Some Day the Sun Will Shine and Have Not Will Be No More (17 page)

Lucky for me, one of the unsung giants of the Public Service, Peter Withers,
was the assistant deputy minister, who I quickly appointed deputy minister. With
his advice and dedication we enlisted many of the existing employees to begin
the hard work of giving credibility to the department, especially within the
government central agencies of Treasury Board, Executive Council, and the
Department of Finance.

First and foremost we had to get the existing staff on side. So a regular staff
meeting was initiated, the first time in the department’s history. Then we began
working on the finance administration side of things. We persuaded the Treasury
Board to approve the creation
of a Finance Division in the
department. Then we began to provide some regional presence of the department in
Gander and Corner Brook. Most importantly, we began to get a handle on the
Capital Works process. Up to now a lot of projects were approved in an ad hoc
manner where politics played too large a role. We tried to assess the projects
on their merit and ensure that where health and safety were involved, such
projects were recommended to Cabinet on a priority basis.

I was also responsible for the Housing Corporation. This was the fiefdom of
then Chairman Al Gosse, a dapper, short man exuding confidence and authority.
The Housing Corporation was involved in many social housing projects around the
province as well as at that time developing the major economic housing project
(Newtown) that was to become a part of the City of Mount Pearl, a major bedroom
community to St. John’s.

At that time the federal government was involved in housing and each year there
was a federal allocation to the provinces after relevant negotiations between
the provincial Housing Corporation and the federal Canada and Mortgage Housing
Corporation. One particular year at budget time we were informed casually by
CMHC that our allocation had been drastically reduced. This came as a surprise
since talks up to then had indicated that an allocation similar to the previous
year was likely, and a lot of planned projects were predicated on such an
allocation. When apprised of this sudden turn of events, I immediately contacted
CMHC in Ottawa. However, it was impossible to speak to anyone in authority. I
telexed the chairman, but received a gobbled, bureaucratic answer from some
underling. I contacted other provinces and found that their Housing authorities
had not received similar drastic cuts in federal housing allocations. This was
indeed troubling and left me very angry. I contacted the premier and told him
that, unless he disagreed, I was off to Ottawa to confront in person CMHC and
have the allocation restored. Premier Moores was a little amused by it all and
thought that it would be a wasted trip but told me if I thought I could do
something there, go for it.

Off to Ottawa I went, and I was in the office of CMHC the next
morning, having taken an early morning flight from St. John’s. The president was
Mr. Bill Teron, a developer friend of Prime Minister Trudeau’s. Teron was to
build a controversial swimming pool at the prime minister’s residence, the
funding of which is still a mystery. The
Vancouver Sun
of February, 2006,
in doing a story on whether Prime Minister Harper should move to 24 Sussex
Drive, described the history of the place:

Another reference to this incident is contained in a book written by Mark
Denhez in 1994 entitled
The Canadian Home: From Cave to Electronic
Cocoon
. In it one finds the following:

Of course, I had committed the cardinal sin of not having an
appointment, so when I appeared at the reception desk to seek a meeting with the
president for that day, I was met with surprise and an unco-operative attitude.
I explained to the receptionist that I was the Housing minister for Newfoundland
and had just taken an early flight to Ottawa and that I wanted to see the
president on an urgent basis since I believed there was some mistake in my
province’s allocation of housing money for this coming year. I was quickly
informed that the president was busy all day. I indicated that I was available
any time from then until midnight or the next day. Still no time
available!

Well, I said, “Please tell Mr. Teron’s secretary to tell Mr. Teron that I shall
be here until Mr. Teron sees me—either today, tomorrow, or whatever day. I will
be here every day during business hours to see him. I will not be leaving until
I see him.”

With a frown the receptionist said, “I will let her know.”

And so the morning elapsed, people coming and going, and I just sat there in
the reception office.

“Oh,” I said to the receptionist, “does your president have another external
exit beside this front door that I used?”

Curtly, she replied, “No, sir!”

Lunch came and went—and still no action.

Around three o’clock this gentleman came to the reception room, introduced
himself as a vice-president, and indicated that the president had instructed him
to see me.

“Thank you,” I said, “but I must see the president. No disrespect, but the
issue is one for me and the president to resolve.”

The hours passed, and it was now closing time. People were leaving for the day.
Sometime between six-thirty and seven o’clock, the president’s secretary came to
the reception area and asked me to come with her—the president was going to see
me.

Well, it was short.

I was ready with my arguments, and as we shook hands I had begun to
explain.

“No, no,” Teron exclaimed. “Your allocation has been restored. Anything
else?”

Stuttering and surprised, I said, “No, no, no, that will be
fine.”

And Teron was out the door. Of course, I left elated and went back to my hotel.
I didn’t know (and still don’t to this day) why I had been treated this way, and
now that I had the full allocation, I don’t think I spent time trying to
discover the reason for this bizarre action.

Of course, on my return home I informed the premier, who was delighted,
admitting, in telling my incident amusedly to Cabinet the next week, that he
thought my action would be a waste of time.

Being minister of Municipal Affairs provided good experience since it allowed
me to get to know many parts of the province that I did not know or had not
visited, as well as dealing with municipal organizations, which meant knowing
about these communities and regions at the ground level. I remember once hiring
a plane out of Goose Bay and travelling the Labrador Straits area, since it was
often a forgotten area of Labrador and the province.

During this period I also became aware of the inner workings of Cabinet,
serving on the Social Policy Committee of Cabinet and then as chair of the
committee. I became acutely aware, really for the first time, of the very poor
financial position of the province, that we really did not have the money to do
the things that we were now as a province expected to do. The degree to which
this existed was a bit of a shock to me. Essentially, the province was cutting
corners everywhere except in health and education, and the spending there on new
hospitals and schools—like all capital works—was borrowed money. We had the
lowest credit rating in Canada—many of our schools lacked the science labs and
libraries commonplace in other parts of Canada—and trying to keep up in medical
technology was almost impossible.

In my own department new capital projects would take many years to complete: a
$1 million water and sewer project would be done in annual phases of $250,000.
In this way we could announce more projects, although it would take years for
any of them to be completed. Because of the nature of the development of the
municipal movement in the province, only a handful of councils levied property
tax and hence were highly dependent on the province for funds. There was never
enough money even for reasonable, vital things, and often
there
was no money at all. It was natural now in this circumstance to see both the
Smallwood era of giveaways—like the Upper Churchill and the Terms of Union, of
no meaningful fisheries, say—as gigantic blunders, sentencing the province to
year after year of difficult budgets and parochial infighting everywhere.

It was in this context that I began to view the new Department of Mines and
Energy as a new and up-and-coming department. It seemed that there was promise
here, and papers were presented to Cabinet about the possibilities of offshore
oil and gas. The then minister of Mines and Energy, John Crosbie, resigned to
enter federal politics, seeming always uneasy in his role having to play second
fiddle.

I then did the unthinkable.

I went to the premier and told him that I wanted to be the new minister of
Mines and Energy, just like that. I knew I was taking a chance, that I might
come off brash and too opportunistic. But I weighed the risks: I had been given
the Department of Municipal Affairs and Housing two years before. It had had
many problems. I tackled those problems, kept the government and especially the
premier out of trouble, and when there was trouble I did not run to the premier
to solve them, but instead solved them at the department level. I had
participated constructively in Cabinet and the Social Policy Committee and
otherwise presented a positive image of the government through the department. I
also knew that the premier liked to delegate, that he would want someone in this
department who could tackle the emerging opportunities and challenges. I
thought, therefore, that I was a good candidate for the job. And, frankly, I was
afraid that if I did not show an interest right away the premier, on some other
Cabinet colleague’s recommendation or strong lobbying, might just give the
appointment to someone other than me.

Thankfully, the premier agreed with me, and for that I am forever grateful. I
don’t remember if he hesitated or whether it took a few days or not for him to
make the decision. I suspect if I hadn’t received the appointment I might
remember.

From the first day, I knew I was in the right place. There were a lot of ideas
floating around, both on the energy and the mining side.
I knew
a little about mining, representing a district that had three small copper mines
in recent years. As a matter of fact, one such mine that had recently closed
down, the Whalesback Mine, was reactivated by local investors and called Green
Bay Mining. And two of my best friends, Fred Goudie and Joe Bomgartl, were both
involved in mining in my district. And of course, on the energy side there was
Newfoundland and Labrador Hydro (with whom during that period I had an uneasy
relationship, given their sense of superiority and desire to deal with just the
premier), and the promise of offshore oil and gas.

When you have people like Cabot Martin, Steve Millan, and John Fitzgerald
around, things are going to happen, especially when they realize (contrary to
their likely earlier perceptions that the premier has appointed a lightweight)
that I was open and ready to learn, that I was amenable to a strong provincial
position on offshore, and that I enjoyed the cut and thrust of debate around new
ideas. There was many a night that I stayed late (Eastern Canada Building,
Bonaventure Avenue) to read and learn the new terms dealing with offshore. I
remember meeting one fellow, a cleaner, at 6: 00 a.m., who was on his way to
work as I was leaving after a night of study. I would return at 9: 00 a.m.

So the department was a busy place. The mining side was busy with the iron ore
mines in Labrador City and Wabush in Labrador, the zinc mine in Daniel’s Harbour
on the island, and the closing of the fluorspar mine in St. Lawrence; the energy
side was busy on both the developing offshore issue and the ongoing Upper and
Lower Churchill issues, as well as the development of additional hydro power on
the island.

Two developments on the island—the Upper Salmon Hydro Project and the Hinds
Lake Hydro Project—became very controversial. In both cases, being Energy
minister, I was to take a leading role and found myself immersed in local, often
vicious, personal negative reactions. It must be remembered that in the mid-to
late seventies the province was mired in debt and at that time there was little
on the horizon that would see an end to our economic and financial circumstance.
Hence, every development of any kind or size
immediately drew
quick and local responses—all the way from jobs to environmental and native
concerns, some legitimate and many others emotional responses to dire local
conditions.

In the Upper Salmon case, this development was really an extension to the
already existing large Bay D’Espoir Hydro Development on the south coast of the
island and would not generate that many jobs. But the local towns of St.
Alban’s, Head of Bay D’Espoir, Milltown, Morrisville, and the largely Mi’kmaq
town of Conne River were up in arms about jobs, the development risking caribou
habitat, and local Liberals wanted to embarrass the government. This all came to
a head in a demonstration at the Bay D’Espoir site when the management of
Newfoundland and Labrador Hydro and I were there to announce the development. It
was the first time that I saw pictures with negative statements about myself,
and I was burned in effigy. I proposed a delegation to meet with me and
reluctantly the crowd agreed; some semblance of reality was brought to what the
development could and could not do for the area. Things proceeded after that in
a relatively calm manner, the bottom line being that this was a short
development with few permanent jobs and would not and could not be the answer
for the more structural economic problems of the area.