(I'm hoping that the 2022 Ontario election campaign looks at the issue of poverty. Here is a story I wrote on poverty in Ontario. I made it up but it could be true. This story won the 2021 Norfolk County’s Laureate award for fiction. It will take you about 18 minutes to read. )
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“You need to tell them where the bodies are buried.”
Councillor Ken Williams could not get that strange phone message out of his head.
There had been that anonymous call left on his voice mail this morning – the fourth consecutive day this had occurred. Of course, it wasn’t that unusual to get odd calls.
Somehow, though, this one was different.
What bodies? Buried where, he wondered.
Williams, Ward 2 Councillor for the City of Clarovista, was headed into a municipal council meeting on this gloomy Tuesday. It promised to be a long day.
As he made his way to his seat, Williams was approached by Sharon Smith, the diligent city reporter for the Clarovista Clarion.
“Councillor Williams, could I speak with you about some strange calls we have been getting at the Clarion?”
“I’m not sure I could help you about calls you are receiving Sharon,” Williams answered warily.
“They have been mentioning your name,” she continued.
“My name? Umm, sure. Perhaps we could talk after the meeting.”
“Alright then, I’ll catch you after. Doesn’t look like there will be much exciting news to write about from this meeting.”
Just then Mayor Ted Martin, decked out in a designer Grey Notch Lapel Suit complete with chain of office trailed by his executive assistant, glided past Smith and Williams. Late by about ten minutes as is/was his custom. Now the meeting could commence.
This was Williams’ sixth year on Council. He’d long ago figured out the routine. As sure as the rainbow smelt will run into Lake Vista in the spring, staff bring this particular report every April. It is called The Annual Review of Grants for Agencies and Organizations that Operate Health and/or Social Services Programs.
The verbose report title mirrored an awkward process that compelled organizations to jump through a nonsensical number of unnecessary hoops. That review would likely take up the bulk of today’s meeting.
The regular April crowd was all there; agency people, community activists, those with lived experience. Some of Williams’ colleagues referred to these people as members of “special interest groups.” But Williams had learned long ago from his trade unionist grandfather who the real special interest groups were.
“Kenny,” he’d say, “never underestimate the power of the banks and their shady sidekicks – the developers.”
This year Council had an additional delegation, an expert on social policy from the university. Williams knew Dr. Patricia Fleming slightly and had gone to a couple of seminars in which she had participated.
Fleming was called to the lectern by the Mayor and began her presentation with the usual salutary remarks. Then she moved on to territory that was familiar to Williams.
“Ontario’s treatment of the poor goes back to the 18th century and is built on the whole idea that there are two types of poor people - deserving poor and the non-deserving poor,” she lectured.
“Ontario’s treatment of the poor goes back to the 18th century and is built on the whole idea that there are two types of poor people - deserving poor and the non-deserving poor,” she lectured.
Williams knew this; had made the point himself as it related to the current situation in the
province.
“The first piece of legislation important for you to understand,” Fleming continued, “is the Constitution Act of 1791.”
“The first piece of legislation important for you to understand,” Fleming continued, “is the Constitution Act of 1791.”
Oh dear, thought Williams, she will never get through 204 years of Ontario social policy history within her ten-minute time allocation.
“In setting up the governance structure for Upper Canada, or Ontario as we now know it, Lieutenant Governor Simcoe took most elements from Great Britain’s legislation except, and this is paramount, not the poor law. Other jurisdictions, New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, to name two, adopted the Poor Laws. You must appreciate that this effort to ban a poor law in Ontario promoted the growth of private charities. All these charities held their own distinct beliefs and this resulted in weakening of public support for those in need.”
Mayor Martin cleared his throat.
“Mrs. Fleming I’m concerned that you are veering off topic. I’m having trouble seeing
what any of what you are saying has to do with what is on the agenda today.”
“It’s Doctor Fleming, sir. On the contrary Mr. Mayor this history has everything to do with today’s agenda. May I continue without interruption, please?”
“Before you do, could you tell us a little more about Poor Laws, Dr. Fleming,” piped up Councillor Jim Bristow.
“No, No, Councillor there will be time for questions later. I need to keep Mrs. Fleming, Dr Fleming, on track.” The Mayor liked to be in control.
Dr. Fleming carried on.
“As I was saying in Ontario, specific forms of outdoor relief (coal, bread, milk) and institutional relief were offered to those who were considered deserving. We are talking here about the aged and infirm, widows, “deserted” mothers, apprenticed children. In addition, sometimes public work jobs were provided to new arrivals and those considered able-bodied."
Just as the Mayor was about to interrupt again there was grumbling and shuffling in the public seats. As Martin reached for his gavel, two determined women rushed the dais. One grabbed the chief magistrate by his shoulders while the other attempted to yank the chain of office from his neck. This removal was not without difficulty especially as the mayor’s dutiful assistant had leapt into the fray to save the Mayor from harm.
Harming the Mayor was not part of the plan though; it was the chain of office the women were after. After a short tussle, the assailants had the chain in hand and were dashing out of the committee room shouting something about justice, a cover up and buried bodies. Williams recognized these women from earlier protest actions around town. They were part of a group called Clarovista Coalition for Fairness and Justice (CCFJ).
.
Meanwhile the Mayor lay sprawled inelegantly on the floor.
.
Meanwhile the Mayor lay sprawled inelegantly on the floor.
“We will have a fifteen-minute adjournment,” mewled his worship as he struggled to regain his feet - unhurt but dispossessed of the 130-year-old symbol of mayoral primacy.
Members of the public and those Clarovista bureaucrats assembled for the meeting sat in stunned silence.
Members of the public and those Clarovista bureaucrats assembled for the meeting sat in stunned silence.
“Wow. Now I’ve got a story idea,” Sharon Smith declared.
As what had happened was unprecedented no one really knew what to do. The exhaustive Clarovista emergency preparedness booklet that detailed procedures did not cover theft of the chain of office. Consequently no one thought to pursue the thieves.
The Mayor staggered from the room as his executive assistant announced that it had now been decided that the meeting was adjourned at the call of the Chair.
Dr. Fleming had returned to the dais and was trying to be heard while waving a book over her head. Her efforts were pointless as no one could hear above the commotion.
Sharon Smith, the reporter, had found a quiet place to send in her story.
For his part, Williams meandered to the front of the room to persuade Dr. Fleming that it might be best to send in the remainder of her presentation to the clerk’s department. They would distribute it to Council members. She seemed deflated but handed Williams a book entitled Poverty in Ontario 1791-2000.
“I’d like you to have this book Councillor Williams. I think you will find the chapter that covers the history of the Clarovista Poorhouse of particular interest."
Days went by and yet there was no news of the missing chain of office.
After all that had occurred at the Tuesday Council the meeting that reconvened the following Monday was somewhat of an anti-climax.
Not to the various agencies who had appealed their grants, of course. Some of their appeals were successful, others not. Councillors seized the opportunity to interject their presumed sage advice to the various agencies - Do more with less, build partnerships, consider more fundraising projects. Always at play was the whole matter of who ought to get service and who was not really entitled to it. After all the hard-working families of Clarovista could not be expected to dig into their pocketbooks to support every nutty idea the kumbaya crowd chose to advance.
Those same issues were dealt with at length in Poverty in Ontario 1791-1995. Dr. Fleming had written a surprisingly interesting book. Chapter Sixteen, which dealt with the history of the Clarovista poorhouse, filled in some blanks for Williams who had put aside other reading on the weekend to go through Fleming’s book.
Of course, Williams knew that poorhouses were established in the mid 19th century
to house people who required food, shelter, or care in order to survive.
to house people who required food, shelter, or care in order to survive.
The poorhouse was a response to the number of people begging on the streets, wandering the countryside, or languishing in jails.
The Clarovista poorhouse existed from 1877 up until 1933 when the municipality decided to sell off assets to raise money during the depression. The property had been in what is currently Williams’ ward somewhere up in the northeast corner near where Mayor Martin lives. Williams studied the map that was included in Fleming’s book. Hold on.
“This is the mayor’s property. That’s odd,” Williams said aloud.
Chapter 16 laid out a map of the Poorhouse and its 50-acre site complete with building sketches showing the large stone house built in the Italianate style, barn and various out buildings, the hospital wing and the pest house. The living arrangements were dormitory style – one side of the house women and children; the other for men.
There were also drawings of the confinement cells or idiot cells as they were called that were used for discipline purposes. Sadly, two brothers, Harold (Inmate #1238) and Joseph Cook Inmate #1239), incarcerated behind the iron cell doors of the confinement cells perished in a fire in 1933. The brothers had been locked in the cells for repeatedly violating the curfew and for their inability and unwillingness to find work.
It was said that they missed curfew as they were travelling to distant towns looking for work that was hard to come by during the depression. But at the poorhouse rules were rules and the Cook brothers had run afoul of those rules.
Some in the community had called for an inquest but the authorities decided against one as fire deaths were fairly common at the time and there were complications as there was some confusion as to the location of the remains of the deceased brothers.
Some in the community had called for an inquest but the authorities decided against one as fire deaths were fairly common at the time and there were complications as there was some confusion as to the location of the remains of the deceased brothers.
The main building had been destroyed contributing to the decision to sell the property. Inmates were relocated to nearby Carson Creek.
The Keeper, Janek Marcin, left town but turned up several years later living on the same property.
How did one become an inmate at the Clarovista Poorhouse, Williams wondered.
How did one become an inmate at the Clarovista Poorhouse, Williams wondered.
Dr. Fleming had provided her business card with her book. Her home number was on the back of the card. Williams dialed the number.
“Dr. Fleming, Ken Williams here. I’m enjoying your book. Could I ask you a couple of questions?”
“Certainly Councillor, I have some time, go ahead.”
“Well, I’m not totally clear on how people became inmates – inmate that is a horrible word - of the poorhouse.”
“It was fairly simple. Your predecessors were quite involved.”
“The Council was involved?”
“Yes. People who had been living in Clarovista for at least two years who needed help could apply to the mayor. The mayor and council would determine whether the Poorhouse was the best fit for the individual or family. Then they would have to approve a recommendation for the person or people to be sent to the Poorhouse. It was a public process like authorizing spending for a bridge or approving monies to send a councillor to a conference.”
“This just seems wrong, Dr. Fleming.”
“Yes, of course it is wrong but is it really any different than what Council does these days?
Last week’s meeting is a case in point. Agencies having to grovel and answer ridiculous questions from uniformed members of council Not you Councillor, of course.) in order to maintain their organizations funding or get small incremental increases to continue important community work.”
“The budget is really tight this year, Patricia.”
“But the budget isn’t the issue, Ken. There is a bigger community picture at play.
They chatted some more. After Dr Fleming hung up Williams was left with an uneasy feeling as he returned to his reading.
They chatted some more. After Dr Fleming hung up Williams was left with an uneasy feeling as he returned to his reading.
In that year of the fire, 1933, thirty percent of the labour force was out of work, and one-fifth of the population was dependent on government assistance. Ironically, the Cook brothers’ grandfather, Jonah Cook, had donated part of his farm to the County as the site for the Poorhouse.
The phone rang interrupting Williams. It was Sharon Smith from the Clarion. Williams considered not picking up but did just before the call went to voice mail.
Ms. Smith, how are you today?”
“Fine, Councillor. I’m looking for a comment.”
“On……?”
“The Chain of Office has been located on the Mayor’s property in a small wooded area.”
“Really!”
“Yes, what do you think of that, Councillor Williams?”
“Well, what I think is that you should ask the mayor about it.”
“I have. He wasn’t helpful.”
“Wasn’t helpful?”
“He said it was none of my business what was on his property. Stay off his property. He was almost shouting. The Chain of Office has been recovered and that was that.”
“Well, there is some truth to what the mayor said, don’t you think?”
“Sure, some truth. But the Chain was in a strange spot.”
“Well, of course, it was in the woods on the mayor’s rather nice property. It is supposed to be at city hall.”
“No. That’s not what I mean. It was around the neck of a scarecrow that was dressed in a grey suit, with a City of Clarovista lapel pin and an official tie. The scarecrow was dressed to, you know, look like the mayor. And it had a note pinned to it.”
“A scarecrow with a note pinned to it?”
“Yes. Here is what it said.
Knock, knock
Who’s over there?
Harold and Joseph
And no one cares.
And this mayor scarecrow thingy is pointing off further into the woods. Do you understand any of it? What is the story here?”
Who’s over there?
Harold and Joseph
And no one cares.
And this mayor scarecrow thingy is pointing off further into the woods. Do you understand any of it? What is the story here?”
Williams took a deep breath thinking of how to answer.
“Those calls we’ve been getting are beginning to make sense. Maybe history has something to tell us when we know where the bodies are buried. That’s what you should write about.”
