You'll find something truly unique at Kimberley’s only remaining bowling alley – teens who reset the pins by hand every bowl. It's a vocation obliterated by automation decades ago, save for a few locations.Lee and Lucy Hamilton/The Globe and Mail
Teenagers Gwen Callele and William Pagett work at the bowling alley modernity forgot. And Justin Zale had to tell his mom about them.
“There’s two lanes,” Mr. Zale told her over the phone while his friends hurtled balls down an oiled alley. “And these two little kids are sitting up on a bench, setting pins.”
Mr. Zale was at Kimberley Elks Lodge, 2,300 kilometres north of his home in Scottsdale, Ariz. He and 10 of his buddies, mostly pals from their high-school days, were in British Columbia for a fishing trip over the Labour Day long weekend.
But first they hit up Kimberley’s only remaining bowling alley, which opened about 75 years ago and took a pass on the mechanical upgrades that revolutionized facilities.
Gwen and William, two locals in the city, are among North America’s last human pinsetters. Automation obliterated the vocation decades ago, save for a few locations – such as Vancouver Island’s Youbou Community Bowling Alley and Milwaukee’s Holler House – now marketing their technological shortcomings as retro-chic.
Top: Pin-setter Gwen Callele, 13. Above: Pin-setter William Pagett, 15. William and Gwen share the gig in Kimberley with four other teens.Lee and Lucy Hamilton/The Globe and Mail
The pinsetters reminded Mr. Zale of his own history. His grandfather was a pinboy in Hell’s Kitchen, a neighbourhood in New York, in the 1930s. Mr. Zale never met his grandfather, but his mom relayed stories from when the family patriarch lived above a bowling alley.
“My grandpa said he could lay in bed and tell if a guy got a strike or not, just by how it sounds,” he said.
In Kimberley, 15-year-old William and 13-year-old Gwen sat cross-legged on a blue bench a few feet above the pin pit at the end of the lanes. From there, they hopped in and out of the pit to keep the competition moving. They swept away pins that fell over but lingered on the pin decks between rolls and reset the equilateral triangles by placing 10 pins on circular markers between frames.
William and Gwen returned the balls to the other end by hoisting them onto a wooden track between the lanes and giving the colourful orbs a two-handed shove down a little ramp. That gave the balls enough momentum to rejoin the arsenal at the players’ end of the alley. The edges of this channel are worn smooth.
Between shots, William shared advice for wannabe pinsetters: “Keep your legs up so you don’t get hit by a pin,” he said. “Just have fun and don’t get hurt.”
Top: Gwen picks up pins after they've been knocked down. Above: William resets his own pins while Gwen sits in wait. Bowlers will wait for them to cross their legs before winding up, and sometimes will yell down the alley to double-check that the teens are ready.Lee and Lucy Hamilton/The Globe and Mail
William and Gwen share the gig in Kimberley with four other teens. They make minimum wage – $16.75 an hour – plus tips, which range from $15 to $50 for a four-hour shift, William said. The pair wore red and blue bowling shoes and button-up shirts with a starburst print from the atomic age. Their uniforms complement the alley’s throwback motif.
“It sort of feels like where George Jetson would bowl,” Mr. Zale said. The place reminded him of the Stardust Hotel in 1950s Las Vegas.
Top: Justin Zale takes his shot. Above: Clive Martin does likewise.Lee and Lucy Hamilton/The Globe and Mail
Michael Sutcliffe, a local artist who manages the Elks lounge, spent $260 and two weeks restyling the bowling alley located below it in hopes of reviving the business, which has suffered during the pandemic. He painted mid-century modern diamonds and stars in pastel pink, chocolate brown and sharp teal on the white walls. He used Gorilla Tape to secure the Elks sign, which he found in the lounge, to the wall between the pinsetters. There’s a disco ball and a sound system.
He left some things untouched. The space-age light fixtures over the pins are original, and the Brunswick scoring desk still sports ads for Saunders Pharmacy Ltd. and the Kimberley Trading Company, two local businesses that no longer exist.
“Vegas sparkle in here works,” Mr. Sutcliffe said while bartending at the bowling alley’s private snack counter. Bowling is by appointment only. The Elks charge $450 for a four-hour session, and the club uses the cash to support its charitable work in the community, such as scholarships or sponsorships for minor hockey.
Manager Michael Sutcliffe watches the goings on.Lee and Lucy Hamilton/The Globe and Mail
On Wednesday evening, Noweata Schofer drank white wine and club soda in the Elks lounge. She is 76 and joined the local bowling league to make friends when she moved to Kimberley 44 years ago. She remembers one pinsetter who worked there for so long that the job helped pay for his wedding.
Ms. Schofer giggled before recounting one of her worst memories of the bowling alley: “I had my bowling ball. I’m in my delivery. And I’m at that point of no return when somebody yelled: ‘Boy in the pit!’”
Momentum sent her leaping into the lane, but she stopped herself from releasing the ball: “You don’t want to hit one of those poor little kids,” she said. “Not with an 11-pound ball.”
Back downstairs, William, who is saving for a truck, and Gwen, another saver, although her financial goals have yet to solidify, said they haven’t been hurt on the job, but they do have to pay attention. Bowlers wait for them to cross their legs before winding up, and sometimes yell down the alley to double-check that the teens are ready.
And Mr. Zale soaked it in: “We’re in a basement,” he told his mom. “Keeping score with chalkboard.”
William and Gwen say they haven’t been hurt on the job, but they do have to pay attention.Lee and Lucy Hamilton/The Globe and Mail