Tough end to a long voyage — last call at the Navy Club
Hamilton Naval Veterans’ Association, founded in 1956, is closing its doors
The ship has been listing for years. The crew of the Hamilton Naval Veterans’ Association knew it was so. And they didn’t want the end to be messy.
So this Saturday, from 2 p.m. to whenever, there will be a proper goodbye at headquarters, 108 Parkdale N. It’s “open gangway” — open to present members, past members, friends. Open to you too if, before it’s gone, you want to see what an old-school veterans club looks like.
There will be more than one toast, and all will rise before the day’s done for the playing of “Heart of Oak,” a 1700s navy anthem.
The club began in 1956, and thrived for decades. In the early 1980s, there were 440 members. Some had to be turned away.
It was popular for good reason. The premises on Parkdale are vintage. All that warm wood, all that history on the walls, all that beer behind the bar at the best price in town.
But the vets began to get old. And the law got tougher on drinking and driving. And you couldn’t have a smoke with that beer anymore.
A vets club going down is nothing new. Over on Kenilworth North, the Firestone club died. Still on Kenilworth, up near the factories, the National Steel Car club closed. On Main East, the British Imperial surrendered.
At the Naval club, they tried everything. Barbecues, darts leagues, fish and chip nights, euchre, dances, trivia contests. But the club is down to about 185 members now, only a handful who were ever in the navy. And they don’t come often enough.
Memberships — $30 a year — sure don’t cover the bills.
“The lifeblood of any veterans club is sales over the bar,” says club secretary Bill Butterworth.
He says that about a year ago, they called a town hall. “We opened the floor and said, ‘We’re hurting and we need some ideas.’”
There were none. And when it was suggested that maybe those present
could help the immediate situation by buying a raffle ticket, most left the room. Harry Shakeshaft was steamed. He got up, and said, “We mention two-dollar tickets and you get up to leave.”
Shame, he said. He’s 96, the club’s only Second World War vet. He and wife Marion show up twice a week. On Saturdays, he’s always wearing a suit, and brings a batch of CDs of big-band tunes from the 1940s. Six weeks ago, he and Marion celebrated their 75th wedding anniversary at the club.
Last fall, members sold the building for $321,000. The keys get turned over May 4 to the new owner, a realtor who’s still considering tenants.
Net proceeds of the sale go to charity. The club is whittling down a list to about 10 recipients.
The bar stays, and the sound system, tables, captains chairs, disco ball. But that leaves a lifetime of artifacts looking for a home. Dozens of photos, a ceremonial sword, a No Profanity sign.
And the big memorial plaque, which holds an engraved gold nameplate for every member who’s died. A club in Burlington expressed interest in that, but they would remove the names and start using the plaque to honour their own members.
“I know every one of those people and it hurts,” says Bob Sweika, 78, a club member for 53 years. “I don’t want to see it stripped.”
His wife Katherine, once president of the Ladies Auxiliary, is up there. She died Sept. 8, 2015.
Having a beer with Bob today is Dennis Hubbard, 79, a member for 43 years. His wife Betty is on that plaque too. She died the same day as Bob’s wife.
There’s an offer to accept members at another club still hanging on: the Veterans Service League on Main East near Kenilworth.
About 50 from the naval club will sign on. There will be a mass swearing-in come May or June. They will pledge allegiance to the Queen and the club and the way it used to be.