Given this blot on Smallwood’s record, he was eager to wipe this colossal failure away. And he and Shaheen were busy trying to do just that.
Our heated discussion at the dinner table was adjourned when Smallwood invited me to his Portugal Cove Road office/residence, so that we could continue the discussion and he could show me some of the work he was doing on The Book of Newfoundland.
So off we go to Portugal Cove Road, less than a mile from our dinner surroundings at the Confederation Building.
After we were suitably comfortable and our wine (later cognac) was poured, I thought I would take the offensive and try and bring the matter of the refinery to a head.
“Why did you have Shaheen and his people follow me during the PC Leadership Convention and then have a suite for him right next to mine at the hotel?” I asked abruptly.
“You wouldn’t talk to a great industrialist, a great friend of Newfoundland, the man who wanted to invest hundreds of millions of dollars in Newfoundland. You said that day in the hotel when Shaheen wanted to get a meeting with you that you wouldn’t talk to him,” exclaimed Smallwood.
“That’s right. He is not reliable or dependable,” I rejoindered.
Smallwood blew up! “He had the money then and he has the money now. And now you have got to do something about it. You can’t afford to see millions and millions offered and not act on it. Shaheen is in Paris right now. I spoke to him today. I spoke to him yesterday. I speak to him almost every day. He has met with banks and he has a deal for hundreds of millions of dollars to get the refinery started again. He can get the crude from the Middle East and in the North Sea and he can even get some from Nigeria. You know all about the oil. We can build one of the great petrochemical complexes of the world, right here in Newfoundland, right in Placentia Bay.”
I retorted as strongly as I could, “But Mr. Smallwood, you know Shaheen, he is likely just putting you on; it does not mean very much. He is just using you to get to me and the government—get a half-baked promise from the government for some vague assistance and then lever the banks and vise versa. Don’t you see that?”
“You’re crazy, you’re mad,” Smallwood shouted. “You can’t let Newfoundland down. This great entrepreneur who has the money; he knows all the bankers and how to get the money. He told me today that he had the money, he told me so today . . .”
“Okay,” I said, “you believe he has the money. I do not believe he has the money. But I will take your word for now. And I will check it out tomorrow. If we can get written confirmation from the banks that he has all the money in place, I will meet with him. How’s that?”
Smallwood shouted loudly. “That’s fantastic! You will do this first thing tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, I will,” I answered.
“I didn’t say he had all the money,” Smallwood interjected, “but he has hundreds of millions committed. Do you understand?”
“No, no,” I quickly said, sensing Smallwood was moving away from his earlier bombast. “From the way you have been describing it, anyone listening would have to conclude that Shaheen had all the money he needed.”
“All I am saying is that he has a lot of money arranged and I’m sure he will get more if needed,” Smallwood responded.
It was now well-nigh midnight, and given that Smallwood had what he wanted, I was itching to get moving. No such luck.
More wine and cognac followed and we proceeded to talk on a variety of issues. Smallwood was interested in the simmering dispute regarding offshore oil and gas and how he had moved earlier to ensure it belonged to Newfoundland when he had a plaque posted on the seabed. Of course, I reminded him that his friends in Ottawa were not recognizing this at all. It was viewed as a symbolic act without any validity constitutionally. He had little response to this but to say that Trudeau was a great friend and that he would look after Newfoundland. This last statement was like a red flag to a bull to me.
Raising my voice, I exclaimed, “That is where you and I disagree most . . . someone to look after us. That’s crazy—that is all we have known—that’s what I want to change. The oil is off our coast, we brought it into Confederation, and we deserve the same kind of deal as Alberta has on its oil.”
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 la
te/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.
DON JAMIESON
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.
PIERRE ELLIOTT TRUDEAU
/> 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.
On another occasion the Honourable Don Jamieson, federal minister of External Affairs, later to be my opponent in my first provincial election as premier, invited me to Ottawa to attend an evening dinner for Elliot Richardson, the then American Secretary of Commerce. Mr. Jamieson thought that I would enjoy such an evening. And so I went on the appointed evening to the Lester Pearson Building for the event. I was greeted by Mr. Jamieson and some of his officials and mingled with some of the other guests. I was informed that it was possible that the prime minister, Mr. Trudeau, might attend and some extra time would be allowed before dinner actually began to accommodate a possible late arrival. I was enjoying myself in conversation with people about national and international matters, and the time slipped by quickly. While in the midst of one of these conversations, the prime minister arrived without my notice and suddenly inserted himself in the semicircle of guests of which I was a part.
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