 David Morrison Blaikie
A Nova Scotia
lumberman
1909-1976
16. Emerging ownership
It was now November of 1955. The trees were bare and leafless, and
weather colder than normal for that time of year. The ground was already
as hard as iron. On the night of December 1, while I was doing up the
night chores at the mill, Edwin came down to have a talk. Glenn was
putting his half of the business up for sale, and Edwin had been offered
the chance to buy. No one else in the family had showed an interest at
that point.
The prospect of raising money to buy these shares, with the outlook that
in the near future he would likely have to buy Roy's shares as well, was
looking like more of a business venture than he was prepared to embark
on.
In short, he was offering me the chance to share equally with him in the
purchase of Glenn's shares, with the understanding that, as time went
on, Roy's shares would also be bought on the same basis.
This development was unexpected. I had thought that either Edwin would
buy all the shares, or that possibly George might become involved. This
decision requried a fair amount of consideration. I wanted to talk it
over with Eva, who would be equally affected, and we later talked until
midnight.
46 years old
I had my forty-sixth birthday the previous summer. It seemed old to be
beginning a business venture where quite a lot of capital was going to
be involved. And would we be able to get the capital? On the other hand,
if we turned this offer down, our future prospects didn't look alluring.
If Edwin did raise the money to buy all the shares, it would mean that
I'd be working for him the rest of my life, unless I left altogether.
Or, if he didn't decide to take this chance, then in the near future,
the business would likely be sold or closed down, which would
necessitate a new move altogether on my part. In any case, I had always
had a sneaking desire to have some part in the actual management of the
business.
The $10 per day for which I was working in the fall of 1955 didn't look
too fabulous, and I felt that somehow, surely, we could do better than
this. As Eva and I ended our discussion that night, we had made the
decision to buy the shares, provided we could borrow money from the
bank. We hoped this decision was a wise one, for a lot depended on it.
When you borrow a substantial amount of money to enter business at the
age of forty-six, the business had better pay off. If not, it's unlikely
that you'll ever have another chance.
Early winter
December was a real winter month that year. Two or three snowstorms in
rapid succession had dumped two feet of snow on the already frozen
earth. Then the weather turned clear and cold. Our logging roads were
broken out, and the winter was off to a good start. Cold weather
continued until January 4, 1956. On that day a thaw began, the biggest I
could remember. First there was a heavy rain, and following that a
series of mild, beautiful days, that you might you hope for (but rarely
get) in April. During the three weeks that followed, all the snow
disappeared, and every vestige of frost thawed out of the sodden earth.
On January 10, 1956, the transfer of Glenn's shares took place. That
evening we met at Roy's home, and the business was completed. From that
day on, Edwin and I each owned a quarter of the business, the other half
still being held by Roy.
The mild weather continued. We had enough logs in the mill yard to last
a week. After they were finished we dressed all the lumber we had that
was suitable for the local market, and hauled it down to the Dartmouth
Lumber Company. We were then forced to stand idle until colder weather
returned. The result was that it was nearing the end of January when we
began sawing again.
Conditions poor
Operating conditions were poor at that point. The renewal of winter came
after a foot of snow had fallen on ground that had had no opportunity to
freeze again. With the cold weather back, it was imperative that our
logging roads be broken out as quickly as possible, so they would
freeze. This was a dirty, disagreeable job, and hard on trucks. By
February the mill was running again, but it was a hand to mouth
operation to keep the mill in logs.
About the time things began to improve, more snow came, and that was the
pattern for the rest of the winter. A fair supply of logs had been cut
during the thaw, and we put on an extra truck to try to get some of
these hauled ahead for spring sawing.
We plugged along miserably until March 20th. By that time the depth of
snow had driven most of the loggers out of the woods. And that night a
late winter storm added nearly another foot, accompained by high winds,
which caused heavy drifting. Effectively, this put a stop to any further
lumbering operations.
Waiting for spring
We reasoned that the spring breakup was already imminent and that a few
more days would bring an end to snowfall. But it took longer than we
expected. It was April 10 by the time we got the mill running again. And
even then snow was a problem, but warmer weather during the next two
weeks melted most of it away.
Thus, our first winter as participants in ownership was less than 100%
successful. We were not discouraged, however, for we knew better times
were ahead. We had enough logs to last until dry weather came - we hoped
- and we had a good supply of logs already arranged to last from then
until fall.
As if in compensation for the dreary months of winter, the spring was
beautiful, one of the pleasantest I had ever seen. By May, the days - or
most days - were warm and sunny. The frogs were piping. And it was
wonderful once more to watch the fields turn from brown to green, and to
see the buds opening into the first delicate green of new leaves. Twice
a year the leaves are outstanding. The first is the month or more when
they first develop in that light, airy green of spring. The other is the
last month, when they are aflame with the brilliant colours of autumn.
Spring sawing
May was a dry month, so our truck roads were ready for use earlier than
usual. Still, it was near the end of May before we could really go into
the woods for logs. In the meantime, Edwin and I had heard that Byron
Cox, of South Branch, had a good brow of logs cut. So one evening we
went to see him. The logs - which were really nice - were only a couple
of hundred yards off the main road, and the
woods road into them was okay for trucks. We bought these logs - around
50,000 board feet - and began hauling them to the mill.
Roy's health had been poor all winter. And with the arrival of spring
the doctor practically ordered him to go to the hospital for a general
examination. Among other things, this examination showed that a prostate
gland operation was necessary. In due time, following the operation, he
was able to get back home, but the surgery was not entirely successful.
To some extent his troubles were cancerous.
Roy had always loved the mill. Under our father's direction, he was
instrumental in building the original mill in 1907. Forty nine years had
passed since then, and he was as deeply interested as ever. But now,
failing health had left him unable to actively participate in its
operation.
A good mechanic
Mechanically, Roy was clever. Problems always arise in the operation of
a mill, but he was always equal to anything that came up. I always felt
that his mechanical ability was unequalled by any of the rest of us.
Edwin was probably the best in this respect, but he still lacked some of
the natural genius of Roy.
Even when unable to come to the mill, Roy still loved to have us come in
and discuss mill work with him. I made a practice of dropping in to see
him a couple of evenings a week. He still made an occasional trip to the
mill in the summer and early fall, but his working days were ended.
However, he continued to oversee the office work, and to discuss with us
the various problems connected with the
operation of the business.
With the exception of time lost during the winter, 1956 was a good year.
It was good that during the previous years, when we had no share in the
ownership of the business, both Edwin and I had taken a keen interest in
its' management. All our lives we had followed the price of logs, and
the prices obtainable for lumber, and we knew quite well how these
needed to compare in order to make the
business financially successful.
Securing logs
Now, it was up to us to make the arrangements for a good log supply.
Already mentioned has been the fact that we usually had one or two
contractors cutting our own logs for most of the year. These,
supplemented by what we could buy from local wood lots, were usually
enough to keep the mill running steadily.
The export market was good. Most of our production was shipped overseas,
with possibly a quarter of our cut being dressed for the local market,
which at that time meant mainly the Dartmouth Lumber Co., plus sales to
a few odd contractors who were building houses.
Edwin and I were both anxious for the time to come when the company's
balance sheet would be made up for the year. Our official year ended
November 30, and as the fall progressed, we felt that the year must have
been a good one.
J. C. Nicoll
Barrow, Nicoll and Company, the Halifax accountants mentioned earlier,
were still our auditors. They usually made up our books in the latter
part of December, and this was always done by J.C. Nicoll himself. At
that time, all the office work was done at Roy's home, so at the
appointed time, he came and stayed until the office work was up to date
for another year.
J.C. Nicoll was quite a character. In 1956 he was a man of probably 48
to 50 years of age, short and heavy set. No doubt the heavy-set part was
to some extent due to inactivity associated with his years of office
work. His complexion was florid. His hair, what little there was of it,
was somewhere between auburn and tow-white.
The unfortunate soul also had a disability, which was a stiff neck. It
couldn't have been any stiffer if it had been set in cement. He was
unable to turn his head in any direction - either up, down or sideways,
without having to turn nearly his whole body. He was probably used to
this, but it was a long time before I got used to it.
Abrupt personality
The stiffness also seemed to extend to his disposition. If you spoke to
him, it was uncanny to watch him turn his chair to look at you. That is,
if he paid any attention at all. His partner, Mr. Barrow, was a suave,
smooth-spoken man. Knowing the line of business they were engaged in,
one might have expected Mr. Nicoll to be much the same. But it was not
the case. Yet he was not a poor talker. He could speak well when he
wanted.
But these times seldom coincided with the ones when I wished to
communicate with him. For example, it was quite common to enter the room
where he was working, not having seen him for a year, and to get no
reply whatsoever when you spoke to him.
Later on, probably in the evening, he might loosen up and begin to talk.
When this happened, it rarely took longer than two minutes before you
were in an argument with him. He would sooner argue than eat. And he
loved to eat. This was another reason apart from inactivity for his
tendency toward corpulence.
A good professional
At the time - 1956 - Mr. Nicholl had been doing this work for five
years, and during this period our paths didn't cross often. But from
that time on, discussion of many business details brought us into
contact more frequently. And it should be said that he was tops in his
profession. He was so good that he was able to keep a lot of detail in
his head, a situation which later caused some trouble for succeeding
auditors.
Mr. Nicholl was obstinate, and intolerant of errors. He got along with
cats and dogs much better than most human beings. In later years, when
he was doing his work in our home instead of Roy's, we had a
cocker-spaniel dog, and a half-grown kitten. At mealtime, he was always
slipping titbits to the dog. One evening, which did nothing to add to
his popularity, Eva entered the room and found him with our kitten in
the middle of the dining room table.
It was his custom to work until around nine o'clock in the evening.
After that he would watch television, chat if he felt like an argument,
and most evenings partake of a substantial lunch before bedtime.
Strong first year
The results of labours on this occasion showed that we had not been
mistaken in our assessment of the year's results. The balance sheet
looked good, one of the best to date. This was gratifying. Having
borrowed a fair sum of money, a poor year would have been discouraging.
We were able to buy a few more shares now, through a dividend payable to
us from the company. Thus we bought enough of Roy's shares so that each
of the three of us now owned one third of the business.
By this time the new year - 1957 - had arrived. The mill was running as
usual and, since export lumber was selling well, that was mainly what we
produced. Work went on without incidents until around mid-winter. Then
things changed with Roy.
At intervals of about three months Roy had to go back to the hospital -
the Victoria General, in Halifax - for check-ups. It was on Sunday,
February 3, that he was taken there for the last time. There was no
reason to believe this trip was different from previous ones. I had been
in to talk things over with him for a couple of hours on the Saturday
night before he left.
He was quite cheerful over what he felt would be another routine
examination. We talked at some length about the mill, a subject that
never failed to interest him. And when I left that night, he came to the
door with me, saying that he expected to be home again in three or four
days.
Another heart attack
Late Tuesday afternoon Edna, his wife, received a telephone call from
the hospital advising her that Roy had had a further heart attack, and
that the doctors were concerned. Knowing his general condition, this
sounded ominous. Edna and Edwin left for the hospital immediately, and
Roy was able to talk to them when they arrived.
They were somewhat encouraged.
Edna later decided to stay with friends in Halifax, and Edwin came home.
But late at night, shortly after his return, the phone rang. Roy had
died suddenly between one o'clock and one-thirty in the morning. We were
on the same party line, and I heard the ring, about two o'clock. As soon
as the line was clear, I rang Edwin, and he told me what had happened.
Roy's health had been bad for a long time. We should have been prepared
for this. And in a way perhaps we were. Yet I doubt if anyone is really
prepared for such an eventuality. When I had been talking with Roy the
preceding Saturday night, he had seemed to me better than usual.
A great loss
The sense of loss was stunning at first.
All operations at the mill were suspended. During that period all I
could think of was the close companionship we had for so many years,
finished now, never to return. His body rested at his house, as was
still often the custom in small country places.
The funeral was held on Friday, February 8 and the church was full.
Roy was genuinely respected throughout the whole valley. I was
filled with a numbing sense of a loss, and remember little of the
service. Roy was lovingly laid to rest in Riverside cemetery, only
about a mile from home. In due course we arrived home from the
funeral, yet I was still hardly able to grasp what had happened.
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Morris & Roy Blaikie 1940s |
Life always continues,
however. The next day, Saturday, Edwin and I got together for a long
talk. We decided to start the mill again on Monday. Work was probably
what we both needed now, as we had five days during which our minds had
been solely occupied with the sad events that had been taking place.
Keen memories
I have never forgotten, nor am I likely to forget, the evenings at the
mill following this period. Roy hadn't been at the mill in the evening
for a long time. But he was only 68 years of age, and there had always
been the feeling that perhaps later on, maybe in warm weather, he would
be able to get back. At any rate, those evenings were the times when I
was reminded most keenly that Roy had been the life and soul of the mill
from the time it was built, was now he was gone.
Edna had taken on a good part of the office work during the previous
year or two. She agreed to keep on with these duties. We would take care
of the variety of administrative work that goes with the operation of a
lumber business. This included setting prices, making up the tallies,
keeping track of orders and looking after sales - before the paperwork
went to the office.
Normally, the word 'office' conveys a business-like atmosphere,
suggesting a room containing desks, typewriters, adding machines,
cheque-stampers, a safe, and other pieces of equipment, including
something in the way of electronic devices, which all contribute to the
efficient operation of business. It also conveys the idea of staff to
keep these machines in use and maintain operations.
The dining room
Mr. Nicoll therefore must have been amazed, on this first trip to Upper
Stewiacke, to be shown into Roy's dining room, where pretty much the
only equipment the room boasted in the way of office accessories was a
desk and an antiquated safe. In the end, he chose to do most of his work
at the dining room table in preference to the desk.
This same procedure was followed years later in our own home, where we
did eventually acquire an adding machine but not much more in the way of
equipment than Roy had. Yet I dare say that many fairly pretentious
offices have handled fewer business transactions than the number which
took place over our dining room table.
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