True and Fascinating Canadian History
A Mystery of the Mounties:
And the Commissioner Who Rode Jitters
by J. J. Healy
Memories are a person’s logbook; every flight, voyage and trip is itemized within its pages, it travels and follows the person, and it records every event including all the pleasant and unpleasant situations which a person can ever recall.
Logbooks are forever preserved for an historical accounting and they become collectables. Memories too are collectables, every person retains them, and they are hard to give away as everyone saves and cherishes their own.
Over my lifetime, by far most of my memories are pleasant. Oh, there has been periods of sadness when my parents or a sibling died, and there have been little setbacks of one kind or another, but everyone experiences grief periodically. But, on the whole my memories are good ones. And some memories are funny such as this little story titled, "A Mystery of the Mounties: And the Commissioner Who Rode Jitters." There's a lesson here too for all police officers.
Not long ago, my wife and I attended a family wedding back east, and the whole Healy clan was invited. A couple of generations showed up -- including my siblings, and a troop of nieces and nephews, and another troop of grandchildren. At the hotel, there were enough kids for a summer camp. During the scrumptious dinner feast, I couldn’t help but remark to my wife, “No one in the family has been in jail, everyone did remarkably well in school and at university, and everyone has a good job.” It’s those memories which I cherish and recall much like the memories people everywhere hold as they glance though their logbook. It’s all about love of our families.
I also have thousands of memories of having served in the RCMP for over 36 years -- in the early days, my postings took me across Canada and my later years were served mostly on international jaunts; Africa, Europe, and Asia. This short story happened when I was a young Constable, it’s from one of my early logbooks. It wasn’t too funny at the time, but now it can be retold. It's all true.
I joined the Force in 1964, and after my engagement, I spent several months at the ‘Depot’ Training Academy in Regina, SK. Then, I was posted to the Vancouver area; Burnaby, Surrey and three years in Maple Ridge. These places all exist on BC’s Lower Mainland.
After six years police service, I was transferred to Charlottetown’s Highway Patrol on Prince Edward Island. The Island fell under the command of Chief Superintendent L. G. ‘Lou’ Pantry, the Highway Patrol’s Corporal was W. D. C. ‘Bill’ Rowan, and I was the Patrol’s senior constable.
A few times every month, Corporal Rowan would instruct me to report to the Commanding Officer because C/Supt Pantry required a driver and to accompany him to a meeting downtown with Island officials. The idea was that whenever I drove him, C/Supt Pantry didn’t have to worry about parking the police cruiser. It was an efficient arrangement. I would simply wait for him in the cruiser, and then drive back to RCMP ‘HQ’. This job went on or years.
One day in 1973, Corporal Rowan instructed me to visit the CO. Chief Superintendent Pantry announced that RCMP Commissioner W. L. Higgitt intended to visit the Island for a couple of days in a week or so on an official tour and that I was designated as his Official Driver. The Commissioner was to be accompanied by his wife.
While I was quite impressed with the assignment, I was not at all nervous for a few reasons; I thought that I could probably handle any question about Highway Patrol which the Commissioner might lob over in my direction, I knew the geography of the Island, and most importantly I was very confident with my driving skills after years and years of driving experience in the Vancouver area.
As time passed, I thought to myself that should I be asked by the Commissioner, I would admit that I was no highly trained murder investigator, but I did have an excellent driving record, and I could easily handle Chief Superintendent’s Pantry’s all black and shiny compact, decal free Studebaker.
As expected, Commissioner and Mrs Higgitt arrived on the Island. I drove Chief Superintendent and Mrs Pantry to the airport. Everything went off without a hitch. The car ride back to his hotel was uneventful, the Commissioner had some small talk with the CO, but he had absolutely nothing to say to me. I was the Commissioner’s ghost driver. I wasn’t there. Even in Red Serge I wasn't noticed.
The first day of the Commissioner’s visit was quiet. I drove he and Chief Superintendent Pantry downtown to meet the Attorney General, and the tour included afternoon tea with the Island’s Lieutenant Governor. In the evening, I drove the Commissioner to an early dinner planned at the CO’s house, and later that evening I picked the Commissioner and Mrs Higgitt up and drove them back to their hotel. So far, the Commissioner had not yet noticed that I was his personal chauffeur. It wasn't my place to speak, and I had been trained not to talk in situations such as this one. So I thought about the weather. It was warm and beautiful. I also thought, "Isn't this just marvellous. Just marvellous. Isn't it just my luck. This Commissioner has no vocal chords." I would like to have asked him, "Commissioner, how's crime on the national front?" But I didn't. I didn't dare.
However, that very night the Commissioner must have had a bad sleep.
The next morning, nothing went right with the visit from the time the sun rose on the second day. The Commissioner appeared to have awoken with the jitters. Oh, the sun was warm, but the Commissioner was overcast -- this day he was in a foul, mean mood. For sure, I was dressed in Red Serge, my uniform was spotless, and I could bet that he could not find any fault with my appearance. But, so far the Commissioner had not noticed me, so I just kept thinking that my driving skills were pretty good. Not only had I driven on the streets of Vancouver, but I could also easily handle the chaotic streets of Brooklyn, the Bronx and Manhattan.
It all began badly when the Commissioner was late on the morning of the second day. It was necessary for me to drive him back to his hotel as he had forgotten his camera. Then I was scheduled to drive the Commissioner and Chief Superintendent Pantry over to Montague on the Island's west end. A lunch had been planned at the local golf course, and the Commissioner was the star attraction. So far, the Commissioner had not noticed the ghost in Red Serge in the front driver’s seat. As we drove along the highway, I spotted big trouble ahead. Jitters was about to act up.
A kilometre ahead, an RCMP member had stopped a car on the highway for an infraction, but the constable was not wearing his hat. Without even guessing, I automatically knew that the Commissioner would be very agitated, but I hoped -- just hoped that he would not notice. But he did. The Commissioner said, “Lou, stop the police car and run over and tell that constable to put his hat on.” And that’s exactly what happened. The CO told me to pull over and stop.
Chief Superintendent Pantry got out and walked across the highway and he told the constable to return to his cruiser and put his hat on. Imagine. Jitters. The Commissioner was already very upset, and this 'constable not wearing a hat’ incident just added more hard crust to the half baked pie. After the CO returned to the car, we continued the drive, but no one said a single word until I stopped the cruiser once again at the golf course. It was time for lunch. And, the Commissioner was saving the worst until later that same evening.
A Red Serge reception was planned for 7PM that evening at the Charlottetown Curling Club. The CO and I picked up the Commissioner and Mrs Higgitt at their hotel. I was driving through the winding streets of Charlottetown and on our way to the Club. I stopped at an intersection for a red light, but I could easily tell that the Commissioner was still in a frosty mood. For some reason, it was just not his day. The Commissioner was riding ‘jitters’. I guessed that the ‘constable’s no hat’ incident on the highway likely just added more stress to his Island visit.
I waited for the light to turn from red to green, and as usual, I paused the cruiser for a second or two before proceeding into the intersection after the light turned green. I had only moved the cruiser an inch when all of a sudden a taxi burned the light from the other direction to our left and it sped through the intersection. I immediately saw what was about to happen, and I touched the brakes but not to disturb the passengers. The taxi missed our cruiser by a mile, but the Commissioner yelled at me, “You’re going to get us all killed!” “What are you doing?”
I could easily tell that the Commissioner was upset with me, but Mrs Higgitt intervened within a second of his shouts. Mrs Higgitt said, “Len, Len, it’s all right. Calm down. The constable knows what he’s doing.” “No, he doesn’t”, shouted the Commissioner, “He’s going to get us all killed." “Len, Len,” said Mrs Higgitt, “Calm down, no one is hurt and the cab missed us by a mile.” But, the Commissioner had to have the last word, he said, “I’m not sure he missed us by a mile, and the constable doesn’t know how to drive!”
Surely, I thought that my career was over. Dead. All over. I’ve caused the Commissioner to be more upset. If the Commissioner was serious and I get fired, what will I do? I can't go home to my parents, and my bedroom was taken over by my siblings within a few minutes after my departure in 1964. Anyway, Mrs Higgitt held the Commissioner hands and he quieted down. We arrived at the Curling Club. The CO turned to me and winked, then he told me to come inside and join the Receiving Line which was being held in honour of the Commissioner.
I parked the cruiser and went inside as instructed by the CO. I joined the Receiving Line and within a couple minutes I was face to face with the Commissioner. The CO introduced me to the Commissioner, and the CO said, "Commissioner, this is Constable Healy, he’s your Official Driver." Before the Commissioner could respond, the CO continued on about me, he said, "Yes, someday you can bet that Constable Healy will be a Corporal." Faster than a steeplechase race finish, the Commissioner turned his reply directly at me, and he said, “Somehow, I don’t think so!”
A couple months later I was promoted to Corporal, but I knew enough not to tell the Commissioner.
There's a lesson here for all police officers. Never accept an assignment to drive the Commissioner if he or she is having a bad day. Maybe he or she is riding Jitters.
The end.
Reporting from the Fort,
J. J. Healy,
April 21, 2018
