they refuse to consider my brother-in-law as my ideal successor,” Uncle William continued, “so before sitting in our pew, I feigned a headache and left the church. I practically ran up the street to retrieve Handle from your church. Fortunately, he had not yet entered.
“Damn that John Cooney,” Uncle William cursed, his profanity confirming to me that he was unaware of my proximity. Then, turning to my other uncle, he went on. “You were right, James, I should not have spoken to that real estate agent until after the announcement was made. He has likely already lined up a buyer, and while he had no notion of why I was intending to sell, the fact that I had not also asked him to secure a new location for us likely led him to a conclusion that was in fact the truth—that we are leaving town. But I felt I could not wait longer to speak with him. I truly fear we will be driven out. We need to be able to move quickly.”
The men continued their exchange. Uncle William made it clear that he hoped that Father would succeed him as the mayor of the town. Uncle James agreed, suggesting that Father’s experience as chair of the high school board and chair of the water commission would allow Father to continue Uncle William’s reform agenda. “What this town needs, we all know, is industry, and industry will only come if we have the electricity, sewers, and roads to support it and an educated workforce. Some of us, of course,” he said, looking somewhat critically at Uncle William, “are more optimistic about obtaining that industry than others.”
Uncle William confessed to feeling less optimistic about the town’s future. He considered the late 1870s and early 1880s to be Brampton’s heyday.
“Brampton has made great headway over the past ten years,” Uncle James argued. “You saw the Dominion’s report released last month. Not many towns in all of Canada have seen such growth. And yes, it took you quite a bit of effort to convince Whitewear to start their business here, but look at the other industries that have done so. The Williams Shoe Company now employs nearly a hundred. Add the Dale Estate and Copeland Chatterson,” he said, referring to two large local employers, “and you have another three hundred.”
They went on, exchanging figures and company names but with numbers so large and names so complicated and with the constant rocking of my little chair, I began to drift off to sleep.
I was awakened some time later by a voice confirming the state I had just left. “That’s my daughter, Jessie,” Father said. “We hadn’t even noticed her there. But she’s asleep, Handle. No need to worry about her presence.” I continued in my head-drooped pose. I did not know who Handle was, but I knew my father and my two uncles. I found all of them gruff and somewhat terrifying at the best of times. I did not relish the thought of being discovered eavesdropping—something I was most assuredly doing. Daring not to look up, I watched the legs and feet of the men as their discussion ensued.
This was not a conversation to be had sitting down, apparently, as the men did not move significantly from the fireplace, although there were seats in the room for thrice their number. I knew that Uncle William was closest to the fireplace, toward its centre. I could easily identify his pinstriped black pants and expensive-looking polished black shoes. Uncle James stood to his left. He was a bigger man, and his black pants, while obviously well made, displayed a greater amount of fabric. Possibly to support his additional weight, his black shoes were somewhat heavier-looking. Father wore his signature white patent leather shoes below his brown well-worn slim-cut slacks and stood to the right of Uncle William. The new man—Roger Handle was his name—stood in front of Uncle William, his back toward me. His legs were like tree stumps, wide and tall, covered in volumes of grey fabric. I could only imagine his height. Mr. Handle wore big black shoes, only the heels of which I could see. His toes pointed toward Uncle William in front of him, and they did not move once the entire time I watched them.
“What did you find, Roger? Who did you speak to?” Uncle William began.
“Well, it’s not pretty, my good fellows,” Handle answered. “Not a pretty sight. They’re mad. And they’re disappointed. But they’re mostly mad. You made a good decision, Billy-boy, in calling on me to act as your intermediary.”
“Billy-boy.” I wondered whether my young cousin had re-entered the room. Stealing a glance upward, I realized that Mr. Handle must have been referring to my Uncle William by the abbreviated name that the rest of us applied to his son.
“Yes, it is a good thing you called me. Otherwise I’m afraid they’d be just mad. But I worked on the sympathy angle for you, Billy-boy. Said you had bills to pay and big expenses coming your way. Said that you lived beyond your means and that you had to take that fancy job in Winnipeg to get out of your problems. I said, though, that you weren’t going to leave the town high and dry—that your brother-in-law had agreed at your particular request to fill the breach, and given your brother-in-law’s civic commitment and experience, that you actually thought the town was better in his hands than in yours.” An awkward silence filled the air.
“I confess, Roger,” Uncle James replied slowly, “I hadn’t thought of you taking a tack like that.”
“Well, of course you didn’t, Jimmy-boy,” Handle replied. I quickly determined he was referring to Uncle James. “That’s why Billy-boy called me. I know how these people think. Know them all like they were my own family. I know as sure as I know the sun will rise tomorrow that if those good men discover that your brother-in-law has so little hope for the future of our fair town that he sought out opportunities for himself and his family elsewhere, they’d run him out of town and possibly the rest of your family too. That would not have aided the cause. Besides, I saw that new Russell outside this house today. You can’t tell me, Billy-boy, it is easy to afford an automobile like that.”
After a time, Uncle William broke the silence. He took a step closer to Mr. Handle. “So what is the upshot of it all, Roger? With whom did you speak? What will they support?”
“Let me tell you first the town fathers I spoke with. Not that it was easy to do this on the Lord’s Day but because they all know me so well and because they trust my political instincts, I was able to pry them from their pews and family dinners long enough to impart what I had to impart and extract what I had to extract.”
“Yes,” Father said somewhat impatiently, “with whom did you speak?”
“Don’t be so impatient, young man,” he replied. I realized that Mr. Handle had not the wherewithal to further abbreviate either Jethro or Doc and add the word “boy” to the appellation. Of course, the term “young man,” which consisted of more syllables than “Doc,” was no abbreviation at all. I concluded that Mr. Handle must be a very old man if Uncle William and Uncle James were boys to him, and Father was a young man. “I know what you want out of this. And it’s likely to be a long road, so you’d better be patient.”
“In summary,” Mr. Handle said, speaking principally to Uncle William, “of the twelve, two will gladly now see the back of you, three are considering discrediting you, and two are sad you are leaving. Two may support Doc as your immediate successor. The others are on the fence. They, gentlemen, hold the balance of power. I will leave you and return in an hour or two’s time with their final resolution.”
Within minutes, I was found and dispatched by my mother to retrieve my siblings and cousins. Though the mission would have required me to walk but two blocks, I got no further than the Turners’ driveway. There, I found my brother Jim sitting behind the wheel of the Turners’ new motor vehicle. Automobiles had begun to appear in Brampton in the early 1900s. The first made its entrance under the power of Lord Minto, the Governor General of Canada and his wife Lady Minto who drove to Brampton to inspect its famous greenhouses. But in 1907 there were still very few cars in Brampton. The Turner family was among the small group of automobile owners. Uncle William had promised to take us all for a ride in his
