by Colin Perkel
Bell’s death left a huge hole in the PUC office. The silver lining for Stan was that it didn’t take too long to find a replacement in the form of Janice Hallahan, clerk-treasurer in nearby Neustadt (One of Canada’s Prettiest Villages, the sign says), birthplace of former prime minister John Diefenbaker. Conscientious and personable, Hallahan exuded confidence and competence. Her background in business administration and accounting and varied experience in municipal finances made her ideally suited for her new job, which she tackled with enthusiasm. In Hallahan, who was born and raised in Walkerton, Koebel found a managerial soulmate on whom he could lean as heavily as he ever had on her predecessor.
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At the beginning of 1999, the PUC’s reserve fund for the water system was a healthy $449,401. This was money that could be used for system upgrades and maintenance on Well 5, on which virtually no work had been done in almost twenty years. Of its three working wells, Well 7, the newest, was the one on which the town relied most heavily. It produced more than enough good quality water. The one problem was its balky chlorinator. Flush with cash, Koebel ordered two replacements, one each for Wells 6 and 7. The new units were compatible with an automatic chlorine residual analyser, which Stan hoped to add on at some point. The device tracks chlorine and shuts a well down automatically if levels fall too low either due to mechanical failure or an upsurge in contamination. That would preclude the hassle of the constant manual checks that fell to Frank and his helper Al Buckle, who mostly relied on weigh scales that had never worked properly and a bubble in the chlorinators to judge chlorine dosage. Having duplicate equipment would also make repairs and replacing parts smoother. It would be efficient, modern, and safe, just like the ministry wanted. Stan asked Frank to take care of installing the new chlorinators when they arrived. Frank had other things to do.
At about the same time, the Tory government in Toronto, forever looking to downsize, made a far-reaching decision that would create more problems for Stan: it announced plans to break up the century-old monopoly enjoyed by the publicly owned Ontario Hydro and deregulate the electricity market. What Bill 35 essentially meant was that utilities such as the one Stan ran would be forced to go out onto the open market to buy power. Utilities were given less than two years to figure out what they wanted to do. They could sell to Hydro One, one of Ontario Hydro’s successor companies, or form cooperatives or amalgamate with other area utilities to form large enough outfits to compete. Walkerton’s PUC hooked up with a group of other small-town operators to search for the best way to face the brave new world of deregulated electricity. There were endless meetings, many of them out of town, and Stan found himself away from the office and his regular work. Until this point, Stan had been spending as much as 20 per cent of his time managing the town’s water. But the introduction of Bill 35 saw that allotment of time plunge drastically. From then on, he was able to spend mere minutes a day on water. The legislation also created waves of uncertainty for the town and PUC in general, for Stan in particular. What would happen to the water operations if the PUC had to divest itself of the hydro side? Perhaps the municipality would take over the water itself. Maybe the PUC could continue running the water only. Perhaps an outside agency could come in. What would it all mean for the PUC staff? What would it mean for him? The ground under Stan Koebel’s feet was starting to feel like quicksand.
Labour Pains
BOB MCKAY was the new guy in the PUC shop, having joined the utility only in May 1998. He hadn’t planned on going into the world of high-voltage electricity. The family farm in the Woodstock area seemed like a better bet. But a tornado roared through in the mid-1980s, throwing their new thirty-metre silo onto the barn. With skyrocketing interest rates and not enough insurance, the family was forced to sell. McKay, who’d studied field-cropping and livestock management at college, did some odd jobs before landing a position with the nearby Norwich utilities commission. For the next ten years, he worked both in Norwich and then much farther afield in eastern Ontario as a qualified lineman. When a job opened up in Walkerton, he jumped at the chance to move with his wife and four children so they could be closer to family. Ministry inspector Michelle Zillinger had recommended to Stan that he consider hiring another qualified waterworks operator. With Frank off recovering from his heart attack and another outside worker, Tim Hawkins, in hospital, the suggestion made sense. Stan, backed up by Zillinger’s recommendation, had no trouble persuading the commissioners to go along with the idea. It was, after all, the first time he’d ever indicated that he needed extra help. At his interview, McKay asked about advancement prospects. Stan said there weren’t any. What Stan didn’t say was that he was hiring him to replace Hawkins, who had suffered a series of crippling strokes a few months earlier and was unable to walk. It appeared he would never be back to work, or so Stan thought after visiting him in the hospital and seeing the rough shape he was in. Had McKay known the job might be temporary, he would never have accepted, but he settled in quickly. Stan was good to him and McKay considered him the best boss he’d ever had. If they worked through their lunch hour, Stan would often buy them something to eat. Frank, though, was far less friendly, even downright standoffish. Perhaps he felt threatened by the rookie’s solid grasp of the basics of water management that Bob had gained at his previous jobs. He also had a waterworks operator licence into which, like Stan and Frank, he’d been grandfathered. Actually, Bob figured Stan had hired him because he needed another certified water operator, but for months Frank wouldn’t even show him the wells. McKay finally insisted, and Frank grudgingly took him out but wouldn’t say a word when they got there. It seemed the foreman just didn’t want him around. It didn’t matter much anyway. McKay spent almost all his time working on the hydro side.
Five months after he started, McKay had too much to drink on the Labour Day long weekend and was charged with impaired driving in Woodstock. Given his probation had a month to run, he figured he was in deep trouble. There was no way around it: it was either quit or be fired. Dejected and afraid, he walked across the road to Stan’s home on Yonge Street on the holiday Monday and offered his resignation. To his astonishment, Stan was having none of it.
“Don’t worry about it, it could happen to anybody,” Stan said. “We’ll work through it.”
“Well, I’ll accept anything the commissioners say,” McKay stammered.
“They pretty much back what I want,” Stan responded confidently.
Stan did knock him down in pay, but that seemed fair. Stan also asked McKay to accept an extension of his probation by one year, the expected length of his driving ban. Glad to have kept his job, he signed the paper Stan presented to him. McKay mentioned what he’d done to Steve Lorley, a fellow PUC lineman who acted as the union steward for the outside workers. Lorley thought it crazy that McKay had agreed to the probation extension because it made him vulnerable to layoff at a whim. Lorley put on his union hat and persuaded Stan to tear up the letter. Stan reluctantly agreed, but McKay’s good relationship with his boss got torn in the process.
“Your licence suspension has given the utility undue hardship,” Stan told a startled McKay one day.
That wasn’t true. Two or three of the guys usually did the hydro work together so it made little difference if one couldn’t drive.
Stan’s initial kindness to the probationary employee he could have fired on the spot was coming back to haunt him, and the ghost was Tim Hawkins. Far from being down for the count, the quiet, lumbering utility worker with a gentle face had made something of a miraculous recovery from his strokes and wanted back to the job he’d done for seventeen years. Stan, who had obtained permission to hire McKay on the premise Hawkins would never return, found himself up a pole without a ladder. Having Hawkins back would mean one person too many on the payroll, but letting his recent hire go, someone who’d moved his wife and four kids to Walkerton, didn’t seem right either. He decided to fight: Hawkins would represent a danger to himself and the public because of the mild
lingering paralysis in one of his hands and leg. The commissioners accepted Stan’s view. The disappointed employee turned to the union, setting off a long, nasty labour battle. In a grievance filed in February 1999, the union argued that the PUC had a duty under human-rights legislation to take Hawkins back given that he’d been medically cleared to return. Stan turned the matter over to a lawyer. The atmosphere in the shop began to deteriorate, although Frank seemed to side with his brother on this one.
In October 1999, Steve Lorley called a meeting with Stan over the stalemate. Lorley, too, had had his moments with the boss. Although he’d taken it in stride when the youthful Lorley had also been charged for impaired driving and lost his licence, Stan didn’t much like his union involvement.
“For every little thing, you go to the fucking union. Why are you going to the fucking union?” he said once.
Another time, Lorley was about ten minutes late for work.
“Sorry about being late,” he said.
“How come sorry cuts it with you when you are shoving this union bullshit down my throat,” Stan snapped before sending him home on the spot.
Lorley grieved and the suspension was undone. In all, the union filed ten grievances over a period of seven years through the 1990s. Invariably, Stan backed down and the grievances went away. His commissioner bosses had little inkling that things at the shop were anything other than hunky-dory. But Stan was showing no signs of backtracking when it came to Hawkins. At the meeting with Lorley, Stan dug in his heels. A month later, Lorley called in reinforcements in the form of a union staff representative, who brought along a doctor, a physiotherapist, and someone from the insurance company. They met Stan and the PUC lawyer at the Walkerton public library on November 11, briefly halting the discussions at 11:11 A.M. to observe Remembrance Day. By the end of the meeting, Stan knew he couldn’t win. Still steamed, he took it out on Bob McKay a few days later. It was six weeks before Christmas.
“Tim’s coming back on a six-week trial,” Stan told him. “If he makes it, you’re gone.”
“I just want to work,” McKay pleaded.
“Well, we won’t need you.”
Greg Diebold, another PUC hydro worker, overheard the exchange. He moseyed over and told Stan he might be leaving soon and there would be no need to lay McKay off.
“It makes no difference,” an irate Stan insisted, turning back to McKay. “In six weeks you’ll be gone.”
It had been barely eighteen months since McKay had moved his family to Walkerton. He had no desire to search for work again. Feeling afraid and vulnerable, he turned to the union, which sent Stan an angry letter. The PUC lawyer responded immediately.
“Mr. Koebel is willing to admit he lost his temper during this exchange,” the lawyer wrote. “However, he apologizes for any hurt feelings.”
Hawkins’ return was now a fait accompli, but resentment among the outside workers festered. Stan’s resentment lingered as well. When Hawkins began a trial work period to prove he was fit for the job, Stan ordered him to climb a hydro pole, something he would normally never have needed to do. Hawkins struggled up.
“See, Bob. He can’t climb. He won’t be able to do the work,” Frank observed.
It was embarrassing, but Hawkins made it. Stan then told him to raise the heavy wooden cross-arm a metre. Hawkins managed to drill a hole for the arm’s new location but, because of the weakness in his leg, couldn’t climb and carry the load as well. It was senseless, vindictive. Hawkins clambered down in frustration, leaving the cross-arm in place. Stan watched, then spun on his heels and left. That Christmas, the two secretaries in the office along with McKay, Lorley, and Hawkins boycotted the PUC Christmas party. No one wanted to eat and drink with the man who’d fought so hard to keep Hawkins out, then treated him so badly on his return.
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On January 1, 1999, the sprawling three-ward municipality of Brockton was born, its name a compression reflecting the unwieldy alliance of Walkerton with the predominantly rural townships of Greenock, to the west, and Brant, which surrounds the town. The provincial government’s policy of amalgamation was designed to increase efficiency: it made no sense to have several councils with their myriad councillors, reeves, and mayors, when one larger unit with fewer politicians would do. Watching the name given their town by Joseph Walker 140 years earlier become a suffix in the new municipality was one slightly bitter pill to swallow for Walkerton residents. Harder to swallow was that each of the three municipal wards had two councillors, leaving the town with one-third representation despite having half the population of the new municipality. Although it has just about five thousand residents, Walkerton is nevertheless something of an urban metropolis in comparison to its new, rural partners. And for the first time, its mayor, Dave Thomson, wasn’t a resident of the town. Walkerton and Brant, in particular, had a long history of petty conflict. Any expansion by the town meant encroaching on the township, which resisted fiercely to preserve its tax-assessment base. The Walkerton public cemetery remains in Brant cheek by jowl with cornfields after a failed attempt at annexation. So does Mother Teresa elementary school, although it is one of the rare exceptions in that the town supplies it with water. It might have made a whole lot more sense for Walkerton to join forces with its slightly larger urban neighbour and rival, Hanover, ten kilometres to the east. That option was never considered. Hanover, which always seemed a little more prosperous, maybe even holier-than-thou, is across the border in Grey County. In their zeal to reform and modernize the hodgepodge system of municipal government, the Tories in Toronto seemed to have overlooked the system of county governments devised 150 years earlier.
The amalgamation also brought two smaller communal wells into the PUC fold. Both were given much needed but time-consuming upgrades and attention. Still, Frank and Al finally set about replacing the chlorinators for the town’s own wells. They started with Well 6, even though it was just the backup. The job began on Groundhog Day, February 2, 1999. Although it should have taken about three days, it ended up taking several weeks, meaning that whenever the well ran, as it did on numerous occasions, it did so without any chlorinator at all. Frank didn’t think it mattered much. Stan figured it was no big deal either. As long as one of the other wells pumped chlorinated water, that would be enough to keep the system safe. In any event, Stan had less and less time to worry about chlorine levels. Preparing for mandatory hydro deregulation kept him hopping. He worried increasingly what impact the separation of the hydro and water would have on his career and on the jobs of his underlings. At the very least, he figured, the PUC should retain responsibility for the water, perhaps with Frank in charge, even if the electricity side was spun off to a new entity. That would allow the independently minded utility to continue its proud tradition of more than forty years as stewards of the town’s water. Besides, no one knew the system better than he and Frank.
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In the fall of 1999, the municipality began turning its mind to its water operation. Mayor Dave Thomson asked for suggestions. It was time for Stan to make a pitch. He provided Janice Hallahan with a bunch of printed material and asked her to put together a proposal extolling the virtues of the PUC. Hallahan worked her magic, producing a document entitled “A Day in the Life of a Drip” that proudly proclaimed, “Brockton water tastes great!” Replete with cartoon characters of water drops, the proposal highlighted the advantages of a PUC-run system. It noted numerous tasks carried out by PUC staff, among them sampling for chlorine residuals daily and documenting well readings. It stressed how sample results were sent to the manager and the Environment Ministry, which in turn would immediately report anything unusual to the manager, who would then act promptly to resolve any problems.
“Retaining the water services with the PUC would provide assurance that the operation of the utility would remain with public accountability,” the proposal went on. “Should the municipality transfer the water services back into the works department, the municipal staff would not possess
the same 49 years of extensive familiarity and knowledge that collectively the current manager and foreman have with the water distribution system.”
Hallahan, of course, had no idea just how close to fantasy this document was. Nor did council. In October 1999, the town agreed the service should remain with the PUC. Stan had won the battle. The war was far from over. Some councillors still wanted to dissolve the PUC and have the works department take over the water. Also, the hydro situation remained in flux. There were still decisions to be made and approvals needed from the provincial government. It all seemed to be taking forever and the uncertainty weighed heavily on Stan. Moreover, the tensions with his staff lingered, and the ministry was again making half-hearted noises about bad results. But trying to get Frank to see the problem as serious was a non-starter. The second chlorination unit, the one meant to replace the balky one at Well 7, the town’s main supply, had been sitting for a year in a box at the pumphouse. Frank and Al never seemed to find the time to get it installed. Stan, meanwhile, was just about at the end of his tether.
Stan had always been a busy guy. In 1992, his wife of sixteen years left him. She complained he was always working and there never seemed to be enough time for family and vacations. Not only was he managing the PUC full-time for which he earned a decent $52,000 a year, he also moonlighted as an electrician for friends and neighbours. If there was a job to be done, Stan did it. He’d also do stints as a bartender at the local arena and served, as did Frank and Al Buckle, as a member of the town’s volunteer firefighting unit. The family split along gender lines, with Mary taking their fifteen-year-old daughter, Stephanie, while twelve-year-old Jacob chose to stay with Stan. He sold off the family home and divided their assets, for which he paid Mary $38,425. But the acrimonious divorce would also create lasting financial pressure. Along with $250 a month he paid for Stephanie’s ongoing support, he also ended up with a ten-year obligation to pay his ex-wife $900 a month in spousal support.