When Strangers Become Family
There comes a moment in every good visit when you stop feeling like a guest.
You know the moment.
Someone hands you a drink without asking what you want.
People stop introducing themselves.
You know where the coffee cups are kept.
You start feeling like you belong.
By Friday night, thousands of stranded passengers across Newfoundland had reached that point.
They weren’t tourists anymore.
They weren’t airline passengers anymore.
And they certainly weren’t strangers.
They had become part of the community.
At least for a little while.
Newfoundland has a tradition for moments like this.
It’s called a Screech-In.
Officially, it’s a ceremony that turns visitors into honorary Newfoundlanders.
Unofficially, it’s an excuse to laugh at people while making them kiss a fish.
Like most great traditions, it makes absolutely no sense until you’re part of it.
The ceremony involves Screech rum, a few Newfoundland expressions, and usually a codfish that has seen better days.
Much better days.
The visitor repeats phrases they don’t understand.
The crowd laughs.
The cod gets kissed.
A certificate is awarded.
And just like that, another honorary Newfoundlander is born.
After September 11, the tradition spread across the island.
Stranded passengers lined up to take part.
Some did it for fun.
Some did it because everyone else was doing it.
Most did it because saying “no” to a room full of enthusiastic Newfoundlanders is nearly impossible.
Nowhere was the celebration bigger than the Trailways Pub in Gambo.
Every night the place was packed.
Passengers arrived by the hundreds.
Beer flowed.
Stories were shared.
Friendships deepened.
And every morning somebody had to drive to the next town to restock the bar because the previous night’s supplies had vanished.
By Friday evening, many suspected they might finally be leaving the next day.
That realization changed the mood.
People wanted one more night together.
One more story.
One more laugh.
One more memory.
Which brings us to Winnie House.
The Nigerian princess.
And yes, she really was the daughter of an African chief.
By the time somebody suggested Winnie should be Screeched-In, she had already enjoyed a healthy amount of wine.
This seemed like excellent preparation.
To everyone except Winnie.
Volunteer firefighter Jim Lane had spent days conducting Screech-In ceremonies.
He wore the traditional yellow fishing gear.
A fake beard.
And carried around a codfish that was becoming less cooperative with each passing day.
The fish had reached the stage where people no longer described it as “fresh.”
Or even “fish.”
It was becoming its own category.
Jim explained the ceremony.
Winnie tried to repeat the required phrases.
The crowd laughed.
Winnie laughed harder.
Every failed attempt resulted in another shot of Screech.
This was not technically part of the official ceremony.
But nobody seemed overly concerned about accuracy.
Finally came the moment everyone had been waiting for.
The cod.
Jim held it out.
Winnie recoiled.
The crowd began chanting.
“Kiss the cod!”
“Kiss the cod!”
“Kiss the cod!”
Winnie wanted no part of it.
The cod wasn’t thrilled either.
Yet somehow destiny had brought them together.
Jim moved closer.
Winnie backed away.
The crowd got louder.
Winnie closed her eyes.
And then Jim solved the problem.
With one quick flick of his wrist, he tapped the fish against her lips.
The pub erupted.
Winnie screamed.
The crowd cheered.
The cod remained silent.
The ceremony was complete.
An honorary Newfoundlander had been created.
Whether she liked it or not.
As the evening rolled on, somebody produced a karaoke machine.
History has repeatedly shown that nothing good ever follows the words…
“Let’s do karaoke.”
Naturally, everybody loved it.
People sang.
People danced.
People forgot the lyrics.
People murdered perfectly innocent songs.
The audience applauded anyway.
That wasn’t really the point.
The point was being together.
Then something unexpected happened.
A member of the group known as the Beatle Boys stepped onto the stage.
For days people had heard stories about them.
Now they were finally going to perform.
The first song was John Lennon’s Imagine.
At first people kept talking.
Then they stopped.
Conversations faded.
Drinks paused halfway to mouths.
The room grew quiet.
Very quiet.
Think about the timing.
Three days earlier the world had watched unimaginable horror.
Families were still separated.
Nobody knew what came next.
Fear hung over everything.
Then a man stood in a crowded Newfoundland pub and sang about peace.
About hope.
About a better world.
Suddenly those lyrics meant something different.
People listened.
People swayed.
A few wiped away tears.
For a moment, everybody in that room wanted the same thing.
To believe the world could still be good.
When the song ended, the crowd demanded more.
And more.
And more.
The Beatle Boys obliged.
They played.
The crowd sang.
The pub became one giant celebration.
Nobody wanted the night to end.
Because deep down everyone understood what was coming.
Tomorrow people would leave.
Tomorrow flights would depart.
Tomorrow friendships would be interrupted by distance.
Tomorrow the world would begin moving again.
But not tonight.
Tonight there was music.
Tonight there was laughter.
Tonight there was a Nigerian princess.
A pub full of honorary Newfoundlanders.
A questionable codfish.
And a room full of people who had stopped being strangers.
That may be the most remarkable part of this entire story.
The people of Newfoundland never treated the passengers like victims.
They treated them like neighbours.
And after a few days together...
that’s exactly what they became.
For five days, a small Newfoundland town became home to thousands of strangers.
This is their story.
And it is Canada’s story too.
Next in the series: Part 10 – The Day They Finally Left
Missed the beginning? Read Part 1 here: The Day the World Came to Town
#TheWorldCameToTown #GanderSeries #GeezerWiseSays
Source: The Day the World Came to Town by Jim DeFede
Enjoying this story?
Join thousands of readers who get my articles delivered free to their inbox.
No paywall. No spam. No algorithms deciding what you should see.
Just straight-talk Canadian commentary, interesting stories, and the occasional rabbit hole worth exploring.
And if it’s not for you?
One click and you’re gone.
Enter your email below and I’ll see you in your inbox.
The best one yet!
you're a fine storyteller, Fred.
Thanks!