The Badger Riot

by J. A. Ricketts

  Tom said he never knew what happened for that cop to be hit so hard in the head. He kept repeating that it could just as easily have been a logger who was down in Grand Falls Hospital right now, there were that many of us clubbed to the ground.

  As for me, I never let on to Tom that I had run from the scene because Jennie and I thought I had killed someone. I was purposely vague about what part of the riot I was involved in. We didn’t have a lot of time for chit-chat that night. We were pretty busy hiding men in attics, basements, sheds, outhouses, garbage barrels, wherever we could find.

  I had to talk to Jennie, but it would have to wait. I needed sleep and headed for home.

  Ma was just getting home too. I figured she’d been making a house call, maybe delivering a baby. She was often called upon when the doctor was away, and I’m sure he’d been whisked away by the Company while this was going on.

  We went into the house together and took off our boots and coats. “Hard old night, Ma,” I said. “I’m going for a nap. Wake me if anyone comes for me.” I had a feeling that, before the day was over, I’d have my hands full with helping the strikers that had to get out of Badger and away from the roaming police units.

  “Yes, my son, I know it must’ve been a hard night for you.” She put a junk of wood in the stove and moved the kettle over on the part that would get the hottest. “I just came from the priest’s residence. He had Rod Anderson there. He got injured in the riot.”

  Huh? How could that be? An A.N.D. Company contractor injured? What was he doing at the priest’s house? And Rod was a Protestant. How could that be? But my mind was numb with fatigue. I just shook my head and went on to bed.

  Deep into sleep, I had a dream. It was born, I suppose, out of exhaustion and trauma. I was walking along by the banks of the Exploits River. It was summer. The waters flowed swiftly, reflecting the blue sky on its surface but hinting at the darkness beneath. I heard a shout. When I turned I saw cops chasing me. They were shouting, “Get him! He killed one of ours!” In the dream, the riverbank was endless and I ran and ran. I could feel a pain in my side as I gasped for breath. Then I tripped and fell. I could distinctly feel the grass under my cheek and I could see the toes of a pair of old rubber boots close to my face. My eyes followed up the legs and there was Grandfather.

  “Oh no,” I yelled. “They’re coming, Grandfather! Run, or they’ll get you too!” Grandfather and I looked back together but there was no one there.

  Suddenly, a great calmness came over me. I sat up, and Grandfather sat beside me on the green grass by the mighty Exploits. I told him about the riot, how we lost our bid for the union of our choice, how many men were hurt and, lastly, I told him about believing I had struck down a policeman. I kept inside my heart why I struck him and about Jennie. But I might have known Grandfather could see inside me.

  “Go and talk to the young woman with the bright hair, my son. She has the answer for you. Then, when you are done, make a journey to our cave and speak with the eagle spirit. Keep in mind the river of time that I told you about.”

  In my dream, I looked out over the Exploits, toward Sandy, the centre of Badger’s woods operations, thinking, Yes, that is exactly what I want to do. When I looked back, his familiar old face was gone and, in my dream, a hawk rose up in the sky, wheeling away.

  “Ralph, Ralph, wake up.” The voice was Ma’s. I opened my eyes. The feeling of emptiness that one always gets when dreaming of a lost loved one was strong upon me.

  “Ralph, some fellas from the union came by. They said to tell you there’s a meeting at the Noels’ old house up by the church.” I looked at my watch. Nearly noon. I’d been asleep for five hours.

  I awoke to Mom’s voice calling me. “Amanda, it’s time to get up for school.” I opened my eyes and last night’s events came flooding back to me.

  “You’d think they’d cancel school for today,” I grumbled sleepily. “The Catholics are the lucky ones – they have no school.” We envied the Catholics. Their school was closed when they took the nuns away.

  My father had already left for the telegraph office. Mom got us our breakfast and, with her admonishments to my brothers to behave themselves, we were out the door.

  On the school grounds, the kids clustered in little knots talking in low voices, looking scared. There was no running around, no horseplay. The shock of what had happened still seemed to grip us.

  Mr. Summers spoke to us. “Don’t go repeating rumours,” he said. “No matter what you heard or what you might think you saw, say nothing. You’re not grown-ups. You are children.”

  It seemed like no time when I awoke to someone shaking my shoulder. One of the strikers was bending over my bed. “Pastor. Pastor. Wake up. There’s a police car outside.”

  “What? What time is it?” I was groggy with sleep. Late nights don’t become me.

  “It’s eight o’clock. We’ve been up for awhile. Too nervous to sleep. Got ourselves a drop of tea too. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, it’s all right. Oh my Lord, I overslept.” I was hauling on my pants while he stood in the door.

  Then I heard the knocking on the front door. “That’s the police. My two buddies are up in the attic again. I’m gone to join them.” He disappeared in the direction of the back pantry. He was a pretty cool customer, that guy.

  I scravelled to open the door. Sure enough, it was the old sergeant. “Good morning, Pastor. Looks like I woke you up.” “Uh . . . yeah . . . I’m sorry.” I hadn’t had time to comb my hair. Never in my life have I appeared in public with uncombed hair.

  “Come in, sergeant. Come in.” I had to keep him to the front room in case there was a sound from the attic.

  “I won’t keep you, Pastor.” He stood there, just inside the front door, dressed exactly as he was yesterday, in his long black coat and fur hat. I wanted to ask him if he’d been up all night. But something in his hard keen eyes as he looked around my front room, missing nothing, stopped me.

  “I never got back to you last night. There was a lot going on and I had to go back to Grand Falls.”

  “That’s all right, sir. How is the injured officer doing?” It was just as well to get this conversation to the point and get it over.

  “He’s not expected to make it, Pastor. I would like to find out who struck him.”

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant, but I have no name for you. There were many strangers down there. Everyone looked pretty much alike.” The answer rolled smoothly off my tongue, surprising even me. I had gone to bed with indecision in my heart, but God had decided for me as I slept. “If you want me to testify, I will. I’ll testify to the event, but I have no name.”

  He seemed to weigh my words. “Because you viewed the incident through a window, your testimony isn’t admissible, but I would’ve personally appreciated a name from you.”

  I wished he would leave. My shirttail was hanging out and I was in my bare feet. Never had I felt so embarrassed.

  “I am sorry, sir. There’s no name.” Help me here, Lord. “I will pray for your injured man. If it is God’s will, he’ll come through.”

  “Hmmph. Well, goodbye, Pastor.” He turned and left me standing there in the front room, wondering what the new day would bring forth.

  In the morning I was present at roll call in the armoury at six o’clock. I thought I was free and clear, that no one had noticed my absence in last night’s turmoil, but I was wrong.

  The sergeant beckoned to me. “Fagan. Come here a minute.”

  I went over, my heart racing. “Yes sir.”

  He was about the same age as my father. The two of them knew each other, having come up through the ranks together.

  He looked at me, his sharp eyes missing nothing. “You weren’t around last night, so I hear. I was told that our unit came back from Badger without you. What happened?”

  I hesitated. Perhaps I should tell him. After all, I had done no real wrong. Maybe I did more right than wrong because I was too occupied with my own concerns dur
ing the riot to be out there clouting the loggers. And I was honest with myself: there’s something takes hold of men in times like that. Anger – the Vikings called it berserker – that makes you want to strike out, to crush, to even kill. It affected me too. I know, because, God forgive me, I wanted to hit that guy and hit him hard, for no reason except that I could. Then I found out that he was my father-in-law. By then it was too late.

  The sergeant interrupted my thoughts. “Isn’t that girl you married from somewhere out this way? Buchans, is it?”

  “No, sergeant. Badger. My mother-in-law is from Buchans, but Audrey is from Badger.”

  His bushy eyebrows went up in astonishment. “Really? You probably know a few Badger people, then. Hmm. I know it was a rush job to get you guys aboard the train and out here, but you shouldn’t have been sent out here to a place where you have close family ties. But then, no one thought it would come to this. We were merely a supplement to the RCMP, you know. A show of force. Keep the peace.”

  I nodded.

  “So you were a part of last night’s confrontation.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And?”

  “As I said, my wife’s parents live in Badger. Her father is an A.N.D. Company contractor. He was a bystander at the riot and became mistaken for a striker. There was a lot of confusion there for awhile.”

  He sighed. “Yes, a lot of confusion.” I didn’t envy the sergeant his job today. There were many things for him to sort out, and he had one of our members in hospital in serious condition.

  “Well. Sir, I . . . I . . . hit him with my nightstick.”

  “What? Good God, man! Your own father-in-law? How badly did you hurt him?”

  Just then another member came by and told the sergeant that the RCMP inspector needed to speak to him as soon as possible.

  I said quickly, “I struck him hard, sir, I’m sorry to say. I don’t know if there’s a bone broken or not. We came eye to eye, and we recognized each other.”

  “Stay there a minute. I have to go and speak to the inspector, but I’ll be right back to you. Don’t move.” And he hurried away.

  I cooled my heels for almost an hour before he returned.

  “All right, Fagan, here’s what is happening. They think there will be more violence in the wake of last night’s. The Department of Justice is sending out fifty more of our members. When that train arrives we are going to send her back to St. John’s, and you are going to be on board.” He looked at me keenly. “Are you going to be okay until then?”

  I nodded miserably. All I could think of was Rod and the pain I had caused him. My thoughts kept tumbling to Papa, Mama, Audrey, Ruth, my daughters. What would become of our small family circle?

  Once again I was on the train as it made its sinuous way toward St. John’s. I was lucky enough to have a sleeper berth, but I didn’t sleep. I lay in the bunk, listening to the squeaks and rattles of the train, and I worried. I had to tell Ruth that I had struck her husband.

  I had to tell Audrey that I had struck her dad. I had to tell Papa that I had acted in a way that was the opposite of all that he had taught me. And then another thought raised its ugly head. Was my true lineage coming to the fore? Was I really a chip off the old block after all? My real father, the hardcase Joe Fagan, had done nothing but drink and fight his way through a short, brutal life. Did blood really run true?

  I hailed a taxi from the train station and went to my parents’ house first. Mama and Papa were having breakfast. They were surprised when I opened the door and walked in.

  “Richard!” Papa jumped up so fast he upset his chair. “Richard, what are you doing back already?”

  “Oh my God, my poor boy! You look worn out. Levi, let him sit down.” Mama bustled to get a cup of coffee.

  I sat down. “I was sent back early,” I said. “Papa, what a mess out there in Badger.”

  Papa’s face was sombre. “Yes, I was at the station when the news came through. One of our members was down; the report told of violence and bloodshed. We didn’t think this would happen.”

  Mama gave me the coffee. It felt good to sit there in the kitchen where I had grown up. The hot coffee warmed my insides.

  “Papa, I have myself in a terrible pickle.”

  He leaned forward. “A pickle? What do you mean?”

  “I came to speak to you first, before I went home to Audrey and her mother.” I drank some more coffee. It went down too fast and scalded my tongue. “Papa, I was with the unit that went up to Badger on patrol. We marched up through a large group of strikers. Something happened – I’m not sure what – and we became engaged with the men. They were armed with billets and we had our nightsticks.”

  Mama’s mouth was a round “O” as she listened. I looked away from her frightened eyes.

  “The ferocity of the clash was incredible. It was almost dark, and police and strikers grappled viciously with each other. I was as bad as anyone.”

  It was very hard for me to tell them what had happened. I couldn’t look into their faces as I spoke. “Papa, I struck Rod. On his shoulder, with my nightstick. Maybe I broke it.” I started to cry. “Oh God, oh God.”

  Both of them jumped to their feet. “What?” Mama came rushing over to put her arms around me.Without sparing myself, I told my parents all of it, even the part about the berserker feeling. My shame was heavy on my heart. “I have to go and tell Audrey and Ruth now.”

  Papa went over and grabbed his coat. “I’ll come with you.” Mama pushed back the dishes. “I’ll come too. The little girls will need me.”

  So my parents and I walked up the street to my house where Audrey, Ruth and the girls were happily getting ready to start their day, unaware of how I was about to spoil it.

  32

  Tom came back in the afternoon. “Pastor Genge,” he said, “thank you for putting yourself out for the boys last night. You saved them from going to jail. The union is shipping guys out of town as fast as they can.

  “There’s a freight train down at the station going east. We have about thirty men in one of the boxcars. My father knows but, like the rest of us, he wants to get this town cleared out as soon as we can. As station master, he’ll turn a blind eye.”

  The men thanked me for my hospitality. Hospitality? Hah! Jonathan would’ve laughed at that one. Then they filed out the door.

  Somehow, with the resilience that all human beings have, and with the help of God, the people of Badger, the former strikers and I, got through the day after the riot. A pall hung over the town as everyone held their breath, awaiting news of the stricken constable. If he died, it would be an entirely different tale than if he lived. I heard nothing further from the police.

  Well, Father beat the shit out of me. Unknown to me, Father was up in Badger on the very picket line that the taxi tried to crash through. He was among the picketers who were brought in to swell the numbers.

  How was I supposed to know that? No one tells me nuttin’. When I walked into the house, after the Mountie let me off, there was Father. I don’t think he had gone to bed at all. “Well, Cecil, you snot-nosed little good-for-nothing, I seen you. Yes I did. You was in the taxi. Is that what you’ve been up to these past couple of months? There’s me on a picket line, fighting for my rights, and you behind my back, working as a scab.”

  There was Stepmother over by the table smirking at me. I didn’t know how to answer Father. I couldn’t. Just stood there and looked at him. Father was taller and bigger than I was. I don’t know why I didn’t grow much, but I was always the smallest in the family. Jesus, I was more scared of Father than I was of the Mounties, the crazy picketers and the legless man all put together.

  He had his big old leather belt in his hand. I was no stranger to that belt. My sister wasn’t either. Neither were the children that Stepmother and Father owned together. Father used that belt all the time. Perhaps Stepmother was beaten too, but I never had no pity for her.

  He let me have it – right across the side of the cheek.
I dropped down on my knees, covering my face and head. My arms got it then. There was no escaping the angry swish of that belt. He went on and on, all the while yelling at me. “Your stepmother is right, you are a useless, stupid, good for nothing.”

  There! Stupid. I was stupid. Father believed what she had told him all along. My last hope was gone. If Father thought it, well, it had to be true. I was stupid and no good.

  His arm must have gotten tired of swinging the strap and he stopped, but not before I was bleeding in what seemed like a million places. Every inch of me was burning. I crawled away, sobbing like a ten-year-old. Come to think of it, I wasn’t very far from ten, being only seventeen, but I felt like I’d been around forever. Last words I heard before I passed out was that friggin’ stepmother: “What a big baby, crying over a lickin’.”

  When I awoke, it was night again. I’d been asleep or unconscious for all day. I heard Emily’s voice. “Cecil, wake up. Everyone is gone to bed except me. Wake up.”

  I rolled over. When me sore, raw back touched the mattress I almost died. Emily was bending over me. “Get up, Cecil, and I’ll tend to your back. Shh, be quiet. Don’t wake anyone.”

  There were three bedrooms in the house. One was for Father and Stepmother, one was for Emily and the two baby boys while the third was for the three older boys. I slept on a daybed in under the stairs off the kitchen.

  We crept out to the kitchen table. The house was dark. Even though there was electricity, Emily wouldn’t turn on the light for fear that it would wake Stepmother. She lit a small candle.

  “Take off your shirt now,” she whispered.

  I hauled off my shirt and singlet. The singlet was stuck to my skin with the dried blood. When the singlet came off, the welts started bleeding again and I could feel the warm blood running down over my back. The pain was almost enough to make me faint.