique dealer these days. I love buying, admiring, and yes, selling art. I enjoy the company of artists, and I think that a thriving art community is always in the best interest of the region, that is well known across the province as an arts and crafts power house; and that gives so much social / cultural electricity to the Muskoka profile. I only wish that I could paint something other than a fence, and sculpt more than the placement of patio stones and a garden gnome. But in the late 1980's I had to put it all together fast, because as a museum we were broke, in debt in fact, and we only had a quorum of directors left to make the Society a legal entity. Suzanne and I knew that no matter how much we loved being involved with the Museum, and participating in about a hundred tours a year, and keeping company with the resident ghosts who dwelled within, something drastic needed to be done to stave off imminent disaster. Once again, I hurtled myself into the fray of funding, with the town council of the day, and all other partner agencies who might have been able to throw us a few crumbs of support.

     You won't find this in the history books either, but it's none the less true. I contacted my arts and crafts friend, Jamie Sherman, a glassblower I had got to know, and member of the Muskoka Arts and Crafts organization, and asked him whether or not the group might be interested in taking over our museum annex building for a future art gallery. I was taking a huge chance on this one, because many of our benefactors and members, including past directors, were hugely opposed to giving part of the property away to an unrelated group. It was my mission, however bumpy the ride, to make MAC related, and as soon as possible, in order to defray some of the huge costs we were being hit with at the time. We couldn't afford to open the museum or repair the building and it seemed the best thing to do; because the Muskoka Arts and Crafts group had a huge and growing membership, and they were expert in managing their shows and other events in the community, and it wasn't a gamble to invite them to comment on the future potential of a cooperative effort to keep the property open for business. I was dead in the water when it came to a majority of the people I had to convince of the plan's value. I saw history, art and ghosts as a reasonable operating condition, but it was a hard sell at a hard time, and it took many hours of negotiation and behind the scenes navigating to bring social / cultural enterprise into the fold with the political movers and shakers of the time period.

     Although I wasn't singled out for the official opening "key-passing" when MAC, the Town of Bracebridge, and the remnants of the Bracebridge Historical Society held their soiree in the newly converted museum annex, actually the rebuilt 1870's Presbyterian Church, I was at least afforded a standing-room-only spot at the back of the hall, where I could just about see the glad-handing between the prominent players of the new deal, and hear some of the victory speeches given with the kind of political-speak one expects of such a moment of accomplishment. I was happy for them none the less, and I was glad to have been an early instigator of the plan, and I have to tell you that I still feel awfully good about the fact MAC still occupies the Chapel Gallery, and that today, the newly restored Bird House next door to the gallery, has morphed from a museum-proper, to a social / cultural centre, which is really what it should have been in the first place.

     Suzanne and I, and both wee lads, Andrew and Robert, had spent many long days into the nights, looking after Woodchester Villa, and the strain on our family was getting beyond our mortal capacity to handle. I would have to go back to the museum at nights when the burglar alarm would go off, usually after midnight, and I would have to do a full house search with a local constable to make sure the place was secure. A squirrel was eating through an alarm cable, setting off the alarm three nights a week until we got rid of the critter and got some new wiring that didn't taste like licorice. When we finally said our goodbyes to Woodchester, as a family, that final Sunday, on Thanksgiving, circa 1989, there wasn't a dry eye on the property. I even thought I saw several faces looking out the windows of the darkened house, possibly the ghostly inmates part of a long, and storied past. Even the old crow that used to visit with me every time I cut the grass (it was all we could afford at the time), was perched on the old white fountain in the garden; which by the way was relocated some years back to Memorial Park on Manitoba Street. We all hated to leave the museum operation up in the air, but like so many others who had volunteered their time for a good cause, being the conservation of old things and old ways, in a neat old house, we had burned out in the process of administration. We left contented however, that a new partner, with the MAC agreement, would help look after Mr. Bird's most interesting property, that for us anyway, was joyfully haunted in a most historic way. It is still in our thoughts all these years later.

     I come by this passion for art, history and ghosts quite naturally these days, and in large part, it was the experiences garnered at Woodchester Villa, that fused it all together into a most interesting spiritual mosaic, that if it was represented as a piece of art,.....it would be a most delightful abstract but a little awkward if that's possible, in the spirit of myself; a tad eccentric but a keener when it comes to enjoying life and times, history, art, ghosts and all that jazz.