Heather Smith - Barry Squires, Full Tilt

Id seen the Full Tilt Dancers perform a thousand times, but it wasnt until the opening of Frankie McCalls Bingo Hall that I wanted to be one of them. Maybe it was how their tartan uniforms glowed under the neon sign. Maybe it was how their shoes clacked on the large piece of plywood Frankie had put down on the pavement. More likely, though, it was because Id spent the last year getting kicked out of every club and extracurricular activity Id joined, and Nanny Squires said that if I didnt find an outlet for that temper of mine, Id have a heart attack by the time I was twenty.

The parking lot in front of the hall had been cordoned off for the performance. Mom stood behind me with her hands on my shoulders while Dad, the good son that he was, brought Nan to the front to find a chair. I wished my baby brother, Gord, was there because hed have loved the traditional Newfoundland music, but he was home with our older sister, Shelagh, whod stayed behind to clear up after our big Sunday lunch. My other brother, Pius, wasnt impressed. Stop being a saint, will ya? hed said. Youre making the rest of us look bad. Pius, or Sweet Sixteen, as Mom had been calling him since his birthday, had a big mouth and a comment for everything. When hed heard that we were going to see the Full Tilt Dancers, hed said, Irish step dancings for tools. As I stood in the crowded parking lot, mesmerized by the frenetic movements of the troupe, I felt like our Black and Decker 400-watt variable-speed jigsaw. Because if step dancing was for tools, I was the biggest one in the shed.

Frankie McCall stood under his bright neon sign tapping his foot and clapping his hands.

Look at him, said Mom. Hes like the cat that ate the canary.

The Full Tilt Dancers had been scheduled to perform at the One Step Closer to God Nursing Home, but McCall had lured them away with the promise of five free bingo games per person. Father OFlahertys Full Tilt Dancers were the most sought-after act in the citywith the popular bagpiper Alfie Bragg and His Agony Bag being a close second.

The bingo fanatics of St. Johns had been thrilled to learn that Frankie McCall was building a new bingo hall. The parish hall, where the game was normally played, had a rat problem. Nan blamed the infestation on the Hawkins Cheezies that were sold at the snack bar. Finding one of those on the ground is like striking gold for a rat, shed said. I agreed. Id been known to eat a few off the floor myself.

Bingo attendance at the parish hall had diminished and when the town blabbermouth, Bernadette Ryan, called in to the VOCM Open Line radio show to say that her ninety-nine-year-old bingo-loving grandmother was showing signs of the plaguerunny nose, fatigue, weaknesspeople refused to go altogether. Our old parish priest, Father Molloy, tried to reason with his parishioners, saying that the place had been fumigated, not once but twice, but Bernadette would not be silenced. She said that fumigation wasnt enough, that during the Great Plague of London contaminated bedding and clothes were burned to avoid contagion; therefore, the rat-infested parish hall should be burned to the ground. Thats when Frankie McCall stepped in with the news that hed be building a new bingo hall on behalf of the church. On the day of the announcement, Father Molloy called McCall a great philanthropist. Mom said, Philanderer, more like. When I asked what that meant, she told me to go ask my Aunt Tilly. As far as I knew, I didnt have one.

After the dancers opening performance, Frankie gestured to the double doors, which were blocked off by a piece of yellow police tape.

Thats what you get, said Frankie, when you leave the village idiot in charge of the ribbon cutting.

The village idiot was ninety-four and Frankies mother. I sidled up to her. That son of yours is a hard ticket.

Dont worry, she said. Hell get his comeuppance.

Frankie made a cutting motion with his fingers. Where are the scissors?

The village idiot passed him a pair of pink plastic safety scissors. I laughed my arse off and said, Nice one, missus.

Frankie broke a sweat as he hacked through the tape. On the final snip, the Full Tilt Dancers did a celebratory step dance. The dancing was good but Ise da By was too obvious. If it were up to me, wed have sung Bingo. There was a Frankie had a hall, and BINGO was the game-o. B-I-N-G-O. Clearly this troupe needed my out-of-the box ideas. When the applause faded I told my parents that my new life goal was to become a Full Tilt step dancer.

Not a chance, said Dad. Well be drove nuts with the racket.

But I have a feeling, I said. Its stirring deep in my loins.

For goodness sake, Barry, whispered Mom. You should never talk about your loins in the shadow of the basilica.

You just made that up, I said. They talk about loins in the Bible all the time.