Aéurea Cloutier has heard about a secretarial position in a lawyer’s office. Born in Iron Mountain, Michigan, she moved to Trois-Rivières with her parents when she was five. She speaks French and writes it almost perfectly. Wearing a pearl-grey suit, gloves, and a small felt hat, she presents herself at the Hart Street office.
“I’m almost thirty years old, and I wonder if I’m too old.”
Maurice Duplessis sizes her up. This young lady looks serious. Is she discreet? It is very important that she know how to keep secrets, that she be meticulous. A trustworthy, devoted secretary.
“Miss Auréa Cloutier, I’m hiring you. On a trial basis for one week. I will keep you on if I’m satisfied with your work. One of your jobs will be to cut out any newspaper articles about me. You will put them in this file, at the end of my desk.”
The pact is concluded: the two are united, more faithful than if they were married. Over time, Auréa Cloutier will go from being a legal secretary to his political attaché. She is the one who greets Maître Duplessis’s clients. Gradually she gets to know better than anyone else the friends of the Conservative Party. If Mr. So-and-So is more important, he is admitted before the one who is a Liberal. And does he contribute to the electoral kitty of the Bleus? Then she treats him like a prince. He is entitled to treatment commensurate with his generosity.
One day, Maurice Duplessis leaves a book that he has borrowed from the library on his secretary’s desk. “Miss Cloutier,” he says in a firm voice, “copy the passage on the Workers’ Compensation Act in Russia.”
Why all this zeal? Everything is useful to Duplessis if he wants to become MLA for Trois-Rivières. The day after his defeat in the election of 1923, Maurice starts to rally his supporters. He puts together a plan based on the needs of his riding. At the next election, in four years, he knows he will be ready to face any kind of adversary. To temper any outburst of impatience, he recalls a fable by La Fontaine, whose tales he often memorized when he was at the Collège Notre-Dame. The fable is The Lion and the Rat. And so, quite naturally, he thinks of the moral of the fable: “Patience and hard work do more than strength or rage.”
The two major political parties are playing musical chairs at the federal and provincial levels. Canadians go to the polls in 1925. The election campaign is a lacklustre one as Liberal William Lyon Mackenzie King hangs on to the power coveted by Conservative Arthur Meighen. Maurice Duplessis remains on the sidelines. He waits for his turn. He is helping out a friend in Berthier, but he doesn’t think it wise to throw himself into the fray just yet.
Surprisingly, what he waxes most enthusiastic about is a new machine that he has just bought: a wireless radio that he installs in the middle of his living room. On October 29, comfortably seated and surrounded by friends, he listens for the first time to the results of the election over the wireless. A technical revolution! Surrounded by friends, Maurice uses this opportunity to poke fun at the federal leader:
“Poor old Mackenzie King, he consults Mrs. Bleaney, his fortune teller, but he’s not able to win a convincing victory. You don’t need a crystal ball to see that Wilfrid Laurier’s successor hasn’t the stuff to be his heir!”
For Duplessis, the quarrels in Ottawa are like quarrels among distant cousins. He chooses to invest his energy into what is going on in Quebec. He follows the news avidly, reads several newspapers a day and listens faithfully to his wireless. He already appreciates that this medium can be a powerful ally if you know how to use it properly. Voters can be reached in their own homes. Yes, this is how the politician must appeal to the population and invite them to vote for him.
Talk, discuss, joke – who better than flamboyant lawyer Maurice Duplessis can do all this and seduce his listeners?
It is only a question of time. Soon, most Quebecers will turn on their radios and listen to the future MLA from Saint-Maurice convincing them to place their trust in him.
“Miss Cloutier, I’m off to New York for a few days. If you come across an article about Camillien Houde, put it in my files. And find out if there is any connection between the Taschereau family and the Banque canadienne nationale of Donnacona. And don’t forget to send a birthday card to Mrs. Crépeau. She is a good friend of the Conservatives.”
Growing up, Maurice Duplessis used to play in the parks of Trois-Rivières. He has turned into an ardent baseball fan. He can reel the statistics off by heart, and he knows the strengths and weaknesses of each player. When he attends the games, he can predict their strategy of attack and defence.
“Baseball is like the all-American dream,” he says to his friends. “The players are workers on a huge field. It is the only sport where statistics are averaged and the referees are so important.” The Yankees are Duplessis’s favourite team. When he can get tickets, he goes to New York to watch his hero play, the hero of a whole generation: George Herman “Babe” Ruth. The great Babe, with his Louisville Slugger, who hit sixty home runs in one year. Maurice sits in the bleachers of Yankee Stadium, “the House that Ruth built.” He follows the match closely, nothing escapes him. Go, Babe! Go! He’s a real man. A winner. He looks like a fat-cheeked baby, and yet what speed! Often, he steals bases. He’s funny. He’s a charmer. Maurice loves him for all these reasons. If the demon of politics had not possessed him, if he had not chosen law, if he had been born American, he would have liked to become a baseball player. Not just any player. No, a great one, a famous one, like the Babe.
This evening, the Yankees are giving the Red Sox a hard time. Maurice is with a friend, a member of the Conservative Party who wants to know how he intends to get elected on May 16, 1927.
“I’ve asked Robert René to organize my campaign,” says Maurice.
“René, the owner of the shoe store?”
“Yes. In addition to having money, the man has a lot of judgment. He gives good advice. In 1923, I made a few mistakes. The bourgeois in Trois-Rivières found me vulgar. I got the message. This time, I’m sure of beating Ludger-Philippe Mercier, Taschereau’s lackey. Even the Rouges don’t want him.”
“Your father would be so proud to see you now, Maurice. You are so much like him.”
“If I have any regrets, it is that Father died last year. He had suffered from diabetes for a long time. When he entered the Hôtel-Dieu Hospital, they amputated his leg. He was in a lot of pain… Mother also died of diabetes, almost six years ago.”
Maurice takes out a flask of whisky. A quick snort. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve.
“You drink too much, Maurice. In Trois-Rivières, your benders go unnoticed. But if you want to make a name for yourself in politics…”
“Stop lecturing me. That is my only weakness. Wow! Did you see that? The Babe just had a hit. I think it’s going to be a home run.”
The whole stadium is on its feet. Lights are flashing on the board. Maurice is also standing. As usual, he will party late into the night and will drink heavily. Tomorrow he’ll take the train back to Montreal, and then drive his car to Trois-Rivières. He has a lot to do. The election is in less than a month. Next week, he will campaign door to door. He has already prepared a long speech, which he will give on Monday.
His agenda is full. If he has allowed himself an evening out on the town, it is because he has nothing to worry about. Miss Cloutier looks after his appointments and his agenda.
Louis-Alexandre Taschereau is sixty years old at the time of the 1927 election. It is the second time that he asks Quebecers to vote for the Liberal Party. He stands an excellent chance