Under the G, good times at legion bingo
Posted Jan 26, 2012 By J.P. Antonacci
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EMC News - Don't let the frosty air keep you cooped up this winter - not when there's bingo to be played.
J.P. Antonacci, Metroland
Barbara Smith (left) and Pat Vander Eyken are regulars at the biweekly bingos at the Kemptville Legion, which take place every other Wednesday.
A little ice and snow doesn't stop the dedicated group of spirited seniors, and a few younger folks, who come to the Royal Canadian Legion in Kemptville every other Wednesday to enjoy the popular pastime.
For just a quarter a card, they play over a dozen games during the two-hour sessions, some of them going home with a fair-sized pot.
It's not just straight and diagonal lines for these sharp-eyed bingo veterans, either - they might have to wrap numbers around a corner, make a two-line T-shape, or get the difficult "postage stamp," a square in each corner.
"I enjoy the company," says Barbara Smith, a bingo fanatic for more than four decades. The Osgoode resident comes down to Kemptville to have lunch and socialize with fellow players who over the years have become her friends.
"The only downside is I have to sit next to her," Smith says, rolling her eyes jokingly at regular seatmate Pat Vander Eyken.
"You just can't shut this one up beside me," Vander Eyken deadpans, never taking her eyes off her cards.
The good-natured duo has played more games than they care to count. They always split their winnings, which they keep in a plastic cup near their drinks. "Right now our cup's empty, but the day's not over yet," Brown says confidently.
Vander Eyken is a relative latecomer to bingo, starting a scant 24 years ago as a way to socialize after her husband died. Now, she and Smith travel to halls throughout the region, and take the bus to play inside New York casinos. Smith has a slight addiction to the slot machines, she confesses. "I don't tell my husband how much I spend," she says, laughing.
The pair trade wisecracks as quickly as they scan their cards, seven or eight per person, neatly ordered in rows and all within reach of their fingertips.
Everyone is similarly organized, with quarters and loonies stacked on the table, to be collected between games by the organizers. Some players budget carefully for the biweekly games, while Brown's strategy is to toss loose change into a plastic bag at her house and play with whatever she collects.
Like many players, Vander Eyken used to litter the table with trinkets and talismans, but she gratefully says those days are behind her. Neither player misses the smoke-filled bingo halls of old, although they lament that anti-smoking laws did force many halls out of business, never to return.
Tension builds as caller Edythe Pisani pulls ball after coloured ball from the dispenser, which whirs noisily as forced air sends the fragile orbs spinning. The game is B-N-O, a tricky one as players must fill in all three rows to win.
"N-34," Pisani says into her microphone, and Vander Eyken grimaces. "Oh, bugger!" she says, not quietly.
"We do call the caller names. And she knows it," Smith says.
Nothing personal, of course? "Oh, sometimes it is!" Vander Eyken says.
"We all love each other," Smith smiles. "She knows we're kidding."
Just the same, they say they will try to keep their griping to a minimum on this day. Pisani is their ride home.
The overall mood inside the hall is good-natured, but serious. Players can chat, as long as they're quiet. "Can everybody hear me okay?" Pisani asks after raising the volume on her microphone.
"No," replies a woman sitting directly in front of the loudspeaker.
"Turn your hearing aid up!" the caller laughs.
Besides giving Legionnaires and their friends something to do on a Wednesday afternoon, bingo doubles as a fundraiser. Winners get half the pot, while the remainder goes toward youth scholarships and other Legion programs.
"I enjoy coming out, supporting my branch," says Vander Eyken, a Legionnaire.
And the price is right. "There aren't many places where you can play a quarter a card," Smith says. "You don't win big here, but you win big enough."
The game drags on, and by now, seemingly every player is one or two numbers away from victory. They all watch Pisani, hoping the next ball she snatches from the whirling drum is the one they need.
The caller squints at the number. "O-73," she says.
Smith raises her arms, her face lighting up in a big smile.
"Bingo!"
jp.antonacci@metroland.com
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