The Divide (2011) This film has already started New York comes under nuclear attack, but nine strangers are able to survive the devastation by hiding in an.

Eastside Stories: Diary of a Vancouver Beat Cop. The Grade 9 students at North Delta’s Burnsview Junior Secondary were divided into two social classes. First, there were the preppies. They were the cool kids, who boasted brand- name clothes, sculpted their hair like Jason Priestley and blasted bubble- gum pop through their Discmen. Second, there were the skids, of which I was one.  The skids were not cool, and we claimed we didn’t want to be. We tried to convince the world (and ourselves) that, despite our suburban comforts, we were filled with teenaged angst.

We blasted grunge music, smoked cigarettes behind the school, and wore as much flannel as we could get our hands on. I was a proud skid. For about a month.

Then Kurt Cobain killed himself, my dad took his flannel shirts back, and I realized that I really did like Beverly Hills 9. I justified this last point by telling myself that Dylan Mc. Kay, like me, was tortured and angst ridden, but who was I fooling? The year was 1. 99. I had heard of the Downtown Eastside, and I remember seeing it whiz by from the backseat of my parents’ car whenever we’d take day- trips to Stanley Park.

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Once, as a teenager, I even walked down East Hastings Street after I got off at the wrong bus stop following a Metallica concert. I saw all the scared straight presentations at school and I watched Through a Blue Lens whenever it was replayed on the CBC, which was often. But until I got posted to the Beat Enforcement Team in 2. Showtime Full The Lunchbox Online Free. I really had no clue what it was like to be on Skid Row. When we launched Eastside Stories last month, I said my goal was to deliver a gritty and unfiltered look at this tragic neighborhood, telling stories as seen through the eyes of a beat cop. I wanted to do it in a way that promotes truthfulness, accuracy and respect, but also in a way that does not sugarcoat or mince words.

I knew it would be a challenge, and that criticism was inevitable. Few people are watched as closely in the Downtown Eastside as the police. Those who don’t understand this place or what we do sometimes paint us as insensitive, uncaring and heavy- handed.

Others just wish we would go away. It’s frustrating. And while the majority of feedback I’ve received since launching this blog has been delightfully positive, I have had one or two people take issue with some of the words I’ve used. This week I received a comment from an anonymous reader who didn’t like my occasional use of the word “skids” to describe the area I work in. The reader said the term was dated, and suggested it was a derogatory and regressive way to describe the neighbourhood he (or she) loves. Fair comment. So I consulted Wikipedia and dusted off my favourite history book, Vancouver Remembered by Michael Kluckner, to find out if I was off base. Watch Someone Like You... Vioz. Turns out the term, while understandably offensive to some, is also historically significant and still quite accurate.

When I was in Grade 9, the term skid was a badge of honour worn by kids who wanted to be seen as gritty and non- conforming. Today, the term skids or skid row is most often used to describe a run- down and neglected inner- city area. But the term, much like my own teenaged understanding of it, actually comes from proud and noble beginnings. Way back in the 1. Vancouver was just a fledgling outpost on the West Coast, the little town’s industrial heartbeat was located in what we now call the Downtown Eastside. Vancouver was a resource- rich town waiting to explode, surrounded by water and teeming with trees.

Around 1. 87. 0 Hastings Mill was established on the south side of Burrard Inlet, near what we now call Dunlevy Avenue. As trees were chopped down, they were skidded down to the water over a road paved with raw logs.

The north end of Gore Avenue, just east of Main Street, is believed to be the route of the original skid road, where trees were hauled down the hill to the mill. Many of the seasonal workers who came to Vancouver stayed in hotels like the Balmoral and Regent, near Main and Hastings. The area soon became the commercial hub of the city. It remained that way past the turn of the 2. Century, when Woodwards was built at Hastings and Abbott Street.

Slowly, however, Vancouver’s commercial core shifted west toward Granville Street and the Downtown Eastside spiraled into poverty and neglect. The devolution is summarized well in a 1.

VPD report called Project Lockstep: A United Effort to Save Lives in the Downtown Eastside. Prostitution and alcoholism took root in Gastown in the early 1. Depression hit in the 1. East Hastings Street became packed with people looking for work. There was no work, but there were plenty of vices.

The Downtown Eastside continued to fester for decades, and the problems accelerated in the 1. Gastown and Chinatown were declared historical sites, which drew legitimate businesses off of Hastings Street. The introduction of heroin and crack cocaine, followed by large- scale de- institutionalization of the mentally ill, further exacerbated the problems. Other factors included the discontinuation of streetcar routes through the area, and a decentralization of police services from Main and Hastings to VPD’s current patrol headquarters at 2. Cambie Street. Today, when I walk the lanes of Hastings Street I often run into addicts who rationalize their destructive behaviour by convincing themselves they are just waiting to hit rock bottom.

They insist that once they bottom out, they will begin working to get their lives back on track. I’m not sure if the area I occasionally call skid row has hit its own rock bottom. There have certainly been a number of positive changes here, including the reconstruction of the old Woodwards site to include market housing, social housing and several businesses and department stores.

This has spawned other smaller- scale housing projects, a couple of trendy eateries and the re- opening of a few night clubs and concert halls which cater to twenty- somethings who aren’t afraid to take a walk on the wild side. But these positive changes have done little to combat poverty, mental illness, drug abuse and desperation that has been so rampant here for so long. Female drug addicts still sell their bodies to feed their heroin and crack habits. Hundreds of people still line up outside homeless shelters and soup kitchens every day and night. Many of the mentally ill continue to live in Third World conditions.

And there’s no shortage of predators just waiting to take advantage of them all. This place is no Mayfield.

People don’t leave their doors and windows unlocked, and nobody walks down Main Street whistling a happy tune. It is a place where today’s victim is often tomorrow’s suspect. And though there has always been a segment of the population that works hard and stays out of trouble, the rampant social issues here continue to hold this neighbourhood back.

It’s ironic that the term skid row originated in such a proud and industrious context, and that it now carries such a wasteful connotation. I understand how referring to this area as the skids is offensive to some. Just last year, political activists made hay over a controversial mural painted on the wall of a Vancouver fire station.

The mural depicted the Grim Reaper, holding a scythe with the word “Skids” written across it. At the tip of the scythe was a dripping needle and a caption that read “It’s not the end of the world, but we can see it from here.”People who took issue with that mural suggested it was insensitive to the neighbourhood.

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