Cheering throngs greeted Houde’s return from jail

Mayor opposed conscription and was hauled off by police

“After four years of internment for attacking national registration, Camillien Houde, ex-mayor of Montreal and former member of the Quebec Legislature, will likely be met by a large crowd of supporters as he parades through the city streets after he steps from the 6:55 train from Sherbrooke at the Central Station this evening.” — The Gazette, Friday, Aug. 18, 1944

A large crowd, indeed. Camillien Houde was returning to Montreal, and more than 10,000 people were on hand at the CNR station to welcome him.

Thousands more lined the streets to cheer his open car as it slowly made its way to the Houde family home on St-Hubert St. There, another 20,000 waited, anxious to catch a glimpse of their hero and to hear him speak. What was all the excitement about? Houde had been away for four years, not on business, and certainly not for pleasure, but in prison camps at Petawawa, Ont., and Fredericton, N.B.

In the spring of 1940, with the unholy demands of all-out war becoming more urgent, Parliament passed a law obliging young men to register for possible conscription. Even though Mackenzie King’s Liberal government promised Quebecers they would be used — if at all — for home defence only, not everyone was convinced.

Few could have been more suspicious than the 50-year-old Houde, then into his fourth term as Montreal’s mayor. On Aug. 2, 1940, he issued a press release that left no doubt he was counselling Montrealers to spurn registration.

With Houde’s immense popularity among francophones, it was defiance the federal justice minister, Ernest Lapointe, felt he could not ignore. To silence Houde, Lapointe ordered him arrested.

Three days later, as the mayor emerged from city hall, the provincial police and the RCMP were waiting. They showed Houde their badges, exchanged a few words with him, ushered the mayor into one of their cars and drove off.

He would not be seen in public for another four years, when the improving course of the war and Ottawa’s increasing embarrassment over his internment finally led to his release.

As the ecstatic day of Houde’s return to Montreal would show, imprisonment did nothing to diminish his popularity.

It was even good for his health. He was tanned and fit-looking, The Gazette wrote, and still had his characteristic stride and toothflashing smile.

When the train finally puffed to a halt at Central Station, it was almost impossible for Houde to step down to the platform, so thick was the waiting throng. He waved enthusiastically as he struggled through the press of people, everyone cheering madly.

Loudspeakers had been set up outside the station, and here Houde made his first political speech in four years. He said his reception showed that the government ignored Montreal public opinion at its peril. In English, he said he was the victim not of English fair play but of Liberal chicanery.

At the close, he left no doubt about his future: “We will see one another again. We shall discuss together. We will agree together and we shall vote.”

When he finally arrived at his home, it was filled with happy supporters. As at Central Station, loudspeakers had been set up outside where thousands were chanting, “Let us hear Camillien!” He did not disappoint. “It looks as if you were lonesome for me,” he said, playing the crowd like a violin.

As women in the street dabbed their eyes, he said he was “ready to accept my mandate from the people who are crying for me.”

If there had been any doubts about his return to politics, they were blown away by that evening of delirium.

In the mayoral election later that year, Houde won by nearly 15,000 votes and would serve two more terms as mayor before retiring for good in 1954.