by Denis Smith
Premier Smallwood played no role in the dispute until February 12, when he broadcast his denunciation of the union as outsiders spreading “their black poison of class hatred and bitter bigoted prejudice” in his “decent Christian province.” He promised the companies that he would certify a new union and break the strike. The legislature quickly did what he asked. When the Newfoundland Federation of Labour rejected the new union as a fake, the premier broadened his attack against the entire labour movement. Early in March the legislature acted again, decertifying the IWA locals and giving the provincial government power to dissolve any union whose officers had - in Smallwood’s words - been “convicted of such heinous crimes as white slavery, dope peddling, manslaughter, embezzlement, such heinous crimes as these.” In fact, none had been.
While unions across the continent raised strike funds to support the Newfoundland IWA, the strikers blocked logging roads around Badger, near Grand Falls. Smallwood ordered the RCMP and the Newfoundland Constabulary into Badger in force, and on March 10 strikers and police engaged in violent combat on the roads. In the chaos many loggers were beaten; one Newfoundland policeman was injured and subsequently died. At the same time the provincial attorney general appealed to the minister of justice, Davie Fulton, for an additional fifty RCMP constables under the terms of the province’s contract for services. The RCMP commissioner, L.H. Nicholson, insisted that the reinforcements were needed for relief of his overextended units, not strike-breaking. Fulton agreed with him, but would not comply without clearing the decision with cabinet. On March 10 and 11, while reinforcements waited at airports in Moncton and Sydney, Fulton asked cabinet to support their dispatch to Newfoundland. But Diefenbaker recalled the unfortunate, anti-labour role of the police in Winnipeg and Regina in 1919 and 1935 and refused to agree. Donald Fleming, George Nowlan, and Newfoundland minister W.J. Browne joined Fulton in arguing for compliance with the contract, and Diefenbaker called for a cabinet committee to examine the matter overnight. The committee, consisting of Fulton, Nowlan, and Browne, recommended support for the request. Still Diefenbaker resisted: Smallwood, he suspected, was trying to draw him into a strike-breaking role. Against Fulton’s urgent appeals, the prime minister was intransigent. If he was proven wrong, Fleming recalled him saying, “he would take the responsibility personally and resign.” Finally Fulton, and then other ministers, bent to his will under this threat.37
Fulton considered resignation, but after gaining the assurance of Nicholson that the existing detachments were not in jeopardy, he refused to order any reinforcement. The RCMP commissioner resigned on the ground that the contract with Newfoundland had not been fulfilled. Fulton tried unsuccessfully to persuade him that he should not resign because the agreement left the decision to the minister. In the House he justified the refusal by arguing that it had been necessary to maintain the RCMP’s integrity as a national police force. But he was chastened and politically weakened by the affair.38
Diefenbaker told the House of Commons, in effect, that Smallwood had precipitated the violence and that the federal cabinet had concluded “it would be provocative and likely to cause further outbreaks of violence” to send in more police.39 The suspicion lingered - in the minds of ministers, among others - that by refusing reinforcements Diefenbaker had put politics above the government’s formal obligations.40
The defeated strikers reluctantly joined the province’s union, and the company signed a contract at the wage level suggested two months earlier by a conciliation board. Smallwood railed on against international labour and the Diefenbaker government, and in August he won an election by fighting those absent foes. Diefenbaker, in his memoirs, righteously rejected the criticism that he had “courted the support of organized labour” during the strike, insisting that his government had acted only in the public interest and despite the political cost. “Would Canada,” he asked, “have been well served had every working man and woman come to regard the Royal Canadian Mounted Police as a strike-breaking force?” That was a defensible political position, except for the awkwardness over the policing contract - which he ignored. Inside cabinet he had won, not by persuasion, but with a vague threat of resignation that left several ministers uneasy. Curiously, Diefenbaker believed he had suffered the unfair judgment of fate in the affair, but he claimed to accept it. “History,” he quoted Lord Acton, “is a hanging judge.” Perhaps; but it was not the loggers’ strike alone that put him into the dock.41
Under the terms of Newfoundland’s 1949 union with Canada, a royal commission was to offer advice within eight years on the province’s continuing need for federal financial assistance. Accordingly, the McNair Commission had reported in August 1958 with a proposal that federal funding should rise to $8 million annually by 1961-62 and remain at that level thereafter. The Smallwood government had requested $17 million annually. Fleming brought the Department of Finance’s variation on McNair to cabinet in early March: it called for unconditional payments of $8 million per year for five years after 1961-62, ending in 1966-67. Instead, cabinet agreed to terminate federal support in 1961-62, and to consider Newfoundland’s needs beyond that as part of its general fiscal arrangements with the other provinces.42
The decision was made before Ottawa’s involvement in the loggers’ strike, but Diefenbaker announced it afterwards, on March 25. The statement, which had been drafted for him by Fleming, contained one harsh and ungenerous sentence: “The proposed payments will be unconditional and will be in final and irrevocable settlement of the provisions of Article 29 and the contractual obligations of the union consummated in 1949.” Henceforth, it seemed, federal grants would be a matter for Ottawa’s discretion. At the last moment W.J. Browne appealed to the Chief for delay and reconsideration; but the press release was already in the hands of reporters in the gallery. Here was new ammunition for Smallwood’s bitter campaign against the Diefenbaker government. Smallwood - who matched his Ottawa rival in ego and melodramatic genius - draped Newfoundland’s public buildings in black bunting for the tenth anniversary of confederation with Canada on April 1. Within weeks, he could claim, Ottawa had again reneged on its contracts. The debate raged intemperately over the summer as the legislation passed the House.43
IN THE EARLY AFTERNOON OF MARCH 17, 1959, DIEFENBAKER WAS CALLED FROM HIS seat in the House of Commons by Basil Robinson to hear that his secretary of state for external affairs, Sidney Smith, had died suddenly of a heart attack. Diefenbaker was “stunned and profoundly upset.” After brief consultations, he returned to the chamber, told his seat-mate Donald Fleming, crossed the aisle to speak to Mike Pearson, and conveyed the disturbing news to the House. For a few moments MPs stood in silence, before the prime minister moved adjournment for the day. Diefenbaker remained troubled that he had not noticed the strain under which Smith had been working, but perhaps he could not be blamed for that. Smith had found the adjustment difficult. On the other hand, he was expansive, genial, loyal, and uncomplaining, and would never have let Diefenbaker worry about his personal concerns. By 1959 he had found his feet in the House and seemed comfortable in his secondary role behind the prime minister. Diefenbaker was pleased with the choice, and happy that a steady and routine relationship had been established. Its abrupt ending was shocking.44
The House adjourned again on March 19 for a state funeral at Chalmers United Church. For almost three months afterwards, Diefenbaker held the portfolio as he had in 1957. “I don’t know where or to whom to turn for a Foreign Minister,” he wrote to Elmer.45 There was widespread press speculation - mischievously fed by the prime minister himself - about a successor. The leading candidates seemed to be Fulton, Hees, and Nowlan, until Diefenbaker floated the name of Donald Fleming to his willing dupes Peter Dempson of the Telegram and Richard Jackson of the Ottawa Journal. They obliged him with their front-page musings. Simultaneously Diefenbaker encouraged Fleming by telling him, “In all the communications I have received on the appointment to External Affairs you are away in the lead.” But when Dempson
and Jackson visited Diefenbaker in mid-May, he teased them again. “Before either of us could say anything, the Prime Minister pointed to a stack of letters on his desk, said: ‘Forget about Fleming. I’d like to let you read these, but I can’t. Anyway, they’ve given me my answer.’ ”
For two weeks Fleming had been preparing himself for the call. Now Diefenbaker invited him in to tell him that “we can’t afford to appoint you to External Affairs. You are indispensable in Finance.” Diefenbaker chose Dempson to receive the scoop.
On the following Friday, I was again in Diefenbaker’s office. Jackson hadn’t been able to accompany me because of illness. It was early June. I told him I was anxious to get a good story for our Saturday editions, and wondered if he could now reveal the name of his new External Affairs minister.
“Oh, I can’t do that,” he snapped. “Everyone in the Press Gallery would be mad at me.” He paused, obviously enjoying keeping me guessing. “Who do you think it is?”
I replied that by process of elimination, I had reached the conclusion that it had to be Howard Green. But I wasn’t convinced he was the man.
Diefenbaker studied me for a few moments, not saying anything, a perplexed look on his face. Finally he got out of his chair and walked to one of the windows overlooking the lush lawns in front of the Parliament Buildings. He stood silent, his hands on his hips. After what seemed like an interminable time, he beckoned me to his side.
“Those lawns,” he said wryly, pointing out the window. “They sure are nice and green, aren’t they?” He was smiling. That was all he said.
The Telegram broke the story, and a few days later it was confirmed. Green was the complete loyalist, Diefenbaker’s supporter since 1942. Besides, as Diefenbaker confided to Robinson, “the ‘ambitious ones’ would be disappointed.”46
Howard Green was a colourless man of utter probity. He had been an industrious House leader and chairman of caucus, but had little international experience. He had not left North America for forty years, and his views on foreign policy seemed limited to a traditionalist belief in the British connection and a distaste for the United States. At External Affairs he was remembered for his cold denunciation of Canada’s creative diplomacy in the Suez affair. Robinson noticed that even Diefenbaker seemed nervous: “On the day before Green’s appointment, Diefenbaker told me that the new minister would need all the department’s help, and that, bearing in mind some of the things he had said in the past on foreign policy, he ‘would have to change some of his ideas.’ ”47 A curious beginning.
The prime minister postponed any further cabinet changes until the adjournment of the House in August, when he brought in two new ministers. Green gave up Public Works to the Chief’s old friend David Walker, and Pierre Sévigny became associate minister of national defence. To make room for Walker as a Toronto minister, the gentle J.M. Macdonnell offered his resignation. This was a loss, not so much to the cabinet’s inner strength (where his talents had been neglected) as to its fraying links with the Toronto business and financial establishment. The belligerent partisan David Walker could not make up for that.
Diefenbaker’s other major appointment of 1959 was universally acclaimed. Soon after taking office, he had persuaded Vincent Massey to extend his term as governor general; but Massey expected to retire in the summer of 1959. Diefenbaker began his soundings for a successor by reflecting that he might find him among retired businessmen or Commonwealth prime ministers. The name of Robert Menzies was mentioned by the press, but Diefenbaker was too unsettled by Menzies’s brusque intelligence to consider him. Olive’s favourite was James Duncan, the former president of Massey Harris, but Diefenbaker told her: “You can’t have Harris after Massey!” In response to “persistent stories,” John Bassett wrote to the prime minister to warn him against appointing George Drew, who was “doing a fine job in London” and was “eminently suited for that post.” Drew’s weakness as a politician, Bassett thought, had been that he could not identify himself with ordinary people the way Diefenbaker did. “Thousands of Canadians,” Bassett wrote, “would feel that in some way you have failed them, if you made such an appointment.” Instead Bassett made his own suggestion. “As you probably know, The Telegram has publicly suggested Georges Vanier, first because I know him personally from many years of association to be a wonderful man with a charming wife eminently fitted by background for such a post, with no political affiliations whatsoever, and secondly, because I can not help but think in terms of politics, I think such an appointment made by you would have tremendous significance in building up a national Canadian concept.”
Vanier had a distinguished military and diplomatic record, beginning in the First World War as a founding officer of the Royal Twenty-second Regiment - the “Van Doos” - and ending as Canadian ambassador to France from 1945 to 1953. Diefenbaker responded with enthusiasm and asked Bassett to raise the matter with Vanier. He did so during a visit to Montreal, and informed Diefenbaker that Vanier would accept the honour with pleasure. In July 1959 the prime minister conveyed the invitation formally to Vanier, and in September the new governor general was installed in a colourful, televised ceremony in the Senate chamber. Diefenbaker and Vanier spoke eloquently in both languages of the centuries of shared heritage among French- and English-speaking Canadians. The government’s popularity in Quebec soared briefly by 10 percent. Throughout his term, Vanier and his wife, Pauline, graced Ottawa with their words and presence, sustaining some of the country’s dignity as the political conflict grew increasingly rough.48
There were weeks of ceremonial for the Diefenbakers and other ministers in June and July 1959, when Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip spent more than a month in Canada and the United States. The centrepiece of the royal visit was the formal opening of the St Lawrence Seaway at St Lambert, Quebec, on June 26, conducted jointly by the queen and President Eisenhower, and followed by passage of the royal yacht Britannia through flotillas of warships and pleasure craft up river from St Lambert to Beauharnois. The Diefenbakers also met the royal couple on their arrival in Canada at St John’s, Newfoundland, on June 18, welcomed them in Ottawa in early July, joined them on the Britannia for two days’ journey through the lakes from Windsor to Chicago, and met them again in Halifax on August 1 in the company of the whole federal cabinet as they prepared to depart for England. For Diefenbaker and his artlessly royalist ministers - and for the crowds who greeted the visitors - this was a beguiling summer festival for the Canadian monarchy.49
Diefenbaker broke his travels briefly in mid-June for a day’s fishing at Harrington Lake. But the House was in session until late July, and he was approaching exhaustion. On June 18 he wrote: “This has been a heavy week. Tomorrow will be a trying day in the House and I am really looking forward to a weekend of rest.” On June 20: “2 years is a long time, and while I have enjoyed every minute of it - being Prime Minister is a hard and trying job.” On July 2: “I am really tired out after one week of various functions.” On July 7: “Olive and I returned from Chicago at 4 o’clock this morning and I am tired out.” On July 9: “The Session should be over in two weeks - and then I shall try to have a 10 day holiday. I need one for I haven’t had even a few days.” On July 18: “I have two major speeches to make on Monday in Quebec and have not any new material, and for that matter no ideas. Three or four have given me their suggestions and when I throw the omelet together tomorrow morning I will have to unscramble it and come up with something.” Finally the session ended and there was relief by July 24: “The last four days have been the laziest that I have had for a long, long time … I have been able to have a bit of rest although spending a few hours a day in the office.” But Olive was under medical care, suffering severe back and leg pains and swollen legs, and having difficulty walking - apparently a result of the injury suffered during her flight to England in 1957.50
Over the summer and autumn of 1959, Diefenbaker, assisted by friends, supporters, and history buffs, diligently added to the materials of his legend.
“I wish you could see the collection that I am getting of Sir John A. Macdonald’s mementos,” he wrote to his mother. “They are coming in from everywhere and I will have a tremendously interesting collection.” A few weeks later he visited the “Scottish Settlement” of West Gwillimbury, northwest of Toronto, where he located the graves of his Bannerman great-grandparents in the Presbyterian Auld Kirk Cemetery. The Dominion Archives soon provided him with records of the Bannermans’ arrival at Red River in 1813, a fifty-acre land grant from Colonel Talbot near London, Ontario, and George Bannerman’s oath of allegiance to the crown, sworn in 1818. In October he told his mother that a Conservative group planned to buy his birthplace in Newstad, Ontario, for $10,000, to restore it as a national monument. A bronze plaque, he expected, would announce that “here, to William Thomas and Mary Florence Diefenbaker … was born a son on September 18, 1895.” Copies of the Diefenbaker homestead documents were being sought by his staff; and Uncle Ed had sent his revised memoir of those days on the land, which “brought back to mind many things which had been completely forgotten.”
And still the personal honours flowed in: 1959 and 1960 brought three more honorary degrees, from Windsor, Wayne State, and DePauw; the Freedom of the City of London (“the highest honour that can be given to anyone in England … it is an honour that does not come to very many,” he told Mary); and induction as Chief Many Spotted Horses of the Blood Indians.51