bout de papier, Vol. 25, No. 2 (2010) — Summer 2010 // Été 2010, p. 43
Alfred Pick had a long and wide-ranging diplomatic career, joining the Department of External Affairs in 1940, holding six ambassadorial appointments in Latin America, Europe, North Africa and the United States before retiring in 1976.
His first assignment abroad, shortly after joining, took him to Newfoundland where he represented Canada’s war-time interests in the British colony. He was serving as Acting High Commissioner in South Africa in 1947 when he was assigned to New Delhi to help set up the mission that would be required when India gained its independence that year. He interceded with Nehru successfully to obtain a much-sought-after building for the Chancery. He was Counselor of the Embassy in Rome from 1952-55. In 1958 he was appointed Ambassador to Peru and in 1961 the first Canadian Ambassador to Libya (non-resident). From 1969-72 he was Ambassador to the Netherlands. He was appointed the first Canadian Ambassador to the Organization of American States 1972-75.
During periods of service at home he became “the man to see” on Latin American affairs.
At Alfred Pick’s funeral service on March 6, 2010 Michael Shenstone spoke of him as a long-time neighbour and friend.
Remarks by Michael Shenstone
Unfortunately I didn’t know Alfred well during our long period of overlap in External Affairs – our paths hardly crossed professionally – but for more than the past 30 years he has been our close neighbour – in fact living right across the street from us in our little two-house enclave.
And a wonderful neighbour he was, indeed, as was his beloved Patsy while she lived
Alfred was the kind of neighbour that few people have: always helpful, always friendly, always tolerant of our personal foibles, always generous.
He bore without complaint, and even with a certain happy acceptance, that members of our family so often chose the roadway right in front of his house as the place to paint and repair their boats, so that in spring and fall, it was as cluttered as a busy yacht shipyard.
He always kept a spare key to our house, so that on the frequent occasions when one or other of us Shenstones (more often my wife than I, according to me had locked ourselves out, he was there, ready to let us in.
Every spring we would watch admiringly while this 80 or 90-year-old, in his plaid bush jacket, jeans and enormous rubber boots, tramped through the late winter snow to patiently bore small holes into the five or six huge maples across from us in his front yard, and then string little buckets on each one to tap them. And a few weeks later, he would be at our door with a jar of his freshly made Ellesmere Place Maple Syrup. He frankly admitted that it was probably the most expensive syrup ever made, because of the vast cost of the electricity he used in boiling it all down on his kitchen stove. But it was one of the most delicious.
Whenever we went away on a trip, he was our very own private “neighbourhood watch,” keeping a protective eye on our house, and on our return, greeting us warmly and with the latest local news and gossip.
As they say, Alfred was “there for us” as he was “there” for his own family and his many friends. Not the least of these was Arthur Menzies, his colleague in External from 1939, who has sadly followed him by only a few days.
Alfred, we Il all miss you – miss you very, very much. A wonderful man. Truly, “they don’t make them like that any more.”
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 25, No. 2 (2010) — Summer 2010 // Été 2010, p. 43. Read the rest of this issue →
