said.
William insisted he’d go back on his own if he had to.
“If you do, the rest of us will carry on and you’ll come out sooner or later.”
William finally agreed she was right. This wouldn’t be the last argument he lost to Mary. “Well, you know,” he would often say, “Mary is always right. Sometimes I don’t think so at the time, but it always turns out to be the proper course to take.”
That course took them out of the trees and rocky land of the Canadian Shield and into the level prairie landscape. They went through Winnipeg and Regina, then headed northwest to Saskatoon (which only had a population of five hundred at the time) and finally stepped off the train in the town of Rosthern. After a two-night rest in the Queen’s Hotel, the Diefenbakers loaded their possessions into a wagon and bumped across the old prairie trails, steering around coulees lined with trees and fields of golden wheat. Finally, the Diefenbakers arrived at their destination: Tiefengrund school.
The Diefenbakers were now thousands of kilometres from their relatives in Eastern Canada. They didn’t know a soul, but that changed quickly because their living quarters were attached to the schoolhouse, which was also a community meeting place. Gabriel Dumont would drop in or sometimes members of the North West Mounted Police stopped, including the very officers who’d fought against Dumont. In fact, Sergeant Pook, a regular visitor who liked Mary Diefenbaker’s cooking, told tales of how enemy bullets twice tore through his clothing during the rebellion without hitting him. These stories stuck with John his whole life and gave him a pride in the Mounted Police that never faded. People from the reserve would stop by for tea, and their tales of Indian lore and history also had a deep effect on young John.
His father’s health stayed strong. William would often take John hunting and fishing, a recreation that John would enthusiastically pursue for the rest of his life. John also discovered a love for reading that equaled his father’s. There were always books in their home to be read by the light of a coal-oil lamp: Shakespeare, Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire and a broken set of Ridpath’s History of the World.
They celebrated the creation of the province of Saskatchewan on September 1, 1905. John’s father, who organized the celebration in Hague, bought a couple of dozen Union Jacks and put them up all across town. Then the villagers gathered in the schoolhouse to sing “The Maple Leaf Forever” and “God Save the King.”
One day, when he was nine years old, John was reading about Prime Minister Laurier. The book reminded John that he had an important announcement. Something that had been building inside his head for a long time. It was a declaration of who he wanted to be. Or was it his destiny? he wondered. Finally he looked up at his mother and said, “Someday I am going to be prime minister.” His mother, always serious, was silent for a long time. She hadn’t laughed, and he thought this was a good sign. She didn’t think he was making up a story. She told him it would be very difficult since he lived so far out on the Prairies, but she finished by saying, “If you work hard enough, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t.” John never forgot these words.
He was shy, though, and averse to public speaking. He attended meetings at the Farmers’ Institute with his father. These were information sessions about current problems like the difficulties in selling wheat on the market and how individual farmers weren’t able to stand up in court against farm machinery companies with faulty equipment.
During one of these meetings, John, now thirteen years old, became so upset about the way homesteaders were treated he launched himself to his feet and blustered, “This thing is wrong. Some day I’m going to do my part to put an end to this.”
The thirty or so people present applauded loudly. “I was so frightened,” he later wrote, “that I could hardly get out the words.”
He would soon overcome his stage fright.
Diefenbaker was a long way from reaching his goal of becoming prime minister of Canada. His family moved several times, and in 1910 came to Saskatoon so that John and Elmer would get a good education. Saskatoon had experienced a boom – over ten thousand people were now living in this frontier city by the river. John found a job as a newspaper boy and was soon selling the Saskatoon Phoenix, the Winnipeg Tribune, and the Calgary Eye-Opener. During this work, he had an encounter that would stay with him the rest of his life.
John was in a hurry. The rising sun painted the train station red. He rushed down to the unloading platform and gathered up his papers. He had to hand sell them, then get to school. He never had time to chit-chat with the other paper-boys or anyone else. He’d never get ahead that way.
Then a door to a private railway car opened. John paused to stare. Someone rich had to be inside, maybe a bigwig with the railway. A man dressed in a suit stepped out, breathed deeply of the prairie air. His thick hair was white as rabbit’s fur. He certainly looked important and dignified.
Then the man turned. John recognized his face. It was the prime minister of Canada, Sir Wilfrid Laurier. He was in town to lay the first cornerstone for the University of Saskatchewan. I bet I can sell a paper to him, John thought. He strode up to the prime minister.
Laurier smiled. He handed John twenty-five cents for a five-cent paper. John felt flushed with success. I’ll ask him a question about Canada, John decided. Laurier replied kindly and the two chatted casually for a few minutes about Johns interest in politics, and the tasks of being prime minister. But the paper-boy clock in the back of John’s mind was still ticking. He had to sell his papers. “Sorry, Prime Minister,” he announced, “I can’t waste any more time on you, I’ve got work to do.” And he hurried on to sell the rest of his newspapers.
This brief meeting became a turning point in John’s life: “Sir Wilfrid inspired me with the idea that each of us, no matter who he is or what his upbringing, or however humble his parentage and home, can rise to any position in this country, provided we dedicate ourselves.”
And so John set to dedicating himself. How do you become a politician? How do you become leader of the land? He read biographies and soon recognized there were two things he had to master to achieve his goal of getting into politics: public speaking and the law.
He was especially drawn to the law because he had read the biography of Abraham Lincoln, who had started as a small town lawyer and had risen to become the president of the United States. It seemed the obvious path to take.
John graduated from Saskatoon Collegiate in June of 1912. By September he was in his first year at the University of Saskatchewan, studying history, political science, and economics. He got a taste of politics by taking part in the university’s mock parliament and the first provincial Boys Parliament in Regina. In his second year he became the leader of the Conservative party in mock parliament and leader of the Opposition in the Boy’s Parliament.
By his third year the graduation issue of The Sheaf predicted that in forty years, in 1955, Diefenbaker would be the leader of the Opposition in the Canadian House of Commons. They were only off by one year.
But
