I would return home most weekends, riding south with a Trans Pro truck on a Friday and returning to the Soo as a passenger in one of my father’s trucks on a Sunday. I soon got tired of this and took a job back in Toronto selling Michelin truck tires, mostly to my father’s business.
This was a listless time for me, but I wasn’t exactly standing still. Rather, I was getting deeply involved in politics. My involvement can be traced to February 16, 1980, just days after my sixteenth birthday. On that day, I secured from Pierre Trudeau one of the two roses that adorned his lapel. “Mr. Trudeau,” I said, as he squeezed through the doorway of Joe Cruden’s Liberal campaign office in Etobicoke, “my grandmother is a great admirer of yours. May I have that flower for her?” I think he was glad to be rid of the second one, no doubt pinned on him at his previous event. But for me it remains my most prized political possession. My grandmother pressed that flower in a book and, upon her death just two years later from breast cancer, my mother and my aunt returned it to me, framed with an image of Trudeau that I acquired at my first national Liberal convention in Winnipeg in the summer of 1980. Thus my career in politics was launched.
CHAPTER TWO
1980s
Pierre Trudeau was in Etobicoke that February day in 1980 in his quest to become prime minister again, less than a year after he had been defeated by Joe Clark and the Progressive Conservatives. Trudeau had resigned the party leadership after the Liberals’ loss to the PCs but then staged a fantastic comeback to fight a rematch against Clark, whose government had surprisingly lost a budget vote in Parliament. Two days after handing me the rose, Trudeau won a majority.
His victory speech that evening still sends chills up my spine. “Well, welcome to the 1980s,” he began. He went on to claim a mandate “to speak for all the people of Canada” and declared: “Canada has been, Canada is, and Canada will remain more than the sum of its parts.” (Bear in mind that this was just three months before the first Quebec referendum.) He concluded with the oft-quoted lines from Robert Frost’s poem: “I have promises to keep, / And miles to go before I sleep.” He went on to win the referendum and then repatriate the Constitution with a Charter of Rights that would open previously forbidden passages for me and many others.
While the Liberal Party won nationally in 1980, the local campaign in my riding of Etobicoke Centre, in which I worked as a volunteer, was not successful. We did better than in 1979, but we still lost by more than three thousand votes to the incumbent Conservative, Michael Wilson, the trade minister in Clark’s government. So, I learned the sting of defeat in my first involvement in politics.
I worked as a volunteer in the campaign of Joe Cruden, a long-time Bell Canada executive and active Liberal fundraiser. The campaign was run by Clem Neiman and his wife, Senator Joan Neiman. I had been noticed when I showed up at Cruden’s nomination around Christmas, and this fresh new recruit was on hand days later to help set up the campaign headquarters on Dundas Street West, just up the hill from the iconic Montgomery’s Inn. I made my reputation quickly as I was not averse to hard work. Among other things, I recall schlepping heavy office chairs from a nearby realty office to the headquarters. The campaign proved to be a welcoming environment for a kid, and it showed me that politics, with its extreme organizational challenges, provided an opportunity for talent to shine. It was a turning point in my life. Indeed, the Liberal Party became a surrogate family for me. “This is my thing,” I thought. Other kids could stand out in academics or athletics; I could ace politics.
Beyond Cruden and Neiman, three women nurtured me in that 1980 campaign. Bea Yakimoff was by day a school secretary but had a key role in campaign organization by night. She was my guide for fifty-six of the most important days of my life (the length of federal campaigns back then). Marian Maloney, who later served with distinction as a senator, also showered me with attention. And Simone Flahiff’s nearby house at Kipling and Burnhamthorpe became a second home for me. All three of them exemplified the talented women who once dominated campaign offices. In my opinion, they have never been effectively replaced, since today more of the talents of women are deployed in the paying workplace.
I got very caught up in the 1980 campaign. I vividly recall how terrible I felt the one night I couldn’t go to the campaign office because I had to study for an exam or some other useless academic exercise. I think that says a lot about the allure and attraction of politics — for me, at least. I also discovered that I had some useful expertise to offer. For example, I had an after-school job as a pizza delivery driver. The deliveries were in the same territory where I was tasked to put up election signs. As a result, my sign team was very fast because I already knew where all the houses were on those streets.
On election night, I recall walking home from the election night party at St. George’s on the Hill Anglican church to get some air. I came upon some Conservative campaign signs. I thought of kicking them down, but I restrained myself then, as I have on every other occasion since. I think that driving stakes and metal posts into the frozen tundra of Etobicoke in the cold winter election of 1980 taught me a lot of respect for volunteer labour.
When it came to heckling, however, I did not show such restraint. Despite a childhood bout with pneumonia and a lengthy stay at Sick Kids, my lungs were capable of producing plenty of volume. I quickly learned to heckle and used that skill to advantage during all-candidates meetings. You know you are good at something when you come home from a hard day of campaigning to a message from your mother letting you know that somebody from another riding association has called to see if you would be available to heckle at their all-candidates meeting. (My mother took it all in stride, perhaps given the kinds of hobbies my older siblings had taken up.) Until recently, having passed away in February 2019, Michael Wilson would greet me with a question about whether he was going to be heckled once again.
Soon after the new Liberal government was formed in Ottawa in 1980, I took to staying up late and watching the 11:30 p.m. replay of Question Period. Despite my lack of French, I could emulate the accents of my favour-ites, Marc Lalonde and Monique Bégin. As well, I corresponded frequently with Liberal MPs and even cabinet ministers. My family had purchased one of the earliest Apple computers, and by Grade 9 I had acquired strong typing skills. I put these two elements to work, and for years I received tons of communications back from Ottawa. One response was particularly surprising. Soon after the 1980 election, Ed Lumley, the new Liberal trade minister, took his predecessor, Wilson, on a foreign trade mission. I was incensed that this guy I had worked so hard to defeat was being shown such a courtesy. A few days later, our home phone rang. The Honourable Ed Lumley was on his speaker phone looking to speak to George Smitherman. He explained to me that there was a parliamentary tradition that matches opposition members with travelling ministers to avoid the risk of losing votes in the House of Commons. On many occasions throughout my political life, I have retold that story, often in Lumley’s presence or in his adopted hometown of Cornwall.
* * *
One notable feature of political campaigns is that they keep on coming, especially in a federation, like Canada. In March of 1981, Ontario premier Bill Davis called an election in search of an elusive majority, and I went to work for the Liberals in the provincial riding of York West, which overlapped with the federal riding of Etobicoke Centre. For me, it was a hard lesson on the differences between the provincial and federal Liberals — especially in organizational terms. I will always remember that the posters of the Ontario Liberal leader, Stuart Smith, arrived in the last week of the campaign, while the Trudeau posters had come early and often.
Organization aside, Davis was also a far more difficult opponent than Clark. So, a relatively close loss to Michael Wilson in the federal election became a provincial shellacking at the hands of the incumbent Conservative, Nick Leluk. He was a lacklustre pharmacist and MPP, but he beat the Liberal candidate, Michael Eagen, a thoughtful high-school teacher, by more than eight thousand votes
. I knew the Conservatives were going to have a good night when my own mother confessed to me that she was going to vote for Bill Davis. I don’t believe that ever happened again.
Stuart Smith resigned following his defeat in the 1981 provincial election. The ensuing Liberal leadership race introduced me to David Peterson, the man I still think of as my leader. I remember the convention well. It was held in the Grand Ballroom of the Sheraton Centre in downtown Toronto. The five-person race featured an interesting cast of characters, ranging from a guy known mostly for his voice in ads hawking food (Richard Thomas) to veteran MPPs who represented a much more conservative era for Ontario Liberals (Jim Breithaupt and John Sweeney). However, Peterson’s main rival was Sheila Copps, who had won a seat in the Legislature in the 1981 election and was just twenty-nine at the time. While Sheila ran a spirited campaign, Peterson won fairly easily on the second ballot.
Luckily for me, Joe Cruden had a role that day working the floor for Peterson, and I was the guy beside him on the radio. That weekend I got to meet media titans like local CBC anchor Fraser Kelly and Larry Zolf, who told me how he had rented the back side of billboards very cheaply in his campaign to be appointed to the Senate.
Around then, I also encountered Ernest “Pete” Farrow, a long-time Etobicoke councillor whose campaign signs said, “I work for people not votes.” He was one of the most genuine people I have ever met and one of the greatest influences on my life in terms of service to people. An account-ant and a Second World War veteran who had served in the RAF and, after being shot down, was held captive as a POW, shared ownership of a private plane. One day, Pete offered to take me flying. We drove out to the Brampton Flying Club and got airborne. It quickly became clear to me that Pete’s best days as a pilot had passed. Once safely back on the ground, I thanked Pete and told myself, “Never again.”
* * *
Back then, municipal elections were held every two years, with the next one due in the fall of 1982. All of eighteen at the time and still a student in high school, I actually considered running against an incumbent Etobicoke councillor, Dick O’Brien. I spent most of my discretionary hours mocking up my first campaign brochure and getting set to run. But O’Brien enlisted Pete Farrow to persuade me not to. I followed the advice. At the time, I found it astonishing that a veteran pol like O’Brien would have the least bit of concern about some kid running against him. But the incident informed my view that the politicians who last are the ones who maintain at least a trace of paranoia.
* * *
Instead of running for municipal office, I became president of the provincial Liberal association in York West. My relative youth and lack of education didn’t seem to stand in my way, perhaps because I looked older than my age and I was accustomed to working with adults. (It also must be said that, given the low standing of the provincial Liberals of that era, the position of president of a riding association was not something that was highly sought after.)
I drafted the aforementioned Marian Maloney to run the 1985 provincial campaign for our candidate, Leonard Braithwaite. He was seeking a return to the Legislature, where he already enjoyed the distinction of having been Ontario’s first black MPP. We lost the riding to Leluk again, although we cut his margin from 8,273 votes in 1981 to just 715 votes. However, province-wide, the Liberals under David Peterson added fourteen seats, the Conservatives lost eighteen, and the net result was a minority Legislature. Peterson then joined forces with Bob Rae and the New Democrats to send the Conservatives packing after forty-two years in power. It was a historic moment.
After the shift in power, Bob Elgie, a prominent Conservative, resigned his seat in York East and caused a by-election to be called in early 1986. Taking a big risk, I quit my job selling tires to work as an unpaid volunteer in that campaign, won by the Liberal candidate Christine Hart. There I was noticed by Pat Sorbara, who worked in Premier Peterson’s office. She arranged some paid assignments for me at Queen’s Park, beginning with the backup receptionist job in the Premier’s Office during the 1986 doctors’ strike over extra-billing by doctors. The government’s initiative to end the practice prompted a high volume of calls, almost all of them negative. (I suspected at the time that most of the callers were doctors’ spouses.) The desk where I worked was less than ten feet from the premier’s door. I could see the likes of Robert Nixon (treasurer) and Murray Elston (health minister) coming and going before Question Period. It was heady stuff for a twenty-two-year-old.
After my stint doing that, I was put in charge of coordinating the appointment of new returning officers. The riding boundaries had changed after the 1985 election, which gave the Liberals an opportunity to sweep aside returning officers deemed too partisan or incompetent. After that, I was sent over to the provincial Liberal headquarters on St. Mary Street, a few blocks from Queen’s Park, where I became a full-time field organizer for the party as it prepared for the next election. My territory included Hamilton, Niagara, Mississauga, and the Simcoes. I had my own Ford Ranger by then and logged a lot of miles driving around the ridings to monitor nomination meetings.
Given that the Liberals were expected to win massively in the upcoming election (which was eventually held in 1987), there was a lot of competition for those nominations. And with competition come accusations of skullduggery. Candidates would arrive at party headquarters to hand over thousands of paid memberships just before the deadline. I am proud to say that none of the ridings on my list resulted in the party having to arbitrate a dispute, although Mississauga South came close. The party had a star candidate in mind: Claudette MacKay-Lassonde, the first female president of the Association of Professional Engineers. She was dynamic, vivacious, energetic, and a natural-born leader. But she was late getting into the race, and a local candidate was already well positioned to take the nomination. In the end, MacKay-Lassonde won, but there were allegations of ballot-stuffing and the like. The resulting bitterness and division hampered us in the general election in Mississauga South, where I was second-in-command in the campaign. Accordingly, the Conservative candidate, Margaret Marland, held the seat by a slim 599 votes. It was one of just sixteen seats the Tories won across the province in the 1987 election as Peterson’s Liberals swept to a big majority.
After that election, I was transferred back to the Premier’s Office as a legislative assistant in the policy unit. I was working under Hershell Ezrin (Peterson’s principal secretary) and under the influence of Gordon Ashworth (executive director of the Premier’s Office). These were two giants of Liberal politics, and just being near them was a great experience for me. My direct boss was Phil Dewan, who a dozen years later became Dalton McGuinty’s chief of staff. My assignment included working up profiles of the province’s ridings. This put me in conflict with another power centre at Queen’s Park, the caucus office, headed up by the redoubtable Isobel Finnerty, later appointed to the Senate. So I learned something about office politics, as well.
Another of my responsibilities was to sit behind the Speaker’s chair during Question Period and pass notes to Peterson as he fielded tricky inquir-ies from the opposition parties. Sunday shopping was a major issue at the time, and united in opposition to it were a wide array of groups that were not normally on the same side: unions, churches, small businesses, and rural Ontario. This, too, was a learning experience for me. But I did not stay long in the job — barely five months — before moving to a minister’s office.
I was recruited by Pam Gutteridge to work as a policy adviser in the office of the minister of tourism and recreation, Hugh O’Neil. Pam, whom I knew from previous campaigns, was Hugh’s executive assistant. Working there was a tremendous break for me, as O’Neil was an experienced and able politician. A former teacher and real estate broker, he had been the MPP for Quinte for twelve years by the time I arrived. He taught me skills and habits that I employed years later in my own time as an elected politician and cabinet minister. Hugh was also like a second father to me.
We often dined together a
t the end of a long work day. The tourism office was at 77 Bloor Street West, close to Yorkville, so that meant we were eating at such renowned (then) establishments as Il Posto, Fenton’s, and Bellini. I also travelled with him. This gave me better access to the minister than was enjoyed by my boss, Pam Gutteridge. Pam, ever the champion for me, blessed the relationship and moved on to give me an even bigger opportunity. She has been so loyal to the party; yet the party has never really repaid her appropriately.
Tourism and Recreation was also an interesting experience for me. We called it the “ministry of fun, fun, fun,” since it was perceived as dealing with a lot of discretionary spending. Under its umbrella were the Ontario Lottery Corporation, Ontario Place, the Niagara Parks Commission, Old Fort Henry, Sainte-Marie Among the Hurons in Midland, the Big Thunder ski jump in Thunder Bay, and many other agencies with high profiles in their regions. There were a lot of “announceables” — grants and programs to be announced by the minister — plus meetings with interesting people. Among them was “Eddie the Eagle,” the British ski jumper who finished last at the 1988 Olympics but became an international celebrity in the process. I remember getting his autograph in Thunder Bay and look forward to finding it someday among my forty-odd boxes of “stuff.”
O’Neil taught me a political lesson: every Friday afternoon, he would “enhance the government’s prospects” by travelling to various parts of Ontario on a government aircraft. He would fly in to announce something or the other and then fly back late at night or more likely the next day, when I would drop him off at CFB Trenton and head for Toronto. There was a bar on the plane, so I always arrived in Toronto well refreshed and ready for Friday evening activities at Bemelmans, Chaps, Colby’s, or Woody’s.
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