It was a gorgeous summer day back in June of 1985 when, for the first time in 42 years, Ontarians would swear-in a government that was not Tory blue.
David Peterson, a 10-year veteran Liberal MPP from London, who had lived his entire life under Tory rule, was sworn in as premier, outdoors on the south lawn at Queen’s Park. He was only 41.
So, it’s another one of those “Holy smokes, time is passing too quickly” moments that I note that Ontario’s 20th premier will turn 80 next week.
Peterson surfed atop a wave of change in that 1985 election. Tall and slim, frequently campaigning in his red jogging suit alongside his beautiful actress wife Shelley, the Petersons were a stark contrast to Frank Miller. At 58, increasing numbers of Ontarians saw Miller as too old, too rural, and too yesterday. Miller was a top-notch senior cabinet minister for Premier Bill Davis, but this was simply not his time. It was a time for a more modern, urban, younger Ontario. The Petersons embodied that.
Having watched Queen’s Park for more than four decades, I can’t imagine a more dramatic political story than David Peterson’s. In 1984, four of his senior opposition MPPs quit his caucus to run for the federal Liberals led by John Turner — so sure were they that Peterson was, politically-speaking, a dead man walking. Later that year, Turner led the Liberals to their worst ever showing; nine months after that, Peterson became Premier, ending the Tory dynasty (in a minority parliament with the support of NDP leader Bob Rae).
Politics is a funny business.
David Peterson (left) stands with Bob Rae. (Steve Paikin)
Peterson and Rae signed an “accord” of policy items they wanted to pass (which they did) and two years later, the voters rewarded the Liberal leader with the biggest majority government in Ontario history — 95 out of 130 seats. There was no more popular politician in the country than Ontario’s premier.
But what politics giveth it also taketh away. Three years later, Peterson not only shockingly lost the 1990 election but also his own seat in London Centre, ending a tumultuous five years and 97 days in office. It was a time of historic achievements (unprecedented environmental advances, a freedom of information law, oodles of new social housing, full funding for the Catholic school system, and constitutional reform in the Meech Lake Accord). But he was also waylaid by persistent scandals, too many ministerial resignations, and the overly high expectations created by having such a massive majority government.
So, now that Peterson is hitting one of those big milestone birthdays, I called him to see whether he was in a mood to take stock of the ups and downs of his life. The answer was a resounding no.
“I don’t take stock,” he says. “Just keep moving forward.”
Peterson went on to say his entire life has been one serendipitous thing after another. “I had no ambition to do anything,” he insists.
He met Shelley Matthews (whose father was president of the federal Progressive Conservative party), married her two-and-a-half months later, and they remain one of the great partnerships going. The couple have three adult children and seven grandchildren.
David and Shelley Peterson speaking to Greg Sorbara (right), whose first entry into cabinet was as a minister in Peterson's 1985 government. (Steve Paikin)
As a guy barely in his thirties, Peterson was having a steam bath at the London YMCA when someone approached him to run for office. He said yes and the decision changed the trajectory of his life forever.
Peterson and I didn’t have much of a relationship when I covered his government as a CBC Queen’s Park correspondent in the 1980s. In fact, I well remember during the annual Press Gallery vs. MPPs softball game standing in the batter’s box, awaiting a pitch. The premier was playing first base and yelled at me, “Come on, Paikin, show some judgement up there for a change!” (I got lucky on the next pitch and smashed a line drive right at him for a single, just missing his head.)
Years later when we were both involved in a ceremony at Victoria College, he recalled my reporting days, saying: “I knew him when he was a snot-nosed little kid reporter back in the day.”
There was also a moment in January 2012 when we bumped into each other at an event. I asked the former premier whether he’d phoned his minister of finance and former party leader Robert Nixon that day.
“What for?” he asked.
“It’s the 50th anniversary of his first election win today,” I answered. “I assumed you’d want to call him to wish him a happy anniversary.”
Peterson paused, gave me a strange look and responded: “Paikin, you have more irrelevant shit in that head of yours than anyone else I know.”
I didn’t argue the point.
Peterson stands next to a poster from his 1985 election campaign. (Steve Paikin)
Peterson and I have had dozens of conversations about his time in public life. I even contributed to a book about his premiership. I thought I knew plenty about his years in politics and during our call for this column began to ask him about what I was sure was the lowlight of his political life: his 1990 election loss.
“Oh, that wasn’t the worst night of my political life,” he says.
“It wasn’t?” I asked, surprised. “Then what was?”
That question opened the door to a subject that clearly still haunts Peterson: the death of the Meech Lake Constitutional Accord.
“Meech” was an attempt by Prime Minister Brian Mulroney and the premiers of the late 1980s to “finish the job” Pierre Trudeau had started with the Constitution Act of 1981, with its accompanying Charter of Rights and Freedoms. But Quebec, led by separatist premier Rene Levesque, never signed that deal, even if they were bound by it.
“Meech” was a complicated three-year process designed to secure Quebec’s signature and do so much more. But it failed when legislatures in Newfoundland and Manitoba declined to endorse it.
“I think we’re still paying the price for that,” Peterson says, noting separatists almost won a referendum in Quebec in 1995, and the two English-French solitudes in Canada today seem as isolated as ever.
“We were trying to prevent a disaster I thought was coming,” Peterson says. “Today, I’m seeing a Canada now more divided. It’s worrisome to me. We need people who can put this together. We need people to stand up for the common good.”
In an extraordinary move, Newfoundland’s then premier Clyde Wells invited Mulroney, Peterson, and other leaders to St. John’s to address the House of Assembly, to make the case for Meech. But Wells (who personally opposed the agreement) ultimately declined to put it to the House for a vote. More than three decades later, Peterson still has never spoken to Wells.
“It was a tragic, small-minded move,” Peterson says of Wells. “An unforgiveable mistake. [Prince Edward Island premier] Joe Ghiz said to him: ‘Clyde, your vanity will do this nation in.’”
Yes, Peterson notes, Canada is still a country of ten provinces and three territories. But increasing regional storm clouds in Alberta and Quebec trouble him immensely. “The state of my country is the most important thing,” he says.
Peterson did not expect to begin his post-political life at just 46 years of age. But during his speech on election night in 1990, he reminded everyone that the sin of life is not to get knocked down; it’s refusing to get up again.
And so, get up he did. First, he got himself ensconced as a corporate lawyer at Cassels Brock & Blackwell LLP, “which has been a great source of joy to me and allowed me to feed my family and do some philanthropic things.” In fact, Peterson has donated $1 million to the Munk School of Global Affairs and Public Policy at the University of Toronto and another $1 million to the Stratford Festival.
“My mom used to take us to the festival when it was just in a tent,” he recalls. “She thought it was her job to civilize her boys.” (Peterson has two brothers, both of whom were also in politics: former MP Jim and former MPP Tim).
He was the founding chair of the Toronto Raptors, chaired the successful Pan-Am Games bid in 2015, and currently sits as vice-chair of the company that owns the Toronto Star.
Peterson says being premier of Ontario was the best job he ever had but next on the list was his six-year stint as chancellor at U of T.
“It is a magic place,” he marvels. “It’s one of the top 20 universities in the world, led by some of the most brilliant people, and has only a fraction of the endowment of big American universities.”
As chancellor, Peterson presided over 181 convocations (“I never missed one in six years”) and reveled in meeting students “who are full of promise but walking into a much tougher world than I did.”
He notes when he graduated from U of T Law in the late 1960s, “there were 60 recruiters present to offer you a job. Today’s generation isn’t guaranteed anything.”
To celebrate his 80th, Peterson and as many as 80 other family members intend to gather in Florida next week. “It’s just an excuse to get everyone together,” he insists. “Forget the old guy. This is for the kids.”
Happily, Peterson appears to be in robust health. As premier, he jogged almost every morning. Even today, he works out five to six times a week and likes to take cycling trips which can go on for 100 kilometres at a time.
Okay, so he’s not taking stock. But is there a lesson in his 80 years he’d care to pass along? Three things, apparently.
“Don’t be afraid of the future,” he begins. “Regret is the most useless of human emotions. And there’s something happy around the corner every day — just go find it.”
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