I took the ball to María’s, and it made for a strange soccer game. The oval football bounced crazily all over the place, but the other boys enjoyed it anyway. Afterwards, I guarded the ball carefully and that evening proudly returned it to Dad safe and sound. He seemed happy.
* * *
—
GEORGE’S BOSS UP the line at headquarters in Ottawa, Assistant Deputy Minister H. Leslie Brown, of the Department of Trade and Commerce, paid a visit to Buenos Aires. Brown knew Argentina well, having been posted to Buenos Aires from 1947 to 1950. While there, he’d proven adept at working his way around the Argentine authorities. In his autobiography, Brown recounted arranging a meeting for Mrs. Tillie Ralston, a successful provincial politician from Vancouver, with Eva Perón. She, of course, was the immensely popular and powerful wife of Juan Perón, president at the time. After Mrs. Ralston returned to Buenos Aires from a side trip to Santiago, Chile, and told Brown she’d met the Chilean president, he’d proudly replied, “Guess what? Tomorrow you meet with Evita!”
News of the meeting between the two women appeared in the Argentine tabloids. Nevertheless, Mrs. Ralston found herself in need of a special police card for her subsequent departure from Buenos Aires by boat. With only an hour to spare, Brown convinced a local official to bend the rules and issue the document, pointedly mentioning the meeting with Evita Perón. Apparently, Mrs. Ralston was so impressed by his adroitness that this story became a favourite of hers.
Since George’s superiors were all away, he invited Mr. Brown to our house for dinner. Despite Brown’s seniority as the man in charge of her husband and all his trade colleagues around the world, Carol found him very approachable and friendly. She described his visit in a letter home.
It was just the three of us and really it turned out very well. He is a wonderful man and very easy to talk to. He was or seemed to be very interested in George and the job he was doing, how we were liking it down here, how the children were getting along, whether or not we attended church and he did it all so painlessly that it wasn’t until later did I realize just how much the man had learned about us.
As enchanting as he was, Brown wasn’t afraid to say what he thought. “He was charming,” Carol noted, “and at times shockingly frank and I think he will probably be a very good if not excellent Director.”
The following evening, Carol and George threw a cocktail party for a hundred guests at our place in Brown’s honour. The ambassadors of Japan and Finland were invited, along with several other VIPs. The whole affair was catered by the American Club, “which makes it very easy for us.”
Carol wore a special new dress, “a plain sheath with one shoulder strap of a beige brocade with pale green fleurs de lis.” When Brown saw her, he said, “Wow.” He was “not at all stuffy,” and even though dinner wasn’t served until 11 P.M. and the party carried on until the wee hours, Brown stayed “until the last dog was hanged.” I didn’t know that’s what they did at cocktail parties. Carol was clearly impressed with him, and he genuinely seemed to like her and George. She’d never know the role Leslie Brown would later play in her story.
* * *
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CAROL MET MORE people who would become an important part of her life when she and George attended a fashion show held by the Ola bathing suit company. She told her parents that “the fashions down here are always ahead of those at home and in the States.” It was, she added, “a rather chilly evening and we all felt rather sorry for the girls. I am sure some of the men would have been quite willing to help the girls, but there was a sign saying, ‘Please Do Not Handle the Goods.’ ” The company was owned by Peter and Bibi Fischer, who became friends with my parents.
Another couple with whom Carol became friendly were Louise and Rolf Krapf. Louise was a Canadian from Ottawa whose grandfather had been Sir Joseph Pope, an important public servant going all the way back to Sir John A. Macdonald’s day. Her husband, Rolf, was a businessman. Carol visited Louise and wrote amusingly about her “poodle crowd.” Louise turned into a good friend as well, better than Carol would ever know.
Two-year-old Julie was developing by leaps and bounds. She would stay over at María and Martín’s house while Mom and Dad attended a polo match or a lunch, and Cristina played with Julie to spell off her mother. Alejandra, the cook, sometimes took Julie along with her on her days off. The driver who took Julie to nursery school called her his pequeña amor (little love). People spoke to her in Spanish, and “she seems to understand every word,” Carol wrote. She had a “fantastic memory” and recognized Grandma from a photo right away.
Despite her busy social life, Mom made time for us when we needed her. I came home from school one afternoon with a bad stomach ache. Mom was having tea with the local Anglican minister in his clerical collar. (The British community in Buenos Aires was large enough that it had its own churches, schools, hospitals, even stores. Harrods of London had a huge department store downtown.) Mom immediately told the minister they’d have to have tea another time, because her boy needed her.
For my eighth birthday, on December 10, 1958, Mom organized a big party and invited a dozen kids over to the house. We all played in the garden, while the mothers had tea inside. My main present was a bicycle, which I’d really been hoping for—I’d been spending a lot of time riding other boys’ bikes around the school yard.
After the party, Mom took me upstairs to my parents’ bathroom. I was surprised by this, since they’d always told Doug and me we weren’t supposed to go in there. Dad was having a bath, lying back in the tub with his big penis and hairy crotch in full view. It was a shock to me. Mom said she’d brought me in so Dad could wish me happy birthday, but to me it felt like I was supposed to see his genitals. I didn’t understand why. I doubt it was Mom’s idea of a birthday present. Whatever the reason, it left me with a very uncomfortable feeling.
Soon it was the end of the Argentine school year, coinciding with the arrival of summer. Carol wrote her parents that I’d passed “by the skin of my teeth.” At least I was starting to understand what was going on in the classes taught in Spanish. Even though Mrs. Toppie, our tutor, wasn’t my favourite person, she’d helped me a lot. Having maids who spoke only Spanish helped too, since I had to speak to them in their own language.
The school was tolerant enough to understand that, while I still wasn’t quite up to snuff in Spanish, it was because I’d spoken no Spanish at all when we’d arrived eight months earlier. My teachers recognized that I was improving and would probably catch up eventually, which I did—making friends, enjoying sports, and feeling very at home in the new culture.
* * *
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IN JANUARY 1959, Carol planned our separate summer holidays. For her and George, this meant a five-thousand-mile road trip to Patagonia, Argentina’s southernmost tip, just as the country was beset with more strikes. It was an opportunity to combine business with pleasure. George would be making professional calls along the way, visiting agricultural businesses, his specialty, such as sheep and cattle operations, and looking out for export opportunities for Canadian equipment and breeding stock. Carol would keep a diary of the trip in which she recorded their expenses, so George knew how much he could claim from the government. I don’t know whether it was his idea or Carol’s that she join him for the trip. Before they left, Mom prepared us kids for travelling to the Sierras de Córdoba, in the interior, with María and Cristina, who would look after us while our parents were away.
During their journey to Patagonia, Carol wrote in her diary about driving on rough dirt roads, visiting sheep farms, fishing in mountain streams, getting stuck in mudholes, riding on horseback, and being invited to dine by almost everyone they met. She described the countryside as “the real Argentina,” where “people are so kind…that you just can’t get any time to yourself.” On January 21, 1959, she sent a postcard to Joan Clark from Ushuaia, “the most southern town in the world,�
� showing the fishing port and the snow-covered peaks of the Andes beyond.
Carol and George went to the Carnival dance in Rio Grande, where she danced with “the [wool] shearers, everyone.” The next day, she went out riding with a new companion named Jaime, who got thrown by his horse. It’s not clear who Jaime was, or how they’d met, but Carol and he ended up on a picnic blanket together eating lunch and drinking beer.
Where was Dad? Perhaps he was busy with work, or simply not interested in dancing or riding. Maybe he was taking in the spectacular landscape of Tierra del Fuego. Mom didn’t say, either in her diary or her letters.
I’m sure her little adventures on the trip were innocent enough. Yet looking back at her diary notes, I’m surprised by their frankness. I doubt she ever imagined that I, or anyone else, would read them one day. If Dad ever read them, I think that he’d have been upset, even angry, about her keeping company with men.
Meanwhile, we three were in Córdoba for ten days with María. Córdoba was her home, and she was happy to be visiting her family. María’s daughter, Cristina, came along to help look after us. We all stayed at a little hotel, but ate our meals at María’s mother’s place. It had a dirt backyard with chickens running around. In the evenings, there was much laughter and singing, much vino tinto, and the best grilled beef in the world.
María and her family loved to laugh and tell stories. They talked about Juan Fangio, the international racing car champion from Argentina who, according to María, had been given a prize car made of solid silver. They gossiped about Frank Sinatra. As good Catholics, they discussed what kind of fish they’d eat on Friday, and how they’d obtain some holy water from a fountain where a saint had performed a miracle. They complained about the Yanquis (Yankees) and made fun of them. I imitated my father’s heavy North American accent in Spanish, which made everyone laugh. Doug made faces. As I was eating a sandwich, one of the chickens snatched it away. More laughter. I asked for another sandwich.
* * *
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NO SOONER HAD we all returned home from our travels than Bob and Jenny Borden arrived for a visit. The couple used to pal around with Carol and George in Toronto before we moved to Argentina. Bob had been a classmate of Dad’s at UCC. His father was Henry Borden, president of Brazilian Traction, Light and Power, a Canadian multinational corporation that later became the conglomerate Brascan. His great-uncle was Sir Robert Borden, Canada’s prime minister during the First World War. Bob was named after his famous forebear and had a framed Canadian hundred-dollar bill bearing Sir Robert’s image hanging on his wall. According to one of Carol’s letters, Jenny Borden had achieved some success as a competitive swimmer.
There was now a new Canadian ambassador in Buenos Aires, Richard Plant Bower. Fifty-three at the time, Bower, who was born in Kansas City, Missouri, must have been something of a child prodigy, since he graduated from the University of Manitoba at nineteen in 1924. He joined the Canadian diplomatic service at twenty-one, serving in various postings in Europe, Asia, Australia, and New Zealand, before being appointed ambassador to Venezuela in 1956.
The arrival of a new ambassador is a huge event for an embassy, making a big impact on the personnel and their families. (In our case, this would turn out to be an understatement.) But Carol took it all in stride—no wonder, since she’d already won over, apparently, Assistant Deputy Minister Brown, the ambassador’s boss. She wrote that, after taking Bob and Jenny Borden shopping,
we drove home and got ready for the dinner party with the Ambassador. Louise and Rolfe [sic] Krapf were also coming and all in all it was a very nice evening. Mr. and Mrs. Bauer [sic] are very very nice. He is a very open, straightforward type and very sharp and on the ball. They have 3 children in Canada. After dinner we played Bridge. The only unfortunate note to the evening was the heat. It was dreadful.
Carol was not cowed by anybody, no matter how important, whether Vice-President Nixon or Ambassador Bower. She also had a keen eye for character.
Carol didn’t mention George in her description of the dinner party, which is surprising. For a foreign service officer, an ambassador has tremendous influence, not only on the officer’s current posting but also their future career. George would have wanted to make a good impression at what was, apparently, his first social occasion with Mr. Bower. Perhaps Carol was simply enjoying the evening and the company. Years later, Louise Krapf would share with me her memory of Dad as rather stiff socially, whereas Mom was the real crowd-pleaser.
Carol, George, and the Bordens travelled to the Llao Llao Hotel, in Bariloche, a resort in the Parque Nacional Nahuel Huapi, at the foot of the Andes, for golf, fishing, and horseback riding. Carol wrote to her parents that she and Aunt Jenny, as we called her, gave George and Bob such a “hiding” at bridge that they kept playing until 5:30 A.M. to give the laggard males a chance to catch up.
George’s mother also arrived at Bariloche with her friend and travelling companion Marge Van Allen and joined the party. Jenny Borden came down with “traveller’s trots,” so Carol went riding alone, even learning to ride bareback. She went fishing with George and Bob, and caught “the biggest brown trout that the guide said he had ever seen in that river, 6½–7 pounds,” a real prize. Granny got sick, but was so taken with her doctor, Carol wrote, that “I do believe she won’t get better, just so he will come again.”
After several days, the party broke up. Bob and Jenny continued on their travels. George left for Buenos Aires to return to work. Carol, Granny, and Marge stayed on at Bariloche. “We liked it so well,” Carol told her parents, “that we kept sending George telegrams to say we would stay just a few more days.” Granny and Marge played golf and went for long walks, while Carol went off riding all day.
I would go out at ten and not come home till about eight. I had a saddle roll and in it would be my bathing suit, towel, book and cigarettes. It was really fun…. I got to know many people in the district and was invited to lunch or to asados.
Carol danced every night in the hotel bar, where there was “a very good four-piece band.” One evening, there was a special dance for hotel personnel. Carol “had five invitations, but had to say no,” she told her parents. She continued,
BUT, that didn’t stop me from going to the dance. I had a ball, never sat down all evening. It went on until five thirty in the morning. I was dancing with an Italian boy and we won the Brazilian Samba contest. Rather a riot, eh. Four countries involved.
Carol found it amusing that all of a sudden more guests took up riding. One chap asked her, “Aren’t you afraid you will get lost in the woods? Wouldn’t you like me to accompany you?” She replied, “No thank you. I may get lost, but you can be sure Lucero [her horse] won’t.”
Carol vividly recounted all this in a letter to her parents on March 25, 1959. Apparently, she didn’t feel at all abashed about going on her adventures—an unusual show of independence for a married woman in those days. No doubt, she told Granny and Marge about the fun too, since they were there. I don’t know whether one of them, or even Mom herself, shared with Dad any details of the good times she was having while he was back at work. But it seems likely he’d have heard one way or another. I imagine he’d have felt none too pleased about it.
By the end of March, Carol, Granny, and Marge were back in Buenos Aires, and our home life resumed. I was now joined at St. John’s by both Doug and Julie. Mom told Grandma and Grandpa that when she saw Doug and me off every morning, we looked “so smart dressed alike” in our school uniforms. Julie, now three, was picked up by a big red school bus. Carrying “a school bag which is almost as big as herself,” she sat on a small seat beside the driver and was delighted to be going to nursery school.
Carol was soon riding every morning at the Club Hípico.
I have a lovely, small, pure black gelding called Kotan. He has a beautiful gait and is quite quiet. Perfect for the kids and I but too small for Geo
rge…. We have an invitation to cross the Andes, by horseback, to the Pacific next summer and I want George to learn to ride first. I am going to get him to join the club too. It is something we can do together on weekends and will be great fun. I am anxious to have the children learn to ride properly and Jeff is just the right age to start his jumping.
On March 31, 1959, Carol wrote home to say Granny and Marge had left on a week-long excursion to the scenic city of Alta Gracia, in Córdoba province. Doug and I attended a birthday party at the home of our best friends, Michael and Danny McKenney, from the States. We thought the magician at the party was terrific.
Our family life was busy and good. Soon, it would all come crashing down.
5
CAROL’S STRANGE SICKNESS
SHORTLY BEFORE MY father’s twenty-sixth birthday, on May 1, 1959, Carol started getting sick. She was twenty-four.
Even with the help of household staff, her existence was hectic—nothing like the “life of Riley” she described when we’d first settled in. It was more like a job, albeit an unpaid one, since she was contributing to Canada’s presence in Argentina, as well as supporting George’s career. Of course, she received little recognition for it—foreign service spouses rarely do. Cocktail parties, she wrote, were now just another chore. No wonder she’d revelled in her adventures in Patagonia and the carefree fun of Bariloche.
Murder in the Family Page 6
