of Toronto in 1897 and another from Harvard in 1898. He began studies in political science and work at Harvard on a PhD. He would later complete his PhD dissertation on “Oriental Immigration to Canada,” but when Harvard granted him a travelling scholarship, he eagerly set off to discover Europe. While he took in the breathtaking scenery of Britain, France, Switzerland, and Italy, he got to know important people who might be of help one day.
One day in late June after he had been cycling with a friend in the countryside around Rome, Rex was heading to his hotel room when the desk clerk called out “Signor King, a telegram.” With amazement he read:
June 26, 1900
Will you accept the editorship and management of new Government Labor Gazette, Ottawa? Begin duties early in July. Salary fifteen hundred dollars. May increase. If yes, come. Wm. Mulock
Mulock had not forgotten him, and his proposition was intriguing. The Dominion government was just beginning to form a department for Labour. King could be in on the ground floor.
However, Harvard was also offering him a position as lecturer in political economics. What to do, what to do? A position with the civil service with the government of Canada or one in the halls of Harvard?
I still have work to do, King thought, remembering his unfinished doctorate. He decided to decline Canada’s offer.
3
The Dream of My Life
Gatineau Hills, Quebec
Thanksgiving Day, 1900
“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness! Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun…” Bert Harper surveyed the autumn scene and quoted a few lines from Keats’s poem “To Autumn.” Just outside Ottawa, King Mountain was glorious in its autumn colours – fiery reds and oranges leaped into the blue sky. Below, the waters of King Lake winked merrily in the sunshine.
“Any regrets, old man?” Harper asked.
“Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find,” King continued the poem. “Regrets? On a day like this, seated in the bountiful lap of nature? But for the fact you are eating all the chicken! The cycling up here has made you as greedy as a lion.”
William Lyon Mackenzie King, M.P. (North Waterloo, Ontario) and Minister of Labour, December 1910. A Windsor suit still hangs smartly at Laurier House, Ottawa, Ontario.
Harper laughed, but this didn’t stop him from helping himself to another piece of chicken from the plate on the checkered picnic cloth. He lazily continued the conversation between mouthfuls. “You know what I mean, Rex. Europe, Harvard, all that! Any regrets about changing your mind and giving it up for a desk job in Ottawa?”
“A desk job in Ottawa?” King exclaimed. “I am King of the desks!” He leapt up on a boulder and took a mock strongman stance. “I am editor of the Labor Gazette – produced, I may add, with the worthy Mr. Henry Albert Harper, my friend, colleague, and roommate. I am deputy minister of labour, the youngest deputy minister in the history of Canada. I have seen the groundwork I laid built into the Fair Wages Resolution Act, striking down the use of sweat shop labour for government contracts. I am now truly carrying on the work of my grandfather, able to influence those who might do something for the working classes!”
“Hear, hear!” Harper encouraged, his brown eyes bright with glee.
“Why,” King said pridefully, “if my spirit and my resolve stay strong, I may even enter public life. I am but twenty-six. One day,” he paused, looking at the grand vista before him, “should it be the will of the God of Bethel, I may be premier of this country.”
Harper mumbled his approval through a mouthful of grapes.
King grabbed up a bunch of grapes and began strutting with his chest puffed out like a peacock, “We are young gods, you and I. By day I earn an income larger than many at Harvard, enough to provide for my needs and amply assist my family. By night, I am wined and dined in the best homes in the company of some of the fairest young maidens in our nation’s capital. Regrets? None have I!”
Harper chuckled at his friend’s performance. Rex unpuffed himself and questioned, “How about you, Harper? Any regrets?”
“None. The work I am helping you do is important – much different from covering Ottawa stories for the Montreal Gazette. Still, there are one or two jeunes filles in the office I miss!” he lamented.
“Good heavens man, how many girls can you handle? Last night you were out with Miss Campbell, tomorrow we’re lunching with the Sherwood sisters, and I know you’ve been corresponding with my sister Jennie!”
Harper smiled, and rolled over to survey the wonders of the sky – so blue, so crisp, so perfect, with only one or two slightly grey clouds chuffing into view – nothing to ruin their day.
“We’re fortunate Reverend Herridge recommended this place,” he sighed happily.
“Yes. You know, Bert,” King mused, “I wouldn’t mind having a little place out here. Wouldn’t it be lovely, summering with the Herridges and having Mother and Father come for holidays?”
“Is it a holiday with your mother or father you’re dreaming of, or one nearer the lovely Mrs. Herridge?”
King pelted a grape at him.
King and Harper worked in the new Department of Labour under the auspices of the postmaster general. The federal government was just beginning to transform itself into a buzzing beehive of expanded services, and the young civil servants were part of a growing swarm of workers. As editor of the Labor Gazette King was so busy that his brother Max joked that he only got up from his desk to visit the backhouse.
Postmaster General Mulock had hired the young man for more than his editorial skills. As Canada adjusted itself to the thought of trade unions, the government needed someone knowledgeable in the field of labour to address a growing number of strikes. As the affable deputy minister returned from more and more missions of strike investigation, the postmaster general came to appreciate the young man’s gift of conciliation. Letters praising his tact came into the office from city officials, union representatives, and factory owners. King began serving on Royal Commissions looking into labour disputes from Quebec to British Columbia.
Union Station, Toronto
December, 1901
“Cold!” King couldn’t help remarking to the conductor when the train door opened and an icy blast of air hit him. “It’s still tropical in B.C. even though it’s December,” he rued. He stepped off the train with a confident air, despite the fact that his business at Rossland had been unsuccessful. He’d stop in Toronto to visit his family for a few days. Then he would go back to Ottawa to give a full report about how the stubborn employers and aggressive union leaders had blocked progress in resolving the miners’ strike. Usually King was more successful.
He
