By Jim Hagarty
2006
I got a call a couple of weeks ago with the news that Ontario Premier Dalton McGuinty wanted to meet me, have a chat and buy me a coffee. I thought about that for a second or two and replied that, as the time that was proposed for the meeting coincided with my newspaper’s deadline, I was too busy for the meeting, but thanks.
Later I got thinking: He runs the largest province in Canada and I put together the smallest paper in Stratford. Maybe he’s busier than I am. So when my phone rang again about the proposed meeting, I said I’d be there.
If the Premier of Ontario wanted to drive up from Toronto to Stratford to buy me a cup of coffee, I guess I could go for that. With the price of coffee these days, it’s not that easy to find people willing to buy you a cup. Especially people who want to drive a hundred miles to do so.
Actually, at first I was flattered to think the premier wanted to see me, thinking perhaps he’d heard about my amazing writing abilities and was heading my way to offer me a plum speech-writing job. I started planning a strategy of playing hard to get and wondering how much money I could hit him up for. But then I was deflated when it was revealed that he also wanted to meet with another newspaper editor and the people over at the radio station.
Now why, I wondered, did Dalton McGuinty really want to meet with people in the media in this town? You don’t suppose, I considered, that he thought he could win us all over with his charm, make us think he’s a really nice guy? And that maybe we’d pass that impression onto our readers and listeners?
Nope. I think he just wanted to buy us all coffees.
Having committed myself, my next job was to set about fretting about the big meeting and with only a couple of days left before we were to sit down together in an uptown restaurant, I was getting myself into quite a state. What do you wear to have coffee with a premier? And what kind of questions could I think of to ask? How would we keep the conversation going? I thought of dressing up in a suit but that would make me even more of a nervous mess as I hate wearing suits.
In the end, I consoled myself that at my age, it really doesn’t matter too much what Dalton McGuinty thinks of me, so I went out and bought a new pair of blue jeans instead. He’d have to take me as I am. After all, he called me, I didn’t phone him.
Monday, the premier’s office called three times, each time with new arrangements. On the last call, a pleasant young woman named Jane said, “Our logistics people are on the ground at the restaurant as we speak.” That got me worrying a bit. I don’t even have any logistics people. Maybe I’d send our reporter by to see what the parking situation was like.
Tuesday, at exactly 10:50 a.m., I stepped out of my car and made my way to the restaurant, walking right in front of the premier as he exited his special vehicle with the blacked-out windows which, I’m guessing, were bulletproof. I turned around, shook his hand and he immediately started chatting about the weather. He and our member of Parliament left me and the other editor who showed up sitting at a table for 10 minutes while they chatted and laughed uproariously with a group of “Stratford Senators” at the back. Finally, they made their way to our table.
As it turned out, neither Dalton nor the member of Parliament wore a tie, so I felt a bit better. And conversation wasn’t going to be a problem. Being of Irish descent, it was obvious that getting Dalton McGuinty to stop talking was going to be the trick. Part way through our chat, a waitress delivered two tall glasses of tantalizing, cold water for the premier and the member of Parliament. Not a drop of anything for us lowly editors. Certainly not the coffee I’d been promised.
Nevertheless, the exercise was a success, politically speaking. Maybe I’m too easily impressed, but I came away thinking that Dalton McGuinty is a really nice guy and smart as a whip.
However, he still owes me a coffee and I will take that into consideration in all my future writings about him and his government. Sad for him as he has somehow managed to get a reputation for breaking promises and now I can add coffee buying to the list.
(Update: The above article was published in my newspaper. The member of Parliament showed it to the premier who proceeded to sign five free coupons for coffee at a nationally known chain restaurant for me. An added bonus: He could be seen signing them while an Ontario parliament session was being televised. The premier has long since retired and who knows what promises he is making and not keeping these days. I have yet to cash my coupons, 10 years later and plan to will them to my kids. Hopefully, some day, history will be kind to the premier and the coupons will be worth the price of a nationally known restaurant.)
