In 1938 we were living at 70th and Granville. A young man came to our door looking for a rooming place. He had his pilots license, but was to be at the air port to upgrade his flying skills. He was a Mounted Policeman! WOW!
We didn’t have a separate. spare room…. so, being a little crazy about the Mounties I begged for my parents to let him have my room, and I would sleep on a couch in their room.
It just happened that he was staying with us when we got word that my brother had died. He was very kind and considerate, and it was a good thing for mom and dad to have his companianship while they talked about some of the things that he ran into with his job.
And, Stan took me up in a two seater airplane! While we were ‘up’ it fogged in and he had to drop the plane quite a distance in order to get out of the fog. I thought I was losing my tummy!
Stan was with us for a couple of months, and we were all sad to see him go. He obtained the license he had been working for and was then in some position out at the Vancouver airport.