No Easy Ride: Reflections on My Life in the RCMP (12 page)

One evening, I was invited to Jim Foreman’s home for dinner. Everyone in the household was excited, as they had just ordered a brand new family car—a 1963 Chrysler Cordoba hardtop. Following a pleasant evening, I returned to my boarding house. At about two o’clock in the morning, I was awakened by my landlady explaining a call had just come in reporting a serious motor vehicle accident on the highway, a short distance from town. When I phoned Jim’s residence to alert him, Lil told me he was currently out on a call. I was puzzled, as he had not contacted me to accompany him. Already dressed, I roused the highway patrol members, informing them I was on my way and would meet them at the scene. When I arrived there, I saw the usual chaos and debris of a highway accident. As I got out of my vehicle, I was shocked to see that a detachment patrol car was part of the accident scene. Then a witness approached me, saying that there was a body in the ditch near the vehicles. As I made my way down the ditch, to my horror, I saw the body was clad in an RCMP shirt. It was Jim Foreman. The highway patrol members arrived soon after. Equally shocked by my discovery, they took control of the scene and began the investigation.

As the story unfolded, we learned that Jim had received a call from a long-time informant offering some information of value, and they agreed to meet on the highway. Jim had parked his police car in front of the informant’s vehicle. Both men were standing in front of the police car when a speeding vehicle on the same side of the highway came over the crest of the hill. It collided with the rear of the informant’s vehicle, which struck the police car. Jim took the full brunt of the collision. He was thrown some 50 feet into the ditch and was killed instantly. The informant was injured, as was the driver of the colliding vehicle. The driver was found to be impaired at the time and was charged accordingly, but whatever penalty he paid could not restore Jim’s life.

Within hours, there was a cadre of senior management, coroners and identification personnel at the scene. I was tasked with two stressful duties. First, I was to make an official identification of the body at the morgue. Second, in the absence of the detachment commander, it would be my responsibility to notify Lil. This was one of the most difficult experiences of my young life. Not being particularly religious, I had seldom put much stock in the utility of members of the cloth, but I quickly realized that in a situation like this, there is no more valuable asset. The local minister accompanied me to the Foremans’ residence and virtually relieved me of my burden. I would be forever grateful to him for his expertise and compassion. The entire experience left me shaken and confused. The subsequent regimental police funeral in Edmonton was one of the largest ever conducted in the province, as members from all over Canada came to pay their respects.

After my tenure at Mofort ended, I returned to Willmore. The strong, upbeat atmosphere at my home detachment had also changed. Corporal Russell had been promoted and transferred and was replaced by a much less talented individual. And there was something else in the air—a pervasive uneasiness among the members. I learned that in my absence a married constable and his wife had fostered an errant 16-year-old girl in their home. Selected as community role models, they had been asked to act as mentors to her. While the girl was under his care, the constable had engaged in a sexual relationship with her, impregnating her while his own wife was giving birth in the hospital. The girl subsequently disclosed her condition to a local minister, who reported it to some local RCMP members. It appeared that no one at the detachment was going to take any action, even though a criminal offence had been committed if the allegations were substantiated. The atmosphere was oppressive; the more junior members felt the incident should not and probably could not be smothered. We believed the volatile situation had to be divulged to our superiors in subdivision headquarters. It plagued my conscience for several days until I made a decision. During a prisoner escort trip to Edmonton, I met with a senior officer. With great trepidation, I told him about the potentially explosive situation. He assured me the matter would be attended to and ordered me to return to the detachment.

The very next day, senior management arrived and conducted interviews that substantiated the allegations. Within days the offending member was transferred and his family relocated. Concerned about adverse publicity if this member were charged criminally, the Force offered him a choice of resigning or facing orderly room and criminal prosecution. The member promptly resigned, realizing he had been spared from disgrace and probably prison. Very soon after, all members of the detachment were assembled by the investigating inspector and given a stern lecture on loyalty to the Force. Management made it clear they were aware senior members had knowledge of the heinous transgression, yet failed to carry out their obligations to the Force and the public. With the Force still fearing the potential of scandal, the matter was concluded.

Sadly, this was another example of the double standard of that era. Integrity and principles were compromised to preserve the “good name” of the organization. Even today, there are still those within the RCMP who would do anything to cover up such misconduct, but there are many more members willing to speak up against it. With the advent of instant media attention and public expectation of professionalism from police forces, it is far less likely that such behaviour would be tolerated today.

Detachment morale never fully recovered from this catastrophe. The new corporal, who had not been involved, did little to improve matters. The incident remained under wraps, and because the community miraculously remained oblivious there was minimal backlash.

During my last year at Willmore, I met and married Lorraine. Many of us from this era were ill-equipped to make what was perhaps the most important decision of our young lives. Lorraine was trying to escape a dysfunctional home and a father who constantly struggled with alcoholism. I was responding to raging hormones and hoping to escape a cold existence in a single man’s room in the back of the detachment. Marriages based on such shaky premises were not uncommon in the RCMP. These relationships could move in two directions: couples either grew together over time or grew apart. Sadly, our marriage would eventually disintegrate.

BEFORE THE 1970s,
the RCMP was primarily a WASP organization, reflecting the power base of Canadian society. The words in our oath of office, “Without Fear, Favour or Affection,” challenged members daily, and I strove to apply them. Yet, despite noble efforts by many to achieve this lofty goal, favouritism sometimes occurred. During this period in RCMP history, many membes were strongly influenced by the Masonic Lodge, which permeated all levels of the organization. It surprised me to learn that the Masonic members of the RCMP had devised a drill team within their Alberta lodges. The team appeared in Masonic rites wearing the red serge of the RCMP, adorned by Masonic aprons and regalia. When I learned of the practice, I thought it was a blatant contravention of RCMP regulations and orders concerning the wearing of the uniform and sent an overt message to Masons indicating partiality and even fealty on the part of the RCMP to their lodge.

Filled with naïve, righteous indignation, I submitted a memo through channels to my officer commanding, respectfully requesting that the practice be ceased. I received an immediate response from the subdivision NCO on behalf of the OC. He relayed the OC’s compliments and told me that my memo had been destroyed. I was also told that should I pursue my query regarding Masonry and the RCMP, I would quickly find myself walking down the road without a job, kicking horse turds and counting culverts. I learned that the OC, the subdivision NCO and a large majority of detachment commanders were all members of the Masonic Lodge. The matter was sacrosanct, and I had stepped far beyond the acceptable boundaries of a lowly constable. Any discussion about RCMP members allying themselves and consorting with a specific segment of the population was verboten. It was also never to be mentioned that being a member of the Masonic Order within the RCMP opened doors to opportunity and promotion.

Perhaps it is not surprising that individuals who were attracted to the Force also were drawn in by Masonry. Both organizations are secretive, steeped in tradition and bathed in rituals. Like the Masons, the RCMP is a charismatic institution. In fact, many of us would have enlisted and worked for no salary, just to be a part of this magical band of redcoats. The Force was very aware of this love of service and no doubt exploited it. Few members joined the RCMP just to better their financial situation. Employment in many government departments at the time was poorly paid, and the Force was no exception. It was widely known and understood that Canada’s scarlet guardians worked ungodly hours for a pittance. Merchants in small communities frequently gave us discounts, lodges and clubs often waived membership fees for RCMP and local farmers could be seen dropping off meat and produce at the homes of detachment members. In spite of the minimal wages, taking any kind of additional employment was tantamount to treason. Members rarely violated this regulation; they knew that they could be dismissed if they were caught doing so.

As an additional burden—and this is still often true today—RCMP members were often unable to enjoy the festive periods in the year with their families. Christmas, Easter and Thanksgiving brought additional problems and the need for extra police staffing. Summer holidays were often postponed since the highways were glutted with the travelling public, again requiring additional law-enforcement personnel.

The Force demanded other personal sacrifices of its members. Marriage had been viewed as a nagging inconvenience to the early Force, and there were strict rules against it. Early in the 20th century, members were required to have seven years’ seniority and the financial wherewithal before being allowed to wed. Those applying for permission to marry, however, were reminded that marriage was a privilege, not a right. Young RCMP members tolerated this unreasonable restriction as a price to be paid for serving in the legendary Force. The rules were relaxed to five years in the late ’30s and two years in the late ’50s. One also needed to have $1,200 in cash or convertible assets. It was obvious that the RCMP’s senior management much preferred a complement of single men who could be moved at will a good deal more economically than someone with a wife, children and all the material effects and obligations that a family brings.

The organizational attitude toward members and interracial courtships revealed undercurrents of racism. Dating and engaging in social relationships with non-whites were discouraged, and members doing so were subject to punitive transfers. As matrimony was not permitted without permission, the Force scrutinized potential wives carefully. Any request of marriage to a non-white wife was greeted with great discomfort and most likely denied. There are many examples of serving members who resigned so they could marry the woman of their choice. White Anglo-Saxon Protestants and Catholics governed the country, and many Canadian customs and laws reflected this dominance. When the great transition toward racial equality began in the 1970s, many senior members became extremely uncomfortable with what they perceived as the breakdown of long-established regulations in the RCMP. Again, the Force became a microcosm of change in the entire country.

Transfers were often used as a means of extracting members from what was judged a compromising situation. A young man getting in too thick with a local woman considered “not appropriate” would suddenly find himself transferred to another detachment. These decisions were made arbitrarily by detachment commanders, section NCOs and officers commanding. There was no room for negotiation.