8

Collision Course

Immediately upon hearing the results of the American election (a close one – Kennedy won by just 118,000 votes over Richard Nixon), John Diefenbaker sent off a congratulatory note to the new president.

Then he sat back and waited. No reply.

One week passed. Nothing. Two weeks. Not a thing. Finally, feeling snubbed, John erupted with “Not a bloody word!” Diefenbaker had always been well received by Eisenhower. They had even gone fishing together, but apparently this brash young newcomer didn’t have time to reply to America’s neighbour in the north. Ottawa’s officials spread the word to Kennedy’s officials and finally a reply was sent.

John and Olive Diefenbaker with John and Jacqueline Kennedy. The conflict between these two men would bring about one of the lowest periods in Canada/U.S. relations.

It was a small thing. But it was just the beginning.

By December, John was worried about something else. He had in his hands an RCMP report that indicated Pierre Sévigny, the associate minister of defence, had been consorting with Gerda Munsinger, a suspected Soviet informant. Sévigny admitted to the dalliance with the woman but promised he had given no state secrets away.

“This must end between you and this woman forthwith, period,” Diefenbaker demanded. The relationship ended right there, the woman returned to Germany, and Diefenbaker let the matter drop.

The decision not to fire Sévigny would come back to haunt Diefenbaker six years later.

On March 8, 1961, in London, another meeting of the Commonwealth leaders was held, but this time to discuss something much more important than trade: whether or not South Africa should be allowed to continue its membership in the Commonwealth. The apartheid policy of Hendrik Verwoerd was upsetting the rest of the world and not sitting well with Diefenbaker himself. Apartheid meant no votes for the black majority. Only a year before, South African police had killed sixty-seven blacks in Sharpeville during a riot over apartheid. Others were being jailed daily for speaking out. How could the author of the Bill of Rights for Canadians refuse blacks in South Africa the same rights?

The white prime ministers, except Diefenbaker, wanted the motion to keep South Africa in the Commonwealth passed without discussion. They hoped things would work out over the long run. The prime ministers from Africa and Asia wanted South Africa expelled.

“It is time for the Commonwealth to draw up a declaration of the principles for which it stands,” Diefenbaker said to the press, his jowls shaking. Diefenbaker and his staff wrote up a draft communique. It said: “For all Commonwealth Governments, it should be an objective policy to build in their countries a structure of society which offers equality of opportunity for all, irrespective of race, colour or creed.”

This was not well received by the South Africans. Verwoed would only sign the communique if he could add a paragraph that defended apartheid. Diefenbaker and several other prime ministers refused. The agreement collapsed and the South African prime minister defiantly withdrew his country’s application to remain in the Commonwealth and left.

Diefenbaker flew home, and for the first time in a while he received praise in the press. When he reported in the House, compliments came from all parties. He had stuck to his principles. He had not given in to the pressure to compromise.

It was a moment of triumph.

“I have several announcements,” young Kennedy said in a news conference a few months later. “One, I would like to announce that I have invited the prime minister of Canada, the Right Honorable John G. Diefenbawker, to make a brief visit to Washington.”

John nearly exploded when he heard the president had mispronounced his name. Kennedy wasn’t to blame, he’d asked the correct pronunciation from his staff and that’s what they’d told him. But the gaff infuriated Diefenbaker. Was the young man mocking him? Did he know so little about Canada that he couldn’t even pronounce the prime minister’s name?

Diefenbaker and his cohorts flew south for the meeting at the White House. They were led into the Oval Office. Kennedy guided Diefenbaker to a sofa by the fireplace, and the president sat in his white padded rocking chair. They discussed Canada’s trade with China and Cuba. Diefenbaker also pointed out that his cabinet had not yet made a decision about accepting American nuclear weapons on Canadian military bases. They had already signed a deal for the Bomarc missiles but had yet to work out the details of adding the nuclear component to the missiles. That step would make Canada part of the “nuclear” club. Diefenbaker wasn’t sure how voters would respond to that, though he agreed that negotiations should and would continue. It was a productive meeting.

Then during lunch Kennedy pointed at a stuffed sailfish on the wall. He’d caught it on his honeymoon.

“Have you ever caught anything better?” he asked.

This was the wrong thing to ask a fisherman. Diefenbaker bragged that he’d just been in Jamaica and caught a 64 kilogram, 2½-metre marlin. He was puffed up and proud as he could get.

“You didn’t catch it,” Kennedy teased the older man. Diefenbaker replied that he had.

Diefenbaker returned home from the trip and went straight to the House of Commons, where he announced, “To me, this was a revealing and exhilarating experience. The President of the United States has the kind of personality that leaves upon one the impression of a person dedicated to peace, to raising economic standards in all countries and achievement in his day of disarmament of all nations of the world.”

Kennedy, on the other hand, told his brother, “I don’t want to see that boring son of a bitch again.”

That night Diefenbaker went home bubbling with enthusiasm only to find out that his mother, now eighty-six years old, had died. The woman who had given birth to him and encouraged him to become prime minister, was gone.

He flew back to Saskatoon for her funeral. She was buried in the family plot beside her husband.

Cuba was a sore point between Canada and the U.S. During the presidential election the Americans, hoping to squeeze Fidel Castro from power, had declared a trade embargo against the communist country. The Americans were stunned when Canada, believing such action would make Castro more dependent on Krushchev, decided not to support the embargo.

On April 17, 1961, fifteen hundred CIA-trained Cuban exiles, guns in hand, hit the shore of Cuba. Their intention was to topple Castro with the help of the American military. Unfortunately, Kennedy decided not to provide air support, the uprising of the local population never happened, and the infamous Bay of Pigs invasion failed.

Shortly after this fiasco, Kennedy made his first official trip to Ottawa. The U.S. Secret Service insisted that their personnel would guard the president at all times, insinuating the RCMP were not trusted to look after Kennedy, even in the House of Commons. “They want to put men with guns up all over the place!” Diefenbaker barked to his secretary, Bunny Pound, “They’re not going to shove me around!”

Diefenbaker was calmed down and the “extra” security allowed, but it set the tone for the meeting. Kennedy’s staff also asked the Canadians to have Cuban cigars on hand, because Kennedy loved them and they weren’t available in the U.S. because of the trade embargo.

More importantly, Diefenbaker’s marlin had just come back from the taxidermist and was mounted on the wall of the prime minister’s office.

Air Force One touched down at the Ottawa airport. Upon John and Jackie Kennedy’s arrival, Diefenbaker introduced them in mangled French to a crowd of two thousand VIPs and a small army of red-coated RCMP officers.

“I am somewhat encouraged to say a few words in French from having had a chance to listen to the prime minister,” Kennedy joked.

The crowd burst into laughter. Diefenbaker smiled, but inside he was burning up. First Kennedy had teased him about the fish. Then the insult of the armed Secret Service personnel, and now this public embarrassment. Who did this boy, who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, think he was?

A few seconds later Kennedy once again, apparently on purpose, pronounced the prime minister’s last name as “Diefenbawker.” Enraged, Diefenbaker had no choice but to stand in silence while the president spoke.

Fifty thousand well-wishers turned out to greet the new president on the drive into the city, more than had come to see the Queen. Later, in a tree planting ceremony on the grounds of Government House, Kennedy shovelled a handful of black soil. He had forgotten to bend his knees and he re-injured an old back injury from World War II. It would bother him for two more years.

He now had a constant reminder of his trip to Canada and of old blustery Diefenbaker.

The two leaders retired to Diefenbaker’s office. The government secretaries lined the walls in hope of glimpsing this dashing young president, who flirted openly with them.

The moment Kennedy was in his office, Diefenbaker pointed at the gigantic blue marlin mounted on his wall, its grey dull eyes staring at the two men.

“That is big,” Kennedy said. “You know I spent fifty thousand dollars trying to catch a fish like that.”

“My catch did not cost me anything,” Diefenbaker replied.

It was a tiny triumph. He smugly settled himself in the chair behind his big desk, while Kennedy sat in a rocking chair. “I’m ready to go,” Kennedy said, and with that they launched into their discussion of Canada/U.S. relations. First Kennedy mentioned the Bay of Pigs, calling it, “a terrible gaffe.” He admitted he’d learned some lessons and that the U.S. wasn’t going to have any more military action unless seriously provoked. “We would talk to you before doing anything,” he promised.

Next they spoke about Canada joining the Organization of American States (OAS), an association of Latin and North American countries. Diefenbaker said no, now was not the right time; Canada didn’t want to become involved in arguments that would put them either on the same side as the U.S. or against them.

Then the two leaders spoke about the most sensitive issue: nuclear warheads for the Canadian military. Diefenbaker made no promises.

“It’s really important,” Kennedy said.

“Well,” Diefenbaker said slowly, “there’s a lot of opposition. But I’ll see if I can turn public opinion around in the next few weeks.”

The Americans thought this was a yes – they didn’t realize Diefenbaker was being his usual politically coy self.

The 2½-hour meeting was done and Kennedy’s back ached. He stood, threw a rolled-up piece of paper in the garbage, and then departed with his aides.

Diefenbaker shut his office door and sat alone. It had been hard bargaining, and he had felt a lot of pressure from this young president. The prime minister paced around his office, eyeing up the fish. That had shown the young brat something, at least.

Then he noticed a crumpled piece of paper in the wastebasket. Diefenbaker picked it up.

It read:

SECRET

May 16th, 1961

WHAT WE WANT FROM THE OTTAWA TRIP

1. To push the Canadians towards an increased commitment to the Alliance for Progress.

2. To push them towards a decision to join the OAS.

3. To push them towards a larger contribution for the India consortium and for foreign aid generally.

4. We want their active support at Geneva and beyond for a more effective monitoring of the borders of Laos and Viet Nam.

Diefenbaker read the whole thing. The first three sentences started with “To push.” Here was proof that the American’s plan was to come in and bully him.

According to all friendly government protocol Diefenbaker should have returned the piece of paper. Instead, he had one of his secretaries put it in his confidential filing cabinet, which he called “the vault.”

Later that afternoon, his fears were confirmed. Kennedy was to address a joint session of the Senate and the House of Commons. He arrived with his coterie of Secret Service guards, and Diefenbaker escorted him into the House. Kennedy began with a sentence in French, then switched to poking fun at the Canadian Senate in English. Once he had his audience laughing, he launched into another plea for Canada to join the OAS: “Your country and mine are partners in North American affairs. Can we not now become partners in inter-American affairs?” This was a blatant, public effort to get Canada to join the OAS. Diefenbaker had just told him that morning they had no interest in the organization. Was Canada supposed to jump through a hoop every time the Americans said “Jump?” The remainder of Kennedy’s speech was a moving plea to keep relations strong between the two countries. “Those whom nature hath so joined together, let no man put asunder.”

But that wasn’t the final insult for Diefenbaker. That night, at a small dinner party, Kennedy spent most of the evening talking to Lester Pearson, Diefenbaker’s political rival. By 10:15 the next morning Diefenbaker was quite happy to see the new president back in Air Force One and off Canadian soil.

Things weren’t so good in Canada. Unemployment had risen to 8 per cent. And Diefenbaker’s vast vision of national development hadn’t come any closer to fruition. Yes, they had built new roads to resources. They had even tabled a budget that projected a twelve-million-dollar surplus. But when the Conservatives had failed to win a seat in the recent Saskatchewan election, where Tommy Douglas and his enthusiastic band of CCFers plowed over the opposition, Diefenbaker had approved acreage payments to farmers that totalled forty-two million dollars. There went the balanced budget.

Then came three by-election defeats in a row, a sign that the Canadian people were growing disenchanted. The economy needed quick stimulation. The Conservatives rewrote the budget once again, and the new target deficit was 286 million.

Finally James E. Coyne, the governor of the Bank of Canada, began to criticize the government for spending beyond its means. Coyne, who had been appointed by the Liberals, could be removed from his position only by Parliament. The Conservatives finally did so, but it was too late; the damage had been done in the publics mind. The government appeared disorganized and reactionary, with no real economic or long-term plan.

Diefenbaker’s government did start something that would benefit all Canadians. They appointed Mr. Justice Emmett Hall to look at the feasibility of a national medicare system, inspired by the success of Saskatchewan’s medicare system. The Hall Commission recommended a comprehensive universal medical plan for all Canadians. By 1966 the Medical Care Act had been passed into law and all Canadian citizens were entitled to health insurance.

Unfortunately for Diefenbaker, that was in the future. In 1961 he had his back against the wall. The Liberals looked stronger and were finding more and more Conservative faults to pick at. The CCF had revamped itself into the New Democratic Party (NDP), with Tommy Douglas at its head. Douglas had been the premier of Saskatchewan since 1944. He was a small man with big ideas and a gift of eloquence.

And the revolution was on – the Quiet Revolution, a political and intellectual wind that was changing minds and hearts in Quebec. People in Quebec began to demand more recognition of the French language and culture of their province and greater political autonomy within Canada. But Diefenbaker decided against a royal commission on French-English relations.

Diefenbaker asked his cabinet’s advice for an election date. Nearly every member said wait, things were just too much of a mess now. Diefenbaker agreed. The Gallup Poll had his party running behind the Liberals. John had always said, “I never trusted a poll, only dogs know what to do with poles.” But this was one poll he had to listen to.

Dissension was beginning to grow inside the Conservative party itself. “We’d probably lose the next election, or we’d take an awful pounding,” was the prediction of Dalton Camp, a balding, medium-sized man who was now the party president. He and a growing number of other Conservatives believed the Chief was a liability.

John ignored his detractors from all sides. In mid-April he announced the dissolution of Parliament. The election would be June 18, 1962.

“It will be a tremendous battle,” Diefenbaker promised.

John began yet another of his trademark whistle stop campaigns, this time portraying the election as a fight between free enterprise and socialism. To get him from coast to coast, he relied on his chartered Canadian Pacific DC-6B, complete with a private compartment in the back for naps and night flights. Things looked like they’d hold together.

Then President Kennedy hosted a White House dinner for Nobel Prize winners. Lester Pearson was one of the honoured guests. When word got back to Diefenbaker that Kennedy had had a forty-minute private conversation with the Liberal leader, he was livid. This was making Pearson look good in the middle of an election campaign. It was meddling by the Americans. Diefenbaker tore a strip off the American ambassador and threatened to counter this action by producing a secret memorandum that Kennedy had accidentally left in his office. This memo would show Canadians exactly how pushy the Americans were. Later, when he had calmed down, Diefenbaker regretted his words and said he wouldn’t mention it again.

Kennedy had now vowed never to meet Diefenbaker face to face again. He unofficially gave his blessing to Lou Harris to aid the Liberal campaign. Harris was a public opinion analyst who had helped Kennedy during his climb to the White House.

On May 3rd Diefenbaker’s election campaign went completely off the rails. The Canadian dollar was sinking faster than the Titanic. Battered by recession and budget deficit after budget deficit, it slipped to 95 cents. The Bank of Canada was forced to sell 125 million of its foreign reserves to keep the value of the dollar steady. Donald Fleming eventually had the dollar pegged at 92.5 cents U.S. Diefenbaker reluctantly agreed to this action, but said, sadly, “It will cost us the election.”

The Liberals made the Conservatives look like they’d fumbled the ball and furthered the insult by printing fake Canadian dollars with Diefenbaker’s picture on the front and a value of 92.5 cents. They were called “Diefenbucks” or “Diefendollars.”

It was like everything from Diefenbaker’s last campaign had been turned inside out and had become his worst nightmare. Those fiery Diefenbaker orations weren’t working anymore. In London, Ontario he rambled with a speech far too long and blustery. A third of the crowd walked out. In Vancouver, British Columbia an audience of seven thousand, peppered with protesters, interrupted him constantly and even tried to charge the stage. Only the police headed them off. The people who had kissed his coat in the previous election now had a bad taste in their mouths. In Chelsford, Ontario, a hysterical, ugly mob confronted John and Olive as they made their way to their car. Someone struck Diefenbaker on the head with a placard. Olive, always protective of her husband, jabbed the placard-waving man in the solar plexus with her elbow. “And did he double up!” Diefenbaker later wrote.

But in the end, the real blow had been dealt to John’s party.

On election day, June 18, 1962, John and Olive waited for the news inside their personal railway car in Prince Albert. A chill had settled over the town. A sense of foreboding.

In the Atlantic provinces the Conservatives lost a quarter of their seats. In Quebec they won only fourteen seats compared to fifty in the last election. The people remembered the slights of the Diefenbaker government and they spoke with their votes. In Ontario more seats fell. The West held strong, except for British Columbia.

By the next morning, Diefenbaker was left with a patchwork quilt of ridings: 116 seats compared to 100 for the Liberals, with Social Credit and the NDP grabbing the rest. He had been handed a minority government by the Canadian people, and in the process, five of his ministers had fallen to defeat.

Diefenbaker immediately left Prince Albert for Ottawa. His face was greyer, his hands trembled slightly. He was tired, but he couldn’t rest. He had a party to reconstruct. A country to run. And the first crisis was the continued devaluation of the dollar. He met with his cabinet ministers, who agreed to a temporary tariff surcharge, and Canada was forced to borrow over a billion U.S. dollars from the International Money Fund. The crisis appeared to be over.

The man from Prince Albert went to the prime minister’s residence at 24 Sussex Drive and slept.