Jim Taggart was born as the globe was descending into the Second World War—an era when there were clear expectations of propriety. He would say that he was raised by a strict family—but the discipline pushed him in the opposite direction as had been intended. Even as a youngster, he earned a reputation for his mischievous ways. When he attended Fenelon Falls High School (later FFSS), it was mandatory for boys to be a cadet, as they learned marksmanship with a .22, and even a Bren machine gun. His classmates remember one day when Lieutenant Taggart was leading his troop on inspection day. At lunchtime he indulged in dandelion wine, only to be sick on the inspector’s boots as the other cadets were standing at attention. There was never a dull moment when Jim was around.
Jim Taggart went on to become a school teacher at a small school east of Bobcaygeon, but his colleagues would recall that his career ended abruptly when he was caught stealing chickens from one of his trustees. Jim had many careers over the years. He delivered groceries on his bicycle for Kriger’s Trading Store, worked at Allen Wood Products, was a handyman, pumped gas, and even made yip sticks for Garnet Graham. Many locals wondered how Garnet made his yip sticks spin. Jim had a unique answer: “You have to find a Yip Tree on the north side of Burnt River and piss on its roots. If you take wood from that tree, then the Yip Stick will work.” Remembering his time at Coboconk’s VicPly factory, he liked to talk about how he would go with three friends to the Pattie House for lunch, and drink 30 draft beers between them. Then at their 3:00 break they would down another 30 drafts. He would tell of smoking 60 to 75 cigarettes a day. When he got his pay cheque at the end of the week, he had spent more money at the Pattie House than he had earned.
When Jim was in high school, he bought a .22. He later recalled getting off the bus and spending his day shooting groundhogs. One man in town said that if Jimmy brought him 25 groundhog tails, he would buy him another box of ammunition—now that was a challenge that captured his imagination! Jim was well known for his unique understanding of animals. He loved to tell the story about the time that he got 49 skunks out of one lady’s house (he was disappointed that he couldn’t make it an even 50), or the time that he got a call because there was a skunk under the cash register in the Central Café. Only Jim would take pride in being able to walk into a restaurant, to befriend a skunk and walk out with it in his coat, without being sprayed. He would share with a smile what would happen if a skunk sprayed while in water. He used to trap skunks on the shore near Byrnell’s, where there was an L-shaped dock. If the skunk was in a cage on one part of the dock, you could jerk the cage out into the water, and when the skunk sprayed, it would make a greasy smear on the surface of the lake. For many local residents, Jim was the man to call if they had an animal in their house. Once, when a farmer called him after trapping an indoor ermine, he paid $2 for the pelt.
After his career as a teacher, Jim became a school board trustee—where he often got his point across in creative ways. His colleagues would remember one debate about whether alcohol should be allowed at student dances. Jim showed up with a bottle of wine and started drinking. When the other trustees asked ‘What are you doing?!” Jim replied, “If they can drink, why can’t I?” When many of his colleagues tried to be polite and appropriate during the meetings, Jim would explain, “If I thought that what they were saying was a load of bulls***, I was going to say so!” At one meeting, Jim remembered that he was swearing because they sent a girl home to change her clothes because she was wearing a shirt that said “Jesus Loves You,” while other kids were allowed to wear a shirt “with two humping geese, saying ‘Fly United.’” Later in life, he would describe himself as a “Bad Ass,” and took it upon himself, when he saw the local councillor, to call out, “Hey, fix that pothole!”
