Graduation Address

"Convocation Address" by Dr. Robert A. Tweedie (18 October 1987): 1-3. (UA Case 69, Box 3).

Madam Chancellor, President Downey, Members of the Board of Governors, Graduates, Ladies and Gentlemen:

I am deeply conscious of the great honour that is mine tonight, and I am deeply grateful for it — more so than I can readily express. I am equally conscious of the fact that I am not entirely worthy of your consideration, a condition that I shall try to remedy as time goes on.

The University of New Brunswick has played a major role in the life of my family. It is approaching one hundred years since my father earned a Bachelor of Arts degree at UNB. There were sixteen members in his class, and the Old Arts Building was the only teaching facility on campus. My brother is a graduate of the law school, and our two sons were prepared by UNB to tackle the world, and have done so with a reasonable degree of success. At the age of seventy, on a part-time basis, I had a go at university life myself. I will say nothing about the results achieved, except this: the experience convinced me that I didn't know it all. I did, however, learn something about professors. I had the good fortune to have been instructed by eight of them. These people were experts in their disciplines; they were impressive and patient teachers, and I thank them all with great sincerity for everything they did to improve this aging student, and for giving him one of the most enjoyable and unforgettable experiences of his life.

Those of you who have not yet been initiated into the dangers of speech-making may be interested in hearing about my own difficulties in preparing for this assignment. First, a subject had to be chosen. Almost immediately I decided to discuss the free trade issue and some of the constitutional questions arising from the Meech Lake Agreement. With great enthusiasm I set about to prepare what I thought were sound and appropriate observations on those matters. With respect to free trade, I went back seventy-five years and reviewed the famous election of 1911 when Sir Wilfrid Laurier, Prime Minister of Canada, was defeated by Sir Robert Borden, whose Conservative Party came to power on the slogan, "No truck nor trade with the Yankees."

On the constitutional question, I refreshed my memory by reviewing the Philadelphia meeting of 1787 which resulted in the birth of the American Constitution. I also made the point that the past often had relevancy to the present — even though the free trade or reciprocity election occurred seventy-five years ago, and the framing of the American constitution had taken place two hundred years ago, they were still valuable guides in assessing present day matters, or so I thought.

Along with the value of relating the past to the present, I pointed out that this could only be done by reading, by becoming knowledgeable of past events. I therefore had intended to urge you to devote as much time as you possibly could to that pursuit. Not to do so, I suggested, was the same thing as operating without a memory. And for good measure I borrowed a quotation from a book by Michael Foot. Here it is: "Men of power have no time to read; yet men who do not read are unfit for power." And to bolster the thesis further, I went back 2,300 years and resurrected both Aristotle and Plato whose testimony would, I was certain, make the case immune to doubt or challenge.

After having done all that I decided to show a draft of my intended remarks to a friend in whose judgment I had great confidence. I admit that I expected his approval. I didn't get it. Instead, he said: "Why don't you speak on a subject you know something about?" I protested that just because I knew very little about a subject had never before stopped me from speaking on it. My friend stood firm. "You were a civil servant", he said, "for thirty-two years, sixteen of which were spent in the Premier's Office. Tell your audience something about those early days." And by those early days he meant the period 1935-1939.

I accepted my friend's advice and for the next few minutes, with your permission, I will touch on my days in the public service. I do so, not because I regard that experience as a particularly distinguished performance, but rather because it afforded me a ringside seat during a period of poverty and distress in New Brunswick — a period that today many people find difficulty in accepting as reality. And that is understandable, because the province as you know it is relatively prosperous — almost a Utopia — compared to fifty years ago. All things come to an end and those trying days did pass, to be succeeded by better times brought about by an energetic Government, aided by hardy and brave citizens who were determined that New Brunswick would not always deserve the description once given it by an American magazine — mouse poor New Brunswick — was the term used.

I came to Fredericton from Woodstock in 1935 as Secretary to the Premier, Hon. Allison Dysart. I was the first Premier's Secretary to be paid from public funds. I can't make up my mind whether that is something of historical interest or whether — if I had any sense at all — I would keep quiet about it.

My first view of the Premier's Office did not inspire confidence. My most vivid recollection is that of the carpet. It was old — probably as old as the building itself which was built in the 1880s. It was threadbare, and in those places where traffic was heaviest, the carpet was worn through to the floor-boards, disclosing old newspapers placed there when the carpet was laid, and now shredded as thoroughly as any modern shredder could do the job. Colonel Oliver North would have approved. The carpet was dust-colored, emitting a musty odour that only great age can produce, and fresh air can't eliminate.

The furniture was old — some pieces very fine, but no two items matched. The lighting was poor. I suppose the whole setup was not conducive to good work when measured by modern office standards. But no one gave that a thought. Anyone who had a job was thankful for it, including those politicians who had been successful at the polls and whose sessional indemnity amounted to $1,000 a year. I assure you that most New Brunswickers in the '30s were inclined to tip their hats when a thousand dollars was mentioned.

Premier Dysart was a big man — more than six feet tall with a thick crop of grey hair that gave him an air of distinction. He often greeted friends and acquaintances with, "Behold the monarch of the wood." The monarch referred to was a moose. It didn't seem to make any difference to Mr. Dysart whether the one he was greeting resembled a moose or not. And many of them didn't, but they got the same greeting anyway.

The province in 1935 was still fighting the depression. There were many areas in New Brunswick that could have fairly been compared to Tobacco Road. Hunger and destitution were not hard to find. Revenues were about $5 million yearly and the provincial debt was around $45 or $50 million.

Social services, such as old age and other pension schemes, did not exist, Deputy ministers were paid $3,000 a year, and all of them were exceptionally able men. As late as 1948 the Premier's salary was $5,900 a year. Ministers earned $3,500 and with sessional indemnity brought their income to $5,000 a year. I won't tell you what I was earning. Were I to do so somebody, I am sure, would begin passing the hat.

There were no paved roads beyond town or city limits. Winter travel was almost non-existent, there being no snow removal program. When winter storms arrived one really "settled" in for the winter. Farmers, with horse and sled, had some mobility — but the motorist had none. Early snow removal equipment was primitive, but once the great advantages of winter travel became apparent, generating revenue from the gasoline tax, and giving impetus to shopping and business generally, both equipment and the scope of operations, improved dramatically. In my judgment the paving of highways, and snow removal which keeps them passable 12 months of the year, may well be the single most important development in this province during the last half-century. I believe that a case can be made for that assertion.

The dozens of letters that daily reached the Premier's Office in 1935 were, for the most part, cries for help. Mothers unable to feed their children properly; fathers unable to find work of any kind at any price. Many homes were without electric lights. That was the reality. But slowly things began to change. A thousand miles of highway were paved. Payrolls were created, pension schemes were put in place. Free school books were made available and other helpful programs adopted. Succeeding governments, Conservative and Liberal, would extend and enlarge upon many of those programs that had their beginnings in 1935.

Perhaps some of you may have noticed how easily I step back half a century to describe some situation or event. By doing so, you may gain the impression that I might well have been a witness to the Charge of the Light Brigade. Let me say that I was not, although I don't readily recall what I was doing on that day.

Those difficult years left their mark on those who lived through them, but it was not all gloom — spirits were sometimes lifted by incidents that produced a laugh and relieved tensions. One such involved the Minister of Agriculture, Hon. Austin C. Taylor. Taylor, a fine looking and genial man, almost always wore an expression of youthful innocence that bordered on the angelic.

In December 1935, I was to see Canada's capital for the first time. A Dominion-Provincial Conference had been convened by Prime Minister Mackenzie King, and was attended by representatives from all the provinces. In a secretarial capacity I accompanied the New Brunswick delegation to Ottawa. Among the events scheduled was a reception at Rideau Hall given by the Governor General and wife, Lord and Lady Tweedsmuir. Mr. Taylor and I made our way to Government House together. This was a new experience for both of us. Finally, we joined the line with dozens of others to be presented to Their Excellencies. That accomplished, we decided to take seats to watch the proceedings until we felt sufficiently at ease to take a more active part. Accordingly, we made our way to a number of dainty-looking chairs lined up around the Ballroom. When Taylor sat down the chair collapsed. Austin, a big fellow weighing about two hundred pounds, was mortified. And so was I. As the incident didn't go unnoticed, I was happy to seek refuge behind Mr. Taylor's expression of perpetual innocence.

Despite the hazards of public life, I urge you not to turn your backs on public service. Do not shy away from participation. Involvement and interest are both necessary if society is to move forward in an orderly and progressive way. Politics is a fascinating pursuit — an honourable calling — just as honourable as the practitioner cares to make it. Mark Twain once said: "Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest."

You live in perhaps the most exciting period in the world's history. Everything, it seems, is still to be settled . The possibilities in every facet of human endeavour are simply breathtaking. The marvel of instant communication takes us into the streets, the alleys, into the homes of the great and the poor. We may attend the daily session of the House of Commons and never leave our easy chair. Allow yourselves, I urge, to be caught up in the magic of all this. You who are soon to help manage the world — perhaps only your own small part of it — can help to reinvigorate the lively art of politics and public affairs. Our wellbeing as citizens may well depend upon your doing so.

Before taking my seat, let me wish for all of you a glorious future. You are to be congratulated — and congratulated warmly — for the degrees you have earned — for the solid foundation you have laid on which to build great lives. You will find that in the business of living, learning and earning a living, there are many ups and downs. Reverses are part of it all — and you will encounter them. But keep in mind what William Hazlitt, a critic and essayist, whose mortality straddled both the 18th and 19th centuries, had to say about that: "A man's life," he wrote, "is his whole life, not the last glimmering snuff of the candle."

All of us will be judged on our entire record — not the last glimmering snuff of the candle. I am confident that with the knowledge already gained, and the information, experience and wisdom you will acquire as you go on, you will meet every challenge — victoriously. From my heart I wish each and every one of you — good luck!