own homes. Yes, this is how the politician must appeal to the population and invite them to vote for him.
Talk, discuss, joke – who better than flamboyant lawyer Maurice Duplessis can do all this and seduce his listeners?
It is only a question of time. Soon, most Quebecers will turn on their radios and listen to the future MLA from Saint-Maurice convincing them to place their trust in him.
“Miss Cloutier, I’m off to New York for a few days. If you come across an article about Camillien Houde, put it in my files. And find out if there is any connection between the Taschereau family and the Banque canadienne nationale of Donnacona. And don’t forget to send a birthday card to Mrs. Crépeau. She is a good friend of the Conservatives.”
Growing up, Maurice Duplessis used to play in the parks of Trois-Rivières. He has turned into an ardent baseball fan. He can reel the statistics off by heart, and he knows the strengths and weaknesses of each player. When he attends the games, he can predict their strategy of attack and defence.
“Baseball is like the all-American dream,” he says to his friends. “The players are workers on a huge field. It is the only sport where statistics are averaged and the referees are so important.” The Yankees are Duplessis’s favourite team. When he can get tickets, he goes to New York to watch his hero play, the hero of a whole generation: George Herman “Babe” Ruth. The great Babe, with his Louisville Slugger, who hit sixty home runs in one year. Maurice sits in the bleachers of Yankee Stadium, “the House that Ruth built.” He follows the match closely, nothing escapes him. Go, Babe! Go! He’s a real man. A winner. He looks like a fat-cheeked baby, and yet what speed! Often, he steals bases. He’s funny. He’s a charmer. Maurice loves him for all these reasons. If the demon of politics had not possessed him, if he had not chosen law, if he had been born American, he would have liked to become a baseball player. Not just any player. No, a great one, a famous one, like the Babe.
This evening, the Yankees are giving the Red Sox a hard time. Maurice is with a friend, a member of the Conservative Party who wants to know how he intends to get elected on May 16, 1927.
“I’ve asked Robert René to organize my campaign,” says Maurice.
“René, the owner of the shoe store?”
“Yes. In addition to having money, the man has a lot of judgment. He gives good advice. In 1923, I made a few mistakes. The bourgeois in Trois-Rivières found me vulgar. I got the message. This time, I’m sure of beating Ludger-Philippe Mercier, Taschereau’s lackey. Even the Rouges don’t want him.”
“Your father would be so proud to see you now, Maurice. You are so much like him.”
“If I have any regrets, it is that Father died last year. He had suffered from diabetes for a long time. When he entered the Hôtel-Dieu Hospital, they amputated his leg. He was in a lot of pain… Mother also died of diabetes, almost six years ago.”
Maurice takes out a flask of whisky. A quick snort. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve.
“You drink too much, Maurice. In Trois-Rivières, your benders go unnoticed. But if you want to make a name for yourself in politics…”
“Stop lecturing me. That is my only weakness. Wow! Did you see that? The Babe just had a hit. I think it’s going to be a home run.”
The whole stadium is on its feet. Lights are flashing on the board. Maurice is also standing. As usual, he will party late into the night and will drink heavily. Tomorrow he’ll take the train back to Montreal, and then drive his car to Trois-Rivières. He has a lot to do. The election is in less than a month. Next week, he will campaign door to door. He has already prepared a long speech, which he will give on Monday.
His agenda is full. If he has allowed himself an evening out on the town, it is because he has nothing to worry about. Miss Cloutier looks after his appointments and his agenda.
Louis-Alexandre Taschereau is sixty years old at the time of the 1927 election. It is the second time that he asks Quebecers to vote for the Liberal Party. He stands an excellent chance of winning. As leader of the Opposition, Arthur Sauvé does not even come close. But this time the leader of the Conservatives has an advantage. Sauvé has people capable of changing the political order. Among them are the lawyer from Trois-Rivières, Maurice Duplessis, whose star is rising, and Camillien Houde, a colourful loudmouth who likes to boast that he represents the workers of Montreal.
On May 16, the Rouges win a landslide victory. The Liberals now occupy seventy-four seats at the Legislative Assembly. The Bleus take only ten. That same evening, after hearing confirmation of his defeat, Houde announces that he will contest the election results. The Conservatives are uneasy: who has won? Who are our Members? The city of Trois-Rivières is celebrating. Maurice, the son of Nérée, has won by a hair. His victory rests on a majority of only 126 votes. Maurice Duplessis is carried in triumph along Saint-Pierre Street. It is raining. Despite the downpour, the street is teeming with people gathered to see their new MLA. There are shouts of: “Put Maurice on the hood of Lugder Madore’s car! Speech! Speech!” His supporters are chanting from under their umbrellas: “He’s won his spurs, maluron, malurette!1 Vive Maurice!” The people celebrate and dance until late into the night.
This victory almost compensates for the Conservatives’ defeat across the province. However, questions are soon being raised about the party’s future: is Maurice Duplessis the Bleus’s last hope? Maybe it’s time for poor Arthur Sauvé to step aside for this emerging star?
Maurice hears the siren call that promises him the earth, but he is not in a hurry. First, he wants to familiarize himself with the legislature, to understand how it functions and not make mistakes. He is giving himself time. In 1928, at the opening of the session, a discreet and moderate Duplessis takes the floor to explain his party’s program. The government needs to grant subsidies to the municipalities. Farmland must be protected. The Lord’s Day Act must be respected.
Premier Taschereau listens to him. This young man – he will be thirty-eight next April – is impressive. He is a remarkable orator, his arguments are convincing and incisive. He wears his hair like Rudolf Valentino, is always well dressed, wears fitted jackets. He looks like an Englishman conducting serious business. Little by little, this promising young bachelor is acquiring confidence.
“I would have liked to have him on our side,” muses Taschereau. During a reception at Spencer Wood, the lieutenant-governor’s residence, the premier even goes so far as to introduce Duplessis to his niece. But Maurice has no intention of changing his bachelor status. Love, engagement, marriage – nothing must distract him from politics. He discovers that there is not much difference between a court of law and the Legislative Assembly. As a lawyer, he pleaded a case; as an MLA, he defends ideas. The same strategies, the same vocal effects, the same pleasure trying to charm his rivals. He is in his element. Like a fish in water, he swims in happiness.
“Miss Cloutier, send a telegram congratulating Camillien Houde. He has just been elected mayor of Montreal. Add a few personal words and my best wishes.”
Maurice Duplessis sees the “little guy from Sainte-Marie” as a kind of clown who makes a lot of noise. He finds him disorganized, crafty, someone who likes to play to the gallery. “A man who does
