One morning, between 7:30 a.m. and 8 a.m., I was picking up litter where the park met the weeds and brush. Suddenly, a man popped up, between five and 10 metres from where I was standing. He was shirtless and his face was badly beaten.

He had what appeared to be a handgun in his right hand. My first thought was to run. I knew I could outrun him, as long as I wasn’t hit by a bullet.

Instead, for whatever reason, I stood there.

In hindsight, I am pretty sure it wasn’t a gun, but I thought it was at the time and, let’s face it, it makes for a better story more than 45 years later.

A really good story would be me stepping between this man and a passerby. He and I would wrestle in the brush with me knocking the gun from his hand. Eventually, we would fall into the river. A 100 metres downstream, I would knock him out cold and drag him out of the water, where a bevy of police officers and television cameras would be waiting.

It wasn’t like that, of course. In the end, he walked toward a nearby bridge and I went the other way and continued to pick up litter.

That was certainly the scariest thing that happened during my three years — from 1975-1977 — of working in parks along the riverbank.

It was a dream summer job in the 1970s for a university student. It still is, I reckon.

While working at the park, I met a couple of Stampede wrestlers. They performed once a week at the old Saskatoon Arena. To kill time, a couple of them, would come to the park and throw a football.

One of them was a member of the famous Hart family. A quick Google, makes me think it was Keith Hart, who never earned the fame of his younger brothers Owen and Brett.

Other times I met members of bands playing at local nightclubs. The park was a good place for working on tans, and killing time. Those working in the downtown would flock to the park during their lunch breaks.

There were other memorable moments. One day a woman with a hippie vibe decided to sit topless. I am not going to lie and say my co-worker and I didn’t look, although we didn’t do something obvious like cutting the grass next to her. It became fun watching the reactions of people walking by.

The most memorable was the guy was gawking/ leering so hard that he veered off course and ran his 10-speed bike into a picnic table. He got up, a big smile on his face, and rode away.

Somebody must have called the police. A couple of officers showed up at the park, and told her to put her shirt on. She did and life in the park returned to normal.

That story reminds me of a similar one. Before we were dispatched to our parks, we spent late April and early May on various crews. One year, three or four of us painted picnic tables at a campground. Another year, we painted the seating area at a football field.

Other springs, I was on a tree planting crew. These guys were the coolest guys in the parks department. We would plant trees on the front lawns in new residential areas. One of my duties was to ring the doorbell and ask the homeowner if she or he wanted a tree.

One day, I approached a home, and a sign on the front door said something about the doorbell not working, and to go to the back door. I rang the doorbell at the back of the house and a woman answered. She was wearing a smile and a lingerie thing that was quite telling.

I am sure I stammered when asking her if she wanted a tree. Or maybe I forgot to ask her about a tree. I know we planted one.

City workers get a bad rap. We took pride in having our parks look good. Given we were all in our early 20s, we had fun, most of it away from our parks.

No one had more fun than a guy I worked with in 1977, my last year with the city as it turned out.

Glen was a superb athlete. He was a professional hockey player, who had just moved to Saskatoon to be with his girlfriend.

He instantly became the best player on the slow pitch team I played on. He loved tennis. After work, we would go play, still wearing our work boots. I know I never won a set. Maybe I didn’t win a game.

He also pulled a few fast ones during the work day. Before I tell you a couple of stories, please let me repeat that we worked hard, but this particular co-worker took certain liberties now and again.

For example, the Bessborough Hotel in Saskatoon had a swimming pool. On hot days, Glen would sometimes go for a dip. He considered it his coffee break.

The topper, and my favourite summer job story of all-time, occurred on a day when our foreman stopped to give us a new can of gas for our lawn mowers. The foreman asked me where Glen was, and I said something like he’s taking a quick break. That was true, although the break was a bit longer than quick.

At that moment, I turned toward the river. Glen gave me a wave as he came by on water skis.

Those were good days.

-Cam Hutchinson