ODDS’N’SODS – J. Brickyard provided oasis in a dry land

In the 1920s, Timmins, Ont., was a real boom town. Schools, hospitals, hotels and storefronts used “brick” construction. With Kirkland Lake emerging, and both communities adjacent to the great clay belt, it was only natural that a brickyard be consisidered.

“Brickyard Jimmy” arrived to construct and operate a brick-making plant at Matheson, Ont., about mid-point between the two boom towns. He soon had two large beehive kilns constructed. A large, pot-bellied German with one damaged eye, Jimmy was one of the homeliest men I have met.

For reasons unknown to the writer, the brickyard folded. Jimmy remained on as custodian, expecting to be notified as to when it would be re-opened.

With a reduced salary, he started to sell beer. Timmins being a “dry” area, Brickyard Jimmy’s place became a local oasis.

Jimmy more than consumed the beer profits. He soon had a still operating in the No. 1 beehive kiln and, with blue smoke curling upward, the local Ontario Provincial Police (OPP) jokingly advised that “Jimmy must be preheating the kiln in preparation of startup.”

His dwelling was most unusual. Spanning barely 6 ft. from the floor to the log ceiling beams, it had sheetrock nailed up between the logs which he had ruled off and used as his diary and ledger.

With neat and legible records, any grub-staking arrangements could always be referred to, but he objected to people perusing the section of ceiling listing “charge accounts.”

In the diary section, he had a notation about the Blue Quartz mine truck which he had provided with a tarpaulin, so that the truck could bring back beer on trips to Kirkland Lake. Another “truck” item had to do with the driver who, with a full load of 70 “Stopite” powder, had stopped off to sample Jimmy’s white lightning (washed down with store-bought beer). The driver and the underground superintendent were “bombed” when they left, and, with a defective latch on the rack, they bounced off cases of powder on the Black River bridge.

They jolted along the rutted mine road, singing happily and spilling additional powder boxes before running off the road. The OPP closed the bridge and arranged with a teamster to gather up the powder and pull the truck from the ditch. Everything was cleared up before daylight, and no charges were laid.

The last time I saw Brickyard Jimmy, he was in poor health and had finally lost hope that the brickyard would ever operate again.

— A.E. Alpine, an occasional contributor to this column, resides in Boyerton, Pa.