K. C. Irving - A Memory
I don't ordinarily hobnob with billionaires. As a matter of fact I've never spoken to one, but I did share a plane ride with one. It was January 1956 and I was on my way from Montreal to St. John's prior to heading to the Mid-Canada radar line in Labrador. There were several stops along the way, and in Halifax who should come on board but K. C. Irving, the New Brunswick industrialist and dynamo. He took a seat across the aisle from me. Maybe the plane, a North Star (modified DC-4) of Trans-Canada Airlines (since renamed Air Canada for bilingual reasons) had no first-class service, or K. C. wanted to be democratic or maybe just economical, I don't know.
He didn't sit still. He fidgeted and shuffled. He would get up and wander the aisle. If he spotted someone he recognized, he would stop and chat briefly. He would go to the back and speak with the stewardesses. He would head to the cockpit to see the crew. I would have liked to speak with him, but I hadn't the nerve. Had I known then what I later learned about the man, I might have spoken.
He was a straight forward man. He insisted that his customers get first-class service, and he made sure of it. There is a story about his helping a distressed lady who was standing beside her car by the side of the highway at night. The car had a flat. Along comes a Cadillac which pulls in ahead of her; out steps a well-dressed gentleman who proceeds to jack up the car, remove the wheel and install the spare. He then wishes her a good night and leaves.
The stop in Sydney was twenty minutes. In those days most passengers got off and re-boarded when it was time to leave. No security to worry about. During those 20 minutes, he put on a show of sorts. There were three phone booths in the terminal, the old type where Superman changed costumes. He sat in the middle one and dialed. Hello Jack, K. C. here, how are things going, how about this, how about that, did that other thing get straightened out, is Bill on top of the problem, and so on and so forth. Yes, I'll hold. Meanwhile, the second phone rings, he reaches around and grabs it. It's for him. To make a long story short, he kept the three phones busy all the while the plane was on the ground, but when boarding was announced, he was finished. I'm sure they would have held the plane for him, but I'm also sure he wouldn't have dreamed of it.
In St. John's I was booked at the Newfoundland Hotel, the best in those days. As I got out of my taxi, Irving's limo drove up. The hotel had long steps leading to the entrance, complete with brass rail. The hotel manager, in January cold, was at the bottom of the steps with porters to greet the great man. Welcome, sir.
I never laid eyes on him again, but years later, when he was ninety, I heard, on the radio, part of a speech he gave. His voice was as powerful as that of a man of forty.
He didn't sit still. He fidgeted and shuffled. He would get up and wander the aisle. If he spotted someone he recognized, he would stop and chat briefly. He would go to the back and speak with the stewardesses. He would head to the cockpit to see the crew. I would have liked to speak with him, but I hadn't the nerve. Had I known then what I later learned about the man, I might have spoken.
He was a straight forward man. He insisted that his customers get first-class service, and he made sure of it. There is a story about his helping a distressed lady who was standing beside her car by the side of the highway at night. The car had a flat. Along comes a Cadillac which pulls in ahead of her; out steps a well-dressed gentleman who proceeds to jack up the car, remove the wheel and install the spare. He then wishes her a good night and leaves.
The stop in Sydney was twenty minutes. In those days most passengers got off and re-boarded when it was time to leave. No security to worry about. During those 20 minutes, he put on a show of sorts. There were three phone booths in the terminal, the old type where Superman changed costumes. He sat in the middle one and dialed. Hello Jack, K. C. here, how are things going, how about this, how about that, did that other thing get straightened out, is Bill on top of the problem, and so on and so forth. Yes, I'll hold. Meanwhile, the second phone rings, he reaches around and grabs it. It's for him. To make a long story short, he kept the three phones busy all the while the plane was on the ground, but when boarding was announced, he was finished. I'm sure they would have held the plane for him, but I'm also sure he wouldn't have dreamed of it.
In St. John's I was booked at the Newfoundland Hotel, the best in those days. As I got out of my taxi, Irving's limo drove up. The hotel had long steps leading to the entrance, complete with brass rail. The hotel manager, in January cold, was at the bottom of the steps with porters to greet the great man. Welcome, sir.
I never laid eyes on him again, but years later, when he was ninety, I heard, on the radio, part of a speech he gave. His voice was as powerful as that of a man of forty.
posted by puzzled @ 11:49 PM
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