Around the end of September 1990, Chester De Toni and I had lunch with the labour squads of both the Toronto Police Service and the Peel Police Service, at the Burgundy Room of the Constellation Hotel. These were special police units whose job it was to know the structure of both the employers’ businesses and the trade unions in the GTA; and to understand the laws and how conflicts arose both between unions over jurisdiction, and between employers and unions during certification or contract negotiations. They were also tasked with keeping tabs on any outside influences, such as organized crime groups which may have interests in the construction industry on both sides of the employer-employee fence.
The lunch was an annual ritual, a treat for the police labour squads reflecting our intention to keep things cordial. It was our policy to co-operate with them and coordinate our strike actions. Before putting up a picket line on any project we would inform the appropriate labour squad the day before, letting them know the location and any other planned action.
The policy paid off. The police, who are unionized themselves, had changed their attitude towards strikes since those confrontational days in the 1960s. By the 1990s, they were co-operative and supportive, as long as we respected the law. Over the years, experience and changing attitudes taught me to change tactics and adapt, doing away with flying squads and, instead, using just a couple of picketers. It was much more effective.
I remember a contractor who called the police at the mere sight of our picket lines. He was told, “It is their right to be there, unless they commit any unlawful act.” Of course, in that case we had called the police the day before to let them know our plans. In my many years of directing a multitude of strikes involving thousands of workers I can boast that not one of our members was ever arrested for something done during picket duty and much of that was down to good communications with the police.
De Toni, who had returned to our local shortly after he left in 1971, organized the lunch. He was a very sociable person who liked good food and wine and loved entertaining. I can honestly say everybody liked Chester, including the police. We were joined by Detective Danny James from the intelligence squad, a well-known police officer whom we liked and had learned to respect since we first met during the concrete forming showdown. Our dealings with him were almost on a collegial basis.
In 1984, I had called Danny complaining about the way I had been treated by two Peel Regional Police detectives. I had been conducting a province-wide negotiation at the Skyline Hotel near the airport, which is in Peel’s jurisdiction. I called my office as I usually did to check for messages before it closed for the evening. This was long before digital voice mail and cell phones. My secretary said two police detectives wanted to speak to me urgently and I told her to let them know that I would be available after the dinner break. Accordingly, two detectives came to the Skyline Hotel around 7 p.m. and we met.
One of the detectives asked me what I was doing with Paul Volpe on Sunday, November 13, 1983. Volpe was a well-known mobster who had been murdered and found in the trunk of his car in the vicinity of the airport, not far from our offices, on November 14, 1983. He was last seen by a witness leaving a Woodbridge café and the case is unsolved to this day. At the time, it was a hot story. I thought the detective was joking because I did not have any dealings with Volpe. I replied, “I thought he was with you that day.”
The detective asked me the same question, a second time, my answer was the same. He got quite upset and in an angry tone told me that if I did not answer the question they would take me to the police station. I realized he was serious and I thought for a minute and said, “He could not have been with me that day as I was with the Pope.”
The detective got even angrier with me, thinking I was winding him up but, in fact, it was true. On November 13, I was at a special ceremony in Saint Peter’s Basilica in Rome for the beatification of a saint. I had been there together with Wally Majesky, president of the Toronto Labour Council, as guests of an Italian trade union. The Italian union could not arrange an audience on such short notice but it was able to get us invited to the special mass. My seat assignment was number 11, around the altar, very close to the Pope.
The detectives wanted me to sign a statement that was full of incorrect notes. I refused and called Danny James the following day to complain about the treatment. He laughed and said not to worry about it. This was an example of how my so-called friends in the labour movement had tried to eliminate me as a rival. They either did not realize or forgot that I was away in Rome that week.
A few days after that encounter Danny visited me at my office and said he had been the one to open the trunk of the car to find Volpe’s body stuffed inside in the fetal position.
He said his first thought was: “Fuck, there goes my overtime!”
Then he added: “If you tell anyone I said that I’ll deny it.”
At the end of our lunch, I brought up an issue which had bothered me for some time. A few years earlier, a United Food and Commercial Workers International Union representative had told me that I was “under electronic surveillance.” This was disturbing. He said he got the tip from a police officer who had a cottage next to him and over the years they had become friends. While it was uncomfortable to think about, I did not get too excited because everything I did was above board. I ran a clean ship.
A couple of years earlier, I had fired one of our representatives when staff told me he was trying to peddle drugs in the office. After we fired him he was hired by a trust fund and his compensation package included a car. The car was used during a gas station robbery and the administrator of the trust was notified but the representative in question claimed it was stolen from him four days before the robbery and that he had not bothered to report the theft. The administrator also discovered that the man had used the fund’s credit card to purchase personal items worth up to $4,000. The administrator complained to police, who said, “Don’t worry, we will look after everything.” Nothing happened.
My own suspicion was that the ex-representative had been turned into a police informant, although I would question how valuable any information he offered could be. I put it bluntly to Danny James, “If you want to know what is going on with our union you are welcome to have a full-time officer in our office and we will fully co-operate with him, but we object that a drug addict, scum of the earth, is being used against us. These people will tell you anything but the truth.”
There was a prolonged silence; then Danny said in a low voice, “Sometimes we have no choice but to use those individuals.”
After lunch, Chester drove home with one of the police officers, an older man, who noted during the ride, “Danny did not deny anything. John must be right.”
I think the police spend so much time investigating organized crime that they expect to find it everywhere, which is a short-sighted approach, certainly in our case. For example, after my retirement I was involved in a labour venture fund. We were considering a proposed investment and while doing our due diligence I met with a former OPP officer. As we talked about my encounters with other police officers in my career he nodded and said, “You were always surrounded by sharks but the police did not understand why or how you survived. They wanted to find out who was protecting you.”
The simple truth is that no one was protecting me. Maybe they should have given me more credit?