There’s a certain kind of litmus test for politicians from Newfoundland and Labrador: would Mark Critch want to play you in a sketch on 22 Minutes?
That notion came to mind after a conversation I had with a younger colleague last week about a story with long roots, and we wound up talking about a particular cabinet minister from an earlier age. His name didn’t ring a bell with her, so I mentioned a few yarns from decades back, including a mini-scandal or two.
“He was quite the character,” I said. Her response boiled down to this: do we have fewer characters now in politics, or what?
I thought about it, and came to this conclusion: yes, we do.
Maybe it’s for the better, maybe it’s not, but it seems like we no longer have the kind of political types to which we have long been accustomed. In a saucy take on a roguish persona that was more familiar years ago, the late, great Ray Guy once described Newfoundland politicians as the sorts of people whose mothers count the silver after they’ve come over for tea.
While Ray was talking about rascals drawn to politics, his comment is also about our political culture: we love talking about politics, and — admit it — everyone loves it when they act up.
Take no prisoners
Over the years, we’ve definitely had a political stage filled with colourful players: larger-than-life personalities, bombastic speakers, quick wits, quirky souls. Think about Brian Peckford, whose career started with earnest patriotism and fishermen’s sweaters, ending with sour cucumbers and fur coats (with police protection on the campaign trail in between).
Think about John Crosbie and his townie drawl, flaying his political opponents over a decades-long career, and well into his retirement. Think about John Efford, whose unabashed partisanship was matched by his good humour. Think about Brian Tobin, whose preferred campaigning style was take no prisoners and whose rhetorical pitch could go to 11.
And there was Joseph R. Smallwood.
Ah, Joey … or, to be more precise, “Joey.” Smallwood didn’t go by the name himself — his associates called him just Joe — but crafted the “Joey” persona as a political weapon that helped keep him in power for almost 23 years. Smallwood may have formed and broke the mould for political personality for a generation. How many future politicians grew up to be influenced by that rhetoric?
Smallwood was frequently criticized for hogging the political stage for himself, accused of hiring cabinet ministers whose skill he most admired was nodding. He grew into the stature, that’s for sure.
Rex Murphy described being a young broadcaster at VOCM whose duties included collecting tape for a segment called Conversations with the Premier. In a speech, Murphy recollected that once, he just stuck his microphone into Smallwood’s car when he pulled into the lot, and then took it back when Smallwood was done. He didn’t get to hear the “conversation” until he got back inside. (Crosbie, who quit Smallwood’s cabinet with future premier Clyde Wells, at least once called the segment “Monologues with the Master.“)
After Smallwood came Frank Moores, who in the ’70s leaned into a devilish style while proving to Newfoundland and Labrador you could have a different party in government. I recall Donna Butt, whose Rising Tide Theatre has been mocking politicians for decades in the annual Revue shows, describing Moores as a “good time Charlie.”
Making a racket
More recently, there was Danny Williams, who was not above over-the-top quotes (“they should be shot,” he once said of Eastern Health‘s leadership), stomping out of meetings, pulling down flags and banning reporters during live interviews. Like Tobin, Williams enjoyed popular support by making a racket. It’s a card that’s been played many times over the years.
WATCH | Mark Critch talks with (and scares) Danny Williams about his heart surgery in this 2010 clip:
Mark Critch visits Premier Danny Williams after heart surgery. 2:09
It’s all a bit of a boys’ club, huh?
I remember speaking a few times years ago with Ann Bell, the first president of the Provincial Advisory Council on the Status of Women. By all rights, Bell and quite a few other women ought to have been inside the House of Assembly, not outside advocating for ways to get women in the scene. Bell, who organized for the PCs back in the day when Tories could more easily be progressive on social issues, lamented how party brass would agree to a woman candidate — in districts where they were having trouble recruiting.
At St. John’s city hall, we had Dorothy Wyatt, whose “I don’t care what you think” attitude involved far more than her personal style (cartoonists loved her headbands and glasses as much as they loved Crosbie’s look). Wyatt called them as she saw them, a style that shook up council.
In the ’80s, we had the infamous “debates” — they were often more like comic shouting matches — between John Murphy and Andy Wells. For a while there, they had a recurring role on CBC Radio’s As It Happens, which dined out on their caustic, often hilarious exchanges. In their midst was Shannie Duff, who became mayor in the ’90s; while she felt under siege from Andy Wells, she was known for speaking her mind, as frankly as anyone else.
Where are we now?
And now … things have been a lot more quiet. On the provincial scene, after Williams, we had a string of PC premiers (Kathy Dunderdale, Tom Marshall, Paul Davis) whose style emphasized caution, even amid controversy.
Then came Dwight Ball, whose political style was (to tweak a phrase that’s been very popular in the pandemic) an over-abundance of caution. Though an image of Ball with his teeth bared gained traction as a meme, Ball took care to steer to the neutral. Ball wanted things to be calm, so much so that things backfired and he wound up with tumult both internal and external.
Now we have Andrew Furey, whose early premiership is being tested by an ongoing pandemic and a series of economic crises. We’ll see in time what his personal style is like.
It seems like local politics has been strongly influenced by a contemporary playbook used far and wide: say little, be cautious. Politicians often now eschew interviews and off-the-cuff constituent meetings for written (and often very brief) statements and bland, manicured speeches that emphasize positive but vague phrases. In the end, those comments don’t reveal much — which is exactly the point.
Which is a shame. Many of the politicians I mentioned above had their lovers and haters, but — like many, many others over the years — they were genuine. They told you what they thought. (Sometimes they yelled it.) They were, truly, characters.
Joey and Danny, Dottie and Shannie, the Brians … we’ve had so many characters over the years. I hope we’ll see a great many more for years to come.
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