realized. Normally, her panting black body would be lying beside him, her pink tongue lolling out of her mouth, her tail thumping happily every time her young master spoke or patted her shaggy head. “I miss Fan,” he half-whispered aloud.
Again the crow cawed. A grey squirrel scampered up a nearby maple. Willie looked once more into the pattern of the branches and the sky. Mesmerized, his mind slipped into wondering and dreaming.
What purpose does the Creator have for me? I am sure it is to do good, to be as good a man as my father, to be as great a man as my grandfather. I feel I am meant to help others less fortunate than me, but I do not yet know how. Father, in his talks, has begun to prepare me for university. Mother too, is encouraging me. What, what shall I be?
“Do you know?” he asked out loud to the saucy squirrel, which had curiously come near him. The squirrel churred, flicked its tail in alarm, and scurried back to its tree. Willie laughed.
“I didn’t think you knew any better than I,” he said and returned to his silent reverie. Would he be a lawyer like Papa? His father had recently been appointed a Queen s Counsel. Law seemed a noble profession. Or a minister? That way he would help people and please God. Or would he enter a life of public service? He often thought he would be a politician like Grandfather and maybe, maybe even one day return to Woodside, beloved Woodside, and purchase it. The reward after a life of helping others. Perhaps, perhaps… and his dreams became fuzzy, golden and warm.
On his way. Willie graduates with a master’s degree from the University of Toronto (1897) and one from Harvard (1898).
2
Deeds Worthy of Showing
University of Toronto
Toronto, Ontario
October, 1891
“Let’s go on an expedition, lads!” King proposed. “Let’s hike out over to the cemetery and visit the grave of Toronto’s first mayor and hero of the people.”
“Your grandfather, you mean?” asked his longtime friend from Berlin, Louis Breithaupt.
“Of course!” King smiled.
“It’s a grand day,” his college pal Bert Harper pointed out. “Let’s go!” Harper and Breithaupt were as eager as King to explore their new surroundings.
Looking smart in their new suits and hats, the three young men set out. The city near the University of Toronto boomed with the sounds of industrial growth. As they made their way through streets filled with bustling carts and trolley cars, the students couldn’t help notice that not all of Toronto’s 181,000 souls were in step with the march toward progress. Many recently arrived immigrants were homeless. The boys passed alleys where entire families camped out despite the chill of the autumn nights. When King saw the faces of dirty and hungry children he wondered how things got that way and what he could do to make them better.
When the young men entered the cemetery, the angry din of the city was replaced with a golden-green peace. The autumn sun smiled, the leaves danced down from the trees and fell onto the quiet memorials of the generations who, King believed, had gone on to greater glory.
Although he couldn’t remember quite where the grave was, as if led by instinct, Willie led the little band in search of Mackenzie’s burial site. “Here it is!” he called out before long.
When the boys gathered around Mackenzie’s grave, King almost couldn’t speak. It was such a powerful moment, reverently observing the hallowed spot and seeing friends’ faces, quietly impressed.
King held his hat in his hands and briefly closed his eyes. He thought of all his grandfather had worked to accomplish in his life. But the poor suffered as much as they had in the days when the elder William Lyon was alive. His grandson should change things. Surely he would accomplish some great work before he died!
Silently, King renewed his vow to become as great a man as he could and to help others. At university he would prepare himself for his life’s work, whatever God showed him it would be.
A few days later he wrote about his experiences in a letter home. Often, Willie missed his family. He decorated his stark room at the boarding house with their pictures. The largest one centred over the mantelpiece was a photograph of his father looking noble in his legal robes. Willie was proud that his father, a former student of the university and now serving on its senate, was highly regarded by young and old alike. In fact, Willie introduced himself to some of his classmates as the son of “Senator Rex” of Berlin. The nickname stuck, and Willie became known as Rex to his closest friends.
Like any eighteen-year-old living in a big city and away from his parents for the first time, Rex had a lot of fun sampling the social aspects of university life. He was always in a laughing group of students, at dances, the theatre, sports matches, and Glee Club events. Willie enjoyed the company of his friends and especially his female acquaintances. In King’s circle it seemed there was always a beautiful young lady whom he admired. For a while, the lovely Mab Moss received his attentions, but he never let himself become distracted for too long.
To enter into his life’s mission King wanted to have his body, mind, and soul at their best. To keep his body in shape he worked out at the gym and continued to play sports such as cricket and football. To strengthen his soul he prayed every day, attended church, and devoted his spare time to good works, such as visiting sick children in the hospital. To sharpen his mind he joined the debating club, spoke at political clubs, and studied, studied, studied.
King had entered a relatively new area of study at the University of Toronto – political science. He worked hard to get good marks – even put notes on his bedpost so he could revise while dressing! In 1893 he was quite pleased when his hard work paid off when he was awarded the Blake Scholarship. He was also proud when he was voted president of his class. His family wrote to congratulate him. Bella teased: “You seem such a young boy to make President but I hope in every way the position you have attained will bring much pleasure to all about you & that you will act in a way becoming the grandson of the late William Lyon Mackenzie. Is not that a speech?”
Being smart and having friends wasn’t enough for King. He was always pushing himself to do more. In 1893 he began to write about his struggle for betterment in his private diary, a journal that he would keep until a few days before he died. In his diary he would chart his dreams, detail his daily activities, bemoan his shortcomings, and crow his victories. On September 6, 1893 he earnestly penned the first entry:
This diary is to contain a very brief sketch of the events, actions, feelings and thoughts of my daily life. It must above all be a true and faithful account. The chief object of my keeping this diary is that I may be ashamed to let even one day have nothing worthy of its showing, and it is hoped that through its pages the reader may be able to trace how the author sought to improve his time.
In his ascension to goodness and greatness, Willie drew inspiration from those around him. He brushed elbows with the noted intellectual Goldwin Smith. When the Kings left Woodside they moved to Toronto, and rented a house from the Smiths. John King, now a lecturer at Osgoode Hall, was a friend of the famous man.
