Fort Erie Pumphouse

There’s a legend amongst the Niagara river eels about their very own black hole. An underwater vortex that once dragged in, it was a one way trip to a sudden “thwack” against a 2” square mesh of a flat bar filter. This black hole was a water intake, jutting out hundreds of feet into the Niagara river from the break wall in Fort Erie. The captured water was then forwarded by one of three pumps to fill a water tower. Gravity did the rest to supply Fort Erie residents with water.

These pumps were housed in a bump in the landscape. This bump, since torn down, was my husband’s workplace. Within an approximate 14’ x 25’ cement space, cigarette in one hand, coffee in another, my husband sat in one of those old solid wood office chairs with a curved back, castor wheels and a spinning seat. He said he never spun to see how many times he could do a 360. I find that hard to believe. A 150-watt light bulb lit up the minimalist decor which sported a matching roll top desk. The washroom facilities resembled an outhouse but with a real toilet. A hole was punched in the wall to keep an eye on anyone approaching. He was officially a Water Treatment Plant Operator in the 70s.

Some mornings, at 5:30 a.m., proved a chilling challenge for the fishermen trying their luck from the break wall. These fishermen were mostly Americans taking advantage of a shale plateau that was only on the Canadian side.

This made a nice hang-out for the fish. Instant coffee was made in cups and my husband would take them out to the fishermen. One such fellow kept looking around and questioning my husband…me?…you made coffee for me?… me? And the best way for keeping awake…a dose of Buffalo 92.9 FM rock and roll with no commercials. It was good reception as he could see the broadcast tower across the river. He brought “Dobie ”, his Doberman/Dane once for company. It faithfully ran full speed towards a car that had driven up and parked near the pump house. “I’ll save you master!” TWAAAAAAAANG. Dobie just about wrenched his head off when he reached the end of the 30’ rope. The driver kicked up pebbles scrambling back to his car, drove off, never to be seen again. It was the last time Dobie was brought.

But there really was work to be done. There was a monitoring of the pump along with seals needing adjusting when necessary. The underwater flat bar filter was raised and hosed down to rid the lamprey eels. A rotary clock driven chart with a red pen showed the water pressure in the lines on a paper graph. No slacking or the boss would notice by the chart. And then there were the “Women of Fort Erie”. Oh yeah, they put that pump house to task. A second pump was engaged and a third pump ready to be put to work to keep up with these formidable women for it was washday!!!!!!! The water tower was a drainin’ washing dirty diapers, soiled shirts, doilies, aprons, and a mess of linen. There was no spinning in the chair wash day. My husband was suddenly somebody keeping those pumps functioning correctly, monitoring and adjusting the seals, lugging chlorine cylinders about. Looking out the punched hole was a welcome break.

Photos courtesy of Janice Opie.

Did I mention danger? Chlorine fumes? One shift worker found hanging halfway over and out the screen door unconscious from fumes? A regularly scheduled phone call to the pump house ensured someone was still conscious to answer as a safety precaution.

Washday over, back to needing only one pump, cigarette, coffee, and rock and roll in place, my husband picked around the shelving. He came across a dusty yellowed logbook that was brought from a previous pump house. This previous one is now the Fort Erie Underwater Recovery Unit. Skimming through the names, he came upon his grandfather’s cursive signature. He went from looking for a way to stay awake to being suddenly immersed in nostalgic feelings of joy. An image of himself as a young boy washed over him of watching excitedly as grandpa walked towards him to visit. Grandpa had worked until his retirement at the previous Pumphouse.

Shift over, he gathered his belongings, made sure the hot plate was off and greeted the next shift worker. He drove past people washing cars and clean laundry flapping. The pump house was unfamiliar to most residents, but it was part of his world, and he did his best. Some eels survived that day, some didn’t.

Janice Opie is an artist and author residing in Niagara Falls, Ontario. She can be contacted through her website janiceopie.com regarding art lessons and her fiction “Bloody Waters”, available through Amazon.