Some Day the Sun Will Shine and Have Not Will Be No More

by Brian Peckford

  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.

  “You dirty Tory. You get out of here, get out of my garden; you was no good when you was here as a welfare officer and you’re no better now. Get, get, get.” And so, like a scalded cat, I retreated to the safety of the public road. And so ended my campaigning on the north shore of Green Bay!

  In the bottom of Green Bay, and not far from Springdale by road, were the communities of King’s Point and Rattling Brook. There was a smattering of Conservatives here (Guy Bartlett and his wife and family, true conservatives who, despite this known political affiliation, had a successful grocery business, and he was renowned for his honesty and fair play) and some indication that we were gaining some additional political ground. Farther out the other side of the bay were the communities of Jackson’s Cove, Silverdale, and Harry’s Harbour (and two smaller places: Langdon’s Cove and Nick’s Nose Cove). Once again there seemed to be some political change in the air and I was feeling a little better.

  Closer to Springdale were the small communities of Beachside, Little Bay, and St. Patrick’s, the last two the only Catholic communities in the whole district, and they were almost 100% Catholic. Because I was teaching then at what was called the Integrated School (Protestant without the Pentecostals) and there were insufficient high school students to warrant their own school, the Catholic parents sent their children to the school where I taught in Springdale. Therefore, I knew a lot of the parents in these communities. Many of the Catholics were Conservatives, a real holdover from the early Confederation battles of the 1940s when the Catholic Church, along with the Conservatives, opposed Confederation. The door-to-door campaign here provided a welcome relief from the negativism of the north shore and further lifted my spirits. Beachside was a Pentecostal community, and though it looked like I was making some inroads, Smallwood and the Liberals prevailed, although I had wonderful support from Sandy Young and his wife, who were true supporters and later became friends. They were small business people who understood the need for change and came to resent the demagoguery prevalent among many of the Liberal supporters.

  My Springdale team was growing, and upon their advice it was decided that I should immediately go to the southeast of the district and begin campaigning there. My first stop was Sunday Cove Island and the communities of Miles Cove and Port Anson. Parenthetically, the town of South Brook where I lived (right in the bottom of Halls Bay), was bypassed on the assumption that I would win it anyway, there being a large minority of PCs there long before I came around. Fortunately, this turned out to be an accurate forecast, since I won it handily. I was always of the view—and still am—that if those who know you best do not support you without campaign pressure, there is little hope of success in more unfamiliar places.

  Sunday Cove Island was not much more than a stone’s throw from the Newfoundland mainland, and every election the people had been promised by Mr. Smallwood’s son, Bill (who had been the MHA from 1949 to 1971), that a causeway was to be built during the next term. It never happened in all the twenty-two years of Liberal rule. Nevertheless, it was strongly Liberal.

  This is one of the most puzzling aspects of political affairs. Here were two small communities still religiously Liberal in spite of all the broken promises of their most important issue, delivered repeatedly by the son of the only living father and on one occasion by the “living father” himself. The people there were most respectful of my presence and somewhat surprised that I would “waste” my time there. I knocked on every single door, perhaps 100 to 150 in total. I remember that I lost Miles Cove in that first election, but won it big in the second election of 1975 by a whopping 47 to 2. It was a bit of a puzzle to the locals who those two holdout Liberals were, and on a subsequent visit after the second election, I was walking on the landwash to get to a nearby home when I suddenly saw an elderly gentleman picking up shells on the beach. Of course, I hailed a hello and approached him.

  “Good day, sir,” I said. “It’s a nice one.”

  “Yes,” he responded, “a large one indeed.”

  He did not recognize me. I introduced myself.

  “Yes, yes, of course. I wasn’t home when you knocked on my door a few years ago. Well, it is nice to meet you, sir. You’ve done well, and you’ve got our causeway for us.”

  “Yes, I did,” I said proudly. “I can count on your vote next time?” I inquired.

  “Well, I don’t know about that. I haven’t voted for you yet. But you seem like a good fellow. I guess I will have to think about it next time. But, Joey was a good man!”

  So here was one of the two holdouts, now identified. Loyalties remained.

  “Well sir, your vote is secret and that is your choice. Nice meeting you,” I said as I proceeded on the beach.

  There were two other islands in the district: Little Bay Islands and Long Island. I went to Little Bay Islands (very Liberal) late one evening and began a furious door-to-door the next day. I got people up out of bed in the morning, and that evening, on my final door, I got an elderly couple out of bed. I don’t know if that helped or hindered my prospects, but I was determined that this young Tory could never be accused of not trying to make contact with everyone and that the old fish merchant label of decades past no longer was a relevant characteristic of today’s Progressive Conservatives.

  I remember a middle-aged widow who lived “down near the water” from the local road. There was a bit of a flat, not much but enough to keep a cow and a few chickens. What struck me was the independence and resilience of this woman—her optimism was a stark contrast to others I had met that day who were almost blaming me for the fact that there was littl
e fish, or that the road was unfit, or that the ferry was late. I don’t know how she voted, but it was people like her who kept me going, knowing that my project was a pretty minimal one compared to her project of just making ends meet.

  Long Island was not far from Little Bay Islands and was linked to it by ferry and to the mainland by the one provincial ferry system. Unlike Little Bay Islands, there were a number of individual communities set in the many coves that dotted the island: Beaumont South and North and Beaumont Central and Lushes Bight. Here delightful old English was spoken; the Beaumont communities were more Liberal, while Lushes Bight seemed ready for change. The rallying cry was that of wanting their own ferry. Later they got their own ferry, but as I write I have people from the island emailing me telling me that it is about to be lost. It is a symbol of what has happened to rural Newfoundland as the ground fishery has failed and larger centres draw the young for education and work.

  The last places I visited (Robert’s Arm, Pilley’s Island, and Triton) were those that seemed to be conducive to change and where people had already begun organizing with the help of the campaign office in Springdale. Two earlier events had already given traction for this area to move away from the Liberal Party. One was the earlier Liberal leadership campaign and the other was the IWA—the International Woodworkers of America.

  I had campaigned especially in this area of the district for John Crosbie’s leadership and many people had got involved. There were a number of active Liberals who witnessed some of the unusual tactics of the Smallwood loyalists and were not impressed. So there was fertile ground for a resurgent PC Party in the Robert’s Arm area.