bout de papier, Vol. 6, No. 1 (1988) — Spring 1988 // Printemps 1988, p. 16
Working abroad in the Foreign Service may provide one unexpected compensation — a more intimate and rewarding view of Members of Parliament than you are likely to obtain back in Ottawa.
Members of the House — always apparently preoccupied with getting back home to minister to their constituents — nevertheless manage to journey abroad in surprising numbers. Some of them are simply Parliamentary Peripatetics who, at their own expense, journey from Switzerland to Swaziland in pursuit of the knowledge that will enhance their performance on the Back Benches at home. There are Parliamentary Clubmen, who visit with their opposite numbers in Commonwealth and foreign capitals to exchange ideas and return to Ottawa recharged by exposure to parliamentary institutions in the farthest corners of the globe. And there are the Parliamentary Observers who, drawn from all parties in the House, focus on Canada’s performance each autumn at the General Assembly of the United Nations and at other proliferations of that complex international body.
To Externalites stationed at Canada’s Permanent Mission to the United Nations, the autumnal visit by Parliamentary Observers generates a happy rather than a fearful prospect, for we have learned that any problems their presence may create will be only little ones. In addition to the briefings they will want on the larger affairs of state and the U.N. debates they will be observing, they will want to know where to eat in New York for the same price they enjoy in the Parliamentary Dining Room, or why the hometown newspaper from Moose Jaw or Antigonish is not to be found in their hotel on the day of publication, or how to get a ticket for tonight’s performance of a long-sold-out play. A lost wallet here, a parking ticket there, a piece of luggage gone astray — and sometimes they may lose their way. But, by the time the General Assembly finally ends, we are sorry to see them go.
Only rarely do our Parliamentary kinfolk become involved in some untoward incident — of such a nature as to go unrecorded in the omnivorous files of External Affairs; such as what happened to an M.P., who shall remain unnamed, who came down to New York as an Observer on the Canadian Delegation to the United Nations General Assembly in an autumn of the early 1970’s.
This Member of the House was short in stature, dark of hair, high of spirit and quick of tongue. He brought to New York his spouse, a lady considerably taller than he and by contrast blonde. To forestall any suggestion here of Male Chauvinism, let it suffice to describe her with understatement simply as a stunner, a showstopper and altogether glorious to behold.
To house Parliamentarians and others from Ottawa coming down to help out at the General Assembly, our Permanent Mission to the United Nations used to put them up at the Barclay Hotel — a dignified hostelry located next to the Waldorf Astoria in the block between Park and Lexington Avenues and between 48th and 49th Streets. During that autumn a store across the road from the Lexington Avenue entrance to the Barclay had closed, leaving a dark stretch on this busy and otherwise brightly-lit thoroughfare. That dark stretch began to attract a considerable number of Ladies of the Night, seeking to maintain a low profile and to avoid harassment by New York’s Finest, who were on one of their periodic rampages to reduce such blemishes on the Metropolitan image.
However, to the growing consternation of the Barclay’s management, not only did these Ladies continue to congregate on Lexington Avenue right across the road from the hotel entrance but, it was noticed, on occasion, a Barclay guest would conduct one upstairs in the hotel.
To thwart this unprecedented threat to the Barclay’s reputation, the management set up security desks inside the hotel’s entrances and manned these with House Detectives whose roster was augmented so that a watch could be kept up round the clock.
It was during this period that our Parliamentary Observer followed the proceedings of a U.N. Committee well into the evening hours. Very tired, he was then joined by his wife for a late snack, and they strolled together back to the Barclay. Mounting the steps leading to the lobby, our M.P. was accosted by a recently-hired House Detective who, taking him aside, said in a discreet voice: “Sorry, sir, may I ask you not to take this woman upstairs.”
Parliamentarian, somewhat less discreetly: “And just why, may I ask, should I not take this woman upstairs?”
Friendly house detective, still discreetly: “Please understand, sir, I’m just doing my job. And that’s to ask you not to take this woman upstairs.”
Parliamentarian, not at all discreetly: “T’ll have you know that this woman is my wife, living with me in the hotel, and I’m damned well going to take her upstairs.”
Friendly house detective, looking from short Parliamentarian to Statuesque Companion with a tut-tut, sure-sure air: “Sure, I understand sir, but I must still ask you not to take her upstairs.”
Statuesque companion, seemingly amused, remains aloof from conversation.
Parliamentarian, colour approaching purple: “Im a member of the Canadian Delegation to the United Nations. Here’s my Delegation identification card. And any member of the Delegation staying at the hotel will certainly identify my wife.”
Friendly house detective, beginning to frown, casts quick look around lobby. Not a member of the Delegation was in sight.
Parliamentarian, irate: “Phone anyone at the Canadian Permanent Mission. They will confirm that this is my wife.” He pulls out a copy of the Permanent Mission’s home telephone list (with which we thoughtfully arm all Parliamentary visitors).
Friendly house detective, by now alarmed, phones Angus Matheson, Head of Chancery.
Angus, as stolid and phlegmatic a Scot as ever worked for External, was fortunately at home. Asked by the House Detective to describe the Parliamentarians’s wife, Angus – then a specialist in External’s and the United Nations’ budget and finances — rose to this challenge, as forthrightly as Ambassador Kenneth Taylor rose to his challenge of rescuing American colleagues in Teheran. Angus’ description, with his customary regard for detail, of the Parliamentarian’s handsome wife satisfied the House Detective completely.
Statuesque companion, to Parliamentarian: “Well, thank God that’s over. Now let’s get upstairs and get to bed.”
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 6, No. 1 (1988) — Spring 1988 // Printemps 1988, p. 16. Read the rest of this issue →
