Here I am, the future Duke Ellington, tapping out a tune.
and Sons Ltd. of Toronto. Barber had connections, and through his colleagues he was able to get me job offers in Hamilton or Ottawa. I chose a job in Hamilton, and I went to work as a machine operator with Otis Fenson, making the 40-mm Bofor anti-aircraft guns. I wanted a job in Hamilton, Yvonne’s hometown, so I could be in a better position to woo her.
CHAPTER 2
The War Years
By 1942, I was ready to challenge the system. I stepped up. None of the three services at the time — army, navy, and air force — were interested in having blacks. The navy was the worst of the three. I wasn’t keen to join the army; I didn’t like their uniforms. So I opted for the air force. Besides, I thought I looked best in their uniform. Because of my poor eyesight, there was never a chance that I would go overseas, but nevertheless, in the air force I ultimately rose to the rank of corporal. At the start of my service I was a wireless operator ground, and my assignments involved training stints in Guelph, Ontario, and Lachine, Quebec.
From Lachine, after training as a wireless operator, I was shipped out to Number Seven Air Observer School in Portage la Prairie, Manitoba, where I flew on training missions. I worked in communications, flying in Anson aircraft with young men from the Commonwealth who would eventually become navigators. In total I spent about three years in the air force, with the majority of the time in Portage la Prairie. My pals and I had some good times out west, and we used to meet up with some very nice country girls in Winnipeg. I was a slick old boy.
One of the most interesting race-related experiences I’ve encountered took place during the war, and I wouldn’t characterize it as negative. When I was in Portage la Prairie, there was this guy who just kept staring at me day after day. For the first while I didn’t bother with it. But after a time, it became irritating, so I asked him what the hell he was looking at. And that poor country bumpkin replied that I was the first black person he’d ever seen. I was upset that I’d been angry with him — he was obviously naive and inexperienced — and I simply told him I was the same as anybody else. But do you see how much things have changed? Actually, it’s amazing that even today there are people in Canada who have never seen a black person, except on TV.
My wireless certificate, 1943.
One of the great rewards of my wartime service was in making new friends. After I joined the air force, my first stage of training in wireless was in Hamilton, and it was there that I forged another set of lifelong friendships. There were four of us — Charlie Chartrand, Gordon Bull, Walter Holtz, and I — and we spent the better part of our service time together. Our friendship started in the fall of 1942 at Westdale high school, where the air force was holding its initial wireless training course. After we graduated from the course in Hamilton, they shipped us out to Number One Wireless School in Lachine, where our talents were supposedly refined and we were groomed for service. It was after
Here I am with my fellow wireless operators ground (WOGs) based in Portage la Prairie during the Second World War.
completing that course that we were shipped out to Portage la Prairie, which was run by the British Commonwealth Air Training Program. Some pilots were trained there, but it was mostly for navigators and bombardiers. We left Portage la Prairie for Vancouver in the spring of 1945, when it was clear victory was imminent in Europe, but the battle was still raging in the Pacific.
Whether in Hamilton, Portage la Prairie, or Vancouver, we had some fun times. The people in Portage la Prairie were great with the air force personnel. We would regularly be invited out to their homes for Sunday dinner, which was a real treat after being so long away from home. In Hamilton, the four of us would go out on the town together and we were lucky in that regard. Holtz was a sewing machine salesman — Singer, I think — and he still had access to a car and gasoline. One of the places we used to like to go was The Brant Inn in Burlington, where they used to bring in some of the top big bands of the time. Ironically, it was a place that later on refused admittance to blacks. When we were in Portage la Prairie, one of the greatest events of my wartime experiences — if not the greatest — occurred when the jazz great Lionel Hampton came for a concert.
The four of us just kind of clicked and, though we didn’t get together often after the war, the friendships forged during that time would last a lifetime. I’m still in touch with Charlie, who these days keeps a file on
Here I am with two air force colleagues, Walter Holtz (centre) and Jerry Comartin of Windsor.
my various exploits. One time he called to tell me he’d seen a picture of me on Wolfe Island, off Kingston in Lake Ontario. His wife was from the island — in fact, she is buried there — so they would go back often. He had come across this photo of me, as lieutenant-governor of Ontario, planting a tree. Every time he went to Wolfe Island after that, he took a picture of that tree and sent it to me.
Charlie often visited Ottawa when I was an MP, but I always had something going on. One time, we were set to meet for dinner and the House ended up in a debate over Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau’s plans for an indoor swimming pool at his official residence, 24 Sussex Drive. I couldn’t miss that session, so I couldn’t see Charlie.
I also had some negative experiences in the air force. Toward the end of the war I was posted to the West Coast at Western Air Command. One time in Vancouver about six of us headed out for a night on the town. We went into one bar and ordered a round of beer, and the bartender scanned the bunch of us and then locked eyes with me. He paused, then said he would serve the entire group except me, even though all of us, including me, were in uniform. I exploded. I said to the bigot that if I wasn’t going to be able to have a beer, no one else would be able to either, and with that I swept all the beer off the bar onto the floor with my forearm. I leaned my sixfoot-three-inch frame over the bar, grabbed the beer taps, and dared the bartender to try serving someone else. The incident had me fuming, so my pals and I left. It turned out several other servicemen, including some Americans, joined us and we did a pretty thorough tour of several more bars down town, all without incident. The next day, I reported the bartender’s refusal to my commanding officer.
I can’t remember the name of my mate here, but the note says, “Here is one of the aircraft we fly in. Ain’t I a long rascal (ha-ha).” This was among the pictures I sent to Yvonne.
I told my flight lieutenant it was his duty to stick up for his men. If I was fighting for my country, then the least the air force could do was set things right. There I was, defending the rights of the likes of that bartender, and he didn’t have the decency to serve me. What kind of thinking is that? I also told him that if the air force couldn’t represent my interests, it could very well release me from duty. From a military standpoint, perhaps my demands seemed impertinent, but I knew it was also the morally right course of action. I was obliged to speak out; he was obliged to act. But in the end, the air force did nothing. Within a couple of months, I had received my honourable discharge, though it turns out the paperwork had been completed some weeks earlier and was languishing on someone’s desk somewhere.
I have a special bond with the people who serve in the Canadian Forces and for those I served with during the war. It troubles me deeply to hear the debates that arise annually over whether Remembrance Day is still relevant, or to hear people disparage what our soldiers have done for us. It’s incredibly naive, and I think the irony is astounding — using the right of free speech that these people fought and died for to criticize the same people who defend us and