Some Day the Sun Will Shine and Have Not Will Be No More (40 page)

With a flourish he brushed my comments aside with his oft-stated refrain of the
glories of Confederation.

In the midst of all this he was not unmindful of the opportunity and put a plug
in for his son Bill (who represented for twenty-three years the constituency I
now held), whom he described as brilliant and that the government could really
use him. Astonished at this, I remained silent and moved on quickly to leave. It
was now after 2: 00 a.m.

“But, but, you have not seen the work on my books!” he said.

I listened to a long recounting of how he got started on the project and some
of the people who would be in these next volumes. When I got a chance an hour
later, I reminded him that I was told some months earlier by one of the workers
on his book project that my grandfather Peckford was to be included since he had
the first motorized boat in the inshore fishery. He was a little taken back by
this revelation, but he quickly regained his composure and weakly indicated, not
convincingly, that he had known about this. He tried to move on, but I
persisted.

“I bet you didn’t know that Joe Peckford campaigned for
Squires?”

With a start, he exclaimed, “For Squires, your grandfather?”

“Yes, that’s what I have been told.”

With a glint in his eye, and almost a smile, he said, “Well, there’s hope for
you yet.”

“Like you, I suppose,” I rejoindered, “only you were a socialist.”

Newly aroused, and with a gulp of cognac, he shouted, “It’s one thing to go
from a socialist to a Liberal; it is quite something else to go from a Liberal
to a dirty Tory!”

It being close to 4: 00 a.m., I let the matter drop.

A second attempt to leave was thwarted as he rushed to the tape machine and
began playing many of his speeches. A new bottle of cognac appeared and
Smallwood was now in his glee. I watched him as he listened to his
voice—completely engrossed—shouting above the speech to utter, “Now, isn’t that
good. What do you think of that— brilliant, no?”

Two hours of this and I could take no more. I rose and Smallwood finally shut
off the tape machine.

“I am leaving,” I said.

“And what about Shaheen—you promised.”

“As I said last night, I will get on to it today and get back to you as quickly
as possible.”

“Right, right, great, we’ll have ourselves a refinery again,” he said
joyously.

Was I glad to get into the fresh morning air! The ceaseless bombardment of all
things Smallwood had been suffocating. Yet, as I took in the freshness, I
suddenly felt a tinge of sadness and disappointment. I was sad because I knew in
my bones that this new Shaheen thing was a sham—Smallwood chasing another dream—
and then again I questioned myself that perhaps I was being too judgmental and I
really needed to hold my assessment until later in the day. I was disappointed
for another reason. I had always wanted to have a long discussion with Smallwood
about our history, political theory, the great ideas and minds of history, and
to engage him in poetry and the poets. Through the night I had tried, on a
number
of occasions, to turn the conversation in these
directions, but except for a brief comment on Squires and Churchill the ground
seemed barren indeed. Did he really not know? Was he just too consumed that
night with Shaheen and himself, showing off his office and taped speeches, that
nothing else mattered? I was almost afraid to believe that a myth had been
destroyed, that what I had heard about the depth and breadth of his knowledge
was a bombastic creation. And although I had come to detest many of the things
he had done and tactics that he used, I still harboured the idea that there was
some real substance to the man on the grander scale. It hurt somewhere inside to
realize that perhaps this was false. I quickly shut it from further
thought.

Within a few minutes I was in my office. It was too late/early to go home. I
jumped in the office shower to freshen up, read some of the mail on my desk, and
waited for 9: 00 a.m. to come.

At 9: 00 sharp, I phoned the Department of Finance. After making sure they knew
who was calling, I said, “Now, boys, don’t think I’m crazy, but I want you to
contact our agents in Paris and the banks. I’m told Shaheen has the money raised
to take back the refinery and reopen it. I want to find out if this is
true.”

There was a silence, and then the obvious response with a touch of incredulity,
“Who told you that?”

“It was Smallwood,” I said, breaking down a little, since it was not my
intention to reveal the source. “He has been after me to see Shaheen because he
contends that the money is raised for the refinery. I promised him I would check
it out and get back to him.”

Regaining some composure and authority I continued. “In any case get on to it
right away. I want to get to the bottom of the matter as quickly as
possible.”

I proceeded to give them the information, scanty though it was, that Smallwood
had provided me. Calls were made; checks and double-checks were done.

With a heavy hand, the next day I picked up the phone and placed a call. In as
even a voice as I could muster I said, “Mr. Smallwood, there is no money in
place anywhere in Europe. Shaheen had visited
some of them, but
no money has been pledged. It’s all a sham. I’m sorry, but—”

“No, no. I was just talking to Shaheen, everything is in place— hundreds of
millions—you have it all wrong. We can get the whole thing moving. It will be a
godsend. We will be heroes—just you wait and see. I mean you could not have
ch—”

Gently, I placed the phone back in its place and went back to work.

I had first encountered Don Jamieson when I was a student at Memorial
University. A number of education students were agitating for improvements to
the salaries of teachers in the province. We had submitted a brief to the
premier’s office and through that action became known to the media. Don, at the
time, had the very popular supper news program on the private NTV television
network. A couple of the students including yours truly were asked to appear on
the program to explain our position. This was an exciting moment for us students
and we were able to explain our position to a provincial audience.

It was many years later as a Member of Premier Frank Moores’s government that I
again met Mr. Jamieson, as I most often called him. Of course, I was aware of
the many interactions of the Moores government with the federal government
through Mr. Jamieson’s office given that he was Newfoundland’s representative in
the federal Cabinet. Moores and Jamieson had a good relationship and both liked
their scotch, which didn’t hurt the relationship, and a lot of healthy horse
trading ensued. There was Mr. Jamieson’s riding to be considered in any federal
money and then there were the priorities of the province. I remember, for
example, the horse trading involving monies for the beginning of the road in
Burgeo in Mr. Jamieson’s riding and the provincial insistence on some monies at
the same time for the Great Northern Peninsula Highway. This is not to say that
Mr. Jamieson was not concerned about the whole province (because he was), but
naturally he had a responsibility to his riding as well, especially as
it relates to the Burgeo area, which was a very isolated part
of the province and deserved to have a road connection. This was an era of
significant federal spending, and given that the federal government was
providing up to 90% of the money, Mr. Jamieson carried a lot of weight in the
federal-provincial development agreements of the time. Moores understood this
and tried to accommodate Mr. Jamieson. This included ensuring that
transportation was provided to Mr. Jamieson to get to his residence in Swift
Current, more than 100 miles from St. John’s; this included both providing a
helicopter or a car and driver for him. Such goodwill helped facilitate many an
agreement and keep relations positive.

I was minister of Mines and Energy when the Aluminum Company of Canada (ALCAN)
announced the closure of the fluorspar mine in St. Lawrence, in Mr. Jamieson’s
district. Although plagued over the years with tragic safety and environmental
problems, it was still a major economic driver during this time. Hence, its
closure was a major issue involving the federal and provincial governments. The
meetings among the three parties—the two governments and the company—culminated
in a planned final big meeting in Ottawa with the intent of settling all the
outstanding issues involved in the closure. I had been briefed by my mines
safety people that there were a number of significant safety issues that were
still outstanding in the company’s closure plan. Talks with the company and the
department had not resolved these issues satisfactorily. I don’t know whether
the company thought that at such a high level meeting I would not raise these
issues or what was their motivation, but there was a definite understanding from
the conversations at the beginning of the meeting that the premier, the company,
and Mr. Jamieson thought that a final signing off on the closure plan was what
we were all there to see happen. I was forced unfortunately to throw cold water
on this expectation and argue that all the safety issues that the department had
raised had not been resolved, sometimes arguing with my own government and
insisting that there was still work to be done, that a final resolution was
impossible at this meeting. After lengthy discussion, I was able to have a final
decision cancelled and that a meeting between the
company,
myself, and safety officials from the department take place in Montreal in a few
days to hammer out the remaining issues. It being late afternoon, the formal
part of the meeting concluded and a more liquid evening continued well into the
night.

A couple days later a meeting was held in Montreal. There was a lot of tough
talk at the table between the parties, and a private meeting, involving me and
two executives from the company, where excessive pressure was applied to have
the issues resolved without further concession from the company. I actually
walked out of this meeting and returned to the bargaining table. I think it
became clear to the company that their last best shot was at the Ottawa meeting
and that pressure tactics of whatever manner would not work with me. A decided
co-operative approach soon appeared from the company at the bargaining table and
a full and final resolution was achieved.

My next encounter, of course, was on the campaign in 1979. Mr. Jamieson had
beenpersuaded bysenior people from the Newfoundland and Labrador Liberal Party
that he could win a general election that I had just called. He returned to the
province triumphant, arriving at St. John’s airport with one of the largest
motorcades even seen in the province. During the campaign I met him only once,
at the TV leaders’ debate, where I thought he did a good job.

With the election over, Mr. Jamieson became Leader of the Opposition. There was
not a better Opposition Leader in the history of the province. He was not your
traditional confrontational leader of the Opposition; his very nature was
non-confrontational and he looked for a way to co-operate with government.

I was eager to get the co-operation of the Opposition on a number of measures,
especially the introduction of a committee system for the consideration of the
estimates of the budget. This would give the members a real opportunity to
become more involved in the legislative budget process. I invited Mr. Jamieson
to my office to discuss the new House session. Aware that he was a scotch
drinker, I had my office inquire of the kind of scotch he enjoyed. It was a
special scotch. We could not get it in the province, so I promptly ordered some
from Ottawa. On the appointed Friday afternoon, he visited and
we conducted our business in short order after which I offered him the scotch.
He was impressed!

Mr. Jamieson proved to be a very responsible Opposition Leader and we were able
to make changes to the legislature that improved its efficiency and involved the
members more in its deliberations.

As I have said, Mr. Jamieson was not made for the cut and thrust of a
provincial legislature, nor for a federal one, for that matter. He was more in
the diplomatic mode. It was appropriate, then, that the prime minister appointed
him Canadian High Commissioner to the United Kingdom.

I think the first time I heard of Pierre Trudeau was in the early sixties when
I was at Memorial University in St. John’s. It was the federal Liberal
leadership happening and this former Justice minister was one of the candidates.
He was musing about a just society and he projected an image of a young, vibrant
upstart, supposedly in tune with the young generation. I was never that taken by
him although many of the people I knew became almost instant supporters. It all
seemed a bit contrived to me and without much substance.

Later a number of incidents explain my continuing suspicion of the man.

Early on in my time as premier a vacancy in the office of the
lieutenant-governor occurred and a new appointment was imminent. One morning
while driving to work, I heard on the radio that Dr. Anthony Paddon had been
appointed. This was highly unusual. While it was the federal prerogative to
appoint, there was/is a custom or convention that the prime minister would
consult or advise in advance the premier of the province of the person to be
appointed.

I think there are two reasons for such a custom. First, common courtesy would
demand such co-operation—one government to the other within the Confederation.
Of course, the province would have all the day-to-day interaction with the
lieutenant governor, financially support the governor and his operation, and
have all orders in council
or decisions of the Cabinet signed
off by him. Secondly, it is a very practical reason in that the premier and
provincial government would not be blindsided by the inevitable questions from
the press and the public. Of course by this time some of the big disagreements
between the two governments were apparent, making it difficult not to see this
as a deliberate snub of my administration.