POSTING #73

From Pointe-au-Père to Quebec City by Passenger Liner

After joining the Immigration Foreign Service in June 1959, I spent 16 months in different parts of Canada with a small group of new recruits studying the Immigration Act, Regulations and (voluminous) Manuals, and learning how to select and counsel the foreign workers who wanted to come to Canada.

Part of the training, in the fall of 1959, took place in Quebec City, studying how immigrants coming to Canada by sea---most immigrants came by sea in those days---were handled.

Passengers on smaller ships disembarked and were examined at the Immigration office at the Quebec City harbour but the Canadian Government had an agreement with the large passenger liners so that the examination was carried out on board the ships as they sailed down the Gulf of St. Lawrence to Quebec City. This was more convenient for the passengers and allowed the ships to have a faster turn-around time.

One day, after several weeks of useful but dull classroom sessions, we were told that the next day we would accompany experienced Immigration officers on one of these ship-board examinations.

We recruits were delighted. You join the Foreign Service to see the world and then spend months studying Acts and Regulations---just like university. This trip promised a bit of excitement.

We took a ferry across the St. Lawrence River to Lévis, and then the train to Pointe-au-Père (we called it 'Father Point' in those pre-bilingual days), about 200 miles east, along the south shore of the St. Lawrence, near Rimouski.

If Pointe-au-Père (or Father Point) seems to ring a bell, it may because of its link with the infamous Dr. Crippen. The good doctor killed his wife in England and in 1910 fled to Canada with his girl friend, who was dressed as a boy, pretending to be his son.

The alert Captain of the ship became suspicious early in the voyage when he saw Crippen and the 'boy' behaving amorously toward each other. He sent a message on his Marconi radio to Scotland Yard (one of the first instances of the radio being used to catch a crook), the Yard then sent an officer to Canada on a faster ship. The officer arrived in Father Point ahead of Crippen's ship and waited.

When Crippen's ship came into the Gulf of St. Lawrence, the Scotland Yard detective went out in a tender, boarded the ship, and was taken to Dr. Crippen's cabin. At that point he is supposed to have uttered one of those understated greetings that the British are famous for, "Good afternoon, Dr. Crippen".

Crippen was found guilty and hung while his girl friend was found innocent, changed her name and emigrated somewhere.

Sorry for that digression. (Google will produce lots of Crippen hits if you would like to follow up on this fascinating story---some articles even claim that DNA tests show that Crippen was innocent.)

At Pointe-au-Père, we boarded a small tender and sailed out into the choppy Gulf of St. Lawrence to meet an incoming liner. The liner crew opened a door in the side of the ship, and dropped a ladder down to our boat. Carrying our briefcases in one hand and hanging onto the ladder with the other we clambered from the heaving tender onto the liner.

We were taken to one of the first class dining rooms so we could have dinner before starting the examination of passengers. The liner didn't want us doing our work on an empty stomach.

There was a menu with suggested meals but we were told that the kitchen would be pleased to prepare whatever we liked. The regular officers knew exactly what they wanted and proceeded to order caviar, smoked salmon, filet mignon and so on.

I remember feeling awestruck (gob-smacked!) by the crisp linen table cloths and napkins, the elaborate place settings of shining silver and crystal and the instruction to have 'whatever you want'.

I forget what I ordered (probably something like grilled salmon and a salad) but I remember very well the fresh-baked dinner rolls. I had never tasted anything so delicious. (I have simple tastes.)

After dinner, we set up examination stations (tables with all our stamps) in a large lounge and began interviewing the passengers.

It was the fall and there were many Canadians returning from holidays in Europe. Although immigrants generally tried to arrive in the spring when the job situation started to open up, there were a fair number of new-Canadians. Most of the immigrants were, understandably, apprehensive about their life in a new country and we tried to spend some extra time, after the normal review of documents, in giving them some information about what would happen to them next.

After finishing with one such couple, I called out 'Next' and did a double take. Coming toward me was one of my favourite Queen's professors, John Meisel, with Mrs. Meisel.

After we got over the mutual surprise at seeing each other in that setting, Professor Meisel got a disturbed look on his face.

I had seen that look once before.

We were meeting in his office in a large old brick house that served at that time as the home for the Politics Department. We were standing by a window that overlooked a garden discussing a paper I was working on. Professor Meisel suddenly interrupted himself and pointing at a black bird said, "Look, there's a boat-tail grackle."

I looked and said, "I thought it was a starling."

"Oh, Hunter, I'm so disappointed."

The disappointed look on the ship, was---it later turned out---because he thought that all his efforts to implant some understanding of political science into me were going to be wasted--- I was going to spend my career stamping passports.

I explained that this was training for work overseas. He seemed a little mollified, but not totally.

There were many passengers waiting to be seen, so I stamped the two Meisel passports (they had been on vacation in Europe). Later on we got together for a drink and I think I was able to reassure him that all his efforts weren't necessarily going to be for naught.

I am happy to be able to say that Professor Meisel, now in his late 80s, is still active in the political science department, as a professor emeritus.

All his former students wish the courtly, kindly professor many more years---what an excellent teacher!

000

There is a story about the Pointe-au-Père to Quebec City immigration trips that Jack Manion likes to tell (Jack started off in Immigration and then went on to a most remarkable career in the public service).

It is important to note here that Immigration had the most fastidious expense account checkers of any department I ever encountered. Everyone I knew grumbled about those 'blank, blank bean counters'.

In those days, it was not possible to lump expenses like taxis, laundry, tips into a daily allowance. They all had to be listed separately. For example, we had to justify tips to sleeping car porters and bellboys (bell-persons?) by listing the number and type of bags we had with us.

I remember once claiming for the laundry of 5 shirts and having a claim returned with the note that the trip was only 4 days long. My explanation that we had got caught in a sudden downpour and had to change my shirt was---reluctantly---accepted.

According to Jack Manion's story, an Immigration Officer was climbing the ladder from the tender to a passenger liner when a gust of wind blew his hat into the Gulf of St. Lawrence.

After the trip, the officer had to buy a new Immigration hat. (Officers received a free hat that was supposed to last for a certain number of years. If something happened to the hat, they had to pay for a new one.)

Feeling that the hat had been lost while he was on duty and through no fault of his own, he included the cost of the hat in his expense account.

The claim came back with a notation that the money for the hat had been deleted---the hat had been lost due to his carelessness and was not therefore a legitimate expense.

Instead of getting angry, the officer decided to bide his time.

On his next expense account, he added a note on the bottom, below his signature. "The hat is included above. Try to find it."

The accounts clerk checked the claim again and again but couldn't find anything out of order and eventually had to approve it.

But the clerk was left to wonder whether the officer was playing mind games with him or whether he had indeed found a way to include the hat.

Immigration officers relished the thought of that clerk lying awake at night stewing about 'the hat'.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

See you on June 19th for Posting #74 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting, or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.