National Post (National Edition)
I TOOK DIEFENBAKER TO HIS LAST LUNCH, 40 YEARS AGO.
FORTY YEARS AGO, I TOOK JOHN DIEFENBAKER TO HIS FINAL LUNCH
Aug. 16 marks the 40th anniversary of the death of former prime minister John Diefenbaker. While historians may argue about the merits of his tenure in the highest political office in the land, his resonance with average Canadians cannot be undersold. Even four decades after his departure, “Diefenbaker Conservatives” dot the country.
I was fortunate enough to share the last lunch the Chief ever had, and went away with memories that have lasted. It was Wednesday, Aug. 15, and Dief had come to the National Press Club in Ottawa to inaugurate our new pool table. As honorary chairman of the Canadian Snooker Association, he was the natural candidate to take the first shot on the table. He broke the balls convincingly, with the cue ball sidling up to a numbered ball. There wasn’t a direct shot on a red ball available.
The 83-year-old turned to NPC house committee chairman Jerry Yanover and whispered, “I’m actually a pretty good player. But don’t tell anyone. It’s the sign of a misspent youth.”
The former PC leader had a good relationship with Yanover, despite the younger man’s political differences — Jerry worked for the Liberal house leader. Yanover and Keith Martin, Dief ’s executive assistant, were close friends personally and in service to the Press Club.
Jerry wasn’t even supposed to be the NPC representative but the club president was unavoidably absent that afternoon. Yanover had a prior commitment following the pool table ceremony. He turned to me and said, “You’re the club secretary, you’re the ranking member. Take the Chief and his people to lunch.”
To say I had not expected such an honour would be an understatement. Diefenbaker was clad in a dark blue suit and red tie; I was wearing a sports shirt and a ratty pair of pants. I hadn’t
bothered to shave that morning. But duty called and even in my less than presentable condition I took the former prime minister and his entourage for a meal. We proceeded down to the club’s restaurant. Dief was a frequent visitor to the NPC and had dined there often. His previous time he seemed in ill health and had to be helped up the stairs as he left. No such problems on this day. He was energetic and in boisterous spirits.
We settled down to our table and ordered the special, pork tenderloin. A bottle of red wine was placed on the table. Although reputed to be a teetotaller, Diefenbaker was in fact a moderate, even light, imbiber. He had two glasses of the red.
He regaled us with stories of his past, both personal and political. He laughingly recounted how his brother Elmer once tried to fly off the roof of a barn using an umbrella as a prop. Not surprisingly, Elmer saw less flight time than the Avro Arrow.
The former prime minister complimented our waitress on her fine service. “Bless your little heart,” she replied.
When she was out of earshot, he remarked, “She doesn’t realize it but she was right. My heart is little.” He then proceeded to tell us how, as a member of the 196th Western University battalion, he had been injured in 1917 during the First World War. The young lieutenant needed surgery and ever since his heart had been smaller than a normal one.
Of course, as a political animal, Diefenbaker could not resist commenting on friends and foes on both sides of the political aisle. He was not one to forget grudges and tore into various perpetrators of real and imagined wrongs. The Progressive Conservatives had just won a minority government under Joe Clark but it was apparent that the Chief was far from overwhelmed by his fellow Prairie MP.
A would-be prime minister (and father to a future one) also came in for a shellacking. At one point mention was made of something Paul Martin Sr. had done while serving as Pierre Trudeau’s government leader in the Senate.
“He’s High Commissioner to Britain,” Dief exclaimed. “Martin was never in the Senate.” It was pointed out that the longtime Liberal warhorse had been in the upper chamber from 1968 to 1974. “Well, that shows you how much interest I take in that institution,” he slyly replied.
Leaving part of his meal unfinished, Diefenbaker and his crew departed, with the Chief greeting well-wishers along the way. Little did any of us realize it would be his final public appearance. The next day, Diefenbaker collapsed at home and died, struck down by a heart attack.
Having dealt with John Diefenbaker several times over my career, I possess a wealth of stories and anecdotes about the late prime minister. But none will be as vivid as that Wednesday lunch in August 1979.
National Post
Paul Park is a former member of the Parliamentary
Press Gallery.
HE WAS NOT ONE TO FORGET GRUDGES AND TORE INTO VARIOUS PERPETRATORS.