The Gallardians

Marjory, a first year Arts student, sat on the ripped upholstery in the back seat of the red ’63 Volvo heading to Calgary’s East Village. Determined to hustle their campus publication, Dwight, the co-editor invited her and Jeanette to sell some ads east of City Hall. They agreed to join the crusade and round up some much-needed funds.

The little poetry ‘rag’ had started out in 1960 as a small Gauntlet Newspaper supplement on The U. of Calgary campus. This school year, Marjory decided poetry was her haven, abandoning ‘hard news’  to the Che Guevara types across the hall at the That Gauntlet newspaper.  Her friend, Jeanette  joined her at Gaillardia, the arts magazine which published three times a year.

            Marjorie only knew the area East of City Hall as a district of questionable hotels, bars and strip joints. But she was curious.

‘Everyone on campus knows the East Village is a cool place to buy vintage clothes and jeans.’  Dwight told her.

‘Ok, I’m up for it too.’  Jeanette agreed.

‘Poetry will sell here.’ He said.

‘So where in East Village are we headed?’ Marjory asked.

‘You’ll see.’ he answered.  They parked on ninth and walked to a jean shop.

The boutiques, head shops and vintage clothing stores at the east end of 8th avenue impressed her as ‘avant-garde’. Now, Marjory would see for herself.

The Gaillardia bunch piled into the store, ‘Jelly Beans for Jeans’. Blue jeans wallpapered the high-ceilinged-building, bellbottoms galore in all shapes and sizes. Rock music blared and a space heater whirred. 

 ‘This is a prime spot! Denim is way cool.’ Marjory remarked.

Dwayne carried two editions of Gaillardia.

            In a two-minute conversation, Dwayne managed to sell a $50 ad for the Winter edition.  

‘Now we need a graphic to go with their logo. We’ll ask our artist to sketch a long-haired nude.’  Dwayne smiled.

‘Easy sell.’  Jeanette said.

‘Now you try selling an ad.’ Dwight said.

They walked next door to the head shop. It was their turn to talk to the manager.

 ‘I kinda dig your Santana black light poster.’ Jeanette said.

Dwight stood back as the girls showed the magazine and asked for his help.

‘That was magic.’ they remarked, walking  to the car.

Promotion appeared to be an important part of publishing.

Back on campus on the third floor of Mac Hall, they sat together to plan the next edition. 

‘What is a Gaillardia, do you know?’ Marjory asked the group.

 ‘It’s an insignificant little ditch flower found on the prairies.’ Andy said as he hammered

on the old typewriter.

‘It’s an artsy thing.’ Dwight laughed.

‘I heard Gaillardia was a purple Spanish carpet flower.’

‘And now it’s a magazine.’ The editor confirmed.

Gaillardia’s office window looked down at The Rock, a favorite meeting spot on campus.  The ancient limestone outcrop, discovered during excavation for the Arts Building, was millions of years old.  It carried student news. Painted weekly by the Student Union in psychedelic colors, The Rock spread the word about campus dances, events and happenings. Some messages  were startling than others, such as ‘I Love You, Sarah’, or ‘Kevin you P#?%, I’m pregnant’. The Rock never failed to surprise.

‘We need a cover for our next edition.’ the editor said.

‘Let’s all dress like American Gothic and get a black and white photo. The Gaillardians out on the land.’  Tim proposed.

‘Back to the earth, you mean?’

‘Hippie commune garb, basically farmers.’ Dwight said.

Call it ‘Canadian Gothic, then, right?’  Marjory asked.

‘It will be the Oatmeal edition, roots and twigs.’ Alan decided.

‘Groovy.’

One warm night in June, Jeanette and Marjory stayed late on campus. They sat with their backs up against the Rock and tried to smoke a wine-tipped cigarillo. Sputtering on the smoke and laughing at themselves, they had high hopes for their futures. They wondered if they stood the same chance as the men on campus when it came to their careers.  Gloria Steinem, their hero visited the campus that year, exhorting women’s freedom and equality.  After all, liberation for women was bound to happen someday. It was the sixties, after all.

Their trip to the country resulted in a great sepia photo. The ‘Canadian Gothic’ cover was a hit on their second edition, subtitled ‘Oatmeal’.  Marjory stood solemnly in the front row holding a broom and the rest of the unsmiling gang sported pitch forks and shovels against a rural backdrop with a barn nearby.  Jeanette and Marjory published their new poems, ‘Man in a Laundromat’ and ‘Cloud Tempo’. Joining Gaillardia was the right decision.

Gaillardians hung out and attended art and book launches, talking to artists and published writers. Newcomer, Margaret Atwood gave a campus reading from ‘Circle Game’ on a cold winter night.

The editor asked Marjory to interview W.O. Mitchell, the eccentric prairie author of ‘Jake and the Kid’ and ‘Who Has Seen the Wind?  At first, she was nervous but soon realized he was a writer like her. She enjoyed his banter as he inhaled copious amounts of snuff. Marjory loved his quote:

‘The same breathlessness attends certain rises of trout generally before dark when the Mayfly hatches. During these times, fish are jumping all over the stream. These times are seldom, both for an angler as for a writer.’

Their student poetry was improving as they shared and critiqued, gaining confidence in their writing.  Gauntlet reporters and several professors submitted their writing to Gaillardia. Marjory composed a poem about a hippie on the Vancouver court-house steps.  ‘Owl in the Hip Jungle’.  Her dark poem, ‘Tower’ portrayed Calgary’s tallest landmark.

At the end of her second year, Marjory spoke with the departing Gaillardia editor.

‘Would you consider heading up the magazine next year?’ ML said.

‘Why me?’ Marjory asked.

 ‘Gaillardia needs to publish. You know the ropes. Budget wisely. Ask the Student Union for sufficient funds. Remember that coffee and jasmine tea are still a nickel.’

Marjory said yes without much hesitation. Gaillardia seemed a fine destiny. 

She was amazed that the door into Gaillardia had opened so wide for her.  Poets held together in room 312 by their one passion. Its pages soon displayed photography, painting and sculpture from campus artists. Pen and ink sketches illustrated the poetry and stories.

In the fall of 1970, Marjory and Jeanette proposed a funding increase for Gaillardia at the Student Union meeting. After listening to many other business agenda items, Marjory stood up.  All eyes, mostly male, were on her. She held her breath and spoke.

‘Gaillardia is a student magazine, supported by this Student Union, publishing student writing and art.  We, the Gaillardians believe that the arts play an important role for students. Gaillardia is creative expression. In order to complete our plans for this year, we require an additional $650 to publish.’

When she needed them, the words were there.  Gaillardia received the extra funds to publish 850 copies of their final glossy-covered edition. Spring, 1971.

That year, Marjory and Jeanette graduated with an Arts and Science Degree along with their peers. They did not attend their graduation, a sort of rebellion. They were busy readying Gaillardia for publication. Their staff photo showed a happy tribe of Gaillardians.

At the launch, their members came out to help distribute the new book in the Main Foyer, MacEwan Hall.  Team spirit buoyed them up. Readership was higher than ever and more contributors joined. Instead of jasmine tea, they had a sip of ‘honey mead’ on release day.

One day, a real Gaillardia flower mysteriously appeared in the office.  Contrary to what Marjory had been told, it was not a trivial flower.  Instead, a reddish-orange long-stemmed bloom with yellow-tipped petals stood tall in a glass vase.  If Gaillardia was such a psychedelic daisy, then perhaps a poem or a piece of art was a greater act of courage than they had anticipated.

That thought played in her mind and lodged there.  In the future, if she underestimated her efforts or those of the group, she would stop and remember their freedom to express.  She would never forget the message of The Rock. And Gaillardia.

They graduated, sought careers, married and drifted apart. Most of them held fast to their passion for art, spoken and written word. Some became teachers, music-promoters, serious authors, leaders. They published books, newspapers and novels.  To this day, they write poems.

And that’s how Gaillardia grew voices into poems, stories into narrative. That’s how a young group of writers and artists became Gaillardians.