True and Fascinating Canadian History
Tales from Fort Healy
Dig A Grave For A Corporal But Make It Fit A Sergeant
by J. J. Healy
In one's life time, memories of some people and places are so ingrained that they cannot be forgotten.
In St. Stephen, NB it was June 1964 and I had just graduated from high school. I spent the month of July in New York as a guest of my aunt and uncle and I visited the World's Fair.
In August, I left all the familiarity of my parents and siblings, my home, my high school, my friends and my teachers to join the RCMP. In Regina, at 'Depot’ I was squaded as a member of Glorious ‘G’ Troop 1964.
In 2004, 'G' Troop returned to 'Depot' for our 40th year Reunion. It was a time to celebrate and reflect. I let my mind rewind itself -- I recalled our Troop's coming together in 1964 and I thought about our bonds of companionship.
Troop friendships had been welded together in the Gym, the Swimming Pool, the Drill Hall & Parade Square, the Firing Range, our Dormitory and most importantly with all the horses and in the Stables. I sensed that emotions and friendships within our Troop were warm, rich and rewarding.
We had been a close knit Troop and those ties became evident by the excellent turnout for our 40th year Reunion. Since the days of the NWMP, every member who had ever experienced 'Depot' could not forget the rigorous and often painful training schedule and the joy of Pass Out Day. Enough memories were gained by 'G' Troop to fill a water trough or two.
As time approached for our Reunion my emotions became stronger and I wanted to be among my Troop mates again. After 40 years, my senses echoed, "These are my best friends who have always remained my friends". Friendship was an engine that circled on memory tracks around in my mind. And upon introducing each other, I could not help but grin because everyone had changed in size, shape or body mass. But, one thing had not changed -- the memories sparked in 1964 at 'Depot' had not melted or faded away. 'G' Troop was back home.
Everyone in our Troop had a favourite story to retell. When my turn came around, I refreshed my Troop mates recall with a couple of yarns of a very memorable member of the Riding Staff. Corporal Dee Jessiman was not one of our principal Instructors but his personality, sharp wit, comedy acts and voice were so large that every recruit knew him -- including me.
It was mid-August, 1964. At sunrise on day one, our Troop was awakened by the call of the bugle. A few of my new pals and I were told to report to the Duty NCO who was Cpl. Jessiman. As it turned out, Cpl. Jessiman was the ideal person to credit the first day in the Force at 'Depot'. He had purposely saved a surprise just for 'G' Troop and he shouted that the location of the surprise was to be undertaken by us in the Cemetery!
True to his word, Cpl. Jessiman had stored a significant and unique adventure for 'G' Troop. And after meeting him, I convinced myself to expect more adventures with Cpl. Jessiman. On day one, I did not yet realize that I would have more interactions with him in another week or so.
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Corporal Jessiman was one of about eight or ten Riding Instructors assigned to the Stables. My first impression was that he had arrived at 'Depot' from some far away school of men born of a rare breed. No one doubted his excellent riding skills in the English saddle but he was also known for his antics -- all at the expense of new recruits. I recalled that I may have been the first in our Troop to be on the butt end of one of his jokes. The incident with him took place in the Stables.
But first, let me tell you the story of how I first met Corporal Jessiman on that very first morning at 'Depot' and the memorable dig which we performed on his behalf.
No one in the Troop knew Cpl. Jessiman or the reason for him to compel our appearance at the Guard Room on that first day. But, by my first eye blink, he made his feelings known. "I'm ashamed", he shouted. "Disgusted!" You're untrainable! "You're no good!," he shouted again. "Any recruit who wore a new shiny suit should have opted to stay home with Mom", he shouted as he pointed to one of my pals. It was obvious that Corporal Jessiman was in an agitated state of disgust.
But, as quickly as he roared up, he calmed down. Cpl. Jessiman then admitted that he needed a small contingent of "somethings" or "some bodies" for a very special task -- to wit: to dig a grave! "I have no option but to take you guys", he shouted. It took a moment or two for the task to sink into our skulls. And, it was beyond the Troop's wildest expectations that we were about to voyage into a space where we had not yet tread. Cpl. Jessiman was about to give us his short version tour of the 'Depot' Cemetery.
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At first, it's fair to say that Cpl. Jessiman had commanded our full attention. Secondly, he was a likeable leader and his commands came easy. And over time it was obvious that 'Depot' was the stage upon which young men were churned into police officers. That is, if one stayed on. That is, if you accepted Cpl. Jessiman.
In 1964 'Depot' was an enclave of men -- any goodness of democracy had not yet spilled over into this fenced enclosure in Regina yet the place does exist within Canada's boundaries. At the time, one accepted that the molding of police officers into leaders did not come about through democratic styles. For the time being, democracy aside, our Troop accepted that Cpl. Jessiman was our leader!
At the same time, however, my friends and I had also concluded that he was not the right person to ask about certain necessities for digging a grave such as coveralls, gloves or gum boots. We could read his mind -- he would shout "This week you $#" boys will be up to your *+$%@ waist in %&* gumbo, but next week you'll be up to your a..(arms) $#*@ in manure! Get used to it %**$* you sissies or go home!". Cpl. Jessiman knew how to provoke recruits and his taunts worked. Under our breath, each one of us said to ourselves. "OK, maybe 'Depot' is short on democracy, but no one from this *&*%*#* Troop is going home"!
rests in the grave which 'G' Troop dug. August 1964
Terry Court & Joe Healy. August 2004)
In the opening five minutes of our career, my pals and I gave Cpl. Jessiman high marks for his oratory skills. Within the first five minutes of catching the flavour of 'Depot', our Troop knew that only adventure laid ahead. Personally, I had also credited him with having had great insight into the qualities of men required to dig a grave.
As it so happened, I was one of his recruits whom he chose to dig the hole. And I was also a someone who had past and extensive experiences with graves. Said I to myself "Recruit Healy, you have all the prerequisites for digging a grave -- after all, I thought, it was my chore throughout high school to frequently serve mass at funerals, and afterwards, I had the duty to stand beside my pastor in my home town cemetery and peek into the blackness of many, many graves".
Cpl. Jessiman led a small group of my troop mates and myself to the ‘tool shed’ where he assigned shovels and pick axes. He shouted: "It'll be a long +*&*$* time before you see downtown boys, so consider yourself temporarily married to these *%*&*#* tools". Then he escorted us to the ‘Depot’ Cemetery and pointed to a spot where he commanded us to: "Dig boys, make her straight and make her deep! I'll be back. Eventually. Some day."
We dug for about 2 days in the late August sun of Saskatchewan. Quite often Cpl. Jessiman would return to supervise the dig, give us some water and lend some colourful advice. He made the chore seemingly fun. His sense of humour and ‘special’ vocabulary seemed to lessen the work in the hole as the prairie clay became softer and the hole got deeper and deeper. As for who the grave at ‘Depot’ was for, we didn’t know?
Several days after digging the grave, I recall seeing several troops in Red Serge marching along the route from the Chapel to the Cemetery. As new recruits we suspected that perhaps the deceased was a senior Officer, perhaps a former Commissioner or a celebrity member.
As it turned out, the deceased was more famous than any of us realized. I now know that he was Reg.#12511, Sergeant
James Campbell Coughlin -- a man who left more than a mild mark in the history of the Force -- for one, Coughlin
Bay, Regina, SK., was named after Sergeant Coughlin.
Sergeant Jimmy Coughlin was also a man gifted with many talents. He was the Canadian Welter Weight Boxing Champion of 1934 and he put these talents to good use in his many years as a Boxing Instructor at ‘Depot’, and because of his physical conditioning, he was chosen as one of the four Personal Orderlies (bodyguards) to King George VI and Queen Elizabeth on their 1939 Royal Tour of Canada.
Sergeant Coughlin was also an exceptional Artisan. He designed the wrought iron gates which welcomed all for many years at both the north and south entrances of 'Depot'. He also collaborated in the design of the Steeple on the Chapel and, in 1962, he painted a mural which adorned the Sergeant's Mess.
As I have already mentioned our Troop celebrated its 40th year Reunion in 2004. We shared a wonderful weekend at ‘Depot’ -- we were given an official tour as there had been unrecognizable changes to the layout of 'Depot'. We had time for a game of golf and we enjoyed our meals together.
My Troop mates and I also walked over to the Cemetery and we stood at Sgt. Coughlin’s grave site. As we stood peacefully looking at his grave marker, we thought back to the August days of 1964 when we had dug his grave -- we had dug a hole for a Corporal but the grave was intended for a Sergeant.
Sergeant Coughlin would have been proud of us; the depth and design of his grave and the care given to it under the watchful eye of a memorable Corporal Jessiman.
'G' Troop 64 can verify that Sergeant Coughlin was surely buried in the ‘Depot’ Cemetery.
But wait there's more... The celebrated grave dig in August 1964 was only first time that I met Cpl. Jessiman.
My second encounter with Corporal Jessiman was in the Stables.
Reporting from Fort Healy,
J. J. Healy
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