The High Road (30 page)

“But a sentence or two in the Speech from the Throne will hardly restore our infrastructure,” Angus pushed. “The Budget speech is the place we really need to be.”

“Well, Angus, the Finance Minister isn’t exactly favourably disposed to the idea at this point in time.”

Uh-oh. I winced and tried to stop Angus by bugging out my eyes in his direction and elevating my eyebrows to the middle of my forehead. Angus didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s either ‘at this point’ or ‘at this time’ but seldom both,” Angus replied, unable to stop himself. “But more to the crux of the matter, is not Mr. Coulombe beholden to you for his position? Does he not serve at your pleasure?”

The PM was still processing the grammar lesson but eventually caught up, and to his credit, didn’t even seem offended.

“Uhm, thanks for the tip. As for Monsieur Coulombe, one doesn’t appoint a minister and then hobble him with too tight a leash before seeing what he produces,” countered the PM.

“Right, the tight-leash approach didn’t work so well for the last Finance Minister,” I offered, forgetting for a moment or two that I was speaking to the Prime Minister of Canada. Angus turned again to the PM.

“With or without a Throne Speech reference, our report will be as impotent as a castrato in tights if the Budget is silent on the infrastructure investment. Can you not step in and dictate
terms to him?”

“Angus, the power to do just that comes with the office. But knowing how and when to wield it comes only with time,” replied the PM, with uncharacteristic wisdom, I thought. “I will see drafts of the Budget and will certainly have my say, but we can’t simply commit billions of dollars because you’ve informally joined us at a meeting and said we need more money for bridges and roads. Get me the report.”

Angus nodded and stood. I rose too.

“You’ll have your report, and before the deadline.”

Angus was three strides in front of me most of the way back to our office. I drew even with him for the long walk down the main corridor.

“Our researching must end soon. We must get to the writing,” Angus said, still in full flight. “Our report will be meaningless if we don’t get it finished and in the Prime Minister’s hands before the Budget is set in stone. Even then, in the variable light of his mercurial judgment, who bloody knows whether he’ll act on it?”

“He’s not a complete idiot, Angus.” I tried to defend my former employer. “And he is the Prime Minister. I think he’ll listen to our report, but I also believe we must give him some added incentive by complementing your voice with a few others from the outside world.”

Angus stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned to me.

“Lad, we’ve got precious little time. Do you think we can really muster the groundswell we need and get the report written, as well?”

“Angus, we don’t have a choice. You can’t be the only public advocate on this. We need support from beyond the Hill, or we’re sunk.”

“Aye. Well, do it in haste. We’ll soon need your pen to share in the writing, and the clock is not waiting on us,” replied Angus, as he started down the hallway again.

“Give me a few hours for my spadework, and I’ll be back at
the keyboard again. We’ll get it done.”

We dashed the rest of the way back to our office in silence. I was planning my campaign.

“I’m on it!” I shouted to Angus, as I shut my door and stuck the phone in my ear. First, a receptionist put me through to Norman Sanderson. We did the small-talk thing and I thanked him once more for his stellar fundraising job during the campaign. We were one of only a few debtless campaigns – a miracle for a Liberal candidate in C-P. The conversation soon exhausted our common ground, so I moved in for the pitch.

“Norman, let me ask you something, and I’m serious about it,” I started. “Just how important to Sanderson Technologies is the state of Canada’s infrastructure – you know, our highways, bridges, ports, etc.?”

Norman paused. I could hear him breathing, his gears grinding.

“Well, in this competitive market, product delivery time is almost as important as product quality and price,” he began. “If computer manufacturers can buy a slightly inferior but perfectly workable alternative to our component, but can get it faster with uninterrupted and perfectly timed deliveries, they would probably choose it. So getting our product to market quickly and reliably is critical.”

“Okay, I’m with you so far. Keep talking.”

“We’ve nailed our manufacturing process in the last month. We think it’s as efficient as it’s going to get. So the issue now is not how fast can we produce our wireless wave router, but rather how fast can we deliver it to our buyers. So when you think about it, if our infrastructure is superior, it gives us a competitive advantage.”

“Right. And if the wrong bridge collapses, or a port shuts down for major repairs, your product may be late arriving, abrogating contractual delivery obligations, leading over time to the loss of contracts, plummeting sales, laid-off workers, shut-down
plants, personal poverty and penury, all-round societal chaos, and the decline of Western civilization as we know it,” I concluded.

“Well, that might overstate the consequences somewhat. But you’re on the right track,” Norman conceded. “Our product is trucked all the way to Halifax for shipping even though we could ship through Montreal. But trucks travel faster than ships so it makes it worthwhile for us to drive the product all the way to the Atlantic coast. If any of the major highways shut down for some reason, or worse, the port of Halifax, we’d be scuppered.”

That’s what I needed to hear. I made the “ask” and he readily agreed. We spoke for a while longer, shaping the kinds of messages that would be most helpful while still being truthful, then ended the call.

With the phone still crimped between my shoulder and jaw, I navigated the U of O website, then dialled again.

“Bob Philpot.”

“Professor Philpot, this is Daniel Addison, I’m Angus McLintock’s executive assistant.”

“I know the name well. Angus spoke very highly of you when he popped in for a visit a while back.”

“That’s great. I remember Angus found his meeting with you to be very enlightening. Your view on the importance of our national infrastructure really hit home with Angus.”

“I’m glad I was persuasive. Angus is not easily convinced and doesn’t hesitate to report when he’s not, often loudly.”

“No need to explain. I’ve been to that party many times. Let me tell you why I’m calling.”

I laid out my case, knowing that he was already well inside our camp. He readily agreed. I offered to write something for him but he declined, saying that if it were to have his name on it, he would write it. I then broached the deadline discussion. Still he agreed, though he knew that the timing was tight.

“For Angus, I’ll make this happen,” he noted as our call wound down. “It certainly helps that I believe in the cause he’s pushing.”

The next calls I made were to the Association of Canadian
Port Authorities, the Canadian Road Builders Federation, and the Canadian Trucking Alliance. These conversations took a while. I really had no contacts there, so with all three organizations, I started with the research staff, then moved to the communications staff, and ended up pitching the executive directors and/or CEOs. Understandably, they were all headed down the same path. The bridge collapse had left them shaken and troubled. I just helped them see it as a public policy concern and an advocacy opportunity. After I told them confidentially where the McLintock Report was headed, they were keen to help, as I figured they would be. I put them on to one another to coordinate the timing, and then I moved to the last piece in the puzzle.

Having media contacts is not always, or even often, enough. I’d managed to cultivate a few friendships with journalists and producers in my years in the Leader’s office and I was glad I had. Even when I had to say no to them, I made it my mission to preserve the relationship. I also helped them out on stories whenever I could and passed along information that we usually wanted to get out anyway. I tried not to play favourites, and I like to think that engendered respect for me among the scribes. Alternatively, they may simply have been pulling my own strings for their own ends. Come to think of it, I did recall a few instances when I tripped, or was tripped, in the syncopated mambo that played out daily between reporters and politicos. Nevertheless, I dusted off my dancing shoes.

I made two more calls. One to the Ottawa producer of CTV’s
Canada AM
, and one to the op-ed editor of the
Ottawa Citizen
. By mid-afternoon, the stratagem was in play. I wasn’t fully in control of the timing, but was reasonably comfortable that we’d hit the right window. I figured we had a week.

If Bradley Stanton knew that I’d been freelancing without the centre’s approval, I’d be in for any number of horrible fates at his hand. Quietly taking my leave was not one of the options he was likely to offer. It could be anything from live human taxidermy to the old naked spread-eagle, fire ants, and honey
routine. Both were effective. If I were really lucky, I might get my own tiny ice floe and a bag lunch. I weighed the odds and decided it was worth it. I didn’t tell Angus much, though. It was better that way. Preserving deniability for your boss was a time-honoured political tradition.

That night, I was to meet Angus at a swanky Ottawa restaurant to map out the report. I’d thought it a strange location and not exactly consistent with the Angus I knew. I saw her long before the maître d’ and I arrived at the table for two.

Lindsay looked up, surprised.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as I leaned down to kiss her.

“I’m meeting Angus here to work on the bridge report,” I replied, delighted to see her. “You?”

“I’m supposed to meet Muriel here for dinner. She had to come into Ottawa today,” said Lindsay.

The maître d’ hovering nearby seemed to be enjoying our exchange. He was smiling and finally piped up.

“I’m afraid neither Monsieur McLintock nor Madame Park inson will be able to make it this evening. They have suggested that the two of you enjoy dinner together instead.” He swept away back to his post at the front.

The penny dropped as we looked at one another.

“Well, I already knew that Muriel was capable of political subterfuge, but it seems she’s been teaching Angus the ropes as well,” I said as I sat down across from her.

“I’ve got to hand it to them, I was completely drawn in,” Lindsay said. “How sweet of them to cook this up.”

I’d been so consumed on the bridge file that Lindsay and I had seen very little of one another of late. We still shared an apartment, but we were seldom both there and conscious at the same time. It was a gift to be sitting across from her, so unexpectedly. Lindsay has that rare ability to empty my mind of everything but her. Despite our looming deadlines and the
pressures of always running against the political grain, dinner with Lindsay was exactly what I, what we, needed. I barely remember the food, though I expect it was amazing. Time flew by as we talked and held hands. We closed the restaurant. When I pulled out my Visa card to signal we were ready for the bill, the maître d’ hustled over with our coats. He just shook his head and smiled.

“Your dinner has been taken care of already.”

We awoke the next morning feeling happy, renewed, and blessed.

Over the next week and a half, Angus and I wrote and rewrote the report so that every word rested on solid cornerstones of research and reason. There might also have been just a smidgen of what some would call fear-mongering in it, though we both felt it justified. We considered the consequences of inaction to be a relevant, even powerful, consideration. Raising the spectre of more falling bridges and the occasional collapsing highway overpass served to focus the mind. We did not predict whole cities disintegrating around us in one deafening whoosh, but painted what we believed to be a plausible picture of steady national decay.

We struck three major chords in the report. First, what caused the bridge to fall? Second, what were the broader national implications of the collapse? And third, what must we do to prevent such a thing from ever happening again? We thought it was a simple and straightforward way to organize our findings and recommendations.

Rosemary Holden and her staff at Infrastructure Canada were indispensable, tireless, and timely in providing data, information, evidence, advice, and a balanced perspective as our report took shape. They were professional and thorough, and respectfully pointed out when we’d fallen down the rabbit hole and helped to haul us back out. They also laid out the policy options open to us and the evidence, support, and likely fallout for each. The
officials were energized. Rosemary let her Deputy Minister’s guard down long enough to tell me late one night that her entire senior team had been heartsick and enraged when the bridge fell. It confirmed what they’d been warning the government about for years. They were hopeful, but not yet confident, the new government would listen.

To save time, Angus and I each took sections to write, and then I would edit to make it appear the report had one author, not two. The editing wasn’t as onerous as it sounds. Angus and I had eerily similar writing styles, though his vocabulary was broader and his sentence construction more varied. He was simply more eloquent than I, and it showed in his writing. As Angus said more than once in our sprint, the goal was to write so that even the Prime Minister would not just understand it, but be persuaded, moved, compelled, and convinced by it. It was a “hearts and minds” affair, written for the average Canadian, the person to whom Angus felt we were responsible. So it was not the dry, academic, mind-numbing treatise so common to government reports. If I do say so myself, it was a call to action, a dramatic story well told, with accessible conclusions and recommendations steeped in substance and research. We were almost there.

The timing worked out well. All three of the industry associations I’d quietly approached issued news releases on Friday, February 14, the day I’d suggested. The confluence of three major sectors calling for a significant investment in Canada’s infrastructure resulted in considerable media coverage over the weekend, and not just in the major dailies. The head of the Canadian Trucking Alliance also appeared on Newsworld’s flagship parliamentary program and the CEO of the road builders group did CBC Radio’s
Cross Country Checkup
Sunday afternoon. Nice.