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Gatineau Hills, Quebec

Thanksgiving Day, 1900

“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness! Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun…” Bert Harper surveyed the autumn scene and quoted a few lines from Keats’s poem “To Autumn.” Just outside Ottawa, King Mountain was glorious in its autumn colours – fiery reds and oranges leaped into the blue sky. Below, the waters of King Lake winked merrily in the sunshine.

“Any regrets, old man?” Harper asked.

“Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find,” King continued the poem. “Regrets? On a day like this, seated in the bountiful lap of nature? But for the fact you are eating all the chicken! The cycling up here has made you as greedy as a lion.”

William Lyon Mackenzie King, M.P. (North Waterloo, Ontario) and Minister of Labour, December 1910. A Windsor suit still hangs smartly at Laurier House, Ottawa, Ontario.

Harper laughed, but this didn’t stop him from helping himself to another piece of chicken from the plate on the checkered picnic cloth. He lazily continued the conversation between mouthfuls. “You know what I mean, Rex. Europe, Harvard, all that! Any regrets about changing your mind and giving it up for a desk job in Ottawa?”

“A desk job in Ottawa?” King exclaimed. “I am King of the desks!” He leapt up on a boulder and took a mock strongman stance. “I am editor of the Labor Gazette – produced, I may add, with the worthy Mr. Henry Albert Harper, my friend, colleague, and roommate. I am deputy minister of labour, the youngest deputy minister in the history of Canada. I have seen the groundwork I laid built into the Fair Wages Resolution Act, striking down the use of sweat shop labour for government contracts. I am now truly carrying on the work of my grandfather, able to influence those who might do something for the working classes!”

“Hear, hear!” Harper encouraged, his brown eyes bright with glee.

“Why,” King said pridefully, “if my spirit and my resolve stay strong, I may even enter public life. I am but twenty-six. One day,” he paused, looking at the grand vista before him, “should it be the will of the God of Bethel, I may be premier of this country.”

Harper mumbled his approval through a mouthful of grapes.

King grabbed up a bunch of grapes and began strutting with his chest puffed out like a peacock, “We are young gods, you and I. By day I earn an income larger than many at Harvard, enough to provide for my needs and amply assist my family. By night, I am wined and dined in the best homes in the company of some of the fairest young maidens in our nation’s capital. Regrets? None have I!”

Harper chuckled at his friend’s performance. Rex unpuffed himself and questioned, “How about you, Harper? Any regrets?”

“None. The work I am helping you do is important – much different from covering Ottawa stories for the Montreal Gazette. Still, there are one or two jeunes filles in the office I miss!” he lamented.

“Good heavens man, how many girls can you handle? Last night you were out with Miss Campbell, tomorrow we’re lunching with the Sherwood sisters, and I know you’ve been corresponding with my sister Jennie!”

Harper smiled, and rolled over to survey the wonders of the sky – so blue, so crisp, so perfect, with only one or two slightly grey clouds chuffing into view – nothing to ruin their day.

“We’re fortunate Reverend Herridge recommended this place,” he sighed happily.

“Yes. You know, Bert,” King mused, “I wouldn’t mind having a little place out here. Wouldn’t it be lovely, summering with the Herridges and having Mother and Father come for holidays?”

“Is it a holiday with your mother or father you’re dreaming of, or one nearer the lovely Mrs. Herridge?”

King pelted a grape at him.

King and Harper worked in the new Department of Labour under the auspices of the postmaster general. The federal government was just beginning to transform itself into a buzzing beehive of expanded services, and the young civil servants were part of a growing swarm of workers. As editor of the Labor Gazette King was so busy that his brother Max joked that he only got up from his desk to visit the backhouse.

Postmaster General Mulock had hired the young man for more than his editorial skills. As Canada adjusted itself to the thought of trade unions, the government needed someone knowledgeable in the field of labour to address a growing number of strikes. As the affable deputy minister returned from more and more missions of strike investigation, the postmaster general came to appreciate the young man’s gift of conciliation. Letters praising his tact came into the office from city officials, union representatives, and factory owners. King began serving on Royal Commissions looking into labour disputes from Quebec to British Columbia.

Union Station, Toronto

December, 1901

“Cold!” King couldn’t help remarking to the conductor when the train door opened and an icy blast of air hit him. “It’s still tropical in B.C. even though it’s December,” he rued. He stepped off the train with a confident air, despite the fact that his business at Rossland had been unsuccessful. He’d stop in Toronto to visit his family for a few days. Then he would go back to Ottawa to give a full report about how the stubborn employers and aggressive union leaders had blocked progress in resolving the miners’ strike. Usually King was more successful.

He passed a newspaper boy shouting the latest headline: “Ottawa in shock! Two skaters die while many look on!” King handed the lad a coin and took one of the papers.

He scanned the story.

Two drown in Ottawa River, as hero selflessly attempts to save girl. Bessie Blair of Ottawa was a member of a skating party that had ventured too near thin ice. The ice cracked beneath her, and the freezing waters swirled around her. While other skaters looked on, one young man, thoughtless of the risk to himself, rushed to her aid. Jumping in after her he cried, “What else can I do?” Those were the last words of Henry Albert Harper of Ottawa.

Henry Albert Harper of Ottawa, King read again. The fist of terror beat his brain, and another pummelled him in the stomach. “Bert!” he gasped aloud.

Despite the support of his family, it seemed impossible to get over the death of Bert. When he returned to Ottawa, the minister’s friendly wife, Mrs. Herridge, was one of the first to provide solace. Many people of Ottawa shared King’s shock at the tragedy. The city erected a bronze statue of Sir Galahad near the Parliament Buildings in memory of Harper. King wrote a book about his friend and called it The Secret of Heroism. But nothing seemed to take away the pain, and nothing filled the void of the horrible loss. King thought he might never enjoy such a deep friendship again.

Bert had given everything to try and save the life of one person. King would dedicate his life to trying to improve the lives of many, to achieve the noble goal set by his grandfather and pursued by his dear friend, both now gone. He threw himself in to his duties.

He carried on the work that he and Harper had begun with the Labor Gazette in addition to his duties of deputy minister. Again and again he criss-crossed the county, seeking settlement to strikes through investigation. Accumulating information enabled King to get both sides talking. Then he emphasized the points the different parties had in common. “Investigation is letting in the light,” King felt. Prime Minister Laurier noted the work of this rising civil servant and had occasion to test Kings skills.

A strike in the Alberta coal mines begun in March 1906 still continued in the winter of 1907. People were burning twisted straw or anything they could get their hands on to keep from freezing. “Do you think you can do something?” Prime Minister Laurier asked the young civil servant. “Yes I can,” King answered firmly. After an inquiry, he discovered that the issues of union recognition, wage increases, and reduced hours had been overlooked. King managed to smooth things out.

Of more importance to the country was the fact these experiences provided insights that helped him to draft the Industrial Disputes Investigation Act. King cobbled bits of information together about acts in other countries and brought in some of the things he had used to draft the Railway Labour Disputes Act. The Industrial Disputes Act of 1907 called for postponement of a strike or lockout in mines or public utilities until an investigation at public expense could be arranged. King was sure the period of delay provided by the investigation would also help irate tempers cool off. Canada was one of the first countries to enact this sort of legislation.

Prime Minister Laurier was aware that the act had been created largely by a civil servant – one who was attracting more and more attention. King had done well on the national scene, but how was he at playing ball on an international court?

As deputy minister of labour, King had been involved with immigration issues. Many Canadian labourers were concerned about the increasing number of immigrants from India, Japan, and China who would work for next to nothing and even as strikebreakers. On the West Coast, the situation turned ugly in 1907 when rioters expressed their outrage in violence. As part of a Royal Committee, King explored the problems that had led up to the riot and the resulting property losses to the Japanese and Chinese communities of Vancouver. At the invitation of President Theodore Roosevelt, he also went to the United States to hear American concerns.

Laurier sent King to Britain to meet with officials from the India and Colonial Offices. Amazingly, King was able to find a diplomatic solution to the problem. He pointed out that legislation that already existed in the Indian Emigration Act forbade Indians to emigrate under contract to work in Canada. Laurier was pleased with Kings performance.

The Governor General, Earl Grey, saw that King was awarded the Companion of the Order of St. Michael and St. George, a very high honour for a civil servant. Now Willie felt he was ready to leave the civil service and set his sights a little higher.

Berlin, Ontario

September 24, 1908

King roared into town like a general to the front. There was an election to fight, and he had let Laurier know he was determined to win. He drove his assistants to mount the attack. He drilled businessmen on the issues, organized them into squadrons, and sent them door to door. He personally greeted platoons of people, impressed many by greeting them by name, and won them over with his charm and good humour. He worked tirelessly, editing copy until 2 a.m., his pencil going slash, slash, slash, until his speeches became the sharp weapons with which he would courteously, but meticulously, cut down his opponents.

Today, other Liberal politicians of note were on the scene to help him with his fight. The bunting fluttered in the breeze as the Right Honourable Sir Wilfrid Laurier took to the stage. A throng of thousands had gathered, and all were enthralled with his Old World gallantry and grace. As Laurier turned to his young protégé, his face lit with a smile. King wore an immaculate dark suit, a starched collar, a tie pin placed in his tie in the fashion that Laurier wore his. The aspiring politician looked into the eyes of the great Liberal leader, noted the spirit and fire, but worried that he also detected a weary and feeble note in Laurier’s demeanour.

Laurier turned to the eagerly listening crowd. “I am of the belief that the Department of Labour needs to be its own department with its own minister. Furthermore, I am delighted with this young man,” he enthused. “He is definitely cabinet material. It is simply up to the people of North Waterloo to elect him!”

When the applause died, King took his place before the podium. Another ovation. He looked at the sea of expectant faces before him and experienced the rush of excitement he felt every time he stepped before a crowd. “My friends of North Waterloo!” he began.

By spring of 1909 the newspapers were writing about the new minister of labour, the “Honourable Mackenzie King, one of the best-groomed men in Cabinet, Solver of Labour Troubles.”

Kingsmere, Quebec

August, 1910

“Father’s complaining about the insects. I think he’s using it as an excuse to lie down for a rest,” Bella giggled, “but I’m ready to go out in the canoe!”

It made Willie happy to have Father, Mother, and Bella at Kingsmere on holiday. Max, now a doctor, practised medicine near by in Ottawa. Jennie had her own family in Wiarton and would undoubtedly come for holidays too.

Willie realized that his father had never built a cottage or even owned property. Finally he was able to make up to him and his dear little mother for some of the sacrifices they had made.

“I’ll just check to see if Mother doesn’t want to come too. I’ll be along in a moment.”

Even though it was a warm day, a small fire was lit in the grate. Isabel sat next to it, a book open on her lap. How beautiful she looks, King thought. The purest soul God ever made. The firelight made her cheeks rosy, and her white curls fluffed like soft feathers around her face. She was in the exact pose of one of the paintings King had commissioned of her.

“Now Mother, is that book Morley’s The Life of Gladstone: The Prime Minister, the one you have in your portrait?” her son teased. “If that’s the one you’re reading I’ll think you’re posing for your painting again.”

“But you will be a regular Gladstone!” Isabel laughed, a frequent and pleasant sound. “Aren’t we in high spirits today, Billy?”

“Why not! My family is with me and it’s a lovely day. Hardly any need for a fire.”

“You know how easily I feel a chill these days. Besides it is such a lovely fireplace with a fire in it.”

“It’s a copy of the one Shakespeare had at Stratford-on-Avon and I’ve dedicated it to Bert,” he said quietly. “Although I’m not so sure dear Bert’s spirit hasn’t become quite mischievous. It smokes a lot at times! Now Mother, are you coming out on the lake?”

“You go ahead, but be careful,” she warned. “Sir Wilfrid doesn’t want to lose his minister of labour. Oh Willie, Father and I were so proud. We were looking down from the galleries as Sir Wilfrid introduced you to the house. “William Lyon Mackenzie King. The name rang out across the room.”

“I was proud of you Mother. The press had so many things to say about you – how distinguished and witty you are, how much you look like Grandfather. I was so happy to see you and Father there. If only Grandfather could have been present to see me carrying on his work, my happiness would have been complete.”

Willie put a poker in the fire and stirred the flame brighter.

“It’s all been so wonderful, Mother, the dream of my life. It’s as if an unseen hand guides me in the direction of my life’s work. One step after the other I have been led up to this height. College, settlement life, post-graduate study, the Bill, the recognition from the Crown, my doctorate from Harvard for my work on Oriental Immigration, all come as if Fate or Destiny was guiding me in the direction of a living. Now, with the election, the voice of the people is calling me to come as their champion in the fight for a greater liberty.” King thrust the poker back into the stand and turned to look directly at her, his cheeks flushed. “Surely my success can erase the blot of the rebellion, if ever a blot it was!”

“I cannot but feel that you are going on with a work that your grandfather strove hard to throw the best part of his life into, and now you will too. But Willie,” she continued in a confidential tone, “you are thirty-five years of age. Don’t you think that it might be time to settle down?”

“Are you plotting with Sir Wilfrid and Lady Zoë?” Willie asked her, chuckling. “They’ve been asking me to dine with them and a number of young ladies, all of them wealthy. I think of them as skirmishing expeditions. Laurier thinks that such a wife is what I’ll need to secure a foothold with my public career.”

“Sir Wilfrid is a wise man!” Isabel enthused.

“Mother,” he said, taking up one of her hands, “what Sir Wilfrid does not know is that until I find a young lady who is even half as good as you, I will not be content. I will not let wealth, position, or aught else tempt me.”

“Willleeeee!” a screech was heard from towards the docks.

“That lovely voice would be Bella. Come for a paddle, Mother,” Willie urged, “for I won’t hear anything different.”

“Tell me more of what happened,” King gently urged the woman.

“The phosphorous from the matches in the factory where she worked. The doctor says phosphorous poisoning made my daughter die. It was horrible to watch her swell up and suffer, all because she wanted to help feed us.” The woman bowed her head.

“When did she begin work in the factory?”

“She started at age fourteen and she was there for seven years. When she died she was only just turned twenty,” the grieving mother whispered.

“Mrs. LeBlanc, what wages did Thérèse earn?”

“They paid her $1.25 per day.”

“Tell me about her illness.” King felt himself shuddering inwardly. He hoped it wasn’t as bad as some of the stories he’d been told about disintegrating jawbones from the long-term contact with phosphorous. One woman had choked to death from the puss of her abscesses. Another he had talked to had no lower jaw and told King that she’d pulled out her own jawbone – that’s how bad the infection had been.

“Well, first she had a toothache and then her jaws began to ache and finally her whole face was swelled up like!” The woman showed with her hands how big the swelling had been. “She went to the hospitals for two operations, but it did no good. In the end she was blind. And then, she d… d… d… ” the woman faltered and could no longer speak.

King wrote everything down. He knew that white phosphorous caused painful and horrible death through phosphorus necrosis. Permitting such industrial conditions was intolerable. His report and subsequent bill would make a difference.

Office of the Minister

Department of Labour, Ottawa

September 22, 1911

King picked up the human jawbone of one of the victims and prepared to pack it into box along with the other items that had been on his desk.

“Hideous,” he muttered.

The Act to Prohibit the Manufacture, Importation and Sale of Matches Made With White Phosphorous would not be passed in 1911. On September 21, 1911, the Laurier government had lost the election and so had King. These and other bills would have to remain dreams – for the time being.

“But they will happen,” he promised.

King (with cane) and John D. Rockefeller, Jr., 1915.