The High Road (24 page)

Even Angus had gotten into the spirit of E-day. After his sleep-in, he spent the morning in
Baddeck 1
, flying some very excited voters from their homes on the river to their polling station in the Cumberland United Church a kilometre along the shore, and back again. All the voters had their own cars, of course, but how often did you get to ride in a famous hovercraft. I warned Angus that he was just to drive, not campaign. There were strict rules about campaigning on election day, particularly within sight of a polling station. He understood I was serious by my tone, and agreed. I called him to check in.

“How many trips have you made so far?”

“I’m at the kirk now in the middle of my fourth trek up the river,” Angus explained. “She’s handlin’ like a dream today with barely a breath of wind out here. ’Tis truly glorious.”

It was just like Angus to be more focused on the hovercraft than on his precious cargo.

“Don’t get too caught up in your runs up the river. Remember, I need you back here at two for your polling station photo op,” I reminded him.

“I’ll not forget,” he assured me. “By the way, two of the voters I drove earlier this mornin’ have actually called me back wantin’ a second blast along the ice to the votin’ place.”

“Angus, as far as I know, the law allows them to cast just one ballot in this election. ‘Vote early and vote often’ is just a figure of speech.”

“Dinnae worry yourself, lad. I turned them down flat,” he soothed. “Oh, I must sign off now, for my passenger is just out the kirk door and headin’ this way.”

I’d issued a media advisory the day before to make sure we had at least a couple of photographers there to record the classic candidate voting shot. At 2:30, as we made our way to the church where Angus had already spent part of his morning, I noticed a CTV satellite truck driving right behind us. It was obviously heading for the polling station to catch the scintillating scene of Angus disappearing behind the Elections Canada cardboard screens to mark his ballot, and then the heart-stopping moment when he re-emerges to have his ballot initialled, before the climax when he slips it into the slot, in slow motion of course. I hadn’t expected the networks to show.

“I’m just going to pull over for a minute, Angus,” I said as I turned into a Mac’s Milk convenience store parking lot and stopped.

“Whatever for?” said Angus, checking his watch. “You can pick up your milk on the way home. We’re runnin’ a wee bit behind schedule already.”

“The CTV satellite truck that just drove past us tells me we’re running just a wee bit ahead of schedule,” I responded. “We want network coverage, so let’s give them a few minutes to get set up before we make our grand entrance.”

We pulled into the polling station’s parking lot ten minutes later, manoeuvring around not just the CTV truck, but the satellite units of CBC and Global as well. Nice.

Angus licked his hands and tried to calm his hair and beard as I pulled to a stop. I suppose fibreglass resin and a mason’s trowel might have worked, but we had no time for that.

“Okay. We get out, smile, without artifice, then walk through the side door of the church and up to the registration table.
Engage the poll clerks. Hand over your passport to confirm your identity, as if there’s any doubt, then proceed to our poll table – we’re poll seventeen. Talk to the clerks there, then take your ballot, walk slowly but purposefully behind the cardboard thingy, mark your ballot, and come back to the table. Let them initial it, then make sure the cameras have the view they need of the ballot box. Don’t just drop it in. Hold it in the slot for a moment so the photogs can get the shot. Then let it go. It’s quite common to pat the top of the box for good measure. And don’t forget to smile, in an Angus kind of way.”

“Are you done now, laddie?” he asked sarcastically. “Now, do you think I should lead with my right foot or my left? What if I have to belch? What will we do?” He held his hands up to his face in mock horror.

“I’m just trying to get the most out of this opportunity,” I sniffed, miffed.

Angus smiled.

“I’m just yankin’ yer leg, so calm yourself,” he said. “I heard every word you said and I’ve got it.”

Without looking, he swung open the door and promptly knocked over a metal municipal trash can that I’d somehow failed to notice when parking. It sounded like a high-speed car accident and spilled garbage onto the sidewalk.

“Hell and damnation!” was his considered response.

Welcome to the flip side of the photo op coin.

At 8:00 p.m., Angus turned on his Electrohome console colour TV to warm up. It was old but still seemed to work quite well, although the colour was not quite right. The election coverage had already started. On the screen, Liberal red looked more orangey. Tory blue was purply, and the NDP orange was kind of yellowy. But the picture was clear and sharp.

Muriel, Lindsay, Angus, the two Petes, Norman Sanderson, and I squeezed into the couch and chairs as the returns trickled in. Angus seemed at peace and Muriel was calm and but sombre.
Lindsay was her usual wonderful self and was talking to a relaxed Norman. The two Petes, along with their tattoos and piercings, lounged quietly on the floor. And I was a quivering mass of stomach-churning anxiety, as I always am after the polls close. I have never got used to the stress of the ballot count and probably never will. For the hundredth time in the last week I reminded myself that, despite running a solid campaign, the polls still had us trailing in a riding with deep Tory roots.

By 8:40 the Atlantic numbers were coming in fast. We did better than expected in the east, although it was usually pretty solid Liberal territory. We gained three new seats there. When the CBC anchor asked the Halifax reporter about the Liberal wins, one of the several factors the local guy cited was Angus and his “hovercraft heroics.” We broke into cheers. Except for Angus.

The first returns from Cumberland-Prescott arrived at 9:10, and then came in a steady stream as polling stations across the riding reported. As expected, given the order in which the polls were reporting, Fox opened a solid lead with Angus in second and Stonehouse in third, but showing astonishing strength. By 9:45, with 65 per cent of the polls reporting, it had grown very, very close but Angus was moving in the right direction, while Fox appeared stalled.

As the night wore on, the numbers went up and down and my stomach acid followed in lockstep. Angus took the lead at 10:07, to a tremendous roar from the campaign team. At 10:12, Fox was back in front. Stonehouse continued to do amazingly well. He peaked at 25 per cent, which was an astonishing accomplishment for an independent. The panel of analysts in the CBC studio spent some time discussing Stonehouse’s success. The
consensus was that he provided a reasonable and viable ideological alternative to Emerson Fox, and that his election-day machine was outstanding. They’d done a great job getting out their vote. Every ballot marked for Stonehouse, they noted, was almost as good as a vote for Angus. I smiled to myself.

In my one secret concession to Machiavelli and the “win at all costs” philosophy he’d espoused, I’d helped the Alden Stonehouse team get their E-day act together. Ten days before the vote, the Stonehouse campaign office had received a plain brown envelope with no return address. Inside, there was no note or explanation of any kind. There was just a cogent, well-written, simple, and clear E-day manual, driven by the single goal of getting out their vote. The manual wasn’t rocket science. It just laid out the basics with easy step-by-step instructions. I wondered whether they would use it. On election night, the strength of the Stonehouse numbers told me they had. Anybody snooping around my laptop would find no trace of the manual. Nothing.

At 11:09, Angus took the lead, and kept it. In the end, he beat Emerson Flamethrower Fox by 468 votes, a margin that would withstand even the most discriminating recount. An accidental MP the first time around, now Angus had actually won the seat, on purpose.

Muriel hugged me. Angus hugged me. Norman looked like he was going to hug me, but eventually settled for a classic handshake and hair muss. The two Petes punched me in both shoulders. Then Lindsay took me in her arms and I forgot where I was.

The party was packed and in full swing by the time Angus and I arrived. Norman drove the two Petes, Muriel, and Lindsay over first to survey the scene before giving me the signal. There were satellite trucks from all the networks there, an election-night honour usually reserved only for party leaders. But Angus had played so big a part in the events that brought us there that night, it was clear that now he was accorded special status.

On the way over, Angus spoke only once.

“Daniel, I’m happier tonight than I thought I’d ever be again.
I’d not be here were it not for you and Muriel. I’ve tried so hard to crawl out of the vast hole in which Marin’s passin’ left me. But I couldnae do it. I just couldnae. Tonight, I feel as though I’ve just popped my head above the lip of that dark, dark abyss. And I can see again. It feels as though Marin is now finally at peace too, for she’s been here and fussin’ over me for the whole ride. Aye, she has. I know you had other plans. I’m in your debt. You have my gratitude. And you have my blessin’, not that you need it, to let this cup pass you by, and return to your teachin’ if you so desire.”

I, too, spoke once only.

“I’ll stay with you on the Hill. The university isn’t going anywhere.”

As odd as it may sound, we clasped hands in the dark of the car in a laddish sort of way, as the Riverfront Seniors’ Residence loomed ahead. It didn’t feel odd in the least.

The room was packed. As soon as Angus entered, the crowd simply detonated in a frenzy of applause. There was a lot of joy inside those four walls. Angus needed no instructions from me as he worked the room, looking more confident and relaxed in a crowd than I’d ever seen him. Victory suited him. Pete2 was surrounded by seniors complaining that they’d just about had enough of Lawrence Welk and were looking to hear some Tom Jones or Johnny Mathis, or maybe even Neil Diamond. I shrugged and told him to improvise. I was too chuffed to worry about it. The crowd around him dispersed after a compromise was apparently reached. Soon, blasting from the speakers was a bizarre version of the Tom Jones classic “What’s New, Pussycat?” I’d never heard it before and instantly regretted hearing it then. Beneath the heavy metal thrashing and yelling I could just barely identify the tune. Usually a man of few words, Pete2 shouted to me that it was a cover done by Chainsaw Lobotomy, a punk band from Kingston. I told him he didn’t need to explain that it was a punk band. Several GOUT agents were dancing up a storm. At least, I assumed it was dancing.

At the appropriate time, I armed Muriel up and onto the carpeted risers in front of the wall of windows. Reporters and video cameras crowded in front as Muriel gripped the podium to quell her tremors. She looked nothing short of radiant. The smile seemed permanent. The room slowly quieted as more and more celebrants noticed her.

“Tonight is not for speeches, especially from me. On this one night, Angus, you have our blessing to forget about the past, forget about the future, and simply revel in the extraordinary present. Tonight we celebrate the legitimate dawn of a new political era in Cumberland-Prescott, and I daresay in Canada. Ladies and gentlemen, Angus McLintock MP.”

He embraced her when he reached the risers and guided her to a chair just off the stage. He took the mike from its stand and stood at the front of the platform, closer to the adoring throng.

Angus spoke beautifully and briefly. He struck the perfect tone, balancing humility, vision, grace, and strength. He offered heartfelt thanks and paid special tributes to Muriel, Lindsay, Norman, the two Petes, and me. He also recognized the tireless efforts of a certain band of political activists from the Riverfront Seniors’ Residence. He was note perfect. This is how he closed.

“In the last month, there have been many a night, when in my private thoughts, this victory seemed nigh on impossible. Aye, and there were certainly many doubters who told us all it was never to be. The mountain, simply too high to scale. But a life without challenge, a life without hardship, a life without purpose, seems pale and pointless. With challenge come perseverance and gumption. With hardship come resilience and resolve. With purpose come strength and understanding. And tonight, with victory come elation, gratitude, expectations, and a wee spot of trepidation. All this we have achieved together. This unexpected triumph is shared with all of you, for I am so grateful for what you have done, and what you have given. It is the best of democracy come to life before our very eyes.

“Much lies ahead. We know not yet whether we’re to govern or oppose, but either way, my simple promise to you is the same. I’ll put Canada first, even when that means local sacrifice. I’ll strive always to be honest, to listen more than I talk, and to do what I truly believe is right and just. I also pledge to explain my positions and decisions at every turn. I’ll not be afraid to change my mind when persuaded by powerful arguments I’d not considered.

“The campaign was gruelling for all of us. But tomorrow, the work of public service begins afresh. And there’s no more noble a calling.”

As Angus finished and the standing ovation rang in my ears, I noticed Emerson Fox, unaccompanied, enter the room and make his way to Angus. I didn’t want to miss the exchange so I moved closer to Angus. With hand extended, Fox reached Angus about the same time as I did, along with five cameras, their sun guns trained on the two combatants.

“Angus, I congratulate you on your victory tonight,” he started. “You’re a man of remarkable principle and high standards. It’s always difficult to duel with such a candidate.”

“I thank you, Mr. Fox, though I found your sword quite sharp enough,” Angus said through a faint smile. “It’s good of you to come, and I wish you well.”