Troy Myers

True to Al’s prediction, the Transportation Minister’s Toyota tryst brought down the government. The shaky foundation of our national minority government toppled. The opposition parties seized the opportunity to bring forward a motion of non-confidence the day after the video went public.

The NDP brought the motion forward. Being so low in the polls and suffering the indignity of watching the party’s support in Quebec evaporate, the party was desperate for an opportunity to make ground. Many analysts were shocked by this bold move. One commented it was like jumping in the deep end of a pool to teach yourself to swim.

The other opposition parties could not believe their good fortune. They could support the motion of non-confidence without taking any heat for bringing it forward. The motion was put forward in the morning and by early evening the votes were cast. The final vote came in at one hundred and sixty-one for the motion and one hundred and fourteen against it. The Prime Minister had no choice but to go to the Governor General and ask her to dissolve the government.

Within minutes of the election call, Al called to brief me on his campaign war plan. He would have a campaign office and manager in place in forty-eight hours. With the office open, I would have to completely dedicate myself to the team from 7:00 am to 10:00 pm seven days a week.

Before it all was a compulsory full day campaign school for candidates. This left me with little time to negotiate a leave of absence from my day job. I took a deep breath and felt my heart flutter for a moment.

I set up a meeting with my boss to negotiate the leave. Much to my surprise, she laughed out loud when I told her why.

“You want to do what?” she asked like she did not hear me.

“Run in the election,” I replied.

“What in the hell for?”

“Well… I see it as a natural progression in my career as a civil servant,” I explained.

“Really? Do you know what you are getting yourself in to?” she asked with some distain.

“Not really, but I suppose that makes it easier,” I joked weakly.

“Maybe, but if you are serious about this then here is where your education begins. Listen up kid. As a public servant the public wants you to stay the fuck out of politics. Once you stick your neck out like this you are painted as partisan for the rest of your career—however short or long it may be. As your boss I have no choice but to grant your leave as your contract gives me no choice, but personally I think you are making a big mistake,” she said coldly.

“A mistake, how so?” I asked finding it hard to hide my shock.

She glared at me with an icy stare.

“I just told you, you are supposed to be apolitical. It is part of the code. Civil servants stay out of politics and the politicians leave us alone to do our jobs.”

“The code? With all due respect Judy, that doesn’t happen. I mean, it has been a long time since people were fired for voting the wrong way.”

She glared at me again.

“So, you are not going to support me on this?” I asked.

“No, I won’t,” she said quickly.

I felt kicked in the guts. I had not anticipated this lack of support from my employer. An image of a future homeless me scrounging through dumpsters popped into my head. I shuddered.

“And if I win Judy? What happens then?” I asked with trepidation.

“If you win Troy, I will call you the day after the election and tell you your employment will be terminated. You will be wiser to resign,” she said without hesitation.

Having left the chief’s office, I walked out of the building in a stupor. I did not stop to say hello or chat with coworkers as I usually would. I was too shell-shocked.

Before the meeting I thought she would support to me. What did she have to lose? A political run by a librarian would generate publicity for the library. On top of that, if I won she would have a strong advocate for increased funding for the system she is responsible for! I felt abandoned.

I pushed my way through the heavy double doors of the library and stumbled out to the sidewalk. The wind tried to push me back in the building. I struggled to breathe.

Across the street I saw an Irish bar with a gold and black sign embossed with a twisted Celtic triangle. Seeing the pub made me crave a drink.

I started across the street. Halfway to the bar, I had second thoughts. I turned around and headed to my car determined to let go of things I could not control. If giving up my social safety net is part of the bargain then so be it.

Here was an old-fashioned conservative notion I had no choice but get behind.

True to his word, Al called the next day to let us know he would take the job. Less than forty-eight hours later, we were back together. This time, our meeting was not in the boardroom of Dale’s law firm, but at the Celtic Corner, the Irish pub down the street.

On the phone, Al said he was fully engaged and therefore did not want to waste time. We knew he was effective but to pull together a meeting of busy professionals and get everyone to volunteer at such short notice, was an impressive logistical feat. I couldn’t help thinking that it was not just Dale and I Al scared the hell out of. It was everyone in town.

Taking a seat in the pub, I relaxed looking up at the finely carved woodwork on the high ceilings. I ordered a Guinness. Dale gave me a disapproving look.

“What? So, now I have to quit drinking now?” I said annoyed.

“Well… you know how some people are… Maybe I should drink the beer and you should order a soda water or something?” he replied.

“Soda water, what are you talking about?”

“Well, its Dartmouth after all. You know how conservative this town is.”

“Conservative, are you crazy? People in this town drink like a poet with a paycheck! And there are weed shops on every street corner and you are telling me I shouldn’t have a beer? Jesus, it’s bad enough I won’t have time to date, but now I can’t have a drink? Have you lost your mind? Hey, how about this idea? How about I wear a dress throughout the entire campaign and change my name to Carolyn?”

“Not a bad idea. Given the threats on your person, a gender reassignment plan would make it easier to hide you in plain sight,” he responded.

At that moment, Dale gave me a wide-eyed look. I turned toward the door to see where his attention had shifted.

Todd Taylor, another one of our old rugby acquaintances, had entered the pub. Todd and I had lost touch over the last few years. However, given that Dartmouth is a city with a small-town sensibility of knowing most people’s business, I was aware of his recent success directing his own marketing company. Having Todd on the team would be a great boost to our fortunes. On top of that, he was easy to look at. I grabbed the dark ruby Guinness before Dale could get his hands on it.

Walking in after Todd, I spotted another familiar face—Suzanne Powell. Suzanne looked stunning in a blue silk business suit. Another old friend from university, she had worked as a teacher for six years before becoming the youngest principal in the history of the Halifax Regional School Board.

Coming from a political family, Suzanne’s network of contacts was extensive. She was also a lot of fun to be around. Men loved her; a trait not shared by her own gender.

Todd arrive at the table a step or two before Suzanne. He put out a hand and looked favourably at the full Guinness on the table in front of me. I gave Dale a smug smirk.

“It’s a pleasure to see we haven’t died and gone to heaven. Al said we were going to have fun with this campaign and you know my motto. If it is not fun it is not worth doing,” said Todd.

I picked up my glass and tipped it to him.

Just then, Suzanne arrived at the table. She ordered a large Keiths.

Todd turned to see Suzanne grinning at him. They immediately embraced. Dale and I stood to greet her too.

“Suzanne, how are you? Wow, you look great!” said Todd.

I always wondered if they ever got together. The way they looked at each other, if they did not get together, then they should have.

At that moment the doorway darkened as Al entered slowly with his trademark maneuver of ducking his head through the doorway. Almost simultaneously, we stopped talking. Not surprisingly, when Al moved people noticed. Some concerned for their personal safety and others just marveling at the spectacle.

We seated ourselves around the table. After the drink orders were placed, all our attention quickly collected in Al’s direction. This just happened naturally without any call to order from him. Leadership comes to some people naturally.

Al had not yet said a word. He simply sat there with his eye glasses in his hand wiping the sweat from his forehead with a paper napkin he had folded in half. With his glasses back on, he looked at each of us for a moment before he began talking.

The energy at the table was good. This helped me relax a little. For the first time I was starting to enjoy this idea of running for public office. I still had quite a way to go before I would be comfortable with it, but I was making progress. Dale on the other hand was positively bubbling with enthusiasm. For a moment I wondered why he did not want to be the candidate given his obvious joy with these kinds of events.

“Anyone hungry?” asked Al.

Not waiting for a reply, he called a server over and placed an order for four pounds of chicken wings, two pounds hot and two pounds medium with blue cheese and ranch dressing on the side, and a hot artichoke dip.

“Okay, let’s get this started. First of all, I want to thank you for coming on such short notice. I appreciate you giving up your time. As you aware, our friend has recently been nominated to be the Conservative Candidate for Dartmouth and Cole Harbour and I want you to help him win the seat.”

Without giving anyone a chance to speak, Al continued.

“Each of you is here because I want you on the core team. Troy has asked me to chair the campaign. I have accepted. Dale has agreed to handle fundraising and be the official agent of the campaign. Todd, I want you to take on communications and marketing. Suzanne, I want you to recruit and coordinate the volunteers.”

“Seems small,” said Todd.

“Small is not the word I would use… I prefer to describe our core team as nimble. We need to be able to react quickly to events. We also need to have a strong level of trust if this campaign is going to succeed,” he explained.

“Sounds fun Al,” said Suzanne, “what is the timing like?”

“Technically an election can happen at any time. Realistically speaking, the fall at the earliest and next spring being considered the most likely timing,” he replied.

“Okay, works for me. I’m in,” replied Suzanne with her trademark infectious smile.

Todd looked at her and said, “Count me in too. It has been a while since we have had some old school fun!”

Dale gave me a knowing look which suggested conspiracy. When he caught my puzzled look, he leaned into me and whispered “Al called Suzanne last night and set this up for Todd. You don’t think he would leave this to chance, do you?”

“Hey,” Al interrupted us, “No secrets. For this campaign to be successful we will not have secrets or side-bar conversations. We will require information to flow freely and without filters or prejudices. On that note, let’s talk about the death threats. Dale tell us what you know.”

Dale then shared with the group how I was transformed from being a hardworking, community-based public librarian into an internationally-known protector of free speech and intellectual freedom just by being shot by a lunatic and saved by War and Peace.

The headline ‘Librarian owes life to Tolstoy’ was still trending wildly on social media. In the six weeks since my recovery, the story showed no signs yet of slowing down and while most of the attention was positive, there was significant negative chatter from left-leaning groups who labeled me as a promoter of hate speech and racist propaganda.

This point of view had been exasperated by the fact the far alt-right groups had adopted me as their latest poster boy since I took a bullet for the soccer mom with a Fatah on her head.

When we won the Conservative nomination for Dartmouth and Cole Harbour, the libertarian far-right groups were ecstatic and the lunatic fringe on the left went absolutely seagull shit crazy.

This attention on the fringes of the political spectrum lit up everyone in between, including one group that thinks public servants should not run for political office. Since the nomination win we received a total of twelve death threats, five of which local police consider credible. Security would be an issue.

This report however did not dampen the mood. We spent the rest of the hour getting caught up on the events of our lives over the past several years. Oddly, we did not talk about the election campaign much. We were having too much fun discussing old times to talk about the future, even if there were people plotting to kill me.

“Al, I am ready for this. I know what is expected. I have the knowledge, the interest, and the drive,” I said as simply and to the point as I could. 

“Okay. That’s good. Before I make up my mind, is there anything you want to tell me?” 

“Like what?” I queried nervously. 

“Anything you may have been involved with, you know, hookers, drugs, booze, and debt. Stuff that might bite us in the ass?”  asked Al.

“No, pretty boring guy really. Nothing that comes immediately to mind. The library business is not as exciting as it looks,” I deadpanned. 

Dale piped in, “What are you kidding Al? Our man is like an altar boy.” 

We endured yet another long moment of silence where the big man looked us both over like he was hungry. He finally pushed himself out of the chair. I looked at the seat he vacated. It was bent and beaten. 

“Well, you have given me something to think about. I have always thought you to be a quality, straight up, guy and you just might make a good candidate. I will let you know tomorrow. Last thing, if I do take on this job you better be straight with me the whole way through, okay?” 

“Straight, sure, anything you say,” I replied.

Al then looked at Dale and asked him if he had any last words.

“Any last words?” Dale responded hesitantly.

“Yes, anything you want to add?” 

“As a matter of fact there is Al. You should know that shortly after winning the nomination, Troy received several death threats. The police are taking these threats very seriously. The cops think Colin is taking a big risk running a political campaign and they cannot guarantee his safety,” said Dale.

“Can’t guarantee his safety eh?” The big man smiled for the first time since the meeting began. He then turned and walked out the door.

---

“Now that we are getting serious about this campaign we need you to keep a lid on this gay thing.” 

“You mean I have to close my Tinder account?” I asked. 

Dale gave me a look. “At least in Nova Scotia,” he said. 

“Not much of a stretch really. I haven’t been on a date in a while.” 

“Fair enough, but your luck has just changed. There is something about power and politics that makes uninteresting, unattractive people like you appealing. Think of it as show business for ugly people.” 

We were in a boardroom waiting to meet a man we wanted to chair the campaign. 

Al MacDonnell was a longtime Dartmouth resident who we had known since university. Al had spent twenty-two years in the senior men’s rugby league after a successful five-year career in the Canadian Football League as an offensive tackle. He stood six feet eight inches and tipped the scales at close to five hundred pounds. On top of these imposing dimensions, he had an unnerving stare and a deep voice that had no hint of compassion or warmth. 

While Al put the fear of God in the two of us, we wanted him on our team because he is one of the best political strategists in the province. He has been working political campaigns for over forty years.

A phone on the board table began to chirp. Dale answered it. “Great, send him in.” 

We both jumped up quickly like a couple of teenagers caught making out on the basement coach. 

“Oh yeah, don’t mention the gay thing. Al is one of the biggest homophobes I know…” 

“What? You didn’t tell him? He doesn’t know?” I sputtered. 

“Hell no! Do you want to tell the five-hundred-pound angry homophobe you dig guys? Plus, we have to figure out what to do with the death threats…”

Before I could respond with a “what the f…” or a nasty look, the boardroom door swung open to reveal a man who instinctively ducked his head under the seven-foot doorway. He towered over the two of us and thrust out a huge hand. Shaking it, my hand looked like a child’s locked in his. 

I mustered my confidence and offered a greeting. Dale suggested we take a seat. 

The big man nodded in agreement and squeezed himself between the chair’s arm rests.

“Alright Madill let’s get down to business. What’s the deal?” he asked.

Al has called Dale by his last name since our early days playing rugby together when he was the ornery veteran and we were the timid rookies. 

“Al, since we know each other well and, as always, you don’t like to waste time, I’ll get to the point. As you know, our friend Colin won the nomination for Dartmouth–Cole Harbour this weekend and we are building a team which can win this riding.” 

Dale paused to give the large man a chance to interject if he chose to. Silence was the only response. 

Picking up where he left off, Dale threw his pitch. 

“… A team that will be aggressive, nimble, and deadly; think of it like the amour corps that took Bagdad in the first Gulf War.” 

Jesus, where was he going with this? I thought.

 “We will be decisive and lightning fast. The liberals and the n-dippers won’t see us coming. We will take this riding for the good guys. We will…” 

Thankfully, the big man cut him off. 

“Madill, get to the point,” he said firmly. 

“Ok. Al, we want you to be our general.”

“General? What the hell are you talking about?” snapped Al.

“By general, I mean campaign manager. Al, no one in this town is better than you. No one has the experience you do. No one commands the respect that you do. You are the best there is and we want you,” said Dale.

Silence again, this time longer and slightly more uncomfortable than before. Finally, he spoke.

“Interesting idea… What do you think Colin? You have this new-found community profile after being shot. You also have the party pedigree. You are reasonably well liked and presentable. That said, do you have the strength, the moxie, and the killer instinct for this? This is not a game for nice guys. Do you think you have what it takes?” asked Al. 

Dale began to respond. The big man held up one of his giant hands directly in front of Dale’s face. 

“Madill, shut up. I asked your man here.” 

Being put on the spot increased my anxiety. Controlling this stress as best I could I looked him directly in the eye. 

The speech done, I felt a huge rush of relief. Thank Tolstoy that is over!

The crowd responded with loud applause. I guessed they were happy one of us could finish a speech.

Being the last speaker, the chairman took the stage after me and explained the voting process. Surrounded by friends and family, I heard little of his explanation of the party rules for casting ballots. After congratulatory shakes and hugs from my immediate entourage, came the others. Everyone acted as if they had known me for years. This part felt strange and intoxicating.

Dale, my manager and confidant, the person most to blame for my participation leaned in and whispered, “Don’t guess at names… always act like you are happy to see them… and keep moving…” 

The next thirty minutes of voting flew by. I was grabbing hands, smiling at everyone, hugging folks, while telling people, “It’s great to see you!” and “Thanks for coming out!” while recognizing only a few faces. I worked the room like an old pro feeding off the positive energy. I had connected with the crowd, and I did it without talking about getting shot. 

I was so caught up in the excitement, I almost missed casting my own ballot. Dale reminded me to vote before the clock ran out.

“You better get to the table and vote. Losing by one vote is a life-shattering experience… particularly when it’s your own,” he said. 

The voting done, I made my way to the toilet for a few quiet moments. Dale followed close behind me. He pushed me in the accessible stall and locked the door. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I just wanted to thank you for letting me talk you into this shit show,” he said. 

“So, you follow me in an accessible washroom?!” 

“You should be comfortable with company in here. Isn’t this where you guys spend all your spare time?”  he joked.

“When we are not having sex in stairwells or dark movie theatres…” 

He laughed. “Come on, give me a hug.” 

We embraced. 

“You are going to win this thing,” he said.

“Ha! Even if I do, it won’t mean much if we keep hanging out in the accessible toilet while an angry paraplegic is forced to relieve himself in the hallway. I can see the headline now… gay candidate gets caught in washroom stall while disabled supporter’s bladder explodes…” 

“Ha! You are going to have to clean up your jokes after tonight,” he replied.

“That’s the least of my problems.” 

“Yeah, I suppose you are right,” he said.

We hugged again. As I grabbed the door handle I turned to Dale.

“So, shithead if we do win, what’s the plan? What do we do next?” 

“Good question. I haven’t thought that far ahead. Don’t sweat it. I am working on it. I wasn’t sure we would make it this far,” he said with a smile. 

My introduction from the riding association vice president kicked things off nicely. She was warm, funny, and sincere. Buoyed by this sharp introduction, I launched into my speech with confidence and enthusiasm.  

“Thank you for the kind words Betty.” 

“Fellow residents of Dartmouth and Cole Harbour and guests, thank you for the opportunity to speak. 

“My name is Troy Myers. I am the fourth generation of my family to live in Dartmouth. My family originally settled on the eastern shore of Nova Scotia as United Empire Loyalists at the Head of Jeddore. My great grandfather, William Myers, went down the road to Dartmouth and we have been here ever since. 

“Building on these strong Dartmouth roots, I have had the good fortune to work overseas. I have spent a year teaching English in France, two years as a librarian in Africa, and I have been on several missions monitoring elections in Africa and the Balkans. 

“My time overseas has had a great influence on how I ended up on this stage tonight. 

“To begin with, my work in Malawi instilled in me a clear understanding of how public service needs to be community based. My first posting was with the Government of Malawi’s Ministry of Works. More specifically, I was the Chief Librarian responsible for servicing the information needs of the country’s engineers, architects, and surveyors. 

“Considering my first university degree was a BA in English Literature, I figured I may have a challenge on my hands… 

“Deciding early, that it is best not to fake an understanding of the information needs of scientists, I decided my best approach was to engage my colleagues in discussion so we could clarify their needs. In short, I went to them and asked what their needs were and how best we could satisfy them, together.

“This proved to be an eye-opening experience on both sides. Not only did I learn quickly the needs of scientists, but they participated in the process with such enthusiasm! One particular colleague, the Chief draftsman for the ministry, exclaimed, ‘This is great, no one ever asked us what we need before!’ 

“Having learned this lesson early in my career, I brought it back to Dartmouth when, in 1995, I was recruited to come home and set up a branch library in North Dartmouth for the Dartmouth Regional Library Board. 

“Being true to this concept of community-based public service, I proposed that, before we built the library, we should ask the people of the area what they wanted to find in their new public library. To do this, I designed a survey and for three weeks took it to every door I could find, and exactly like my experience in Africa, I found the people of Dartmouth were very keen to discuss their needs. 

“So, when we opened the doors of the Dartmouth North Library people found a collection which directly reflected the demands of the community. Today, the library is the crown jewel of the Dartmouth North Community Centre playing its role as the friendly, energetic hub of the community. 

“While it is true that if you build it they will come, I believe that if you engage citizens in designing public projects, not only will they come… they will bring their family and friends and they will stay. 

“I would like to shift focus away from Dartmouth for the moment and move back overseas this time to Bosnia and the Ukraine as my time in Eastern Europe also has had a role to play in my being here before you tonight. 

“Having worked on election missions in Bosnia and the Ukraine, I had the sobering experience of seeing firsthand what happens to a country when people lose faith in the political process and civil society breaks down. 

“I can clearly recall my first visit to Sarajevo, contrasting my hopeful memories of youth watching the winter Olympics in 84, to the devastation I was witnessing only thirteen years later. It was a profound experience, to see the once proud city shattered by war, and while some may say war was inevitable as the former Yugoslavia moved from a socialist state to a democracy, I do not believe this is true. Strong central Governments do shift to active democracies without bloodshed…. Joseph Howe proved that in Nova Scotia 160 years ago. 

“My time in Eastern Europe showed me that we as citizens must be thoughtfully engaged in the political process if civil society is to thrive and Canada is to remain a beacon of democratic hope for people worldwide. Our current Liberal government is leading us down a slippery slope that I, for one, do not want to be on. For the sake of the people of Dartmouth and Cole Harbour, for all Canadians in fact, this shift from good government must be stopped! Canadians deserve better! 

“To finish the story of how I ended up on this stage tonight, I would like to bring us back to Dartmouth to tell you about Bill Murphy, the man I give the most credit to for building the Dartmouth North Library and also for getting me engaged in the political process. 

“For those of you who did not know Bill Murphy, Bill was a long-time resident of the north end. He was a self-made man who took a strong work ethic and a great attitude and built a successful plumbing and heating business, but Bill was more than the successful business and family man, he had that special something that gave him vision beyond his own experience. Vision to see that communities must be constantly invested in to be strong, and even though he turned out fine by doing without, he believed that others needed help to help themselves. 

“I can still remember the first time I met Bill. Bill was a member of the Dartmouth Regional Library Board, and he was the first person from the Board to welcome me after I was recruited to the project. Bill shook my hand heartily and with a quiet smile, said, ‘Welcome aboard, my boy, we are going to do a great thing in Dartmouth North. We are going to give books to children’. 

“We found out later that Bill was sick through the final building phase of the library, so sick that he missed the library’s official opening. I remember feeling bad for Bill missing the opening, so I went to visit him in the hospital. As sick as he was, he was genuinely pleased the opening went well. 

“Not long after, Bill Murphy passed away succumbing to the cancer he had quietly battled. 

“I remember sharing the grief of the community and hearing what a tragedy it was for Bill to pass without having the opportunity to enjoy the library he built. While I would agree, I found strength by focusing on that gracious space that remained in the community even though Bill was gone, and by knowing that for Bill, the library was not for him, it was for his grandchildren and the grandchildren that would come after them. 

“So, from Bill Murphy—the plumber who built a library—I take my greatest inspiration to get up before you this evening. Bill showed me that One person can make a difference. 

“Now that you have heard how I ended up before you tonight, we should get to the big question… why me? Why should you, the people of Dartmouth and Cole Harbour pick Troy Myers to be your federal conservative Candidate in the coming election? 

“Let me give you a few reasons…. 

“First, there are the issues I support: 

“I believe broad based tax relief will stimulate our local economy. 

I believe the federal government must pay more to protect universal health care and equip our military properly. 

“I believe by promoting more prudent monetary and fiscal policies such as: lower trade barriers and more flexible labour practices we can boost growth of the Canadian economy, and, as a public librarian who for the price of one book can promote reading to one hundred people… I know your public money can be better managed. 

“On the local level, I see our harbour—the same harbour which has served this country well since the first days of confederation, through two world wars, through decades of international trade and immigration—and I say the federal government must do more to protect this national resource. As climate change comes we must be ready to adapt! 

“I also see the idle surplus federal lands in the riding, places like Shannon park, which need to be developed with full input from the community. Input from you. 

“On top of a solid grasp of these issues, I believe my family’s commitment to Dartmouth, illustrated by four generations of residency, is well established. 

“As well, my work and volunteer experience in Dartmouth and Cole Harbour shows I have an established community network we can build on. Which we can win on! 

“Lastly, I believe, having grown up in Woodlawn, having coached in Cole Harbour, having worked in Dartmouth, where I continue to be an active resident, that I have the broadest appeal that will win this seat for the Conservative Part of Canada. 

“Previously, I mentioned the great Nova Scotian Joseph Howe, the self-described conservative reformer. In this, the 215th anniversary of his birth, I would like some of my last words to be his…taken from his long campaign to bring responsible government to Canada…. 

“In this country, the government is like an ancient Egyptian mummy, wrapped up in narrow and antique prejudice—dead and inanimate—but yet likely to last forever. We my friends are desirous of a change, not such that will divide us, but which will ensure to us what they enjoy… 

“Gentlemen, all we ask is for a system of responsibility to the people, extending to all the Departments supported at the public expense… Of one thing however, I must remind you—that you can do nothing if you are divided. …If you expect to do anything here, you must cast aside your petty jealousies and personal feelings, and act for the general good.” (Novascotian Dec 22, 1836) This is an editorial that would not be out of place in today’s newspapers. 

“Fellow Conservatives of Dartmouth and Cole Harbour the time to act is now. The leadership of our party has come together—strong and united. We, as a local association, have come together—strong and united. 

“Choose me tonight as your voice and we will have the best chance to gather all the people of Dartmouth and Cole Harbour—strong and united, … and in this year—2019—on the 2015th anniversary of the birth of Joseph Howe—the father of responsible government in Canada—we will carry the winds of change to Ottawa and put the responsible back into responsible government! 

“Thank you!” 

---

 [

Dale had warned me about the circus outside the hospital, but I wasn’t ready for all the attention.

When I was discharged the Doctor told me to take it easy, get some rest, and not do any heavy lifting. With a wry smile, she wished me good luck. Dale had volunteered to help me pack up and navigate the media scrum camped in front of the hospital. I suggested we sneak out the back entrance to avoid the cameras and reporters. He had other plans.

Reluctantly, I agreed but told him I would not wear the arm sling he wanted me to put on. He argued that television liked a dramatic prop or two. He then offered to push me out in a wheelchair. I told him my legs worked and I intended to use them. He suggested I, at least, wince with pain. No problem I told him. Given the painful  conversation I had with him, that part was easy. 

The two of us walked down the hall to the main entrance. One lovely nurse handed me a copy of Soccer Mom Fatwa and asked me to sign it. When I mentioned I was not the author, she said she knew that but would never have read the book if it was not for me.

Dumfounded, I signed the book. Looking back, this one stupid moment of complying with the request to sign a book I did not write was the quiet detonation of my personal privacy. I just didn’t know it yet.

The next four weeks started with an explosion of television lights and aggressive, overly made-up reporters thrusting microphones in my face. All the major networks— CNN, CTV, NBC, CBC, Fox—were there, as were El Jazeera, Breitbart, and CBC. The CBC reporter was the same woman with her iPhone on a selfie stick at the library the day I was shot. Labelling the chaos of this group as a scrum did not fit with my understanding of rugby scrums as coordinated, well-drilled, units with order and purpose. Whoever gave the tag to a collection of media professionals hungry for information clearly never played the game.  This group behaved more like starving people caught in a looting riot.

The first day in front of the hospital was just the beginning. I had booked time off from work to recuperate but Dale lined up one media event after another. In the next four weeks, everyone who was anybody interviewed me including the four hosts of CBC’s The National, Don Lemon, Anderson Cooper, and Ellen. Internationally, the Russian media was particularly fond of my story. The idea “Tolstoy saved my life” had become a banner headline.

My story went viral on all major social media platforms. The far right called me a champion of free speech and intellectual freedom while the far left said I was an enabler of hate speech. Moderates on both sides called me a hero and a dedicated public servant. Representatives from the Liberals and the New Democrats recruited me to run provincially and nationally. Public attention ran wild. All I could do was hang on.  

With my newfound fame, Dale had persuaded me to take a shot at politics. He convinced me to answer the call of all these citizens who wanted better leadership. Leadership like I displayed that day in the library. Right… What had I gotten myself into? 

Flash forward to candidate nomination night for the federal riding of Dartmouth-Cole Harbour for the Conservative Party.  It was almost show time and I had a rare moment alone. My stomach, tied in nervous knots, felt like it would jump out of my throat and into the sink. This feverish sweat dampened my shirt and my suit smelled strangely like it did when I pick it up at the dry cleaners. 

Feeling bad and looking bad do not however always go hand in hand. Don’t let them see you sweat. These simple lessons were some of the many words of wisdom my grandfather instilled in me while I was growing up. His wisdom walked a wide expanse on a diversity of social skills ranging from how to hold a knife and fork to throwing a decent punch.

He was the most public political animal in my family. He was a provincial MLA elected  three times to the Nova Scotia Legislature and he narrowly lost the provincial leadership to Bob Stanfield. By instilling in me early the importance of public service, he bore much responsibility for me being in this public washroom with only a nice coal black suit, an Egyptian cotton white shirt, and a Silk gold tie keeping me from looking like a complete mess. My grandfather, always well-dressed, would have loved my suit. 

“A great suit should look sharp but fit like a pair of pajamas,” he often said.

“Always important to look good. That way when you are not sure what you are talking about, at least people will think you do,” he added.

I was one of three people competing for the support of almost one thousand assembled delegates. Being late to the game I was not the front runner nor the long shot, so my speech, was key to success. 

Chosen at random, the order of speakers was: 

John Bond 

Suzanne Laforte-Marriott 

Me  

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