Some Day the Sun Will Shine and Have Not Will Be No More (14 page)

The next year saw me back in South Brook, teaching that fall at Grant
Collegiate. Of course, I was now much more a political animal than I had been
when I first ran for the presidency of the Liberal District Association.
In 1970, I wrote a letter to the St. John’s
Evening Telegram
in which I
said the following:

The new Liberal Party had not changed since the Leadership Convention. It was
still the same. I began to realize that my days as a Liberal were numbered. This
realization, buttressed by what I had witnessed on the leadership campaign,
convinced me that Mr. Smallwood had outlived his usefulness and that the Liberal
Party itself needed time to change and become democratic “on the ground” and not
just the fiefdom of one person still glowing from Uncle Ottawa’s money. The new,
younger voter wanted a more accountable political
party and a
province that was not just a backwater of Confederation, with an Ottawa
dependency.

The year 1971 was momentous. I joined the small band of Conservatives in
Springdale—just about all were small business people (Ford Rolfe, Neeta Spencer,
Roy Manuel, Guy Croucher, Harold Parsons)—and got my first taste of district
(Green Bay) politics. Frank Moores had become leader of the Progressive
Conservative Party, and it was making headway. Smallwood called an election in
the fall and I became the campaign manager for the PC candidate, local garage
owner, and overall great guy, Ford Rolfe.

This was getting to be a desperate time for the Liberals, who were seeing their
fortunes plummet and were trying all kinds of tactics to hang on to power.
Cheques were showing up in the hands of party hacks and threats were everywhere.
Out of the blue I got a call from Mr. Smallwood’s campaign manager in St.
John’s, Mr. Andrew Crosbie, telling me that the premier wanted me to get to
Gander as soon as possible— “
Forget the teaching, just tell me how much you
want!”
—to manage the campaign for the Liberal candidate, the local
mayor, Doug Sheppard. I refused, saying I was already with another party and
going to manage the campaign in Green Bay District for the PC candidate. This
was met with a barrage of comments on how silly I was to leave the Liberals and
that I should rethink that decision immediately. “I mean, do you know what you
are doing? Think about it.” The phone went silent.

The next day another phone call, this one from a Mr. Barron McDonald, Andrew
Crosbie’s right-hand man in business: “You are not left for Gander yet? The
premier wants you there immediately. Get your bags together and get out there
now. Money is no object!”

Once again the big explanation and the same feedback: How much do you want? You
must obey the premier, etc. The phone went dead!

The final call, a few hours later from the premier himself: “I want you out to
Gander now. We cannot allow this province to be taken over by those Tories. It
would be a disaster!”

I don’t know if I realized the import of it all, and that I was taking
a pretty big chance, but I just kept saying no, no, no. And
that was that—at least for a few months.

Anyway, we were on the campaign trail in Green Bay. Ford Rolfe had no political
experience and wasn’t a speaker who could move the crowds, but he learned
quickly. Near the end of the campaign, he was handling himself really well and
his speeches were much better. But he was up against a formidable foe, the
minister of Highways, Harold Starkes, originally from Nippers Harbour on the
north shore of the district. Starkes was a big name, having been associated with
the district and the Liberal Party for generations. Harold’s father had been
elected for the Liberals in the 1932 election, when only one other district
elected a Liberal in the whole country (we were a country then). We mounted a
good campaign—which, as it turned out, was a great trial run for the big one in
the spring of the next year—but we lost by over 700 votes.

An interesting story that tells a lot about politics concerns Ford Rolfe. A few
months after the fall campaign, five men from Snook’s Arm, a small community on
the north shore of the district, arrived in Ford’s showroom seeking prices on
his new Ski-Doo line. Of course, they were all apologetic about Ford’s recent
electoral loss and indicated how they had all voted for him. Ford waited for a
few seconds and then exclaimed: “Boys, at least one of you guys is lying,
because I only got four votes in your community in the election!” Ironically, I
got the same number in March, 1972, no doubt the same four real old
Tories.

I was becoming vocal during this time and obviously ruffling the feathers of
the “powers that be” just a little bit. With my new position as president of the
Green Bay PC Association, I found myself giving comments on public policy
matters that affected the district to a Grand Falls radio station (the most
listened-to station in our area) aggressively looking for local comment.

One such topic was how the government was arbitrarily allocating sections of
forest for wood harvesting. Hence, only certain friends or supporters were
getting allocations. One was the chairman of the school board, under whose
jurisdiction I was teaching. Add to that the fact that the loggers working for
this contractor became embroiled
in a dispute in the woods,
which led to a stoppage of work and the real possibility of violence. The
loggers requested that I help resolve the matter with them and the contractor.
The aggrieved loggers left the woods camp and came to see me. I then accompanied
them back to the woods camp and held talks with the foreman for the contractor
and then the loggers. I was able to resolve the issue to the loggers’
satisfaction, and work resumed.

The fall election was inconclusive, and it seemed only a matter of time before
there would have to be a second one. The tide was going out for the Liberals,
and now one could hear new voices expressing, without fear, views contrary to
the premier’s. Smallwood was finally losing his grip. The fear of losing one’s
taxi license, beer license, or being blackballed from getting government work
was beginning to ease, and all kinds of people started to speak of change. But
the old order dies hard. I was subjected to a phone threat from one school board
leader (my job could be in jeopardy—I had better watch what I was saying—this on
New Year’s Eve night), and a personal home visit by another education official
early in the New Year. But I refused to give in.

And so the politics of the province were turbulent and uncertain as the
year 1972 began. Smallwood finally resigned in late January, and Frank Moores
became premier. Lacking a reasonable majority, a provincial election was called
for March and I became one of the candidates to represent the PCs in Green Bay
District. Unfortunately, Green Bay District was not considered to be a winnable
seat by the revitalized PC Party, and hence it was late before a duly
constituted nomination meeting was held. I was busy campaigning to get people to
come to the nomination meeting, there being two other candidates running as
well. Finally, ten days before election day, the meeting was held. The turnout
surprised everyone. Another building had to be found to accommodate the overflow
crowds in the original building. And many of the female students at my school
got involved and came to the meeting, putting on a demonstration when I was
introduced to speak. I suspect this was the first political demonstration for a
candidate at a nomination meeting in Green Bay District, ever. Times
they were a-changing. My hard work had paid off, and many who I
had cajoled actually came to the meeting and ensured my victory. It was a
glorious night. But then the reality: I had nine days to campaign, and, of
course, I was way behind. The minister of Highways, Mr. Starkes, was running
again.

Early the next morning I went to the bank. The manager was busy, but I barged
into his office.

“I won the PC nomination last night. I have only nine days to campaign. I will
be writing cheques. Cover them!” I exclaimed.

The manager was taken back and began getting into banking legalese. I had no
time for niceties now. “Listen,” I said. “If I win I will have an income and we
can set up a loan for whatever monies I have spent. And if I lose I will have an
income; I will be back teaching and the loan can be set up. Don’t bounce any
cheques.”

I don’t remember whether I signed a form or not. I was out the door and off to
the Superintendent of Education’s office. Here I would have to get permission to
leave my teaching job for the duration of the campaign, or perhaps forever, if I
won—and I had a teacher to fill in for me.

Well, the superintendent, who in earlier years had been my principal and had
originally hired me, was a Liberal. I went to his office. I was in a hurry, and
cooling my heels didn’t sit well with me.

I just opened the door and walked into his office, related my victory of the
night before, and requested leave. There was this hesitation, and his wanting to
discuss more.

“No, no, no,” I said. “There is no time for discussion. The board allows this
type of thing, so I am off to the campaign trail. I have a teacher to replace
me.” And out I went.

Two wonderful ladies “manned” my little campaign office: Queen Matthews and
Madeline Peters. And then Marg Wheeler and Davis Hull and many others joined the
fray as the days unfolded. And good that they did take care of things—raising
money, getting the polls set up, dealing with PC headquarters in St. John’s, and
a multitude of things that I just did not have time to attend to.

And then another older person joined the campaign: Arthur
Burton of South Brook, where I lived, wanted to accompany me, and he was a
great help giving me history that I didn’t know and humour to keep me
going.

I was off the next day to Shoe Cove and Tilt Cove, the farthest communities
from Springdale in the district, on the north shore of Green Bay on the Baie
Verte Peninsula. And the door-to-door began. This whole north shore of
communities was solidly Liberal—I mean 90% or more. But I was determined to
knock on every door and show them a Tory who hopefully made sense. There was
reluctance to talk, but most were respectful and that got me through my first
day. On to Snook’s Arm and Round Harbour; I may have picked up one vote in Round
Harbour. Then I was on to Nippers Harbour, the home of my opponent, a solid
Liberal place if ever there was one.

Obviously, the reception was a little cool, but I was saved by a simply
wonderful couple, the Proles, the only known PCs in the community. They were
independent fisher people from Indian Burying Place, a community just a few
miles out the bay, which had been earlier resettled. George and his wife sought
me out as I was knocking on doors near their house, which led to a wonderful
lunch and a confession of his Tory roots stretching back before Confederation.
He never liked Joey Smallwood and he thought he would die without seeing a Tory
elected in the district.

“But, by God,” he said, “I haves this feeling you will make it, not here but
in the south of the bay and Springdale.”

I had no such optimism, but he sure lifted my spirits. He was an indefatigable
campaigner; from that day on he was busy putting up PC signs and my picture. It
was he who on election day made an unusual request of our headquarters.

“I wants a couple of dozen signs,” he said.

Of course headquarters staff were reluctant to hire a car and ship off the last
of our signs to a hopeless part of the district. I had just called in (as I did
many times each day of the campaign, as I gave orders to the loyal campaigners
while on the run) to hear part of the discussion concerning George’s
request.

“Listen,” I said, “if you can spare him a dozen, get them down
to him.”

The office thought I had lost my mind, and not for the first time on these many
call-ins. Of course they obliged.

You see, George was my only contact in Nippers Harbour, and all the signs we
had sent him had been torn down each night by the Liberals. But George was out
to have the last laugh. Convinced that I would win, he boldly requested the
signs on polling day. That night as the results came in that I had won, George
paraded around Nippers Harbour erecting the signs.

The Liberal tide had gone out and with a new blue tide approaching—even in
Green Bay, this hotbed of Newfoundland liberalism and all things
Smallwood.

The new signs were left up, and George’s premonition became a reality. After
decades of derision, failed hopes and dreams, George had his day in the sun,
signs and all!

But I am ahead of my story. I continued on going door-to-door throughout the
remainder of the north shore: Smith’s Harbour, Burlington, and Middle Arm.
Except for a few brave souls in Burlington, it was tough sledding, climaxed by
the lady who had knocked me unconscious years before when I was a welfare
officer in the area. I had completely forgotten the earlier incident and was
going full throttle, knocking on every door and introducing myself and asking
for their support. Being so engaged I failed to notice that as I got nearer the
infamous lady’s door, the neighbours, whose houses I had just visited, remained
outside as I continued my knocking along this particular road, all eagerly
awaiting my fateful knock.