The Canny Scot: Archbishop James Morrison of Antigonish 9780773582057

Table of contents :
Cover
McGill-Queen’s Studies in the History of Religion
Series Two in Memory of George Rawlyk Donald Harman Akenson, Editor
Title
Copyright
Contents
Illustrations
Acknowledgments
Introduction
1 The Early Years, 1861–1912
2 Antigonish, 1912–1918
3 Gaining Control, 1919–1926
4 A New Movement, 1927–1938
5 Hanging On, 1939–1950
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

t h e c a n n y s cot

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M cG i l l -Qu e e n ’s S t u di e s i n t h e H is to ry o f Religio n Volumes in this series have been supported by the Jackman Foundation of Toronto. s e ri e s o n e : g .a . r awly k , e di tor 1 Small Differences Irish Catholics and Irish Protestants, 1815–1922 An International Perspective Donald Harman Akenson 2 Two Worlds The Protestant Culture of Nineteenth-Century Ontario William Westfall 3 An Evangelical Mind Nathanael Burwash and the Methodist Tradition in Canada, 1839–1918 Marguerite Van Die 4 The Dévotes Women and Church in Seventeenth-Century France Elizabeth Rapley 5 The Evangelical Century College and Creed in English Canada from the Great Revival to the Great Depression Michael Gauvreau 6 The German Peasants’ War and Anabaptist Community of Goods James M. Stayer 7 A World Mission Canadian Protestantism and the Quest for a New International Order, 1918–1939 Robert Wright

10  God’s Peoples Covenant and Land in South Africa, Israel, and Ulster Donald Harman Akenson 11 Creed and Culture The Place of English-Speaking Catholics in Canadian Society, 1750–1930 Edited by Terrence Murphy and Gerald Stortz 12 Piety and Nationalism Lay Voluntary Associations and the Creation of an Irish-Catholic Community in Toronto, 1850–1895 Brian P. Clarke 13 Amazing Grace Studies in Evangelicalism in Australia, Britain, Canada, and the United States Edited by George Rawlyk and Mark A. Noll 14 Children of Peace W. John McIntyre 15 A Solitary Pillar Montreal’s Anglican Church and the Quiet Revolution Joan Marshall 16 Padres in No Man’s Land Canadian Chaplains and the Great War Duff Crerar

8 Serving the Present Age Revivalism, Progressivism, and the Methodist Tradition in Canada Phyllis D. Airhart

17 Christian Ethics and Political Economy in North America A Critical Analysis P. Travis Kroeker

9 A Sensitive Independence Canadian Methodist Women Missionaries in Canada and the Orient, 1881–1925 Rosemary R. Gagan

18 Pilgrims in Lotus Land Conservative Protestantism in British Columbia, 1917–1981 Robert K. Burkinshaw

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19 Through Sunshine and Shadow The Woman’s Christian Temperance Union, Evangelicalism, and Reform in Ontario, 1874–1930 Sharon Cook 20 Church, College, and Clergy A History of Theological Education at Knox College, Toronto, 1844–1994 Brian J. Fraser 21 The Lord’s Dominion The History of Canadian Methodism Neil Semple 22 A Full-Orbed Christianity The Protestant Churches and Social Welfare in Canada, 1900–1940 Nancy Christie and Michael Gauvreau

23 Evangelism and Apostasy The Evolution and Impact of Evangelicals in Modern Mexico Kurt Bowen 24 The Chignecto Covenanters A Regional History of Reformed Presbyterianism in New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, 1827–1905 Eldon Hay 25 Methodists and Women’s Education in Ontario, 1836–1925 Johanne Selles 26 Puritanism and Historical Controversy William Lamont

s e ri e s t wo i n me mo ry of g e o r ge rawlyk d o n a l d ha r ma n a k e n so n , e di to r   1 Marguerite Bourgeoys and Montreal, 1640–1665 Patricia Simpson   2 Aspects of the Canadian Evangelical Experience Edited by G.A. Rawlyk   3 Infinity, Faith, and Time Christian Humanism and Renaissance Literature John Spencer Hill   4 The Contribution of Presbyterianism to the Maritime Provinces of Canada Edited by Charles H.H. Scobie and G.A. Rawlyk   5 Labour, Love, and Prayer Female Piety in Ulster Religious Literature, 1850–1914 Andrea Ebel Brozyna

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  6  The Waning of the Green Catholics, the Irish, and Identity in Toronto, 1887–1922 Mark G. McGowan   7  Religion and Nationality in Western Ukraine The Greek Catholic Church and the Ruthenian National Movement in Galicia, 1867–1900 John-Paul Himka  8 Good Citizens British Missionaries and Imperial States, 1870–1918 James G. Greenlee and Charles M. Johnston   9  The Theology of the Oral Torah Revealing the Justice of God Jacob Neusner

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10  Gentle Eminence A Life of Cardinal Flahiff P. Wallace Platt 11 Culture, Religion, and Demographic Behaviour Catholics and Lutherans in Alsace, 1750–1870 Kevin McQuillan 12 Between Damnation and Starvation Priests and Merchants in Newfoundland Politics, 1745–1855 John P. Greene 13 Martin Luther, German Saviour German Evangelical Theological Factions and the Interpretation of Luther, 1917–1933 James M. Stayer 14 Modernity and the Dilemma of North American Anglican Identities, 1880–1950 William H. Katerberg 15 The Methodist Church on the Prairies, 1896–1914 George Emery 16 Christian Attitudes towards the State of Israel Paul Charles Merkley 17 A Social History of the Cloister Daily Life in the Teaching Monasteries of the Old Regime Elizabeth Rapley 18 Households of Faith Family, Gender, and Community in Canada, 1760–1969 Edited by Nancy Christie 19 Blood Ground Colonialism, Missions, and the Contest for Christianity in the Cape Colony and Britain, 1799–1853 Elizabeth Elbourne 20 A History of Canadian Catholics Gallicanism, Romanism, and Canadianism Terence J. Fay

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21 The View from Rome Archbishop Stagni’s 1915 Reports on the Ontario Bilingual Schools Question Edited and translated by John Zucchi 22 The Founding Moment Church, Society, and the Construction of Trinity College William Westfall 23 The Holocaust, Israel, and Canadian Protestant Churches Haim Genizi 24 Governing Charities Church and State in Toronto’s Catholic Archdiocese, 1850–1950 Paula Maurutto 25 Anglicans and the Atlantic World High Churchmen, Evangelicals, and the Quebec Connection Richard W. Vaudry 26 Evangelicals and the Continental Divide The Conservative Protestant Subculture in Canada and the United States Sam Reimer 27 Christians in a Secular World The Canadian Experience Kurt Bowen 28 Anatomy of a Seance A History of Spirit Communication in Central Canada Stan McMullin 29 With Skilful Hand The Story of King David David T. Barnard 30 Faithful Intellect Samuel S. Nelles and Victoria University Neil Semple 31 W. Stanford Reid An Evangelical Calvinist in the Academy Donald MacLeod

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32 A Long Eclipse The Liberal Protestant Establishment and the Canadian University, 1920–1970 Catherine Gidney 33 Forkhill Protestants and Forkhill Catholics, 1787–1858 Kyla Madden 34 For Canada’s Sake Public Religion, Centennial Celebrations, and the Re-making of Canada in the 1960s Gary R. Miedema 35 Revival in the City The Impact of American Evangelists in Canada, 1884–1914 Eric R. Crouse 36 The Lord for the Body Religion, Medicine, and Protestant Faith Healing in Canada, 1880–1930 James Opp 37 Six Hundred Years of Reform Bishops and the French Church, 1190–1789 J. Michael Hayden and Malcolm R. Greenshields 38 The Missionary Oblate Sisters Vision and Mission Rosa Bruno-Jofré 39 Religion, Family, and Community in Victorian Canada The Colbys of Carrollcroft Marguerite Van Die 40 Michael Power The Struggle to Build the Catholic Church on the Canadian Frontier Mark G. McGowan 41 The Catholic Origins of Quebec’s Quiet Revolution, 1931–1970 Michael Gauvreau 42 Marguerite Bourgeoys and the Congregation of Notre Dame, 1665–1700 Patricia Simpson

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43 To Heal a Fractured World The Ethics of Responsibility Jonathan Sacks 44 Revivalists Marketing the Gospel in English Canada, 1884–1957 Kevin Kee 45 The Churches and Social Order in Nineteenth- and TwentiethCentury Canada Edited by Michael Gauvreau and Ollivier Hubert 46 Political Ecumenism Catholics, Jews, and Protestants in De Gaulle’s Free France, 1940–1945 Geoffrey Adams 47 From Quaker to Upper Canadian Faith and Community among Yonge Street Friends, 1801–1850 Robynne Rogers Healey 48 The Congrégation de Notre-Dame, Superiors, and the Paradox of Power, 1693–1796 Colleen Gray 49 Canadian Pentecostalism Transition and Transformation Edited by Michael Wilkinson 50 A War with a Silver Lining Canadian Protestant Churches and the South African War, 1899–1902 Gordon L. Heath 51 In the Aftermath of Catastrophe Founding Judaism, 70 to 640 Jacob Neusner 52 Imagining Holiness Classic Hasidic Tales in Modern Times Justin Jaron Lewis 53 Shouting, Embracing, and Dancing with Ecstasy The Growth of Methodism in Newfoundland, 1774–1874 Calvin Hollett

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54 Into Deep Waters Evangelical Spirituality and Maritime Calvinist Baptist Ministers, 1790–1855 Daniel C. Goodwin 55 Vanguard of the New Age The Toronto Theosophical Society, 1891–1945 Gillian McCann 56 A Commerce of Taste Church Architecture in Canada, 1867–1914 Barry Magrill 57 The Big Picture The Antigonish Movement of Eastern Nova Scotia Santo Dodaro and Leonard Pluta 58 My Heart’s Best Wishes for You A Biography of Archbishop John Walsh John P. Comiskey 59 The Covenanters in Canada Reformed Presbyterianism from 1820 to 2012 Eldon Hay 60 The Guardianship of Best Interests Institutional Care for the Children of the Poor in Halifax, 1850–1960 Renée N. Lafferty 61 In Defence of the Faith Joaquim Marques de Araújo, a Brazilian Comissário in the Age of Inquisitional Decline James E. Wadsworth 62 Contesting the Moral High Ground Popular Moralists in Mid-TwentiethCentury Britain Paul T. Phillips

64 After Evangelicalism The Sixties and the United Church of Canada Kevin N. Flatt 65 The Return of Ancestral Gods Modern Ukrainian Paganism as an Alternative Vision for a Nation Mariya Lesiv 66 Transatlantic Methodists British Wesleyanism and the Formation of an Evangelical Culture in Nineteenth-Century Ontario and Quebec Todd Webb 67 A Church with the Soul of a Nation Making and Remaking the United Church of Canada Phyllis D. Airhart 68 Fighting over God A Legal and Political History of Religious Freedom in Canada Janet Epp Buckingham 69 From India to Israel Identity, Immigration, and the Struggle for Religious Equality Joseph Hodes 70 Becoming Holy in Early Canada Timothy G. Pearson 71 The Cistercian Arts From the 12th to the 21st Century Edited by Terryl N. Kinder and Roberto Cassanelli 72 The Canny Scot Archbishop James Morrison of Antigonish Peter Ludlow

63 The Catholicisms of Coutances Varieties of Religion in Early Modern France, 1350–1789 J. Michael Hayden

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The Canny Scot Archbishop James Morrison of Antigonish

P e t e r L u dlow

McGill-Queen’s University Press Montreal & Kingston • London • Ithaca

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©  McGill-Queen’s University Press 2015 isb n isb n isb n isb n

978-0-7735-4497-0 (cloth) 978-0-7735-4498-7 (paper) 978-0-7735-8205-7 (ep df ) 978-0-7735-8206-4 (ep ub)

Legal deposit first quarter 2015 Bibliothèque nationale du Québec Printed in Canada on acid-free paper that is 100% ancient forest free (100% post-consumer recycled), processed chlorine free McGill-Queen’s University Press acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Ludlow, Peter, 1977–, author The canny Scot: Archbishop James Morrison of Antigonish / Peter Ludlow. (McGill-Queen’s studies in the history of religion. Series two; no. 72) Includes bibliographical references and index. Issued in print and electronic formats. isb n 978-0-7735-4497-0 (bound). – is bn 978-0-7735-4498-7 (pbk.). – isb n 978-0-7735-8205-7 (ep df ). – is bn 978-0-7735-8206-4 (ep u b ) 1. Morrison, James, 1861–1950.  2. Catholic Church – Nova Scotia – Antigonish – Bishops – Biography.  3. Bishops – Nova Scotia – Antigonish – Biography.  4. Catholic Church. Diocese of Antigonish (N.S.) – Biography.  5. Antigonish (N.S.) – Church history – 20th century.  6. Antigonish (N.S.) – Biography.  I. Title.  II. Series: McGill-Queen’s studies in the history of religion. Series two; no. 72 bx 4705.m67l83 2015

282.092

c 2014-906916-2 c2014-906917-0

This book was typeset by Interscript in 10.5/13 Sabon.

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Contents

Illustrations xi Acknowledgments xiii Introduction 3 1  The Early Years, 1861–1912  10 2  Antigonish, 1912–1918  48 3  Gaining Control, 1919–1926  95 4  A New Movement, 1927–1938  156 5  Hanging On, 1939–1950  202 Conclusion 246 Notes 253 Bibliography 305 Index 323

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Illustrations

1.1 Bishop Peter McIntyre of Charlottetown, 1877  16 1.2 Fr James Morrison, c. 1909. Courtesy of Antigonish Diocesan Archives 38 2.1 Bishop John Cameron of Antigonish (1827–1910). Courtesy of St Francis Xavier University Archives  49 2.2 Bishop Morrison, c. 1912. Courtesy of St Francis Xavier University Archives  54 2.3 Fr James J. Tompkins (1870–1953), St F.X. staff photo, c. 1905. Courtesy of St Francis Xavier University Archives  63 2.4 Xavier Hall, St F.X., c.1920 (note the statue of Bishop Cameron). Courtesy of St Francis Xavier University Archives  76 3.1 Knowledge for the People, privately published by Fr Tompkins in 1921  113 3.2 Fr Tompkins and Fr Moses Coady with participants of the People’s School. Courtesy of St Francis Xavier University Archives 115 3.3 The “Old Rector,” Fr Hugh Peter MacPherson (1867–1949). Courtesy of St Francis Xavier University Archives  154 4.1 Fr Michael Gillis (1883–1970) in military chaplain uniform. Courtesy of St Francis Xavier University Archives  161 4.2 Morrison School (buit in 1917) with episcopal residence in the background. Courtesy of Antigonish Heritage Museum  183

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xii Illustrations

4.3 Bishop Morrison, Fr James J. Tompkins, Fr H.P. MacPherson, Fr D.J. MacDonald, and Fr Cyril Tobin, taken after the consecration ceremony of Archbishop John Hugh MacDonald, 1934. Courtesy of St Francis Xavier University Archives   198 5.1 A.B. MacDonald, Msgr Moses Coady, and Newfoundland premier Joseph Smallwood. Courtesy of St Francis Xavier University Archives  203 5.2 Bishop John R. MacDonald (1891–1959). Courtesy of St Francis Xavier University Archives  226 5.3 Angus L. Macdonald receives his honorary degree from Morrison at the 1946 St F.X. convocation. Courtesy of St Francis Xavier University Archives  235

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Acknowledgments

I first considered writing a biography of Archbishop James Morrison during two pleasant summers spent as an undergraduate archivist (and sometimes tour guide) at St Ninian’s Cathedral, Antigonish’s Tigh Dhe. At that time, all that remained in the parish office of the diocese’s longest-serving, and arguably most important, administrator was an episcopal ring (locked away in a safe), a damaged and badly stowed mantle clock, and a poorly framed photograph hanging in an anteroom. My curiosity in the long-forgotten prelate eventually morphed into graduate work in the Atlantic Canada Studies program at Saint Mary’s University in Halifax. I, like many who enrolled in the program over the years, was fortunate enough to study under John G. Reid, one of the foremost experts in the region’s history. It was an ideal environment for a careful study of a contentious figure. Terry Murphy read the manuscript in various capacities, provided both criticism and advice and, years later, graciously offered to share his office space with me. James D. Cameron, whose history of St F.X. is a tremendous resource for historians of the Antigonish Movement, read portions of the manuscript, suggested improvements, and invited me into the faculty lounge for discussion (at that time a privilege for a newish graduate student). I am extremely grateful to the Diocese of Antigonish for permission to consult the Morrison papers. The collection is copious, and I spent many hours researching at the Chancery Office. The archive is well organized and carefully maintained, but it is not large, and for many weeks I took up considerable space in a busy office (with never a complaint from the occupants). I would like to thank the bishops of

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xiv Acknowledgments

Antigonish, the late Sister Mary Roderick MacMullin, Sister Josephine MacLellan, Fr Sydney Mifflen (whose brother wrote an important thesis on the Antigonish Movement), Sister Haide MacLellan, Cathy Walsh, and Linda Johnson for their assistance, patience, and kind hospitality. In Antigonish I also had tremendous assistance from the Congregation of the Sisters of Saint Martha. Generations of Catholics in eastern Nova Scotia will appreciate why Morrison considered these women to be the backbone of the diocese. Not only did the congregation archivist Sr Florence Kennedy aid my research, but the Marthas also provided a generous subvention to help with publication. At the diocesan archive in Charlottetown, I was aided by Fr Art O’Shea, archivist, author, and historian. Fr O’Shea not only read and criticized the manuscript, but also, when I was unsure of particulars relating to Prince Edward Island’s history, he was more than willing to lend his impressive knowledge, fielding queries over the telephone and by post. In the course of my research, many individuals have aided my understanding of religion and society in this period. I would especially like to thank Edward MacDonald who read the manuscript thoroughly and saved me from numerous errors on the P E I side of the Northumberland Strait. He offered important criticisms, and kindly shared portions of his own research materials. Fr John Barry provided materials and insight on the career of his great-uncle, Bishop Alexander “Sandy” MacDonald, and helped me appreciate some of the finer minutiae of Church tradition. Fr Malcolm MacDonell, a historian and former president of St F.X., graciously entertained me in his rooms at Mockler Hall, rescued me from various embarrassing typos, and “set the scene” (often comically) of Antigonish in the 1940s. Others who provided advice, information, or ideas were Paul ­Armstrong, Robert Dennis, William D. Doyle, John Fitzgerald, John Gabriel, Margaret Harry, Fr Raymond Huntley, Dan MacInnes, Mark McGowan, George Morrison, Geoff McCarney, Sr Elizabeth Riopelle, John Stewart, John Sears, Peter Twohig, and Jonathan Wright. The historian Fr Anthony A. Johnston once mused that Morrison “exhibited the sort of meticulous correctness which could not fail to satisfy even the most exacting ecclesiastical inspector or archivist.” The archbishop would have appreciated, as I do, the many archivists and librarians who aided my research. Special thanks to Jennifer

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Acknowledgments

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Clifton, St Francis Xavier University; Andrea D’Angelo, Archdiocese of Toronto; Eloi DeGrace, Archdiocese of Edmonton; Larry Dohey, Archdiocese of St John’s; Noelle Dowling and David Sheehy, Archdiocese of Dublin; Eula Fernando, Scarboro Missions; Jocelyn Gillis, Antigonish Heritage Museum; Theresa Hartnett, Archdiocese of St Paul and Minneapolis; James H. Lambert, Université Laval; Simon Lloyd, University of Prince Edward Island; and Linda Wobbe, Saint Mary’s College of California. There have been many people at McGill-Queen’s University Press who have helped me along the way. I would like to thank Donald Akenson and Jeffrey Brison for agreeing to consider the manuscript. For taking a first timer through the publishing process I am grateful to Mary-Lynne Ascough, Joan Harcourt, and Kyla Madden. Special thanks also to Ryan Van Huijstee for help with production and Ellie Barton for editing the manuscript. I am deeply indebted to my friend Kathleen Mackenzie, archivist at St F.X., who initially suggested a biography of the archbishop. Kathy has offered friendly counsel, assisted me in numerous queries, and provided many hours of interesting conversation. I would also like to thank my parents (Basil and Dorothy), ­parentsin-law (Peter and Susan), and family for their interest (feigned or not) in the archbishop’s life. Whether among the Catholics of Antigonish or the Baptists of the Annapolis Valley, the religious history of Nova Scotia has been a constant topic of discussion and debate. My wife, Kerry Mullen, (without intent) has become an expert on the archbishop in her own right, and has patiently navigated a number of research excursions from Savage Harbour, Prince Edward Island, to Haddington Road, Dublin. Finally, to my daughter, Payson Maud, who reminds me that history marches onward.

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t h e c a n n y s cot

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Introduction

Archbishop James Morrison, bishop of the Roman Catholic Diocese of Antigonish, Nova Scotia, from 1912 until 1950, was one of the most prominent religious figures in twentieth-century Atlantic Canada. During a lengthy clerical career that spanned some six decades, he was at the forefront of Canadian Catholicism in times of war, economic depression, significant out-migration, and industrial unrest. He represented the last of the austere and powerful prelates who held incredible spiritual and earthly authority among their flock. An authoritarian, an administrator, a master of finance, a politician, and a defender of the faith, he was also – paradoxically to some – the ecclesiastical leader of a cadre of clergy-intellectuals whose educational, economic, and social ideas came to fruition in the form of the St Francis Xavier University (St F.X.) Extension Department, later more famously dubbed the “Antigonish Movement.” Born into the pastoral Scottish community of Savage Harbour in colonial Prince Edward Island, Morrison was educated in Rome and enjoyed a stellar priestly career. As part of a cadre of influential Scottish clergy who dominated the offices of the Charlottetown diocese, Morrison’s ethnicity, networks, and obvious abilities ensured a rapid rise through the ranks of the Church on the island. He was appointed rector of St Dunstan’s College at the tender age of thirtyone, achieving an essential affiliation between that school and Laval University in Quebec City, which enhanced his reputation throughout the country. Later he was entrusted with the construction of St Dunstan’s Cathedral, while gradually taking many of the administrative duties of Charlottetown from an ailing Bishop James Charles MacDonald.

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4

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Morrison was considered by many as the natural successor to MacDonald in Charlottetown, but the objections of the Irish clergy to the hegemony of their Scottish colleagues made it all but impossible for Rome to elevate him to that position. Instead he was made bishop of the Scottish diocese of Antigonish, Nova Scotia, in 1912 (the first nonresident to hold that office). In an attempt to unify a diocese rife with factionalism and discord, he applied an authoritarian style of governance that became his trademark. This approach was helpful in addressing the practical problems of eastern Nova Scotia but not in cultivating personal relationships or solidifying a positive historical legacy. There was a reserved precision to his personality, better suited to the confines of the Roman Curia than to a small Maritime diocese. One of his closest friends, the long-time Heatherton pastor Fr Hugh John MacDonald, admitted that he only ever got to “half know him.” Morrison did not seek regional or national authority and was most comfortable and content within his own sphere of influence. Morrison worked tirelessly to defend the interests of the Church and promote Roman Catholicism within Maritime society. A proud Canadian, he considered the British Empire as the guarantor of Roman Catholic freedoms, and he went to great lengths to illustrate that Catholics were loyal subjects of the Crown. During the Great War he helped to raise monies and offered his ecclesiastical authority on behalf of military recruiters. Yet he fiercely defended Roman Catholic chaplains who claimed discrimination while overseas, spoke out for Irish Home Rule, and remained fearful of the “Protestant mentality.” Like other religious and secular leaders in the early twentieth century, Morrison could not avoid modernity. He was a devotee of the Maritime Rights Movement, fighting against the waning political and economic influence of the Maritime provinces. By the 1920s the region faced a stagnant economy, mounting poverty, and rampant out-migration. The old farms that dotted the diocesan countryside were abandoned at an alarming rate as thousands of rural Nova Scotians, those who financed the little parishes of the diocese, left for other parts of Canada or the “Boston States.” An agriculturalist at heart, Morrison spent an entire career trying to rejuvenate the small country plots and stem the “flight from the land.” Morrison and his clergy may have looked to the farm to fix the economic problems of the region, but the colliery towns of industrial Cape Breton provided the bulk of the diocese’s financial resources.

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Introduction

5

The immigration of labourers and their families from Newfoundland and Europe created a Catholic renaissance in Sydney and Glace Bay, and under Morrison’s direction a number of new parishes were organized. The fate of thousands of Catholics working in the coal mines and steel plants was therefore a constant concern. The men and women in the colliery towns faced dangerous working conditions, rampant poverty, and multiple work stoppages. As a Romaneducated P E I farm boy, Morrison arrived in Antigonish with an academic understanding of labour-capital relations, and for many years he was unable to fully comprehend the complex social problems that resulted from industrialization. Armed with papal encyclicals such as Rerum Novarum (1891), Morrison struggled from the outset to define the Church’s relationship with the coal and steel companies and with the union that represented the labourers. Certain aspects of the encyclical appealed to him, especially the attack on the “crafty agitators” who perverted men’s judgments as a means of stirring up “the people to revolt.” In the early years he suggested that the discipline of prayer, the deportation of foreign agitators, and the implementation of Catholic labour associations would stem the tide of radicalism in the colliery towns, but the strikes of the 1920s eventually convinced him that the Church had to do more than pray for the suffering and expel the troublemakers. The suffering and depravity of his flock in the industrial towns persuaded Morrison that Rerum Novarum’s call for working guilds and limited state intervention was the only way forward. Fortunately for Morrison, he had within his diocese a number of clergymen who were determined to confront the complex economic and social problems of the region. None was more fascinating than the pesky and resolute priest, Fr James J. Tompkins. Despite their obvious physical and character differences, the careers of the two men were closely linked – so much so that a “saints and sinners” methodology has been constructed in the six decades since their deaths. In this methodology Morrison is typically cast in a negative light as a staunch foe of Tompkins’s early reform agenda.1 Yet despite these assumptions (and there are many), the archbishop and the priest were not lifelong adversaries. Their relationship was, as this book will illustrate, quite the opposite. From 1912 until 1922, Morrison and Tompkins collaborated on various initiatives such as establishing a chair in French at St F.X., taking over The Casket newspaper in 1919, and setting up the People’s School in 1921.

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6

The Canny Scot

Their profitable collaboration came to an abrupt end in December 1922, when Morrison transferred Tompkins from his position of vice president of St F.X. to the damp and foggy coastal community of Canso. They had become embroiled in a heated debate over the federation of Maritime colleges and universities into one central institution in Halifax. Tompkins believed that federation was the best opportunity for Catholic students to receive a modern education, while Morrison, with religious and economic concerns, was determined that St F.X. remain the leader in Catholic post-secondary education in the Maritimes. The dispute divided the clergy and generated animosity that lasted for years. Despite the “exile” of Tompkins from the college, throughout the 1920s the clergy-reformers continued to press St F.X. and the diocese to take an active part in solving the economic problems of the region. The situation on the land, on the sea, and in the mines could no longer be ignored. Recognizing that Morrison was sympathetic to the concept of extension work, these clergy pushed, manipulated, and even scared him into action. He moved slowly, but he was undoubtedly sympathetic. As he told a gathering of the Scottish Catholic Society in 1929, theirs was an “age of education and cooperation.”2 Ever cautious, when Morrison stood before the St F.X. board of ­governors in 1930 and endorsed a program of extension, he turned to Fr Moses Coady and asked “if they could make it a go.” Morrison was not a natural reformer. Fr Moses Coady, selected to lead the Extension Department, once commented that the bishop’s greatest bequest was the freedom he afforded the department to do its work. Morrison did not have Coady’s charisma or Tompkins’s vision, but his role within Extension was no less essential. He corresponded with politicians, educators, labourers, and clergy. He wrote letters of introduction, sought donations, responded to information requests, and chaired many of the social and industrial conferences. But his greatest contribution was his largess. He allowed his priests to organize study clubs, cooperatives, and credit unions. His only requirements were that his priests remain politically and spiritually loyal to the Church and that all projects were financially sound. Schemes that did not meet these requirements were rejected. Morrison kept a watchful eye on the work of Extension, but his primary focus was the day-to-day operation of his diocese. His personal stamina was impressive, and as he approached his eightieth birthday he completed his daily work without even the aid of a

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Introduction

7

secretary. Impressive to be sure, yet it was that spirit of independence that made the final years of his episcopate painful ones. Postwar Antigonish cried out for new leadership, and the elderly Morrison was unable to provide it. Contemporary Church law dictates that bishops submit their resignations at the age of seventy-five, but no such statute existed in the late 1940s. Morrison remained at the helm, much to the frustration of his priests. When he died in 1950 at the age of eighty-eight, the little diocese of Antigonish was renown throughout North America. The St F.X. Extension Department had generated one of the most successful economic, social, and religious achievements of the age – and Morrison was considered one of its leaders. As the local Catholic newspaper, The Casket, wrote following his funeral: “The story of that Movement is a shining chapter in our history and Archbishop Morrison’s name has a permanent place in its pages.”3 But that place proved fleeting. Even before his death, the writers and journalists who travelled to eastern Nova Scotia to witness the “miracle of Antigonish” took a “roman holiday” at the expense of Morrison and members of his staff. According to Bertram Fowler, who published a widely read chronicle of the Antigonish Movement in 1938, Tompkins was transferred to Canso in 1922 because he had lost a “bitter battle with evasion and apathy.”4 After Morrison’s death, a saints and sinners interpretation of events gained momentum. Despite his support of Tompkins’s early reforms and his role within the Extension Department, Morrison was portrayed as a hopeless reactionary and remembered as a dominant figure, suspicious of Protestants, progressives, and anyone else who challenged his personal authority. These popular myths frustrated Msgr Coady, who in 1949 wrote, We have had several requests for details on the sensational find (as they thought) that Fr J.J. Tompkins, “Jimmy” as they called him – which, by the way he hates and I don’t blame him – was the father of the present Antigonish Movement while he was at St F.X; that he was kicked out of St F.X. for holding such advanced ideas, banished to Canso, and has been persecuted ever since. As you are well aware, this is all fiction.5 The characterization of Morrison as an antimodern figure ­gradually penetrated other aspects of the historiography. These

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The Canny Scot

assumptions were recycled in publications and graduate theses as a means of defining Catholicism (and sometimes even religion in general) as reactionary, so that publication after publication reached similar conclusions about the Antigonish “hierarchy.” Of course, Morrison’s rather plain and aloof personality made it easy to spin tales of episcopal persecution and conservatism, but the hyperbole of the early chroniclers of the Antigonish Movement was overwhelmingly biased. For many early chroniclers, Antigonish had become a “sacred city” and Msgr Coady the “new messiah.”6 In 1953 E.A. “Ned” Corbett, the first director of the Canadian Association of Adult Education, “hooked by the charisma of Coady and company,” wrote that Tompkins was a “flaming prophet” who would “use a whip to cleanse the temples of God.”7 In this environment, there was little room for an objective analysis of Tompkins’s transfer to Canso, or Morrison’s legacy. Although the hyperbole dissipated after the 1960s, most publications have focused almost exclusively on the legendary saints of the movement, and as Morrison was cast as a sinner, he was purged from the narrative. In 1961, Alexander Laidlaw, who considered Tompkins “as the John the Baptist” and Coady “as the Saint Paul” of the Antigonish Movement, wrote a chronicle of the St F.X. Extension Department entitled The Campus and the Community and made no mention of the archbishop.8 Similarly, the authors of St F.X. Story, published by the university in 1965, gave ink to just about every person remotely connected to the university or otherwise – except Morrison, who apparently held only the trifling post of chancellor for thirty-eight years. It was not until the publication of Edward MacDonald’s The History of St Dunstan’s University, 1855–1956 (1989) and James Cameron’s For the People: A History of St Francis Xavier University (1996) that historians began to take a more objective view of Morrison’s role in the period. As a full-length biography, this book seeks to view Nova Scotia Catholicism in the first half of the twentieth century from a different vantage point. Morrison’s papers reveal a man, and a Church, that was involved in all aspects of life in Nova Scotia, and his narrative will help balance a historiography that lacks an understanding of the role of religion in this period. Moreover, by examining long-held assumptions about Morrison’s character and motives, the book also seeks to scrutinize the saints and sinners myth against archival realities. Why, for instance, did Morrison permit his clergy to participate

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Introduction

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in the people’s schools, study clubs, radio broadcasting, cooperatives, and economic conferences? How did the priests under his authority rise to fame as drivers of economic and social democracy in Canada? I have tried (and hopefully succeeded) to avoid the heroism that has plagued denominational history and the literature of the Antigonish Movement. As Hugh Trevor-Roper famously mused about the biographers of the Anglican Archbishop Laud, “Since they approach him on their knees,” they “are naturally unable to see very far.”9 I have also tried to appreciate Morrison’s religious reasoning. Sheridan Gilley, Emeritus Reader in Catholic History at Durham University, has written that the modern secular mind is “intensely suspicious of all forms of religious authority.”10 But we must recognize that the secular functions of the priesthood sprang from religious conviction. Archbishop Morrison had a tremendous influence on secular issues, but his main focus was ensuring that the people of his diocese found their place in heaven. Although that perspective may not resonate with contemporary society, it was, nonetheless, the root of his decisions. As he told a gathering in 1922, “for whatever material progress we shall make in any country, there must be religion behind it.”11 In 1950, Msgr Coady admitted that Morrison was “broad-minded” enough to support the work of the Extension Department.12 This is that story.

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1 The Early Years, 1861–1912

James Morrison was born in a modest wood-framed farmhouse on 9 July 1861, in the small fishing community of Savage Harbour, Queens County, on Prince Edward Island’s northern coast.1 The third child of Donald and Elizabeth (Campbell) Morrison, he was delivered with the assistance of a midwife at the dawn of a bright and humid morning. A few days later, the hearty infant was taken the short distance to St Andrew’s Roman Catholic Church in neighbouring Mount Stewart and baptized by the local pastor, Fr Pius MacPhee. An entry in the parish registry records that his cousin, Johanna Feehan, stood as Godmother. The Morrisons were a fixture in Savage Harbour, a community “well planted with a Highland population,” and their ancestry was intimately interwoven with the history of Scottish Catholicism on the island.2 Morrison’s forebears had arrived in the colony a century earlier, in 1772, on the immigrant ship Alexander.3 The émigrés belonged to a mass exodus of Highlanders fleeing escalating rents and religious persecution.4 They relocated to North America as part of an ambitious Catholic settlement scheme under the supervision of Captain John MacDonald of Glenaladale.5 While most of the Highlanders settled around the aptly named Scotchfort, some nineteen kilometres from the administrative settlement of Charlottetown, Morrison’s grandfather, Angus, sought an opportunity at Savage Harbour, a narrow and shallow inlet situated between low sandhills.6 He had some financial means, as he not only had supplied the £3 passage fee levied on the migrants, but he also managed to secure a lease on a tract of fertile acreage from the proprietor Captain George Burns.

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The settlers’ first year at Scotchfort, at the head of Tracadie Bay on the north side of the Hillsborough River, was dismal. Most were aware that pioneer life would be difficult, but the charge of clearing land and constructing shelter was daunting. The graveyards and abandoned foundations of the former Acadian inhabitants were a depressing reminder both of that expulsion and of their own exile in a foreign land. Yet, progress was soon made. In the 1790s one pioneer residing at Savage Harbour wrote back to Scotland: “Land is being cleared and roads are being constructed, houses built.”7 One of those homes, a small but comfortable dwelling near the coastline, belonged to Angus. The population of the surrounding farms contained a mixture of  Hibernian and Highland Catholics, along with a scattering of Loyalists recently expelled from the fledgling United States. These Tory refugees, such as Elisha Coffin from Nantucket, Massachusetts, fulfilled the landlord’s original covenant to settle a Protestant every two hundred acres. A short distance away in neighbouring Lot 37, John Stewart, the son of the colony’s chief justice, built a country house on a section of land overlooking the Hillsborough River. He named his estate Mount Stewart. In the early days of settlement, religious organization was more or less nonexistent, and Morrison’s ancestors found clerical instruction (to say nothing of the sacraments) difficult to obtain. In time, priests arrived, but finances remained problematic. In 1790 Fr Angus Bernard MacEachern, fresh from seminary training in Spain, established a mission in Savage Harbour but was seemingly overwhelmed by his charge.8 “We have collected 33 pounds Halifax currency for the equipment of a clergyman,” he wrote to a relative in Scotland in 1791, adding contritely that a single roving Irish priest was responsible for administering the sacraments to the entire island population.9 Throughout his priestly career, Morrison had a strong affection for missionaries and their work. This mentality was bred in his youth as he pensively listened to fireside stories of pioneer adversity and of the priests who braved the harsh colonial environment to minister to people. He was captivated by accounts like MacEachern’s of priests trudging through evergreen forests of ice and snow to administer the sacraments. In a letter to a Scottish relative, MacEachern illustrates the conditions in which he laboured: When we go by the woods which is generally the case, we go from ten to forty miles without meeting a settlement, sometimes

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guided by a blaze and often on snowshoes. It is not the number of people we have to serve that distress us, but the scattered way in which they are forced to settle. You will more readily conceive than I can describe, how difficult a task it is for any one single handed to pay even an annual visit to so many different settlements; and when the visitation of the sick is in question, no human being can answer the different calls, more especially in winter time, when no human can face a north-west wind.10 MacEachern later complained to the Bishop of Edinburgh that the Catholics were “much in need of some spiritual help from the mother country … This island, 160 miles long is depending on all that can be done by a Canadian priest, who knows no Gaelic, and very little English.”11 Although one period writer described Savage Harbour as possessing “little importance in any respect whatever,” it was a placid and attractive setting. There were regular improvements in infrastructure, and by the 1840s the community boasted a “new and comfortable school.” Although farming was the primary industry, the early nineteenth century brought opportunities in shipbuilding and trade with the colony of Newfoundland.12 Ian Ross Robertson described this period as one of great optimism,13 and Angus Morrison would have echoed this sentiment. By local standards, Angus was a success story. A prosperous farmer (cultivating a wide array of crops including wheat, barley, oats, and potatoes), he was representative of an  emerging middle class. Part of this upward mobility was due to his capacity to acquire the title to his lands, something that Matthew Hatvany argues signified the growing “differentiation” among island families in this period.14 By the time of his death in 1847, Angus owned over two hundred acres, which were promptly divided between his five sons.15 Donald Morrison remained in the pioneer farmhouse after his father’s death, while his brothers settled on adjoining lands to the west. It was not until the unusually late age of thirty-one that he proposed marriage to his long-time admirer Elizabeth Campbell, the granddaughter of another Alexander passenger, John Campbell. Their wedding took place on 23 January 1855 at the old St Andrew’s Church.16 The couple remained in the farmhouse for a year while they constructed a larger dwelling further inland near the harbour. The remaining accounts portray a tranquil household. It was

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certainly a musical domicile. Donald was a lively entertainer known for his prowess with the fiddle. By the spring of 1857 the couple was pregnant with a daughter, Flora, followed shortly after by a son, Allan. The Morrisons were not affluent, but they were comfortable. Besides owning his farm, Donald Morrison was in the advantageous position of having access to the fishery. He was a rugged man and a tireless worker. Years later, James recalled that his father routinely spent early mornings fishing mackerel and afternoons tending to his crop. Donald also worked in the Mount Stewart shipyard building vessels for Newfoundland (some were built in Savage Harbour as well).17 The bountiful waters of the north shore, however, could also be treacherous and cruel. The frigid north winds blew strong: during the furious “Yankee gale” in 1851, “eighty-three wrecks and one hundred and sixty drownings occurred along the island’s north coast,” and fifteen ships were driven ashore in the vicinity between East Point and Savage Harbour.18 It was into this pastoral but challenging setting that Morrison was born. He did not remain the babe of the family for long as Donald and Elizabeth added sons, Cyril in 1863, and Francis Xavier (Dan) in 1865. By the winter of 1867 Elizabeth was set to deliver a sixth child, but as the pregnancy entered its closing stages, it became obvious that something was awry. On 3 April, Elizabeth suffered through a lengthy and excruciating labour in which she lost a great deal of blood. Morrison and his siblings, too young to fully comprehend the gravity of the situation, were sequestered in a downstairs room, eager to join their mother at her bedside. After what seemed to be “an eternity,” they were allowed a glimpse of their newborn brother John Angus (Jack). Their mother had delivered a healthy baby but she was weak from blood loss. Fearing the worst, the doctor sent for Fr MacPhee at St Andrew’s, and discovering that he was absent, asked a neighbour to go to St Peter’s to locate Fr William Phelan.19 The priest arrived in time to baptize the child and administer the last rites to Elizabeth. A few hours later, she died.20 The entire affair left a terrible emotional scar on the children.21 It was an agonizing experience, one that Morrison, even in his older years, was reluctant to discuss. Days later, at the St Andrew’s graveyard on the banks of the Hillsborough River, Morrison witnessed the burial of his mother. “A mother is a mother still,” he wrote forty years later, “the holiest thing alive.”22

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It is difficult to speculate on how this early tragedy affected Morrison’s adult character. Suffice to say that at the tender age of six, vulnerable and sensitive, he was privy to an early lesson in life’s cruel realities. The Savage Harbour community supported the family, but the first years were difficult. The children sought comfort in the presence of their father, and his strength and affection sustained them. He was the only person who truly shared their grief. In these years Morrison formed an unremitting attachment to his father that would last until the latter’s death. Put plainly, Morrison revered his father. Years later, as a high-ranking diocesan priest, he regularly sought Donald’s counsel, and while residing in Charlottetown, he kept a large portrait of his father hanging in his bedroom.23 F.W.P. Bolger has argued that Prince Edward Island in the 1860s took on an aloofness that was caused by “a deep-seated provin­ cialism and insularity.” That the island was situated in the Gulf of St  Lawrence and “practically isolated from the mainland for five months of the year” made the outlook of the inhabitants “extremely insular and parochial.”24 For a child, however, the island provided vast opportunity for adventure. As a land for children, the novelist Lucy Maud Montgomery once wrote, “I can think of none better.”25 When the Morrison children were not working the farm, they pursued an active life among the green fields, cliffs, orchards, and beaches of the wild north shore. Summer afternoons were spent inspecting the various schooners that sailed into the harbour with catches of lobster and mackerel. Trade with the neighbouring colonies brought exotic products into the community and an aura of the world beyond. In 1870, when Morrison was nine, his father remarried. Donald had survived three burdensome years but could no longer cope with the farm and parental responsibilities. His new wife, Susan MacAskill, was embracing a tremendous responsibility. Eighteen years younger than her husband, she had suddenly become the stepmother to six young children. By all accounts Susan was kind and considerate, but she and Morrison were not close. In fairness, Susan was simply too busy to cultivate intimate relationships with her stepchildren. Within two years she was pregnant with her first child, Stephen, followed over the next sixteen years by eight more children.26 It was in these formative years that Morrison’s introverted nature first appeared. In an expanding family, unable to garner much

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attention from his parents, he spent his childhood in the hay fields or within the pages of a book. He usually played with the neighbouring Piggott and Coffin children, or tagged along with his sister to the farms of the various MacDonald, McInnis, and McCormick families along the Savage Harbour road. These Highlanders had interesting identifiers such as “Alec John Angus,” “Ronald at the Lake,” or the “Apple Valleys.” The Coffins were not Catholic but had been charitable to the Morrison children after their mother’s death. In later years Morrison spoke fondly of their home, recalling that he was forced to brave “what seemed a very large intervening wood” to get to their farm.27 More often than not, however, he preferred the solitude of his own company. He was fond of the sea, and the few stories of his youth that Morrison cherished occurred in the chilly waters of  the Gulf of St Lawrence. The ocean provided both mystery and entertainment. After the great gale of 1873, Morrison happily recalled spending an entire morning collecting the lobsters that had been blown onto the beach. Morrison was educated in a small (there were only fourteen pupils in 1870) schoolhouse under the tutelage of James Coffin. Education was a salient and contentious element of island society. In 1852 the Free Education Act offered the first free public education within the British Empire but provided no special funding for denominational schools. In the 1850s, despite the adamant protests of Catholics, scripture readings – from a Protestant edition of the Bible – were proposed as a mandatory part of the curriculum, further aggravating sectarian feelings. In response to Catholic objections, the bishop of Charlottetown was characterized by certain segments as a Bible hater “who wanted it burned,” which added to the already tense environment.28 Such sentiments only furthered Bishop Peter McIntyre’s desire to create a “Catholic social order with institutions that paralleled but did not connect with those of the larger society.”29 Bishop McIntyre, an ultramontanist (“Beyond the Mountains”) Roman and devotional by nature, was “anxious to place Island Catholics on an equal footing, socially, politically, and economically, with their Protestant neighbours.”30 He submitted fully to papal authority, and as “prince bishop” expected others to submit to his. In 1865 he warmly recommended the Syllabus of Errors, a condemnation of modernity issued by Pope Pius IX, “endorsing the attack upon ‘all these pestiferous doctrines of modern times.’”31 In fact, McIntyre was more conservative than most prelates in the

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1.1  Bishop Peter McIntyre (1818–1891) of Charlottetown, 1877

region. He and Bishop John Cameron of Antigonish, Nova Scotia, were the only Maritime prelates to support the doctrine of infalli­ bility at the first Vatican Council in 1869–70 (despite the objections of Halifax archbishop Thomas L. Connolly). His defence of papal power fostered a stubborn conformist and devotional philosophy among his flock. In a futile attempt to gain funding for denominational schools in the 1870s, McIntyre supported P E I ’s entry into Canadian Confederation (Catholics were generally divided). Although most islanders had little desire to confederate, they accepted that economic realities left them no other option. For one thing, islanders wanted to settle the controversial land question, which had placed much of the colony’s property into the hands of absentee landlords. Grants and loans from the Canadian government allowed the island to purchase the island’s property from the remaining proprietors.32 Confederation

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The Early Years, 1861–1912

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also promised a railroad and reliable year-round ferry service to the mainland. At noon on the first of July 1873, “the Dominion flag was run up on the flag staffs at government house,” and twenty-one gun salutes were fired from St George’s battery and from h m s Spartan, which was anchored in Charlottetown Harbour.33 Although confederation altered P EI ’s political realities, the dayto-day life of the Morrison children went unchanged. They continued to spend their mornings at the schoolhouse and their afternoons working the farm. All of the children did well at school, although Savage Harbour usually received only a satisfactory grade in its annual assessment. “The majority of those present do not show much familiarity with the branches they are studying,” wrote the school inspector for Kings County in 1874; however, he noted that “the advanced scholars” were absent.34 During these years, Morrison became proficient at playing the violin, and like his father he could produce a decent tune. He was, however, less partial to lively fiddle tunes, preferring more serious pieces. It was also in this period that he discerned a call to the priesthood. Religion played a noteworthy role in his personal formation, and he spent considerable time at St Andrew’s Church in the company of the local pastor, Fr Daniel Gillis. Nevertheless, while Morrison considered himself a worthy candidate for the seminary, Gillis evidently did not. The priest never acknowledged his calling, nor did he encourage Morrison to pursue education. It was an oversight that Morrison never quite got over. “I myself cannot help feeling a little angry,” he wrote years later, “when I consider that as a young boy I never got a word of encouragement or advice from a priest to go to college, much less any assistance in a financial way.”35 Despite the lack of encouragement from his parish priest, Morrison’s resolve was unyielding. To obtain a place in a seminary, however, one had to have a suitable education, and that required money. Accordingly, in 1878 he made the pragmatic decision to become a schoolteacher. As one famous island-born prelate, Bishop Francis C. Kelley of Oklahoma, recalled, when aspiring graduates of a little one-room country school wanted to further their education, they “usually went up for the entrance examination at Prince of Wales.” The institution (immortalized as Queen’s College in Lucy Maud Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables books) had educated island teachers since 1856, and by the 1870s it had upgraded its facilities and academic requirements.36 Although Morrison would

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The Canny Scot

have preferred to study at St Dunstan’s College, the only Catholic college in the province, he was delighted by the prospect of residing in Charlottetown. The capital, fairly large by Canadian standards, was quite an improvement on Savage Harbour, and he relished the bustle of the port town.37 He rented a room with the Connolly family on Fitzroy Street and made extra money tutoring their children, who were attending St Patrick’s School on Richmond Street. His time at Prince of Wales was short, less than a year. As he was applying for a third-class license, he had to attend the institution for one term only before obtaining a “certificate of competency.” In June 1879 he received his accreditation. Throughout his priestly career, Morrison rarely reminisced about his time at Prince of Wales. In fairness, for many, teaching was only ever a means to an end. As one prominent islander explained, “Some put in one year of teaching; most put in two … [then] they bravely set out for college.”38 He laboured in a Scottish Catholic community (much like Savage Harbour) at Launching, on the ­eastern coast, for four years, renting a room from Mary MacIsaac, and earning an annual salary of forty dollars. The schools were small but the teachers were confident that they were doing “very fair work” considering the  “want of schoolroom space and conveniences.”39 Morrison taught a wide range of subjects including mathematics, and by his second year he had all but memorized Thompson’s History of England and Colliers’s History of Rome. He returned to Savage Harbour on Saturday evenings and remained active in his local parish. The late 1870s was a fractious period on the island. The increasing politico-religious conflict, coupled with the failure of minority Catholics to attain their own schools, cumulated in vitriol and violence. On 12 July 1877 an angry Catholic mob attacked the headquarters of the Loyal Orange Lodge in Charlottetown, pelting the building with stones.40 One hundred special policemen were sworn in and it took some time to restore order. In this sectarian climate, young Catholics such as Morrison became increasingly politicized and conscious of religious grievances (real or not) both at home and  abroad. He kept up-to-date with the burgeoning Home Rule movement in Ireland, and in his spare time he participated in the  local Land League branch. He was energized by the fight for Hibernian land reform and tenants’ rights. Sitting on the executive, Morrison first voiced his support for the plight of Roman Catholics

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in Ireland, a cause that would always interest him. The association met bimonthly and offered an opportunity to display his “youthful oratory” on the plight of the Irish people.41 Growing increasingly outspoken on Catholic issues, Morrison was imbued with an aura of Catholic fraternity, a conviction in the universality of the Church, and the belief that the growth of Catholicism would require a great struggle. If the local Land League meetings fostered a sense of Catholic solidarity, teaching in the island’s school system reinforced Morrison’s distrust of what he termed the “Protestant political mentality.”42 In 1877, the coalition government of Louis Henry Davies enacted the Public Schools Act, which created a single nondenominational school system in P E I , officially thwarting Bishop McIntyre’s quest for a Catholic school system. Outraged, McIntyre enlisted the help of Fr Cornelius O’Brien, the future archbishop of Halifax, and together they travelled to Ottawa to press their case with the federal government.43 Although McIntyre had some success in garnering funding for de facto Catholic institutions and convent schools in heavily populated Catholic areas, the failure to officially achieve denominational education had a tremendous impact on Morrison’s attitude. Throughout his short tenure as a teacher, Morrison remained committed to saving for college. He considered leaving his teaching post as early as 1880, but ultimately decided to wait until the spring of 1882. In the meantime, he took up supplemental work between terms.44 His sojourn in Launching did have personal ramifications. He often attended Mass at St George’s and made a number of lasting friendships in the community. One of his students from this period would later become his lifelong housekeeper, and Gregory McLellan, a young lad of six when Morrison left his teaching post, became a  prominent Charlottetown priest and a confidant to his former instructor. Despite his affection for the community, with the tuition saved he hurriedly returned to Charlottetown and enrolled at St Dunstan’s College as a student in the study of classics and higher mathematics. His time spent as a schoolteacher was rewarding and he was fond of his students, but St Dunstan’s was always his goal. Having achieved it, he was all the more satisfied. The self-denial he had exhibited by saving his salary furthered his belief in the magnanimity of personal struggle and sacrifice. He always maintained that those who succeeded, despite financial limitations, were “all the better for their experience.”45

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St Dunstan’s College was Prince Edward Island’s only Roman Catholic post-secondary institution. Founded in 1855 on a “most commanding site” about one and a half miles from Charlottetown, its roots were in the college built at St Andrew’s by Bishop MacEachern in 1831, and like its predecessor, it was “weighted with poverty.”46 When Morrison arrived on the campus in 1882, he found a school that could best be described as diminutive and unstable. According to historian Laurence Shook, the college was simply “not flourishing.”47 In fact, the very future of the institution was uncertain. The Jesuits had abruptly left their teaching positions the previous spring, forcing the institution to confront the academic year with a shaky faculty and an enrollment of less than thirty.48 Perhaps even more conspicuous was the parochial ethos of the school. The entire student body came from the Charlottetown area and most were contemplating Holy Orders.49 As a nursery for the clergy, St Dunstan’s regularly placed graduates in the seminaries of Halifax, Quebec, and even Rome. For such an opportunity, Morrison was willing to overlook the academic shortcomings.50 The two years of study at St Dunstan’s profoundly influenced Morrison. As part of the wider Catholic community of Charlottetown, the students were conscious that the college’s struggles mirrored those of the diocese itself. During Morrison’s undergraduate years, St Dunstan’s had two rectors and an ever-changing faculty. Some of the clergy-professors were only recently ordained. Others, including the English instructor Fr Angus MacIntyre (described by one student as having a taste for letters and history), were busy juggling diocesan responsibilities with their teaching schedules. Morrison kept busy with his studies and excelled, maintaining an average near the top of his class. He continued to play his violin and in his proficiency with the instrument forged a “local reputation” as a good musician.51 It is ironic that the weakness of St Dunstan’s ultimately realized Morrison’s vocation. By 1883 there were rumblings within the diocese that meagre finances would force its closure. These rumours embarrassed Bishop McIntyre, who was determined to keep the college operational. “Close my eyes first,” he famously told his priests, “then close the college.”52 To illustrate this determination, the diocese offered substantial prizes and scholarships to the graduating class of 1884.53 In an “elaborate ceremony,” all out of proportion to St Dunstan’s uncertain finances, the bishop lavished awards on the

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scholars who comprised the remaining enrollment.54 It was, as John C. Macmillan mused, “impossible for a student to escape being a winner.”55 One of these recipients was the twenty-three-year-old Morrison, who was offered financial assistance to enter the seminary in Rome. As with the customary practice of sending the gifted to the Eternal City, he was clearly deserving of the funding. As a student he was close to ideal. He achieved strong marks in both the arts and the sciences, but the lack of competition (there were only twelve students in his class) certainly proved fortuitous. Had he been enrolled at a larger mainland institution, Rome would likely have been out of the question. All of the boys at St Dunstan’s were “delighted” by Bishop McIntyre’s prizes and certainly none more so than Morrison.56 Classmates, friends, and family celebrated the news that he had obtained a scholarship to a Roman seminary, and the priest at St  Andrew’s made a congratulatory announcement at Sunday Mass. For someone who had never left the island, the thought of travelling to Italy filled him with excitement. Going to the Urban College of the Congregatio de Propaganda Fide was, as one alumnus wrote, “an unprecedented opportunity for a poor boy from the country to see the world.”57 Morrison left P E I in the late summer of 1884 on a journey that was long and not without its hazards. Accompanying him was another St Dunstan’s graduate, Peter Curran. A native of St Teresa’s Parish and former inspector of schools for the eastern portion of PEI, Curran belatedly discerned a call to the priesthood.58 Eight years older than Morrison, Curran personified the duality of many priests of his generation. At times he could be extremely stern, almost intolerant, while at other times he could be quite endearing and comical. His knack for storytelling helped pass the many long hours of travel. Morrison warmed to Curran, in large part because of their shared circumstances but also because Curran had worked and struggled for a place in the seminary. Morrison sensed a connection in their struggle to become priests, and they “got on” immediately. The seminarians arrived in Rome in the autumn of 1884 and were ushered to their new lodgings. In the nineteenth century the pathway to ecclesiastical power in the Roman Catholic Church was inexorably linked to an education at the Urban College, founded in 1627 by Pope Urban V I I . Prominently situated on the Piazza di Spagna, across the street from the Church of San Andrea delle Fratte, the

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Urban College served as a seminary for priests destined for missionary fields and was considered one of the most prestigious and influential institutions of the Roman Curia. The entire district had an international flavour that mirrored the multiethnic composition of the seminarians themselves. The stonework of the college contained two large carvings of beetles, and seminarians walking through the crowded streets in their long, heavy, flowing robes (which they had to wear in the heat as well as the cold) were followed by small children playfully yelling “bagharozzi.”59 For all its lustre and history, however, Rome was a solemn place. For most of the nineteenth century, the Catholic Church was locked in an ideological struggle with both liberalism and secular Italian nationalism. A unified Italian nation had stripped the Church of its papal states and in the 1860s and 1870s instituted anticlerical legislation. Italy offered the Vatican sovereignty but vehemently insisted that it remain within the state. Arguing that the papacy required temporal power to maintain its independence, and fearful of an uprising like that of 1848, Pius XI rejected the offer and became a self-imposed “prisoner of the Vatican” even if in splendid isolation. Even the Propaganda College came under attack by politicians who wanted the school to exchange its financial and property wealth for government bonds. The attitude of Italy toward the pope was, as one Canadian archbishop later wrote, “a compound of love, reverence, fear and hate.”60 By Morrison’s second year, the pope, fearing Italian partisans and the likelihood of a European war, was considering quitting Rome altogether.61 For the two islanders, their foray into this “Roman Situation” heightened their apprehension as well as their enthusiasm. The missionary nature of the Urban College and its multiethnic dimension immersed Morrison into a novel and exciting atmosphere. Everything about his new home impressed him: the cuisine, the lectures, the outings to Villa Borghese, and the summers at the retreat house amid the Alban Hills. He spent his leisure time exploring various churches and shrines located throughout the city and marvelling at the catacombs and the Colosseum. He was surrounded by history. In the summer of 1887 the seminary was buzzing with news that at a recent dig, Fr Germano Ruoppolo, a famous priest-archeologist, had discovered walls of a large apartment house built in the second century A D. Inside the home, “a small oratory with some of the earliest Christian paintings in Rome was brought to light.”62 The young

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seminarians sat and discussed such discoveries during hot afternoons, and in the evenings when not studying, they would gather to converse on their daily theological lectures. There was no shortage of literature to scrutinize as the Propaganda Fide boasted a fine library and archive as well as a printing house, which produced publications in numerous languages. While at the college Morrison maintained a rigorous academic schedule and was required to attend to his daily religious responsibilities. What little time he had for other pursuits was devoted to linguistics. In the space of four years he learned to speak and write Italian, French, Spanish, and German. Recognizing that command of foreign languages would be indispensable to his priestly career, he forced friends to converse with him at length in their native tongues. Despite this erudition, being in Rome had its drawbacks. Not everything in the eternal city was enlightening. Living quarters at the college were spartan and a good distance away from the Vatican, and therefore Morrison’s residence was not as “inspirational” as it might have been. He was greatly disheartened by the rampant anticlericalism that prevailed in the country – one of his colleagues wrote home that “religion and respect for ecclesiastics were dying out”63 – and by the daily crime, poverty, and social depravity of the large nineteenth-century European city. All of this fostered a conviction that the average Italian lacked a certain amount of civility.64 In this environment, Morrison came to understand that the errors of the world sprang from the false axioms on which human beings were raised. If society was to be “drawn back” into the truth, his professors argued, it must return to “authentic first principles.”65 Taught by the Church’s finest intellectuals, Morrison was introduced to influential philosophies, the most important of which was neoThomism. The writings of St Thomas Aquinas would come to dominate the Catholic rationale of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. This Catholic counter-revolution was partially aimed at combatting the influence of modernism. In 1879 Pope Leo XIII had issued the encyclical Aeterni Patris, which championed Aquinas’s thinking as a means to prepare Catholics to defend their faith against those who opposed religion on the grounds of reason.66 The main tenets of Thomism reconciled human reason with faith. In other words, natural happiness could only be achieved through the development of both knowledge and the spirit. God was knowable. By accepting the truths that God reveals through the Church,

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the rational man could remedy his temporal situation and also ­prepare for the hereafter.67 Morrison and his fellow seminarians took their lectures seriously and were conscious that they were the vanguard of the modern church. The prayer cards and photos that he posted home to Savage Harbour display the faces of eager and confident young men. These cards (stamped R O MA ) adorned the walls of the Morrison farmhouse and offered an interesting source of conversation for visitors. They also invoked a sense of pride and wonder in the seminarian’s siblings. “That picture hanging up in the old homestead had a fascination for me,” Morrison’s brother Vincent wrote years later. “On the top left of the photo was a coloured man and I used to wonder who he was and where he came from.” Besides igniting the imagination of a young boy, the photos illustrated “the universality of the Church and its mission to teach all nations.”68 Morrison’s friendships reflected this internationalism. In the “benches,” he sat next to Alexis Henri-Marie Lepicier, an intellectual Frenchman who had already obtained his doctorate and was pursuing further studies. Morrison was impressed with the erudition, clarity, and study habits of the future cardinal and aspired to match them.69 Although he frequently socialized with the students of the newly opened Canadian College, he spent the majority of his time in the company of classmates William “Willie” MacDonald of Scotland’s Western Isles, Francis J. “Frank” Wall of Dublin, and John J. Purcell of Jamaica.70 Morrison enjoyed their company but did not normally share emotions, spin fantasies, or indulge in the other intimacies of true friendship. His relationships were much more formal. To a man, the Collegium Urbanum fostered a sense of ecclesiastical triumphalism and an unwavering loyalty to the papacy. Already a sober individual, Morrison acquired an aura of piety and obedience, attributes that became his trademark. His conservatism was shared by many Roman Catholic prelates in nineteenth-century Canada who had studied in Rome during periods of palpable ­antipapal feeling. One of Morrison’s predecessors, Bishop John Cameron of Antigonish, had written after a particularly turbulent day as a young seminarian: “I will cry out with all my voice, down with these demoniac genii whose purposes are not to improve or remodel the institutions of Rome … but to plunge the whole human race into the revolutionary crucible.”71 Like others before him, ­Morrison reacted to modernism by offering his steadfast obedience

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to the cardinal prefect of the Propaganda, the cardinal secretary of state, and the pontiff. He and his follow seminarians routinely visited the Church of St Agnes to admire the painting of the “seemingly miraculous preservation from injury of the Holy Father, Pius I X , and the Propaganda Seminarians” when the floor of that church had given way in 1855. Vergine Immacolate, Aiutateci (Immaculate ­Virgin, help us!) was the cry of the students.72 If Morrison was a serious individual before his seminary training, Rome’s influence made him even more austere. He was training to be a missionary for the Church, and missionaries had no time for frivolous pursuits. If he was to be an effective and respected priest, he had to adopt a judicious and temperate spirit and that meant that his musical pursuits were over. One chilly evening, alone in his sparsely furnished room on the Piazza di Spagna, he played his final tune. He never put bow to string again. It was not, after all, an instrument befitting a priest.73 Mixed in with this counter-revolutionary traditionalism, however, was a more liberal and pragmatic attitude. While nineteenth-century science was swiftly claiming victory over religion, Rome confidently declared that there could be “no question of victory where there was no conflict.”74 It was no secret that Leo XIII, in an attempt to regain some temporal power, was eager to show that there was no inherent quarrel between the claims of the Church and the aims of new democracies. Seeking accommodation with democratic governments and a dialogue with the wider society, he assured the faithful that the noblest ideals of democracy were best served and most surely guaranteed when Christian values and principles were observed by both rulers and subjects.75 For seminarians like Morrison, the concept of a proactive Church gently filtered through the more conservative doctrine of his studies. He and the other students were mindful of their duties within the global institution and the importance of facing modernity while maintaining a strict adherence to faith and traditional ideals. In 1886, after completing both oral and written examinations, Morrison received his doctorate in philosophy (he and John Chisholm from Antigonish were the only two Propagandists to take the exam that year), followed by a doctorate in sacred theology in 1887. Although these were standard degrees for the time, they represented a substantial amount of scholarship. On 1 November 1889, during the Feast of All Saints, Morrison and his classmates – lying

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prostrate on the marble floor – were ordained by the formidable Archbishop Guilio Lenti, vicegerent of Rome, in the chapel of the Urban College. The next morning the new priests celebrated their much-anticipated first Mass on the altar of Our Lady of Perpetual Help in the neogothic papal church of St Alphonsus situated on the Esquiline hill.76 In the following weeks Morrison said Mass whenever he could, usually in the early morning in the chapel of the Scots College in Via Quattro Fontane.77 It would be an understatement to claim that the five years in the Holy City had changed Morrison. He was older and wiser, more confident and eager to begin missionary life. In the late summer of 1890, he and several friends decided to take one final excursion around Europe before returning to their respective homes. Fr Willie MacDonald suggested that the sightseers end their trip in Scotland, an itinerary that permitted Morrison to view the barren landscape of his ancestors. It was an appropriate ending to a memorable period. When it came time to part ways with his companions, some of whom he would not meet again, Morrison sensed a chapter closing. He would miss his friends, but he was eager to return to P E I . As his ship pulled away from its European quay, he was no longer merely a student from a far off island; he was now a man of culture, urbanity, sophisticated influence, and know-how. Yet he would miss what seemed in retrospect the perpetual clear blue sky of Rome. “It was like leaving a peaceful haven,” wrote one former student of the Propaganda, and “going on the open sea.”78 On 19 August 1890, two small notices in the Charlottetown Herald announced the return of Dr Rev. Morrison and Dr Rev. Curran to P E I . Both men spent their first week on the island visiting with family before assuming their appointments. After a short ­meeting with Bishop McIntyre, Morrison was sent to St Dunstan’s Cathedral in Charlottetown to serve as an assistant, while Curran was dispatched to the college as a lecturer. It did not take long for the priests to become immersed in the island’s Catholic community. They had returned home in time to participate in the consecration of James Charles MacDonald as titular bishop of Irina and coadjutor bishop of Charlottetown. In the ceremony, which must have seemed prosaic compared to the rituals of Rome, Fr Curran served as the cross bearer while Morrison performed the role of acolyte, an abrupt reminder of their junior status.

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Returning to Canada was an adjustment, and an exceptionally severe winter made matters worse. With each piece of firewood Morrison loaded into the stove of the freezing cathedral, thoughts of the warm sunshine of Italy crept into his mind. Outside, the streets of Charlottetown were nearly impassable, covered in snowdrifts. The winter storms and the ice that formed in the Northumberland Strait sharpened the feelings of isolation that Morrison endured. Winter was a challenging time in PEI. Regular transportation with the mainland became hazardous when the ice came in, and the lack of communication fostered a sense of seclusion among the inhabitants. As part of the terms of Confederation, the Canadian government was obliged to provide regular transportation across the Northumberland Strait. Since 1876 a wooden steamer, The Northern Light, had routinely been making the trek to Nova Scotia, but the service was inadequate. One island sea captain, testifying before a House of Commons committee in Ottawa in 1883, complained that there were “four or five weeks in the dead of winter” when it was impossible to maintain communication with Nova Scotia.79 Three years later there was enough irritation among islanders to compel politicians to propose building a rail tunnel under the Strait. As a political issue for the Catholic Church, local transportation did not encompass the intellectual stimulus of Italian politics, but it was no less important. Bishop McIntyre supported the tunnel because it was ­sufficiently progressive and would facilitate more regular correspondence with Halifax. In the 1891 federal election he campaigned in  Prince County on behalf of George Howlan, “the chief promoter” of the scheme.80 Despite McIntyre’s support, Howlan, a moderate Catholic and former champion of Catholic schools, was soundly defeated and the tunnel was scrapped. The rejection, writes McIntyre’s biographer, “broke the old man’s heart” and he was never the same.81 It was a prompt lesson for Morrison on the folly of a bishop participating too closely in partisan politics. “An ecclesiastic on the stump when no religious question is involved,” thundered the Toronto Daily Mail, “ought to be as uncomfortable as a fish out of water.” Morrison would never make the same mistake. As an initial appointment, the assistantship at any cathedral is an  exceptional learning experience. Morrison and fellow assistant Fr  Alexander MacAulay, who recently returned from the Grand Seminary at Quebec, were taught how to execute the priestly

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functions of parish life.82 It was one thing to master the theology behind the teachings of the Church but quite another to balance the financial books and adeptly perform baptisms and funerals. They had plenty of guidance. As priests at the cathedral, they resided in the impressive stone residence next door on Dorchester Street. It was home to Bishop McIntyre, Bishop MacDonald, and a number of active, retired, and convalescing priests. This early association with senior clergy was invaluable. In any given week Morrison had several responsibilities, which included the task of typing the bishop’s correspondence, yet he had at his disposal a number of experienced clergymen who offered friendly guidance. Although Morrison was labouring in his native province, he nonetheless considered himself a missionary. The boyhood stories of the pioneering Bishop MacEachern trudging through the forests of the island came alive as he struggled through snowdrifts to comfort a grief-stricken family. He enjoyed this aspect of the priesthood. After all, he was a graduate of the most celebrated missionary seminary in the world. There was something in the “rough and tumble” of island life, especially in winter, that made him feel as though he was making an eternal contribution. While others recoiled at the prospect of ministering to parishioners in icy winter conditions, Morrison always felt better “after getting a good shaking up in the banks and pitches of the winter roads.”83 He often volunteered to visit the sick in the early hours of the morning and filled in for ill or vacationing priests at every opportunity. He thrived on personal sacrifice. Even as a young man he could not abide those who shirked their priestly duties. After all, he mused, “What else did they have to do?”84 In late April 1891, Bishop McIntyre, desperate for a short rest, decided to take a retreat among the Trappist monks at their bucolic forested monastery near Tracadie, Nova Scotia. On 30 April, he arrived at the bishop’s residence in Antigonish, about twenty miles from his destination, to dine and spend the evening with Bishop Cameron. Although the feeble McIntyre appeared in good spirits over dinner, a priest happened to walk by the living room later in the evening and heard him moan in pain. He entered the room and “found the bishop lying on the floor and apparently dying.”85 The startled priest scarcely had time to send for a doctor and administer the last rites before McIntyre succumbed to heart failure. The following morning, a telegraph brought the news of the prelate’s death to Charlottetown, and Morrison climbed the steeple stairs to ring

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the bells of the cathedral in homage. McIntyre’s remains were brought to the island in the company of Fr James MacDonald and Fr Neil MacNeil of St Francis Xavier University. The body was then removed to the Bishop’s Palace in Charlottetown where the bishop lay in state in the grand salon. Hundreds of islanders viewed the body and hundreds more attended the funeral services. As coadjutor to Bishop McIntyre, Bishop James Charles MacDonald immediately succeeded to the Charlottetown office. The elevation proved fortuitous for Morrison. The new bishop was a native of the parish of St Andrew’s, and knew both the Savage Harbour community and the Morrison family. He was also a proud Scot, proud of his MacDonald heritage, and as the Irish priests on the island understood all too well, partial to those clergy with Highland blood.86 During the  brief period that they shared a residence, MacDonald grew to appreciate Morrison’s erudition and administrative skills. When considering the appointments that would accompany his elevation, he decided to transfer Morrison to a position that better suited his academic acumen. Conscious of the struggles of the diocesan college, MacDonald coveted Morrison’s intellectual talents, and in the summer of 1891 promoted the priest to professor. St Dunstan’s College had remained virtually unchanged since Morrison’s student days. It was situated in a “country villa,” a beautiful but isolated location close to Charlottetown.87 It remained a quiet, conservative, and contemplative institution, and Morrison’s doctorates in theology and philosophy perfectly suited the curriculum. In fact, the college could already count some eighty priests and two bishops among its expanding alumni. The historian of St Dunstan’s, Edward MacDonald, explains: Roman Catholicism dominated the campus. Religion permeated every aspect of college life. The school motto, the daily religious instruction, the priest professors, the morning masses and evening devotions and the college’s growing reputation as a seedbed of religious vocations all bespoke the integral importance of faith.88 The vast majority of its students still came from the island, but there were now a number of Americans enrolled as well. The student body was small, but it had its share of academic standouts, including Queens County native Alfred Sinnott, the future archbishop of Winnipeg. Although the students’ free time was strictly regulated,

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the college paper, The Collegium, profiles a campus that was active in athletics and theatre.89 The tall and handsome Morrison stood out on campus even if he was slightly introverted and appeared to care little for his wardrobe.90 When not in the classroom teaching philosophy, Greek, and rhetoric, he could be found on the sidelines at Victoria Park watching football. He formed a friendship with the rector, Fr Alexander P. MacLellan (also a former schoolteacher), who took him under his wing, dispensing advice during long strolls around campus.91 His life consisted, as he later recalled, of “class work, debates, dramatics, and the rest.”92 The transfer to St Dunstan’s brought with it a personal perk. In 1891, Morrison’s younger brother Dan (his birth name was Francis Xavier) was recruited by the college to teach French, Latin, and science. Dan was unquestionably talented. He was an exceptional scholar, and due to the shortage of qualified p ­ rofessors was able to secure a teaching post. Already committed to enter Brighton seminary in Boston, he welcomed the extra income to support his studies. Dan was affable and energetic, and he had an active social life. At a farewell party thrown in his honour in the summer of 1892, his students presented him with a gold-headed cane in “recognition of his abilities.” According to The Collegium, Dan was a “man of brilliant parts” who would “no doubt keep up the honor of successful islanders abroad.”93 The young scholar looked up to his brother, shared his habits, and aimed to follow a similar career path. The happy year together at St Dunstan’s in 1891–92 solidified their extremely close bond. For Morrison, this relationship was all the more important given his distance from other siblings. Although the family appeared close – Morrison presided at family funerals and marriages, and at the wedding of his brother Allan he presented the bride with a “beau­ tiful gold watch”94 – often months would pass without contact. Indeed, Morrison lamented that his siblings never wrote to him.95 It was not a case of a regrettable falling-out; rather the children of Elizabeth had difficulty bridging the age gap with their half-siblings. It was difficult enough for Morrison’s full siblings to maintain their ties with each other, let alone bond with the younger family members. Morrison regularly ventured to Savage Harbour to visit his father, but his impression was that his younger siblings regarded him more as a revered figure than a brother.

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In 1892, barely a year after Morrison’s transfer to academic life,  Bishop MacDonald promoted him to rector of St Dunstan’s College.96 The appointment of a thirty-one-year-old junior priest as a college president was unusual, but considering Morrison’s abilities and the shortage of qualified personnel, it was not surprising. The promotion unquestionably reflected the priest’s talents; yet, once again, he benefited from his provincial surroundings. In other circumstances he would have been posted to one of the archetypal country parishes that dotted the island, and his career might have assumed a different course. Instead, as the leader of Catholic postsecondary education in PEI, he was thrust into the very hub of diocesan life. As an important member of the island’s hierarchy, he spent the months following his appointment travelling throughout the Maritime provinces, attending conferences and gaining valuable contacts. Obviously St Dunstan’s College did not possess the prestige of other Canadian post-secondary institutions. It had little money, spare amenities, and a wanting library; nevertheless, it was difficult to administer. Prior to Morrison’s appointment, the college had taken considerable strides forward; however, it had not achieved financial or academic stability. Morrison was bursting with ideas. One of his goals was to break the institution’s isolation by forging closer relationships with other Catholic colleges in the Maritimes. While visiting Antigonish in 1893, he met with St Francis Xavier University rector, Fr Daniel A. Chisholm, to discuss the proposition of bringing a domestic order of sisters to their respective institutions. By 1897, St F.X. had successfully recruited members of the Sisters of Charity to form a new order at that college, and Morrison hoped that St Dunstan’s might “receive some encouragement and cooperation in the undertaking, and of course, partake in the benefit thereof.”97 Although no such arrangement was reached, St Dunstan’s remained committed to intercollegiate cooperation and to raising its profile.98 Yet despite Morrison’s efforts, St Dunstan’s could not move forward until the college achieved formal academic accreditation. The school provided a valuable service to the Catholics of P E I , but it was not authorized to confer degrees. This was a major quandary. It was one thing for young men to employ St Dunstan’s as a springboard into a Catholic seminary, but graduates vying for positions within

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medical or legal faculties were handicapped by their lack of official credentials. The absence of accreditation hung over St Dunstan’s like a suspended sword, and a number of solutions were quietly debated. Finally, after much deliberation, and at Morrison’s urging, it was decided that affiliation with a major Canadian university was the only credible option available. In the spring of 1892, many islanders were surprised to learn that their small Catholic college was courting a large Francophone university in Quebec City for affiliation. Yet for Morrison, the faculty, and the diocesan clergy, the Université Laval was a natural choice. For one thing, Laval was an old and powerful Catholic institution with roots in the Quebec Seminary that was founded in 1663. Second, many island Catholics already held bachelor’s degrees from the school, while others had attended lectures on the campus when studying at the Grand Seminary. Perhaps more pragmatically, the schools had a similar pedagogy. “Having made a perusal of your ‘Annuarie,’” Morrison wrote Msgr B. Paquet, “I find that the course of studies in our college almost corresponds to that prescribed for taking the degree of arts at Laval University … I thought it would be well if St Dunstan’s could be affiliated with the aforesaid university.”99 Aware that many islanders “pursued their studies at Laval,” the Quebec authorities unanimously approved affiliation.100 In the  spring of 1893, having passed the Laval examinations, three St Dunstan’s scholars were awarded their bachelor’s degrees.101 The following summer, Morrison and Bishop MacDonald proudly awarded Laval diplomas to Peter D. McGuigan and John Edward O’Brien at a “well attended” ceremony.102 Affiliation with Laval was a noteworthy moment. Ironically, the first Roman Catholic college on PEI had been organized, in part, to  gain independence from the Diocese of Quebec. Now, some sixty-four years later, affiliation with a Quebec college had secured St Dunstan’s future. In the process the college attained a degree of stability, while Morrison amplified his stature. In only his fifth year as a priest, he successfully negotiated one of the most momentous agreements in diocesan history and received an honorary degree from Laval to boot. St Dunstan’s, noted the True Witness and Catholic Chronicle, “has sent its graduates up to the head of every profession and avocation, from the farm to the throne of the Archbishop of Halifax,” and was now “as high rank in scholarship as … any other college in Canada.”103

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It was obvious by the spring of 1895 that Morrison was a rising star. With the future of St Dunstan’s secured, Bishop MacDonald wanted the young priest to focus on another momentous project. In a meeting at the palace, Morrison learned that the diocese was going to replace the old wooden cathedral in Charlottetown with a new stone edifice and that it was he who was to supervise the project. In the late summer of 1895 his appointment as rector of St Dunstan’s Cathedral was announced, formally ending his academic career. His transfer, according to one historian, stripped St Dunstan’s College of “firm confident leadership and administrative stability.”104 It also stripped Morrison of a comfortable collegiate setting, which had suited his withdrawn personality. “I would have been quite content to remain there for the rest of my life,” he commented years later, “but things didn’t work out that way.”105 He was now plunged back into parish life, facing the immense task of constructing a new cathedral.106 By the turn of the century, the inhabitants of Charlottetown considered their city to be quite modern and sophisticated. It boasted elegant houses (although there were certainly many hovels as well), well-kempt roads, and a brand new sewage system. Sectarianism remained generally concealed behind the leafy streets, but the separate Catholic and Protestant hospitals, temperance societies, and benefit organizations were an obvious reminder of the city’s divisions. As a symbol of Catholic vitality, St Dunstan’s Cathedral was a prominent building. Constructed in 1843, just yards from the legislature, the old church held immense sentimental and spiritual value, but by 1886 the parishioners wanted a building “worthy of the Capital of the province.”107 It was a popular proposition. During a visit to Charlottetown in 1892, James Cardinal Gibbons of Baltimore used the occasion to preach a sermon illustrating the importance of a commanding cathedral.108 Morrison was under no illusions regarding the difficulty of his task. “The new stone edifice is a mammoth undertaking,” he wrote a family friend, but it promised to be one of the “finest churches in the dominion.”109 The old wooden church was moved off the site and the cornerstone for the new edifice was laid in September 1896, under the design of Quebec architect F.X. Berlinguet. The construction occupied much of Morrison’s time for his first five years at the cathedral. In a letter to his brother John in Maine, the priest explained that he had very little free time, and was almost

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“completely preoccupied with construction.”110 Morrison not only consulted with contractors but helped organize picnics and “monster bazaars” to raise monies. Despite setbacks and aggravations, including some structural troubles that pushed back construction of the cathedral, things progressed more or less on schedule. During construction, Morrison attended to the needs of his large parish through the use of a basement sanctuary. He also found time to help organize a chapter of the Knights of Columbus, a rapidly growing American Catholic fraternal society, in his parish. He remained committed to his studies and regularly scanned local weeklies for news of Europe. Occasionally, Europe came to him. During one parish bazaar, Morrison learned that General William Booth, the white-bearded Methodist preacher who had mustered the Salvation Army, was in town. As Booth was “engaged in the noblest work of a Christian man,” Morrison rushed to welcome him to Charlottetown.111 As a priest working in the very heart of the P E I Catholic community, Morrison was a fixture at the side of Bishop MacDonald. When the bishop travelled to the parishes, Morrison accompanied him and preached “eloquent and appropriate sermons”112 in a booming voice. His sermons tended to be lengthy, and a friendly priest once advised him “to cut them back.”113 He did not write down his remarks before delivering them. He tried it once but it confused him, and the homily ended up “the nearest thing to fiasco.” Instead, he spent a few hours studying the weekly scripture readings before delivering his remarks extemporaneously. This suited him perfectly, although it was not something that he would “recommend in practice.”114 Morrison often used his homilies to draw connections between Charlottetown and the wider Catholic world and to counter the perceived ungodliness of Edwardian society. A large and sturdy man with a roman nose and a deeply receding hairline, Morrison was easily recognizable in the streets of the city. He remained domiciled at the bishop’s residence, quarters that provided both a refuge from the construction and much-needed camaraderie. The conversation at the residence was rarely dull. One evening Morrison arrived home to find Fr William MacKinnon, recently returned from service as a chaplain in the Spanish-American war, entertaining the priests. Over a glass of sherry, MacKinnon regaled the residents with an extraordinary account of the fierce naval battle at Manila in the Philippines.115

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As an aid to Bishop MacDonald, Morrison earned the reputation as a tireless operative. His growing awareness of his position on the island is reflected in the support and encouragement that he offered to a large number of colleagues. By this time, all P E I seminarians had studied under him. He remained in good rapport with many of his former students and closely followed their progress. When Patrick McQuillan was preparing for ordination at Halifax’s Holy Heart Seminary, Morrison wrote that he was always “glad to hear of my old boys getting on well.”116 In a curious moment for Canadian Catholicism, in 1899 Rome sent a permanent apostolic delegation to Ottawa as both a representative of the pontiff and as an arbiter between Canadian prelates.117 The Ottawa Citizen reported that the Catholic clergy of the capital regarded the appointment as “an important epoch in the affairs of the Church in Canada,” but some of the Canadian hierarchy, especially in Quebec, were uneasy.118 While some resented the appointment and considered the delegate (Archbishop Diomede Falconio) an unwanted symbol of papal authority, Morrison had no such reservations. Shortly after, Morrison was provided an invaluable contact when the delegate selected his former student, Fr Alfred Sinnott, to serve on his staff. Yet Morrison’s devotion to the Church meant that he often missed special family occasions. While his brother Dan was in the seminary, Morrison wrote letters full of advice and encouragement. As the day of ordination drew closer, Dan asked that Morrison travel to Quebec to attend the service. Sending his deepest regrets, Morrison explained that as he was spiritual director of both the St Joseph’s Society and the St Patrick’s Society, to leave and miss their feast days would look “rather out of place.”119 By 1900 the exterior of the new cathedral was completed, which made life much easier for Morrison and his assistants. Despite the heavy workload of his parish, Morrison was spending more and more time in the company of Bishop MacDonald. During this time, the bishop taught Morrison the importance of solidarity within the Catholic community and of the sacred relationship between the bishop and his clergy. He also learned one of the great lessons of his career: clergymen should not become embroiled in partisan politics. One priest, Fr Alfred Burke of Alberton, frequently penned controversial letters to the conservative paper the Examiner, and some islanders found his letters too aggressive. In 1901 during a quarrel

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with Bishop MacDonald over a perceived public rebuff, the talented and intelligent Burke, once described by a colleague as a “man of energy and marvellous influence with the laity,” used the Examiner to chastise the prelate and, in Morrison’s opinion, “cause great injury to the church.”120 Writing to a colleague, Morrison angrily asserted that Burke “kept the place either in turmoil or in dread of one.”121 In an act of solidarity with his bishop, Morrison attempted to isolate Burke and monitored other priests he considered to be renegades and troublemakers. In August 1904, Morrison’s influence in Charlottetown was manifest when he was appointed vicar-general of the diocese. His friend and mentor Bishop MacDonald was in poor health, and Morrison gradually assumed most of his administrative duties. A year later, Morrison’s reputation was further enhanced by an honorary doctorate of law degree from St Francis Xavier University. That college was celebrating its fiftieth anniversary and Morrison was one of twentyone honoraries from a prominent list of Canadian educators and politicians (including Prime Minister Robert Borden and Nova Scotia premier George Murray). When he received his parchment, Morrison quoted the philosopher William Von Humbold: “Whatever we wish to see introduced into the life of a nation must first be introduced into its schools.”122 At a special celebratory Mass in St Ninian’s Cathedral, Morrison preached the baccalaureate sermon, appropriately focusing on Ecclesiasticus 44: “Let us now praise men of renown and our fathers in their generation.”123 Morrison was conscious of his growing influence and reputation, and was eager to set an example of fidelity and obedience. He ­vigilantly followed the dictates of his superiors and expected his parishioners and colleagues to do likewise. The priest’s traditionalist temperament suited the ecclesiastical atmosphere of the period. In 1903, the election of Giuseppe Sarto as Pope Pius X ushered in  a new era of Catholicism with a liturgical emphasis on the Eucharist. An administrative reformer (he cut the Curia departments in half), the pontiff eventually grew increasingly conservative, forbidding his priests to embrace modernity and prohibiting them from editing newspapers and periodicals. Stamping out modernism among the clergy was vital, and priests were ordered to follow a “standard not expected of laymen.”124 Morrison steadfastly conducted his public and private life according to these requirements (even if the island Church remained somewhat more

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liberal), and was watchful for behaviour that could draw negative or scandalous attention to the Church. The antimodernist teachings of Pius X persuaded Morrison that he was right to aggressively pursue disobedient priests such as Fr  Burke. He grew more authoritative, and his counsel was now sought both on the island and off. He contributed a short history of the Catholic Church on P E I for a book entitled Past and Present of Prince Edward Island: Embracing a Concise Review of Its Early Settlement, Development, and Present Condition, and proudly wrote to Dan that the publication had profiled the business success of their brother Peter in Mount Stewart.125 Morrison also built a web of contacts across the island and was friendly with prominent Catholic families. When in Hunter River, for example, he regularly dined with the leading Catholic merchant of that village, George McGuigan. The after-dinner fireside chats made a lasting impression on McGuigan’s son James, who later became archbishop of Toronto and Canada’s first English-speaking cardinal. Although these journeys were completed via horse and carriage, in 1905 Morrison caught his first glimpse of an automobile on the island. A year later he had his first ride in a car, commencing a lifelong passion. Most of Morrison’s free time was devoted to reading and study. Concerned that he was losing his grasp of the languages acquired in Rome (clergy from around the Maritimes often sent him letters in Spanish to translate), he signed up for classes in German from the International Correspondence School in Scranton, Pennsylvania. He spent hours in his room with his textbook and phonograph trying to sharpen his pronunciation. When he required a short respite from his work in Charlottetown, he usually travelled to Kinkora, a ­pleasant village some fifty kilometres west of the capital, to stay with Fr John J. MacDonald, who was roughly the same age. At other times he would practice singing hymns with Fr Pierre Paul Arsenault or go fishing with Fr P.C. Gauthier. When the new stone cathedral was finally completed in 1907, the community considered the structure a remarkable achievement. Besides demonstrating the determination of island Catholics, the Charlottetown Examiner exclaimed that the cathedral was “proof of the ability and untiring zeal of Rev. Dr. Morrison.”126 It was designed in the French gothic style, built in the form of a Latin cross with twin spires two hundred feet in height (dominating the Charlottetown skyline), and boasted the finest pipe organ in the

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1.2  Fr James Morrison, c. 1909

province. Prominent Minnesota priest and native islander, Fr James Reardon, formally blessed the building, and those parishioners who had contributed five dollars or more toward the cost of construction were permitted to ring the new bells. Morrison found the week-long celebrations tiring. The construction had placed incredible stress on him, on top of the respon­sibilities of a large parish and his devotion to the ailing Bishop MacDonald. In his exhausted condition he caught typhoid fever, which required hospitalization.127 Under the care of the Grey Nuns, he soon recovered but was physically worn out and requested a transfer to the countryside. As an intimate associate of the bishop, Morrison had complete control over the location of his transfer. In November 1907 he requested the parish of Vernon River in Queens County some sixteen

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kilometres from Charlottetown.128 Settled by Scottish Highlanders and Irish Hibernians, Vernon River was typical of rural P E I . It contained a country store, a grist mill, and a single hotel. By 1877, the Catholic community boasted an impressive brick church that included a majestic pipe organ. St Joachim’s was one of the finest churches on the island and was described in 1905 by the priest-historian Fr John Macmillan as being “stately,” tucked among some of the most lush and fertile countryside in PEI. As a place to recover one’s health and revive the spirits, there was no better parish on the island. Writing to a family friend in Boston, Morrison explained the situation: I was beginning to break down a little, and it was deemed advisable that I should have a change. The strain upon me in the city during the last twelve years began to tell upon me, so that some kind of rest was imperative. Of course, I should miss the city a great deal, but shall make up for it in the good fresh air and the quiet country life.129 It was not an ideal time to leave. In a letter to Fr Peter Curran (by this time quite ill and convalescing in Colorado), Morrison mentioned that Bishop MacDonald was “somewhat upset during the winter but is quite himself again.”130 But it was either Vernon River or total exhaustion. The solitude of Vernon River was such a contrast to the bustle of  Charlottetown that initially Morrison was quite lonesome.131 Nevertheless, he enjoyed the fertile surroundings, and the years labouring as a country priest were among the happiest of his career. Taking full advantage of the pastoral setting, he raised chickens, planted a garden, and experimented with making ginger cordial. St Joachim’s had a long-time domestic helper, Mary Larkin, and a groundskeeper, Cyrus MacKenzie, who jointly comprised a venerated institution. Shortly after his arrival, however, Mrs Larkin retired, and in February 1908 Morrison hired Vera Campbell as his  permanent housekeeper. A native of St George’s, Vera swiftly assumed an important role in the priest’s life and would remain his permanent housekeeper for forty-one years. It was a pleasant period, and in later years Morrison recalled that his solitary problem was the rusting out of the heating plant in the church. While labouring in Vernon River, Morrison made a number of lasting friendships. One of his most fascinating companions was

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Rev. Malcolm Winter, Anglican pastor of Georgetown and Cherry Valley. The two priests spent summer evenings and stormy winter afternoons discussing local happenings and island politics. But it was Winter’s interest in Tractarianism, attraction to Roman Catholicism, and general erudition that solidified their friendship. The minister was a “high churchman” who regularly prayed at St  Dunstan’s and was seriously considering “crossing the Tiber,” although Morrison scrupulously avoided any formal attempts at conversion. Morrison also enjoyed the company of the assorted farmers in the community (many of whom were fascinating characters), and as an old farm boy, he liked to “talk shop” after Mass. Despite the pleasures of country life, the responsibilities as vicargeneral to the frail Bishop MacDonald made the reprieve somewhat of an illusion. Morrison was constantly travelling to Charlottetown to meet with clergy. In one letter to Fr Curran, he lamented that the unresolved business of the diocese made Vernon River “by no means a place of rest, dignified or otherwise.”132 Life continued to revolve around his parish, but his duties and growing responsibilities in Charlottetown were his primary concern. Still, Morrison’s life was by no means intolerable, and he had ample time for leisure and travel. In August 1908 he journeyed to England for the London Eucharistic Congress. (An American passenger was reading a copy of the recently published Anne of Green Gables, and Morrison found its island connection interesting.) Eucharistic congresses, designed to facilitate prayer and adoration of the Holy Eucharist, were increasingly popular in the Catholic world. Archbishop Francis Bourne of Westminster sought to enhance the prestige of Catholicism in England by hosting a congress in the heart of Edwardian London – the very centre of the British government and the established Protestant church. Morrison was overwhelmed by the emotion and symbolism of the event. The apex of the celebration was the Eucharistic procession, a parade of the Blessed Sacrament through the streets of London. Of course, English Catholics were well aware that the Catholic emancipation bill of 1829 forbade “Roman” ceremonies outside a church or private dwelling. In what amounted to a “tempest in a teapot,” Prime Minister Herbert Asquith forbade the procession and accepted the resignation of his sole Catholic cabinet minister. In so doing, he damaged the relations between his government and the Catholic population. When the government’s decree was announced to the large throng at Royal Albert

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Hall, the indignation was palpable. As a correspondent from the Catholic Times observed, “It is a fearful experience to hear twelve thousand men hiss.”133 In the end, the clergy chose to process through the London streets, but without the Blessed Sacrament. While visiting England (and later Rome), Morrison constantly fretted over the health of Bishop MacDonald. When he returned to PEI, just prior to Christmas 1908, he was told that MacDonald was suffering from early stages of dementia and that his “episodes” were becoming more frequent. Although he remained in charge, jealousies began to take root among the clergy. More troubling, at least to the  Scottish-dominated hierarchy, were the rumblings of ethnic ­discord coming from the Irish clergy. Although Morrison had little interest in his Scottish heritage, many of his Highland colleagues in  Charlottetown, including Bishop MacDonald, were prejudiced toward the priests of the heather. The dominance of the Scottish priests on the island had periodically caused resentment within the other Catholic communities. In 1870 a frustrated Acadian wrote to the Summerside Journal: “We have to borrow from others almost all our public figures … Even our priests are of foreign races.”134 But it was the Irish who logged most of the complaints. In fact, when Bishop MacDonald was made coadjutor to Bishop McIntyre in 1890, it was whispered that McIntyre excluded from the ranks of the clergy “young men of Irish blood whom other dioceses gladly receive.” McIntyre found the charges so incredible that it “[grieved] him to the heart that any should so judge [him].”135 Considering the dominance of the Irish within English-speaking Canadian Catholicism, the complaints of the Irish clergy on P E I seem somewhat excessive. Nonetheless, “all politics,” to quote a twentieth-century Boston-Irish politician, “is local.”136 The Irish believed that the Scots were trying to “secure a continuation of the minority rule” under which they had “groaned for many years past.”137 In 1907 a petition was posted to the archbishop of Halifax complaining of the ascendancy of Scottish clergy. The Irish had “borne this exclusion for years” read the petition, “believing that ultimately the sense of justice of this ruling minority would secure to us the share of the emoluments and honours of our ministry to which we are entitled – but in vain!”138 The diocese denied the charges of Scottish favouritism, but Bishop MacDonald’s declining capacities and the reality that he was not long for office compelled the Irish into action. It was obvious to the

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Hibernian clergy that Morrison was a frontrunner to replace the bishop, and that was a reality they would not accept. Irish clergy wrote to the archbishop of Halifax charging that Morrison’s trip to England and Rome in 1908 had been “a profound secret” that was guarded “jealously” by the hierarchy. Fr Thomas Curran (brother of Morrison’s classmate at the Propaganda) swore to the archbishop that “the bishop himself declared to [him] that Dr. Morrison had no intention of going to Rome,” only to find subsequently that Morrison had indeed travelled to the Holy City, bringing with him Charlottetown’s offering of Peter’s Pence “for the purpose of presenting it to his holiness.”139 Morrison was aware of the growing resentment toward him and his Scottish colleagues, and he called a meeting at the Glebe in Vernon River to discuss the problem. Aware of Morrison’s abilities and his standing among churchmen in Canada, Fr Curran feared that the Scots were “hatching a new plan.” There was no personal bitterness toward Morrison, in fact Curran thought him “a man of many excellent qualities” and one for whom he had “most friendly feelings,” yet Morrison was far too connected with the Scottish ascendency to be considered a suitable replacement for MacDonald.140 To illustrate this point, the Irish clergy demanded that Hibernians immediately be sent to staff the parishes of Fort Augustus, Kelly’s Cross, Kinkora, and Vernon River.141 As a central member of the Charlottetown hierarchy, Morrison was intensely interested in the welfare of the diocese and carefully avoided being drawn into the dispute. Privately, however, he feared for the diocese once Bishop MacDonald passed on to the next life. “I indeed hope that the poor old bishop will live some time yet,” Morrison wrote to the apostolic delegate. “I just dread the thought of the possible confusion and scandalous speculations that will be abroad when it comes to making provision for the diocese.”142 Although speculative, it is likely that the Irish petition of 1907 precluded Morrison from ever becoming bishop of Charlottetown. The Irish insistence on a remedy to their claims of discrimination meant that, as a Scot, Morrison could not be considered. In the autumn of 1909, Bishop MacDonald asked Morrison to attend the Plenary Council (a meeting of all Canadian prelates) in Quebec City as his personal theologian.143 The goal of the conference was to create ecclesiastical laws to “define in a precise manner

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the rights and the responsibilities of all Catholics, which would give more strength to ecclesiastical discipline and would in a special way provide a norm to solve difficulties.”144 Despite his declining mental powers, Bishop MacDonald’s erudition was evident during the discussions and he “gained much influence,” yet it was an even more important moment for Morrison.145 Not only was he recognized as one of the finest intellectuals on the island, his attendance reinforced his status within the Maritime region. (Many of the notaries and theologians present at the conference were later made bishops.) Taking a seat beside Fr J.J. McCann, the vicar-general of the Archdiocese of Toronto, Morrison adroitly helped draft the legislation by which the Canadian church would be governed. The times certainly called for judicious counsel. In 1910, the Sacred Congregation of Rites, a Curia body charged with the supervision of the liturgy and sacraments, influenced by the Thomism of Leo XIII, decreed that children could receive Holy Communion provided they had sufficient knowledge to appreciate the mystery. In other words, children could make their first communion once they had the capacity to distinguish between sacramental bread and regular bread. Followers were encouraged to receive the Eucharist as often as possible as it was the “shortest and safest way to heaven.” The Church began to offer limited participation by the laity in the  Mass, and encouraged greater devotion to the Virgin Mother. Morrison’s opinion on these matters is not recorded, but as a devout follower of Pius X he likely welcomed the changes, and certainly abided by and promoted them. By the warm spring of 1910, Bishop MacDonald’s behaviour was becoming more erratic. He was, according to the archbishop of Halifax, “utterly incapable of administering the affairs of his diocese.”146 He started requesting to see Morrison at strange hours. “Please hurry along,” read one frantic letter from Fr Gregory McLellan, “the bishop is anxious to see you and is impatient that you have not yet come.”147 As vicar-general, Morrison was now governing the diocese full time, but with limited authority, and mindful of the large cadre of suspicious Irish priests. Matters that required episcopal consideration were dealt with only after consulting Archbishop Edward McCarthy of Halifax. It was an exceptionally delicate and unproductive environment. “I am not the administrator of the Diocese, but am simply just what I was before the bishop

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became incapacitated,” Morrison explained to a friend. 148 Although the arrangement was cumbersome, he administered as best he could under the aegis of Church law. It was during this busiest of periods that Morrison was dealt two personal losses. In the late autumn of 1910 his sister Flora succumbed to “heart trouble.” A telegram from Boston informed him of the sad news. The message, short and poignant, simply read: “Come if possible, Flora died today.” The passing of any sibling is difficult, but Flora’s death was particularly distressing. She did not have an easy life. As the eldest girl, she assumed domestic responsibilities after their mother’s death and sacrificed her personal happiness for her siblings’ well-being. Her first husband, Patrick Doyle, drowned, leaving her with little means to care for their three-yearold child. Eventually she moved to Massachusetts, remarried, and had another child. Commitments in Vernon River and Charlottetown precluded Morrison from attending the funeral, but he sent money to finance the burial.149 In his quiet moments he compared the plight of his sister’s children with his own circumstances fortythree years previous. “The dear boy and girl I am most sorry for,” he wrote a family member. “They are at the age that needs their ­mother’s good influence.” 150 Morrison was scarcely over the shock of Flora’s death when, in January 1911, his father succumbed to old age. “He was a man of sterling integrity,” read his obituary in the Charlottetown Herald, “upright, honest and honorable in all his relations with his fellow man.”151 The funeral Mass was held at St Andrew’s and attended by friends, family, and many of the island’s clergy. His burial took place in the adjoining cemetery next to his first wife. Unlike Flora’s death, Morrison was prepared for his father’s demise and spent the days after the funeral celebrating his life. “I need not be blamed if I say that my dear father was a model of character that can safely be imitated,” he wrote a friend, “and my earnest wish is that I may fulfill the duties of my calling as he fulfilled those of his.”152 The death of Morrison’s sister and father represented the end of an era. He still had siblings on the island, but the links with Savage Harbour were weakened. Those family members to whom he was closest had long left the region and would only rarely return for “Old Home Week.” Allan and Cyril were living in New Hampshire, John was in New York State, and Dan was beginning his priestly career in California. The likelihood that any of them would return to

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reside on the island was slim. While they were all fond of P E I , each yearned to explore the world. “I have been in the best of health since coming to God’s own country,” Dan wrote while on a trip to Rome. “I believe it is the place for me. Life here has just enough of the snap and rush that makes work interesting, and without wishing to appear like your old friend MacPhee who saw nothing good on the island, I  may say that I now believe it would be impossible to live there now.”153 They all remained in contact with Savage Harbour, but ­visits were rare. Unbeknownst to Morrison, by 1910 his name was being bantered about as a possible candidate for the episcopate. In March 1911 the French Catholic paper, L’Action Sociale, alleged that “Fr Morrison of Vernon River was to be named the bishop of the vacant Diocese of Antigonish, Nova Scotia” (Bishop Cameron had died in 1910). A number of island newspapers republished the story and immediately rumours of the impending appointment were afoot. His former student, Alfred Sinnott, secretary to the apostolic delegate, wrote glowing character references in support of his candidacy. Morrison was, according to Fr Sinnott, a man with great financial ability and personal character. Sinnott jokingly referred to Morrison’s lack of interest in fashion and his fondness for sermons that “never seemed to end.”154 When Morrison returned from a trip to Antigonish a few months later, Fr Ronald MacDonald, pastor of Souris, mused: “I hear they have an idea of keeping you there altogether.”155 Morrison cautiously downplayed the rumours, writing his brother Dan that he was left to “quietly submit to such embarrassments, without losing any sleep over them.”156 Privately, however, he prepared himself for the announcement and did nothing to jeopardize his appointment. When asked to accompany Dan to Rome, Morrison cautiously refused. There were enough protests still swirling within the Irish community from his previous visit, and another trip would further talk that he was currying favours at the Vatican. The decision to appoint Morrison as bishop of Antigonish must be viewed within the broader context of Canadian Catholicism in this period. The reports of the apostolic delegate from Ottawa had educated Rome to the cultural complexities of the country, and ethno-politics had enormous influence over impending ecclesiastical appointments. Morrison’s pending elevation was merely one move in a sequence of calculated measures, which were delayed by the lingering illness of Bishop MacDonald. It is clear that Rome wanted

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to send an Irish bishop to Charlottetown to quell the ethnic discord on the island, while elevating an Acadian to a bishopric in New Brunswick for the same purpose. In October, as Bishop MacDonald’s health continued to deteriorate, the apostolic delegate wrote to Morrison granting him powers of apostolic administrator, something that Archbishop McCarthy in Halifax hoped might “settle difficulties for a while.”157 By the summer of 1912 the Consistorial Congregation decided that it could wait no longer to announce its ecclesiastical shake-up of the Maritime episcopate. In July the apostolic delegate wrote Morrison to inform him of his appointment to the vacant Episcopal See of Antigonish.158 Morrison later claimed that the letter “shocked him,” but it is clear that he had been preparing for over a year to go to Antigonish. The appointment was part of a comprehensive overhaul of the Canadian episcopacy. Archbishop Neil MacNeil, a former Antigonish priest, was sent from Vancouver to Toronto as the new archbishop, Bishop Timothy Casey was sent from Saint John to  Vancouver, while Edouard-Alfred Leblanc of Weymouth, Nova Scotia, replaced Casey in Saint John, the first Acadian bishop in New Brunswick. Although Charlottetown would have to wait six more months for the death of Bishop MacDonald and the appointment of Bishop Henry O’Leary, the intricate moves had been achieved. The announcement of Morrison’s ascension to the episcopacy created a flurry of activity: cards and cables of congratulations poured in. The Montreal Gazette described him as “popular” while the Charlottetown Examiner exclaimed that Morrison was “one of the most able priests” that the island province had ever produced.159 The parishioners of Vernon River signed a letter that read: Great dignity and honor has been bestowed upon you by the Holy See, and we rejoice exceedingly that it was our pastor who was worthy of such distinction. We know it will mean separation from your loving parishioners of Vernon River, but by the spirit of religion we can rise above all selfish prompting, occasioned by the thought of parting from such a pastor and truly rejoice that God has been pleased to call you to a higher duty and a wider field of usefulness.160 His alma mater, St Dunstan’s College, also telegrammed its best wishes while the alumni magazine, the Red and White, expressed

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congratulations: “This honor conferred by the Holy See comes as a fitting recognition of that scholarly attainment and worth of character, which all who had the privilege of personal acquaintance with the new-made Bishop had long esteemed and honestly admired.”161 In the excitement of the moment, Morrison received a cable from Ottawa asking him to remain in Vernon River for the time being. He was not to turn his attention to Antigonish until the business of Charlottetown was sorted. In the meantime the apostolic delegate asked Morrison for his assistance in finding a suitable candidate to succeed him as administrator. The decision to send Fr Morrison to Antigonish as bishop ended an era on Prince Edward Island. But for the period in Rome, the island had been his home for his entire life. His efforts in further establishing Catholicism in his native province had propelled him into episcopal office at an important time for the Catholic Church in Canada. He was now to face new challenges, trials for which he was not necessarily prepared.

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2 Antigonish, 1912–1918

The Diocese of Antigonish warmly welcomed Morrison’s appointment. Although most people knew nothing about him, they were happy to have a bishop and pleased to be rid of the tension that had gripped the diocese for over two years. The diocese traced its origins to the Diocese of Arichat, created on 22 September 1844 by the Propaganda Fide. Geographically comprising the island of Cape Breton as well as the mainland counties of Pictou, Guysborough, and Antigonish, the diocese was rooted in the “primitive germ of discord” that existed between the early Irish settlers of Halifax and the Highland Scottish migrants of the northeast.1 Although there were substantial Irish, Acadian, and Mi’Kmaq populations within diocesan boundaries, the Scots and their clergy predominated. The vigorous and resilient Scottish emigrant, William Fraser, served as the first bishop, followed by Antigonish County native and ardent educationalist, Colin F. MacKinnon. In 1880 the Seat of the diocese was moved from damp and foggy Arichat to the mainland town of Antigonish, which boasted a fledgling seminary and a picturesque church (informally known as “the cathedral” long before it was so designated). The transfer, which prompted the name change to the Diocese of Antigonish in 1886, also guarded against the rumoured annexation of the three mainland counties by the Archdiocese of Halifax. Under Bishop MacKinnon and his successor, Bishop John Cameron, Antigonish promptly established itself as one of Canada’s most important Catholic regions. The diocese was influential in creating a “panCanadian network” within the Church in anglophone Canada that “serv[ed] as a conduit for future waves of Catholic emigrants, ideas and leadership.”2

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2.1  Bishop John Cameron of Antigonish (1827–1910)

The Curia designated an outsider for Antigonish in 1912 to quell the internal discord generated in the final months of Bishop John Cameron’s long episcopate. Cameron was influential, domineering, and unquestionably talented. A native of St Andrew’s, Nova Scotia, he was among the first seminarians from Antigonish sent to the Urban College, where shortly after his ordination in 1853 he was asked to serve as secretary to Alessandro Cardinal Barnabo, secretary to the Propaganda Fide. A gifted but restless Cullenite (he owed much to the powerful Irish prelate, Paul Cardinal Cullen), Cameron used his connections in Rome to coerce Bishop MacKinnon to retire, securing for himself the office of bishop of Arichat in July 1877.3 Although autocratic, Cameron proved an able prelate and became one of the most distinguished clergymen in Canada.4

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Bishop Cameron’s reputation was forged primarily through his participation in politics, most notably, his zealous support of Con­ servative politician Sir John S.D. Thompson. He aided Thompson’s provincial election campaigns in 1877, 1878, and 1882 and federal campaigns in 1885, 1887, and 1891. Although Thompson’s political exploits were far-reaching (he was the first Catholic premier of Nova Scotia and Canada), the bishop’s conspicuous meanderings into party politics fostered strong misgivings among parishioners about the use of episcopal authority to influence their secular choices. The Catholic laity never grew accustomed to circulars demanding that they support Thompson or to sermons attacking his opponents.5 Resentment germinated among clergy and laity alike, and the diocese developed profound divisions.6 “My heart bleeds for the sad condition to which we are reduced,” wrote one priest to the archbishop of Halifax in 1908. “The finger of scorn is pointed to us from every side.”7 The seventeen-month delay in selecting a new bishop to replace Cameron created plenty of idle speculation and gossip. There was certainly no shortage of qualified Antigonish clergy from which Rome might have plucked the next prelate; indeed, tradition dictated that Cameron’s successor would likely come from within the diocese. The three candidates rumoured for consideration were Fr Hugh Peter MacPherson, president of St F.X. and acting diocesan administrator; the intellectual vicar-general, Fr Alexander Thompson; and the Harvard-trained Gaelic scholar, Fr Donald M. MacAdam. The correspondence of the clergy during the vacancy suggests that all three men were prepared for the likelihood of elevation. Within months, however, it was evident that MacPherson and Thompson were the front runners. The rivalry that ensued between Fr MacPherson and Fr Thompson was rather acrimonious. Upon the death of a diocesan bishop, Church law dictates that the office of vicar-general be vacated while the diocesan consulters elect an administrator. In this instance, however, Archbishop Edward McCarthy of Halifax, the senior ecclesiastic in the province, scrapped the consulter’s election and unilaterally appointed Fr MacPherson as administrator. This infuriated many of Fr Thompson’s supporters, who considered the former vicar-general the more senior clergyman. Although MacPherson was put in an influential position, McCarthy’s efforts only bolstered the hostility toward the candidate by those who considered him Cameron’s man (it was well known that Cameron had petitioned Rome to name

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MacPherson as successor). Within months the rivalry consumed the diocese. Things got so nasty that one priest wrote the archbishop of Halifax malevolently hinting at a “taint of insanity” in MacPherson’s family.8 So serious was the dispute, rumours were soon circulating that Rome would fix the infighting by dismembering the diocese altogether.9 It was obvious to the Maritime bishops that the elevation of either Fr Thompson or Fr MacPherson to the Antigonish diocese would be problematic. Accordingly, in May 1910, Archbishop McCarthy and his suffragans forwarded a new terna of names to Rome. This time, both Fr MacPherson and Fr Thompson were left off the list in favour of Fr MacAdam, Fr Gregory McLellan, and Morrison. In the midst of a summer heat wave in July 1912, Fr MacPherson received a letter from Msgr Robert Fraser of the Scots College, Rome, which contained a surprise: Archbishop [Michael Francis] Howley called in on me during the early summer and he said he expected the vicar general of another diocese to be Bishop of Antigonish. I really forget the name of the diocese at the present but I think his name began with an M. It was a Scotch name but more lowland then Highland.10 MacPherson may have been disappointed, but it was a sensible resolution to the Antigonish problem. By choosing an outsider, ­ Rome injected a calming and nonpartisan influence on the diocese. Morrison’s reserved demeanour and his inability to speak Gaelic may have been shortcomings, but he had no fatal flaws. Moreover, his experience as a professor and rector at St Dunstan’s College meant that St F.X. would not suffer. It was for these reasons that Rome selected Morrison as opposed to the reliable MacPherson or intellectual Thompson. Morrison’s first impression was that the Antigonish clergy appeared satisfied with his selection.11 In the second week of August, the bishop-elect met with Antigonish representatives in Truro, Nova  Scotia, to discuss the impending consecration. Over lunch, Fr MacPherson (soon to be better known as the Old Rector) expressed concern about the timing of a September ceremony. As rector of St F.X., he was adamant that the consecration be held before the students returned to campus for the autumn semester,

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otherwise there would be no room to house the various dignitaries likely to attend. Legally they could not commit to a date until the  Papal Bulls, the documents needed to make the consecration official, arrived in Antigonish. They decided to wait. In the meantime, the priests requested that the Old Rector petition the Vatican for consistorial permission to dispense with legalities and expedite the process.12 The Old Rector, doubting the success of this unusual request, spent two frenzied weeks trying to arrange alternative housing for the students soon to find themselves without lodgings. The Curia generally moved slowly, but even more so on matters of tradition and Church edict. It came as quite a surprise, then, when a telegram arrived from Rome consenting to the request. This dispensation, argued one diocesan historian, was compensation for “the long delay in making the appointment.”13 Either way, it saved Morrison’s consecration ceremony from becoming a logistical nightmare. The date for Morrison’s consecration was set for 4 September 1912. In late August he purchased passage from Charlottetown to Pictou aboard the steamer Earl Grey and proceeded to Antigonish via train. His arrival was a momentous occasion in Nova Scotian Catholic society. All shops and businesses were closed, and throngs waited at the train station to greet their new spiritual leader.14 A  long procession, which included a Scottish pipe band, escorted him through the brightly decorated town to the St F.X. arena, where a “hundred thousand welcomes” were offered before an overflowing crowd. Morrison was an impressive figure standing six feet two inches tall with a striking physique. Numerous clergy and local dignitaries were on hand, and welcoming speeches acclaimed Morrison as an educator “well suited to continue the work of ­providing for the educational welfare of the Catholics of the province.”15 After delivering a short address, he was ushered to a more intimate gathering, before retiring to his new home in the residence adjacent to campus. Morrison spent the days prior to his consecration at the rural monastery of Petit Clairvaux in Tracadie, Antigonish County. Hosting the bishop-elect was significant for the struggling monastery. The facility, established in 1825 by Trappist monks, had survived a ­devastating fire in 1892 that left it vacant until it was reoccupied by  another group of French Trappist brothers in 1903.16 Despite the  bucolic surroundings of Tracadie, Morrison was somewhat

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surprised by the lacklustre monastery buildings, which one writer described as having the appearance of “a big mill or factory.”17 Morrison’s visit broke the tranquil atmosphere of the abbey, ­normally a place of prayer and meditation, as Antigonish officials were continuously coming and going. He was also kept busy with the affairs of Charlottetown, and wrote a letter to the apostolic delegate concerning the appointment of a coadjutor for Bishop MacDonald. Traditionally three candidates are short-listed for any vacant b ­ ishopric, although usually only one, or possibly two, is seriously considered. As requested, Morrison put forth three names, but his  preferred candidate was his friend Fr Gregory McLellan of C ­ harlottetown. McLellan not only had an intimate knowledge of the Church, argued Morrison, but also was familiar with the people in the capital city – key components for any administrator.18 The scene of Morrison’s consecration was the impressive Romanesque stone cathedral situated prominently beside the St F.X. campus on a hill overlooking Antigonish town. St Ninian’s (named after an early missionary to the Pictish people of Scotland) was a fine structure and served as a permanent legacy to Bishop Colin F. MacKinnon, but more important, it stood as a tribute to the hundreds of Antigonish parishioners who had given unselfishly of their time and labour to build the church over seven long years. When Morrison reached the entrance to the thirty-eight-year-old cathedral, he acknowledged the hundreds of spectators who had gathered to catch a glimpse of the proceedings. He walked through the large doors into the Tigh Dhe, where there was standing room only, and proceeded to the altar.19 This was St Ninian’s first consecration, and every detail was carefully considered. The church was brightly and impressively decorated, complementing the impressive frescos painted by the acclaimed Quebec artist, Ozias Leduc, nine years previous. The St F.X. choir provided the music. A large contingent of media covered the event, and numerous clergy and church officials were in attendance, including eight Canadian ­bishops. The ceremony was performed by the apostolic delegate, Pellegrino Stagni, assisted by Archbishop Edward J. McCarthy of Halifax and Archbishop Timothy Casey of Vancouver. In an act of  unity, the three priests mentioned as possible candidates for Antigonish – MacPherson, MacAdam, and Thompson – assisted at the altar.20

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2.2  Bishop Morrison, c. 1912

The new bishop had little time to enjoy his surroundings, or to contemplate recent events, before returning to P E I . He was under strict instructions from Rome to remain on the island until an administrator was appointed for Charlottetown. He returned to Nova Scotia only once in the month of September to officiate at the funeral service of Antigonish native Archbishop Ronald Macdonald, the former bishop of Harbour Grace, Newfoundland, who had died in  Montreal.21 It was a full month after his consecration before Charlottetown passed into the capable, if temporary, hands of Fr James Phelan. Morrison obviously preferred McLellan to Phelan, and remained hopeful that his friend would be appointed bishop, but the selection of an Irishman as administrator was an ominous sign for the Scottish faction on the island. After a few hectic days discussing administrative duties with Fr Phelan, Morrison had his belongings shipped to Nova Scotia, and on 19 October he left P E I .22 Fortunately, he maintained the services of his Vernon River housekeeper, who eventually followed him to Antigonish.

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Antigonish was a small mercantile town serving a county of 18,000. According to Sir John S.D. Thompson, the county was an attractive land “flowing with rum and whisky – cards and fiddles.”23 Although somewhat parochial compared to Charlottetown, Antigonish had a cathedral, college, courthouse, newspaper, lumber mill, hotels, shops and “well graded streets.” It was described in the Handbook for the Dominion of Canada as “one of the prettiest [towns] in eastern Nova Scotia,”24 and the town was growing in importance. But as Fr Peter Nearing mused in the 1970s, “long before Antigonish had gained international recognition from adult educators and co-operators, it had attained an eminence among the Catholics of Eastern Nova Scotia. It was their little Rome. Their bishop lived there.”25 The residence was situated behind the cathedral on the crest of the hill. Built in 1883, the house was a stately building designed in the style of the “second empire.” Its mansard roof and projecting tower presented a commanding appearance. It contained three spacious floors, numerous bedrooms, and a small chapel (there was also a large barn on the property).26 It was not as impressive, or as comfortable, as the stone palace in Charlottetown, but suited Morrison’s purposes. Although Morrison was finally a resident of Antigonish, the ­“to-ing and fro-ing” to PEI continued. In the early evening of 1  December 1912, the long-suffering Bishop Charles MacDonald died in Charlottetown. His final months were spent confined to bed. Although his death was expected, Morrison was saddened. “Poor Bishop MacDonald is gone to his long home, which I am quite sure is among the blest of God,” he wrote to a friend. “I cannot tell you how lonely I feel when I think that he is gone from us. I have been associated with him for so long, that I can hardly realize what it is to be no longer able to meet him in this world.”27 Accompanied by the Old Rector, he returned to P E I to attend the funeral and deliver the sermon. Gazing down at the mortal remains of a man who had so influenced his life, he paused for a moment of reflection and gratitude. Except for the years in Vernon River (and his short stint as rector of St Dunstan’s), Morrison had spent his entire priestly career living under the same roof as MacDonald. In all that time, his respect for the bishop had only grown. One biographer described MacDonald as being “plain-spoken and unpretentious, practical rather than poetic, solid but not brilliant.”28 In time, Morrison would be described in the same manner.

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Directly after the funeral, Morrison and the Old Rector took the ferry to New Brunswick to attend the consecration of Bishop Edouard-Alfred LeBlanc in Saint John. LeBlanc’s appointment was a watershed moment for New Brunswick francophones – the culmination of a decades-old battle for Acadian representation within the region’s hierarchy. In 1882 Bishop James Rogers’s decision to close the College of St Louis outraged his Acadian flock, and by 1891 the Acadian priests (and politicians) began to formally complain to Rome of injustice and persecution. When the Acadians petitioned for a diocese of their own, the Maritime prelates opposed the application by arguing that the French-speaking community was infected with a spirit of “national exclusiveness.”29 The acrimony was so severe that Rome was forced to look to another province for New Brunswick’s first Acadian bishop. Born in Weaver Settlement near Weymouth, Nova Scotia, Pere LeBlanc was a prominent Digby County priest, known as the priest-farmer due to his agricultural pursuits. He was also responsible for constructing the enormous Saint Bernard’s Church, a structure that his biographer described as  being “more in line with the European cathedral system than with the parochial church usually found along Saint Mary’s Bay.”30 Morrison was personally fond of LeBlanc, and recognized the historical significance of the moment, yet he privately hoped that Rome would begin appointing more neutral candidates to dioceses with rival ethnic populations.31 Having just left an island full of jealousy and discord, he knew full well what LeBlanc meant when he told the gathered that he was standing “in fear and trembling.”32 LeBlanc’s consecration illustrated the petty jealousies and ethnic prejudices that lurked in almost every diocese of Canada. When Morrison assembled his administration, he judiciously avoided potential problems and reached out to more neutral clergymen. Neither the Old Rector, nor Fr Thompson, was offered the position of vicar-general; instead it went to the venerable Baddeck pastor, Fr Daniel J. MacIntosh.33 Within months, most of the old rivalries had disappeared. Fr Thompson remained pastor of Glace Bay, while the Old Rector continued with his duties at the college. Morrison and the Old Rector were well suited and quickly formed a close personal friendship. A native of Cloverville, Antigonish County, and educated at the Grand Seminary of Quebec (he received an honorary doctorate once installed as a college president), Fr Hugh Peter MacPherson was described by a contemporary as having “the

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physique of a Highland Scot, tall, straight as a ramrod, with a fine face.”34 Morrison enjoyed his company and respected his academic ability. “MacPherson had the brains to understand your deeper thoughts,” one priest recalled, and the “gentlemanliness to listen to you.”35 Visitors arriving at the residence for appointments with Morrison were ushered into his small office on the main floor. His workplace was unpretentious and filled with countless books and periodicals.36 He retained some of his furniture from P E I and typed his correspondence on an old typewriter he had employed since his days at St Dunstan’s. Most of the luxuries in his workplace came in the form of gifts, including the impressive mantle clock presented to him by the Catholic Mutual Benefit Association shortly after his consecration. Morrison was a workaholic, elected to labour without a secretary, and routinely maintained long office hours. He was extremely meticulous and catalogued his correspondence by a number code issuing both incoming and outgoing letters corresponding figures. It was an effective technique that allowed him to quickly locate numerous pieces of correspondence on any given issue. When he had a public event to attend, he did so with the use of a private car, which he drove himself. He presided over Masses and episcopal ceremonies at St Ninian’s, assisted by the rector, Fr Michael A. MacAdam, and the talented Fr Michael Gillis, both of whom shared the residence with him. As he forged relationships within Antigonish, Morrison also sought contacts in Rome to execute diocesan business. The diocese had a long-standing relationship with the Scots College in Rome, fashioned in the days of Bishop William Fraser. As the go-between among the various Roman offices that made up the Curia, the Scots College linked both Scotland and Scottish Antigonish with the Holy See. For a small annual gratuity, the rector of the college attended to dispensation applications, indults (a special permission from the pope to deviate from a particular norm of Church law), subscription renewals, and any other errands that the diocese required. Accounts were opened to cover the various taxes and fees, and the college was also expected to advise foreign prelates on matters relating to canon law and pontifical procedure. In some ways the most vital function of the relationship was the privileged insider information and ­Vatican gossip that were relayed back to Canada. As was the case with the Scottish missions in the isolated Highlands in the eighteenth

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century, outsiders needed European connections. In this way, ­Antigonish remained within the bosom of the universal Church. Moreover, many of the Scots College rectors were regularly plucked from their academic positions to fill vacant sees in Scotland, giving the  Antigonish bishop powerful connections. By the summer of 1913, Morrison’s contact at the college, Fr Robert Fraser, had been appointed bishop of Dunkeld (he died in 1914). His replacement in Rome, the phlegmatic Msgr Donald Mackintosh, would be elevated as archbishop of Glasgow. These were capable and influential representatives. Morrison’s workload was steady and diverse. He was regularly requested to intervene in parish disputes, honour speaking appointments with diocesan organizations such as the Catholic Truth Society, and lobby politicians on topics ranging from public appointments to the commutation of death sentences. He assumed the leadership style of his first mentor, Peter McIntyre, and had no favourites, opting to establish professional relationships only – a strategy that surprised some who knew him to be “quite a mixer” in PEI.37 True to his Victorian rearing, he kept his feelings to himself and expected others to do likewise. Morrison’s correspondence suggested a no-nonsense approach (he once gave a negative assessment of a priest up for a bishopric due to his tardy correspondence), and his priests noticed a strict and cautious tone in his demeanour. This policy worked well, and according to diocesan historian Fr A.A. Johnston, “in an incredibly short time he produced harmony.”38 He also demanded that Antigonish get “back to the basics.” Morrison loved to participate in the Mass and considered it a priest’s fundamental responsibility. He required his priests to be punctual and to assume a respectful tone with their parishioners. He was a stickler for correct pronunciation of syllables when reciting prayers (for example, he would pronounce advertisement “advert-is-ment”). Clergy were never to remove their roman collars when outside the residence, were forbidden to attend dances and “plays given by actors,” and were especially cautioned to avoid “women who might be the cause of suspicion.”39 When informed that priests were seen smoking cigarettes in public, Morrison stood at a general assembly and offered some friendly advice. Now Fathers, I have two criticisms to make, and I’m sorry to have to make them. And I hope you will not be offended but

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I hope you’ll use them. One is now, Fathers, that it has been told to me that priests, I don’t know how many, are seen smoking ­cigarettes in public. Ah, well, now, Fathers, smoking cigarettes. I find personally that if you get a good 25 cent pipe …40 He was demanding of the younger clergy and insisted that they follow his example. Shaping up the clergy was one thing, but healing the rifts created by Bishop John Cameron required more diplomacy. Cameron’s staunch ultramontanism and his continual meddling in partisan politics had triggered notorious problems. He was, according to his biographer, “unreasonably authoritarian and even vindictive on some issues within his own diocese.”41 When informed of his death in 1910, Morrison wrote to a friend: “He was a power in his day and I think he had his full share of the trouble incident to his position. I hope he is better off in the next world.”42 It was in the present world, however, that Morrison set out to repair the damage. First, he sought to mediate a long-standing quarrel involving the parishioners of tiny Lismore, Pictou County, compelled by Cameron to attend a new church down the road at Bailey’s Brook. When they refused, the “recalcitrants” were denied the sacraments and threatened with excommunication, a tactic that Cameron used all too frequently.43 At the time, the disobedience of the Pictou community was paramount to insurrection. In a letter to the apostolic delegate, the Old Rector argued that if the “rebels in Lismore win out, ecclesiastical authority in the diocese will have received a blow from which it will not recover.”44 Morrison had no intention of emulating his predecessor, and although firm, he was determined to employ a gentler and more diplomatic approach with the community. In January 1913 he asked Fr John J. MacKinnon to organize a consultation with his disaffected parishioners at the old Lismore church. There he informed them that they were permitted to reopen their church as a mortuary chapel (Mass was to be said every third Sunday) provided that they attended the church at Bailey’s Brook. As a compromise, the graveyard at Lismore became the principal burial ground for the entire parish. Some objected to the latter clause, and so Morrison instructed his priests to be quietly accommodating. “When a case comes to you for burial,” he wrote to Fr MacKinnon, “remind the persons who come to you, or the relatives of the deceased, that the Lismore cemetery is

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the regular parish cemetery and that you would advise that the burial should take place there, but if in the end they still demand for the burial at Bailey’s Brook, than in God’s name let it go ahead.”45 Morrison’s attitude toward the Catholics of Lismore illustrated a desire to make amends with those whom Bishop Cameron had offended. There were plenty of hurt feelings throughout the diocese. On a case by case basis, Morrison sought compromise. One prominent example was in Morrison’s own cathedral parish. The people of St Ninian’s harboured lingering resentment toward the bishop’s office due to the treatment of their long-time rector, Fr Hugh Gillis. The venerable Gillis had retired from active duty in 1907 at the age of seventy-one but remained a venerated figure in Antigonish town. Formally the rector of St F.X., he served at St Ninian’s from 1863 to 1896 (he supervised the construction of the cathedral), during which time he walked the tenuous line between the politics of Bishop Cameron and those of his parishioners. When Cameron went politicking, Gillis kept the peace, and for this the Catholics of Antigonish treasured him. Moreover, there was a segment of the diocese that believed Gillis had been transferred from Antigonish to Port Hawkesbury in 1896 for refusing to sanction Cameron’s aggressive dictates on the Manitoba Schools Question. Mindful of these feelings, in the early summer of 1914 Morrison wrote Rome and requested that Gillis be made a domestic prelate (the second-highest rank of monsignor). When announced some months later, the tribute helped heal old wounds and ingratiated Morrison with the Antigonish community. While attempting to mediate the troubles from Bishop Cameron’s final years, Morrison was careful not to impair the diocese’s prestige. Privately he was willing to accommodate those with grievances, but nothing untoward was uttered about Cameron publicly. To demonstrate diocesan solidarity, Morrison and the Old Rector decided to erect a monument to the late bishop, complete with a beretta to cover his baldness, in front of St F.X.’s Xavier Hall. A collection was taken up in the parishes to fund the project. This was a canny decision. To ask people, many still harbouring ill feelings toward the late bishop, to contribute money was audacious; nonetheless, Morrison believed that a statue to Cameron would not only honour an accomplished prelate but also put to rest a divisive period in the diocese.46 It was an orderly conclusion to a painful era. While forging ahead in Antigonish, Morrison’s former life in Prince Edward Island was never far off. In the twilight hours of

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7 March 1913, an electrical fire broke out in St Dunstan’s Cathedral. The priests from the palace were the first to arrive on the scene and hastily attempted to save what they could before being overwhelmed by smoke. The redoubtable Fr Gregory McLellan was so severely shaken that bystanders had to help him back to his residence.47 As  the bells of the neighbouring St Paul’s and St Peter’s Anglican Churches rang out in caution, hundreds of Charlottetowners watched the fire brigade struggle to contain the blaze throughout the wee hours. By the following morning the fire was extinguished, but the cathedral was destroyed.48 Morrison was shocked and troubled by the news. Writing to Fr McLellan, he pondered the cause of the disaster and speculated that it must have been faulty wiring, although he was sure that they had followed the proper safety procedures.49 Soon after, a request came from Charlottetown for monies to help rebuild the structure. Morrison was apprehensive about complying. He confessed to Fr Ronald MacDonald of Pictou that he was “somewhat shy of making such an appeal,” even to rebuild a cathedral that held special meaning for him.50 Antigonish was not wealthy, and besides, each diocese was responsible for its own well-being. The decision not to appeal for funds to rebuild St Dunstan’s Cathedral reveals both Morrison’s reserved personality and his newfound loyalty to Antigonish. Others would have sent monies out of sympathy or simple nostalgia, but Morrison was only looking forward. He was very much impressed with his new home, and most especially by the college. St F.X. was literally in his backyard, and as bishop he also served as its chancellor. At a welcoming ceremony, the faculty announced their pleasure at receiving “an ardent and expe­ rienced educationist” to guide the institution.51 In reply Morrison promised that he would always regard the college as the apple of his eye.52 Many considered St F.X. on the verge of becoming a prominent force in Catholic higher education in the Maritime provinces, and the entire faculty shared this optimism. New buildings were in the works, and the quality of the staff was improving as a number of freshly minted PhDs returned from postgraduate studies. These included Fr D.J. MacDonald, who was awarded a PhD in English from the Catholic University of America in Washington, D C, and Fr Miles Tompkins, whose credentials included a postgraduate degree from the Ontario Agricultural College in Guelph. Writing to an alumnus, Morrison was clear that it was his ambition “to have one of the best colleges in Canada right here in Eastern Nova Scotia.”53

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Morrison had tremendous respect for the academic achievements of all Catholic colleges, and an obvious fondness for St Dunstan’s, but he considered St F.X. the leading institution in the Maritimes. Funding remained a problem. A drive initiated in 1907 to raise $300,000 had been unsuccessful, in part because internal factionalism had undermined public confidence in the institution.54 In an attempt to revitalize the campaign, in 1913 St F.X. hired a specialist from New York who had raised $1.5 million for McGill University in less than two weeks and who only recently had raised $200,000 for Mount Allison University in Sackville, New Brunswick. Although St F.X. did not reach its fundraising goal, the money that was raised was critical to reshaping the direction of the college and strengthening its prestige.55 As the new college song declared: “Xavier’s, look not backwards. The future is thy goal.”56 As the hub of Catholic intellectualism in eastern Nova Scotia, St F.X. was home to a number of the diocese’s most influential personalities. None was more remarkable than Fr James J. Tompkins, whose “frail physique, simple manner, and pleasant conversation” concealed a “free-swinging imagination, a fluent vocabulary, and a relentless sense of mission.”57 A native of Margaree, Cape Breton, and a former student at the Urban College of the Propaganda Fide (he did not graduate due to illness), Tompkins had been assigned to the college in one capacity or another since 1902. As vice-president and director of studies, he had a growing reputation as a passionate educator and was quietly urging the university to better train its professors. In 1912 he travelled to England and attended the conference of the Universities of the Empire held in London. Delegates from Scotland to Saskatchewan gave speeches and facilitated discussion groups on all manner of educational topics. During one session, A.R. Marriott of Worcester College, Oxford, told the assembled that “universities need to train and to influence not the tens of thousands who even now become their matriculated students, but the millions who can never secure that privilege.”58 These words greatly impressed Tompkins, and he returned home with a determination to raise the intellectual tone of St F.X.59 He had profound ideas and would elucidate them to anyone willing to listen. His passion and energy were contagious; he was a fascinating figure. Unlike many academic bureaucrats, Fr Tompkins was excep­tionally student-oriented and extremely popular among the St F.X. undergraduates. His papers are full of correspondence from graduates

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2.3  Fr James J. Tompkins (1870–1953), c. 1905

asking to be remembered “in his prayers.” He sent money to alumni down on their luck and was constantly offering advice (after giving up cigars, he counselled his former pupils to stop smoking). One young man, a lawyer in Alberta, wrote of his clandestine marriage to a respectable Irish girl, asking that the priest keep it a secret “until the proper time to divulge it” arrived.60 Another admirer wrote, “Father you are simply a wonder, and although you are very small in stature you are awfully mighty.”61 Most of the college faculty and staff shared these sentiments, yet Fr Tompkins was not without his detractors. Some believed that the priest had become too outspoken, while others thought that St F.X. could not afford his romantic aspirations. The French professor, Fr  Arsene Henri Cormier, for one, grumbled that Tompkins had taken advantage of a weak Rector MacPherson and “patronized and

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manipulated the staff.”62 Morrison paid scant attention to these detractors and gave Tompkins the benefit of the doubt; after all, he was a good fundraiser (he once convinced R.B. Bennett – then a newly elected member of Parliament – to contribute $2,000, although “he had never seen Antigonish”63), and the burgeoning college needed someone with his energy and enthusiasm. At a college social, the two men had the chance to greet each other formally. Tompkins’s first impressions of Morrison were astute. He described the bishop as someone with the intelligence to navigate the factional waters of Antigonish. He is “quite ascetic and intellectual looking. I should take him withal to be a ‘canny Scot,’ which will not do him any particular harm in his line of business in these parts.”64 These were prophetic words. Morrison spent much of his inaugural year travelling to the parishes under his care. He gave speeches and blessed chapels, bells, and graveyards. Each parish had its own economic and cultural importance, and Morrison was keen to visit them all. No community fascinated him more, however, than industrial Cape Breton, and over the course of his career the problems of the industrial sector would intersect suddenly and decisively with his. From the late nineteenth century the Dominion Coal Company had consolidated most of the region’s coal mines under an umbrella corporation and negotiated a ninety-nine year lease with the Province of Nova Scotia.65 The company “rationalized exploitation of the coal resource,” argues David Frank, but more important, it “applied a much needed infusion of capital and technology.”66 Soon after, a world-class steel plant was constructed on five hundred acres along Sydney Harbour. Seemingly overnight, the town of Sydney was transformed from a “peaceful old-fashioned country town” to one of the largest centres of industry in Canada.67 New towns such as Dominion, Reserve, and Whitney Pier sprang up around industry as thousands of people poured into the area for work. In Glace Bay alone, the number of Catholics increased by more than 5,000 between 1901 and 1911.68 People came from other regions of Canada, eastern Europe, Italy, and Britain. Thousands of Newfoundlanders from places such as Conception Bay and Tilt Cove took advantage of a new railway and the Reid Company’s “alphabet fleet” of ships to exchange the “flakes and stages” of the fishery for a job in a colliery.69 One of the first parishes in the district visited by Morrison was St John the Baptist in New Aberdeen, Glace Bay.70 Situated around

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the Dominion No. 2 (later No. 20) colliery, which had opened in 1898, New Aberdeen epitomized the Cape Breton coal-mining experience. The mine produced 26.6 million tons of coal from 1900 to 1949, making it one of the largest in the world.71 The workers, most of whom were immigrants, faced poverty, harsh working conditions, and the constant threat of deadly accidents.72 Standing on the steps of the church building, Morrison surveyed the rows of company houses that stretched from the coastal cliffs, past “the Hub” and toward the town of Glace Bay. Speaking to the mixed crowd of Nova Scotians, eastern Europeans, and Newfoundlanders, he promised to “take the deepest interest in the spiritual and temporal welfare” of the parish.73 His audience appreciated these thoughtful sentiments and hoped that Morrison would be more proactive than his predecessor. Morrison’s primary concern for Catholics in the colliery towns was their religious welfare. But the influx of immigrants wreaked havoc on Church administration, even though Morrison required his priests to regularly, and diligently, report demographic changes in their parishes. He and his clergy worried that new immigrants were converting to Protestantism before the diocese could provide for them. This was especially true in Sydney, where home missionaries were luring newcomers away from the faith.74 Fr Donald MacAdam at Sacred Heart in Sydney, the largest parish in Cape Breton, warned of the difficulties in trying to get the non-English-speaking immigrants to attend Mass as many of them did not understand the Latin rite or the orthodoxy of Canadian Catholicism. The clergy expressed urgency to supply the colliery towns with priests who could minister to the immigrant communities in their native languages. Mission churches were hastily constructed, while Morrison searched for roving foreign priests to staff them. Concerned about ethnic jealousies within the areas controlled by the Dominion Coal Company, the diocese encouraged Catholic societies, such as the Ancient Order of Hibernians and L’Assumption, to band together into a single federation, giving them more influence and prestige.75 As more labourers and their families migrated to Cape Breton, the Catholic Immigrant Society urged newcomers to attend Mass, but without the infrastructure to support the growing numbers, overcrowding was widespread. The chaos was evident in parishes such as Whitney Pier’s Holy Redeemer, where Fr Roderick MacInnis was desperately trying to cope with an influx of Italian and Lithuanian

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immigrants. MacInnis had help from Fr Domenico Viola, the resident priest at the small Italian parish of St Nicholas (in the north end), but soon the Italian was also complaining of overwork and openly worried that he could no longer effectively minister to the burgeoning community.76 Fr Louis Soaib, labouring among the mainly Lebanese immigrants who belonged to the Maronite rite, faced the enormous task of acclimatizing his parishioners, although these “good Catholics” were learning English and sending their children to the local convent school.77 The influx of foreign Catholics into the diocese created a renaissance of sorts, but whether to construct new ethnic churches was a problematic decision for Morrison and a topic of debate among the clergy. In some Canadian cities, clerical ignorance of ethnic cultures and customs and unpopular, transitory priests caused tension within immigrant communities and sometimes led to abandonment of the Church.78 Within the Diocese of Antigonish, most priests argued that integration of migrants into existing parishes offered the best opportunity to circumvent debt. Moreover, the clergy believed that national parishes built a wall of separation between communities, whereas Catholics should be teaching their children that the Canadian nationality was their nationality. It was one thing to create another English-speaking parish, such as Mount Carmel in New Waterford, which was established shortly after Morrison’s arrival in Antigonish; it was quite another to build ethnic parishes, staffed with pastors who spoke little or no English. Yet Morrison observed that most newcomers were determined to worship with people from their homeland. Even when scattered throughout the colliery districts, they came together on Sunday. When preparing to confirm a number of Italian children, Morrison wrote Fr Viola to ask if he wished to have the children “confirmed in the parishes in which they lived or all in one place.”79 The Italian community was permitted to open its own church, St Nicholas, in 1912. In 1913, Fr Antoni Plucinski, a Polish priest recruited by Morrison to labour in Whitney Pier, got the community excited over the possibility of having a Polish church of their own.80 The Polish community was larger than the Italian community, and so it only seemed fair that Polish people have the same opportunity. S.R. Gwozd, representative of the Polish Catholics, assured Morrison that the “four hundred souls” had bought all the vestments and “nearly everything

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that [a] priest requires.”81 Despite his reservations, Morrison gave the petition serious consideration. “From what I know of these people, the end of this agitation will be that they will open their own church, if not in the regular way, then in some schismatical manner,” he wrote to Fr MacInnis in Sydney, “and I may add that some expressions in their letter scarcely conceals such a possibility.”82 Morrison had financial concerns (a glebe and eventually a school would be required), but he acknowledged that the Polish community was resourceful. After all, in a short period, they had managed to establish the St Michael’s Society and erect a first-class hall in which to hold meetings and social events.83 Having recently made peace at Lismore, and fearful of a public spat, Morrison gave permission to establish St Mary’s parish in Whitney Pier. At least this way, he mused, the diocese would still be able to maintain “some control over the details.” The construction of new parishes provided Morrison the opportunity to reinforce the importance of education as a means to initiate newcomers, promote solidarity, and safeguard the faith. He was fond of Archbishop Manning’s dictum: “schools before churches.” One of his first excursions out of the diocese was to attend the second missionary congress of the Catholic Church Extension Society held at Boston College in the autumn of 1913.84 Founded by an islander, Fr Francis C. Kelley, the society’s mission was to support indigent Catholic missions and dioceses.85 One speaker, the former Antigonish priest Archbishop Neil McNeil of Toronto, mused that Catholic parochial schools represented the “assimilating power” of religion.86 The Catholic Register in Toronto had long argued that the “surest way of making the foreigners into good Canadians was to make them good Catholics,”87 and most English-speaking prelates were conscious that educational facilities were a public representation of the faith. When constructing a new school, the diocese meticulously considered every detail “as any discrepancy in the building might give cause for public attacks by those opposed to denominational education.”88 After a devastating fire destroyed the parochial school in Whitney Pier (it had an attendance of over 600), Morrison personally scrutinized the architectural plans for the new facility and insisted that his priests do likewise. In any case, he wrote to Fr MacInnis, “since there is a fairly strong element of opposition against the Catholic schools it will be very necessary not to leave any opening for an attack upon the sanitary condition

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whether real or alleged.”89 The school took priority and neither energy nor money was spared. Morrison was proud of the Catholic school program, although Fr  Tompkins thought most common (and convent) schools were “mighty poor.”90 The bishop respected those who publicly defended Catholic education and recalled fondly a late family friend who was not only an outspoken champion of parochial schools, but also someone who “had the faith all right, and could defend it very well for a man of limited education and opportunities.” Regrettably, the pursuit of parochial schools occasionally strained relations with Morrison’s Protestant counterparts, as the “presence of ‘ecclesiastical garb’ and religious symbols in ‘public schools’ was enough to irritate most Protestant clergy.”91 As one historian observed, the ­sisters not only taught math and history, they also “helped with the liturgy, missions and entertainment; they prepared the children for first communion and confirmation; and they established sodalities, organizations devoted to fostering religious devotion.”92 The Loyal Orange Lodge in Sydney, strongly opposed to a Catholic ethos within publicly funded institutions, laboured to draw attention to the matter by making it the focus of the 1914 Sydney municipal election. Although Catholic students in public schools in demographically Catholic districts were taught religion for only about fifteen minutes in the early morning, the prospect of new convent schools was contentious, and Protestant voters outnumbered their Catholic counterparts. The arguments of the Orange Lodge were lucid. Catholic schools were discriminatory because they encouraged segregation while utilizing public monies. Catholics responded that such protests were not only intolerant but fiscally reckless. Forcing half the population to finance both a Catholic and a public school made little economic sense. The question of denominational schools was not merely an “orange and green” matter. Many Catholics themselves were uncomfortable with segregating students by religious persuasion, and these parishioners were treated with contempt by local priests. One clergyman wrote to Morrison suggesting that a particular agitator be excommunicated.93 It was a delicate matter. In New Aberdeen the redoubtable Fr John Fraser objected to the presence of the Sisters of  Charity in the parochial school on the basis that it would put a  number of young female instructors out of work. When asked by  the school board if he supported the decision to employ the

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congregation, he replied that he did not, but if he admitted it publicly “the bishop will kill me.”94 When Morrison heard of Fraser’s contrary views, he sent the priest a none-too-subtle letter suggesting that he conform or retire: I do not wish to overburden you with such strenuous work if your health does not justify it, for I would be very sorry to place an over-exacting task on anyone. But the necessity of putting this work through is paramount, and really if your health is an obstacle to the completion of the work in the time specified, then would it not be better to put some young priest with robust health who can throw himself with vigour in the prosecution of this work … In that case it would be better that you take some parish of easier administrative conditions and so permit the Aberdeen proposition to be pushed with all the necessary energy. The Catholic school is too sacred a trust to be sacrificed for any secondary consideration and no doubt its paramount importance is fully appreciated by us all.95 It was a severe ultimatum to a venerable priest, but Morrison would not tolerate tampering with his education program. Although Catholics were anxious about the outcome of the 1914 municipal election, the voters of Sydney upheld denominational education, in part by electing a moderate mayor. Morrison attributed the victory to Catholic solidarity and to “fair-minded Protestants,” many of whom came from Newfoundland where denominational education was the norm.96 The provincial government, mindful of the acrimony generated by the election, formed a committee to assess Protestant grievances. When told that the Orange Legislative Com­ mittee was in Halifax to interview members of the cabinet, Morrison feared that the government had sectarian as well as political motives and insisted that Catholic schools be left alone. In a letter to Premier George Murray, Morrison sought assurance that his “good sense will not be influenced by any wild or irresponsible representations that may be made with a view of injuring those schools,” and anticipated that he could rely upon the government “not to be a party to any move that would be detrimental to them.”97 Privately, however, Morrison was anxious. The correspondence with Premier Murray over education represented only a fraction of Morrison’s broader agenda to assert

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influence on the political system. He sought relationships with elected politicians, local party officials, and members of the media. He spent countless hours writing reference letters for friends whom he judged to be appropriate representatives of the diocese as senators in Ottawa or judges in the county courts. He employed his influence to solidify his ascendancy within the local political vista and ensure that Nova Scotia had creditable and reliable Catholic politicians. Despite his personal propensity to lean toward the Conservative Party, Morrison was formally nonpartisan (and in fact sought senate seats for various Antigonish Liberals). To circumvent the old political acrimony of Bishop Cameron, Morrison was adamant that his clergy stay out of the political arena. Overt party affiliations were not tolerated, and there were no exceptions. Morrison was a keen student of politics. He had tremendous faith in the electoral process but was increasingly troubled by the apparent inequity of Confederation and the loss of political influence in the Maritime provinces. Moreover, the out-migration of Catholic voters from the region had genuine political consequences for both Nova Scotia and his diocese. The redistribution of seats in the federal Parliament stripped the region of influence in Ottawa and frustrated those seeking answers to a declining economy. When the Montreal Star reported that the federal election boundary commission intended to merge the ridings of Antigonish and Guysborough, as well as Richmond and Inverness, Morrison wrote to the Halifax judge and Antigonish native, Sir Joseph Chisholm, to express his anxiety: From what consideration I have given to the results of a combination of Antigonish and Guysboro, I have been wondering whether or not such a combination would be safe for a Catholic representative. As far as numbers go, it ought to be safe; but I have understood all along that party lines are pretty sharply drawn, and might easily result in a divided Catholic vote ... Accordingly I have been considering whether or not the Pictou County census would be sufficient to let the eastern part of the county be added to Antigonish, and thus save the representation of the County.98 Eliminating two seats in eastern Nova Scotia not only put the Maritime region at a disadvantage, but also meant that “more than

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a pound of flesh” was being extracted from the portion of the province with a large Catholic demographic. The way the “question of representation is working out for the Maritime Provinces is sufficiently discouraging,” he complained to Prime Minister Robert Borden.99 In particular, Nova Scotia was not receiving its due consideration. It was obvious to Morrison that the long-term welfare of the diocese was directly tied to the fortunes of the province, and he was constantly warning his priests that they had to pay close attention to the dwindling fortunes of the region. Morrison was not the only clergyman worried about the dismal economic and political condition of the Maritimes. The mines of Cape Breton were pulling in many Catholic migrants, but the rural areas were pushing many more away. At St F.X., Fr Tompkins was busy formulating ideas “to get the western spirit” and revive the local economy. Sociologist Dan MacInnes has argued that St F.X.’s shift from seminary to university during Tompkins’s tenure as vicepresident had prepared the priest-professors “to go out to the people with something other than the philosophic tenets of classical training.”100 In 1913 the priest was active in the Antigonish Forward Movement, a “progressive impulse” that sought to boost civic action, encourage public dialogue, and revitalize local business. It was, argues MacInnes, “the first testing ground for the public socio-­ economic theorizing of the intellectuals gathered at the college.”101 There was a widespread conviction that the economic stagnation of the region was rooted in “commercial pessimism.”102 While calling for a change in attitude, the priest demanded a reform of agricultural methods, a commitment to technological advancement, and a dedication to local cooperation. Tompkins’s column in The Casket was widely read, and its concepts and strategies generated an intellectual buzz within the community. At a December 1913 meeting of the Antigonish Board of Trade, members told Tompkins that the local economy was undermined by dismal business practices and a leadership deficiency. Tompkins was determined to fix these problems. One chronicler of the Antigonish Movement wrote that Tompkins “did not act upon these ideas in isolation.” Instead, as Anne Alexander writes, he “forged connections with people seeking change in society and expressed his beliefs publicly.”103 Contrary to the prevailing accounts, Morrison and Tompkins shared a concern about the miserable economy, and it is clear that the bishop was supportive of the Forward Movement.

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Morrison was pleased, even if tempered, by Tompkins’s efforts. In a letter to the Old Rector, who was vacationing in the Caribbean, Morrison commented that “the forward movement fever is still on,” boasting that there was “quite an awakening along those lines.”104 Other priests such as Fr “Little Doc” Hugh MacPherson (not to be confused with the Old Rector) were active in organiz­ ing wool growers, pioneering new agricultural techniques, and encouraging local farmers to adopt more “scientific methods.”105 The Casket, as James Cameron notes, “ceaselessly and energetically” promoted the Forward Movement, “religiously reporting its advances and victories.”106 In the spring of 1914 Morrison and some other North American bishops were obliged to make their ad limina to Rome. Under canon law, a Roman Catholic bishop must present himself to the pope every five years to have his canonical faculties renewed and to report on the condition of his diocese. It was a sort of working holiday. Morrison travelled with Fr Donald MacAdam, a fellow Urban College alumnus, by train to Boston, whence they booked passage across the Atlantic on the White Star liner, Canopic. Much had changed in the Holy City since Morrison sat in the benches at the Propaganda Fide, and he sought to reestablish relationships with those close to power. Like Bishop Cameron before him, Morrison had the advantage of having spent five years in close proximity to the Vatican as a seminarian, giving him an intimate understanding of its rather complex bureaucracy. He lodged at the Canadian College and had reunions with a number of former classmates who staffed the numerous Vatican Curias. He visited the tombs of the apostles, strolled through the ruins of the Baths of Caracalla, and attended social functions. During one gathering he was introduced to the newest member of the cardinalate, the archbishop of Bologna, Giacomo Cardinal Della Chiesa. Morrison had a brief conversation with the future pope and came away impressed by the well-spoken and “extremely popular” prelate. The highlight of any ad limina is the audience with the pope. For many it was an awe-inspiring experience. One of the best accounts was offered by Archbishop Neil McNeil of Toronto, who wrote: “The officers of the Swiss Guard, the gentlemen in waiting, and the prelates and cardinals moving about in those large gorgeous rooms, make a scene not easily forgotten.”107 As Morrison was a novice, and this was his first interview with the Holy Father, he was

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accompanied to the papal apartment by Cape Breton native, Bishop Alexander MacDonald of Victoria, British Columbia. They waited with others who had scheduled appointments in the hall of Saint Gregory before entering a large, if simply furnished, audience chamber on the second floor of the palace. In the bright sunshine on the morning of 11 June, the Canadian bishops were introduced to the frail and obviously ailing pontiff by a “sharp looking” papal secretary.108 Pope Pius X impressed Morrison deeply, both because of his office and because he was the first pontiff in centuries to hail from peasant stock. The Holy Father refused to grant titles to his relatives (his family remained quite lowly) and disliked the pomp and ceremony of the Vatican. Having recently suffered a severe stroke, the pope was only able to converse for a few minutes, but their discussion, and the novelty of the visit, encouraged Morrison, who later commented that the pope was interested in the educational impact that “efficient Catholic institutions” such as St F.X. were having in the province.109 By the summer of 1914 Europe was poised on the brink of war, but few in the Italian capital were conscious of the gathering storm – certainly not Morrison, who remarked after hostilities broke out that there “did not seem to be the slightest suspicion of any trouble of this kind.”110 On 28 June as the bishop sailed for Canada, Gavrilo Princip, a Bosnian Serb, shot and killed Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the heir to the Habsburg throne, who was on a state visit with his wife to the troublesome city of Sarajevo. As Morrison steamed for Boston, the tension in Austria-Hungary intensified. It was not until he disembarked the ship that he read of the Austrian ultimatum to Serbia and of the diplomatic scramble by European governments to avoid war. On 29 July Russia mobilized its vast population, and on 1 August Germany reacted with a declaration of war. The Wilhelmstrasse followed this with another declaration against France two days later. The British government demanded that the German Army not cross into neutral Belgium, and when this ultimatum was ignored, the British declared war.111 Among the commotion created by the pronouncement, Morrison was uncertain of what to expect. He queried Fr L.E. Perrin at the Canadian College in Rome: “What a terrible war is on now in Europe. Is it the great Armageddon, or what is it?”112 While caught up in the European commotion, Morrison received a cable announcing that Pope Pius X had died. The war had put the

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Holy See in a difficult position as Catholics poured into the armies of both sides. The late pontiff had employed his considerable influence to avert hostilities, but had failed. On the very afternoon of his death, the German front, “stretched out between Lorraine and Luxembourg,” began to advance.113 When some of the cardinals from France, Belgium, and England (those who could make it) arrived in Rome to prepare for the conclave, they were surprised by the sympathy that the Italian population displayed for the Central powers.114 The conclave was tense as the electors chose between a spiritual or political pontiff. Morrison echoed the opinion of other Canadian Catholics in anticipating the selection of a new pope with formal diplomatic experience. The conclave agreed (by bare minimum) and on 3 September, the small and frail new pope, the former papal diplomat Giacomo Cardinal Della Chiesa, was announced to the crowd of more than 50,000 in St Peter’s Square. Pope Benedict XV swiftly called upon the warring nations to proclaim a Christmas truce, an olive branch that was ignored. Although Nova Scotians preferred peace, there was a naïve confidence in a swift and effortless war. Antigonish was pulsating with war fever, certain that the maligned German kaiser and his jackbooted Prussian armies would be easily defeated, bringing the whole affair to a tidy conclusion by the Christmas holidays. Although there was a fear that the conflict would bring with it a rise in the cost of living, The Casket anticipated “that costs will not be advanced unreasonably.”115 In correspondence with associates in Charlottetown and throughout the Maritime provinces, Morrison detected a similar attitude. Patriotism was abundant and men travelled as far as Montreal to “receive the colours.” Even the monks at the Tracadie monastery, most of whom were pacifistic by nature, returned home as all the brothers “capable of bearing arms were called to the colours of France” (by 1918 two were dead).116 Not to be outdone by other diocesan efforts, at St F.X. Fr Tompkins and the Old Rector raised monies to “help the college through the pinch.”117 There was a rapid militarization of campus as drill sheds were constructed and khaki uniforms became commonplace. “Today the College is a veritable Valcartier,” cried the St F.X. campus newspaper, the Xavierian.118 As in other communities throughout the country, the onset of war presented an opportunity for Catholics to “demonstrate proudly their loyalty to Canada and the Empire.”119 Yet some parents of St F.X. students resented the recruiting office

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that was set up on campus, and at least one Ottawa woman noted that she would not send her son back to Antigonish should he return home from the war (he was killed in 1917).120 Despite the patriotism on display, Fr Tompkins was adamant that every student knew the college “could not have gone further in its war attitude without being put down as being positively opposed to the students going.”121 Although Tompkins may have discouraged some of his students from enlisting, St F.X. was sufficiently caught up in the patriotic fervour that it established, perhaps over ambitiously, a stationary hospital staffed entirely of friends and alumni. Under the command of alumnus Lt Colonel Dr Roderick C. MacLeod, the unit (complete with a brass band) left for Europe aboard the Missanabie bound for Liverpool, England, on 19 June 1916. Unfortunately, once in France the unit broke down and members dispersed to separate hospitals. Others, frustrated at the lack of organization, joined other units.122 Although not a total success (MacLeod was dead by January 1917), the unit raised the prestige of the college and served as a means to offer moral and financial support to the fighting forces.123 As a prominent religious figure, Morrison was courted by a number of war-related agencies. The initial request for patronage came from the Belgium Relief Committee. Harrowing rumours of German atrocities against the population were widespread; in response, Nova Scotia premier, George Murray, organized a committee to raise funds and supplies for the beleaguered state.124 Letters arrived at the residence from prominent Belgium nationals, and from Princess ­ Henriette, the duchess of Vendôme, decrying that the country’s churches, cities, and villages, “formerly so prosperous,” were now plundered or destroyed. “The smallest offering,” wrote the princess, “will be received with the utmost thankfulness.”125 Sympathetic, Morrison sent a circular to the diocese in support of an “unwilling victim of the war.” He expected “a prompt and substantial response.” The destitution with which the little kingdom of Belgium is threatened, he wrote, “is of such terrible portent, that a heart-rendering cry has reached this country to help save that valiant people.”126 Following this popular and successful appeal (the small parish of Arisaig contributed $34 in cash and $286.35 in goods), Morrison was made honorary president of the Antigonish chapter of the Canadian Patriotic Fund, a noteworthy appointment considering it was an interdenominational organization.127 The Old Rector served as the president of the chapter, assisted by the local Presbyterian

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2.4  Xavier Hall, St F.X., c. 1920 (note the statue of Bishop Cameron)

pastor. An ecumenical spirit prevailed; Catholic and Protestant clergymen even shared the stage in Cape Breton Orange Lodges. This ecumenism echoed similar displays in other Canadian dioceses, such as Toronto, where Archbishop McNeil allowed his clergy to participate in “days of prayer” with Protestant ministers.128 Morrison was under no illusions as to the nature of the conflict. In August 1914 he quietly celebrated the twenty-fifth anniversary of his ordination by writing to former classmates and friends. He received a number of congratulatory telegrams and letters from acquaintances in Europe that provided first-hand narratives of the preparations for war. This detailed correspondence provided an alternative account of the conflict and contradicted the propaganda of the local media. Morrison warned those closest to him that despite the propaganda, a long and bloody fight was likely at hand. “For most of them, it is going to be a life and death struggle,” he wrote to Msgr Donald Mackintosh at the Scots College Rome, “and consequently will likely be fought to the bitter end.”129 As one historian of the diocese noted, by August 1914 The Casket “showed a change of attitude that was more realistic.”130

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The generally naïve opinion held by the public regarding a swift victory constantly challenged Morrison’s foreboding of a protracted and deadly struggle. In the late summer of 1915, concerned that authorities were failing to promote enlistment, Morrison began encouraging parishioners to sign up. “I think it proper to say that competent military recruiters should be employed to make an active canvass, and that no time should be lost about it,” he wrote to the commander of the 6th Division in Halifax. “I consider it disgraceful that in this time of stress there seems to be no let-up in the round of sports, excursions, plays and what not, without any apparent concern for the safety of our country.”131 On the very eve of the conflict, Morrison was revolted by the cavalier atmosphere. Illustrating tremendous foresight, he warned that it would be a miserable reflection on the manhood of the empire if conscription was needed due to a lack of volunteers. Accordingly, The Casket became a constant recruiter, praising the heroism of the men already in Europe and printing cheerful letters from England and France.132 Morrison was not alone in offering episcopal support to the war effort. Prominent English-speaking Canadian prelates including Archbishop Neil McNeil of Toronto and Bishop Michael Fallon of London, Ontario, “spurred on churchmen to demonstrate their loyalty to Canada as a mature dominion in the British Empire.”133 The Catholic Register (Toronto) even supported national registration and conscription. By the time of the great Allied offensive on the banks of the Somme River in July 1916, Morrison had composed copious circulars in support of recruitment. He also warned that beyond the defence of Belgium and the godlessness of the Hun, Canada’s future was at stake: Our interests in the final success of this undertaking are wrapped up not only in the cause of the Empire and of justice between nations, which alone would be sufficient to claim our best efforts in supporting such a cause, but also in the fact that the future status of Canada is a very important factor which in no small measure will be affected according as the final results will be ­victory or defeat for the allies.134 The bishop was unwavering in his call for sacrifice – the great bloodletting had not yet begun – and implored young men from the

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diocese to join “the already large number of their brethren in the faith” who have enlisted for overseas service.135 Morrison and his priests had tremendous influence in the parishes, and their aspiration to recruit soldiers had an explicit consequence on enlistment statistics. Like a feudal lord inducing tenants to fight for the king, a word of patriotic encouragement from the bishop was often enough to send young men to a recruiting depot. “Young men of Antigonish and eastern Nova Scotia,” The Casket thundered, “come forward now and do your part to defend the rights and ­privileges that your fore-fathers won for you, and your name will be held in honour in your families and by your country.”136 Boys from the diocese filled the ranks of Canadian battalions such as the 25th, 27th, 38th, 40th, 66th, and 85th.137 Cape Breton raised its own battalion, the 185th, commonly known as the Cape Breton Highlanders, while French-speaking Acadians enlisted in the 165th. The Catholic prelates were capable recruiters. “I have no sympathy at all for the mothers hanging on to the coat tails of their sons,” Bishop Fallon told his flock, “nor with the wives who are clinging to their husbands.”138 The capacity to safeguard the spiritual needs of soldiers was an intricate component of Morrison’s recruitment message. To ensure that enlisted men got to Mass and received the sacraments, priests enlisted alongside the men as chaplains. For soldiers away from home and in a strict military environment, the chaplain was “the most poignant visible reminder of the Catholic faith.”139 It would be  criminal for any bishop to leave the soldiers to their violent fate  without “making all the spiritual provisions for them.”140 As Canadian clergymen of all denominations poured into the military, there was confusion as to how the national chaplaincy service was to be organized. Ottawa made various erratic decisions, and according to historian Duff Crerar, none more so than the selection (more senior men were passed over) of the Ottawa Anglican priest, Richard Henry Steacy, as senior chaplain.141 In time, the government, and the Catholic chaplains, would rue this patronage appointment. In the early stages of the war, Morrison, inflamed by the guns of August, eagerly expedited chaplains for Nova Scotia regiments. He ostensibly gave little thought to sectarian issues germinating within the Canadian Expeditionary Force (CEF). Within a few months, however, complaints began to filter back to Canada concerning the unfair treatment of Catholic chaplains at the hands of military officers. The

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regulations of the British army stipulated two (some officers would have preferred none at all) Catholic chaplains per division, although this was eventually raised to five. Consequently, on average there were only two Catholic priests for every 20,000 soldiers. When the First Canadian Division went to France in 1915, they had but two Catholic chaplains.142 More problematic, the priests whom Morrison designated as chaplains for local battalions were often transferred elsewhere once the quota for the division was filled. The first to be transferred was Fr Donald MacPherson, who was ordered to leave the 25th Battalion Nova Scotia Rifles, stationed in the Kentish countryside, for the Dardanelles on the very eve of the battalion’s departure for France. He was treated callously, and when he protested that he was expected to remain attached to the 25th, he was told that no chaplain could serve exclusively with a single battalion. The 2nd Canadian Division had its chaplain quota and so he would have to serve elsewhere.143 Soon after the news of Fr MacPherson’s transfer to Turkey ­filtered back to Antigonish, letters from soldiers complaining of insufficient access to Catholic chaplains reached Canada. One chaplain wrote to the Catholic Register that “Anglican padres swarmed at the front while wounded Catholic boys were going without the Sacraments.”144 For one thing, wrote one priest, “the difference between [his] duties and those of a Protestant chaplain” was considerable, and even though it was impossible to give every soldier the personal attention accorded at home to a man in danger of death, he should at least be able to “offer the sacraments with greater regularity.”145 In response, Morrison wrote an angry letter to James Lougheed, a senator, and one of Borden’s high-ranking cabinet ministers, seeking an explanation: I feel it a duty to memorialize the department of Militia with ­reference to the shortage of Catholic chaplains with the Catholic overseas forces. Complaints to this effect are frequently coming here from across the ocean, and it is becoming a matter of public talk in this part of the country.146 The bishop stressed that chaplains must be left with the regional battalions to which they were attached. Moreover, he objected to the habit of posting able clergymen to divisional headquarters. Rather, they should be sent to the trenches, where they could best dispatch

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their spiritual duties among those likely to die. Morrison further cautioned Lougheed that the maltreatment of chaplains would not only deny Catholic soldiers their sacramental rights, but if rumours of the deficiency filtered back to the diocese, it would severely hamper recruiting. Lougheed responded with a flurry of apologetic letters and successfully convinced Morrison that Fr MacPherson’s transfer would be investigated. With this guarantee, Fr Ronald C. MacGillivray, assistant at the Cape Breton parish of Port Hood, was sent to replace Fr MacPherson with the 25th, Fr Ronald MacDonald sailed with the 85th Nova Scotia Highlanders, and Fr Miles Tompkins joined the 40th (The Halifax Rifles). In a letter to Fr MacPherson, Morrison expressed optimism that his transfer would be overturned, promising that “efforts will be made to improve the whole situation.” In the meantime, the priest was to “render unto Caesar” and follow the orders of his military superiors.147 While Morrison continued to make enquiries, the shortage of priests forced frequent changes in clerical appointments. He wrote to St Augustine’s Seminary and asked that they expedite the ordination of Daniel Doyle and John R. MacDonald so that they might return home.148 He gave parishes to inexperienced men who would have normally benefited from a few more years as assistants. Conscious of this greenness, Morrison demanded much of his young priests, but had no qualms about leading by example. The personnel shortage left the hospital without a chaplain, and the bishop awoke each morning at 5:15 a.m. (almost two hours before the bell in the main building woke the rest of campus) to say Mass and make the spiritual rounds. The hectic schedule and “early morning outing[s]” appealed to his missionary nature and reminded him of his early priestly years on P E I .149 Yet, a young man he was not, and the additional commitments soon weakened his health. The shortage of priests would have been tolerable if not for the continual prejudice against Catholic chaplains. The Antigonish priests in the trenches of Europe faced countless dangers, both physical and psychological. “The sights one sees are terrible,” wrote Fr Miles Tompkins after a particularly dreadful bombardment. “I saw big strong men shaking like they had palsy and crying like babies,” and only the “mercy of God kept me from being killed.”150 Yet, they persevered in part because they believed in the spiritual service that they were providing. When a “well-educated” English chap was

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brought into the hospital station “riddled with machine gun bullets,” the first thing he asked for was a priest, and Fr Tompkins “was there – Thank God.” For each dying man attended, however, many more went without the sacraments. “While in the trenches we can only attend to the wounded and bury the dead,” wrote a frustrated Fr Ronald C. MacGillivray. “We cannot expect to give each individual the personal attention accorded to a man in the danger of death.”151 In the chilly and damp spring of 1916, both Fr Tompkins and Fr MacGillivray (who had replaced the transferred Fr MacPherson) were abruptly reassigned from their battalions. The news infuriated Morrison, as did the letters from soldiers complaining of bias against Catholics. “Our colonel don’t believe in anything, especially the Catholic Church,” wrote one enlisted man in MacGillivray’s 25th, “so I tell you we ain’t getting the best of shows.”152 In July, Morrison was informed that the 42nd and 49th battalions, all with substantial numbers of Catholics, had gone to France without a single Catholic chaplain.153 Morrison again wrote a hurried letter of protest to Prime Minister Borden “on behalf of the Catholic soldiers of eastern Nova Scotia and Cape Breton,” citing his recent correspondence with Lougheed and highlighting the minister’s assurance of cooperation. Most infuriating was that while Morrison worked to support the war aims of the government, they were blatantly ignoring his concerns. Obviously, once the troops crossed the Atlantic, all further details were subject to imperial authorities; however, Morrison firmly believed that those authorities would not “turn a deaf ear to any representation made by Ottawa with regard for the welfare of Canadian soldiers, and they will surely take notice of any unfair treatment of our Catholic soldiers.”154 Exasperated and discouraged, he made the extraordinary suggestion that Fr Tompkins, separated from his battalion, return home as he would be more useful in Antigonish than in the Mediterranean away from his boys.155 There were copious problems with the Canadian chaplaincy service. Besides the prejudice of British army regulations (although many senior officers were “fair-minded”) and Minister Hughes’s ineptitude, there was also an ambitious Catholic priest, Morrison’s old nemesis Fr Alfred E. Burke, in the pay of the government, claiming to be the representative of all Catholic chaplains in the CE F .156 When Morrison learned that Burke, the architect of great turmoil in Charlottetown, was proclaiming himself the “defender of Catholic interests in Europe” and usurping his authority, he seethed with

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anger. Morrison never concealed his contempt for Burke. When the priest left P E I for an appointment in Toronto in 1908, he swiftly warned Burke’s superiors of his cavalier attitudes. In 1912 he sent a scathing letter to the apostolic delegate in which he sought the priest’s removal from the Catholic Church Extension Society of Canada.157 “The Reverend President of the society,” he wrote to Archbishop McNeil in Toronto, was a man totally unfitted for the position at Extension and, “for that matter, any position of responsibility where the progress of religion is concerned. When he lived in the East he made more personal enemies than any other man I know of.”158 In his memoirs, Bishop Francis Kelley wrote of Burke: “His opinions were like dogmas of Faith. No wonder Canada split over him. Half of his world swore by him and the other half at him.”159 Fr Alfred Burke was highly intelligent and personable (a few Antigonish chaplains admitted that he had treated them very kindly) and used his potent political connections wisely. Made an honorary Major, he obtained a roving commission from Ottawa and convinced senior military officials of his singular authority. Despite assertions from Antigonish’s most prominent chaplain that the number of priests in France was “inadequate,” Burke argued that not a  “single Catholic soldier has suffered for spiritual supply.”160 Contradicting the accounts of Morrison’s priests, he insisted that any Catholic soldier in France who wanted a priest could have one. He was adamant that by government policy, chaplains were not attached to any particular unit and could therefore be transferred where needed. According to Burke, Morrison was “labouring under a misapprehension” in thinking that Antigonish chaplains must stick to their assigned units regardless of the numbers of Catholic soldiers.161 “And have we become so parochialized and narrow,” he jabbed at his Antigonish nemesis, “to assume for a moment that priests of any other diocese outside Antigonish will not give as good and honest a service to the men?”162 In a particularly hostile letter to Morrison, Burke wrote that no Nova Scotia Catholic would put himself at the service of empire “because he was to have this or that particular priest for chaplain.”163 Burke’s charges of parochialism were echoed by Colonel Steacy, who remarked that “the Roman Catholic Church in Canada had an unenviable reputation for getting from the government anything that it wanted.”164 Perhaps Antigonish chaplains “could not possibly be reserved for Nova Scotia Catholic troops,” but Burke and Steacy could not mask

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the obvious prejudice faced by Catholic padres. Protestant chaplains were routinely promoted to honorary major and appointed senior chaplains of frontline divisions, while not a single Roman Catholic received such an elevation in rank.165 Officials cared little for language and ethnicity and as a result, priests from Cape Breton were assigned to French-speaking soldiers from Quebec and vice versa. There is a big difference between a hole in a “wet low lying place with the shells breaking all about, and a room in the Strand Hotel in London,” wrote Fr Miles Tompkins in 1916. “I would like to have Burke for one day at the Front. Why he does not know where it is.”166 Agreements made between Morrison and the Militia Department were routinely ignored, and bureaucrats and politicians regularly contradicted each other. The bishop could not be sure if he was dealing with bigotry or incompetence. Either way, it was the nearest thing to a fiasco.167 By April 1916, the condition of the Catholic chaplaincy in Europe was chaotic. The situation at home was not much better. The new battalions mustered to reinforce those blooded at Neuve Chapelle and Ypres were ordered to sail without chaplains. Although Morrison exhibited an optimistic tone in correspondence (he jokingly asked Fr  Miles Tompkins if he would have to stand at attention when Fr  Tompkins came home, due to his being awarded the Military Cross), he was extremely apprehensive. Under pressure, Borden arranged to attach Fr Patrick McQuillan, a former student of Mor­ rison’s at St Dunstan’s, to the 64th, a battalion comprised mostly of Maritimers. The bishop warned McQuillan that he was likely “going to have to put up a fight” to remain with the battalion, and asked the priest to keep regular correspondence with him.168 Similar problems arose with the heavily Catholic 185th Cape Breton Highlanders. When the battalion’s colonel requested a priest, Morrison refused, explaining that without authorization from Ottawa, an “intolerant element” with the belief “that the Catholic priest has some sinister design in his every movement” would be emboldened toward nastiness.169 Although Morrison had a priest (the Boisdale pastor, Fr Michael Gillis) on standby, the refusal, Morrison wagered, would force Ottawa to “show its hand.” It was months before Borden gave the go ahead. The struggle to protect the Catholic chaplaincy began as a parochial defence of his diocesan clergy; however, by the summer of 1916, Morrison was speaking for the entire Canadian Church.

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Admitting to the prime minister that he was initially concerned merely with the welfare of his diocese, Morrison explained that “the replies sent by Col Steacy and Msgr Burke opened up the situation to a wider range.”170 Moreover, letters arrived at the residence from Fr Wolston Thomas Workman, a Franciscan and captain in the First Canadian Brigade, complaining that the overseas service was totally disorganized. Workman provided Morrison with the necessary evidence to enhance his letters to officials in Ottawa, and to supply the pages of The Casket, which was taking “a hand in it.”171 Reacting to what he considered “a breach of faith” by the government, Morrison decided in the spring of 1916 that the time had come to take some public action. A plan for an “indignation meeting” was raised by Fr Donald MacAdam in Sydney, which Morrison, regretfully, determined was a useful idea.172 “They try to shake off the issue,” Morrison wrote, “by putting us down as parochialized individuals, while Col. Steacy sees fit to insult one of our soldiers (who though unnamed is an officer) because he does not couch his complaint in the most elegant English.”173 In July 1916, Fr Workman lobbied Col Stacey to appoint a Roman Catholic to the senior chaplaincy of the 4th Division. When the post went to a Presbyterian, an obvious snub, the Catholics were on the verge of rebellion.174 In response, Ottawa priest Fr John Joseph O’Gorman, with the support of his fellow chaplains, refused to obey any further orders from his Protestant superior.175 He wrote to Fr Burke to demand (not ask) that he clearly state his position and decide whether he was with his fellow Catholics or against them.176 “I wrote Bishop Morrison about the chaplain question,” O’Gorman wrote Fr Tompkins, “and would have liked to have had you to beg of his Lordship to demand of the government that we should not be under a Protestant in England.”177 Soon after, a petition made the rounds in France calling the attitude of the senior officials toward the chaplains “simply scandalous.”178 The whole sordid affair was blamed on the bigotry of Col Stacey and the misrepresentations of Fr Burke, who appeared more concerned with personal prestige than the welfare of his fellow Catholics. In response Morrison wrote again to Prime Minister Borden claiming that the injury to the chaplaincy was so long-standing “as to be a crying shame.” He demanded an immediate investigation, a Catholic senior chaplain, and more priests sent to the front. He was clear that anything less than the removal of both Steacy and Burke

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was unacceptable. Those who put sectarianism and personal prestige before the war effort had to go. If not, he would bring the matter to the people of his diocese and recruitment would suffer. “I am in almost constant communication with the military authorities,” Morrison wrote to Fr Miles Tompkins at the Front, “with a view of getting the Catholic Chaplain service away from the control of such men as Col. Steacy.”179 Borden took this warning seriously; in an election year, he could ill afford to call Morrison’s bluff. With pressure on the government mounting, Fr O’Gorman returned to Ottawa to nurse a wound he received on the Somme. He now had easy access to both the government and the home parishes, and he used every opportunity to educate Catholics on the problems in France.180 In early January 1917, Fr Burke requested that the prime minister officially appoint him chief Catholic chaplain. He was turned down. Offered a number of less significant posts, Burke resigned.181 Soon after, the overseas forces minister, George Perley, gave Stacey the news that he too was finished. Upon hearing of the dismissals, Morrison remarked: “Good riddance.”182 Although “politics and patronage” were common in Sam Hughes’s C EF, the Catholic chaplaincy debacle illustrated the sectarian realities of early twentieth-century Canadian society.183 When Steacy was dismissed, Morrison wrote Fr Ronald MacDonald, then detached from the 85th, that the situation was “satisfactorily adjusted.”184 He was right. A few days later, MacGillivray, sent immediately back to France, wrote that it was “really a pleasure to work under the present conditions,” as chaplains were no longer hampered by their military superiors in London.185 In April, Morrison told the minister of Militia and Defence, Edward Kemp, that the new arrangements were “quite satisfactory.”186 Despite the unprecedented cooperation between denominations in Nova Scotia during the Great War, sectarianism frequently lurked in the shadows. By the end of the Somme offensive in 1916 the Canadian army had suffered thousands of causalities, and a shortage of volunteers brought old antagonisms back to the fore. In private conversation with his clergy, Morrison regularly discussed the pitfalls of conscription, but no one believed that such a controversial policy was necessary. The news that the union government not only proposed but also passed the Military Service Act in late August 1917 caught the bishop by surprise. Although Morrison supported conscription on the basis that it might provide the final

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push necessary to end the war, he was conscious that it would cause resentment among Quebecers who favoured a volunteer force. In fact, most historians agree that “no single issue has done more to muddy the political waters or to destroy the unity of the nation” than conscription.187 Although both English and French Canadians volunteered en masse for duty, French-Canadian politicians were more skeptical of Britain’s war aims. Polemists swiftly hijacked the debate and threatened the unity of the country. Morrison was unmistakably an empire bishop. Most of his period sermons speak to preservation of the empire. When the Knights of Columbus periodical The Columbiad advertised James McGuire’s The King, the Kaiser and Irish Freedom (1915), Morrison seethed at the pro-German attitudes and anti-British rhetoric. Yet he was keenly aware of the trouble that anticonscription elements in Quebec could cause for the Church. Bitter opposition in Quebec toward the proposed Military Service Act in the spring of 1917 put the Englishspeaking media on the attack. A riot broke out in Montreal the day the bill was passed. “When are the hangings going to start in Quebec?” one editorial mused. “Shooting is too good for them.”188 The Casket responded aggressively to these charges, and chastised English Canada for the sectarian tone of their assault. When a Presbyterian minister in Middle River, Cape Breton, preached that Catholics in Quebec were disloyal, The Casket shot back: We have no objections to criticism of Quebec concerning recruitment. We think it open to criticism, but to seek to fasten a charge of disloyalty on Catholics, or to galvanize the dead carcasses of anti-popery bogies, because Quebec has been slack recruiting is a sign of degraded ignorance or cynical rascality. Such persons as Mr. Layton ought to be discouraged by decent Protestants, from insulting the wives and families of the Catholics who have fallen in the war.189 And so, once again, Morrison was publicly defending Catholics from prejudice. He was in the peculiar situation of being both a supporter of conscription and a defender of French-Quebec’s right to oppose the policy.190 The Canadian English-speaking Catholic hierarchy was generally unified on its position concerning conscription. Archbishop McNeil in Toronto, for instance, argued that opposition to conscription in

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Quebec was racially and not religiously motivated.191 While McNeil asked English Canada for “moderation and understanding,” The Casket harked back to its editorials of 1914, when it praised the newspapers La Patrie, La Presse, Le Canada, and Le Soleil for their commitment to the war effort.192 Morrison steadfastly defended the Quebec Catholics against what he perceived to be unfair charges. Although he recognized the “attempts of anti-Catholic bigots to represent that Catholics in the province did less than their duty in the crisis,” he soon realized that most Protestant denominational papers distanced themselves from the attitudes of extremists in English Canada.193 Even the Anglican Canadian Churchman argued that it was unfair to “lump Quebecers all together.”194 There is a great deal of confusion here on account of the war and conscription,” Fr Tompkins wrote a college benefactor. “I wish to heavens the war would get over, we never know what is next.”195 The conscription dispute worried Morrison for another reason. Within his diocese large numbers of francophone Acadians were caught in the middle of the national debate. After the victory of Borden’s unionists on the conscription question in December 1917, the Sydney Daily Post editorialized that the election represented the victory of “the trench vote” over “the French vote.”196 Although Quebec was the obvious target of such hurtful sentiments, the Acadians could not help feeling besieged. Despite rumblings to the contrary, the Acadian Catholic leadership within the Maritime provinces, namely Bishop LeBlanc in Saint John, staunchly supported the war effort. In a November 1914 speech, LeBlanc told the crowd that it was the duty of all patriotic individuals to support the recruitment drive. “C’est l’appel aux armes,” the bishop decreed, “que tous ceux qui veulent ecouter cet appel s’enrolent … Allez au combat rejoindre ceux qui luttent pour les destinees du Canada.”197 Moreover, although LeBlanc did not publicly support conscription, neither did he issue a public condemnation. In Antigonish, many Acadians were uncomfortable with the slanderous rhetoric of the debate as antagonistic language created tensions in some rural communities. One example of this acrimony transpired in the autumn of 1917 when the Richmond County committee for the Victory Loan Bond drive wrote to Morrison to protest the refusal of francophone clergymen in Isle Madame to support the bonds. Before the clergymen would make any announcement from the pulpit, they first wanted

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proof that the bonds were formally sanctioned by the bishop. The wrangling between the committee and members of the community turned nasty, and disparaging remarks were made by both sides. Morrison wired his priests with assurances that the loans were the soundest and safest investment the Dominion could place before the public. Moreover, every Catholic was a partner in the “large firm known as the Dominion of Canada,” and the support and cooperation of all communities was critical to the success of the drive.198 In a letter to the provincial chairman of the Victory Loan Committee, he noted: Whoever has the means to invest in a war bond, let him do so, if he wishes in the future to look his country straight in the face. A war bond over and above its money value is for the holder a certificate of enlightened and patriotic citizenship in this Dominion. It would be a disgrace to Canada were she obliged to go outside her own territory to complete this loan, when the money is right here in the country to float it.199 Morrison maintained this position for the duration of the war. As was the case with recruiting, Morrison’s support for the program had a tremendous effect. The diocese wholeheartedly responded to Morrison’s directive and contributed some $7,740,750 in 1917 alone.200 Besides the victory loan campaign, Morrison spent an enormous amount of time speaking on behalf of organizations whose ambition it was to raise monies and materials for the men overseas. The most popular was the Knights of Columbus who organized a fundraising effort to improve living conditions both at home and at the front.201 Through these efforts, the diocese made a substantial contribution to building a recreational facility at Camp Aldershot in Kings County.202 In a letter to the Knights of Columbus published in The Casket toward the end of the conflict, Morrison summarized his feelings: I feel that it is a pressing duty to ask the Knights of Columbus to organize a general public campaign for funds to provide our Catholic soldiers overseas, or wherever they may be assembled, with Catholic huts, clubrooms and accessories thereto, in which the army chaplains may be enabled more efficiently and more

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conveniently to minister to their religious welfare, and where the soldiers themselves, irrespective of their denominational ­affiliations, may have at their disposal, such accommodations in a social life as may be a proper safeguard for their moral welfare.203 There was more to the fighting than guns and bullets. As the slow bleed of the world’s youth continued on the fields of France, it became more and more difficult to rouse the people with sentiments of patriotism and empire. Morrison continued to send cables overseas with cordial Christmas, New Year’s, and Easter greetings, but his messages became more stoic as the war entered its  final phase.204 Although his chaplains had remained generally unscathed (there were some serious flesh wounds), most had experienced “rather narrow escapes,” and all were sick of the death and annihilation. Locally, Morrison’s priests were coping with the terrible loss of so many young men from their parish rolls and worked to comfort the grieving families. For many, especially those who had charge of a parish for decades, news of a soldier’s death was very personal; the priest likely knew the family and indeed the solider himself. These were uncharted waters for the clergy, and it was a difficult and painful process. The war had a tremendous effect on the community. There was a shortage of farm help and a rise in the cost of living. Diocesan projects were suspended.205 The clergy themselves were feeling the pinch as the Sunday collections were meagre and Mass intentions were scarce. “It is about time for some of you fellows to start licking the Germans,” a playful Tompkins wrote Fr Michael Gillis. “If you don’t get after it soon we are going to organize a battalion here soon to go over and lick you fellows.”206 Yet despite the war, the community continued to “rub its eyes” and awaken.207 There was some minor construction on the St F.X. campus, and Fr Tompkins continued to cultivate his ideas for boosting the local economy. “By the way,” he wrote to a friend in early 1917, “I am sending you, under separate cover, a copy of an Antigonish booklet we have just issued. Don’t you think we are waking up?”208 Even Morrison noticed that Tompkins was more optimistic than usual and mentioned to a priest that Tompkins “generally has a few reserve plans up his sleeve for discussions regarding educational matters.”209

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The Congregation of the Sisters of St Martha were also experiencing an awakening. Established in 1894 as a domestic order at the college, where the nuns made the beds and cooked the meals, the congregation soon aspired to loftier goals. By 1902 the Marthas had assumed the household management of St Joseph’s Hospital in Glace Bay, and in 1906 they opened a “cottage hospital” in Antigonish. In 1913 Archbishop Neil McNeil requested that a number of sisters move to Toronto to staff the fledgling St Augustine’s Seminary on the Scarborough Bluffs. The congregation thus had the incredible opportunity to contribute to the first English-speaking seminary with a national scope. In return, and to fulfil a Canadian nation-building philosophy, McNeil offered one free annual space for an Antigonish seminarian.210 In 1914, a similar request arrived from Bishop Henry O’Leary of Charlottetown, only this time the Marthas were asked to train women to serve as a domestic order at St Dunstan’s College. Mother General, Mary Stanislaus (Mary Ann MacDonald), indicated to both Bishop O’Leary and Morrison that she was favourable to the appeal, and between January and August 1915 four candidates arrived in Antigonish to begin their training. O’Leary assured Morrison that all the expenses incurred in bringing the Marthas to the island would be borne by the Diocese of Charlottetown; however, Morrison later complained to the Old Rector that Antigonish was getting the “heavier side of the burden.”211 The decision of the Marthas to expand their labours into Toronto and PEI (Bishop Fallon wanted them for London, Ontario, and Archbishop McCarthy for Halifax, but the congregation declined those offers) was representative of the yearning within the congregation for greater autonomy from St F.X.212 By 1917 the sisters were supervising institutions throughout Canada, yet St F.X. retained the authority to reject new projects and potential candidates.213 When reelected superior in 1916, Mother Faustina (Mary MacArthur) decided on a policy of “Home Rule” and approached Morrison with an appeal for autonomy.214 Some clergy were troubled by the desire for more sovereignty but others, such as Fr Moses M. Coady, argued that home rule was in the best interests of the diocese.215 Moreover, Mother Faustina convinced Morrison that as St F.X. supported the congregational expansion into the hospitals and seminaries, it was unfair to compel them to abandon these ventures.216 On 7 August 1917 a formal agreement reiterated the Marthas’ commitment to domestic services at St F.X. but empowered them to direct their

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“own organization subject to the bishop of the Diocese of Antigonish.”217 Although the agreement, as James Cameron has illustrated, “was surely weighted in favor of St F.X.,” the arrangement generated momentum for the congregation and in 1918 plans for a new motherhouse (on a hill with a panoramic view of the town of Antigonish) were unveiled.218 Morrison not only chaired the financial campaign, but he also placed the needs of the sisters before the diocese. Soon after, nearly $40,000 was raised in support.219 Some causes were easier to endorse than others. Supporting a respected local congregation was one thing, but promoting the causes of other organizations, such as the Temperance Alliance of Nova Scotia, was more problematic. By 1909, most Protestant denominations had identified the “liquor traffic” as a moral calamity, and many leading evangelicals considered temperance organizations useful tools in facilitating “a relationship with the high ideals and practices of our Lord and saviour Jesus Christ.”220 Obviously, Morrison was sympathetic to those who desired to wage a Christian battle on the home front by seeking a more ethical lifestyle.221 In fact, he had tremendous respect for the Alliance’s general secretary, Rev. H.R. Grant, former Presbyterian minister at Trenton and “undisputed leader of the ‘dry’ forces in Nova Scotia.”222 In a 1907 speech, Grant argued that the social and political business of the country must be “brought under the ten commandments and the sermon on the mount.”223 In the spirit of the “social gospel movement,” he called upon Catholics to help rid the province of booze. Morrison supported prohibition (although he believed that voluntary abstinence was preferable) and was willing to forgo the daily glass of brandy that he enjoyed with a cigar after dinner. Although he worried that some Alliance members were too “radical, Grant was extremely persuasive.”224 Morrison shared Grant’s desire to “dry out” the province and appreciated the clergyman’s ecumenical spirit, but proceeded cautiously. The Catholic community had a number of safeguards against the demon rum (or “bad rum of Antigonish,” as Fr Tompkins called it), but as in the wider society, it was a perpetual problem. Catholic elites requiring the support of a priest for political office had to prove that they were temperate, while everyone else was encouraged to join their parish temperance society. The League of the Cross (LOC ) was active in most parishes, sponsoring picnics, religious events, and sporting teams (the L O C hockey team from Antigonish

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won the provincial championship in 1922). Morrison loyally supported the L O C , and so when a Cape Breton priest asked to form another temperance society, St John the Baptist, in his Acadian parish, Morrison was willing to canonically erect it in the parish but was clear that he preferred the L O C . “The temperance cause would be more effective,” he argued, if the L O C was established in the parish. This way it would have “the moral support” from the other branches in the vicinity, and “the traffic in liquor would be more effectively put down.”225 Newly ordained clergy were required to join the Priests’ Total Abstinence League and were instructed to be worthy examples of sobriety.226 Priests suspected of abusing alcohol – there were many sad cases – were investigated and issued warnings. Those who could not overcome the problem were disciplined and ultimately removed from their parishes. One historian has argued that Catholics were “leery of pro­hibition,” and certainly the proposal for provincewide Christian temperance worried Morrison.227 The primary problem was that the Catholic Mass requires wine for sacramental purposes, and prohibiting the sale of alcohol could make obtaining it difficult for the diocese. Morrison sought firm assurances written into any legislation that this would not transpire. Second, should a priest or clergyman succumb to the drink, his encounter with the law would be public and humiliating. In Morrison’s opinion, this scenario would obliterate the good intentions of the legislation. As a compromise he gave his support to prohibition, but only for the duration of the war. It was certainly desirable that the general public “give every possible assistance towards enforcing the temperance laws now existing,” he wrote Grant, “and when necessary towards improving them, and in a manner consistent with Christian principles and British ideals.”228 Temperance pledges were administered throughout the parishes, but the upshot of the oath was likely only nominal. “A man was found dead yesterday,” Fr Tompkins wrote to a chaplain overseas. “It may scare some of the other boozers around Antigonish, but I hardly think it will.”229 Morrison’s correspondence with Rev. H.R. Grant frequently acknowledged the war and the great human cost. Yet death and destruction were not reserved solely for those in the muddy trenches of France. On 25 July 1917, an early morning blast at the No. 12 colliery in New Waterford took the lives of sixty-five miners.230 The local pastor, Fr John Hugh MacDonald, was saying Mass at St Agnes

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in the shadows of the mine when he was called to provide last rites to the dying. MacDonald “rushed into the pit where men had died and where death still lurked.” He was twice rendered unconscious by gas but once revived he returned to work.231 Morrison was ­visiting a parish in Port Felix when he heard the news and returned to Antigonish to contact Fr MacDonald and the archbishop of St  John’s, Newfoundland, from whence many of the victims originated.232 Only months later, on the cold morning of 6 December 1917, the bishop was typing a letter in his office at Antigonish when he “felt the entire house shake.” Assuming it to be nothing more than a “powerful gust of wind,” he continued his correspondence. Within the hour he received a cable informing him that a munitions ship had exploded in the Halifax Harbour, destroying the north end of the city and killing thousands.233 Morrison attempted to telephone Archbishop McCarthy in Halifax but found it impossible. The disaster shocked the province coming as it did “as a bolt from the clear sky.” Morrison wrote the priest at St Patrick’s Church in the north end of the city with a hope that “the coming year may have in store many consolations to help counter the sorrows of the present one.”234 The diocese sent financial support, and Morrison helped draft a resolution signed by all the bishops of the Maritime provinces calling on the federal government to assume responsibility for rebuilding schools and churches. When the war ended on 11 November 1918 (rumours of the armistice had been afloat for days), steam whistles and bells rang out in every parish of the diocese.235 At the celebratory evening prayer service in the cathedral, Morrison was accompanied on the altar by thirty jubilant and pensive priests. In his sermon to the overflowing congregation, he summed up the efforts of the diocese in the bloody war: The danger is past and the people feel like breathing freely. It was a long time coming, and we should thank God it has come. We know how the faithful of this diocese rallied to the flag and crowned themselves with glory. Many have lost their nearest and dearest. Let us be mindful of these boys that God may grant them eternal rest. We must do right by them. We owe them and those who accompanied them a great debt.236

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The loss of life in the diocese was staggering. “There is scarcely a home here that does not mourn the death or maiming of some of its members and dear friends in the terrible conflict,” he wrote to a friend.237 Five hundred and thirteen men from the diocese were killed in the fighting, including John Bernard Croak of St John’s Parish in New Aberdeen, who was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross.238 If Morrison needed a further reminder of the terrible consequences of battle, it came a few weeks before the armistice when he received a letter from a grieving mother in Charlottetown informing him that her son, Ambrose Hennessey, had been killed at the front. Hennessey was the first infant that Morrison had baptized on his return from the seminary. In a reply to Hennessey’s father he noted, “Amidst all the sadness and the many bereavements caused by the war, I feel this one in a special way.”239 It was a poignant end to a terrible conflict.

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3 Gaining Control, 1919–1926

In 1919 after four dreadful years of conflict, Canadians turned away from the blood-stained battlefields of Europe leaving behind their dead. Bishop Morrison’s participation in both the spiritual and secular affairs during the Great War elevated his authority and national stature. In total his diocese sent 4,500 Catholic volunteer soldiers to Europe, a significant number for such a small constituency. By war’s end, he was no longer an inexperienced prelate but a knowledgeable and senior member of the Canadian episcopacy. His counsel was particularly important in the postwar Church as younger bishops such as Joseph-Jean Baptiste Halle of Hearst, Ontario, and John Thomas McNally of Calgary assumed more responsibility. In 1915, much to Morrison’s delight, his one-time student Alfred Sinnott was appointed archbishop of Winnipeg. In spring 1919 as Antigonish returned to peacetime, Morrison went on a series of trips, long planned but postponed because of the war. The first was a journey to California to visit his younger brother. Although Fr Dan Morrison had not attained the ecclesiastical rank of his brother, his career was no less remarkable. He was an outstanding alumnus of St John’s Seminary in Brighton, Massachusetts, and held a doctor of philosophy and theology from the Grand Seminary of Quebec. Ordained for the Archdiocese of San Francisco, he served as an assistant at St Mary’s Parish in Oakland before a more permanent transfer to St Joseph’s Parish in Berkeley. He was a popular figure in the Bay Area and during the war received an honorary doctorate from Laval University. The reunions were restorative for both men. Of the family siblings, the pair was closest and they possessed an intimate understanding of each other’s lives. Although

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the vacations to the Pacific coast were recreational (Morrison liked to sample the chop suey in the Chinese quarter), he seized all opportunities to scrutinize the educational institutions of California with the intent of acquiring insight for the direction of St F.X.1 On this particular visit, he toured the Newman Club in Berkeley, St Mary’s College in Oakland, Stanford University, St Patrick’s Seminary, and the University of Santa Clara. On the return home, Morrison stopped for a brief sojourn in Boston. The state of Massachusetts was an important district for the bishop, the diocese, and St F.X. (the college routinely placed ads in that city’s religious journals). It was home to thousands of expatriates who had migrated to the United States in search of gainful employment, including the bishop’s sister Mary and the children of his deceased sister Flora. Many former St Dunstan’s classmates and island acquaintances were also dispersed throughout the vicinity. Boston was home to a number of benefactors who frequently contributed to St F.X. One of the most prominent was Neil McNeil of Dorchester who, along with Dr John E. Somers, had financed the construction of several new buildings (including a gymnasium) on campus.2 McNeil, a Cape Breton native, migrated to Boston in 1865, where he established a successful construction company with his three brothers. When visiting Boston, Morrison stayed at McNeil’s elegant home – an exceptional vantage point to keep abreast of the St F.X. alumni and to approach potential benefactors. The excursions outside Antigonish allowed Morrison to immerse himself in international affairs. While in Boston he was drawn into a discussion on the Irish Home Rule Bill, an emotional topic for Catholics (and Protestants) of Irish descent. Morrison was a supporter of Irish determinism and as a young priest had routinely preached that message on St Patrick’s Day. He had followed the “terrible beauty” of Dublin’s 1916 Easter Rebellion, and the letters from his Dublin friend, Fr Francis Wall, reinforced his political perceptions. While he was undoubtedly an “empire bishop,” he firmly believed that Ireland had a right to govern itself and to determine its  political future. In an interview with the Boston American, he publicly endorsed Home Rule, much to the satisfaction of the paper that proclaimed him “a progressive leader in the Church.”3 “It is hoped that Ireland may soon obtain her just constitutional status,” he wrote shortly after to Halifax priest and Ireland native, Fr Thomas O’Sullivan, “and that peace and happiness may thus gain a lasting foothold in that suffering country.”4

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The last of his trips in this period was to Rome to make his second ad limina. He travelled with his brother Dan, and the sight of the war-ravaged countryside made a lasting impression on both men. They were appalled at the devastation and the condition of the people. At Arras, France, a city that once contained a population of over sixty thousand, “not a single structure was left standing.”5 Not only did the Treaty of Versailles fail to attain any sense of reconciliation, but also conditions in parts of Europe were worse than wartime. “Many people are living in the army Nissen huts,” Morrison wrote in a cable to The Casket, but more incredibly, many of “the dugouts are occupied.”6 In the chaotic economic climate, labour unrest was commonplace. Between Milan and Lake Geneva the brothers encountered several strikes that forced them to travel through the “by-way lines.” They toured ruined cathedrals and a number of the battlefields, including Vimy Ridge in northern France, where they paid tribute to the bravery and tactical wherewithal of the Canadian corps. Morrison enjoyed his second visit to the Vatican much more than the first. He had gained valuable experience in the five years since he had last seen Rome and was brimming with confidence. During his voyage across the Atlantic he had studied (he considered it work) with “great interest” the new code of canon law instituted by Benedict XV in 1917 and was eager to discuss it with, or at least mention it to, the pontiff. Interestingly, those who attended the audience recalled the obvious physical disparity between the two men. Morrison was large and brawny, while the bespectacled Il Piccolito (the little man) was tiny and frail. After the interview, Morrison took his brother on a meandering stroll through Rome, visiting former haunts and touring the impressive chapels. He was surprised at how much the war had changed the city. Many of the beloved restaurants, cafes, and bookshops of his student days were gone. Moreover, his alma mater, the Propaganda College, no longer enrolled Canadian students; since 1887 Canadians had been attending the Canadian College.7 Yet, like his predecessor John Cameron before him, Morrison felt at ease among the officials and bureaucrats of the Vatican. Rome may have changed, but it was still his country. Morrison was reenergized by his travels and returned to Antigonish with a determination to prepare his diocese for the challenges of postwar society. He was ably assisted by Fr Michael A. MacAdam, rector of St Ninian’s Cathedral, and by the newly ordained Fr John

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Roderick MacDonald. Fr MacDonald was a talented priest, the nephew of Archbishop Neil McNeil, and thus comfortable in the presence of authority. Morrison recognized the potential of the twenty-eight-year-old, even if others in the diocese, most notably the Old Rector, were moderately prejudiced against him. The reason for this was somewhat petty. As a youthful priest at L’Ardoise, Cape Breton, in 1893, Fr MacPherson regularly visited MacDonald’s uncle, Fr Neil McNeil, at his parish in D’Escousse where “serious matters” were exchanged for fiddle tunes and stories.8 Later in their careers, however, MacPherson alleged that McNeil “and his clique” displayed bouts of disloyalty to Bishop John Cameron, and ani­ mosity arose between them. MacPherson subtly directed this residual hostility toward Fr MacDonald (who often vacationed with the  archbishop in Toronto), normally during diocesan gatherings or social events in which the young priest “displayed some of his uncle’s attributes.”9 Recalling his days as an assistant at St Dunstan’s Cathedral, Morrison understood that often the conventional humdrum commitments of parish life squandered the talents of youthful and energetic priests. He knew from personal experience that Fr MacDonald required a project to keep him occupied and so he asked him to write, edit, and publish the official record of the diocesan contribution to the war effort. After the war there was the typical “whispering and sometimes outspoken criticism” of the part taken by Catholics in the war effort, and Morrison wanted a comprehensible public record to exhibit. The book, Catholics of the Diocese of Antigonish, Nova Scotia, and the Great War 1914–1919, with Nominal Enlistment Rolls by Parishes, contained copies of Morrison’s wartime circulars, biographies of the diocesan chaplains, parish nominal rolls, and casualty lists. It was a lengthy commission of “slow, difficult and up-hill work,” and although the book had a number of errors and omissions, it was a remarkable apparatus in silencing “bigoted criticism.”10 From a purely administrative standpoint, there was much to do within postwar Antigonish. Foremost on the agenda was the construction of a new diocesan orphanage in Sydney. As the population of industrial Cape Breton continued to grow so too did the number of orphans, and the St Mary’s Home could not accommodate the overflow. After careful deliberation and preparation by the building committee, the blueprints were submitted to the provincial government for approval. Much to the astonishment and dismay of the

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committee, the province rejected the proposed plans, citing design concerns among other things. Annoyed at the verdict and fearful of losing Catholic children to Protestant orphanages, Morrison pressured the government to reconsider. In a letter to Judge William B. Wallace of the Halifax County Court, he expressed outrage at what appeared to be sectarian malice on the part of some provincial politicians, adding that he did not “propose lying down under what looks very much like religious persecution.”11 Although bureaucratic approval would not materialize for another year, the diocese continued to raise funds for the project.12 The refusal of the provincial government to endorse plans for the Sydney orphanage was one example of what Morrison feared was a surge in systemic sectarianism among the wider population. During the war, the palpable anti-Catholic prejudice of various Canadian newspapers reinforced the belief among prelates that the Church required more influence within media. Fr Tompkins complained in a letter to the publisher of the Halifax Herald that the articles in that paper were “lurid” and offensive.13 Morrison was convinced of the need for an efficient Catholic newspaper with firm links to his office. It was obvious that the local semi-diocesan paper, The Casket, if properly reorganized, could serve this purpose. The weekly, which had been in publication since 1852, was informally a Catholic newspaper but took pride in its “respect for the other man’s point of view,” although like most Nova Scotia weeklies, this “respect” certainly was not constant.14 Founded by John Boyd, son of a Scottish immigrant and native of Lower South River, The Casket served both as a distributor of local news and as a champion of Celtic culture and customs. Although Morrison sat on the board of directors and had a good rapport with the publisher, the majority of the stock was in the hands of laymen and there were often incidents of conflict between the paper’s reporting and the diocesan position. There were other problems as well. For instance, some of the paper’s readership complained that the paper’s editorials were too “lofty” for the average reader, while others twittered that the weekly was diverting from its original mission by ignoring the region’s Scottish heritage.15 Ethnicity, as always, was present. For some clergy the newspaper had become much too cosmopolitan and, perhaps for some of the Scots, too Irish. In 1890, Michael Donovan, an Irishman and native of Saint John, New Brunswick, took control of the paper and by 1905 stories of Irish interest on both sides of the

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Atlantic were given in-depth coverage. Clergy were soon complaining that the paper published too many articles on the “the history of  hatred and Orangeism” that, most argued, were inflammatory and threatened the generally good relations between Scottish Catholics and their Protestant neighbours. In his history of The Casket, MacLean quotes one subscriber who criticized the paper for  spending too much of its space defending the “cause of Irish Nationalism.” He had grown weary of reading editorials devoted to “Home Rule.” The resentment of the growing Irish influence at The Casket by the Scottish majority soon threatened the very existence of the paper. As another subscriber wrote, “Scotch men from Cape Breton and Eastern Nova Scotia, whom I meet abroad, appear to look upon The Casket as their bible … I am sorry that The Casket is so pro-Irish.”16 When the influential pastor, Donald M. MacAdam, wrote of the “urgent necessity of having a Scottish Catholic paper if [they were] to preserve [their] identity as a distinct race,” Morrison got the message.17 Although Morrison is habitually portrayed as parochial, and was certainly not above religious bias, it is a point of interest that he objected to aggressive attacks on Protestantism within the Catholic press and ardently argued that such polemics against his Christian cousins caused more harm than good. Writing to The Casket’s editor, Robert Phalen, he cited an incident in which a young Protestant sought permission to enter a mixed marriage with a female Catholic parishioner. The man confessed that he “would have no objection to taking instruction in the Catholic religion with the view to entering the fold, were it not for the hard things he heard said against his religion from Catholic sources.” I am of the opinion, Morrison mused, “that while standing firm on Catholic doctrine and principles, a less aggressive tone when dealing with non-Catholics would have better results.”18 Later, in a letter to the apostolic delegation, he chastised the editor of the Catholic Register for “a certain ‘national’ bias” that disparaged England. English Protestants may have “many sins to answer for,” but it was difficult to “win back [those people] in the face of national antipathies and provocative dislikes that are thus offered from the Catholic side.”19 Perhaps more pragmatically, however, as the people of the diocese perceived a connection between the local Catholic media, its editorial position, and Morrison’s office, then an alliance was essential.20 He needed control of The Casket.

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It is one of the great ironies of the Antigonish narrative that the bishop’s resolve to control the Catholic media of his diocese coincided with the advanced social commentary propagated by St F.X.’s vicepresident, Fr James J. Tompkins. Perhaps more than Morrison, and for different reasons, Tompkins recognized the importance of harnessing the power of the press to influence the general population. He employed The Casket as a springboard for his ideas, publishing most of his articles unsigned so others might assume his thoughts as their own.21 As time went on, however, he became one of the paper’s greatest detractors, sensing that the editorial board was becoming obstructionist. In 1915 he had a number of articles refused by the editor – ideas that he ultimately published in secular papers. At that time, Morrison wrote The Casket to express disappointment in the decision, as he considered Tompkins’s letters “well worth publishing in any paper that has the educational welfare of the community at heart.” Moreover, refusing Tompkins’s articles, Morrison argued, would be “detrimental to the best interests of religion, education and social progress of the diocese, and if persisted will only intensify opposition to The Casket.”22 The prevailing canon of the Antigonish Movement suggests that Morrison “opposed Tompkins’ reforms from his position as the priest’s ecclesiastical superior.”23 But the archives suggest quite a different narrative. In fact, Morrison’s defence of Fr Tompkins in 1915 was but one early example of their congruity of purpose, willingness to cooperate, and conviction in the centrality of St F.X. within the  diocese.24 As early as 1914, Morrison recognized the value of Tompkins’s ideas and pressured The Casket to include “other contributing writers, even for editorial work.” Not only would intellectuals like Tompkins give the paper “more diversity,” but others would have the opportunity to train for newspaper work.25 When accused of favouring the priest by The Casket’s editor, Morrison responded: “Father Tompkins did not tell me that you had anything against him, and I could not have said so to anyone.”26 In 1918 Tompkins was working on a most ambitious project, a series of articles on the second page entitled For the People (he had considered calling it Progress and the People). The column, a sort of  professor’s forum, aimed to draw upon the expertise of local and foreign intellectuals to educate the community on social, edu­ cational, and economic issues, and represented “a definite stage in the development of published Catholic thought in Eastern Nova

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Scotia.”27 Tompkins was encouraged by Archbishop McNeil of Toronto who wrote that the page should not simply “boost” St F.X. but rather “get Catholics to realize that waste of energy is disloyalty to the Church and to Canada.”28 Writing to the Halifax lawyer J.A. Walker, Tompkins urged him to watch The Casket, and pray, as “there is going to be a great deal of profanity in the course of this expedition on the high sea of journalism.”29 In the shadow of the bloody Bolshevik revolution in Russia, the priest’s first column exhorted the workers of the region to organize themselves into social study clubs. This would, in Tompkins’s opinion, help counteract the fact that Maritimers were “being saturated with socialism and worse evils,” an ideology that could not be defused by the “weekly sermon” of the average parish priest.30 Among the contributors to his column were the economist Fr Dr Daniel J. MacDonald, the agriculturalist “Little Doc” Hugh MacPherson, Fr Dr Cornelius J. Connolly, and Fr Dr Moses M. Coady. Tompkins also secured the services of the Oxford-trained, anglo-Catholic intel­ lectual Henry Somerville (for the reasonable fee of $100, which Tompkins paid out of his own pocket), who wrote in the February column that Catholics had to work together to impede society’s adoption of unchristian principles, and become a constructive intellectual and practical force.31 According to Tompkins’s biographer, George Boyle, For the People raised a “new banner,” and “social-mindedness was the mark of nearly every contribution.”32 One priest ministering overseas who had read these early articles was convinced that The Casket material represented “the beginning of greater things.”33 Tompkins was encouraged by the success of the articles and wrote to Archbishop McNeil that “Antigonish could indeed well be the land to which the rest of the English-Speaking Catholics of Canada might look up as unto the hills whence cometh great help.”34 The success of For the People only furthered Tompkins’s desire to gain editorial control of The Casket. As a column editor, he was a cruel taskmaster and rather sharp in his criticisms. “Your style needs to be clipped down a bit. It is rather verbose,” he wrote a contributor. “The style sometimes has the fashion of Macaulay – a very difficult style in the hands of anybody but Macaulay.”35 The Casket’s editor found the priest difficult to get along with, especially after Tompkins complained to Morrison and the paper’s owner that the “editorials were no good” and that “Mr Phalen was putting no thought into his work.”36 Moreover, the weekly was, he charged,

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totally out of touch with the rest of the country. “The Casket does not even know what paper he [Henry Somerville] writes in,” Tompkins complained, “and I suppose it cares less.”37 One evening while dining at the university, Tompkins learned that the owner of The Casket, Michael Francis Donovan, was seriously considering selling the paper. Twenty years later, he recalled to George Boyle: “I excused myself. I put on my hat, and I walked straight to the man [Morrison] in charge.”38 It was quickly agreed that Tompkins would approach the paper’s owner on behalf of the diocese and negotiate a settlement. The priest had some freedom to parley but was not to take no for an answer.39 Tompkins’s role in acquiring The Casket for the diocese was not quite as fortuitous as George Boyle portrayed it to be. Tompkins and local barrister James M. Wall approached Morrison with the idea of the takeover, and as Laurence Shook argued, it was the priest “who encouraged Bishop Morrison” to buy out the controlling shares.40 “I’m glad to know that you are thinking of re-organizing The Casket,” wrote a fellow priest in February 1919. “You will not be offended when I say that it needs to be reformed.”41 The paper’s editor, Robert Phalen, certainly knew from whom the takeover emanated. “After years of sharp criticism, strong, sweeping and comprehensive … the time has come surely, to say before my face some of the things you have said forcibly behind my back,” he wrote in an angry letter to Tompkins.42 Before the paper could be transformed into an “influential and well conducted journal,” however, it had to be acquired. The negotiations did not go quite as planned. The aspiration of the clergymen to purchase the company was matched by the owner to obtain a fair price. Michael Donovan bought the newspaper in 1890, having previously worked on the editorial staff. He was a good newspaper man (once described by Bishop Cameron as “a young gentleman of fine judgement”) with a keen business sense, and he soon turned a strong profit.43 By 1917 his health had declined, and he expected that the sale of the paper would finance a modest retirement. Hence he scoffed at the diocese’s offer of $18,000 for the entire company including both stocks and assets. “From a business standpoint,” Morrison admitted, he is “not at all anxious to sell at the figure.”44 But the diocese increased the pressure. In early March 1919, Tompkins met with Donovan and told him that the diocese intended to start a rival paper with the purpose of putting The Casket out of

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business. If he did not accept Morrison’s offer, Tompkins warned, he “would lose all and go crazy in the end.”45 Faced with this overwhelming intimidation, the publisher reluctantly accepted.46 Offered the position of manager, he promptly refused. The diocese set the price of the stock, and Donovan was barred from owning a rival paper in the area for a period of fifteen years. In a final letter to Morrison, Donovan asked: “Is it right for Fr Tompkins to threaten me, to break promises to me? My Lord, has a man in this country not the right to hold his property free from the interference of others?”47 He received no response. The shares of The Casket were distributed among the Antigonish clergy, but Morrison retained majority control. Diocesan priests constituted fourteen of the twenty directors, reinforcing Morrison’s authority. All editorial decisions remained the discretion of the manager but were subject to the approval of the bishop.48 The changes in content were subtle but important. Editorials now read more like focused lectures as opposed to untethered comment on  public issues. There was also an aspiration to augment the readership with new subscribers. “While The Casket has a large circulation among the Catholic people of this diocese,” Morrison editorialized, “it will not have reached its legitimate goal until it is placed in every home of this diocesan community.”49 By 1920, Dan MacInnes argues, the editorial section reflected a “liberal ascendency” in the paper. Tompkins’s column For the People was changed to For Social Betterment and divided into two sections, agriculture and education, so to better address both.50 While the bishop searched for a new manager, he further demonstrated his faith in the abilities of Fr John R. MacDonald and appointed him to the position on an interim basis. The takeover of The Casket was a shrewd, calculated move by both Morrison and Tompkins and highlighted the qualities that made them such formidable characters. While it reinforces the view of Morrison as an authoritarian, it also highlights Tompkins’s sanctioning of episcopal bullying – provided that it suited his plans – and suggests a degree of familiarity, and indeed goodwill, between the men. When a friend of Michael Donovan found out about the editor’s ongoing quarrel with Fr Tompkins, he warned, “You had better submit to him, he will ruin you,” implying, of course, that he was a powerful figure.51 The Casket provided “the pulpit from which the social doctrine of Father Tompkins and Msgr Coady

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might find expression,”52 but it took strong-arm tactics to achieve. Donovan resented Tompkins and Morrison until his final days and never forgave them for the perceived injustice to his family.53 The intimate collaboration between Morrison and Fr Tompkins did not end with the acquisition of The Casket. Both men were rightly disgusted at the anti-French rhetoric displayed during the war and both wanted to increase the Acadian presence at St F.X. In 1919, 23,400 Acadians, a quarter of the total Catholic population, resided within the diocese, and yet they represented only 6 per cent of the total enrolment at the university.54 This was especially unacceptable to Fr Tompkins, who argued that the Acadian community had endured many historical grievances “from some Englishspeaking people who were as short-sighted as they were unjust.”55 By 1919 the history of Acadia was back in vogue, particularly after the Dominion Atlantic Railway purchased the site of the church of Saint-Charles in Grand Pre with the purpose of erecting a statue of Longfellow’s Evangeline for tourism purposes. But, as Tompkins skilfully argued, as in the days of Evangeline, “their rich are still poor.”56 So, in an attempt to right past wrongs, an academic chair in French was proposed.57 In November, as a representative of St F.X., Tompkins travelled to New York City to parley with officials from the Carnegie Corporation. Seeking monies for the academic chair in French, Tompkins anticipated that the organization (the latest of several philanthropic trusts established by the industrialist Andrew Carnegie) would provide a hefty donation. In previous years the corporation had been generous to other Maritime colleges through its British Dominions and Colonies Fund.58 Already a veteran negotiator, the enthusiastic priest swiftly attained a commitment of $50,000, provided that St F.X. matched the contribution. When news of the funding reached Antigonish, both Morrison and the Old Rector were elated. In letters to the priest at the stylish Hotel McAlpin in Manhattan, the bishop echoed Tompkins’s belief that their little college could achieve great things if properly equipped and suitably financed. “I desire again to express my entire sympathy with your plan for this work,” Morrison wrote. “We have the will to do it and we have the confidence of these Acadian people that we want to help them as best we can.”59 The success of the negotiation with the Carnegie officials (the French chair was eventually filled by Professor René Gautheron),

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coupled with Morrison’s praise, emboldened Tompkins. In the evenings, alone in his Manhattan hotel room, he formulated designs for a people’s school. Influenced by the writings of Edward Thomas O’Dwyer, the bishop of Limerick, who argued that Ireland’s social problems could only be overcome through the advancement of higher education among the common people, Tompkins was convinced that adult education could rectify the economic ills of the Maritime region.60 He also believed that the Carnegie people would fund the experiment. Convinced that he was on the precipice of something extraordinary, he wrote to Morrison and asked that he travel to New York to add some ecclesiastical clout to the discussion. Tompkins’s letters to Antigonish exude his zeal for the project. “Has your Lordship been thinking about that people’s school (Danish Type)? I am almost certain I could get 50 or 100 thousand for that.”61 In what was quickly becoming the pattern of their relationship, Morrison, while receptive to Tompkins’s ideas, cautiously stressed the need for practicality over grandiose designs. “Since 1913, I have several times gone into the study of that system,” Morrison replied. “The undertaking here, if carried out even approximately as in Denmark, would require a very persistent and sustaining effort for upwards of twenty years.” More importantly, it would “necessitate a good strong fund to see the proposition through and placed on a permanent basis.”62 He asked Tompkins to carefully determine whether or not the conditions were “too onerous” before the diocese considered a people’s school.63 Fr Tompkins conceded that Morrison’s attitude toward the people’s school proposition was “a wise one to take”; however, he warned that “such schools were coming” and that Antigonish “was one of the very best places to make a start.”64 The priest was well aware of his superior’s frugality. The “stand Pat” attitude of Morrison and others “arises not so much from the desire to oppose progress,” Fr James Boyle once wrote to Tompkins, “as from their own conscious inability to get money to finance their own schemes.”65 Aware of Morrison’s fondness for St F.X., Tompkins argued that a people’s school would “give the college a great name all over the country” and help the institution “compete with Dalhousie.”66 Having organized a meeting with Carnegie officials, he asked, “What amount of money would it be safe to take to get the thing going? Suppose we give 1 to 4 months in winter to farmers, fishermen etc. and 1 week to 2 months in summer to home making, etc.” Tompkins was ready

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to “fall into any plan” that Morrison suggested and asked the bishop to talk the thing over with “Dr Hugh [the Old Rector] and the Sisters [of St Martha].”67 The aspiration of Fr Tompkins to obtain monies for a people’s school in 1919 came from a firm conviction that the farmers, miners, and steelworkers of the diocese had more expertise on economic matters than any of the priest-professors at St F.X.68 The labour leaders of Cape Breton were “a bad sort,” he professed to a colleague; however, the colliery towns wanted meaningful change.69 St  F.X. did not require a medical school or a law faculty; what it needed to do was “carry knowledge to the people – the common people.”70 In the short term, Morrison declined to join Tompkins in New York, confident that the priest would “do what is best.” All he required was that Tompkins obtain “some specific ideas” as to “what definite studies” would have to be taken up in accordance with any grant made toward education in the diocese, so that they could decide what was feasible or practical.71 In the meantime, Morrison focused directly on the French chair and lobbied the diocese to match the Carnegie monies. He expected that all Catholics would “join in heart and soul to make it a success.”72 Tompkins, excited about the prospects for the people’s school, maintained that in terms of education Antigonish was “about fifty years ahead of the rest of America.”73 The importance of Tompkins’s meetings with the Carnegie Corporation must be viewed within the fiscal context of the period. In 1920 money was not easy to obtain. During that summer an economic depression began in the Maritimes that lasted for an entire generation and cemented the Maritimes as a “have not” region.74 The colleges, Tompkins told a benefactor, “have all they can do to keep the wolf from the door.”75 With the economy in crisis, outmigration of families to Upper Canada and New England was commonplace. In 1921, the Cambridge History of the British Empire revealed that at least 325,000 former Maritime residents “were living elsewhere,” some three-quarters of them in the United States.76 The population of Antigonish County alone had decreased by more than seven thousand people since 1880s.77 One priest ministering in this period admitted issuing “far more birth certificates for emigrants than for newborn babies,”78 while another mused that young men were “as scarce as hen’s teeth.”79

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The causes of the depression were complex. At the end of Great War, Canada was left with an industrial surplus that stifled production. Traditional trade patterns were disrupted, and the “branchplant economy” of the Maritimes vanished with the cutbacks.80 Meat imports from western Canada flooded the Maritime market, and falling British demand hindered the timber trade.81 At the same time, the Maritime provinces were in rapid political decline. Representatives failed to secure the continuation of the “freight rate” subsidy from the Intercolonial Railway, which had provided cheap access to central Canadian markets. Frustrated and increasingly impotent provincial legislatures searched frantically for avenues in which to redress the wrongs of Confederation. As Guysborough MLA , J.C. Tory, declared from the floor of the Nova Scotia House of Assembly, Canadian politicians “cared nothing for Nova Scotia and constantly used their influence against it.”82 The deteriorating economy had major repercussions for the Diocese of Antigonish. The monthly bills demanded more monies than the Sunday collections brought in. More worrisome, most clergy sensed a nascent challenge to their authority among their parishioners. Events appeared to be spiralling beyond their control. In 1920, the frustration over rural depopulation, inflation, and industrial working conditions cumulated in the formation of two new political parties: the United Farmers of Nova Scotia and the Independent Labour Party. In the provincial election of that year, the parties combined for 30.9 per cent of the total vote and elected eleven of their candidates to the legislature, including one from Antigonish County.83 Farmer and Labour made interesting bedfellows. On one hand, wrote George Rawlyk, the farmer candidates “looked to the past for their model of the golden age when rural values predominated,” while labour members were “hard-line socialists, [who] wished to build a New Jerusalem on the Atlantic Coast.”84 Morrison was absent from the province during the provincial election of 1920 and offered scant comment. Rumours circulated that some priests in Guysborough were “stumping for the farmer candidates,” but they proved unfounded.85 Despite its obvious preference for the two-party system, The Casket announced that it had no opinion to offer as between any of the traditional parties, which all “adhere to the constitution and the public institutions under which the people of this Province have lived in happiness and prosperity,” but the paper had a very decided opinion to offer on this socialist

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platform. The rhetoric of the socialists in Cape Breton was “inconsistent with the Canadian ideas of freedom,” the paper thundered, and if they ever succeeded in forming a government, the Nova Scotia legislature would be reduced to “rubber stamps for registering the  opinions of such persons as Bagnell and [J.B.] McLachlan.”86 The Casket was joined in this condemnation by the Pictou Advo­ cate, which referred to the new political reality as a “Bolshevist scheme to wreck our institutions under the guise of farmer or labour candidates.”87 One year later, Cape Breton communist James Bryson McLachlan ran as a candidate for the Independent Labour party in the federal election. Although not successful in capturing a parliamentary seat, he outpolled the Conservative Party in both Cape Breton South and Richmond and garnered over 70 per cent of the vote in the multiethnic working-class enclaves of Passchendaele and New Aberdeen.88 Morrison watched helplessly as the resolute McLachlan, with his strong Scottish brogue, issued manifestos calling for class conflict while inciting miners to “carry that war into the country of the enemy.”89 Morrison (and many of his priests) instinctively recoiled at such rhetoric. As a seminarian in Rome he had witnessed firsthand the destruction caused by proponents of class warfare. But McLachlan’s protests were gaining support among a segment of Morrison’s flock. According to one elderly miner, “It took a long time for us to wake up, but we have alarm clocks all around us now and McLachlan is one of the noisiest of them all.”90 It seemed obvious, at least to Morrison, that the shifting political climate of the province was an instinctive response to the challenging economic circumstances. But what were the causes? Back at the college, Fr Tompkins was convinced that the region’s problems stemmed from the centralized control of industry and finance in Toronto and Montreal. “Industrially and financially,” the priest asserted, “we are living under a despotism.”91 But Morrison and Tompkins had very different strategies on how to improve the region’s fortunes. While Tompkins searched for a more radical resolution (he claimed that Canada knew nothing about the Maritimes anyway), Morrison opted for a tried-and-true method: he lobbied government. Morrison had steadfast, perhaps naïve, faith in the Canadian political system. Nothing benefited a riding like “respectful but firm representation,” he once said. He also believed that all problems had

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legislative solutions; it was merely a matter of finding the political resolve to achieve them. And so, when the Nova Scotia legislature unanimously passed a resolution asserting that Canada no longer adhered to a “faithful observance of the terms and conditions of the compact of confederation,” Morrison was instantly convinced of the virtue in the struggle for Maritime Rights.92 Determined that any regional protest would be an “all party” issue, he wrote to anyone who would listen on behalf of the industrial welfare of the Maritime provinces. In one letter to Prime Minister Mackenzie King, he highlighted the plight of the region: I am sure you must be aware of how, during these recent years, the industrial situation in the eastern part of Canada has been more or less strangled not only by a lack of sympathy on the part of the central railway management of Canada but also by what seemed to be the management’s studied effort to place all business connected therewith among the industrial centers of upper and western Canada, with the result that to no small extent the business conditions of Maritime Canada and especially of Nova Scotia have suffered an economic paralysis.93 This letter represents Morrison’s belief in what Ernie Forbes has called the “compact” theory of Confederation. A native of a province that essentially traded its colonial status for payment and other perks, Morrison saw Confederation in terms of a quid pro quo.94 Whether it was the ability of Maritime businessmen to get their wares to Upper Canada, tariffs to protect Canadian coal, or the capacity of an islander to cross the Northumberland Strait in wintertime, Confederation was essentially a contract between two bodies that had to be honoured. Consequently, in Morrison’s opinion, one remedy for the “tragic” condition of Nova Scotia was to appoint a Maritime politician as minister of the railways. At the very least, the appointment would signal a new era of “fairness.” Like others, he was soon disillusioned by the lack of response from Ottawa. Morrison’s sympathy for Maritime Rights was shared by Fr Tompkins, but the pugnacious priest did not believe that the economic problems of Nova Scotia would be solved by Ottawa bureaucrats or clever Maritime businessmen. Although the priest recognized that Ottawa did not treat the region fairly, he believed that the ­indigent economy of the Maritimes could not be blamed solely on

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outside forces. And frankly, he did not embrace Morrison’s confidence in government. “I’d sooner be a dog and bay at the moon,” he once mused, “than to be beholden to the average politician.” Individual responsibility became the cornerstone of the philosophy of the clergy-intellectuals at the college. “The truth is that people themselves are responsible for their plight,” Msgr Coady wrote years later. “They could not blame the so-called economic royalists if they had looked after themselves.”95 Freight charges, branch plants, and coal tariffs aside, the only way for the people of eastern Nova Scotia to fix their wretched condition, argued Tompkins, was through education, and the only institution capable of offering that training was St F.X. It simply had to materialize as a leader both on the campus and in the community. Under Tompkins’s direction, an educational and social conference was first held at the college in 1918 to discuss rural education (consolidation of high schools was of particular interest), advances in agriculture, and housing. High-profile speakers were invited to address subsequent meetings, including W.P. Delaney, the vice-president of District 26, and Fr John A. Ryan, a Catholic University of America professor who wrote The Morality of the Aims and Methods of Labor Unions. While discussing the rise of radicalism in the colliery towns of Cape Breton, both men argued against the traditional “us against them” scenario and maintained that the Church had to identify with the people and mend the unjust economic conditions, which led to godlessness. If government hadn’t the solutions, the people would have to do it for themselves. Fr Tompkins’s passion during this period was extraordinary. He  wanted “a handful of devoted men” to start a movement and searched for “social minded young priests” to take their erudition out into the communities.96 He did not have to look far. St F.X. might have been a small institution lacking in certain amenities, but there was no shortage of young and eager clergy-intellectuals.97 These promising young men held customary beliefs in the spiritual authority of the Church, but they also believed that the clergy had to do more than advocate happiness through prayer and good works. What they desired was a new Catholic social and intellectual experiment that would revolutionize the university. In other words, they wanted to bridge the gap between the “isolated eminence” of the college and the lives of ordinary Catholics in the diocese.98 Many of these young followers, including Fr Coady, Fr James Boyle,

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and Fr  Michael Gillis, would have a tremendous influence on the region in years to come. Bishop Morrison was intimate with the St F.X. discussions and privy to Tompkins’s activities. Privately, he considered the priest’s ideas worthwhile. He echoed Tompkins’s aspiration to unearth solutions, but mindful of finances, was determined to progress cautiously. “A careful survey of the present ethical, social and industrial situation convinces us of the necessity of bringing together along safe and sane lines the various elements of humanity in this North American Continent,” he wrote in a letter to Tompkins, “and we are no less convinced that it is mainly through the proper channels of educational effort that this can be accomplished.”99 By “safe and sane lines” Morrison meant that any program “should be radical enough to be progressive, yet sufficiently conservative to be sound.”100 The bishop supported the educational and social conferences as a means of “stimulating interest in true education in all the departments from primary to the university.” In a keynote address at the 1919 conference, Morrison stated that he hoped the gatherings “would be a permanent institution and that good results would increase from year to year.”101 In a letter to a friend in Michigan, he expressed the intention of “developing these educational conventions” while awakening public opinion “to a full sense of what efficient education means for Catholic progress.”102 There was one crucial stipulation: any plans for diocesan extension had to ensure that St F.X. remained the central institution within the scheme. In the short term, Tompkins agreed. In his 1921 pamphlet, Knowledge for the People (he printed 5,000 copies for free distribution), he urged St F.X. to carry edification and training “to a knowledge-thirsty public.”103 The booklet, supported by monies received from a Boston benefactor, championed the short courses offered at the University of Wisconsin, which was a significant factor in the agricultural progress of that state.104 Although Tompkins had reservations about exclusive institutionalized education, he conceded that the initiative for fresh, bold ideas must “come from the Catholic church in Nova Scotia, through St Francis Xavier’s University.”105 Writing to the editor of The Casket, he mused: “I didn’t know much about the subject when I started studying but I find that a wonderful case can be put up for extension teaching, and if I am a judge of public opinion, the hour has struck when St F.X. must get into the field.”106 The Casket agreed and gave the priest’s scribbling full coverage.

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3.1  Knowledge for the People, privately published by Fr Tompkins in 1921

There was, of course, some opposition to Tompkins and his plans for a people’s school. Closely following the chronicle of saints and sinners, most commentators have assumed that the source of that opposition emanated from the bishop’s office. In fact, the opposite was true. Throughout the negotiations with the Carnegie officials, Tompkins occasionally complained of opposition from some members of the college’s board of governors. When he sensed opposition to the French chair, he wrote that some of the governors “hate and despise” the Acadians.107 Morrison always remained tempered and played the role of mediator. “I must say that I know nothing that

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would give color to such a supposition,” Morrison responded to one such letter. “Will you kindly let me know who these persons are and what they have said or done?”108 With Morrison’s support, by January 1921 the St F.X. board of governors had had a “stunning sweetening” and could not have been “better disposed” or “more alive” to the plan for a people’s school. Writing to Archbishop Neil McNeil in Toronto, Tompkins could barely contain himself. “It is really astounding to see how things are done here when we consider the great possibilities of this insti­ tution.”109 From mid-January to March 1921, fifty-one students between the ages of seventeen and fifty-seven, from all sectors of the economy, registered for the inaugural people’s school. This “unusual group of students” received instruction on subjects ranging from economics to agriculture (Fr John R. MacDonald even gave a course on letter writing skills). Welcomed by the mayor of Antigonish, members of the college faculty, and an “elated” Tompkins, the men truly “represented something new in education.”110 Fr Tompkins did not teach a course, although he was fond of espousing his favourite formula: people × resources × education = progress.111 It is “a perfect joy to see the interest these men take in their work,” the priest wrote to a friend: “Last night about 27 men sat in a classroom discussing country conditions while there was a howling game of hockey going on in the rink and the shouting could be heard. Even a hockey game did not draw them off. We have found the lever that will move the world.”112 Although not nearly as exuberant, Morrison was nonetheless pleased with the school. “Present economic conditions are bringing about a great social awakening among all classes of the people,” he wrote in the foreword of the school’s pamphlet. Not only did the courses prove their practicality, he added, but also illustrated that such experiments were necessary if “the educational needs of the province” were to be “adequately and effectively provided for.” In plain language he asserted that it would be a “social crime” against the welfare of the province were such schools “allowed to die in their infancy.” 113 The college received glowing reports from the students, many of whom “regretted” that the course ended so quickly. The Halifax Chronicle editorialized that the realization of the school’s founders will be “the wish of every patriotic Nova Scotian.”114 In an enthusiastic letter to J. Ryan Hughes at the North American College in

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3.2  Fr Tompkins (front row, third from left) and Fr Moses Coady (front row, fourth from left) with participants of the People’s School

Rome, Morrison wrote of the “ambitious program of work along our educational lines” and bragged that the people’s school was “crowded” – evidence that the diocese was “endeavouring to have a practical vision” for future needs.115 The practical vision, however, was soon to be challenged. To understand the fallout between Morrison and Fr Tompkins in 1921, one has to have a sense of their diverging philosophies concerning education. Both men were ardent educationalists, and both had received honorary degrees in recognition of their work. Nevertheless, they had very different ideas on how to move forward. On the coattails of Tompkins’s honorary degree from Dalhousie University in 1920, the diocese launched a $500,000 fundraising campaign aimed at eliminating St F.X.’s deficit, upgrading campus facilities, and matching the Carnegie offer for a chair in French. So convinced of the importance of the college to the welfare of the diocese, Morrison called upon the people to work for the campaign even “to the point of personal sacrifice.”116 He also asserted that Catholic education and Catholic principles were paramount to thwarting the “revolutionary forces at work.” St F.X. was to be the vanguard of this work and the focus of any reform impulses. Indeed, Morrison’s enthusiasm for the inaugural people’s school was partially

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due to the celebrity that it brought the college. It was, after all, St F.X. that was “to be congratulated.”117 The philosophy of Fr Tompkins was very different. Although he  respected the history and tradition of St F.X. and had worked to boost its fortunes, he no longer believed that it was the only institution capable of providing education to the Catholic community, nor was he convinced of the college’s ability to offer a meaningful response to the growing radicalism within society. The reality of poor facilities and an inadequate library had convinced him that the institution was “nothing more than a high school,” powerless to provide a suitable education in the modern world.118 He scoffed at the tradition of “know-it-all” clergy educated in philosophy and theology teaching complex subjects such as chemistry, math, or physics – fields in which they had little or no training.119 Discussing the problem with a friend, Tompkins commented that most priest-professors never “grasped the necessity of having men do graduate work who are expected to be leaders and teachers.”120 And even if they did, it would make little difference, he argued, because so few Catholics actually had the economic means to attend the college. In the people’s school booklet, Tompkins did not congratulate St F.X. as Morrison did; instead he wrote that the benefit of university education pertained “to the favored few.”121 Fr Tompkins was outspoken in his criticism of St F.X. and Catholic post-secondary education in general. “Let no inane vaporings as to our superior education status blind us any longer,” the priest wrote in The Casket. “It would be ludicrous if it were not so pathetic to view the self-complacency and self-glorification of those who tell us of the phenomenal advancement made by Catholics in higher education in the past 25 years or so.”122 As chancellor, privy to the chatter of the institution, and a loyal reader of The Casket, Morrison sensed that Tompkins was formulating ideas that did not necessarily include the college. In characteristic style, he acted quickly to fortify his authority. When the provincial legislature amended the university’s act of incorporation in 1921, he quietly sought a clause that gave the bishop of Antigonish the ability to appoint or remove any member of the faculty. The reason for this measure, he wrote to a benefactor, was to guard the institution against “precipitated or impulsive measures the full impact of which may not always be fully grasped at first sight.”123 It was as though he sensed an imminent threat.

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By the summer of 1921, the Carnegie Corporation, besieged with funding requests from Maritime colleges and universities, instituted a commission to examine and report on the post-secondary educational system in the region. The Carnegie commissioners, William S. Learned (an apt surname) and K.C.M. Sills, toured the Maritime colleges and reported that the schools suffered from underfunding, poor facilities, and dubious academic standards.124 They considered St F.X. a “fairly genuine institution” and praised its people’s school, but argued that the college would be better served if it belonged to a larger University of the Maritimes.125 This new institution would be constructed on the model of Oxbridge, with its system of colleges, allowing schools such as St F.X. and Acadia to uphold their names, boards of governors, and religious attributes, while cultivating their rivalries.126 Certain subjects, such as history, would be offered in the various colleges, while science would be a university-wide course.127 The existing colleges could stay in their respective communities, but the last two years of the arts course would be transferred to Halifax. In December, while in New York consulting with Carnegie officials, Tompkins was told of the proposal to centralize the Maritime colleges into a single university at Halifax. Soon after, he met with Dr Learned to discuss the particulars. “There are of course, a vast number of details involved in working out such a scheme as this,” Learned explained, but it was feasible. After all, “Dalhousie has already taken the most generous possible attitude.”128 That evening the priest wrote to Morrison, powerless to contain his excitement: “I shall have some very striking things to say when I get home … I think that Catholics may look to a new day if we are only alive to our possibilities.”129 In the following weeks, ideas and strategies consumed Tompkins’s every thought. He reread Cardinal Newman’s The Idea of a University and even discussed a proposal for a labour school, similar to that of Oxford’s Ruskin College. Like Newman, Tompkins wanted to breathe new spirit into a college that had become complacent and becalmed. At St F.X. he held small discussion groups in his office, the faculty lounge, or anyplace else that he could find someone willing to listen. The Learned / Sills report unleashed a fierce debate among educators. This was not the first time that university federation had been proposed as a solution for  the educational woes of the Maritime region. It was seriously considered in 1874 (Bishop Cameron had called the scheme “expensive, pretentious and unprofitable”) but

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was stymied by religious differences.130 The success of amalgamation at the University of Toronto, however, which admitted the Catholic St Michael’s College as a federated member in 1910, ­illustrated that the Church had little to fear from affiliation with a larger, perhaps more Protestant, institution. Toronto’s archbishop, Neil McNeil, was an instant supporter of Maritime university federation and met with Carnegie officials to seek further information, which he then passed on to the Old Rector. In a letter to his nephew, Fr John R. MacDonald, McNeil wrote that it was “a question of whether the Catholics of the Maritime provinces [were] going to find themselves in a condition of educational inferiority.”131 Buoyed by such sentiments, the faculty at St F.X., some of whom held poorly paid contract appointments, agreed that a new regional college provided the best opportunity to educate Catholic students, and in January 1922 they unanimously passed a resolution in support. A few months later an energized Tompkins told an audience in Moncton, New Brunswick: “Colleges we have plenty, but the great university is yet to come.”132 He revived his column in The Casket as a means of garnering public support (juxtaposing the feeble endowment of St F.X. against that of the wealthier small colleges in Maine and Massachusetts) and was confident in eventual success. In due time, he wrote Dr Learned, Antigonish would be “a center of red hot enthusiasts for the scheme.”133 Unfortunately for Fr Tompkins, the report had a very different effect on Morrison. From the outset the bishop took a cautious and subdued attitude. There were a variety of reasons for this reaction. Certainly much of his trepidation came from an abiding bias against interdenominational education, protesting as he did the potential loss of “Catholic morals” and the expansion of the “Protestant mentality” at every opportunity.134 He was prejudiced by his personal experiences as a teacher and priest on P E I and feared the allure of secularism. At the opening of Dalton Hall at St Dunstan’s College in 1919, he “emphasized the necessity of a good sound Catholic education not only for those who aspire to become God’s holy priests, but also for those who are preparing themselves for various spheres of the secular world.”135 Other priests in the diocese echoed this conviction and sermonized their flocks accordingly. Still others took a more aggressive antimodern tone and circulated rumours about the high rates of venereal disease at American colleges.136 Fr Tompkins was repeatedly frustrated by those asking him to guarantee that

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the  new university would not teach anything that conflicted with Catholic doctrine.137 In addition to religious concerns, however, the removal of the college would have profound consequences for the diocese. As a nursery for prospective clergy, the college provided a ready supply of recruits. Moreover, a St F.X. education guaranteed that young men might hope for something more than a “third, fourth or even lower rank.”138 If the college relocated to Halifax, there were no guarantees that more than a few local students would be able to attend. “I make the assertion, and I do not fear the contradiction,” wrote one alumnus, “that hundreds of our Cape Breton boys would never have seen the inside of this college, if it had been established in Halifax instead of Antigonish.”139 Others college administrators had similar concerns. A representative of Mount Allison University argued that he would support merger if it would “fling the door open, giving the poor boy or girl the privilege of education,” but to his mind the scheme would do the opposite.140 Echoing these fears, Fr Gregory McLellan, rector of St Dunstan’s, swayed back and forth, but eventually opined that merger would actually curtail the opportunities of Catholic students. One historian of the period has argued that the diocese rejected merger to defend “faith and culture.”141 In part this is true, yet the economic factors cannot be overlooked. Merger was not popular among rank-and-file Catholics.142 Not only did St F.X. represent a considerable amount of monies for the local economy, but parishioners had donated great financial resources to the institution and were not keen to have their investment transferred to Halifax – a city that already contained most of the province’s infrastructure.143 A small feeder institution (or people’s school) would remain in Antigonish, but most did not believe it was feasible. “Remember this is your college,” thundered The Casket to the people of the diocese during a fundraising drive in 1920. “This campaign is your campaign and the success of the movement is in your hands.”144 Each new edifice, however minor, brought the town and the diocese a sense of pride. When the cornerstone for the new chapel was laid in 1911, more than 2,000 people gathered for the reception.145 Perhaps Morrison best illustrates this sentiment in a 1922 letter to a colleague: “This year there is in the course of construction a fine brick and steel rink, to the cost of $35,000, it is expected to be the best thing of its kind east of Montreal.”146 To add insult to injury, the

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financial package that the corporation offered to subsidize the relocation process was insufficient. To relocate St F.X., the diocese would have to kick in some more cash. Evidently, Antigonish would not only lose its college, but it would also foot the bill. The literary canon of saints and sinners fashioned by this period has left a number of paradoxes and questions. Those who envisage Tompkins and Morrison in perpetual conflict wonder how Tompkins could have completely misjudged his superior’s reaction to merger.147 As Tompkins confidently lobbied faculty members, Morrison told the college’s rector that the proposal would amount to nothing more than a distraction.148 It is, in fact, a testimony to the dynamic collaboration between the two men that the bishop’s stand against the merger so completely astounded the priest. Utterly dismayed at the “stupidity of a half dozen,” Tompkins, who had remarked only five years previous that the school was “striding along unmistakably,”149 entered into a confrontation with the bishop that would have a major impact on both their lives.150 The debate over the merits of university merger dominated the St  F.X. campus in the warm spring of 1922. As the snow melted, Tompkins revived his column in The Casket as a means of publicizing this new solution to the problems of post-secondary education in the Maritimes. Alongside articles championing the future of “the small college,” the priest wrote of the exploits of the emerging University of Alberta and its Guysborough-born president. It was soon apparent that both Tompkins and Morrison had a concrete allotment of Catholic support. As the diocese broke into pro- and antimerger camps, their respective compositions illustrated the complexity of Antigonish itself. From the beginning the antimerger gusto came not from the clergy but from the laity. What influence Morrison lacked among the priest-professors he made up with the Old Rector, local parish congregations, and benefactors, and soon after, in the pages of The Casket. Conversely, Fr Tompkins had the support of many priests, St F.X. faculty, and a large segment of the Canadian hierarchy. He also had  support from some of the province’s elite laity, including Nicholas Meagher (Supreme Court justice and author of Howe and the Catholics) of Halifax, who offered cash for propaganda.151 Tompkins’s propensity to cultivate enthusiasm for merger was a ­testament to his ideas and personal popularity. In correspondence

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with Carnegie officials, Tompkins wrote that Fathers Boyle, Gillis, Connolly, Coady, Nicholson (although there is evidence that Nicholson played both sides), J.R. MacDonald, and “Little Doc” Hugh MacPherson were behind him.152 Shortly after, other priests, including Fr John Hugh MacDonald in New Waterford, privately declared their support.153 The archbishop of Toronto offered to finance a pamphlet for propaganda purposes, while other prelates endorsed merger in the media. If a Catholic university was not feasible, argued Archbishop Edward Roche of St John’s, Newfoundland, merger was the next best thing. After all, he mused, “the National University of Ireland was not Catholic in principle.”154 The support of many Maritime prelates for merger was partially philosophical, but generally they had pragmatic and self-serving aims. Tompkins might well have been guided by a sort of “Catholic progressivism” as one of his biographers has aptly put forth, but the other Maritime bishops simply needed a college to send their students.155 In fairness, besides Charlottetown, the only Catholic diocese that had anything to lose should merger materialize was Antigonish. St Bonaventure’s College in St John’s could educate a student to a first-year university level at best; after that, Roche’s parishioners had to travel to the mainland to further their edification. Similarly, students at Saint Mary’s College in Halifax had nothing “more than good courses in arts” and had to transfer to Dalhousie to earn a technical degree, while St Thomas in Chatham, New Brunswick, did not receive a university charter until 1934.156 When Bishop March of Harbour Grace, initially an advocate of merger, visited St F.X. and asked the Old Rector why Antigonish students would want to go to Halifax “with such a fine university as this,” Tompkins was outraged.157 In July the Old Rector declined an invitation to be present at a quorum of Maritime college officials to discuss merger, but sent a representative to convey the impression that St F.X. was affording the proposal its due consideration. In the weeks that followed, Morrison attempted to reason with his episcopal colleagues, appealing to their sectarian prejudices and warning of the “Protestant mentality.”158 He also interviewed the university’s board of governors and other prominent benefactors. At the annual diocesan retreat, he forbid any merger discussion, stripping its proponents of a vital platform. When pushed by an “earnest lobby” to relent, he “set himself

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up as the sole spokesman” and had a short question-and-answer session. An angered Tompkins described the bishop’s actions at the meeting as “autocratic” and “backward.”159 In his correspondence Fr Tompkins appears genuinely taken aback by Morrison’s tactics, and complained that most of the clergy were “disgusted by the bishop’s actions and opinions.”160 Morrison did invite him to a meeting of the Maritime bishops in late July, but the priest resented the bishop’s tone and general arrogance. Perhaps even more frustrating, Fr Tompkins was generally shut out of The Casket, permitted only to write about issues unrelated to merger. Employing his characteristic hyperbole, he informed Carnegie officials that the antimerger group was an “ignorant spasm of a few backwoods fellows,” saving the worst for Morrison whom he believed was imbued with the “St Dunstan’s Spirit” – a comment not meant as a compliment to the island institution.161 The July censure was disheartening, but by September Tompkins had recovered his confidence. In early October, the Old Rector warned Morrison of rumours on campus that despite the impediments, Tompkins “was on top now.”162 In the troublesome autumn of 1922 Fr James Boyle, a former faculty member at St F.X., was transferred to the parish of Havre Boucher in Antigonish County shortly after returning from postgraduate study at Columbia University in New York City. Nothing in Morrison’s correspondence indicates that the transfer was a warning to Tompkins, but the circumstances are indeed peculiar. It seems odd that the college would grant a year’s leave of absence for a ­faculty member to specialize in his field only to transfer him from the college upon completion of that degree.163 Despite the lack of evidence, it is very plausible that Boyle’s transfer was calculated. He was in “personal touch” with Carnegie officials and was a fine representation of the type of interdenominational training that Tompkins was championing. Whether it was a direct warning to Tompkins or not, Boyle’s removal made it clear that a position at St F.X. was a privilege and not a right. The first commitment of any diocesan priest was at the parish level, and a graduate degree from Columbia, or any other institution, did not make one immune from that reality.164 In mid-October the merger debate shifted to Halifax when Archbishop McCarthy summoned the Maritime hierarchy to his residence for frank discussions. A previous meeting in July had

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seemingly made matters edgier. The magnitude of the summit was obvious. As Morrison was leaving for the capital, the Old Rector warned him not to “allow a motion of approval to go through” as any hint that the Maritime episcopate favoured the scheme would “be ruinous.”165 Irritated by the stance taken by some of his fellow prelates, Morrison reserved his harshest criticism for Halifax Catholics and their Archbishop McCarthy, who championed the “far-reaching possibilities for the promotion of Catholic interests” that merger offered.166 Morrison was incredulous that his ecclesiastical superior considered merger a means of advancing the Church in the Maritime provinces. By now, Morrison believed that merger could be defeated only by convincing Rome to reject it. It was imperative that he persuade his colleagues to defer to the Curia. At the summit, Morrison diplo­ matically asserted his case. His firmest support came from Bishop Edouard-Alfred LeBlanc and Bishop Patrick Chiasson, both from New Brunswick, who argued that the merger would do little to ensure the cultural vitality of Acadians or the authority of their office. “Glad that question of federation is one which should be settled by the bishops,” LeBlanc wrote afterward to McCarthy, “and not the layman who have not the training necessary to understand this question from a religious point of view.”167 Although Morrison could not dissuade McCarthy or Roche from their positions, he skilfully put forth a resolution stating that the scheme “appeared” detrimental to Catholicism. He also convinced his colleagues to appeal to Rome for judgment. This tactic was canny, as the resolution subtly suggested that the Maritime episcopate opposed merger, when in reality, they had simply sought Rome’s counsel. Considering Morrison’s outspoken opposition to merger, it is remarkable that Archbishop McCarthy entrusted him with submitting the question to Rome, and at least one Maritime bishop, O’Leary of Charlottetown, felt it was a major mistake.168 Characteristically, the Antigonish prelate shrewdly employed the blunder to his advantage. Following the summit, he called a special meeting of the St F.X. board of governors and asked a subcommittee studying merger to report its findings. Not surprisingly, as Morrison had chosen the committee, it condemned the federation of Maritime colleges. In fact, one week earlier, one of the committee members, Neil McArthur, a Glace Bay lawyer, had written to Morrison expressing “sane orthodox views” and offering to be “guided” by the bishop’s opinions.169

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Sensing a golden opportunity, Morrison announced to the assembled that the Maritime bishops were against merger. All that remained was to draft a resolution that the college “does not enter the proposed Federation of Maritime Universities.”170 The announcement that St F.X. was officially opposed to merger isolated Fr Tompkins and stripped him of a public forum. The Casket, ironically now firmly under Morrison’s control, announced on 19 and 26 October that the question was settled. Articles now published under Tompkins’s name in the secular press would be tantamount to insubordination. What he desperately needed was a layman outside the diocese to continue the movement. Tompkins was popular among his former students and had access to many promising young professionals. For this task, however, he turned to one of the college’s most talented young alumni, Angus L. Macdonald. An exceptional scholar at St F.X. and a recent law graduate of Dalhousie, Macdonald shared Tompkins’s yearning for a more progressive Catholicism. During his senior year at the college, he edited the university newspaper, the Xavierian, and although it remained fairly innocuous, it gave hints of awakening Catholic philosophies.171 As a budding lawyer on the verge of a successful career, he was loath to commence a political campaign against the judgment of an influential Catholic bishop but consented due to his convictions and loyalty to his former professor. The fascinating correspondence between Fr Tompkins and Angus L. Macdonald in the autumn of 1922 illustrates Tompkins’s unbridled passion for university merger. He was convinced that any union without St F.X. would isolate and abate Catholic post-secondary education.172 The priest sent copious “spur-of-the-moment” notes to Macdonald, some of which were written on the backs of envelopes and whatever scraps of paper he could get his hands on. Ironically labelling Morrison and his supporters “Bolsheviks of the worst sort,” Tompkins banked on Macdonald’s capacity to persuade the public on the merits of merger and to force the Church to acquiesce. “Strong public opinion cannot be ignored,” Fr Alexander Thompson once counselled Tompkins, “ergo, stir up public opinion.”173 As Tompkins had told Dr Learned, “he [Morrison] never opposes anything the people want.”174 In the meantime Morrison anxiously awaited word from Rome.175 He had personally guaranteed that St F.X. would remain in Antigonish but could not save the college if Rome sanctioned merger. All

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parties anxiously awaited the reply. A ruling from Rome, wrote Archbishop McCarthy, would “free the atmosphere” and “lift the cloud that certain persons see hovering over those who speak in favor of federation.”176 Twice Morrison wrote to the apostolic delegate for news and twice the delegate told him to be patient. Growing more anxious and desperate by the day, the bishop contacted prominent Curia officials, some of whom were former classmates, and claimed that the portly Archbishop McCarthy had been “won over” due to his advanced age and poor health.177 When Morrison learned that the archbishop of Toronto supported merger, he charged that McNeil held “liberal” views because of an honorary degree ­previously awarded to him by Dalhousie University. When told that McNeil was planning a trip to Rome, Morrison asked the rector of the Scots College to approach members of the Sacred Congregation of Seminaries and Universities to “steady the situation” and counter any claims that the archbishop might make in favour of the scheme.178 While Rome mulled over the proposal, Angus L. Macdonald began his quest to bring Tompkins’s opinions to the Catholics of the province.179 He was able to publish letters in the Halifax papers and in the Sydney Post, but despite supporters at The Casket (the publisher C.J. MacGillivray secretly kept Macdonald privy to the paper’s tactics), he had no response from Antigonish. Fr Tompkins, scribbling in pen, pencil, and sometimes coloured pencil, wrote numerous notes to his protégé over the next weeks. True to his nature, he usually began with brief pleasantries before turning to the serious business of relating bits and pieces of relevant information. Macdonald also received letters from various Antigonish priests who complained that they lacked the information to make a competent judgment on federation. It was obvious, even to some Antigonish clergy, that The Casket was hopelessly biased. “Tell me of what value is the verdict of a packed jury,” wrote one supporter. “I saw that article in the Gazette about the various conferences of Catholics on the question,” wrote Fr Coady in early December. “You must get it in The Casket.”180 The Casket’s editor, Robert Phalen, was a lawyer by trade and an effective newspaperman with a long association with the weekly. His brother, Fr David V. Phalen, had been the editor from 1900 to 1909, writing under the pseudonym David Creedon. Robert was clever, sharp-witted, and unwaveringly loyal to Morrison. He disliked Fr Tompkins and relished his newfound supremacy over his former adversary. He followed Morrison’s instructions carefully and

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refused to publish Macdonald’s letters or his critique of St F.X.’s antifederation report. Instead, he instructed Macdonald to expose those priests who favoured the merger, and contemptuously asked why “a Catholic layman should have any say in the matter.”181 The decision to restrict the freedom of the press in Antigonish outraged Macdonald, who had fought against rank authoritarianism in the trenches of Europe. He was further insulted by the Old Rector who charged that he was not “competent to give enlightenment on the merits or demerits of university federation.”182 In an ardent and sincere response, Macdonald maintained that as a faithful Catholic in “good standing,” he had every right to intervene in a question that affected the community. “What next will you require of me,” he glibly wrote The Casket, “possibly my baptismal certificate and a declaration from my parish priest that I attend Mass on Sunday?”183 Letters of support were mailed from Antigonish to Macdonald in Halifax. Morrison “must be quite a bully and accustomed to swinging the big stick,” wrote Fr James Boyle, but “his methods and prejudice will win supporters for the cause … You will have plenty of assistance.”184 Although Phalen editorialized on the pitfalls of merger (the series of articles lasted some months), Morrison was wary of replying to Macdonald in the pages of The Casket, and he advised vocal opponents of merger to send their letters to the Sydney papers. The Antigonish paper made reference to Macdonald’s articles in the Post and chastised those Catholics “to be found sneering at those who oppose the scheme.”185 However, as Macdonald’s attacks were concise and effective, The Casket was forced to respond. One retort read: The Catholics of this diocese are not going to be stampeded by county election methods into opposition to their bishop; and they will support him all the more solidly when they see him sniped at by people who do not have the courage to sign their letters with their own name.186 On 7 December 1922, Morrison wrote to Fr Charles MacDonald insinuating that Tompkins was behind the letter-writing campaign: Yes, I think it well that The Casket take a hand in dispelling the mist that has beclouded the “vision” of the dreamers. I think the letters in the Hx. Chronicle are written by a layman of Halifax, while the ammunition is being supplied from elsewhere. I am

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sorry to notice that The Sydney Post is beginning to lend itself to the propaganda. The secular press east of Halifax had behaved very well up to the present.187 As the wind turned colder in the late autumn of 1922, the problem of what to do with the rebellious Tompkins weighed heavily on ­Morrison’s mind. Merger had devolved into a public spat, and Tompkins’s insubordination required a very public response. Tompkins, when controlled, was an asset, but he was not a team player. By November, the Old Rector (a long-time antagonist) persuaded Morrison that Tompkins was not only superfluous but also a shoddy administrator. He was, according to MacPherson, most effective “where he is not,” and his stints as vice-rector, principal of the high school, prefect of studies, and registrar had been a failure.188 Moreover, MacPherson had received a letter from a Cape Breton priest stating that if the college did not replace the “mergerites” with loyal assistants, the Old Rector “need not expect much sympathy or support for [his] regime by those who would like to stand by the college.”189 Tompkins’s fate was sealed. The sacking would not be popular, but Morrison could not allow Tompkins to hang about the college. To save St F.X., Tompkins would have to go. On 13 December, Morrison wrote the most infamous letter in the history of Catholicism in Nova Scotia. In it he informed Fr Tompkins of his immediate transfer from the college to the isolated coastal parish of Canso, Guysborough County: It is of course unnecessary to point out that the first duty of the priesthood of the diocese is the pastoral office, which takes precedence over any other employment of the diocesan clergy, and it is a consolation to know that the priesthood of this diocese fully appreciate this fact and are ever ready to undertake this duty … and therefore I hereby appoint you to be parish priest of Canso and attached missions.190 The day after receiving notice of his transfer, Tompkins wrote to Dr Learned that he had been “turned out into the wilderness to a place called Canso … a terrible place I understand, where among other things, the sun is not seen for 9 months on account of the fog.”191 In the days following Morrison’s verdict, shock and anger gripped the diocese. Banishing Tompkins from the college might have been

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pragmatic, but sending him to Canso was retribution. The overwhelming majority of Antigonish clergy expressed quiet and private distain for the bishop’s decision. Rumours spread throughout Antigonish that Tompkins was going to leave the diocese for Oklahoma to work with Bishop Francis Kelley.192 One friend of Tompkins wrote that the priest’s “sojourn in the desert” would be brief, “since the pressure of public opinion” would react vigorously to such “ill judgement and arbitrary action.”193 Aware of this gossip, Morrison told the outgoing pastor of Canso to stay put as there might be a “hitch in completing the transfer.” He added, “It is far from my wishes to cause any priest to leave the diocese, especially when there is work for him to do here … however, he must leave the college.”194 Public opinion could not save Tompkins. The decision to banish Fr Tompkins to the periphery of the diocese divided the clergy. “There can be nothing more intense and tragic,” wrote George Boyle, “than the conflict of honorable men of deep convictions over questions that they hold to be of greatest importance.”195 For a number of young Catholic intellectuals, it permanently soiled Morrison’s image. This resentment is evident in a letter that Angus L. penned to Tompkins only days after the decision: The work that you have begun in connection with the federation will never be allowed to remain unfinished. Those of us who breathe free air will carry it on while we have a tongue to speak or a pen to write. And before the thing is finally cleared up, some of those who now strut their authority before the world may have cause to regret bitterly that authority was ever placed in their hands. I will pray that your health may withstand the strain of parish work. Your spirit I know they can never break. I cannot write anymore now except to say again that I will pray for you with whatever faith is left in me.196 The young lawyer was not finished “howling” and sent his correspondence with Phalen and The Casket to the Sydney Post and the Halifax Herald – an extraordinary move for a Catholic. Writing under the pen name “A Catholic Reader,” he wanted Nova Scotians to bear witness to the tactics of “the bullies with a big stick.”197 As one friend wrote to Macdonald, “You have no idea how it took among the rank and file as well as a large number of Cape Breton clergy.”198 In Antigonish, the Old Rector recognized the damage that

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Macdonald was inflicting on the diocese but was unsure how to respond. “What do you think about the advisability of answering A.L. Macdonald’s charge that we suppress the Truth,” he wrote to Phalen. “Is it better to ignore or answer it?”199 Supporters of merger could sense a momentum shift. This is no time for “pussyfooting around, or misinformation,” a bruised Tompkins wrote. “If we want education we must come out and say so.”200 Despite the increasing momentum and Macdonald’s belief in “final victory,” the merger debate abruptly ended in the spring of 1923 when the Roman Sacred Congregation of Seminaries and Universities ruled against the scheme.201 By the time the verdict was announced, merger was all but dead anyway as Acadia University had already backed out in February 1923 and Mount Allison was expressing severe doubts.202 Evidently Morrison was not the only college administrator with financial concerns. Only King’s College, which suffered a devastating fire to its Windsor campus, relocated to Halifax, constructing a new building on the Dalhousie grounds. Morrison was relieved that Rome’s decision was “clear and to the  point” leaving no doubt as to the mind of Rome on merger. Nonetheless, while his arguments against federation were “found consonant with the final decision of the Holy See,” the battle to save St F.X. came at a great cost.203 One esteemed priest-professor put in for an immediate transfer to Dalhousie but was denied. Could the altercation have been avoided? Perhaps had Tompkins showed more pragmatism and Morrison more transparency (Msgr Coady later mused that Morrison’s trickery was the “blackest mark” against the antimerger crowd), things might have ended differently.204 Yet, their personal characteristics, so effective when synchronized, ensured a tumultuous outcome. Afterwards Tompkins ironically claimed that Morrison and the Old Rector were ruining St F.X. A couple of years later, still extremely angry with Tompkins, Morrison commented: I really feel sorry for him. He is of a restless disposition, and is forever in search of some novel or startling idea to which he supposes will be the final and permanent remedy for some of the world’s ills. Usually he soon forgets about the splendid idea, only to be equally absorbed for a similar brief period in some other new idea, and so on.205

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Although there is a good deal of truth in this statement (Fr Coady once admitted that Tompkins could be “illogical” when dominated by an idea), however difficult for future biographers of Tompkins to  admit, for the time being St F.X. was without one of its most ­influential leaders.206 The loss of Fr Tompkins from the intellectual hub of the diocese came at an inopportune time. The economic situation in the Maritimes was worsening. The fishing and forestry sectors were reeling from the impact of shrinking markets for their products. Lumber mills in Nova Scotia witnessed a 50 per cent drop in employment from 1919 to 1921, while fishermen turned to their “little plots of land” to eke out a living.207 The coal industry in Cape Breton was even more precarious. A weak tariff on coal, while helpful for central Canadian industry, decreased Cape Breton’s share of the market and curtailed production, which had been at full capacity during the war. By 1921, the entire coal and steel industry on the island (as well as operations in Pictou County) was taken over by a new holding company called the British Empire Steel Corporation (BE S CO ). As its revenues dropped, the Montreal-dominated BE S CO made economies on the backs of its workers. Some of the mines were kept in full operation while others lay dormant. When talks between the new company and the men went nowhere, the mood in the colliery towns became tense. In the summer of 1922, miners organized a brief strike over poor wages and dangerous working conditions. Although the 1922 strike was brief, it served as a warning to Morrison that the problems percolating in Cape Breton needed to be addressed. Since Morrison’s consecration as bishop in 1912, there had been relative peace in the colliery towns, but by the end of the Great War, the militant mood had resurfaced. Since the turn of the century, immigrant workers regularly spent months living in shacks on company property, in overcrowded boarding houses, or in one of the company row houses that lined the streets of the colliery towns. The shacks, observed the Sydney Post, were “a positive disgrace to the most filthy parts of Constantinople … little more than graveyards where humans are buried before they are dead.”208 Disease was prevalent and infant mortality rates were much higher than the national level. When St F.X. decided to construct an arena in November 1921, the priest at Sydney’s Sacred Heart Parish wrote the Old Rector to complain of the cost, adding “a visit to the scores of poverty-stricken homes in Sydney and elsewhere would surely modify the ideas some have of what this country can afford.”209

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For many, the conditions under which they lived were indicative of the flaws in the capitalist system. “Everybody in Glace Bay is either the servant of the coal company, or the servant of the servant of the coal company,” observed the Canadian Mining Journal in 1908.210 Although, as David Frank has illustrated, the colliery towns were no longer “company towns” by 1920, many miners were still reliant on a system of credit whereby workers rented their homes from their employer and bought their groceries and supplies from the company stores.211 The dangerous working conditions, job uncertainty, and perception among the miners that their wage cuts were helping to line the pockets of Montreal industrialists resulted in a marked militancy in the colliery districts. If Morrison was ever unprepared for a societal quandary, unquestionably it was the labour unrest that percolated throughout industrial Cape Breton in the 1920s. As a Prince Edward Island farm boy, he had little practical experience with industry. There were influential clergy such as Fr John Ryan at the Catholic University of America writing (and publishing in The Casket) on the topic, but Morrison’s knowledge of labour-capital relations was primarily theoretical, reinforced through the reading of papal encyclicals such as Rerum Novarum (Of New Things). Although Rerum Novarum is acknowl­ edged as one of the most important documents in the history of the papacy, it is an ambiguous text at best. Published in 1891 by Leo XIII, the encyclical criticized socialism and staunchly defended the right of private property, but recognized the utter poverty and general hardship of industrial society. The document insisted that the wealthy recognize their social responsibilities, such as the obligation to provide a just wage, and defended the rights of workers to form associations or unions.212 Stressing the common good over rank individualism, and the need for limited state intervention, the encyclical proposed class cooperation as the secret for industrial harmony. On the surface, the encyclical appeared to offer cogent and workable solutions to the emerging problems in Cape Breton. Yet it soon became clear to Morrison that many of the solutions, so sound on paper, were not practical for the colliery towns of his diocese. The primary, and most obvious, problem was that the encyclical offered Roman Catholic solutions to a Roman Catholic audience, upholding an island of stability in an age of upheaval. For instance, Catholic working guilds, while theoretically appealing, were simply unfeasible in Cape Breton where half the population was Protestant. When

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a Royal Canadian Regiment troop train arrived in Glace Bay in the summer of 1922, the soldiers did not distinguish between denominations, nor, for the most part, did the miners. The disturbances in the colliery towns and the subsequent study of Rerum Novarum did have an effect on the clerical dialogue, although like in Toronto, the document had very little “immediate impact.”213 As Brian Clarke has illustrated, at the very least it “prompted many Anglophone Catholics to embrace the cause of social reform.”214 It also highlighted a complicated quandary. Before the Church could become involved in social improvement, it first had to define its relationship with B E SC O . From a financial standpoint, the Church was best served when the mines were in full operation. Much of the diocese’s infrastructure was funded by Catholic miners through the controversial check-off, a regular deduction of monies from the workers’ paycheques. Deducted by B E SC O with the approval of the union, these funds supported not only churches but social work that the diocese carried out in hospitals, orphanages, and schools. Strikes therefore emptied Church coffers. The diocese also relied on the philanthropic contributions that B E SC O made to core institutions such as St F.X. These were crucial monies that the Church could not raise in the agricultural districts that comprised the bulk of the diocese. By far the greatest stumbling block, however, was the expansion, both real and perceived, of socialism (and later communism). Born of the French revolution and fostered through the turbulence of the industrial revolution, socialists were first organized in industrial Cape Breton at Glace Bay in 1904, spurred by immigrant miners who brought the dogma from “England and continental Europe.”215 By 1923 its influence among Cape Breton labour had reached its pin­nacle.216 Don MacGillivray explains its significance: In the 1920s, there was a small but steady stream of radicals into the area to complement those indigenous to the island. From the New Glasgow area came “Red” Dan Livingstone. From the same general area came Donald “Dawn” Fraser, who became a reporter for the Glace Bay based Maritime Labour Herald and proceeded to put labour’s struggles in verse form … W.U. “Billy” Cotton, British educated and a “dedicated Communist,” became the first editor of the Maritime Labour Herald.217

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Despite the claims of local pastors that radical agitators were merely magnifying petty grievances, by the early 1920s the miners had exchanged their moderate union leadership for more radical representation. For the most part, there was a marked polarity between the socialist campaigners of Cape Breton and the priests of Antigonish. Although exchanges between them were rare, The Casket used its opportunities to disparage the radicals when it could. “The socialist plan as plainly stated by every socialist writer who ever became prominent is to abolish property owning altogether,” wrote The Casket in January 1920. “Socialist agitators make a great noise about vast properties in the hands of a few men, but they do not speak very plainly to the coal miners or the carpenter about what this scheme were to do to his little home.”218 The Casket did put forward utterances against the seven-day work week at the steel plant, and illustrated a desire to make “the most powerful corporations obey the laws of decency and of good order,” but like Rerum Novarum offered nothing concrete.219 Nor was there much cooperation or dialogue between the diocese and the union leadership. It is simple, yet facile, to argue that Church leaders were more interested in the wealthy and powerful than in the trials of the poor: the plight of the colliery towns weighed heavily on Morrison. He was in habitual contact with clergy and devoted much of his time to that region. In a letter to Fr William Kiely at North Sydney, he responded to the economic decline in that town: I have been following with much interest and not without anxiety, the labour and other economic questions that are being agitated in the industrial centres, and it is earnestly to be hoped that things will not be forced on to a ruinous end … I imagine that some of the train employees themselves will be laid off, if the amount of transportation business will be so reduced as to not require their further employment. Let us hope that saner counsels will soon prevail in these matters.220 Two months later he wrote a similar note to the pastor of Inverness: Needless to say, I have been very much concerned about the ­set-back received by the Inverness mining industry, and have been following with an anxious mind the trend of negotiations

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undertaken to have the mines reopened. At this distance it is ­difficult to properly appraise the reasons why the mines should be closed at all, but it certainly must have meant much hardship and foreboding for the people who depend on this work for a living.221 As the concern mounted, however, the question of what to do remained. Morrison had little faith in either the union leadership of District 26 or the officials at B E SC O. Finding common ground between groups that tended to prevent a “realistic assessment of the basic problems of the coal and steel industries” was not easy.222 It was not surprising, The Casket wrote in April 1920, that that another showdown was close at hand because “organized labour was drifting under ­heretical teaching and the influence of un-Christian and atheistic l­iterature.”223 However, the paper also insisted that BE S CO had to meet the workers on just wage demands. During a work stoppage in October 1920, The Casket went as far as to argue that “the time is not far distant when the Canadian nation will have to take over the few square miles of coal areas and put an end to the ceaseless conflict between owners and workmen.”224 Suggesting the nationalization of the industrial sector by the state was not an idyllic solution but did illustrate the level of frustration within the diocese. The rank and file of the Cape Breton clergy had long expressed a feeling of ineffectiveness and an inability to grasp the mood of their parishioners. They were frustrated with the endless labour stoppages – strikes that starved the people and taxed their parishes. They witnessed first-hand the intolerable conditions that their people ­ laboured under, and the social depravity (the coke oven district was considered the worst area) of large industrial towns. These priests regularly expressed their concerns to Morrison, but he had few answers. He did not fully understand the causes of the discontent. He firmly believed, and often articulated, that the labour stoppages were “thrust upon good Catholics by foreign demagogues.” He assumed that only a small minority actually supported the socialists (to say nothing of communism), and that the ideology, and the militancy of the coal fields, would disappear once émigré radicals like J.B. McLachlan were silenced. The best advice he could offer his priests was that they press the government to deport alleged foreign troublemakers: those “crafty men” mentioned in Rerum Novarum.225

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In the early 1920s, Morrison had a scholarly grasp of the philosophical differences between Catholicism and socialism but a rather poor understanding of the mood of his people in industrial Cape Breton. He simply could not appreciate that the aims of the local unions were not necessarily hostile to those of religion. As Michael Earle has perceptively illustrated, many in the colliery towns had adopted the language of class struggle, but most “for religious or other reasons” would not have supported a rigorous socialist platform.226 Moreover, for many, socialism simply represented better wages and living conditions and not a radical reorganization of society. The bishop failed to grasp that the atheists in the coalfields, such as J.B. McLachlan, may have espoused a radical reading of the social gospel, but not every miner or steelworker advocating for better conditions wanted to eradicate organized religion. Morrison’s correspondence in this period clearly illustrates his naïveté. He offered little on the material side and remained committed to the conviction that Catholics in Cape Breton must retain their “religious integrity” in the face of difficult conditions. “I quite realize that the abnormal conditions of the present time are indeed ­trying, and my deepest sympathy goes out to anyone who suffers,” he wrote to Fr James Gillis in New Aberdeen, “and yet it is mainly under trial that we can best demonstrate the moral and religious fibre of our being, and show that our holy religion has a deep and lasting meaning for us.”227 Morrison’s rhetoric (or lack thereof) during this period, displayed a credulousness, evident in churchmen on both sides of the Atlantic, that prevented him from objectively assessing the situation. Had he done so, he might have recognized that socialism had not claimed many of his parishioners, nor was Church attendance affected. In fairness to Morrison, he was weary of the subtle attacks on his Church by the miner’s newspaper, the Maritime Labour Herald. When William Ulrich Cotton, a Quebec communist, took a prominent position at the paper, it only furthered Morrison’s suspicions of District 26’s leadership. As David Frank has illustrated, the Herald was “crammed with local news and letters, resolutions from union locals and reports from conferences, learned editorials, occasional verse and humor, dispatches from a labour news service, union cards and notices and ample local advertising.”228 Yet the popular paper (by 1922 circulation was an impressive 6,000 copies per week) was clear that its enemy was capitalism. The Casket entered a tit for

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tat with the Herald, questioning the motives of its editor. One editorial asked the Herald, Do your readers buy your paper to read the shallow, pretended philosophy of religious doubters or to read labour and political views and news? Have you the knowledge, the training and the brains to furnish your readers with a substitute for all the wealth of theology and philosophy, which is at their disposal? Is this your mission? And where did you get this mission?229 Roman Catholics were not the only denomination to take issue with the Labour Herald. Rev. D.M. Gillis of St Paul’s Presbyterian Church in Sydney declared that the paper should be “burnt unread,” while a Baptist preacher argued that the harsh rhetoric found in the pages of the paper would take Canada into a “machine gun millennium.”230 While Christian leaders took aim at District 26’s radicalism, by 1922 it was obvious that their time-honoured authority was being usurped. At the United Mine Workers’ convention held at Truro in 1922, the rank and file adopted a declaration denouncing the capitalist system. “We proclaim openly to all the world,” read the decree, “that we are out for the complete overthrow of the capitalist system and the capitalist state, peaceably if we may, forcibly if we must.”231 Perhaps more pragmatically, the fiery agitator, J.B. McLachlan, called for an organized reduction in output to directly attack the profits of the company. In reaction, the moderate leadership resigned and new elections were called. Morrison was appalled at the aggressive rhetoric but was tempered in his response. In July, during the union executive elections, he painstakingly debated whether or not to issue a pastoral letter in support of the moderate candidates. Normally such a document would carry influence among Catholic miners; however, the labour situation in 1922 was so delicate that Morrison worried his comments might appear as though he were “playing into the hands of capitalism.” He did not want Catholic workers to perceive his involvement as an encroachment on their temporal affairs. The miners, he ultimately decided, would pay “little or no heed to any such admonition,” and in their present temper “the authority of their own immediate pastors would be lessened.”232 Instead of issuing a circular, Morrison had to settle for quiet diplomacy, urging local pastors to speak with influential members of their parishes and waiting until the people were more “amenable to

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reason and good sense.”233 “No one statement at any one time will suffice to check the revolutionary tendencies that are being encouraged and exploited by professional agitators,” he wrote the priest at  Sydney Mines, “but a persistent active counter-presentation of Catholic truth bearing upon these matters will be essentially necessary.”234 As a substitute for an aggressive public statement, the clergy in Cape Breton could offer only pamphlets from the Catholic Truth Society outlining its analysis of labour and social welfare. Priests were generally allowed to speak their minds from the pulpit, but it was hardly aggressive intervention. The decision not to issue a declaration in support of moderate candidates in the District 26 elections of 1922 was a watershed moment for the diocese. Morrison rightly deduced that his involvement was unlikely to have a constructive impact and was more apt to cause harm to moderate candidates. The eventual election of the radical “Red” Dan Livingstone as president by over 5,000 votes (McLachlan was reelected to his union post by over 6,000) proved him right. Furthermore, Morrison now recognized that a stubborn reliance on the traditional authority of the clergy and an appeal to the “good sense” of Catholics were poor strategies for defeating radicalism. The loss of clerical authority staggered and frightened him. Conventional methods of mediation were no longer sufficient; the diocese had to find meaningful solutions or watch its influence disappear altogether. Throughout the autumn of 1922, Morrison’s attention was completely devoted to the problems in the colliery towns. He poured over parish reports, newspaper articles, and letters to the editor from company officials, all in an attempt to better appreciate the situation on the ground. The recent union elections, and correspondence with clergy, made it clear that some form of socialism appealed to a segment of church-going Catholic workers. There was a palpable conviction among his priests, however, that many of the “older and saner” union members did not fully support the radical agenda of District 26. In thrashing out the situation from all angles, Morrison made interesting discoveries. In one letter to Fr John J. McNeil in Glace Bay, he excitedly pointed out that Canadian unions annually paid over $1.5 million to their counterparts in the United States. Sixty per cent of that money never found its way back.235 That the Church in this period blamed District 26 for most of the problems in Cape Breton is evident in the growing desire for a

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Roman Catholic union. In Rerum Novarum, Leo XIII argued: “If Christian precepts prevail, the respective classes will not only be united in the bonds of friendship, but also in those of brotherly love.” The need for unions was obvious, but in the minds of many clergy the “anti-religious factions” of District 26 made brotherly love between labour and capital impossible. The idea of forming a Catholic union was first proposed by Fr John J. MacNeil at Dominion No. 4 (St Anthony’s parish) after a discussion with a number his parishioners. Morrison heartily approved and asked MacNeil to document the names of those interested.236 It is not surprising at this stressful juncture that Morrison would turn to Catholic unions and workmen’s guilds as defined in Rerum Novarum. The encyclical was clear that labour associations must “pay special and chief attention to the duties of religion and morality” in order for workers to achieve the utmost “in body, soul, and property.” Moreover, there was a successful Canadian model to emulate. In the province of Quebec, Catholic unions, rooted in both social Catholicism and French-Canadian nationalism, were extremely successful. Through correspondence with colleagues in Montreal and Sherbrooke, Morrison learned that although the clergy retained ample influence within union leadership, the executive were far from pawns in an affiliation between church, state, and capital.237 It was, by all accounts, a fairly congenial arrangement. In the spring of 1923, Morrison received a roster of names from Fr MacNeil of those interested in forming a Catholic labour association.238 The bishop was convinced that the rank-and-file Catholic labourers, “heartily sick of the continued agitation and exploitation carried on by the labour leaders,” would give the scheme grassroots momentum. Yet, as there was some risk involved to the local men who supported his plan, he asked priests to be discreet.239 “Make use of your experiences without mentioning the parish,” he cautioned Fr MacNeil, “so as not to compromise your people.”240 Likewise, he advised Michael MacNeil, an influential miner from Dominion, to proceed “with due tact and consideration … so that as many as possible will come to see [that] the present irreligious and Godless tactics of some of the present labour leaders can be productive of only the most baneful results.”241 By June 1923, other industrial parishes (Fr Nicholson was “feeling out the situation” in New Waterford, while the matter was being “quietly talked over” in New Aberdeen) were secretly taking names of those in support and reporting back to the bishop’s office.242

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Supporters of a Catholic union were under no illusions. The scheme was possible only if Catholic labourers “[broke] away from their old ranks.” If this was to materialize, Morrison required a guarantee from B E SC O that the new association, contentious as it might be, would be promptly recognized by the company. In a letter to Fr Donald MacAdam, Morrison summarized the problem: Now, the formulation of a separate Catholic union will weaken the strength of the present unions as organized bodies in their efforts to obtain or retain a decent wage, and the question to my mind is, how will the companies (BE S CO for example) be disposed to treat labour if through the formulation of a Catholic union it is made more amenable to Christian principles in its general attitude to what it calls Capital. It seems to me that if steps are taken towards the formulation of a Catholic Labour Union, some assurance should be had from the company that the right thing will be done by them in behalf of labour without the latter being obliged to follow up a belligerent course of agitation.243 Throughout the dull wet spring of 1923, Morrison remained energized by the prospect of implementing the workmen’s associations of Rerum Novarum in the colliery towns of Cape Breton. Plenty of uplifting correspondence arrived from the colliery towns. One priest had recently boasted that the overwhelming majority of miners in his parish wanted to “disassociate themselves with their present union on account of the anti-religious and revolutionary atmosphere.”244 Fortified by such sentiments, in June the bishop sent a circular to the diocese arguing that the idea of a Catholic union “must be fully and thoroughly weighed.” The dangerous socialistic tendencies and the “irreligious outpourings of the local accredited newspaper organ of the Unions” made many “honest and GodFearing Catholics uneasy,” he wrote. The issue required the very best study that the diocese could give it as well as “enlightenment from on High.”245 With an annual clerical retreat scheduled for the early summer, Morrison put the idea of a Catholic union on the agenda and asked his priests to come prepared to discuss the feasibility of the proposal. Unfortunately for Morrison, his plan for a Catholic union in Cape Breton was swiftly and aggressively challenged. The deepest wound was delivered by Eugene M. Quirk, an expert from the federal

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Department of Labour who had previously chaired a commission dealing with disputes in the colliery towns of the Maritimes. He ardently argued that Catholic labour associations had little place outside Quebec, and certainly not in Cape Breton. Quebec unions were “nationaliste in sentiment,” he explained, and were supported exclusively by French Canadians in areas that were almost one ­hundred per cent Catholic.246 They were strongest outside of Montreal in districts where church and ethnicity were most deeply entrenched.247 Imposing Catholic unions on multicultural communities with large Protestant populations, such as Glace Bay, could actually do more harm than good. “It would not only set Protestant against Catholic,” wrote a Sydney priest, “but it would also tend to a division among Catholics themselves.”248 Similar problems existed in Toronto, where Archbishop McNeil feared workers in Catholic unions would divide the community and face violent reprisals. It was better to err on the side of caution than to start religious and civil war. Fr Michael Gillis once said of Morrison: “Although open to the advice of his clergy, [he was] keen to listen when a layman spoke.”249 The correspondence with Eugene M. Quirk persuaded Morrison that the conditions in Cape Breton were not suitable for a Catholic union. What was required, however, was a more aggressive Catholic educational movement. In a particularly interesting letter, Quirk candidly offered his views on Cape Breton: In my contact with the workers of Cape Breton I learned that the great majority are descendants of Highland Scotch settlers, about half of whom are of the Roman Catholic faith, the other half largely of the Presbyterian denomination – excellent stock and basically good people. The thought has frequently occurred to me, and I trust your Lordship will pardon my expressing it, namely, it would be well if the clergy of our own faith, along with those of other denominations, enter into a movement for disseminating literature, lectures, etc, with the view of counteracting the existing propaganda which is causing insidious evil and discord.250 Quirk was also clear that B E SC O was a soulless body, “lacking the touch of human nature or sentiment,” which prepared a fertile soil to “plant the seeds of vicious propaganda.”251 The Antigonish clergy agreed with this assessment, and the union idea was put aside for the time being.

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Extending adult education had been the motive behind the people’s school founded at St F.X. in 1921. Morrison had supported this initiative and hoped that similar schools would be “extended as widely as possible within the diocese.” Informal study clubs had been in operation in places like New Waterford since 1920, but in 1923 a people’s school was organized in Glace Bay under the direction of the Newfoundland-born priest, Fr Thomas O’Reilly Boyle. In a letter to Fr Boyle, Morrison expressed his support for an “educational effort along sane Catholic lines,” with the goal of assisting people “from the material standpoint and in regard to their intellectual and moral well-being.”252 Boyle was somewhat of a free spirit, a stalwart supporter of Fr Tompkins, and wanted to transform the attitude of Cape Breton labour through close dialogue with the workers themselves. Classes were conducted in the evenings, and St F.X. personnel travelled from Antigonish to teach a wide range of subjects. In 1923 enrolment reached 250.253 Academics from the college who taught at the Glace Bay people’s school routinely returned to Antigonish with warnings of the ­volatile conditions in the colliery towns. On 21 June 1923 BE S CO rejected the steelworkers’ request for union recognition, and the men voted to strike. Only weeks later, a squad of heavily armed mounted police attacked strikers and nonstrikers alike as they returned home from church services in Whitney Pier. Such violent tactics, which included the clubbing of innocent women and children, angered local clergy who protested to the bishop. By the first week of July, 8,000 coal ­miners had “quit the pits” in an act of solidarity. “No miner or mine worker can remain at work while this government turns Sydney into a jungle,” declared District 26.254 Large groups of picketers blocked the entrance to the steel mill and disrupted traffic. Company property was damaged and tensions ran high. Within days, union notable J.B. McLachlan was arrested and charged with “seditious libel,” while others such as “Red” Dan Livingstone were arrested for “publishing false news” with the intent of injuring the government. Shortly after, the international leadership of the United Mine Workers (U M W ) suspended District 26 for striking while under contract and placed the union under trusteeship. Army regiments were again dispatched to Sydney and soon had control of the Dominion No. 2 colliery. Machine guns were erected at the gates to the steel plant.255 The reintroduction of the military into Cape Breton created a ­precarious dilemma for Morrison. Many of the soldiers guarding

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company property were Roman Catholics, and the diocese was duty-bound to provide them with a chaplain. The clergy knew that the strikers would resent their local priests ministering to soldiers sent to combat them. Moreover, the resentment and anger were unlikely to dissipate after the troops departed. Even more perilous was the risk of violence should Catholic soldiers attend Mass alongside Catholic strikers. “I realise as the presence of the troops is resented by at least the more extreme party of labour in the places referred to, it will be somewhat embarrassing I suppose for  the priests to be intimately associated with the soldiers,” Morrison wrote Fr Donald MacAdam, “and for that matter I do not know how even the presence of the soldiers in the church will be regarded by the rank and file of the people.”256 In this extremely delicate situation, Morrison instructed the clergy to be as discreet as possible. A number of stressful Sundays passed before the international leadership of the UMW forced the miners back to work. One by one the locals voted to return to the pits, followed shortly after by the steelworkers. Soon after, the district leaders were “labelled as heretics and cast out of the union.”257 B E S CO responded to the summer disturbances with an announcement of another wage cut. As the less efficient coal mines were curtailed, many men found themselves without employment, and without credit at the company store.258 Morrison surveyed the situation with trepidation, increasingly mystified by the wage cuts instituted by the industrialists. He considered the “mischief-making” labour leaders troublesome and privately welcomed the conviction of J.B. McLachlan in 1923 on the charge of seditious libel (he was sentenced to two years in prison but served only three months), but recognized that the guilty verdict would only exacerbate the situation. In the cold and discouraging winter of 1924, a deteriorating B ESC O sought a staggering pay cut of 23 per cent and the miners again went on strike. Although a tenuous agreement was reached by February, B E SC O continued to reduce wages and hours. “The ser­ vices of old employees had to be reluctantly dispensed with,” BE S CO officials wrote the Nova Scotia premier, “and all expenditures reduced to the barest necessity.”259 B E S CO was losing money, and the miners were losing hope. The suffering of families in the parishes was patent, and there was scant confidence in a long-term settlement. As Ernie Forbes has documented, throughout the colliery

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towns “merchants failed, taxes remained unpaid, and municipal employees were months behind in collecting their wages.”260 The Church struggled financially, and the hospitals and educational institutions had to make due with fewer resources. In the midst of this deteriorating situation, Morrison’s Cape Breton organization suffered a critical setback. On the same day that  the influential Presbyterian minister, Rev. Gillis, called the ­situation in Cape Breton as “gloomy as the trying days of the war,”261 Fr Donald MacAdam died unexpectedly (although he had suffered from nagging health issues). The priest of Sydney’s Sacred Heart parish was erudite, well spoken, competent, and well connected. His death could not have come at a worse time. Selecting his replacement required thoughtful consideration. Strong leadership in Sydney was essential at the best of times, but in the tense and volatile autumn of 1924, a capable priest in residence was crucial. Morrison sought a candidate who understood the nuances of the colliery towns, and as there was no time to prepare someone from the college, he chose the pastor of St Agnes in New Waterford, Fr John Hugh MacDonald. MacDonald, a future archbishop of Edmonton, was once described as an “excellent administrator” who worked long hours with tremendous energy.262 A former professor and vice-rector at St F.X., MacDonald had arrived in Glace Bay in 1911 and made quick study of  the coal system. He had distinguished himself after the New Waterford mine disaster of 1917 and was popular among his flock. His linguistic abilities, which allowed him to converse with Italian and Hungarian immigrants, and his growing understanding of industry, made him the obvious choice. Shortly after the death of Fr MacAdam, Morrison had to deal with a more personal loss. In the autumn of 1923, having successfully completed the construction of a new parish school in Berkeley, California, his brother Dan fell ill. By the summer of 1924, the priest was extremely weak and confined to bed. “I have not a pain nor ache in my body,” he wrote. “If I had any strength I would feel so well. But I have so little strength. The shortest little walk exhausts me.” During his illness, Dan displayed a straightforwardness that was characteristic of the Morrison family. “It will serve no good purpose to have any illusions about a matter like this,” he wrote forthrightly. “You and I have too much experience with sickness of all kinds not to know what things mean. I have felt more spiritual peace in this than ever in my life before.”263

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During Dan’s illness, Morrison travelled to California to assess his condition, hopeful that Dan was merely suffering from overwork. Morrison even considered bringing him back to Antigonish to convalesce. When he arrived, however, it was clear that his brother was dying. Displaying the quintessential Morrison stubbornness, Dan held on until the construction of his church was completed in midSeptember, expiring merely hours after inspecting the renovations from his wheelchair. Although expected, the long-dreaded telegram announcing the death came as quite a shock. In the weeks that followed, Morrison was comforted by the copious letters of condolence that arrived at the residence. “I would feel very lonely were it not for the many kind messages of sympathy,” he wrote a friend in Oakland. “Sometimes one is apt to forget the large amount of genuine friendship there is still left amongst mortals.”264 Although it was small comfort to the bereaved, Dan’s funeral service was one of the largest ever held for a Catholic in the state of California, which made Morrison very proud.265 The following weeks were difficult. Writing to Fr Joseph MacDonald in Reserve Mines, Morrison expressed his sorrow: “I feel the loss very keenly, for in some way or another we were special chums, even as apart from the rest of the family.”266 In March 1925 the Cape Breton coal miners, strained, tired, and working without a contract, had their credit at the company stores cancelled. They were again on strike. BE S CO vice-president, J.E. McClurg, boasted that the company, like some crafty poker player, now “held the cards.” “Let them stay out two months or six months,” he uttered. “Eventually they will have to come to us … They can’t stand the gaff.”267 The 1925 strike took deprivation and despair to a new level as miners and their families faced eviction and starvation. By the summer the anger was palpable. Troop trains from Upper Canada were pelted with stones at Sydney. The life of a coal miner and his family was terribly difficult. First, the mine was a frightening place to work. According to labour leader George MacEachern, “You [had] to be there quite a while before you [got] used to the timbers creaking.”268 Describing the living conditions of one miner, a veteran of the Great War, the Cape Breton Post wrote that although debilitated by his war wounds, the man continued to work in the mine. “Two bare rooms” served his family of eight, and he had been without work “for the past two months.” Responding to these conditions, one clergyman thundered that a hen

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coop would be preferable to a miner’s home.269 When Morrison travelled to Sydney, he was shocked by the conditions. The poverty was “enough to recall the harrowing accounts of the thousands of children in Europe immediately following the war,” afflicted as they were by “rickets and other diseases by reason of starvation conditions.” 270 Returning to Antigonish, Morrison issued a circular instructing Catholics to “come hastily to the assistance of the distressed ones in these sadly affected districts.” The candid document asked that ideological differences be cast aside while the diocese brought material assistance to the miners. The well-being of women and children should come before any consideration of the causes of the strike: Doubtless you are aware of the serious labour crisis brought about within the last few days in and around the mining centers of eastern Nova Scotia and Cape Breton. As is usual in such cases there are propounded various theories as to the causes leading up to this unfortunate turn of events. It is not, however, the purpose of this letter to discuss such real or alleged causes, except to say that if the true standards of Christian life were more faithfully adhered to in the everyday business of the world, and if a rightly directed conscientious observance were had of the just relation that should exist between man and man whether in financial or labour effort, there would be no place for the mutual recriminations that are being bandied so freely in this unfortunate matter, or for any undue hardships on the employer or the employee. What I wish to stress for the moment is the grim fact that as one immediate result of the cessation of work in and around the mining sections of this country, some thousands of men and women, and especially children, are in the direst want for the prime necessities of life. He ended the lengthy letter by asking the parishes to take a special Sunday collection in aid of the miners.271 A relief committee was hastily assembled under the direction of Fr  John Hugh MacDonald and Fr Michael A. MacAdam. Monies poured in from across the diocese, and volunteers distributed food and clothing (the small mission of Maryvale, Antigonish County, for instance sent potatoes and turnips). The relief organization had two goals. Clearly, the first was to alleviate the terrible human suffering. But by doing so, the second objective was to alter any negative

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perceptions of the Church held by the local population. Among the good effects of their efforts was the “telling rebuke administered to the Red element” for complaining that the Church has been “indifferent” to people’s “real welfare.” Many of those “who have been heretofore very critical in this respect,” an excited Fr MacDonald from Sydney wrote to Morrison, “are now loud in their praises of  the prompt action taken under your direction by the Catholics of  the diocese.”272 Those praises grew louder in April when the president of B E SC O accused the diocese of “taking sides” against the company.273 The severity of the conditions in the colliery towns persuaded Morrison to apply more pressure on the provincial government. On 18 March he secretly took the train to Halifax for a meeting with the Nova Scotia executive council. He reached Halifax in the early evening and proceeded to the legislature on Hollis Street. Striding past the large statue of Joseph Howe, he was ushered into the foyer and greeted by the Antigonish member, William Chisholm. Both men were doubtless aware of the irony. Chisholm was minister of mines and a mainstay of Antigonish politics, but he was also a “Heatherton Stampeder,” one of forty men who had walked out of the Heatherton Church to protest Bishop Cameron’s involvement in partisan politics in 1896. Morrison was well aware that Chisholm had steadfastly opposed his predecessor on various occasions.274 The entire council (the night session of the assembly had been cancelled) was present for the meeting. The discussions went well over the scheduled two hours as the men “threshed the matter out in almost every angle from which it could be approached.”275 Morrison was determined to persuade Premier Armstrong that any refusal by B ESC O to at least return to the 1924 wage rate should instigate a financial audit of the company. This argument was met with stiff opposition by those who feared that a “thorough investigation” would drive the company into receivership. In the end, the prevailing opinion was that pressure would be brought to bear on the company and that its affairs would likely be investigated.276 When leaving the meeting, William Chisholm intercepted Morrison on the grand staircase and handed him a memorandum on the province’s coal and steel industries. According to the report, the economy, and not B ESC O, was to blame for job losses. Although hopeful that this assessment would find its way into the hands of the miners instead of “their recognized officials,” Morrison warned Chisholm that from

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the miners’ perspective, it was the “watered stocks of a soulless corporation” that was causing the bother.277 The secret summit with provincial bureaucrats augmented Morrison’s growing conviction that the government was the only entity capable of finding solutions in Cape Breton. But he was not impressed with the Liberal government. “Unless they have the courage to deal with these matters in a statesman-like manner,” he mused, “there can be nothing but chaos from these perennial struggles between labour and capital that have so stifled the industry in the country.”278 Obviously, Morrison was limited in his influence on provincial legislators; however, his discussions with the Armstrong government represented another genuine attempt at applying the principles of Rerum Novarum. Like his steadfast belief in Maritime Rights, the meeting illustrated that whatever the lessons of the people’s schools, Morrison still believed in limited state intervention. “Whenever the general interest or any particular class suffers, or is threatened with harm,” reads Rerum Novarum, “the public authority must step in to deal with it.” Although the diocese was desperate to rehabilitate its relationship with the Cape Breton working class throughout 1925, it would not abandon its spiritual principles. The diocese had no intention of collaborating with communists, nor would it accept their money. It was a successful short-term strategy. By “May Day” 1925, reports suggested that the radicals were losing ground. “The reds of course oppose anything and everything, but they are not as large a body as their noise would seem to indicate,” wrote Fr Michael MacAdam from Glace Bay. “They will, according to one gentlemen with whom I discussed this, offer opposition that later they might be in a position to say that they did so in case such might be found suitable for them; but at the same time glad that something will send them back to work.”279 In the meantime the diocese continued to accept donations from Catholic organizations, and benefactors in New England sent provisions. So focused was the effort in the colliery towns ($8,564 was collected by April 1925) that Morrison cancelled all other diocesan fundraisers arguing that any other financial drive would be “suicidal.”280 By July 1925 the situation in Cape Breton had cost the long-time Liberal government, in power since 1884 at the polls. The newly elected Conservative premier of Nova Scotia, Edgar Nelson Rhodes, committed his government to ending the strike and travelled to

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Sydney to broker a settlement. Morrison, who was visiting the ­colliery towns when Rhodes’s mediator arrived for talks, returned to  Antigonish as it was “better not to be around.” As part of the settlement the miners accepted a wage cut, while BE S CO agreed to reinstate the strikers without a blacklist. The province rebated B ESC O a fifth of its coal royalties, promised a referendum on the “check-off,” and committed to a provincial inquiry into the state of coal mining. Tired and hungry, the miners returned to work. Morrison was relieved by the news even if it was only of a temporary nature. The brief reprieve from the “ceaseless labour problems” allowed Morrison to focus on more agreeable matters. His younger halfbrother, Vincent, was departing for China with the Scarboro Foreign Mission, and Morrison was eager to see him off. Vincent had taken an unorthodox route to the priesthood. He entered the seminary in 1918 at the age of thirty-five, having spent the previous fifteen years teaching with the Christian Brothers School in California. He had no interest in the life of a diocesan priest, and after ordination at the hands of his brother at St Ninian’s Cathedral in 1924, he began to prepare for China. Morrison wanted to get his brother a special souvenir to mark the occasion but decided on a practical gift of one hundred dollars. “I pray that God may bless your missionary work, and that in due time the field assigned to the China Mission Seminary will prove fruitful in conversions to the faith,” he wrote to Vincent on the day before his departure. “It is noble work, and no doubt will be productive of many blessings for that country.” 281 Although the brothers were not close, Morrison was proud of Vincent and over the next few years he worried about him incessantly. Morrison was no stranger to controversy. In fact, the first decade of his episcopate provided sufficient acrimony to last a lifetime. It is not surprising, then, that he was alert to crisis when the retired bishop of Victoria, Alexander “Sandy” MacDonald, returned to Antigonish. A native of Mabou, Cape Breton, Bishop Sandy was a venerated native son. A brilliant theologian and philosopher and a “copious writer of deep research,” he was plucked from his post at St F.X. in 1909, elevated to bishop, and sent to British Columbia. In the initial years of his episcopate, Bishop Sandy acquired and invested in various properties in Victoria. Regrettably, by 1913 property values in

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Victoria had plummeted, the diocese had incurred crippling debt, and MacDonald had become “one of the greatest beggars, perhaps, in North America.”282 In 1917, Morrison begged the Extension Society in Toronto to make a “fairly respectable donation” to Bishop Sandy’s diocese, as Antigonish priests had taken up a collection of their own.283 Angered by Rome’s refusal to intervene financially, and annoyed by the creeping authoritarianism of the Vatican, Bishop Sandy eventually ran afoul of his superiors and in June 1923 was forced out of his diocese. Disgusted with Rome (he could never quite “picture Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ doling out dispensations and faculties”), he initially went to live in Toronto as the guest of his close friend Archbishop McNeil before deciding to return to Nova Scotia.284 Naturally, the homecoming of a venerated clergyman was cause for celebration. Morrison assured MacDonald that he was always “welcome among [them]” and offered him residence at the college. Publicly all was well, but privately the Antigonish prelate was troubled. For one thing, Morrison did not share MacDonald’s outspoken convictions. Bishop Sandy believed that diocesan bishops possessed sufficient authority to provide for the spiritual needs of their flock without the perpetual interference of the Curia. Moreover, he considered all bishops of the Church to be the joint successors of the Twelve Apostles, and not mere subordinates of the pope. But perhaps more important than doctrinal difference, Morrison was uncomfortable enforcing Rome’s censure on the prelate. MacDonald lived under a number of restrictions, and Morrison sought to avoid the perception that he was persecuting MacDonald when, in fact, he was simply enforcing Rome’s penalties. Writing to the apostolic delegate, he expressed the delicacy of the situation: I think I should add that Bishop MacDonald’s remaining in this diocese under the restrictions above referred to will make the situation rather embarrassing for myself, and indeed may easily be harmful to my own efforts in the cause of religion. He has many blood relatives and a great many personal friends in this diocese who will be very sensitive as to how he is treated. Even up to the present time there have been some of these who have said that I was persecuting him because I did not give him full faculties within the diocese, and this phase of the situation might easily develop into something disagreeable, especially as

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no explanations can be given without making public the whole procedure, which of course is not desirable.285 One resolution to the predicament seemed to be a professorship at the college. There is no doubt that the St F.X. philosophy course would be strengthened by the inclusion of Bishop MacDonald as a professor. In fact, Morrison had recently transferred the college’s long-time philosophy instructor in an effort to revitalize the department (he replaced him with Fr Moses Coady and Fr Thomas O’Reilly Boyle). Bishop Sandy was widely published and was a recognized authority in his field, but Morrison was uneasy with the proposal. As a faculty member, the bishop would be under the authority of the college president (a priest), and Morrison worried that such a break in the hierarchical chain would create an embarrassing situation. But he also feared that MacDonald would stir up trouble (MacDonald had once tangled with Bishop Cameron). Having just dealt with the troublesome Fr Tompkins, Morrison recoiled at the thought of another popular intellectual nailing a reform thesis to the door of his cathedral. Sending Tompkins to Canso was one thing, but dealing with someone of Bishop MacDonald’s stature was another matter altogether. Morrison and Bishop MacDonald were cordial, but they were not friends. They both tried to avoid uncomfortable situations (Morrison begged the apostolic delegate not to send monies for MacDonald’s rent at the college directly to him less it embarrass the bishop) and took to calling the other “your lordship” when they met in public. MacDonald was friendly with the Antigonish clergy, but life on campus was somewhat lonely. He was perceptive enough to recognize that Morrison was not comfortable with his presence and that the college town was not going to be the place of rest that he had envisioned. Ultimately he opted to spend his winters in Toronto, returning to Antigonish for the summer months only. Morrison’s inability to find a harmonious solution speaks not only to his great uneasiness about having a perceived “radical” within his diocese but also to his commitment to preserving the diocesan chain of command. Morrison may have avoided a potentially embarrassing situation, but his handling of Bishop Sandy’s situation did not win him friends and only furthered the widely held opinion that he was cautious, rigid, and cold.286 With Tompkins labouring among the fishermen in Canso, the clergy-intellectuals lacked a leader at the college. Many of the priests (especially Fr Coady) who would be widely recognized in the 1930s

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for their intellectual acumen and organizational skills had little authority in 1925. The primary positions of authority and stature were the offices of bishop and college president, and Morrison remained heavily dependent on the counsel of the Old Rector on all matters. So when the minister of labour, Gordon Harrington, asked Fr MacPherson to sit as a member of the Duncan Commission on the state of the coal industry, Morrison, eager to exert some influence on the proceedings, agreed.287 The Old Rector was a gentleman, a supporter of Maritime Rights, and an able administrator, but he was no authority on industrial questions or labour-capital relations, and some labour historians have argued that the diocese should have sent a more knowledgeable priest. Obviously, Morrison could not send a pastor from the Sydney area, but he could have given the task to someone like Fr Thomas O’Reilly Boyle who ran the people’s schools in Glace Bay. MacPherson maintained the diocese’s impartiality (and chain of command), but it was a missed opportunity to make a more substantial contribution. According to David Frank, the Old Rector “played a limited role in the hearings. He asked few questions at all, and none of [J.B.] McLachlan.”288 It was a problem of prestige over substance. The commission spent the first week touring the colliery towns before calling witnesses. Morrison eagerly read the coverage in the Sydney papers and debated the outcome with priests over dinner at the residence. Ultimately the commission endorsed “neither the company nor the union.” The future of the industry depended on “open acceptance” of the miners’ union by the operators and more “responsible behaviour on the part of union leaders.”289 As the majority of the Cape Breton clergy were convinced that the leadership of District 26 was incorrigible, Morrison instructed his priests to be ready to institute separate Catholic action. Through planning and study, the diocese would be “in a position to know what line of action should be followed, in the best interests of religion and also of the economic welfare of the miners.”290 The sad reality, however, was that nothing had changed. In January 1926, Fr Colin F. MacKinnon of Sydney Mines mailed a cheque to the diocese for the African Missions. His enclosed note painted a bleak picture: The state of affairs here is very alarming. Princess colliery, the only B E SC O colliery in town is closed down indefinitely, and Florence gets eight days in the month … Although there is no

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disorder so far, what can be expected for five long months when people will become crazed with hunger? If the government fails to do anything then, we shall have a “little reign of terror” of our own.291 The letter surprised Morrison, who was under the impression that a large coal order had been placed by the Canadian National Railway. He assumed that the contract would keep the mines operating during the winter months, but Fr MacKinnon’s note “knocked the bottom out of it all.”292 The frustration with both the government and BE S CO was mounting. It was now obvious to everyone that the radicals of District 26 were not the only folks who had not “played fairly.” During the winter of 1926, priests from almost every industrial parish wrote Morrison stressing that B E SC O’s actions were going to make “Bolsheviks by the hundreds.”293 Moreover, the progress of the union moderates and the gains made by the diocese were going to be obliterated. Morrison’s patience with BE S CO had run out. When one Cape Breton priest arrived for a meeting, the bishop immediately brought up the subject: “What on earth can the company have in mind by this step at this time of year?” he barked. “It is impossible to understand them.”294 It is easy to equate inaction with complacency, and in the judgment of some historians the church’s inability to react swiftly to the shifting social environment of the colliery towns was just that. Some upheld that the diocese was willing to turn a blind eye to the poverty, infant mortality, and violence, provided that the Church maintained its authority. The placing of a machine gun on the steps of Immaculate Conception Church in Bridgeport in 1909 by soldiers intent on blocking a UMW march through the town had long been cited as evidence that the Church was antilabour.295 It is true that the priest of the parish, Fr Charles MacDonald, had permitted soldiers on Church property (he sided with the Provincial Workmen’s Association), but his actions did not represent any official Catholic stance. He had acted without the authority of his superiors in Antigonish and faced an immediate ecclesiastical investigation.296 Fewer mention that during the same strike, Fr John Anthony Fraser opened his New Aberdeen Church and parish hall to evicted U M W miners. The simple truth is that until 1925 the Catholic Church had no strategy for the problems of industrial Cape Breton, and in

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fact as Andy Hogan argued, “most of the priests even then [1925] were for the union.”297 Paradoxically, the social work that the diocese carried out in hospitals, orphanages, and schools was one of the largest stumbling blocks in its efforts to break free of its ties to BE S CO . To fund these essential services, the diocese relied on the check-off, which some miners viewed as “nothing more nor less than an attempt of the boss to gain certain control over union affairs.”298 The pay deductions may have had a favourable outcome for some, but not for the thousands of miners who attended church on Sunday. The maintenance of the check-off was so essential for the day-today operations of the diocese that little consideration was given to the possibility of its eradication. For that reason, the recommendation of the Duncan Commission that the check-off be eliminated surprised everyone. More bewildering was that the Old Rector had given no forewarning. For weeks Morrison received anxious messages from Catholics warning of the terrible repercussions to follow. One by one, the priests in industrial parishes called the residence in a panic. One letter summed up the anxiety: “What in the world came over Dr MacPherson when he did not protect the parishes down here?”299 Morrison, too, was perplexed. While the diocese panicked, the decision on the future of the check-off was placed exclusively in the hands of the District 26 executive. It was fortuitous for the diocese that the executive’s loyalties had shifted away from the radicals. The inability to collect monies would do more damage to the diocese than would any communist pamphlet or tabloid. As one Glace Bay parishioner put it, “With the check-off discontinued it is useless to undertake the work of an orphanage, as far as the mining districts are concerned, and as for talking St F.X. College, we might as well dismiss it.”300 A letterwriting campaign, emanating from the local parishes, was aimed at District 26. Morrison was encouraged by the knowledge that U M W executive member John McLeod was in favour of retaining the check-off for community purposes, but did not want to leave anything to chance. While clergy tactfully sought the attitudes of members of the District 26 executive, Morrison sought to persuade BE S CO that the check-off should be maintained. Vice-president McClurg, a man whom Morrison distrusted and disliked, wanted it abolished. Morrison had nothing commendable to say about McClurg and

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3.3  The “Old Rector,” Fr Hugh Peter MacPherson (1867–1949)

privately compared his unwillingness to compromise to the worst of the radicals. Writing to Fr Michael A. MacAdam in Glace Bay, he theorized on McClurg’s motives: “As I understand, he is anxious to get rid of collecting union dues, he would not likely hesitate to let the church check-off go with the rest.”301 In a letter to McClurg, Morrison pressed his case: I wish to say that so many telegrams are being sent to me from the mining towns asking me to intervene to save the said checkoff from being abolished. I am firmly convinced that the company would be well advised if it retained it … I am writing this in the best interests of all concerned and I would not continue this urging to save the check-off were I not convinced that its abolition would prove harmful.302

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In the spring of 1926, the miners accepted the Duncan Commission’s recommendations, the most significant of which was a ten per cent pay cut, but retained the check-off. Shortly after, BE S CO , already “standing on the edge of a cliff,” began to disintegrate as the banks refused any further financing.303 Within months, the company’s president, Roy Wolvin, left the region, and much to Morrison’s delight, so too did vice-president McClurg. District 26 began ­moving toward the centre. The international leadership criticized the “nocompromise” approach of radicals such as McLachlan and ceased funding the Maritime Labour Herald.304 The fighting with BE S CO was over, but the problem of earning a living for the miners and their families remained. By August, Morrison was so thoroughly exhausted that he took a meandering trip to P E I to relax. He asked the Old Rector to accompany him. They crossed over from Pictou to Souris on a Monday and spent an entire week visiting one glebe after another. However, the trip turned into a belaboured affair, in Morrison’s words, of “old fashioned tea parties,” a visit to the “old home,” and a family reunion of sorts with his cousins the Feehan’s at Mount Stewart. “Keeping things going,” they attended a horse race and enjoyed a pleasant meal at the Cliff at Cove Head.305 Not surprisingly, this busy vacation did little for his health, and during the next weeks Morrison’s workload caused him to “break down” a little. The diocese was feeling the effect of the previous year, and some priests in Cape Breton were struggling to pay their parish debts. Adding to the stress was the loss of St Joseph’s Church in Antigonish County to fire. With little funds coming in from traditional sources, and the economic situation bleak, answers were becoming increasingly hard to come by.

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4 A New Movement, 1927–1938

In June 1927 Morrison booked passage to Rome to attend the tercentenary anniversary celebration of the Propaganda College and make his ad limina. The Italian capital had changed little in appearance since his previous visit, but for all intents and purposes, Italy was a police state. The Fascists grasped power in 1922 and in 1927 consolidated their authority by prohibiting political opposition. In an effort to preserve amicable relations with the new regime, the Vatican voluntarily dismantled its own political party and encouraged Catholics to vote for “the government of the Hon. Mussolini.”1 On the morning of his audience with the pope, Morrison was greeted at the Vatican by the papal majordomo, who ushered him through the beautifully decorated halls into a little throne room where he was granted a half-hour audience with the bookish mountain climber, Pius XI. Employing the Italian that he had gleaned as a seminarian, Morrison spoke to the pontiff about Antigonish and the religious and social issues of the Maritime provinces. In a cable to The Casket, Morrison wrote that the pontiff showed “the keenest interest in the spiritual and material welfare of the people of this diocese.”2 Four years older than Morrison, Pius XI exemplified the dichotomy of the Church in this period. An authoritarian, he was also committed to the advancement of science and education. One of his predominate desires was to promulgate Christianity throughout Asia and Africa. He personally consecrated the first six native bishops of China in 1926 and a bishop of Japan in 1927. He was keenly interested, among other things, in the missionary work of Morrison’s brother Vincent.3

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The tercentenary celebration at the Propaganda College incorporated various festivities and a celebratory Mass. The college, which for three hundred years had been located on Piazza de Spagna, had moved in 1926 to Janiculum Hill, a development that disappointed alumni. Morrison sought out former classmates and managed to organize a gathering at the bedside of Fr William MacDonald, who was recuperating from surgery in the Blue Nun’s Hospital in Rome. Although pleased to reunite with his old chums, he was struck by their aged appearances. During their seminary days “they were young and robust in appearance,” but “now the tracings of old age [were] visibly to be discerned, especially those of the war-torn regions.”4 What they lacked in vigour, however, the men made up for in experience, and Morrison enjoyed the counsel and familiarity of  his former classmates. He returned to Nova Scotia determined to  maintain regular contact with his old friends, and the ensuing communication offers a rare glimpse into his private life. Although Morrison’s letters were not confessions of any sort, his correspondence with classmates such as Fr J.J. Purcell, a British Guiana missionary, allowed him to express thoughts that otherwise he would have internalized. His bimonthly letters to Dublin priest Fr Francis Wall offer personal accounts of the events in his diocese and his opinions on them – rare commentary indeed. They balance an archive that is generally filled with cold, proper, ecclesiastical trappings. Considering the time that Morrison spent in his own company, it is not surprising that he was an energetic reader. Each week complimentary copies of all types of literature arrived through the post. His office was completely full of books, journals, and ephemera, ranging from current events to Church history. He had subscriptions to a number of Italian publications including Acta Apostolicae Sedis, Apollonaris, and Ius Pontificium. On a first visit, the clutter of the office surprised those who assumed that Morrison’s quarters were as strictly maintained as his diocese. Before taking a seat, a visitor had to navigate the muddle of magazines and books piled next to his desk. There was, however, a method to the chaos and most were amazed with the ease in which he could locate documents among the disorder. Although his housekeeper did not harass him about the clutter, Morrison was constantly chasing away others who wanted to clean up and air out the room, insisting that it remain untouched.5

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During daytime the office was a hive of activity, but at nightfall the residence fell silent. Other than the Old Rector, whom Morrison had made his vicar general in 1925 after the death of Msgr Daniel MacIntosh, the only regular social visitors were Fr Alexander MacKenzie, Fr Ronald MacGillivray, and Fr Hugh John MacDonald. All were graduates of the Urban College, a commonality that made socializing easier. “Morrison was awfully warm toward me, you know,” Fr Hugh John MacDonald wrote in retirement. “I feel that we were a little bit unkind to him. You see, we held aloof from him, just kind of afraid, you know. And I think, well, he was human and he felt that.”6 Others though, especially the younger clergy, were not so magnanimous. After meeting Morrison for the first time, one priest commented: “There was no warmth. The poor man, there was no warmth in his greeting.”7 It was a personal flaw that the bishop was never able to remedy. Notwithstanding the setbacks of the industrial sector in the 1920s, Antigonish priests continued to pursue remedies for the inert Maritime economy. The Duncan Commission (patronizing toward the Maritimes as it was) had raised a number of larger issues, but there were smaller local problems that required fixing as well. The annual rural conferences, interrupted by Tompkins’s transfer to Canso in 1922 but reconvened at the college in 1923, remained a catalyst for emerging ideas. Some of the discussions were quite unusual. Two interesting problems identified were the excessive number of unmarried men (the ancient clan laws of marital placement had been abandoned) and the refusal of fathers to give a share of their farms to their offspring.8 The remedy, wrote Archbishop Neil McNeil to his nephew in Antigonish, was to influence “the parents of children of school age, getting them to begin to think of placing their sons when old enough to marry.”9 It was not the old maids or bachelors who were to blame; rather it was the duty of parents to create a better environment for matrimony. Many of the clergy found these types of discussions useful for sermons. At the very least there was a growing sense that the problems of the countryside could be overcome. “They were all of one mind,” recorded the Bethany motherhouse annalist after the 1925 assembly, “and that a very progressive one.”10 Morrison was a regular contributor, sometimes in a ceremonial capacity, other times as a presenter. In the autumn of 1925, he took it upon himself to press the chairman of the conference to prepare a schedule for the next

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meeting. “If no action has been taken along those lines,” he wrote, “I strongly advise that you call together at the earliest possible dates the said committee, and thus arrange a program for a conference.”11 At the 1926 gathering, he opened the meeting by declaring that the clergy had a considerable part to play in helping to redress the problems confronting the province. They were not “labouring for any selfish purpose,” he proclaimed to the assembly, “but for the general welfare of the country.”12 He appointed Fr John R. MacDonald as secretary to act as a liaison between himself and the clergy. The conferences highlighted the problems of agriculture and the unwillingness of young people to settle in rural communities. It was incumbent on the diocese, the conference agreed, to pressure the provincial government to ascribe greater seriousness to developing the agricultural resources of the country.13 The rural conferences produced more than mere platitudes. One of the most popular aspirations was the reinvigoration of the communities scattered throughout the countryside. Although some clergy were suspicious of modernity – a few attempted to illustrate that the average farmer was better off than the average city worker – most had pragmatic reasons for this ambition. Rural rejuvenation was being championed by Catholic intellectuals throughout North America and Europe.14 In 1926 G.K. Chesterton and Hilaire Belloc employed the Distributist League to further the theory of a “society of owners.”15 In other words, a widespread allocation of productive property offered a “middle way” between capitalism and socialism. The league aimed to shun businesses that readily exploited workers, put small producers in contact with retailers, and more equally spread the proceeds of labour.16 “Surely it is the authentic voice of Chesterton,” writes his biographer, “when Doctor Tompkins says ‘trust the little fellow’” or Dr Coady declares, “The people are great and powerful and can do anything.”17 By the mid-1920s, an intensive critique of unbridled capitalism was ongoing throughout western colleges. Moderately radical academics argued for a period of reconstruction founded on cooperative principles. At the University of Toronto, intellectuals such as Gilbert Jackson, Harold Innis, and Charles Ryle Fay were criticizing conditions in northern Canadian mining camps, publishing manuscripts and pamphlets on cooperation in the Canadian West, and examining the social effects of industrialization. According to the Cambridge-educated Fay, a cooperative society was “an association

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for the purpose of joint trading, originating among the weak, and conducted always in an unselfish spirit.”18 Perhaps the priest most influenced by the erudition of these scholars was Fr Michael Gillis. A native of Soldier’s Cove, Richmond County, Gillis was an alumnus of both St F.X. and the London School of Economics and Political Science. While studying at the London School, founded by the Webbs and considered a hotbed of socialism and radicalism, he evolved into a critic of the economic system in his home province. A visionary, an idealist, and a dreamer, he was a central figure within the cadre of clergy-intellectuals and was more of a scholarly force than given credit for.19 In 1953, Msgr Coady wrote that Gillis had “forced the older leaders like Dr. J.J. Tompkins and Dr. Hugh MacPherson, into action,” implying that he kept them energized – although it is hard to imagine that Tompkins needed inspiration.20 There was an innate affinity for the countryside among many St F.X. priests, primarily because they were products of farming communities and so understood the complexities of agriculture. Moreover, it seemed evident that the invigoration of established rural strongholds such as St Andrew’s, Heatherton, Margaree, and Iona might recoup some of the fidelity and authority lost among the Catholic miners and steelworkers of Cape Breton. One of Fr Gillis’s primary critiques was that farmers were employing time-honoured agricultural techniques with substandard results. Like lawyers and doctors, farmers required education, and St F.X. certainly could not train boys for farm life. Gillis persuaded his colleagues to devise a scholarship program so that a number of fledgling farmers could attend the winter short courses at the Agricultural College in Truro. The “winners” came from all over the diocese, were more than seventeen years of age and reputed to be of “good moral character.” What’s more, they had the aptitude to follow the course profitably and to put their knowledge to work in the diocese. Morrison was encouraged by the program, acknowledging that young men who attended had a “more optimistic outlook on agricultural conditions” and a new and encouraging interest in rural life.21 In a Sunday circular, he reiterated this point: It should not be necessary to develop here the thesis that whatever may be the future of other industries in our midst, agriculture is the chief main-stay of this country’s stability, and for very many years to come the farming avocation must be recognized as the corner-stone of every other industry in the province.22

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4.1  Fr Michael Gillis (1883–1970) in military chaplain uniform

Fr Tompkins, too, from his outpost at Canso, continued to lobby for education. By 1927 he had steadfastly laboured among the Canso fishermen for five years and had been exposed to horrendous poverty and deprivation. Shortly after his transfer to a parish in “a state of decay and dilapidation,” he remarked that the mission of Little Dover seemed “to be on the rocks, literally and otherwise.”23 The Star of the Sea Parish in Canso had amassed a debt of $1,500 and was dependent on the meagre Sunday collections for survival. The plight of the inshore fishermen was desperate. The demand for fish had dropped substantially and time-honoured markets had vanished. Poverty and malnutrition were rampant as the farmers of the sea struggled to feed their families.24 “The Church cannot afford to look on at disease, poverty, hunger and exploitation,” Tompkins wrote the bishop, without “taking steps to remedy these evils.”25

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In a particularly stirring passage, Fr Tompkins’s biographer, George Boyle, writes of the priest’s inaugural sermon at Dover. After reading the day’s Gospel passage, Tompkins peered down at the small congregation and “closed the book with a thump.” Addressing the problem of theft in the community, he insisted that “there was sufficient temporal bounty on [the] shores to insure a full meal on the tables of every home.” He was going to make it his business “to see what could be done to get the people to work together.”26 Conscious of Morrison’s obsession with the colliery towns, he wrote to Antigonish to say that he had “as many people here just as bad off  as the C B miners.”27 It was Tompkins’s considered opinion that Morrison’s commitment to rural and agricultural rejuvenation, while encouraging and beneficial, needed to be expanded into other sectors. In other words, “Too much stress [was] being placed on agriculture.”28 One cannot overstate the deference that the clergy of Antigonish had for Fr Tompkins, especially after his transfer to Canso. Some disagreed with him, while others found him brash and temperamental, yet he had their attention. On 1 July 1927, while Canada was celebrating its sixtieth birthday, the priest helped the fishermen of Canso organize an “indignation meeting” (the national flag was hung at half-mast) from which a list of grievances were sent to the Halifax Chronicle. But what have we to celebrate, they asked?29 It was a provocative question. Three months later at the rural conference, echoing Tompkins’s fears that the focus on agriculture was stifling effective responses to other economic sectors, Sydney pastor Fr John Hugh MacDonald stood before the gathering and challenged his colleagues to reach out into the industrial parishes to bridle the socialistic atmosphere.30 Previous efforts in Glace Bay “accomplished excellent results,” he argued, but they needed to be continuously sustained. Tompkins followed MacDonald by declaring that the prosperity of the region depended more on industry and commerce than on agriculture.31 Across the room, listening without expression, Morrison wondered if Tompkins was ever going to tire. Not satisfied with the project at hand, he was now demanding that the diocese expand its labours. At the close of the meetings, Tompkins, recognizing his hold over the assembly, urged the priests to pen a list of solutions for the ailing fishery. The proposals were circulated for critique and then posted to the Department of Marine and Fisheries.32 While the politicians

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mulled over their ideas, Tompkins impatiently turned to the media to raise awareness. Once Tompkins adopted a cause, it was virtually impossible to distract him. In principle Morrison agreed with the priest, but broadening the remit of the rural conferences nonetheless alarmed him for two reasons. First, he was clear about his commitment to agriculture and his desire to make “farming more attractive to the rising generation.”33 Second, Morrison was privy to the desperate financial situation brewing in Western Canada. As a supporter of the Maritime Rights Movement (the movement was no longer active), Morrison found these reoccurring financial pleas from the prairies to be somewhat ironic. After all, only a couple of years previous, the Saskatchewan premier, Charles Dunning, had argued that there were only a few matters of importance in the Maritimes: birth, marriage, death, “and a free ride on the Intercolonial.”34 Now frantic letters from colleagues in Alberta and Saskatchewan regularly arrived in Antigonish begging for Maritime monies to stave off bankruptcy. Much of their woes were the upshot of the emerging Depression, but Morrison also blamed the foolhardy financial decisions of cavalier bishops. Had these men been more frugal, they might have weathered the economic downturn. A similar scenario would not play out in Antigonish. Under no circumstances would the diocese be overextended. Despite the demand for caution and financial restraint, in the balmy summer of 1927 the clergy-intellectuals were bursting with innovative ideas. They debated solutions for agriculture and the fishery in committee meetings and on strolls through town. In the colliery towns, meanwhile, the parishes reported their first months of relative peace in some time. As Ernie Forbes has suggested, disillusionment with the effectiveness of the ordered protest “probably had more to do with the declining popular involvement than any return of ‘good times.’”35 Poverty, unemployment, and bitterness still percolated; however, the ouster of J.B. McLachlan and other radicals from U MW District 26 executive in 1926 offered Morrison hope that a permanent compromise between labour and capital could be brokered.36 In 1928 B E SC O collapsed into bankruptcy and its resources were  reassembled into the Dominion Steel and Coal Corporation (DOSC O ). The Halifax Herald championed this reorganization and declared that Cape Breton could look with optimism to the future, but as Forbes has argued, the restructuring was merely a public

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relations ploy.37 The miners had little faith in the resolve of government to solve their problems, and cynicism and gloom permeated the industrial sector. Although the dilemma of industrial Cape Breton endlessly perplexed the clergy, the Church had learned valuable lessons from previous strikes. Despite embracing a kind of “middle ground,” the diocese genuinely wanted to unearth solutions on which both employer and labourer might agree. The Church’s resentment toward the radicals remained robust, but the diocese, and most noticeably Morrison, was gradually shifting the blame for the perpetual problems of the coalfields away from “foreign agitators” and onto industry itself. The suffering of the people in Cape Breton during the 1920s ­profoundly influenced Morrison. Before the Great War he visited the colliery towns three or four times a year, but after 1925 he was making regular trips. From a demographic standpoint, Cape Breton Catholicism flourished throughout the 1920s, sporadically reinforced by immigrants. There was even a thriving Ukrainian parish, the Church of the Holy Ghost, whose sixty-nine families worshipped within the Eastern rite. Although not under Morrison’s authority (they were under the jurisdiction of the Ukrainian bishop of Winnipeg), he nonetheless felt responsible for them. Ukrainian children attended Sydney’s Holy Redeemer School for the primary grades and then went to the local convent school. While the Ukrainian community “refused to assist in any way that meant a contribution of money,” Morrison preferred that the children remain in diocesan schools rather than attend “general public schools where the atmosphere is decidedly Protestant.”38 Thirty-three members of the ­community were rumoured to be Bolsheviks (a picture of Lenin supposedly hung in their community hall), but Morrison was sure it was an exaggeration.39 Yet, despite the achievements of the Church in Cape Breton since 1925, there remained a vexing sense of failure. Time and again Morrison was reminded of his inability to influence District 26 or the labour discourse in general. From time to time quarrels developed between moderates and radicals over issues of representation and affiliation. Each time the Cape Breton clergy besought Morrison to enter the debate against the atheistic agenda of one left-wing committee or another, but he remained silent. When presented, for example, with an ironic opportunity to support the international leadership of the UMW against the communists (and later the

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Amalgamated Mine Workers) of District 26, Morrison found it difficult to support those who had been such belligerent “offender[s] in regard to religious matters.”40 It was a wasted opportunity. Morrison’s inability to bring his pragmatism, demonstrated so clearly during the university merger debate, to the coalfields of Cape Breton could have had serious consequences. He was spared only by the failure of the radicals to buttress their following. “On the eve of the great depression conditions were more quiet in Cape Breton,” writes David Frank. “The May Day celebrations were the smallest in years and gathered only small handfuls of supporters.”41 The “old spirit” might have lingered beneath the surface, but as J.B. McLachlan lamented, “District No. 26 is pretty dead.”42 Morrison had dodged another bullet. Morrison’s reluctance to intervene in District 26’s affairs and his penchant for pastoral renewal frustrated those clergy who sought a more comprehensive agenda. They appreciated the financial lim­ itations of the diocese, but at the same time, they were growing impatient. When Morrison decided to think something over, the deliberation could take months. For the clergy-intellectuals, this extended reflection was frustrating. “Bishop Morrison rarely gives a definite answer at once,” Fr John R. MacDonald wrote to his uncle. “He takes things under ‘full consideration.’”43 Even the Old Rector, perhaps the most understanding of Morrison’s frailties, grew weary of his circumspection and once commented to the Mother Superior at Bethany that “his Lordship finds it difficult to make changes immediately.”44 But the clergy-intellectuals, and most especially Fr Michael Gillis, did not intend to wait. Something had to be done to convince Morrison to act. Fr Gillis and his colleagues believed that the solution was adult education, specifically, university extension. The concept of taking education from elite campuses to the people was first seriously studied in England in the 1870s. In 1892, the University of Chicago opened the first formal extension department in the United States, and in 1912 a similar program began at the University of Alberta.45 These examples, along with the knowledge gained through the people’s schools, the work of Little Doc Hugh MacPherson with local wool cooperatives, and more recently that of the Sisters of St Martha, provided ample precedent for those who sought an extension program at the college.46 Yet, there were many obstacles in the way. For one thing, recalled Fr Michael Gillis, the clergy-intellectuals had “little of substance” to convey (most could only conceive of

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short courses in homemaking), and some of his colleagues were lethargic at best. But Fr Gillis and others were confident that if they confronted Morrison with a forceful and coordinated proposal, he would support their plan.47 In the frigid winter of 1928, Fr Gillis and a cadre of likeminded priests decided to seek that support.48 They were buoyed by a spate of sympathetic correspondence from the bishop’s office. Fr Alfred Boudreau in Petit-de-Grat highlighted one such letter from Morrison: It seems to me that the fishing industry could organize some of its markets nearer home that is right in the province itself. When, for example, here in Antigonish we have to pay around 30 cents for a single mackerel, and proportionately for other kinds of fish, it seems to me that it would pay the fishermen to have some kinds of distributing agencies in the inland parts of the province, which would bring the fishermen and the purchasing public more closely together in the matter of business, with better results for both.49 Clearly Morrison was sympathetic; it was merely a matter of convincing him to spend the money necessary to make organized social action a reality. In early May 1928 the MacLean Royal Commission investigating the beleaguered fisheries in the Maritimes and the Magdelan Islands released its long-anticipated (if grim) report. Among its recommendations, the commission demanded more government intervention and greater investment, but it also sought to organize and promote the growth of cooperatives in coastal communities. Evidently, the commissioners were impressed with the testimony of the region’s fishermen and most especially with the witness of Fr Coady, who gave information on the local cooperatives and stressed the need for education. Only education, the commission argued, could familiarize fishermen with new technologies.50 Buoyed by the honesty of the report and Coady’s frank testimony in front of the commission, the priests were confident that they could convince the bishop that Antigonish had both the capacity to transform the regional economy and the means to finance the work. Fortunately, a Scottish organization with “vision and energy” already existed that could promote such an agenda. The Scottish Catholic Society (SC S) had been established in July 1919 at Iona, Cape Breton, under the direction of Fr Donald M.

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MacAdam, a fierce defender of Scottish culture (he once told a relative who thought she had Hibernian blood: “no Irish all Scot”).51 With the motto Glòir Dhé Agus Math Ar Cinnidh (The Glory of God and the Good of Our Race), the objectives of the society were the safeguarding of Catholicism through the preservation and erudition of Gaelic language and literature, as well as Gaelic singing and bagpipe music.52 The society collected monies to support educational activities through local councils organized throughout the diocese.53 The Bishop Fraser Council for instance, met at 7 p.m. every second Wednesday at the St Agnes parish hall in New Waterford. The membership, an assortment of professionals, farmers, and clergy, also included the champions of extension work Fr Michael Gillis, Fr John Hugh MacDonald, and Fr John R. MacDonald. At the annual convention convened at Judique, Inverness County, in the summer of 1928, it was resolved that the society raise $100,000 toward some form of extension work within the diocese.54 The society believed that survival of Scottish culture was linked to the revitalization of the countryside. The essential problem was that the youth had forgotten the “priceless heritage of faith and character” bequeathed to them by their grandparents.55 According to one historian, the organization “articulated the wide array of rural values that were under siege.” As one of the few groups addressing the issue of rural depopulation, the SC S created “a sense of common purpose for many Catholic Scots” and integrated both conservative and liberal values.56 As Fr John H. Nicholson told the S CS at a meeting in October 1928, “The rural conference of the clergy has done some good but we should do something better.”57 When Morrison read the fundraising offer, he replied that any program working toward “the improvement and encouragement of rural education in the general community” had his “unstinted support.” But what was infinitely more encouraging to the reformers, he added that although a man in his position had to be careful cooperating too closely with “any racial society,” he would be glad “to be associated with any such movement, from whatever source it emanate[d].”58 The bishop attended the October 1928 SCS meeting as an observer. “His Excellency was in full accord with the proposal,”59 commented R.J. MacSween, a provincial agricultural representative. The announcement of the Scottish Catholic Society to raise $100,000 for extension work was pretence, with the sole intent of forcing the college to act. The SC S was clear that extension work

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could only be achieved through cooperation with other diocesan organizations. In 1933, the society’s national chairman admitted that raising the money would have been “a pretty difficult thing to accomplish.”60 It did, however, induce Morrison to consider extension more closely, especially as his clergy had been “handling a project of [that] kind for some three years.”61 The reformers had gained the upper hand. At the sixth annual rural conference in October 1928, the Scot Fr Gillis and the Irishman Fr Coady coordinated their messages and convinced the assembly that social action was essential to the longterm welfare of the diocese. In the evening session, Fr Tompkins elucidated this point and a committee was formed to “formulate a policy of adult education.”62 The following month the St F.X. Alumni Association, which included many SC S members, presented a report to the university board of governors and formally demanded action. “By assuming leadership in this movement in advance of other educational institutions,” they argued, the college could “render ­ indisputable its position as an institution essential to the Catholics of Nova Scotia and the province at large.”63 By the end of the meeting the governors had passed a resolution to establish extension work as quickly as possible. The Scottish Catholic Society of Canada forced Morrison to act on extension, or as Alexander Laidlaw rather dramatically mused, the SC S “kept throwing pebbles at the windows of the ivory tower asking those within to rise to the task.”64 Yet it was the coordination of the SC S with the St F.X. Alumni Association that ultimately won the day. There were simply too many champions of extension work for Morrison to object.65 The resolution of the St F.X. board of governors to start an extension program was momentous and demanded careful consideration. If the 1922 university merger fiasco had taught the Antigonish clergy anything, it was that Morrison would preserve St F.X.’s prestige at any cost. Or as Dan MacInnes has argued, in rejecting external ideas, he fostered “development through the Church.”66 This time, the priests employed this knowledge to their advantage. The “heather,” as Coady later commented, “was on the fire.”67 Throughout 1929, Morrison’s correspondence adopted a more dynamic tone. He wrote to the federal Minister of Fisheries highlighting the “tangible results” already achieved through the work of the college, but conceded that it was “merely a beginning.”68 Later, in a letter to Fr J.A. DeCoste, he expressed the hope that the farmers

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and fishermen would “soon fully realize the necessity of meeting their new conditions” so that they might “have a reasonable return for their labours.”69 When the board of governors convened again in January 1930, it was Morrison who stood and pressed the college to get into extension “before another institution did so.”70 It was, after all, “the age of education and cooperation.”71 Msgr Coady once remarked that it took a long time to organize extension (some clergy felt that the college was using delaying ­tactics) because “St F.X. had little money and like other institutions was depending to some extent upon the people of means for support.” There was also the question of how the people would respond. “It took some courage to face the issue.”72 But with the enthusiasm of the clergy-intellectuals, the pressure of the S CS and Alumni Association, and interest by prominent laypersons, Morrison was cautiously confident that extension work in Antigonish was feasible. “We have no definite ideas about finance,” Glace Bay lawyer and college governor Neil McArthur told Morrison, “but I think we can take for granted that if we do something worthwhile for the people, we will easily get remuneration.”73 After the governors meeting concluded, an enthusiastic but apprehensive Morrison turned to ­ Fr Coady and asked “if [he] thought it could be made a go.”74 Once the decision was made in 1930 to create an Extension Department at St F.X., Morrison wrote the S CS to thank them for their resolution of support. Not surprisingly, the society swiftly voted to relinquish the cause of raising $100,000 (although they did contribute a few thousand). Although the leaders of the S CS wanted to support the movement, many of the rank-and-file were primarily interested in promoting Scottish culture, whereas extension aimed to address the ills of society. In the following months, Coady sent associate R.J. MacSween to seek the patronage of the “hard headed old Scotsmen” who comprised the Scottish Catholic Society.75 The meeting at the Randolf Hotel in Sydney provoked cogent opinions and blunt discussion, but MacSween received their blessing.76 The work of the SC S was complete. Fr Coady later mused that “no other force would have moved the bishop.” The society’s aggressive pursuit of its goal had “scared [Morrison] into action.”77 The bishop appointed Fr Coady to lead the new department. Soon after, A.B. MacDonald, “a tall handsome Scot with white hair” and a former inspector of schools in Antigonish County, was recruited as  his assistant.78 “What a team they were,” recalled a colleague:

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“Dr. Coady, learned, dynamic, impressive, yet humble zealous and kind; A.B., charming, jovial and good natured, but at the same time ambitious and practical, with a rare genius for organization.”79 The creation of the Extension Department was the highlight of a very fruitful period in the diocese and for Morrison personally. He was in robust health, the industrial areas were quiet (although far from stable), and the visit to Antigonish by the apostolic delegate, Archbishop Andrea Cassulo, had gone off seamlessly. Cassulo, later recognized as “Righteous among Gentiles” for his actions in saving Romanian Jews from the Nazis during the Second World War, was impressed with Antigonish and praised his amiable hosts. The news from Ireland was equally satisfying as Morrison’s classmate Fr  Francis Wall was named the titular bishop of Thasos and auxiliary to Archbishop Byrne of Dublin. Perhaps most encouraging was the thaw in frigid relationship between the clergy-intellectuals and the bishop’s office. Most notably, Morrison and Fr Tompkins resumed a more regular correspondence. As an olive branch of sorts, the bishop consented to the priest’s request for an assistant at Canso (Tompkins had been waiting almost a year) while Tompkins had Morrison bless the bell at Dover.80 Writing in the 1950s, Fr Tompkins’s biographer, George Boyle, sensed that this was a turning point in their relationship: Bishop Morrison sent Father Tompkins a curate in 1928, the first ever appointed to the Star of the Sea. He also sent a donation for the people of Canso in their darkest hour. There are other evidences of good will between his bishop and himself, despite their former disagreements on policy in higher education.81 Instead of the mundane commentary that had dominated their correspondence since 1922, Tompkins began writing the bishop with reference to economic theories, the price of anthracite coal, and clippings from the New York Times. In one letter Tompkins lamented that the people were “sinking to the level of slaves” to fill the coffers of absentee capitalists, while another warned of the renewed activity of the “reds” in the mining areas.82 Interestingly, although Morrison still mistrusted Tompkins’s “restless nature,” he increasingly sought the priest’s counsel, and the priest responded in kind. “It looks as if we have the fish barons beaten,” Tompkins wrote in the spring of 1930. “It is hoped that in time things may brighten up. The smash

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had to come. The fishermen are most hopeful and willing to be hungry for a while in hope of better times. They are beginning to think furiously.”83 Education had divided them in the past, but the prospect of extension brought them together. The renewed communication between Morrison and Tompkins illustrates the bishop’s emerging role in the Extension Department. In a short time, Morrison became proficient in the problems of the province’s inshore fishery. When the federal government sought to organize Nova Scotia fishermen, Morrison “very willingly” consented to have “Dr. Coady undertake” the job, adding that the fishermen required organization “to make a lasting success of their calling.”84 In one letter to Fr Tompkins, Morrison explained the state of the Nova Scotia fishery as he understood it: It is estimated that the total catch in Nova Scotia during 1929 “will be 285,000,000 pounds, compared with 269,000,000 pounds in 1928. The catch is valued at $12,000,000, an increase of nearly $500,000 over the preceding year” … Just how much the fishermen got out of the above sum, it does not say, but a twelve million business in one year would seem to show that it has favourable possibilities when properly organized, and let us hope soon to see such organization.85 The newly established federal Ministry of Fisheries, Morrison continued, needed to “develop in accordance with local expectations,” so that the diocese might see some “tangible results from this move.”86 When Fr Coady, organizing fishermen on the north New Brunswick coast, asked for force to be brought to “bear on the authorities,” Morrison also wrote formal letters of introduction for extension staff and used his connections on their behalf.87 One reference for Fr Coady outlined the priest’s efforts toward developing rural life in the hope that the province could repatriate “its absentee population from beyond the Canadian border.”88 Morrison was clear that he would support any endeavour so long as it fit within the department’s remit and was financially sound. If it did not, he could be obstinate. Sometimes his old (often subtle) prejudices toward Protestants crept into the meetings, which greatly annoyed those who wanted to focus on other, more relevant matters. During one debate over the Catholic colonization of the countryside, Morrison complained about the mounting influence of Protestantism

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within the diocese. In a letter to Fr Tompkins, A.B. MacDonald admitted that they “had quite a stormy time of it.” Although MacDonald was able to get through the agenda, Morrison “interfered” with the meeting.89 Despite the occasional irritation, the Extension Department coveted Morrison’s episcopal authority, and he was an agreeable supplier. When asked by Fr Tompkins to pursue the appointment of McGill professor and Prince Edward Island M P , Cyrus Macmillan, as federal Minister of Fisheries, Morrison wrote the prime minister with the opinion that Macmillan was not only extremely qualified but also well liked and would be “decidedly helpful to the fishing industry throughout the diocese.”90 “I may say that a letter has gone forward to the Prime Minister along the lines you suggest,” Morrison responded to Fr Tompkins, “and I take it that the fishermen’s unions themselves are taking active measures with the Ottawa authorities in support of the same proposition.”91 Other than the letters of introduction and support, Morrison’s greatest contribution, as Fr Coady later observed, was that he left the details of the study clubs, cooperatives, and lending libraries to  the Extension Department. Armed with a $35,000 grant from the Carnegie Corporation, the “first shot” fired by Coady and the department was at West Bay Road, Cape Breton, in September 1930 when they held a mass meeting.92 As Michael Welton illustrates, group action was the accepted technique. Whenever possible, Extension employed “the existent parish structure, with its informal and formal communication system, to announce mass meetings.”93 Once a study club was formed, in an agricultural parish for instance, the farmers were presented with a copy of Making the Most of Agriculture (or some such publication) which dealt with efficient marketing, profitable farming, and worthwhile living.94 Extension developed local leadership, often the parish priest, to act as a liaison with the department staff. The department maintained a circulating library (with 1,200 volumes in 1931) and sent books to the study clubs by regular post. The college kept in regular contact with the leaders of the study clubs – 173 clubs were operating in 43 parishes in 1931 – offering advice and encouragement. “This should be a very pleasant and informal gathering,” Coady insisted. “A cup of tea – a game of cards – a few songs – a few stories or just a chat will help to break down the reserve of the timid members and prepare all for good discussion

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and study later on.”95 Although the study clubs (some found this name intimidating) were driven by the people themselves, Extension had to balance the local concerns within the larger interpretive agenda. Mindful of the requirements of distinct communities, the department also sent out lessons to the clubs on topics such as the industrial revolution, to cultivate the proper context. It was, according to Michael Welton, “heady stuff.”96 The early reports of the study clubs were quite glowing. The groups that dotted the farming and coastal communities of the diocese were encouraged to undertake feasible economic projects. For example, in 1931 the Cape Breton Island Producers’ Co-operative, which sold “small fruits and poultry in the markets of the city of Sydney,” was organized through the collaboration of sixteen local study groups. A group of fishermen at Grand Etang erected a cooperative factory, while a “calf club” was organized in Clydesdale, Antigonish County. Although not all the study clubs were so fruitful, there was “better and more frequent contacts and community spirit.”97 Morrison remained abreast of these activities, discussed the study club technique at some length with Coady, and was regularly briefed by Fr John R. MacDonald. From time to time he was asked by parishioners to press Extension to look into the marketing of cattle or some other local affair, but generally he was comfortable with the department’s leadership and happy to remain behind the scenes.98 Besides, other matters occupied him. He retained the customary diocesan commitments, and after the death of Charlottetown bishop Louis James O’Leary in July 1930, he had the further obligation of administering confirmation in that diocese. He continued without a secretary and rarely requested assistance. Morrison also cultivated the bond with the Scots College Rome, ensuring that the diocese remained well informed. It was a productive relationship: between 1928 and 1930 the title of domestic prelate was sought for Fr Finley Chisholm, the transfer of St Joseph’s Hospital in Glace Bay to the Episcopal Corporation was approved, and a revised constitution of the Sisters of St Martha was submitted for authorization (hence they held a pontifical charter). As an “Agent of the Bishops,” the Scots College carried out these errands for a minimal gratuity and a number of Mass intentions, each worth one or two dollars.99 Morrison’s correspondence with the college’s ­rector (the son of a Banffshire chemist) was generally formal. In fact, as a historian of the college noted, there was “remarkably little reference

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to politics and a change to a totalitarian regime in the college records of those years.”100 Neither the rector nor Morrison mentioned the signing of the Lateran Treaty between the Vatican and the state of Italy in February 1929 that created the independent Vatican City and ended the “Roman Question,” but it certainly garnered attention among the Antigonish clergy. Catholicism was now the official religion in Italy, the state reconfirmed the right of the Church to appoint all bishops, and millions were paid to the Curia coffers in compensation for lost property. “Italy has been given back to God,” wrote L’Osservatore Romano, “and God to Italy.” In 1931 on the fortieth anniversary of Leo XIII’s encyclical Rerum Novarum, Pope Pius XI issued Quadragesimo Anno, which affirmed and renewed the teachings of the celebrated document. The encyclical, described by one period writer as “powerful, comprehensive, traditionally Catholic, and in the true sense of the word, radical,”101 stressed the reciprocal rights and duties of labour and capital, their bearing on present-day conditions, and the necessity of applying Christian principles to the grave economic problems created by the Great Depression. Accordingly, Christian society needed to avoid the “twin rocks of shipwreck”: the extreme individualism of liberalism and the excessive collectivization of socialism.102 The document proved popular; even the American president, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, invoked the encyclical during a campaign speech in the heavily Catholic city of Detroit. To the clergy-intellectuals, and most particularly to Morrison, Quadragesimo Anno embodied the philosophy under which Extension was labouring. “As for the fundamentals,” wrote George Boyle in the St F.X. yearbook of 1933, “no actionist could be without the guidance of the Quadragesimo Anno.”103 In effect the Church had a right to intervene in social and economic matters “in so far as they [had] a bearing upon moral conduct.” As Msgr John Ryan wrote famously in 1941, the encyclical stopped any Christian from excusing “his indifference to the enforced poverty of his fellows with the lazy and selfish reflection that all their troubles will be solved beyond the grave.”104 The knowledge that their ideas and programs were aligned with certified Catholic doctrine was satisfying. While “enabling the population at large to gain a greater understanding of economic principles and thereby a greater measure of economic selfreliance,” writes John G. Reid, they were “asserting a moral and ultimately a religious view of the purposes of society.”105 Reiterating

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Rome’s message, Morrison asserted that a peaceful balance between labour and capital could be achieved only through religious responsibility and a respect for moral law. This way, society might avoid what he termed “the utter collapse of the whole machinery of economic endeavour.”106 The proposition that the common people were responsible for ­fixing the economic problems of the Maritimes was an intrinsic part of Extension philosophy. Some 12 per cent of Maritimers were on direct relief in the early 1930s, and Morrison feared the dole’s negative influence on the psyche of the community.107 There was “nothing that could sap more surely and effectively the self-respect of people than a degrading system such as welfare,” he once wrote. Not only did it demean the individual, but it also represented the “beginning of the end for anything and everything that has to do with economic prosperity.”108 He obviously recognized the problem of poverty and unemployment in the miserable Maritime economy, but asked people to acquire whatever honest work they could. If work could not be found, it was better to out-migrate than to starve. The goal of Extension was to fashion an economy that one day would draw back expatriates. Reports of successful economic endeavours in the countryside were encouraging. When he was told that fishermen in South Ingonish had organized their own transportation of fish to market, Morrison praised “their public spirit” and boasted that such a “well-balanced sense of cooperation” would accomplish much economic good.109 As study clubs expanded throughout the diocese, Morrison asked Fr Coady to ensure that representatives of the college employed their influence solely for extension purposes. He did not want the department mixing with unscrupulous politicians who would pilfer its platform to promote their own political ambitions. Fieldworkers were to avoid partisan entanglements. In a letter to barrister Neil McArthur in Glace Bay, Morrison explained that this policy would alleviate “all suspicion of political partisanship.” The effects of his politicking predecessor still lingered, and should the day arrive when the diocese had to assume a contentious political position or face a  Church-in-danger scenario, Morrison expected that Catholics would remain “loyal to the stand taken by the Bishop in defence of these interests, irrespective of partisan affiliations.”110 When a priest in St Andrew’s used the pulpit to attack an electoral candidate, Morrison wrote that as a citizen the priest could vote as he

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liked, but as a clergyman he was to avoid the suspicion of “cheap partisan[ship] at all costs.111 Extension would flourish among the people if the diocese and the college remained free from partisan entanglements. Morrison remained firm on this attitude for his entire career. Maintaining a nonpartisan Extension department was a challenge, especially as the status quo had failed to alleviate the region’s economic maladies. By 1930, most miners in Cape Breton received only one or two shifts per week. In a letter to a priest convalescing in Louisiana, Morrison wrote that the colliery districts had “what practically amounts to a bread-line.”112 On the advice of clergy, Morrison wrote to DOSC O for a forthright explanation of its business plan. Their response was disheartening. They blamed the “idle time” and bouts of unemployment on an unbalanced seasonal schedule and gave notice (District 26 had not yet been informed) that they were closing collieries No. 11 at Glace Bay and No. 14 in New Waterford while allowing the remaining mines to work toward full production.113 Morrison was incredulous. “It can scarcely be wondered at that the whole capitalistic system is being placed on trial before the public conscience, when such exploitation is being practiced,” he wrote to Fr Tompkins some months later. “It certainly needs a fundamental overhauling to place it on something like an equitable basis, and eventually this will have to be brought about. The sooner it comes, the better for the community at large.”114 Morrison had little faith in the sincerity of D O S CO , primarily because some six hundred people were already on relief in Sydney Mines alone.115 Moreover, rumours were circulating that the company had thousands of tons of coal “stacked in huge bankheads unsold, while most of the mines worked part time.”116 Illustrating a change in attitude from the early 1920s, Morrison reminded his priests that although “the spiritual welfare of souls and their ultimate happiness in Heaven” remained their spiritual duty, the “social and economic well-being” of people in this world was equally essential. In a Sunday circular proclaimed throughout the colliery towns, he addressed the never-ending problems of labour and capital. Since 1918, the economic and financial structure the world over had been “staggered by circumstances which no one country could control.” In this climate, Christians had to “shake the gross materialism” that was fostering the “instinct of greed and dishonesty.” Speaking directly to Catholic workers, he continued: “The product of labour is

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justly entitled to its proper and adequate recompense.” At the same time, “remuneration for labour in the very nature of things demands honest performance.” Labour and capital had to come together with a sincere appreciation of religious responsibility or risk the “utter collapse of the whole machinery of economic endeavour.” In conclusion, he took a parting shot at the radicals within the union whom he believed were selfishly stirring up trouble in meagre times: “There have not been wanting others with a penchant for community strife, whose efforts have been to capitalize on the hard worked earnings of labour, or on its miseries as the case may, thus making impossible any line of equitable adjustment that would be fair to all concerned or beneficial to the community at large.”117 In the bitterly cold winter of 1932, a second royal commission convened to investigate the precarious state of the coal industry. Once again the Old Rector took a seat, although only after considerable pressure was applied by the provincial government. The commission threw the books of D OSC O “wide-open” and concluded that coal operations in Cape Breton were worse than expected. While factions within the UMW contemplated a strike, many thought that mining would cease altogether. It seemed, Morrison wrote Premier Harrington, that miners “will have to move to the country and take up farming.” The prospect of overseeing a repopulation of the countryside energized the bishop. “If some of the miners are to transfer to the land, the plan should be to get them on the land in the early spring, and thus enable them to plant a crop for the coming summer,” Morrison mused, “otherwise they will be helpless for a full year or more.”118 He pressed the premier to invest in farming equipment that could be easily supplied to enable people to work the land. Michael Welton has argued that “the mythology of mining as the devil’s domain was woven into the Catholic spirituality of the early twentieth century.”119 Most had the attitude, articulated years later by George Boyle, that “unemployment [was] a permanent feature of machine industry.”120 Yet governments throughout the Maritimes also shared this rural fantasy. In 1932 Nova Scotia expropriated some six hundred idle farms and made them available to anyone who was willing to take up agriculture. In New Brunswick, as Ernie Forbes has illustrated, the enthusiasm for resettlement was even greater. The New Brunswick government “built roads, gave the settlers a few implements, supplied $4.07 worth of groceries four times a year, paid bonuses for land cleared and planted, and periodically

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allowed settlers to cut and sell timber from crown lands.”121 The benefits in Nova Scotia were not as generous, nor was the program as successful. Obviously Morrison did not anticipate that the miners would “rush back to the land in any appreciable numbers,” but erring on the side of cautious optimism, he began preparing to close parishes in the colliery towns. “In view of the uncertainty as to the future of the mining industry, it would be well to get the parish debt cleared off the slate as soon as at all possible,” he warned Fr Miles Tompkins in New Waterford. “I know that Nos. 12 and 16 [mines] are still going to function, but one can never tell what may happen without much notice, and so it is well to be prepared for any adverse eventuality that may come about.”122 In the same vein, he advised the priest at Thorburn, Pictou County, to “avoid contracting further debt” and  to be prepared for any “untoward eventualities.”123 Although resettlement never materialized, the prospect of urban Catholics returning to the rural areas remained popular among the clergy. Perhaps somewhat naively, Morrison never lost hope that agricultural rejuvenation was the solution to the problems of industry. Industry exasperated the diocese, and this attitude was shared by the Extension Department. As Dan MacInnes has argued, Extension believed that “industrial life (in itself) was an incomplete mode of existence at best.”124 According to George Boyle, men had become “fascinated with power in the mechanized sense,” while losing sight of the “romance and drama of organic life.”125 Moreover, in towns such as Glace Bay, the clergy struggled to offset the enthusiasm for radicals such as J.B. McLachlan who could still attract hundreds to a political rally. “Mr McLachlan, in thought word and deed,” wrote A.S. MacIntyre, follows “the line of the Russian revolutionary philosophy and should be regarded as one of the greatest enemies of Extension.” The primary problem with the labour leader, argued MacIntyre, was that he advocated a “materialist conception of things” whereas Extension was rooted in the “Christian conception of things.”126 The clergy were determined to thwart radicalism, but they had few solutions. In the summer of 1932 an Extension office was opened in Glace Bay under the direction of Fr Thomas O’Reilly Boyle, and by 1933 sixty-five study clubs and a “fine circulating library” were in operation.127 The goal was to support a nonrevolutionary labour movement by “steadying the people immediately concerned.”128 On

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this the clergy were united. Priests remained attentive to the moods of their parishioners and reported their findings to the bishop. Literature was distributed to the churches, and Extension spoke of  “the dignity of labour and the rights of the working man.”129 Communism “seeks to wipe out the idea of God,” claimed the Extension Bulletin, imposing its policies from above “by force in the hands of clique which seizes the power.”130 This strategy was roundly supported by Fr Tompkins, who famously argued that “people will read bad stuff if they don’t get good stuff.”131 He convinced Morrison that the diocese had to be more active in counterbalancing radical literature. Articles championing cooperation and arguing that communal effort was “more native to the teachings of Christ than the pipe-dreams of atheists” were a good start, but the Extension Bulletin had only so much influence. The diocese therefore recruited Fr Stanley MacDonald, an assistant at Mount Carmel in New Waterford and a former Sydney reporter (he was the brother of Angus L. Macdonald, but they spelled their names differently), to write a series of articles for the Waterford Times that dealt exclusively with labour issues. MacDonald was knowledgeable, familiar with industrial issues, and claimed to have the “ear of the miners.” He was given carte blanche, but was warned not to write anything that “might inflame the people.”132 Much like Archbishop John Charles McQuaid in Dublin who believed that communism did not exist in Ireland, in Morrison’s opinion, socialism was the primary upshot of working-class radicalism in Cape Breton.133 Yet, his superiors in Rome were only ever concerned with communism, and employing this subtle reality he was always able to send optimistic and somewhat misleading reports on the ideological situation in Cape Breton. He knew full well that there was a radical spirit among many of his flock in parishes like St John the Baptist in New Aberdeen, yet his reports to the apostolic delegate suggested that the communists in his diocese (funded so he argued through their Winnipeg headquarters) numbered no more than three hundred. As in the past, he argued that foreigners (primarily Ukrainians and Czecho-Slavs) were almost solely responsible for the trouble, surmising that only twenty-five of the known communists were native born. They were, he argued, of the Eastern Rite and were thus without proper “leadership of a Christian sort.”134 Obviously some of the communists were atheistic; nonetheless, he did not believe that this fervour was prevalent among

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the general population, especially since Extension was countering communist propaganda.135 The evasion in these reports is obvious. Although Extension was working hard to counter the radicals of the colliery towns, its impact was not as successful as Morrison made it appear. By and large, people may not have looked “to communism as a remedy for the hard times through which they are passing,” but many in the industrial towns observed that capitalism had obvious flaws. There may have only been a few communists, but there were thousands of ­disaffected Catholics calling for a reorganization of their society. Communism did not pose “an immediate threat,” but that was hardly the point.136 The progressive agenda of Extension echoed diocesan expressions of modernity in health care. In the late 1920s, new hospitals opened in Inverness and Antigonish. Turning the sod at the Antigonish construction site, Morrison referred to the growth of the hospital as representative of Catholic service to the wider constituency.137 Not only did hospitals save “a large number of lives of the people in this part of the province,” but by attending to Protestant patients as well, they fostered community spirit and ecumenism.138 The Sisters of St  Martha staffed health-care facilities in Glace Bay, Sydney, and Inverness and in 1928 alone treated more than 5,000 patients.139 Certainly the medical facilities of the diocese were not the best “east of Montreal,” as Morrison boasted, but nonetheless were proof of progress. In the summer of 1932, Morrison travelled to Ireland to attend the 31st International Eucharistic Congress. Sailing on the Duchess of Bedford, he crossed the Atlantic in the cheerful company of a number of Canadian prelates including archbishops Alfred Sinnott, Neil McNeil, and James McGuigan. He lodged with his friend Bishop Wall, who resided in the comfortable Glebe House of St Mary’s Parish in Dublin’s south end.140 Morrison toured the Irish capital in Wall’s company, visiting the Pro-Cathedral where he marvelled at the statue of Paul Cardinal Cullen. He secretly enjoyed a pint at Davy Byrnes off Grafton Street and discussed Irish politics over ­dinner. He particularly enjoyed the company of Wall’s two curates, Fr Michael Dwyer and Fr Peter McGough, who along with the “friendly Irish housekeepers” ensured that he was comfortable. The congress was a momentous occasion for the fledgling free state, and Dublin underwent a remarkable physical makeover. Only ten years

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removed from a vicious civil war, Ireland had a singular relationship with Catholicism that outgoing president William T. Cosgrave wished to impress upon his successor, the cardinal of Irish political affairs Eamon de Valera, and the world. Hundreds of Roman Catholicism’s most distinguished figures from as far afield as China, Australia, Serbia, and the United States arrived in Ireland’s capital for the congress. As a guest of the auxiliary bishop of Dublin, Morrison was in a unique position from which to absorb the events. On 20 June he accompanied hundreds of his fellow prelates at a welcoming ceremony in Dublin’s ProCathedral, a service that was broadcast over the BBC and Radio Ath Luain. As Morrison sauntered into the cathedral, some of the thousands in attendance rushed forward to receive his blessing.141 An impressive state reception was organized at Dublin Castle and the Pontifical High Mass, presided over by the papal legate, was held in front of three quarters of a million people at Phoenix Park. At the widely attended seaside garden party on the grounds of Blackrock College, Bishop Wall introduced him to the future archbishop of Dublin, Charles McQuaid. The two discussed their Irish connections in the Maritimes and Morrison’s youthful public speaking experiences at Irish Land League meetings. When leaving Dublin, he was given a piece of Irish sod to take back with him to Antigonish, turf which he carefully nursed in the porthole window of his cabin throughout his voyage home. When some of the other clergy on board discovered the sod, he had “quite a job keeping them from cutting it up.”142 Morrison returned home energized by his Irish experience and buoyed by the reunion with old classmates. He spent a few enjoyable days in P E I , which helped atone for the lengthy periods he went without family contact – something his half-sister Mary considered “a family failure.”143 He kept abreast of his nephews’ educational progress, and as he paid their tuition, occasionally threatened to rescind his patronage if grades did not improve. The age difference between him and many of his younger half siblings was a stumbling block to closer relationships. His correspondence with his family exhibits a detached formality, which at times even seems comical. They addressed him as “my Lord” and so on. One priest recalled an incident in which he travelled to Truro to tell the bishop, who was meeting with other churchmen, that his brother had been in a serious accident in P E I . When he gave him the news, “the Archbishop

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showed no emotion at all. ‘Is he dead?’ he asked, ‘No he is not dead,’” the priest replied.144 As is the case with aging families, however, death is a part of life. On Christmas Eve in 1932, Morrison’s brother Cyril passed away on the family farm in Savage Harbour. One year later, his stepmother Susan followed. Both deaths came at a hectic time of year. “A death in the household is always a sad event,” he told a friend, but as he wrote his sister, he was confident that her mother was “in a better world.” “She lived a long life – quite beyond the average span of life – and so no one should complain in the circumstances.”145 As was the case with Cyril, he paid the funeral and burial expenses provided that the family was “responsible in their charges,” but he did not attend either funeral due to the combination of a busy schedule and inclement weather.146 The family deaths in the early 1930s, coupled with the loss of former colleagues, contributed to an aura of isolation within Morrison’s correspondence. “There are so few left of our contemporaries of 1890, that one feels lonelier as the years go by,” he lamented to Bishop Wall in the autumn of 1933. “On this side I think the only ones left are Purcell of South America from whom I hear once a year, and Russman who I think is a Chaplain in some convent out west. This decimation naturally makes one do some thinking that the end cannot be very far off.”147 Although publicly austere, Morrison sometimes grappled privately with his isolation. He shared the residence with Fr John R. MacDonald, a priest who had enormous respect for him; however, the relationship was reserved. The primary problem was that MacDonald (the son of an alcoholic) abstained from the drink. Morrison took MacDonald’s temperance as a rebuff. In the opinion of some of the clergy, had MacDonald shared even a glass of sherry with the bishop, something “more than a genuine mutual respect could easily have developed between the two men despite the difference of thirty years in their ages.”148 “I know there’s no use offering it to John R.,” Morrison would insensitively remark while passing the wine at the dinner table. Many would recall that these little remarks hurt Fr MacDonald a good deal.149 The clergy-assistants who inhabited the dreary and dilapidated residence deemed Morrison strict (lunch was served between twelve twenty-nine and twelve-thirty) but fair.150 Upon receiving an appointment as curate to St Ninian’s in the 1930s, Fr Bernard Chisholm recalled the warning: “Now, at the table, you talk to

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4.2  Morrison School (built in 1917) with episcopal residence in the background

Father John R. Don’t talk to Bishop Morrison unless he asks you a question.”151 But the apprehensive Chisholm found that Morrison was actually quite pleasant. “Bishop Morrison was very cordial. No one could be more cordial and kindly and simple than Morrison was at the dinner table,” Chisholm later recalled. “And in your office offering his help, and to preach, ‘Can I help you preach? Can I help you with confessions? Anything at all, just let me know.’” 152 Another priest who wrote to Morrison complaining of “clergyman’s sore throat” received a compassionate reply. “You need not be alarmed about it,” Morrison counselled. “I had it some forty years ago, and with the use of an atomizer and a preparation prepared by the doctor, it was cured within a week.”153 Despite his aloofness with adults, Morrison warmed toward children, especially those young persons worried that they had “fallen from a state of grace” or committed some other grievous transgression. One teenage girl, having entered into a “terrible sin,” admitted to Morrison that she feared her soul unredeemable. In a touching response, Morrison wrote that she need not “have any doubt about God’s goodness and mercy. No person is perfect in this world,” he consoled, and God would not refuse his forgiveness, nor his help to anyone who asked for it. Promising to remember her in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, he hoped that she would soon be quite herself

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again and “alright in God’s holy hands.”154 On another occasion a priest wrote asking if it was permissible to give a Christian burial to a young child who had never been to Mass. “If the little child did not go to church, it could hardly have been her fault,” Morrison responded, “and it would be only right to give her Christian burial.” Moreover, it “would be well also to treat all concerned with the utmost consideration, and hope that God’s grace may do what is necessary for their spiritual welfare.”155 When the students at the Dunmore school sent him a Christmas card, he sent five dollars “for some little entertainment” once the children returned from the holidays. Morrison had little pretence and was not averse to pulling his weight around the residence. One afternoon while moving a dresser on the upper floor, some plaster fell from the ceiling below. That evening when the priests assembled for dinner, the mess was discovered, and the elderly bishop asked, “Just what is going on here?” When he realized that he had created the mess, he got on his hands and knees and swept up the plaster. When Fr MacDonald tried to help him, Morrison resisted saying “I caused it, I clean it up.”156 Despite the humdrum environment at the residence, the atmosphere was periodically stimulated by the labours of Extension. Morrison and Fr MacDonald were never short of problems to thrash out, especially in the difficult days of the Depression. By the mid1930s, however, there were grounds for optimism. Not only had Antigonish avoided the financial problems of the western Canadian dioceses, but also the coal mines were active, the Sydney steel plant was in full operation, and the forestry and agriculture sectors were in a generally satisfactory condition.157 Confident of a bright future ahead, the Xavier Weekly wrote that “a new life is springing up in our province.” Hopeful that the economic fortunes of the region were reviving, Morrison cautioned Extension to remain steadfast in presenting programs of “practical interest” in a “manner conformable with sound economic and practical application.”158 At the rural conference in 1933 he was congratulatory, but cautioned his audience that the financial crisis faced by western Canadian dioceses was  a result of wasteful management. All projects carried out in Antigonish would be done without the “reckless financing” of his western colleagues.159 Nothing in the 1930s better illustrates Morrison’s evolving pragmatism than his role in recruiting the former radical, Alexander S. MacIntyre, into the ranks of Extension. For years MacIntyre had

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been well known among the Antigonish clergy. As a young man working at the coalface in a Glace Bay colliery, he was attracted to  radicalism as a method of addressing the dreadful conditions under which he laboured. He worked his way through the echelon of District 26, becoming a member of the “red executive” and president of the Maritime Labour Herald from 1918 to 1924. After the arrest of J.B. McLachlan during the bitter 1925 strike, MacIntyre assumed the leadership of the union and was in turn blacklisted. Despite this resume, the clergy in Cape Breton reported that MacIntyre was reasonable and not prone to attacking religion. In the winter of 1932, Morrison was informed that MacIntyre had joined a study club under the direction of Fr Sam Campbell at St John the Baptist in Glace Bay. Fr Campbell was clearly impressed with the former union organizer and told Morrison so. Most compelling was MacIntyre’s declaration that he could effectively synthesize the cooperative and labour movements.160 Campbell brought MacIntyre to a gathering of the Cape Breton clergy and introduced him to Morrison. After the meeting all agreed that MacIntyre was well spoken and forthright, and although rather critical of the Church, he was steadfast in his conviction that Extension was the only alternative to communism. This, according to Fr Michael Gillis, “made a tremendous impression on the bishop.”161 MacIntyre’s decision to join Extension as a field secretary in Cape Breton legitimized Extension at the coalface. It was a pivotal moment and, according to Fr Coady, a symbol of the changing relationship between the diocese and its former radicals. “In those early days the very idea of the legitimacy of a trade union itself was seriously called into question,” Coady wrote. “Many people, even good people, were sensitive to the radicalism of this mild bit of activity on the part of the people.” But time, “the great corrector of philosophies,” had brought “a saner view of all these manners.” The dreadful strikes could be avoided, but only by making fundamental changes. By working with Extension, “Mr. MacIntyre lived to see the triumph of many of the fundamental ideas which he and his colleagues fought for in the hard old days.”162 The addition of Alex MacIntyre energized Extension. “Doctor Coady called me on the phone last night and told me he had just come home from Cape Breton,” Fr Tompkins excitedly wrote a Carnegie official, “and while he was there a whole section of communists came over to him and signed up in his study clubs.”163 When

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Fr James Boyle addressed steelworkers at the Knights of Columbus rooms in Sydney, a group offered to organize the clubs in their districts.164 For the first time, clergy spoke confidently of their standing among Cape Breton labour. In accordance with this momentum, the name of the annual rural conference was changed to the Rural and Industrial Conference. It was, as one historian noted, “the legitimization of the workers’ aspirations for a better life.”165 Theory and practice are problematic bedfellows. The speakers on the stages and podiums of the industrial towns were rightly enthused about Extension’s plans to fix the social and economic problems of the coal mining communities. In practice, however, the implementation of cooperative principles within industry was daunting. One example is that of the town of Inverness. In the 1930s the town population was around 4,000, five hundred of whom laboured in the coal mine. The mine was owned at one time or another by various interests, but by the late 1920s, despite a substantial provincial subsidy, the colliery operated at a considerable loss. In the summer of 1932, after repeated meetings between town officials and the provincial government, it was agreed that the miners themselves would take over operations on a cooperative plan. The local priest, Fr Ronald L. MacDonald, an old cooperator and former president of the Nova Scotia Farmer’s Association (also a friend of Premier Gordon Harrington), was appointed to the board of management. The mine was to be operated with a cooperative spirit. Each miner became a shareholder in the company (no one was allowed to hold more than one share), and a management board of Catholics and non-Catholics was elected. In his position as chairman, Fr  MacDonald proved problematic. As it was a cooperative and owned by the miners, Fr MacDonald saw no reason for a union or for a union-appointed “Check Weight man.” One Catholic miner, a member of the UMW, complained that Fr MacDonald used his priestly position to coerce workers to choose between a labour union and the Church.166 As Douglas Campbell has argued, Fr MacDonald “was a good, well-meaning priest who had the interest of his people at heart but his venture into the coal mining industry was also doomed to failure from the beginning.”167 Morrison surveyed the situation in Inverness carefully. He took away a few major lessons. First, he recognized that union formation in cooperative mining ventures was controversial: some saw it as men essentially organizing against themselves, while others argued

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that unions were the only method of promoting fairness at the workplace. Second, the involvement of his priests would create tremendous difficulties, and not just among Protestants. Fr MacDonald was much too personally involved. Finally, it was clear from Inverness that not everyone wanted mining cooperatives or believed that they could succeed in an industrial setting. According to Dan MacInnes, who found nothing in Extension’s files relating to this failed venture, “it was the most painful cooperative experience in eastern Nova Scotia.”168 The Inverness episode and the growing activities of Extension reaffirmed Morrison’s conviction that fieldworkers and priests must remain nonpartisan. He was especially concerned about the perception that fieldworkers were espousing philosophies akin to those of  the newly formed Cooperative Commonwealth Federation.169 It was no secret that the C C F manifesto garnered enormous enthusiasm within the study clubs, especially among the miners.170 Some historians, lacking an understanding of Morrison’s role in Extension, have argued that the refusal of Extension to “support, even in principle,” the platform of the C C F was a “basic contradiction.”171 Although Coady might have “adhered to the Rochdale principle of neutrality,” Extension kept its work “inside the Catholic tent” because Morrison demanded it.172 In a speech to the party faithful in 1933, C C F leader James S. Woodsworth claimed that a priest in Nova Scotia was organizing fishermen and miners into cooperative societies in support of the political movement. Outraged, Morrison demanded the priest’s identity and publicly refuted the allegation.173 “To that statement I desire to give a point-blank denial,” Morrison angrily wrote party officials. “Any social work and Catholic action undertaken by the Catholic priests in this part of the country is solely on its own merits, and has no association whatever either directly or indirectly with the C.C.F. or any other political party within or beyond the Province.”174 Shortly after, in a private letter to Fr Leo Keats, he wrote that Woodsworth’s speech was a “mendacious attempt to link up the St F.X. Extension Department work with a political party” – something “which must be resisted and guarded against to the utmost.” Extension was not permitted to be allied with any political party, regardless of the policies, otherwise it “would be doomed to failure.”175 Morrison’s foreboding of external influences went well beyond the propaganda of the Canadian political discourse. One of the more

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fashionable monthly newspapers at Extension was the eight-page Catholic Worker, published in New York by journalist Dorothy Day and her partner Peter Maurin. This religious, egalitarian paper that flirted with socialism and openly challenged the established social order in the United States struck a chord with people; by December 1933, Day was printing more than 100,000 copies per month.176 But Fr Tompkins, adept at reading between the lines, had concerns regarding the Worker’s content. He sent Morrison copies of articles that he believed were a “bit extreme and radical.” Morrison replied that he had “previously read the No 1 & 2 issues without knowing anything about the personal history of the editor,” but the language struck him “as being somewhat freaky and wild.” They agreed that it would be regrettable if the paper continued along this line of thought (Day argued that Catholics “ought not to be afraid of fighting for social justice just because Communists are doing it”). He hoped that “someone in New York will try to set her right.”177 In the meantime, Morrison asked Tompkins to monitor the issues sent to Antigonish and be prepared to counter any articles that he deemed radical. As the optimistic year of 1933 drew to a close, the people of Nova Scotia created an improbable predicament for Morrison when they elected Angus L. Macdonald as premier. The first Catholic to hold that office since Sir John Thompson in the 1880s, Macdonald personified the eastern Nova Scotia, Catholic experience. Even those not inclined to support the Liberals considered his election to signify a coming of age for Catholicism. When it was definite that a Highland Scottish Liberal premier had been elected, one Cape Breton priest declared: “That means that many of [my] worldly desires shall be fulfilled.”178 Naturally, Extension supposed that Macdonald’s election would augment its influence within the corridors of power. At least one prominent journalist, struck by the New Deal of President Roosevelt, argued that the new premier, Coady, and A.B. MacDonald constituted Nova Scotia’s new deal or “group plan.”179 But while the provincial election of 1933 appeared to boost the fortunes of the diocese, few could have guessed that it would lead to one of the greatest challenges to church-state relations in Nova Scotia history. The plain truth is that the bishop and the premier loathed each other. Neither had forgotten, nor forgiven, the university federation quarrel of the 1920s, and neither was in the mood to cooperate. In the years prior to his election, Macdonald had taken to calling

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Morrison “the man in Antigonish.”180 On his first official visit as  premier to the cathedral town, Macdonald publicly snubbed Morrison by skipping the customary appointment at the bishop’s residence. He may have posed as a man “above crass politics,” as his biographer has aptly illustrated, but the premier had no intention of going to Morrison with hat in hand. When he was asked about this decision, he replied, “If I do not answer them when some tu’ penny ha’ penny cracks the whip it is because I realize that I am not the Catholic premier but the premier of all people.”181 These were virtuous sentiments but not totally altruistic. When Macdonald finally visited Morrison weeks later, the bishop forced him to wait in the hall for a period of time and treated him so coldly that the premier decided it would be a long time “before I call upon him again.”182 The dynamics of the relationship illustrate the power of religion and politics during this period. Both men were determined to flaunt their authority and were prepared to go to great lengths to do so. Only weeks after the election, in a subtle attack on Morrison’s office, the Liberal patronage committee in the town of Antigonish voted to remove the license of merchant and Conservative supporter, John T. Bonner, to supply the diocese with Mass wine. In his stead they placed well-known Liberal partisan, C.F. MacNeil. On the surface this decision corresponded with the regular ebb and flow of patronage that accompanied any provincial or federal election. In his history of The Casket, R.A. MacLean gave various examples of partisan patronage, including the case of the Antigonish train station baggage master, John MacPherson, whose position was taken from him after a Conservative defeat. “Party politics” was “supposed to be the reason therefore.”183 However, while various plum jobs were subject to political patronage, no government dared to tamper with the Mass wine purveyor. In any Catholic enclave, it would mean political suicide.184 Macdonald’s decision to buck this trend shocked and outraged Morrison. Antigonish M P P , Dr John L. MacIsaac, claimed full responsibility “for the recommendation,” but Morrison knew who was ultimately behind the slight. In early December 1933, Morrison wrote a letter of protest to the premier. “The distribution of Mass Wine,” he stated, “is not an Antigonish Town or County affair. It concerns every parish of the diocese from the Bay St Lawrence to Pictou town, and if it is going to be made a political football, we cannot sit down as idle spectators.”185 He received no reply. Morrison placed enormous pressure

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on leading Antigonish Liberals, including MacNeil, but the rank and file refused to budge. They even refused a compromise, which would have allowed both MacNeil and Bonnor to hold a license. “I am not going to be deterred from the performance of my duty as representative of the County,” MP P MacIsaac wrote boldly, “by any veiled threats from whatsoever source.”186 As Antigonish Liberals audaciously challenged Morrison’s authority, members of Extension recognized the perilous situation brewing. It was improbable that Morrison would back down, and more likely that he would demand that they limit or sever their contact with the Macdonald government. “Unrest is spreading,” Morrison wrote a priest, “and so unless the Premier relents in his attitude, I will be compelled to circularize the clergy, the religious houses, and Catholic societies, and perhaps the faithful in general.”187 Extension personnel shuddered when told that Macdonald had informed Morrison that concerns over Mass wine did “not ordinarily” come before him for attention.188 Fr John Hugh MacDonald “gently” wrote the premier to seek a compromise, but he knew how “stolid and determined Angus L. [could] be at times.”189 Exasperated, Morrison begged the premier not to force him to “inform the parishes and religious institutions as to how matters stand.”190 Adding to the disquiet was that each Mass service depleted the diocese’s cache of wine, and there was talk that priests forced to buy from suppliers outside the province faced the threat of being “run down by mounted police.” Macdonald’s refusal to give in to Morrison is one of the gutsy decisions in the history of Nova Scotia politics. He was taking an enormous political risk. Morrison went as far as to have Archbishop Thomas O’Donnell of Halifax try to reason with him, but Macdonald refused to budge. Either Bonner had to go, the premier insisted, or the diocese would have to import its Mass wine from firms outside the province. Morrison had been out manoeuvred. He had little choice but to import the diocese’s wine. Macdonald had his revenge. The premier understood the Diocese of Antigonish better than any politician in the province, and he recognized that the authority of the Church was not what it had once been. Morrison’s battles with Fr Tompkins (the university merger) and U M W District 26 in the 1920s had taken an enormous toll on his authority and personal reputation. He was in no position for a protracted public fight. In fact, such a battle was likely to win Macdonald new supporters among the

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Presbyterians of Pictou and the Baptists of the Annapolis Valley, while Catholics would be, at worst, split. Despite his anger and frustration, Morrison recognized that he had been vanquished. There could be no Canso for the premier, and so the bishop dealt with his fury in silence. But the premier’s brother, Fr Stanley Macdonald, was not so fortunate. In 1934 Fr Macdonald was poised to celebrate the seventeenth anniversary of his ordination, and yet he was still without a parish of his own. The reason, at least to Morrison, was obvious: the priest had a penchant for drink. But Fr Macdonald and his supporters believed that Morrison’s misgivings were due to the priest’s ongoing criticism of Fr Coady and Extension. They maintained that Macdonald was being persecuted because of that “feud” and his “influence among the miners.”191 Regardless, Father Stanley remained in the “humiliating post as curate in Pomquet.” For the proud family from Dunvegan, it was almost too much to bear. In other circumstances, Fr Macdonald may have revived his career through compromise and good behaviour, but the Mass wine incident made any such conciliation impossible. Premier Macdonald made a feeble attempt to bring his brother’s case to the attention of the apostolic delegate in Ottawa, but this time Angus L. was powerless and Morrison was in no mood to parley. Many of Morrison’s priests were surprised that he did not beset Premier Macdonald more forcefully, and certainly some were disappointed that he did not publicly rebuke the politician. Since his days in P E I , however, when Fr A.E. Burke used local newspapers to attack the bishop of Charlottetown, Morrison had abhorred the prospect of public feuding. In fact, like other prominent Canadian bishops, he was horrified at the prospect of divisions (petty or not) among Catholics. Solidarity was essential to the welfare of the Church. Normally, he wouldn’t even issue negative circulars lest they be misconstrued. In most cases, these precautions were unnecessary as Nova Scotia’s Christians forged amicable relationships. When disputes between denominations turned malevolent, Morrison emphasized Catholic unity. In New Glasgow, where religious tensions frequently ran high (one of the three “black spots” in  the diocese), the town council tried to block St John’s Catholic School from receiving government-issued textbooks. Morrison despised the “intolerant attitude of the towns of Pictou County” and told a Catholic gathering that if it were “not for the timely financial assistance they receive from other parishes of the diocese,” it would

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be impossible for Catholic schools in the county to survive.192 When he received word that some parishioners, tired of the bickering, considered sending their children to non-Catholic institutions, he publicly stated that he would be shocked if any Catholic parent “would jeopardize the welfare of the children by neglecting the benefits of an education to be obtained in a Catholic school.”193 He encouraged his flock to reach out to Protestants as a way of exerting influence in their community. In the meantime, in an act of unity, he collected monies from other diocesan parishes to help finance the Pictou schools. Morrison could be very stubborn when he thought he was right and even more so when he felt that the liberties of Catholics were under attack. As a widely recognized public figure, a number of organizations were vying for Morrison’s savoir-faire. Had he any interest in assuming more responsibility, he could have easily amplified his national stature. In the early summer of 1935, he was approached by the St Francis Xavier China Mission Seminary in Scarborough, Ontario, and asked to sit on the board of directors. The success of Extension, his exceptional financial record, and his personal bond to the missions through the work of his brother were all coveted. Although flattered by the request, Morrison suggested that the archbishop of Halifax would be a more appropriate selection. In a letter thanking the archbishop of Toronto for the offer, he commended the seminary in their ability to finance themselves with “due care and wise judgement.” But at seventy-four, Morrison mused, “it was a job best left for someone else.”194 Age did, however, permit Morrison more freedom to speak his mind – and not just to his own priests. When the apostolic delegate sent Morrison the terna of names to fill the vacant position of archbishop of Halifax, the Antigonish prelate immediately refused to take part in the selection process. Moreover, he lectured the delegate on the inappropriateness of a suffragan bishop commenting on the selection of one who would be his ecclesiastical superior. “We have to recognize that in such matters,” Morrison instructed, “there is a human element, which is not always worthy of praise or commendation, and which may easily lead to a misunderstanding between a Metropolitan and his Suffragan.” Objecting to including bishops who were not “sufficiently interested in the welfare of religion in Canada,” Morrison reiterated that his desire was “to carry on the work of Christ’s Kingdom on earth with courage and perseverance

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under the Grace of God and of our Holy Father.”195 He was a ­stickler for the rules and he never wavered. By the summer of 1935 the infrastructure of Antigonish was l­ arger than at any point in its history. The diocese operated 113 churches, eight boarding schools, twenty-two academies, thirty public schools, seven hospitals, and an orphanage.196 One hundred and twenty-five priests carried the workload of ministering to more than 99,000 Catholics. The Congregation of Notre Dame and the Sisters of Charity carried the bulk of the teaching workload while the Sisters of St Martha operated a social work agency and staffed the Little Flower Institute Orphanage in Bras D’or. Morrison had also convinced the Augustinian Fathers of New York to take over the monastery in Antigonish County (vacant since 1919), allowing “the peaceful sound of monastery bells and the chanting of ardent prayers [to be] be heard once more.”197 When the monks arrived in 1937, they brought with them a keen interest in agriculture research, work that meshed nicely with the research being undertaken by priests at the college. The success of Extension brought Antigonish praise throughout Canada and the United States. A long article in the New York Times editorialized that the movement was “building a bulwark against Communism and Fascism.” Besides providing a glowing review of the cooperative business in operation, the article acknowledged the 27,000 people who had attended an Extension school in the past.198 Such glowing tributes to St F.X. convinced the Old Rector that it was a suitable time to resign. A stalwart at the college, MacPherson was both a friend and a staunch ally of the bishop, especially during the tense days of the 1920s. He was a priest of the old school, proud and fiercely loyal, and Morrison coveted his counsel. “In view of your long and untiring service as President, covering as it does some thirty years,” he wrote MacPherson days after the resignation, “I desire to have you remain in residence at the University and to this end I hereby designate you as its President-Rector Emeritus.”199 The retirement of Fr MacPherson from the college was one of many clerical changes in the 1930s. In October 1934, Fr John Hugh MacDonald, priest at Sacred Heart Parish in Sydney, was consecrated as bishop of the Diocese of Victoria, British Columbia, to the delight of his fellow priests. Shortly thereafter, an ailing Fr Tompkins requested a transfer from Canso to the Motherhouse of the Sisters of St Martha in Antigonish. Despite his accomplishments in Canso, he

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desperately required rest and a change of climate. Thus his foray in Canso, which began so abruptly in 1922, ended eleven years later with the quiet appointment of Fr John B. Kyte, a priest who understood the fishermen’s problems “very well,” as the new pastor of Star of the Sea. In his farewell sermon for Fr Tompkins, Fr Poirier said that Canso “proved without doubt that he is a man of God” and “a man of the people.”200 As the successor to the Old Rector at the college, Morrison promptly selected the vice president, Fr Daniel J. MacDonald. Born in the parish of Heatherton, MacDonald was educated at the Urban College and at the Catholic University of America, where he earned a PhD. He joined the St F.X. faculty in 1912. MacDonald was somewhat of an enigma, one foot with the progressives and another with the traditionalists. His father was one of farmers who “stampeded” out of the Heatherton Church in the summer of 1896 (although he returned immediately and did not stay out) in protest of Bishop Cameron’s demand that parishioners vote for the local Conservative candidate.201 As a young priest he supported Fr Tompkins’s forays into The Casket and submitted a number of articles on economic topics including “Economics and the Church,” which was published in the Xavierian. Tompkins once mused that MacDonald was one of  the most radical members on the St F.X. staff.202 Yet he was ­sufficiently discreet, friendly with the Old Rector, and admired by Morrison. More importantly, he remained loyal to his bishop during the university federation debates and authored the college’s denunciation of the Carnegie proposal. This, coupled with the fact that he was both an enthusiastic supporter of Extension and the brother of Fr Coady’s close advisor, Angus B. MacDonald, made him the obvious choice.203 President MacDonald took the promotion with a degree of trepidation. He recognized that St F.X. required major upgrades to both infrastructure and faculty. The school also needed capital. Extension was costing the university around $16,000 a year, and St F.X. was not a wealthy institution. An appeal was organized, and those interested in “the social and economic welfare of the community” were asked to contribute. In a circular, Morrison stressed that Extension was not offering mere platitudes or theoretical ideas but was tackling social and economic problems at the root.204 He discharged representatives to the parishes to explain the objectives. That St F.X. was even considering physical expansion during the Depression is a

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testament to its prudent financial abilities. As other dioceses throughout the country were facing bankruptcy, Antigonish expanded. When a new dining hall (named in his honour) was completed in the spring of 1938, Morrison offered to contribute $1,000 for every $5,000 dollars raised by the university for construction. He further offered a sum of $20,000 when the university had raised $100,000. This was a great deal of money, and as in past instances, Morrison wanted no publicity.205 It is unlikely that Extension’s architects could have foreseen the success of their movement. According to the New York Times, they had become “a Gaelic Denmark.”206 By 1938, the department had a staff of eleven full-time workers, seven part-time, and thirty representatives throughout the diocese. It also published a bimonthly bulletin “in the interest of adult education,” edited by George Boyle, championing cooperative practices and offering “topics for thought.” Study clubs and credit unions were thriving, the rural and industrial conferences, energized by the study club membership, were more popular than ever. One contemporary account of the 1937 conference was published in the St Dunstan’s College magazine, Red and White: On our arrival there the audience was so large that we were obliged to be satisfied with standing room in the gallery. From our place we looked down on a group of people comprised of clergymen of all denominations, nuns of different orders, professors, farmers, students, fishermen, men in public life, tradesmen, professional men, and many others from all walks of life who were interested in adult education … Among those taking part in the discussion that evening were several farmers, a fisherman, the manager of a co-operative store, and a woman prominent in spreading knowledge on “Arts and Crafts for Women.” Following this, an inspiring address was given by the well-known Dr. Coady, Director of the Extension Department. Elmer Scott of Dallas, Texas, concluded the session with a talk on the problems of adult education in his state, and expressed his admiration for the way in which these men were helping people and directing them toward the solution of their own difficulties.207 Despite this success, maintaining the integrity of the organization was challenging. Requests frequently arrived in Antigonish for the

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services of members. A.B. MacDonald was offered a position with the Ontario Department of Agriculture, a job he was keen to accept. When he approached Morrison for his release, he was told that the college was “not favourable to the proposition” but would not stand in his way. It was obvious that a lack of financial resources was threatening Extension’s prospects. MacDonald decided to remain in Antigonish, and a grateful Morrison queried Coady about plans for staff retention. In the spring of 1938, a letter arrived from Rome containing the news that Extension had received an official commendation and apostolic benediction from Pope Pius XI. The commendation spoke of the great strides made in Antigonish all the while adhering to the  doctrine of Catholicism. The pope expressed “great joy” that Extension was improving “the civic as well as economic sphere” while adhering to the “practical teachings of Christianity, whence the conduct of public life should draw its inspiration.”208 Morrison was elated. He sent copies of the document to the parishes and the provincial newspapers, eager to illustrate that the Holy See was “deeply and sympathetically interested in this particular line of Catholic action.” Replying to the apostolic delegate, he wrote that the pope’s communication was an “inspiration for all who have at heart the religious, moral and economic welfare of the community at large.”209 As the news of the papal commendation circulated throughout the diocese, Morrison penned a message of appreciation to the pope. The preparation of the text caused him considerable anxiety. “It is the first letter I have ever written directly to the Holy Father,” he hastily wrote the apostolic delegate, “and I ask you to forward it, if you think it good enough to be sent.”210 But for those who had “scared the bishop into action” years previous, the papal commendation was bittersweet. Fr Tompkins, who had transferred from Bethany to Reserve Mines in 1935, felt vindicated by the document but reflected “a little grimly about it.” After all, he spent his career clamouring for Catholic social action, and now the diocese was receiving the “plaudits of the public and the Vatican.”211 It was a reality that the priest was hesitant to discuss. He knew that “Pius XI praised the Antigonish plan,” wrote Leo Ward, “but I never heard him make anything of this fact.”212 It was not long, however, before Tompkins received his accolades. In 1938 Vanguard Press published Bertram Fowler’s The Lord Helps

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Those: How the People of Nova Scotia Are Solving Their Problems through Co-operation, a befuddled and hastily written book summarizing the work of Extension. Fowler, a former reporter for the Christian Science Monitor, visited the diocese and was mesmerized with the work of the movement in the fishing communities. Referring to Tompkins as “John the Baptist” (a label often repeated), Fowler not only credited the priest with conceiving Extension but also rationalized his transfer from the college. In a particularly baffling excerpt, Fowler wrote that Tompkins had caused discomfort in those who believed “that someone other than educators should accept the responsibility of bringing in reform.” Either way, the priest “lost his bitter battle with evasion and apathy.”213 After writing the book, Fowler told Angus B. MacDonald that “all in all I had a kind of Roman Holiday at the expense of the sitters-on-the-fence … In each case I said lots of nice things about you fellows.”214 It was more a piece of propaganda – the first of many – than a serious study of the movement.215 Even Tompkins was a “little embarrassed at the praise” from a book that was “a bit extravagant in spots.”216 After the publication of Fowler’s book, writes one historian of the period, Extension was “flooded with requests for information and assistance.”217 The general popularity of the book forced Extension to deal with some of the oversimplifications and hyperbole of the text. “The shortcomings of Fowler’s book,” read the Extension Bulletin in October 1938, was that the author “having viewed the Antigonish Movement from the standpoint of an outsider, was unable to maintain the proper perspective.”218 It was a perpetual problem. As one historian has noted, many of these journalists “wanted Antigonish to be the Promised Land,” and Coady and Tompkins their new messiahs.219 Fowler, and other chroniclers of Extension, could not grasp the “great gulf” that had to be bridged between the “ideas of the propagandists of the movement” on the one hand and the “hard realities of the administrator on the other.”220 Soon after, Mary Arnold published The Story of Tompkinsville, Fr Leo Ward of the University of Notre Dame wrote Nova Scotia: The Land of Cooperation, and Bonaro Overstreet penned Brave Enough for Life. “So this is Father Jimmy Tompkins,” Overstreet wrote, “whose name is spoken with love and honour wherever adult educators or members of the co-operative movement talk of their job as building democracy from the ground up.” Fr Coady later complained that these accounts were “misleading and absurd.”221

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4.3  Bishop Morrison, Fr James J. Tompkins, Fr H.P. MacPherson, Fr D.J. MacDonald, and Fr Cyril Tobin, taken after the consecration ceremony of Archbishop John Hugh MacDonald, 1934

It is difficult to know what Morrison thought of all the attention and praise devoted to Tompkins in the 1930s. He knew that Fowler, for instance, often went salmon fishing with A.B. MacDonald, and so the publication’s subtle attack on his office – and his character – must have smarted. Yet, although Morrison had many personal faults, envy was not one of them. He maintained a generally warm correspondence with Tompkins, congratulated the priest on his honorary degree from Harvard, and passed all requests for information on the popular pastor to the Extension office. Whether he realized that chroniclers such as Fowler were building the foundation for a narrative that would eventually blemish his historical reputation is unknown, yet it is likely that Morrison would not have cared. The momentum of the Antigonish Movement continued throughout 1938. Even when Coady took ill and went for a respite in South Carolina, Morrison could only write of the “successful” short courses and general good heath of Extension.222 That summer the

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radical Catholic journalist, Dorothy Day, toured the diocese, joined a study group, and inspected various cooperatives. She spoke fondly of the movement in the Catholic Worker, and chronicled her experiences as Fr Coady’s guest at the United Mine Workers Convention in Truro. “We wish our readers to know,” she wrote in her publication, “of this little powerhouse which is Antigonish, which is sending light over the continent.”223 At a conference on consumer cooperatives held in Boston, Coady declared that cooperatives were the “way out for a world that has been thrown into a condition of chaos by a fundamental error in its economic system.”224 Even Fr  Tompkins was back at work, organizing a housing collective (named Tompkinsville in his honour) in Reserve Mines, Cape Breton. At the annual Rural and Industrial Conference, Harold Adams Innis, the Toronto political economist (and historian of Canada’s early economy) told those assembled in the college rink, “You have reached the dangerous stage in which all men think well of you.”225 One of the explanations for the persistent public confidence in Extension was that it deliberately avoided partisan entanglements. As Extension matured, maintaining this policy was a perpetual challenge. Politics came naturally to the dedicated Extension fieldworkers. Most were political by nature and many more were card-carrying members of the different parties, but overt partisanship was strictly forbidden. Nonetheless, by 1938 a potentially damaging rivalry had developed between Liberal and C C F factions within the movement. “I don’t know what can be done to get certain priests to lay-off attacking the C.C.F.,” wrote a frustrated A.B. MacDonald in the autumn of 1938. He was certain that the attacks from the pulpit were going to “drive the people back to communism.”226 In fairness to many Antigonish priests, Liberal premier Angus L. Macdonald was extremely popular, and as the C CF gained momentum in the province, it seemed natural that they would rush to his defence. Moreover, as a St F.X. alumnus and high-ranking member of the Knights of Columbus, Macdonald attended their events, spoke at public revelries, and visibly supported the Extension movement. Macdonald’s support of Extension, however, was a quid pro quo, and reports that A.B. MacDonald and Alex MacIntyre were creating problems for his candidates by backing the CCF infuriated him. In a moment of frustration, Macdonald summoned Fr Coady to Halifax and accused his movement, and many of its members, of radicalism. If fieldworkers continued to openly support the CCF , the premier

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angrily asserted, it would be “hard put in the next few years to satisfy its followers.” In an attempt to embarrass Coady, knowing full well the Church’s position on radicalism, Macdonald asked if it  was the goal of Extension to move “toward a socialist state” or  “have some arrangement as prevails in Sweden.”227 Coady responded to the attack with a pledge of nonpartisanship in Antigonish, but Macdonald was unconvinced. Shortly after, the premier told his brother that Extension had run its course.228 Fr Coady was surprised and somewhat embarrassed by Macdonald’s assault. After all, he explained to a Liberal cabinet minister, he was a lifelong Liberal and so were most of the Extension staff.229 He could not, however, publicly disassociate Extension from the platform of the C C F because to do so would violate its political neutrality. He could no more muzzle C C F -inspired fieldworkers than he could the Liberal-friendly clergymen, who were “leaving a very bad impression with the workers.”230 Exasperated, the premier had harsh words for Fr Coady and A.B. Macdonald, but never made them public. When he complained of the growing radicalism within Extension to Fr Tompkins, he cautioned, “I, of course, do not include you or Dr. Coady in my criticism. You have both been all that I could expect from two old friends.”231 Macdonald may have begun his career by upholding the separation of church and state, but by 1938, this conviction had wavered. Despite the mounting hostility between the premier’s office and Extension, the rank-and-file of the Antigonish clergy held Macdonald in great esteem. So much so, that there was talk at the college about granting him an honorary degree. Although insiders realized that his feud with Morrison would make it difficult, they devised a clever scheme. “You have not received this letter!” President D.J. MacDonald secretly wrote Judge W.F. Carroll, requesting that he send “a letter suggesting that Angus L. get an L L D from this college.” Knowing Morrison’s dislike for partisanship, Carroll hinted that provincial Liberals believed “the college favour[ed] the Conservative party.” Honouring Macdonald with an honorary degree, he added, would “allay that suspicion.”232 The plan failed. Morrison was irritated by  the assortment of letters that landed on his desk in support of Macdonald’s degree. He was incredulous that prominent Catholics expected him to honour publicly a man who so openly defied a bishop. Moreover, how could the college grant a degree to a politician who had worked tirelessly for its demise? Defiantly, he told

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President MacDonald that if they went ahead with the degree, he would boycott the convocation. The circumstances surrounding the failed attempt at securing Angus L. Macdonald an honorary degree from St F.X. in 1938 are noteworthy. Had the college gone ahead, undoubtedly some reverend faculty would have found themselves ministering in remote ­parishes. Clearly an element of the clergy was testing Morrison’s resolve. To illustrate their frustration with Morrison, faculty members refused to award any future honorary degrees. Censorship, they argued, made such awards worthless.233 Shortly after, Fr Stanley Macdonald wrote to his brother: “He [Morrison] puts the Tory stamp on him and a man of his makeup couldn’t be anything else … A St F.X. L L B is not much of an honour and you might be as pleased without it.”234 Although he was successful in denying Macdonald the degree, the façade of unquestioned authority was crumbling and a struggle was beginning to replace Morrison.

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5 Hanging On, 1939–1950

In the dull wet spring of 1939, at the age of seventy-eight, James Morrison completed his twenty-seventh year as bishop of Antigonish. Recent proceedings at St F.X. indicated that a cadre of priests were manoeuvring against him, but having circumvented a scheme to grant Premier Macdonald an honorary degree, he opted to ignore the incident and spent the damp and dreary weeks focusing on domestic issues. He remained satisfied with Extension and had kind words for Fr Coady, who had graciously credited him (although it was his only reference) in the introduction to Masters of Their Own Destiny with encouraging the “growth of new contacts and links between the people and the university.”1 Coady’s growing reputation – people were beginning to call him “one of the great Canadians” – sporadically induced unwelcome attention to the priest, and occasionally letters arrived at the residence from people complaining that he had ignored or insulted them; once a woman charged him with public intoxication. Each time the bishop quietly investigated, and on every occasion he opted against questioning Coady over accusations that he reckoned were laid by cynics and gossips. By the late 1930s, the Antigonish Movement was no longer confined to Antigonish or to Nova Scotia. Cooperative practices had expanded throughout the Maritimes and Newfoundland: 10,000 members were active in wholesale cooperatives, cooperative stores, and credit unions. Places like Tignish, P E I , would become model cooperative communities, and leaders such as John Croteau would provide new guidance and direction. Croteau observed that one of the movement’s outstanding characteristics was its “decentralized

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5.1  A.B. MacDonald, Msgr Moses Coady, and Newfoundland premier Joey Smallwood

nature.”2 St F.X. had direct control over eastern Nova Scotia, but in other Maritime communities the movement was sustained through local leadership. In 1938 the Prince Edward Island Credit Union League was formed with cautious but reliable support from Bishop J.A. O’Sullivan, who similar to Morrison, wanted to ensure that projects were sustainable before offering the diocese’s patronage.3 Representatives of communities as far afield as British Columbia studied the methods of Antigonish, while farm organizers from the state of Ohio sent agents to Antigonish and would remain “in contact with the Extension Department for about twenty-five years.”4 The celebrity of Extension garnered numerous requests for material from an assortment of organizations. Newspapers, politicians, and journalists wanted information on the “heroic leaders” of Antigonish.5 Responding to a letter from the editor of the Dairyman’s Price Reporter in Pittsburgh, Morrison conveyed a voluminous account of its actions:

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Our endeavour is to stress the philosophy of cooperative effort along the lines of Christian ethics in their application to production, marketing, purchasing and distribution through cooperative clubs up and down the country, the formation and functioning of “credit unions” to promote thrift and wise spending among the membership, the whole endeavour embracing agriculture, the fisheries, and the industrial units of labour and other such activities, there being now organized some fourteen hundred study clubs and groups, all having in view the main object of mutual cooperation. At the head of this is the “Extension Department” of St Francis Xavier University at Antigonish which maintains contact with each group by the printed or mimeographed word and by personal visits among them to advise and direct them in their problems.6 Although not involved in the day-to-day enterprise of Extension, he confidently declared that he was in “frequent contact with its activities” and was fully able to speak on its behalf. While Morrison willingly responded to written requests, he was content to allow Extension’s leaders to speak publicly for themselves. The responsibilities of office consumed much of his time, and his schedule left little room for further affairs. He had dishevelled stacks of correspondence on his desk that habitually demanded attention and he was besieged by supplicants for various favours. Moreover, the Canadian hierarchy persistently urged Morrison (much to his chagrin) to augment his national stature and shoulder more responsibility within the national Church, but he continually declined. Finally, in June 1939 Jean-Marie-Rodrique Cardinal Villeneuve of Quebec formally requested that he mediate in a thorny dispute between the Archdiocese of Halifax and Saint Mary’s College. The Irish Christian Brothers and Archbishop John T. McNally were locked in a protracted battle for administrative control over the college, a potentially embarrassing scuffle for the archdiocese. After taking “a little space of time to look into the ramifications,” Morrison sought a careful resolution. He cautiously approached Archbishop McNally, a fellow island native, to ascertain his account of the disagreement. It was a delicate matter. For one thing, McNally was an archbishop and therefore his ecclesiastical superior. Fur­ thermore, Halifax and Antigonish had a history of acrimony, and Morrison did not want to revisit past hostilities. Ethnic tension ­

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between the Scottish settlers of eastern Nova Scotia and the Irish of Halifax had been evident in pioneer days and had led directly to the establishment of the Diocese of Arichat in the 1840s. It dissipated somewhat in the 1870s, but revived in 1880 when Bishop John Cameron intervened in a quarrel between the archbishop and the Sisters of Charity.7 Morrison worried therefore that his “entry into the present question will revive the old ‘hard feelings.’” More troublesome, he wrote to the cardinal’s aide, it may “give rise to new misunderstandings as between Halifax and Antigonish.”8 But Morrison had a more pragmatic reason for not wanting to involve himself in the business of Halifax Catholics. When he steadfastly opposed university federation in the 1920s, he resisted the interference of his fellow bishops in the domestic affairs of Antigonish; for instance, he personally admonished Bishop John March of Harbour Grace, Newfoundland, for meddling. How could he now intercede in Halifax? He would not evade the cardinal but had no intention of  challenging McNally’s authority. His solution, quite expectedly, was to delay any decision for a considerable period. In the meantime he let it be known that he had no desire “to be entangled in the controversy in any shape or form.”9 Fortuitously, a compromise was swiftly reached between Rome and the Christian Brothers of Ireland, whereby the latter left Halifax for New Rochelle, New York, to build Iona College while McNally took control of Saint Mary’s.10 Morrison had no trouble convincing his superior to accept the proposal, and an awkward incident was averted.11 The excursion into the domestic affairs of Halifax furthered Morrison’s resolve to focus exclusively on Antigonish. But as he turned inwards, Canadian society was forced to cast an uneasy eye toward events unfolding in Europe. In the 1930s fascism spread throughout Europe in response to the severe economic changes wrought upon society after the Great War. It was a new kind of progressive nationalism that claimed to transcend left and right “by combining the best of both in a structure of corporate bodies.”12 The early political and social success of the movement fashioned several (often peculiar) followers. Writers and intellectuals of all political persuasions cast supportive eyes toward both Italy and Germany. Even the writer George Bernard Shaw, witnessing the growing popularity of fascism in England, commented auspiciously in 1940 that “nine-tenths of what Mosley [the British fascist leader] said was true

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– it was sound National Socialism marred only by an unfortunate allegiance to bogus racialism.”13 In Italy, Benito Mussolini had declared Rome to be the heart of Italian fascism. In the early days of his movement he had his share of admirers. In 1923, Winston Churchill described him as “the greatest living legislator,” while the New York Times, distancing itself from the violence of the strongman’s Black Shirts, editorialized that the dictator was in fact “embarrassed” by the brutish behaviour of an element of his followers.14 Among Catholics, the admiration went even further, especially after the Lateran Treaty in 1929 created the Vatican State (with a total of 109 acres) and restored “Italy to God.”15 In the early 1920s the widely respected Msgr William Foley, the resilient Irish rector of St Mary’s Cathedral in Halifax, championed the fascists as being “extremely useful” and advised a friend to “keep a sharp eye on Mussolini and the fascist movement in Italy.” Fascism was, argued the venerable monsignor, “very worthwhile.”16 Fr Tompkins, too, was blinded by the allure of European progress. When pondering the incessant problems of the Maritimes, he ­concluded that the region needed “a league of youth and a few Mussolinis.”17 It certainly did not help that the early enemies of ­fascism were also violently anti-Catholic. During the Spanish civil war, many Catholics (certainly not all) fought against those republicans who promoted “atheism and chaos.”18 Morrison’s Irish friend, Bishop Wall, was outspoken in his antirepublican sentiments and reacted to the massacre of Catholic clergy at the hands of Spanish communists by organizing financial support for General Francisco Franco and his nationalists. Ireland raised a battalion of soldiers, and Wall personally blessed the first of the ambulance units on their departure to Spain in January 1937.19 Whatever early promise fascism offered against unemployment and communism, the events of the late 1930s disillusioned most to its merits. After a number of years in power, Mussolini (who had christened Italian clergy “black Microbes”) began to persecute Catholic organizations and by 1931 had outlawed Catholic youth organizations declaring that “Youth shall be ours.”20 Things were little better in Nazi Germany, even after a concordat was signed with Hitler’s government in 1933. One year later, the president of German Catholic Action was shot, the bishop’s residences in Würzberg, Rottenburg, and Mainz were looted, and by 1936 the apostolic delegate was writing of the “grievous conditions in which the Catholic

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Church actually stands in Germany.”21 In a forthright letter, the ­delegate begged Morrison to “enlighten, by all possible means,” the people of the diocese, “by exposing the gravity of the situation and showing how the rights of the Church have been disregarded.”22 Copies of the encyclical Mit brennender Sorge, Rome’s critique of national socialism, were circulated among the clergy, and in 1937 the Rural and Industrial Conference passed a resolution that the principles of that body were opposed to “Fascism, National Socialism, Communism, and all other such forms of dictatorship.”23 In September 1938, Great Britain signed the Munich agreement with Nazi Germany in a hasty attempt to secure peace. By March of  the following year, Adolf Hitler completed his conquest of Czechoslovakia and turned his panzer divisions toward Poland. Throughout the gathering storm, Catholics appealed to Rome for guidance, but the pope was too ill to offer much solace or counsel. Pius XI had misjudged Mussolini, and the Church would ultimately pay a terrible price for the diplomatic triumphs of the 1920s. Although the pope was revolted by the anti-Semitism of Hitler, he declined to issue further declarations against national socialism. The pope’s death in February 1939 left the Seat of Peter vacant at a critical moment. The conclave was forced to choose a successor under ­political duress, and once again they sought a candidate with ­diplomatic experience. In the weeks following the pope’s demise, the bishop’s household routinely gathered around the radio for evening bulletins. Despite the ritual mystery of the conclave, the election of the former papal nuncio and Vatican secretary of state, Eugenio Pacelli, as pope was a fait accompli (he was elected on the third ballot). Not only had Pius XI favoured the thin and graceful Pacelli as his successor, but also the cardinal’s experience in Germany – he had negotiated the concordat with the National Socialists – gave him crucial diplomatic insight. Over the airwaves, the household heard “quite clearly” the intro­ duction of Pius XII from the balcony overlooking St Peter’s square, and the crowd’s jubilant reaction. The consensus in the residence that evening, and within the Catholic world generally, was of satisfaction. Not only was Pacelli an admirer of the Antigonish Movement, Morrison mused, but his diplomatic experience provided a “united front against the national and international disturbers of the peace.”24 He had also sent Morrison a personal message of thanks for the condolences on the pontiff’s death, which impressed the household.

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The election of Pius XII created a modicum of optimism that war could be avoided, but this was quickly dashed. Throughout the following weeks, the news from Europe remained pessimistic. Msgr William Clapperton, rector of the Scots College, supplied firsthand accounts of the mood in Rome and took to sending duplicate letters on separate ships should one be unfortunately sunk. The publisher of the Halifax Herald, William H. Dennis, a friend of the bishop and a keen supporter of Extension, sent copies of letters that he received from the Canadian-born newspaper baron, Lord Beaverbrook, containing information about aircraft production and the condition of Britain’s wartime economy.25 It was the only “true picture of the situation” that Morrison possessed. Detailed accounts of affairs in the Pacific sector came from Morrison’s brother stationed in Lishui, China, five hundred miles southwest of Shanghai. In graphic detail Vincent described the mission’s harrowing ordeals.26 The Japanese had captured Shanghai in November 1937 amid scenes of mass murder, rape, torture, and pillage. In the summer of 1938 during the terror bombing campaign of Canton, the priests in Lishui narrowly escaped with their lives when their mission parish was destroyed. “We can only hope and pray,” Morrison wrote to his besieged brother, “that there will not be a repetition of such an experience. However, it might be well to have your dug-out strengthened and so made more bomb-proof.”27 In late August the news from Europe grew worse. Even the most optimistic conceded that war could not be averted, and Morrison, who had intended to make his ad limina and celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of his ordination by saying the Mass at the Church of St Alphonsus, was forced to cancel.28 On the morning of 1 September 1939, German panzers and motorized infantry moved across the Polish border and pushed toward Warsaw. Two days later, the British government declared war on Germany. Unlike 1914, Britain’s declaration did not automatically commit Canada to the fight, but Morrison astutely predicted that the country’s declaration would “come soon.” One week later, he solemnly picked up his pen and wrote to Archbishop John Hugh MacDonald: “The nightmare is with us again.”29 While the Great War was characterized as a Christian struggle against German aggression, the Second World War was regarded as  a righteous crusade to rescue Christianity from the assaults of aggressive atheism perpetrated by national socialism. Antigonish

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was not swept up in the war fever of 1914, but the people were no less confident in victory. Morrison gave immediate support to government initiatives such as military recruitment and the Victory Loan campaign, while the president of St F.X. labelled the war a “noble cause” and offered the university’s backing.30 Military matters occupied the pages of The Casket and the Xaverian, and young men rushed to enlist. In November, in the midst of this ferment, Morrison celebrated fifty years in the priesthood. The milestone was front-page material, and the Halifax Herald led with the banner “Pontiff sends Blessing to Bishop on Jubilee.”31 A special Mass was held in St Ninian’s Cathedral whence Morrison told the gathered that he was one of only three priests left from his graduating class. Privately he joked, “I do not know how long this may continue, but I have always felt that it is better to wear out than to rust out, and so I have kept going, and, thank God, I am feeling fairly fit.”32 One of those former classmates, Bishop Wall, had been recently mentioned as a candidate to  succeed Edward Byrne as archbishop of Dublin. However, his advanced age and Eamon de Valera’s determination to have Fr John C. McQuaid in the post ensured that Wall (whom Morrison had counselled to remain politically neutral in the bitter Irish political arena) remained an auxiliary in his south Dublin parish.33 The fiftieth anniversary of his ordination was a special moment. Morrison received letters from people whom he had baptized, confirmed, or married. One man wrote because, as a young boy, he had resided across the street when Morrison was teaching at St Dunstan’s. He also received a kind reference in the Halifax Herald’s editorial page. Letters from P E I made him especially nostalgic. “There has been such a weeding out of the old companions of years ago,” he wrote to his cousin, “that the island has become almost a stranger to me. However, I would like to pay another visit to the old place, but whether I can do so this summer is more than I can say at the moment.”34 He renewed his subscription to the Charlottetown Guardian and also relied on Msgr Gregory McLellan for local news. The Canadian Army saw little combat in the first years of the war. The Battle of Britain raged in the skies from July to October 1940, and dispatches arrived in Antigonish containing graphic accounts of the horrific damage set upon cities such as London, Belfast, and Birmingham. Thanks in large part to Morrison’s leadership during the Great War, the Catholic Chaplaincy Service was much better

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organized in 1940. Under the direction of Bishop Charles Leo Nelligan of Pembroke, Ontario (he was born in P E I ), and Sydney priest Fr Major Ronald C. MacGillivray, the chaplains were generally free from the sectarian malice of 1914–18.35 But despite Nelligan’s repeated pleas, Morrison was leery of allowing his priests to enlist.36 It was a point of contention during the Great War that Antigonish had contributed more chaplains to the army than the western Canadian dioceses combined. This time around he wanted others to assume the burden. Accordingly, he announced that Antigonish would send only five priests to the chaplaincy.37 After all, he told a fellow bishop, if the other Canadian dioceses gave as many chaplains as Antigonish, the armed services would have more than four hundred priests in uniform. The key was to strike a balance between supplying chaplains and providing for the spiritual needs of the diocese. Morrison decided on a policy of allowing only senior priests with previous experience to enlist. He selected Fr Michael E. McLaughlin, Fr Angus J. MacIsaac, and Fr James F. MacIsaac, all in their forties, and Fr Ronald C. MacGillivray and Fr Michael Gillis, who were in their fifties. Morrison maintained relatively close contact with the chaplains, although he did not sustain the same volume of correspondence as 1914–18. He replied to all letters from his chaplains with news of the diocese and articles from The Casket.38 The war consumed the diocese, and the luxuries of peace were discarded. The conflict had a singular effect on Extension. According to one historian, “energy was channelled away from social reform into winning the war for democracy.”39 In 1941 the annual short courses were condensed into a single week, and in a show of austerity Ottawa reduced its grant to Extension, forcing the department to close its office in Glace Bay.40 A committee appointed by St F.X. to consider the wartime expenses of Extension recognized that “leaders would be lost, peoples minds’ diverted, and emphasis placed upon production.”41 For his part, Morrison threw himself into finances and counselled his clergy on frugality. The wartime austerity also forced Extension to beg for government monies. With an annual deficit of around $10,000, the department was constantly seeking financing. More than ever, Extension’s policy of nonpartisanship was critical. Yet the factionalism between the Liberals and the C C F would not dissipate. It had worsened after District 26 affiliated the union with the CCF in 1938, providing the party with an active campaign organization in the colliery towns.

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Soon after, a C C F member was elected to the provincial house from New Waterford with plenty of Catholic support. It was a “startling transformation of the voting patterns in New Waterford,” and the other parties took notice.42 Tensions escalated in October 1941 when L.D. Currie, a Liberal member of the provincial legislature from Glace Bay and a graduate of St F.X., lost his seat to the C C F candidate in Cape Breton East and blamed his defeat on Alex MacIntyre. Currie charged that MacIntyre, an Extension fieldworker in Glace Bay, had aggressively campaigned against him in support of his old comrades from District 26. MacIntyre, who was later approached to run for the CCF , was not the only one. In a letter to the Old Rector, Currie claimed that “a large number of those who were leaders in the St F.X. Movement in Glace Bay had worked and voted against him.”43 From Sydney, Fr M.A. MacAdam wrote the college in support of Currie’s claims, and warned that the public perception of a relationship between Extension and the C C F had been “growing like a canker” and was getting worse. He demanded a “clear-cut statement that the college is not in politics.”44 In a letter to Mary Ellicott Arnold, a close associate at Extension, Fr Coady explained that “the miners more or less identify our movement with the C.C.F.” and consequently “Currie got licked.” Morrison found these grievances particularly ironic since some in Sydney (and elsewhere) complained that Extension served only to reinforce the political status quo. He conducted a brief investigation but was satisfied that the claims were unwarranted. In response, he asked Fr Coady to placate the angry politicians. “My stand has always been,” Coady wrote to the federal minister of fisheries, “that we will not align ourselves with any political party. On the other hand, I have no objections to political parties getting all the kudos they can from supporting our program.”45 Currie’s complaints were indicative of the complexities of the CCF in industrial Cape Breton in the 1940s. Letters regularly arrived at the residence from priests seeking Morrison’s counsel on dealing with C C F supporters in their parishes.46 Although many Quebec prelates had denounced the party as socialist, Morrison had no particular qualms with their policy. Some historians argue that the Antigonish hierarchy opposed the C CF , but by 1940 the bishop had freed his flock to vote for the party.47 He had “followed their pronouncements in parliament” for some time and found nothing in

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their platform that could be “construed as hostile to religion.” They had a reputation for being radical and were somewhat relaxed on divorce, but then again they were not the only party who had “loose ideas on that question.”48 He responded to all inquiries in the same fashion. As long as the C C F concerned itself with economic questions, and not religious or moral ones, the party had the right to participate in the political discourse. After all, he wrote to Fr Cyril Bauer, “it is quite debatable whether any of the parties could be considered as a true interpretation of democracy.”49 Three years later the Canadian Church echoed this assessment when it decreed that the faithful were free to vote for any party that upheld the “basic Christian traditions of Canada.”50 In an examination of the C C F in Cape Breton, Michael Earle and Michael Gamberg argue that the party appealed to a segment of the Catholic population, influenced by the Extension Department, “who would never have voted communist.”51 Like the rest of the Canadian episcopate, Morrison thought the C C F “quite red” in 1933, yet as it grew more moderate he accepted it as viable third option. Moreover, the affiliation between District 26 and the CCF essentially weakened the influence of the more radical members, and Morrison’s priests recognized that reality. Perhaps surprising to some, in his senior years Morrison shed some of the earlier fixation on radicalism and now maintained that those Catholics who voted for radical candidates did so not because “they were communist at heart,” but rather because they had been “deceived” by the Liberals and Conservatives. In an extraordinary letter to the apostolic delegate, Morrison wrote that “in disgust” the community “wanted to show their retaliation against the tactics of [the] old political parties, who for so many years exploited and deceived the miners.”52 Anyway, party politics did not matter anymore, as it was Catholic Action that would “combat communism and all such pests that arise from time to time.” Morrison spent a considerable portion of 1941 visiting communities throughout the diocese, which eventually affected his health. His schedule was so hectic that he was forced to decline a request by Archbishop McNally to preach at the centenary of Saint Mary’s College. Nevertheless, Morrison travelled to Minnesota to attend the ninth National Eucharistic Congress. He was the oldest prelate in attendance but joked that his age had not kept him from following the “program from the beginning to the end.” The principal

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reason for the trip was to visit with Fr James Reardon, pastor of St Mary’s Basilica in Minneapolis. A native of Charlottetown, and once brilliant student at St Dunstan’s, Reardon and Morrison were lifelong friends and confidants.53 During the week of festivities Reardon was raised to the rank of monsignor, a title that befit a “first rate priest.” At the ceremony to consecrate the basilica, Morrison was charged with blessing one of seven altars within the structure. It was a long afternoon, but he “came through alright.”54 Reardon was influential and managed to organize a meeting between Morrison and the Minnesota governor, Harold Stassen. At the State Building, Morrison recounted the efforts of Extension to promote cooperatives and fielded a number of questions from the governor’s staff. In conversation with American bureaucrats, Morrison became disheartened by their isolationist attitudes. Thoroughly committed to the war effort, he was roused to anger by those who did not share his patriotism. He dispatched letters to Bishop Wall in Dublin criticizing Ireland’s neutrality and penned scathing rebukes to American colleagues who believed that the Europeans were solely responsible for their own political and military affairs. So when the harrowing accounts reached Antigonish of the Japanese attack on the American naval fleet at Pearl Harbour, Hawaii, in December 1941, he rightly anticipated that it would coerce the United States into the conflict. “I am inclined to think,” he wrote to Major Fr Ronald MacGillivray, that “the few voluble antis over here will feel pretty rotten in regard to the attitude they have been taking on this question, but of course they will wriggle out of their predicament, and will be the foremost patriots from now on.”55 Few of Morrison’s sermons dating from the early period of the war have survived. However, apart from the customary utterances concerning patriotism and duty, there was little optimistic news to hearten his commentary. In December 1941, the British battleship Prince of Wales and battlecruiser Repulse became the first noteworthy casualties for the Royal Navy. Months later Singapore, the British stronghold in Southeast Asia, capitulated to the Japanese. In response, British prime minister Winston Churchill went on radio and called upon the Empire to exhibit “calm, poise and grim ­determination.” Morrison echoed these sentiments, but his steady demeanor could not protect him from the anxieties of war. As the Japanese military swept across the Pacific, his concern for the safety of his brother intensified. Vincent’s letters divulged the precarious

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condition of China. “Japanese raids and bombers have not molested us for about a month,” he wrote in the autumn of 1940, “but they are busy in other provinces here and on the border where much merchandise destined for China was destroyed.”56 A few days before Christmas another note arrived from Lishui wishing that the New Year would “bring peace to a troubled world in both hemispheres.”57 Then, in spring 1941, all contact with Vincent ceased. For the first six months Morrison assumed that the lack of correspondence was attributable to his brother’s inability to post. After a year passed, however, his fears mounted. Vincent Morrison was a stout and strapping man with the stubbornness and expediency of his brother. In group photographs of the mission in Lishui, one is struck by his physical stature. As whole populations fled the advancing Japanese, he and his colleagues were resolved to remain at their mission. In 1942 the Japanese intensified their attacks in the mountainous province of Chekiang. Much of Lishui was destroyed. When imperial forces arrived at the mission, they occupied the buildings and forced the missionaries out. Shrapnel from an “exploding building” gave Vincent a serious wound in his side, and the resulting infection forced him to seek shelter in a Chinese hospital. Fortuitously, he was smuggled into the hands of a group of British soldiers who put him on a plane to Bombay, India. He spent five months in Bombay, undergoing treatment for his wounds while serving as a chaplain for convalescing sailors of the British and Australian navies. It was not until the summer of 1943 that he was able get word to his brother that he was alive and well.58 Morrison worried greatly during this period. He worried for his brother and for those serving in the military. He also fretted over colleagues in Rome who were scrambling to return to their native countries. Postal communication between Antigonish and Europe was erratic, and much of his information was belated or second hand. Although Rome was deemed an open city, in July 1943 allied bomber squads mistakenly attacked 40 kilometres of railway line and two airports, killing more than a hundred civilians and injuring more than a thousand. More troublesome was the threat of arrest or summary execution from the Gestapo. The Canadian college was “requisitioned” by the fascist authorities for “military purposes,” and the Scots College was closed. Morrison lost communication with Msgr Clapperton, his contact at the Scots College, and repeatedly wrote to the archbishop of Glasgow for news.

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Similar to the Great War, Morrison fought charges from a tiny and disingenuous element that Catholics were disloyal. As Catholicism was linked with Rome, Rome with Mussolini and he with Hitler, the early amity between the Vatican and the Italian dictator became an ongoing source of embarrassment. “Many non-Catholics in this part of the country are prone to be suspicious of the loyalty of their Catholic fellow citizens,” Morrison wrote the apostolic delegate, “and while Catholics are certainly loyal to their religion, there are times when they have to be circumspect in the face of dominant Protestantism.” As Nova Scotia Catholics were “very much a minority,” he added, they were prone to “become victims of persecution.”59 Although somewhat oversensitive, a tenacious effort was made by the diocese to illustrate the patriotic deeds of Catholics in uniform, while The Casket demonstrated the political and ideological distinction between the Vatican and the Italian government. One instance of prejudice that particularly concerned Morrison was the controversial internment, in 1942, of a number of Italian immigrants working in industrial Cape Breton.60 Most of the men arrested were active members of St Nicholas Parish in Sydney. They were detained on the pretext of spying, transported to Petawawa, Ontario, and jailed as enemies of the state. One man was arrested despite the fact that his son was fighting in the Canadian army.61 The community was outraged, none more so than Morrison, who considered the incident blatantly sectarian. Certainly there was some sympathy for the fascists within the Italian communities of Toronto, yet Morrison could not comprehend a Cape Breton labourer representing a serious threat to national security. Most disturbing was that twenty of the twenty-two prisoners were married with small children. In a letter to Louis St-Laurent, federal minister of justice, Morrison wrote: From the general information I have received it is my considered opinion that the action taken against them was altogether too drastic and sweeping, and I respectfully commend them for a favourable finding by the official investigators in the hope that they may be released from further internment, and be permitted to return to their homes and families.62 Replying to letters from the detainees, Morrison encouraged them to remain optimistic and assured them that he was attempting to

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secure their release. In a letter to Felice Martinello, incarcerated in Fredericton, New Brunswick, Morrison wrote that he was “sorry to hear that [Martinello] was still detained, especially if there [was] no special charge against [him].”63 Morrison instructed Fr Ronald MacLean, pastor at St Nicholas, to meet with the families and provide assistance and financial support, but to their surprise the families were not interested. When the apostolic delegate sent $100 for distribution among the wives of the detainees, the older members of the community advised against the distribution, as they feared that the money would only “cause a renewal of prejudice against the internees and the Italian colony.”64 The internment of the Italians symbolized a nascent dilemma. While confident of the eventual release of the detainees, Morrison reckoned that the war was concentrating excessive authority in the hands of the federal government. “Our first duty is to win the war,” he told the Rural and Industrial Conference in 1941, “yet our effort must also be concerned with winning the peace.”65 In June 1942 the Canadian hierarchy drafted a pastoral letter highlighting specific social guidelines that Catholics should pursue during a time of war. The document examined a range of social issues, but Morrison was adamant that the statement address the mounting powers of government and demand that the burgeoning bureaucracy of wartime be scrapped once the fascists were defeated.66 In a forthright letter to Cardinal Villeneuve, Morrison warned of the dangers of centralized control over the nation state: In war-time citizens willingly and cheerfully give up many things, and submit rightfully to whatever centralized control is felt necessary for the proper persecution of the war. But the present ­sacrifice of freedom as a war necessity should not be regarded as a standard for times of peace. Service that can be adequately controlled and directed by smaller units within the State should not be continued under centralized control when the war is over.67 Villeneuve did not fully agree with these sentiments, but they made it into the pastoral letter nonetheless.68 Centralization was a looming reality for Morrison’s Mi’Kmaq flock during the war. The relationship between First Nation peoples and the diocese was cordial but often detached. Priests staffed missions

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in Mi’Kmaq communities as part of their fixed parish duties, and often acted as “Indian Agents” for the federal government. To maintain good-natured dealings, Morrison insisted that his clergy respect the long-established relationship between his office and the respective First Nations councils. This way, he argued, misunderstandings would be avoided. When a priest sought to organize a “sacred concert” near Sydney for instance, Morrison wrote that nothing could be done unless he had the approval “of the respective Chief” and the consent of the local clergyman. The rapport between band council and priest had to be “faithfully observed,” otherwise any such concert would be forbidden.69 Although devoted Catholics since the 1600s, most Mi’Kmaq communities did not have the financial means to support and maintain a full-time clergyman and were therefore at the mercy of the nearest priest’s schedule. Chiefs regularly complained to Morrison that their people had been without the holy sacraments for long periods. Some priests had to travel great distances to the missions, while others simply felt that ministering to Mi’Kmaq missions was an added burden and outside the scope of their responsibilities. Although Morrison believed that the First Nation’s peoples “instinctively turn[ed] for guidance and direction” from the priest, some Mi’Kmaq historians disagree.70 One of the reasons for the reserved relationship between the diocese and the Mi’Kmaq was undoubtedly cultural. Catholicism in First Nation communities was, as Martha Walls has illustrated, “marked by syncretism, and aspects of older Mi’Kmaw spiritual traditions operated alongside it.”71 As priests were scarce, Grand Council members often officiated at prayer services, blending ancient Mi’Kmaq spiritual practices with the Roman Catholic ­liturgy.72 Morrison had a rudimentary understanding of these practices and undeniably harboured many of the paternalistic, narrowminded attitudes of the period.73 Moving the Mi’Kmaq closer to the Coke Oven district, he once argued, would be like “throwing them to the wolves.” Although he took their claims seriously, the “poor Indians” were unquestionably a secondary concern. He was, of course, concerned for the spiritual well-being of the Mi’Kmaq, but by and large Morrison was content to leave their material welfare to government bureaucrats. Despite this reality, the bishop was periodically privy to poignant acts of agency within the Mi’Kmaq community. It was not

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uncommon for elders to seek Morrison’s aid in pressing their treaty rights with federal bureaucrats. In the midst of the Great War, for instance, Charles Poulet of Chapel Island walked into Morrison’s office holding a volume from the Archives of Nova Scotia that contained a facsimile of a treaty guaranteeing his community a supply potatoes and grain for seed. Employing the document to corroborate oral testimony, he claimed that the government was in violation of this agreement and asked Morrison to investigate.74 Morrison did not understand many of the Mi’Kmaq customs, but certainly recognized their distinctiveness. In his opinion, the community was best left on its own. He was therefore wary of the policy of centralization implemented in 1941 by the Indian Affairs Branch of the federal Department of Mines and Resources. The policy aimed to reduce expenditures, increase the standard of living, and facilitate greater self-sufficiency. Most of the small Mi’Kmaq communities within the diocese were to be resettled at a large reserve at Eskasoni, near Sydney (and others at Shubenacadie).75 The Liberal gov­ ernment wanted the diocese, and more specifically, Extension, to assume a prominent role in the process. Various memos and reports were posted to Antigonish by the minister of mines, T.A. Crerar, with the  hope that Coady would read and comment on them.76 Although there was “general agreement” that centralization had merit, Morrison insisted that such a policy “would have to be approached with care and caution,” avoiding any “drastic steps.”77 In a meeting held to discuss the looming centralization proposal, Morrison’s priests were apprehensive. For one, transplanting the elderly from their homes would be a “source of trouble”; the indignation might not dissipate for years, “perhaps for generations.” Second, the clergy “were chary about being listed as aggressors” should the Mi’Kmaq community resist the scheme. Centralization was, Morrison insisted, “at best a delicate undertaking,” and he warned the minister that the move would be resisted by the First Nation communities. He counselled Crerar to send representatives directly into the Mi’Kmaq communities to explain “the purposes and details” and gauge the reaction. “At all events,” he warned, “nothing drastic should be attempted in carrying out the project.”78 Despite his aversion to the scheme, and his warnings to Crerar, Morrison did nothing to halt the centralization policy. His objections were practical, not ethical. If the government was determined to implement the plan, the diocese’s primary concern was that

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Ottawa finance a new Church and school, and that a priest be assigned to Eskasoni. In 1943, bureaucrats thanked the diocese “for the measure of cooperation” in implementing a scheme that was ultimately a dreadful failure.79 There were many melancholy moments connected to centralization, especially in Heatherton, where Chief Sack from nearby Paq’tnkek asked for one last Catholic mission before his community was transferred to Cape Breton. Although centralization of the Mi’Kmaq at Eskasoni finally provided the community with a resident priest, “many traditional practices stopped.” One resident recalled that the priest assigned to the community “stopped the Mi’kmaw prayers, the choir and changed everything to Latin.”80 These impositions had a terrible effect on both custom and language. When the priest (ironically a Gaelic speaker) sought to prohibit the use of the Mi’Kmaq language, the indignation was so great that Ottawa wrote to Morrison in the hope of securing a clergyman “really interested in the Indians” as the priest lacked the “initiative and personality to make it a success.”81 Much to the community’s chagrin, Morrison took five years to find a replacement. In 1943, after incessant setbacks, the tide of battle changed. The Royal Air Force victory in the Battle of Britain, the belated entry of the United States, and the defeat of the U-boats in the Atlantic changed the course of the conflict. General Montgomery’s defeat of Rommel in North Africa encouraged Morrison, who hoped that the “mopping up” would be the modern Delenda est Carthago.82 During the war, much of the information that Nova Scotians obtained came via the medium of radio. The C B C overseas news service brought the sound of battle from far-away places such as Antwerp and the Hochwald Gap into the living rooms of the diocese. CBC war correspondent Matthew Halton, who had a regular feature on the national news service, became a household name. The priests at Extension acknowledged the enormous potential of radio. In 1940 it was suggested that the college construct a “university of the air” to carry Extension’s message throughout the region.83 Priests in the colliery towns of Cape Breton, dissatisfied with the programming of C J C B , were particularly enthusiastic. The formal suggestion to organize a station through the college was made by Fr James Boyle of Holy Redeemer in Whitney Pier. Radio appealed to Morrison. He recognized its potential but characteristically needed

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assurance that it was financially viable. Consequently, he insisted on organizing a separate company so that St F.X. would not be burdened should the endeavour fail. In early 1943 a station was constructed and the Atlantic Broadcasting Company organized. A joint-stock company was founded to raise the start-up funds, and control of the stocks remained securely in the hands of the clergy and St F.X. alumni. On 25 March 1943, the Feast of the Annunciation, CJ F X officially went on air in Antigonish under the direction of J. Clyde Nunn. A native of Whitney Pier, a St F.X. alumnus, and a former announcer at C JC B , Nunn possessed a wealth of experience. Moreover, he shared the pedagogical philosophies of Extension, having produced and broadcast many of its earliest educational programs.84 CJ F X was a modest endeavour but it had the power to transmit throughout the Maritime region, extending as far as Newcastle, New Brunswick. “It is not expected to have a large aerial ambit, as it is intended more for educational work in this part of the country,” Morrison wrote a friend, “but ever the time comes when we have a coast to coast hook up, we shall let you know about it. So There!”85 The station boosted the stature of Extension, created promotional opportunities, and gave the message of the college a majestic platform. It was, as Mark McGowan has illustrated, an example of “how educators used radio to enhance teaching and also how the new medium could be employed hand-in-hand with the print media to pioneer distance education in Canada.”86 Programs such as “Life in These Maritimes” and “The People’s School” were customized for farmers, fishermen, and miners. A farm broadcast service was organized, and the station boasted an agricultural expert provided by the university. One show even permitted listeners to borrow books reviewed on the air.87 “I must tell you that the radio program is going over in a big way,” Fr Coady wrote Fr Michael Gillis. “[Fr]Hugh John [MacDonald] came in the other day all enthused over the fact ten listening groups that he knew about were active in Heatherton.”88 C JFX accorded Extension a boost during wartime and represented a shift toward modernity. “The big excitement” of the station did not, however, appease those who wanted Morrison replaced.89 In April 1942, China, the magazine of the Scarboro Foreign Mission, claimed that their superior general, Monsignor John McRae, was to be appointed auxiliary bishop for Antigonish. The rumour turned out to be false – Morrison considered it “too fantastic to be given any credence” – but it caused so much commotion that the apostolic

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delegate felt compelled to write Morrison with an apology. He assured Morrison that no decision of that magnitude would be made without his approval.90 Comforted, Morrison set out to demonstrate his independence. One of the ways he did so was by driving himself around the diocese, provoking anxiety among the clergy. “Some of the good Reverend Fathers around here think I should no longer risk driving a car,” he light-heartedly wrote to Sister M. Ignatius, “but I have not yet shifted around to their views on the matter.”91 Morrison was not credulous. He acknowledged the inevitability of a coadjutor but wanted some control over the selection process. In the autumn of 1942 he wrote the apostolic delegate to ask that Rome consider appointing Fr John R. MacDonald: “Personally, I would like to be looking forward to seeing him appointed as Co-adjutor Bishop cum iure successionis for the Diocese of Antigonish, when the proper time arrives.” His reasoning was simple. Fr MacDonald keenly understood the “duties and responsibilities of the Episcopate,” had always been “fair and impartial,” and enjoyed prestige as a priest far beyond the limits of the diocese.92 Morrison was confident that Rome would heed his advice. Consequently, the news in June 1943 that MacDonald had been appointed bishop of Peterborough, Ontario, came as a surprise, especially because “no one thought they [Rome] would come this far east.”93 Ironically, by sending Fr MacDonald to Ontario, Rome reinforced Morrison’s resolve to remain at the helm. After all, he mused, if he had the right to select his successor, and his choice was sent elsewhere, his position was evidently secure. Bishop MacDonald was consecrated in St Ninian’s Cathedral in August 1943. The ceremony was impressive, and Morrison was personally “congratulated from all quarters on the manner in which the details were carried through.”94 In the days before MacDonald’s departure for Ontario, Morrison took the bishop-elect into his office and schooled him in the fine art of administration (much like his uncle, Archbishop McNeil, had done for years). It was a kind-hearted gesture. In the meantime, however, Morrison’s priests were incredulous. MacDonald’s departure for Ontario only hastened their aspiration for change in Antigonish. Fr Michael Gillis best summarized the feeling in a telegram to MacDonald: “Most hearty congratulations with sincere regrets.”95 “Bishop John R. could be dictatorial,” recalled R.J. MacSween; however, on the day of his consecration to Peterborough, many were hoping that he would “come back home as our bishop.”96

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This effort to have Bishop MacDonald returned to Antigonish as coadjutor began almost immediately after his departure to Ontario. Extension had numerous sympathizers. One of the most prominent and influential was Archbishop John Hugh MacDonald of Edmonton. At the first Canadian Mission Exhibition held in Toronto in the autumn of 1943, Archbishop MacDonald scheduled a consultation with the apostolic delegate and articulated Extension’s concerns. The delegate (a great admirer of Fr Coady) agreed that Antigonish required innovative and invigorated leadership, but he had given his word that no appointment would be made without Morrison’s consent. MacDonald, aware of the delegate’s predicament, suggested that Rome appoint Morrison as an archbishop, while pressuring him to retire.97 The registered letter of Morrison’s elevation to the rank of archbishop ad personam – he had the title without the burden of an archdiocese – arrived at the residence in the first week of March 1944: “It affords me a great pleasure to inform your Excellency that the Holy Father, wishing to give you a public token of paternal appreciation for your long and zealous Episcopate, has graciously deigned to confer upon you the honorific personal title of Archbishop, while remaining, at the same time, Bishop of your beloved Diocese of Antigonish.”98 The news shocked Morrison, who admitted that the honour came “like a bolt from the blue.” For days he scarcely knew what to think of it. “I got a document from the Holy See giving me the personal title of Archbishop,” he wrote to Bishop Wall. “It was something I had never thought about, and as a matter of fact I would have preferred not to have been molested by such dignities, but not having known anything about it until the document came along, and then it was too late to lodge a caveat, and so there was nothing to do but accept it as gracious as I could.”99 Morrison’s promotion was announced alongside a widely publicized ecclesiastical shake-up. For days the telephone was “on a rampage,” and telegrams of congratulations arrived from across the country. At a public revelry held at the college, Morrison told wellwishers that “if ten per cent of what had been said about him was true, he would feel that he had accomplished a great deal,” but he gratefully accepted the tributes to him in the spirit in which they were offered.100 Despite arriving in Antigonish as a stranger, he had come to know the people well in his long residence and appreciated

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the spirit of cooperation that he had found. The clergy, too, were delighted for him. “To receive such an honour in the evening of a hard life will surely give him consolation and happiness,” Bishop MacDonald wrote the apostolic delegate. “He has, I know, never sought honours, nor comforts. He was always devoted to duty as he saw it and he never spared himself.”101 In a long letter to Morrison, Archbishop MacDonald echoed these sentiments: “Your clergy and your many other acquaintances know that honours were never sought, but thrust upon you. For that reason they will probably rejoice more than you will.”102 Shortly after the announcement, Fr James Boyle, pastor of Holy Redeemer in Whitney Pier, was elevated to bishop, replacing Bishop J.A. O’Sullivan of Charlottetown. The decree further exalted Extension, which counted Boyle as one of its steadfast supporters. In fact, as J.T. Croteau later illustrated, it was those priests who “promoted the movement vigorously in their own parishes” who were promoted to bishop.103 The appointment, so many believed, represented a transformation in philosophy for the Canadian Church as Boyle embodied a more transparent ethos. Speaking to the burgeoning cooperative movement in P E I , the Canadian Register wrote that “one of the pioneers in the practical fieldwork of that movement” had come to guide its destiny.104 Morrison, “naturally interested in  the religious and general welfare of Charlottetown,” travelled to the island and assisted the apostolic delegate at the consecration. He relished his seniority. When Bishop MacDonald arrived from Ontario, he found that Morrison had taken Boyle under his wing, advising him against assuming too many duties and suggesting that he “take it easy.”105 He was also keen to show the Antigonish priests the sights of Charlottetown. Although many of Morrison’s contemporaries were gone, he happily lodged in the old stone residence and took a couple priests for a drive to Savage Harbour. Throughout the spring of 1944 Morrison sought to expose the intrigue behind his elevation to archbishop. He was canny enough to recognize that it was likely attained by a Canadian party instead of the Holy See honouring him motu proprio. “I am wondering where the initiative of this move came from,” he wrote to Bishop MacDonald.“Perhaps you know something about it.”106 MacDonald, discerning that Morrison was suspicious, hastily wrote to the archbishop of Edmonton for advice on how to respond. The circumstances gave the Alberta archbishop considerable amusement:

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I was pretty sure that our venerable friend would be pleased with the recognition accorded him. At the same time I could not help picturing him murmuring something like this, “Well, well, I wonder who is behind all this.” It never occurred to me that he would try to find the source of this suggestion. I well believe him when he says that the whole thing came to him like a bolt from the blue. I am not sure whether he wrote you before receiving my ­letter. Mine was written on the 6th and the hope expressed therein that he would soon be rewarded with a Coadjutor may have aroused a bit of suspicion … I think it would be better not to tell him.107 Archbishop MacDonald believed that it was now time to implement the second phase of the scheme. Morrison had to be convinced to submit to a coadjutor or retire. In June 1944, two Antigonish chaplains and hundreds of men from the diocese crossed the English Channel and landed on Juno Beach along the Normandy coastline as part of the D-Day invasion force. Although authorities were “tight-lipped” about the advance, on the night of the 6th news came over the radio that the British and Canadians had linked up with the Americans on Utah beach. Morrison was relieved, but he was troubled by the heavy casualties. In a letter to Captain Fr Michael E. McLaughlin, he explained this contradiction: I am glad to know from yourself that our Canadian boys are ­giving such a magnificent account of themselves. There are of course casualties, and most every parish here has to mourn over the deaths of some of its members. Well, we expected that such things had to happen, but all the same they are a cause for ­sorrow, especially among the home friends of the dead and wounded.108 Fr McLaughlin’s letters provided a “thrilling” account of the Juno landing and the fight for the Normandy coastline. Thankfully McLaughlin kept regular contact, but Morrison was annoyed that  the “others are absolutely silent as far as writing to me is concerned.” Morrison was eighty-four when British and American troops fought their way across the Siegfried Line in January 1945. He was

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deteriorating physically and more cautious than ever. “I am thankful to be able to say that I am still active, and am able to put in a good quota of work from day to day,” he wrote to a friend. “All the same, I recognize that I am an old man, and in the very nature of things I can scarcely expect to last much longer.”109 When Fr Harvey Steele returned from the Scarboro mission in China in search of a parish, he was surprised that Morrison needed two weeks to “think and pray” before offering him a post.110 His laborious administrative style continued to fuel complaints from clergy to the apostolic delegate, and in private many demanded immediate action. Roman Catholic bishops are hardly ever replaced at the insistence of clergy, but there was precedent in Antigonish for such a course of action. In 1877, Bishop John Cameron successfully persuaded Rome (through the powerful Paul Cardinal Cullen) that Bishop Colin F. MacKinnon’s poor health and advanced age were hindering the diocese’s progress and that a transfer of authority was necessary for the welfare of the Catholics of Antigonish. Rome agreed and MacKinnon resigned. “It is a pity,” Cameron wrote at the period, that MacKinnon did not retire in time “to prevent such an extreme measure on the part of Rome.”111 The situation in 1877, however, was significantly different than that in 1945. When Cameron lobbied Rome, he was already coadjutor with right of succession and had assumed much of MacKinnon’s duties. The diocese had accrued a crippling debt, much of it resulting from the construction of St Ninian’s Cathedral, and the college was unstable. In 1945, however, Cardinal Cullen was long dead, Antigonish had no coadjutor, the diocese was financially secure, and Morrison was well connected in Rome. The departure of Bishop MacDonald for the pastoral grounds of Ontario in 1943 had mystified and disheartened the Antigonish clergy. It is not certain whether MacDonald was sent to Peterborough to gain administrative experience, or whether it was a signal to priests of Antigonish that the Curia had retained confidence in Morrison’s abilities. It was soon evident, however, that Rome had blundered, and MacDonald’s absence became a fixation for those priests who could no longer cope with Morrison’s measured leadership style. They were careful not to complain about Morrison’s personal flaws, only that his advanced age was harming the social and educational work of the diocese. One piteous letter after another was sent to Ontario complaining of the serious handicaps that Extension faced due to Morrison’s reluctance to spend monies on

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5.2  Bishop John R. MacDonald (1891–1959)

worker-priests.112 By the winter of 1944–45, convinced that a coadjutor for Antigonish was a forgone conclusion, Fr Coady wrote to the apostolic delegate, and even travelled to Ontario, to express the importance of their having a sympathetic ear in the bishop’s office.113 The pre-eminent way to safeguard the work of Extension, they argued, was to appoint an Antigonish priest as coadjutor, or better yet, to bring MacDonald home. On 14 April 1945, in the mid-morning of a quiet sunlit Saturday, St Ninian’s rector, Fr William J. Gallivan, was in the kitchen of the bishop’s residence preparing his sermon and writing up intentions for the Sunday liturgy. Suddenly the news that Bishop MacDonald was to return to Antigonish as coadjutor came over the radio. Climbing the stairs to the bishop’s bedroom, he timidly knocked on the door. The bishop, in the midst of shaving, was surprised at Gallivan’s nervous state. Quickly relaying the news, the priest asked

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if an announcement should be made in the cathedral the following day. Showing no emotion, the archbishop replied that since Rome had not sent him an official notice, no announcement was to be proclaimed, and he returned to his shaving.114 Within hours Antigonish was abuzz. Notices were published in both the Halifax Herald and the Halifax Chronicle, but no one spoke a word at the residence. Years later, Fr Gallivan recalled that Morrison did not appear surprised so much as forlorn. Unbeknownst to Fr Gallivan, the news of MacDonald’s return was not a revelation; Morrison had been quietly informed of the impending decision weeks before. When told that the reality of a  coadjutor was inescapable, Morrison had consented to Bishop MacDonald because he understood the complexities and the personalities of the diocese. Besides, MacDonald was the only candidate who could abide sharing a residence with the archbishop – a critical prerequisite. As Morrison remarked to a friend, “He lived in the house with myself, as is the custom here, and so he knew my way of life and I knew his.”115 When the formal announcement from the Holy See arrived in the post, Morrison penned a note to his new coadjutor: “I do not know what your own reactions are in the matter, but I want you to know that you will be very welcome here, and I hope things will work out in a mutually happy manner.” In an attempt to put MacDonald at ease, he added: “I am glad this matter has been settled for it has been hanging over me for some months.” Despite Morrison’s attempts at congeniality, the letter ended on a fatalistic note. “I was really hoping to be able to pay you a visit in Peterborough this coming summer, but now I guess this is all off.”116 The people of Antigonish, most of whom had no inkling of the precarious situation percolating behind the scenes, heartily welcomed the news of MacDonald’s return. Congratulatory telegrams arrived in Ontario from Nova Scotia, including one from Fr Tompkins that simply read “Welcome home.” Bishop MacDonald’s biographer, however, has argued that MacDonald took the “dreaded call of God” so badly that he was almost reduced to tears.117 MacDonald had enjoyed the interval in Ontario and had become rather acquainted with the urban environment. He had even delivered a sermon at Maple Leaf Stadium in Toronto.118 Yet, MacDonald was well aware that Fr Coady and Archbishop MacDonald were lobbying for his return to Nova Scotia, and it is unlikely that the appointment was a total shock. Undoubtedly the impending parting with his friends in Peterborough

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was disheartening, but if there was any reason for him to lament, it was certainly the contemplation of returning to Antigonish as a coadjutor to a man who did not want his help. Shortly after the announcement of Antigonish’s new coadjutor, the war in Europe ended. Sitting alone with a glass of sherry, Morrison attentively listened to the broadcast of Germany’s surrender to American military representatives. In London, more than a million people revelled in the streets and an equally joyous celebration took place in New York City’s Times Square. Nova Scotia’s festivities were smaller but no less jubilant. “It is not without mixed feelings that I speak to you on this great occasion,” Morrison told a large crowd gathered for a celebratory service at St Ninian’s Cathedral. “The war was a terrible and lamentable event which brought sorrow to every part of the diocese,” and yet they all had successfully and steadfastly “come through a struggle of almost six years of the most dire warfare in which the instruments of destruction were used to an extent far beyond the wildest imagination of men.”119 He spoke with pride of the sacrifices made by the “brave men and women” and demanded that everyone assembled make it their objective to help the nation and the Church move forward in a progressive manner. It was one of his best speeches and was widely reprinted in a number of provincial newspapers. VE Day and the organization of celebratory religious services temporarily shifted Morrison’s focus from his coadjutor. He delayed writing to Bishop MacDonald for days and eventually scribbled a short note explaining that the recent events “kept things in such a swelter” that he had been too busy to reply.120 Throughout the final weeks of May, Morrison sequestered himself in his office and brooded over his response to the coadjutor’s pending arrival. His initial sentiment of acceptance had devolved into hostility. Much of his correspondence remained optimistic, but privately he was having doubts. In a letter to Msgr Reardon he explained: “When Bishop John R. MacDonald was rector of the Cathedral here, we got along well together, and I would have wished him to remain here. The present set-up may be different who knows? You are the only person to whom I mention this, so keep it ‘sub rosa,’ but I have been wondering if it would be better for me to resign and retire to some monastery to prepare for the end.”121 Other than this note to Reardon, Morrison’s correspondence offers little insight into his thoughts on retirement. He had the option

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of residing with the Sisters of St Martha at Bethany, and the mother superior tried on a number of occasions to convince him to do so, but to no avail. It was a complex situation. In the 1970s Pope Paul VI introduced mandatory retirement for bishops at the age of seventyfive, but in the 1940s there was little precedent for such action. So instead of resigning, Morrison hastily (and pitiably) attempted to rid himself of his coadjutor. “During my term here as bishop,” he frantically wrote the apostolic delegate, “one main effort was to build up the educational and religious houses of the diocese, while the bishop’s house remained the same small building it was many years ago. With a second bishop in the house, there will not be space for even one guest room.”122 He also complained that MacDonald’s recall to Antigonish was terribly unfair as he had served in Peterborough for such a short time. Morrison could not, however, change his superior’s mind, and in the days leading up to MacDonald’s arrival, the priests of Antigonish debated the archbishop’s reaction. Much of the gossip focused on the impromptu arrival at the residence of Bishop MacDonald’s sister, who tactlessly announced that she wanted to view her brother’s new home. The housekeeper, conscious of the precarious circumstances, replied in a hushed tone, “Look, I haven’t heard a word about it, I don’t know.” A few minutes later Morrison appeared, and recognizing the women, he quietly asked: “Well now, my dear child, my dear child, how do you think this is going to work out?”123 An impressive service welcoming Bishop MacDonald back to Antigonish was held in the brightly decorated cathedral in early June 1945. The coadjutor had requested that his entrance be accompanied by little fanfare, but Morrison insisted on a reception, otherwise “things would not look right.” In a welcoming speech Morrison told the assembled that MacDonald needed no introduction, blithely adding, “We welcome him and we are glad to have him.”124 In a subtle and canny manner, however, the elderly prelate had words of caution for those who assumed that MacDonald’s arrival represented the cessation of his administration. According the crowd a lesson in Church history, he made his point: Before our Lord ascended into Heaven, he appointed the first bishops, the twelve apostles, to preach the gospel throughout the world. This they did, handing on their authority to their successors down through the ages to this very day, exemplifying the

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apostolic succession of the episcopacy of the Catholic Church. The chain of succession has never been broken.125 The chain of succession might not have been broken, but in Antigonish it was going to be tested. Next to the acrimonious transfer of Fr Tompkins to Canso in 1922, Morrison’s resolve to remain in firm control of Antigonish after 1945 was the single biggest blow to his historical legacy. To suggest that Bishop MacDonald was uncomfortable while serving as Morrison’s coadjutor would be a gross understatement. In the five long years he served in the residence, MacDonald lived with a man who dreaded his own demise and who was fiercely determined to prove his capabilities. Accordingly, Morrison assigned his coadjutor as little responsibility as possible. Essentially a glorified secretary, much of MacDonald’s aptitude was wasted in what were arguably his best years. For months, besides attending to his duties as rector of the cathedral and sitting on a number of boards of charitable organizations, MacDonald had no other diocesan responsibility than to sort the mail in the morning. Morrison was not as efficient as in years past, but his physical ability to execute the duties of bishop made him all the more defiant. He and his housekeeper were entrenched in their routines and did not deviate from them. They kept their quarters in an unpretentious (if bland) state and demanded that those sharing the residence follow their example. Morrison was fond of quoting Cardinal Manning, who wrote that “if he would live as a priest, he ought to live as a poor man.” The archbishop was certainly not poor, but he was modest nonetheless. By the 1940s the bishop’s residence in Antigonish was likely the most outdated and dilapidated episcopal abode in the Maritimes. One priest visiting the house recalled: “I was looking around at this and that, the room and the old furniture, and certainly that did not inspire me any! Ah, everything seemed pretty desolate.”126 Morrison refused to make modifications and was angered when anything was altered. There was no electricity or water on the third floor and although the house was extremely cold in the wintertime, Morrison would complain if the thermostat was turned up. One of the previous curates in the house, Fr Bernard Chisholm, unable to cope with the frigid air on the third floor, would routinely take his bedding down to his office. In the morning he would rise early and return his bedroom before Morrison woke. The upper storey was so cold, he

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recalled, “you could not live in it.”127 Bishop MacDonald could handle the frigid temperatures only by wearing an overcoat in the house. But worse than the winter frost was the personal coldness emanating from the archbishop. MacDonald’s biographer has described the living situation as “painful,” and it was.128 It is a testimony to ­ MacDonald, often quick to anger, that he suffered the archbishop as long as he did. Bishop MacDonald was discouraged by his living arrangements. Yet he was infinitely more frustrated by the constant demands of Extension that he persuade Morrison to relinquish some authority. By 1945 economic modernizers envisioned great schemes for investing capital into the region, and new companies such as National Sea  Products Ltd appeared to challenge the Extension message.129 According to Michael Welton, postwar Canadian society “was racing relentlessly towards efficiency, rationalization, large-scale production units and the displacement of primary sector workers into the burgeoning urban industries.”130 In this environment, Extension desperately required leadership, and the fieldworkers wanted change at the top. Bishop MacDonald, however, steadfastly resisted their overtures. Extension had brought him back to Antigonish, he argued, and therefore the onus was on the department to persuade Morrison of his usefulness. What was the point of grumbling about his ineffectiveness when they knew that he could not grant permissions, issue dispensations, or make appointments?131 Moreover, MacDonald knew that he was powerless to coerce Morrison on his own. Approaching the archbishop was d ­ ifficult at the best of times. Even Msgr Coady, once described by the Old Rector as a boxer who could have beaten Jack Dempsey, ­commented that Morrison sometimes made him feel as though he were “nothing more than an altar boy.”132 When MacDonald told Morrison that some clergy were irritated by the situation, the archbishop coldly responded, “And who are they?”133 The wide-ranging correspondence in this period suggests that even those who desperately wanted Morrison replaced were impressed by the old man’s resiliency. Considering his age, he remained remarkably active and absolutely refused to take a “back seat somewhere.” “Of course I have not the ‘pep’ that I had in former years but yet I keep going,” he wrote Msgr Reardon. “I had two confirmation functions per day through the whole program, and I delivered what was supposed to be a special sermon on a parish centenary

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celebration at the conclusion of the itinerary. So there!”134 Even Fr Major Michael McLaughlin, in Europe ministering to the occupation army, heard that Morrison’s “health was good” and that he had completed “all the strenuous Holy Week services” just as solidly as always.135 The desire to replace Morrison was not due to overt philosophical differences. He remained steadfast in his support of Extension – even if that was not considered sufficient – and convinced that the Church would guide postwar society. As he told Fr Ronald MacGillivray, “Each area will have to do its own thinking and follow it up by properly planned concrete action in order to get the returned men and women resettled into useful employment and to set up their homes in a Christian atmosphere. This is our problem at the present time, and I hope and pray that we may measure up to what is expected of us in this regard.”136 In this period, the Antigonish Movement still garnered a deluge of attention. A story about Fr Coady in Time Magazine championed his ongoing work, and a letter from Archbishop Sinnott described a convention in Winnipeg where Coady “held his audience spell-bound for 50 minutes.”137 More encouraging news arrived in the winter of 1946, announcing that Coady had been appointed a domestic prelate (he would now be called Monsignor) and that Fr George Landry had been elevated to bishop of Hearst, Ontario. The elevation of Antigonish priests to positions of responsibility and prestige within the Canadian episcopacy illustrated Rome’s pleasure with the work of the diocese, but it did not ease the mounting eagerness for change. Nor did it help to heal old wounds. One festering point of contention between Morrison and his priests was the denial of a St F.X. honorary degree for Angus L. Macdonald in 1938. By 1946, after a stint as federal minister of the navy, Macdonald was once again at the political helm of Nova Scotia. All might have been well with Angus L., as his political slogan suggested, but in Antigonish the deep-seated bitterness between politician and prelate was again threatening to become public. As Macdonald’s prominence grew throughout Canada, so too did his collection of honorary diplomas. Not only was St F.X.’s most prominent graduate garnering honours in other parts of the country, but even non-Catholic institutions, such as the Anglican Bishop’s University in Lennoxville, Quebec, were inviting him to speak at convocations. Those in the dark simply could not understand why

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St F.X. had not honoured its prized graduate. Even those aware of the acrimony between Macdonald and Morrison believed that the premier – as an upright Catholic, a high-ranking member of the Knights of Columbus, and a wise politician – deserved recognition by his alma mater. All believed that the slight was harming the institution. As one alumnus wrote to Fr Michael Gillis, The thought has occurred to me for a long time that it would be a gracious thing for the college to recognize the service rendered by Angus L., both in the federal and provincial fields. Indeed there are those who have been wondering why this has not been done. Dalhousie and Queen’s have both honoured him with degrees and it does seem to me that it would be most appropriate that Antigonish should do likewise. I think I know one of the ­difficulties standing in the path, but I hoped that time would ­surmount that difficulty.138 Members of the board of governors received similar letters, and Morrison himself was asked by an unwitting alumnus when the premier was to be honoured. Since 1912, Morrison had maintained control of the college through various rectors who owed their appointments to his largesse. But after the resignation of Fr D.J. MacDonald in 1944 (he left for health reasons and died four years later), Morrison accepted the faculty’s choice of long-time professor of physics, Msgr Patrick Nicholson, as president. A native of Beaver Cove, Cape Breton, “Doc Pat’s” impressive academic credentials included a PhD in physics from Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore.139 He was smart, ambitious, and determined to modernize the college’s facilities, faculty, and curriculum. Morrison deeply respected his erudition; however, Nicholson’s experience at an elite American institution and his attraction to modernity occasionally annoyed those who maintained, often glibly, that St F.X.’s primary objective was to prepare candidates “aspiring for the priesthood.” What’s more, Nicholson was extremely independent (he obtained his PhD before entering the seminary) and did not possess the personal loyalty to Morrison that was the hallmark of his predecessors. During the debate over university federation in 1922, he had sided with Fr Tompkins and even supported Angus L. Macdonald’s attempt at publishing pro-merger articles in the local press. It was Nicholson who had spearheaded

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the quest to have Macdonald honoured by the college in 1938, and it was he who was again at the fore. Nicholson was a shrewd administrator and managed to display sympathy for both parties. He was a “zealous” champion of the priesthood (performing a stirring Tenebrae service during Easter) and had little difficulty placating Morrison, while at the same time writing to Macdonald apologizing for a snub that was “difficult to explain.”140 The disposition of the faculty was decidedly against Morrison. “In view of the present circumstances and all that has transpired the past few years,” wrote Fr Gillis, “I really don’t think the archbishop could object today.”141 Less diplomatically, another priest quipped, “An altar wine contract of fifteen years ago, its failure to be arranged as His Excellency suggested, is not reason now why this most outstanding alumnus should longer be denied this honour.”142 One can hardly imagine such sentiments expressed to the Old Rector. Lacking the energy for a protracted fight, and no doubt reassured by both Fr Nicholson and Bishop MacDonald, Morrison acquiesced. As a consolation, and to ensure that the ceremony was palatable for the archbishop, the faculty also voted to honour James Cardinal McGuigan of Toronto. It was an astute gesture. Touched and honoured when the cardinal accepted the ­ ­invitation – McGuigan was extremely busy but accepted due to his fond childhood memories of Morrison – Morrison made no further mention of the premier.143 Instead he transferred his thoughts to McGuigan’s impending visit. “Many a time across the years have I recalled the kind hospitality extended to me at the home of your good and religious parents at Hunter River,” Morrison wrote McGuigan. “If anything could be added to the happiness of your parents in heaven, how they must have rejoiced in the happy fact their worthy son is made a Cardinal of the Holy Church.”144 Morrison’s career had come full circle. The 1946 St F.X. convocation went smoothly. Morrison addressed the gathering with faith that both McGuigan and Macdonald were “feeling at home” in Antigonish. The speeches of the politician and the cardinal, delivered into the large CJ F X microphone, were fittingly emblematic of the differences in philosophy. With his degree in hand, Macdonald spoke of the challenge of leadership and evoked the work of Fr Tompkins and the “lovable” little doc Hugh MacPherson. Recalling the people’s schools, Macdonald predicted that Tompkins’s honour would “grow with the ages,” and assured

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5.3  Angus L. Macdonald receives his honorary degree from Morrison at the 1946 St F.X. convocation

the assembled that the priest offered the best strategy to “meet the present conditions” of the world.145 When McGuigan stood to address the gathering he gazed toward Morrison and, referring to Cardinal Newman’s belief that knowledge had to be purified by religion, he exclaimed that “the love of country and courage must be directed by religion.”146 It was a fine moment for all parties, yet for the elderly archbishop, the 1946 convocation was the beginning of the end. As Morrison laboured on in postwar Antigonish, he had various personal triumphs, yet it was clear that the diocese was falling behind. By 1947 unrest was again percolating in the industrial sector. In January of that year a meeting was held at St Agnes Parish in New Waterford, attended by the entire assemblage of Cape Breton clergy. Msgr Coady suggested that the diocese develop, over a period of five years, a number of worker-experts in the field of labour economics. They also proposed that CJFX design a series of radio talks to guide the workers “wisely” in the present crisis, and recommended that Fr  Stanley Macdonald compose lectures on the reoccurring labour problems, which he could then deliver on the air at CJCB in Sydney.

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In February 1947 the Cape Breton miners (and others in Nova Scotia and New Brunswick) organized their first district-wide strike since 1925. Among the list of grievances were poor pay, an inadequate pension scheme, and the erosion of District 26’s influence. Although the strike was one of the final blows to Cape Breton labour radicalism, it is clear from the correspondence that the clergy in the colliery towns still feared the district’s militants and to a lesser extent the communists. At the Lyceum Hall in Sydney in March, the clergy debated donating parish funds to the Miner’s Relief Fund regardless of creed or political ideology. Despite the fear that some of the money could end up in Moscow, at least one priest argued that the Church could ill afford to appear to be on the side of the rich as some perceived it to be in the past. There was a conspicuous ideological gap between the older clergy, who wanted to play it safe, and the younger priests, who argued that the diocese should “storm heaven” and “march with the masses.” In the mining areas it is the miners “who built our churches and our schools,” the future diocesan historian Fr Anthony A. Johnston argued, and it was true that the leaders of those miners were communists (especially, so the priests argued, the researcher C.B. Wade); however, a large donation to the men would ensure that in the future “the executive members would be Christian and that a due proportion of them shall be Catholics.”147 During the meeting Fr Tompkins, still labouring as pastor at Reserve Mines, acknowledged that he found the entire industrial situation extremely frustrating. Having spent a decade as a priest in the colliery towns, he now believed that the province should discount coal altogether. The region had other natural resources besides “a skuttleful of coal,” and it was “flying in the face of Almighty God” to neglect the development of those resources.” (He then cir­ culated a leaflet containing the official prayer of the Novena of Grace).148 Morrison agreed and reckoned that there were so many “rotten features” of the recent strikes that it was difficult to select the best course of action. The work stoppage disrupted the checkoff, and St Joseph’s Hospital in Glace Bay was forced to seek a ­temporary loan. As was the case in 1922, 1923, and 1925, Morrison was wary of issuing any statement because it was “bound to be misunderstood or perverted.”149 Even though the diocese had created a number of new parishes in postwar Cape Breton, there was a growing belief that

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Antigonish did not truly understand the island’s problems – so much so that the apostolic delegate briefly considered the idea of a Diocese of Cape Breton. That plan did not get far (the mainland parishes would have been swallowed up by Halifax), but it underscored the level of frustration in the area. Industrial Cape Breton proved equally frustrating to the active minds at Extension. There were, of course, some triumphs, and it has been argued that the Antigonish Movement helped impede the expansion of communism. But the study clubs, radio lectures, and people’s schools, while helpful, did not ease the hostility between labour and capital, nor did Extension notice any substantial changes in the attitudes of the industrial population. “I sometimes wonder,” Morrison commented to Fr Tompkins, who had complained that the miners felt that the cooperative movement was too slow, “whether or not any of these men have genuine desire to be trained for Catholic leadership. Of the seventy-six Extension students who followed the courses at St F.X. University during this early winter, there was scarcely a male representative from the mining towns.”150 Msgr Coady himself acknowledged that the industrial areas provided a difficult challenge: With the decentralization of power and the universal use of machinery it would seem that the day has come when groups of people could co-operate to produce many of the commodities they need for personal use. It is understood, of course, that heavy industry and luxury industry should continue in the great industrial centers as they are today.151 Morrison recommended that the Church consider bringing together three groups: the workmen, their employers, and the public. On the spiritual side they could make an appeal to Almighty God, but on the material side, “What were they to do?” 152 The onset of the cold war and the emerging power of Soviet Russia also brought the battle against communism back to the fore of Vatican policy, and by extension, diocesan policy. In Morrison’s long career in Antigonish he had confronted the menace of Bolshevism, but Stalinism appeared still more fearsome. The narrative of Russia was, as Fr James Boyle once wrote, an “appalling tragedy.”153 The powerful presence of the Soviet Union in postwar Europe reignited old fears that communism would spread into Canada, and although

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some scoffed at such fears (at one point the party in Cape Breton was under the direction of a man and his wife), Morrison recognized the “power of darkness” behind the murderous Stalinist regime. Responding to the dictates of his superiors, he mailed questionnaires to his priests demanding that they dutifully record the names of known communists in their parishes and suggest strategies to combat their influence. Still years away from Pope Paul VI’s Ostpolitik, Morrison called for Catholics to pray for the conversion of Russia. One popular way to combat communism in Antigonish was to foster the public devotion to the Holy Eucharist. Morrison had attended the international Eucharistic congresses in 1908, 1932, and 1941, and their worldly and spiritual practicality impressed him. The first local congress had been held at St Ninian’s in 1924, followed by similar events, all organized by Fr Michael Gillis, in Sydney, Lourdes, and Cheticamp. In August 1947 Morrison planned the sixth diocesan congress at the Acadian parish of Tracadie in Antigonish County and called upon everyone to “pray for the oppressed people of the world.”154 He attended most of the events, held in the summer heat, and amazed the crowds with his energy. Some were so astonished with his stamina that his presence caused them to cry and “shake their heads in amazement.”155 His public denunciation of communism and his aspiration to use Extension as a tool in combating the ideology drew praise from other Canadian church leaders. “In the midst of the social upheaval of the present time,” wrote the apostolic delegate, “when the enemies of the Christian name are striving with sinister cunning to imbue men’s minds with their materialistic philosophy of life, the laudable activities of the Antigonish Movement are more necessary than ever.”156 Morrison’s display of stamina at the Eucharistic congress was a popular topic in Antigonish. His friend Bishop Wall had died in May 1947, and it was generally known that Morrison was the last surviving member of the Propaganda class of 1889. Wall’s death depressed Morrison. He received an Irish Independent newspaper clipping recounting the archbishop’s poignant farewell and burial in Glasnevin cemetery among the notables of Irish history, but the lack of condolences only reinforced his loneliness. Even Archbishop Sinnott, Morrison’s former student at St Dunstan’s, had succumbed to dementia and was forced to retire in 1946. In the following months, Morrison’s mental and physical abilities rapidly dwindled. When out for a stroll on a late winter afternoon in 1948, he slipped

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on a piece of ice and fractured his shoulder blade, forcing him into an extended stay at St Martha’s Hospital. When Archbishop John Hugh MacDonald received this news, he hastily wrote that Morrison should give up “the worries and the burdens of the episcopate” and “take some leisure.” Rest in comfort, he pleaded, and “leave the work to Bishop MacDonald.”157 The clergy hoped that Morrison would heed this advice. “Morrison is back home from the hospital,” wrote Fr Coady. “Likely Bishop John R. will be taking over pretty soon.”158 No diocesan organization desired change more in 1948 than St F.X. It was desperate for energetic leadership. A postwar enrolment surge doubled the student population, and a physical expansion was essential. Moreover, President Nicholson, echoing the sentiments of Fr Tompkins thirty years previous, demanded an elevation in the standards of teaching and research.159 Regrettably, due to poor salaries and eight-month contracts, the faculty remained chiefly composed of diocesan priests as the college lacked the capacity to hire quality lay staff.160 Things got so bad that Nicholson was forced to invest in a mink farm to raise additional money.161 At the moment when leadership was most essential, Morrison, tired and ailing, was simply unable to provide guidance. The archbishop could not accept or understand the great problems the college was facing, lamented President Nicholson; Morrison had been a great benefactor in the past, but his “heart was not in it anymore.”162 By the autumn of 1948, the frustrated faculty complained that the lack of qualified staff made it almost “impossible to plan a fall program.”163 Incredulously, in the midst of this crisis, one young professor of economics was stopped on campus by the elderly archbishop and asked whether or not his lectures were espousing “sound doctrine.”164 Eventually, time succeeded where the clergy had failed. Morrison presided over the 1948 university convocation, but when it was over he was “pretty well ‘all in’” and had to rest for the remainder of the day. He had a number of near falls on the altar. He declined an invitation to preach at the consecration of Bishop Alfred B. Leverman in New Brunswick, admitting that he did not feel equal to the task of preaching a sermon and could not “guarantee safety from a collapse.”165 In June he travelled to P E I in the care of Fr Hugh Somers to attend the fiftieth anniversary celebration of Msgr Reardon’s ordination at St Dunstan’s Cathedral. Reflecting on their long relationship, Morrison allowed himself a moment of candour: “You

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stand at the head of the class in having been one of my most steadfast friends across these years. Others there have been, but somehow they seem to drop out, while you have stood in the breach without fail for your entire priestly career.”166 Not having the energy to preach at the ceremony, he settled for a few fleeting remarks at the banquet. It was the last time he was to set foot on the island. It was remarkable how quickly Morrison’s life began to unravel. In the summer of 1949, Vera Campbell, Morrison’s long-time housekeeper, passed away. In the forty-two years spent together, they formed a relationship based on mutual admiration and trust. She was a fixture at the residence. “Vera has asked for you so often and has wondered how you are getting along,” wrote a caregiver from Vera’s bedside in P E I . “No doubt she gets lonely for the friends she knew so well.”167 When she passed away, Morrison wrote to her brother in Primrose: I cannot fully tell you how much I miss Vera. She had been my housekeeper for so long a time, and I had such confidence in her integrity and loyalty, that I always felt at ease when absent that everything would be looked after with the utmost care and responsibility. I trust she is happy in Heaven but I shall miss her very much.168 Her funeral Mass, held in St George’s, P E I , was presided over by the former St Ninian’s rector, Fr William J. Gallivan, and attended by a number of Antigonish priests. It was a fitting tribute to her thirtyseven years in Nova Scotia.169 To fill the void left by the death of the housekeeper, the Sisters of St Martha sent Sister Mary Celene Richard and Sister Mary Alexander to assume the domestic work at the residence. Sister Celene was wholly suited for the position. A colleague later explained the traits that endeared her to Morrison: “Her kitchen area was always tidy; she didn’t boast about her skills, she simply provided good nourishing meals without a fuss ... she was always open to learn something new.”170 Most impressively, she could handle the various temperaments of the archbishop. When she demanded that he take a rest or have something to eat, he obeyed, much to the amazement of some. Tired and ill, Morrison remained committed to his office, even announcing that he intended to make his regular ad limina to Rome, a suggestion that had even the most ardent of his detractors shaking

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their heads in amazement. When Morrison, scarcely able to get around the house, enquired into accommodation for his trip (Rome had sent an exemption so he could mail his report), it became evident to Bishop MacDonald how futile the attempt to force his retirement had been. The final public appearances of Morrison’s long career came in the autumn of 1949. He attended ceremonies for three new parishes established in Sydney, retreat facilities at Seabright and St Augustine’s Monastery, and a gathering to bless the bells of St James Church in Gardiner Mines, Cape Breton. In November the diocese organized a celebration in honour of his sixty years in the priesthood at the St F.X. auditorium. As this was likely a final opportunity to pay formal respects, tributes poured in from around the country. The last speech of the evening was reserved for Bishop MacDonald: It is my privilege tonight to draw attention to an important anniversary in the life of His Grace, Archbishop Morrison. On November 1, he completed sixty years in the holy priesthood – During thirty-seven of which he has been the Bishop of Antigonish. Respect and reverence for the priesthood characterize Catholic people everywhere. They realize that priests are ­chosen by God from among men and are ordained for men in the things that appertain to God. They appreciate the high ­qualities of soul required of the priesthood and the onerous duties imposed by this sacred office. The appreciation is greatly enhanced for the plenitude of the priesthood and for the office of Bishop. It is in expression of this appreciation that we pay tribute tonight to Archbishop Morrison. Your Grace, we extend to you our congratulations and best wishes on your sixtieth anniversary and we ask you to accept this gift from the Cathedral Parish as a pledge of our loyalty to you as chief ­pastor of the Diocese.171 Morrison was presented with a cheque for $5,000 from St Ninian’s Parish, which he gratefully accepted before returning it. “While fully appreciating this kind gesture,” he wrote in a note enclosed with the cheque, “I do not feel quite comfortable in the thought of thus burdening St Ninian’s Parish to this financial extent, and so I think the best use I can make of this cheque is to return it to the parish fund, and I hope my doing so will not be taken amiss on your part.”172

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In early December, friends noticed that Morrison was somewhat disoriented and he was admitted to St Martha’s Hospital for a regular check-up and rest. On the evening that he was to leave for the infirmary, Sister Celene went up to his room to help him prepare a suitcase and found the elderly prelate engrossed in a book. He looked up at her and requested that they wait a few minutes explaining, “I want to know what happened to the three bears.” He was in the middle of a new catechetical magazine for children. She waited a few minutes, and “after he finished reading his little article about the three bears,” he got ready and was taken to the hospital.173 Two days after Christmas 1949, Msgr H.P. MacPherson, Morrison’s closest companion in the diocese, passed away at St Martha’s Hospital where he had been a patient for some time. The Old Rector had a fairly active retirement and remained a beloved figure both locally and among the college alumni. It was said that the “whole Xaverian World” had attended his golden jubilee celebration in 1942.174 The New York Times published an obituary recalling fondly his work in education and his role in the establishment of Extension at the college. In February, the former rector of St Ninian’s, Fr Michael A. MacAdam, followed.175 Even the resilient Fr Tompkins was feeling the effects of his age and was forced to resign his parish due to encroaching senility (sadly some of his foibles had become the butt of jokes). He was soon admitted to St Mary’s Hospital in Inverness where he lived out the remainder of his days.176 “When a spirit is quenched and age has put its erasement upon the average man it is enough,” George Boyle lamented, “but when the same brush has gone over the great – how terrible!”177 On 17 January 1950, Rome officially gave the charge of Antigonish to  Bishop MacDonald, appointing him apostolic administrator. Morrison was finally ousted. “I am sorry to learn of the archbishop’s continued illness,” wrote one member of the clergy to his new boss, but “now that an Administrator has become necessary, your hands are freer and for this all your priests are pleased.”178 Pleased they were. In a letter to Cardinal Antoniutti, Msgr Coady wrote that there was “a general feeling of optimism running through the diocese on account of the fact that Bishop MacDonald is now in the driver’s seat.”179 In time, MacDonald issued a circular explaining that “His Grace continue[d] as bishop,” only “without the burden of administration.”180 MacDonald immediately put his personal stamp on the diocese and “marshalled his forces.” His first act was to buy a

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stately residence on Main Street. Although he had the authority to make the purchase and bought the house at a very good price, he knew Morrison would not approve. “If the bishop gets better,” he jokingly told a friend, “I’m going to get worse.”181 Throughout the winter of 1950, friends and clergy called on Morrison in his hospital room. Increasingly, the staff noticed that he had become more agitated especially in the early spring when excavation for a new wing disturbed him beyond endurance.182 One afternoon in March, when Bishop MacDonald came for his daily visit, Morrison pleaded with him to get him out of the hospital and into a room at Bethany.183 He was immediately transferred. On the evening of 11 April, a sister attending Morrison noticed that he was particularly despondent. Doctor J.J. Carroll was called to his bedside, and Msgr P.J. Nicholson and Bishop MacDonald arrived to administer the last rites. Throughout the night and into the next day, a number of the clergy held a vigil in his room. Morrison remained in a coma until 12:25 in the afternoon of 13 April, when in the midst of a lovely spring day the dean of the Canadian church died. He lay in state in the parlour at Bethany from Thursday until Sunday. Parish events and diocesan functions were cancelled and Bishop MacDonald, who had been on a train bound for Montreal, turned around and headed back. On Sunday morning a procession led by Msgr Nicholson escorted Morrison’s body to St Ninian’s Cathedral where it was placed in the sanctuary. Throughout the rest of the day and into Monday morning, the archbishop lay in state while members of the Knights of Columbus kept vigil.184 Morrison’s death, though not unexpected, came as a shock to many as he was the only bishop they had known. As the youthful priest, Fr Edward Purcell wrote, “He has been the Bishop of Antigonish longer than I have lived.”185 Telegrams and phone calls came into the residence from across North America. The Vatican’s read: “Holy Father, sad occasion, death beloved Archbishop, extends clergy, religious, faithful, diocese paternal sympathy lovingly in Apostolic Benediction pledge, Divine consolation in bereavement.”186 “Deeply grieved at the passing of my good friend,” wrote Archbishop Alfred Sinnott. “His life was an inspiration and example to all who knew him.”187 But within the messages of sympathy was an unmistakable certainty of a new beginning. “The loss of Archbishop Morrison is also a gain for the Diocese of Antigonish,” wrote the archbishop of

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St Boniface, “for they have a younger Bishop.”188 Many in Antigonish shared this sentiment, especially the youth. In this regard Morrison’s death was as much about looking toward the future as it was reflecting on the past. One person not able to move on, however, was Premier Macdonald. Unable to forgive Morrison for their past quarrels, he decided not to attend the funeral services, sending Antigonish mla Colin Chisholm in his stead.189 The funeral took place on 18 April and was covered by all the major Canadian media outlets, including CJ F X, which broadcast the service. Antigonish was virtually shut down from early morning until noon so that people could attend the Pontifical Mass of Requiem. Those who could not get a seat inside the cathedral followed the service via the loudspeakers that had been assembled outside. The gathering represented a collection of Canada’s most important Catholic personalities including James Cardinal McGuigan and Archbishop John Hugh MacDonald, who officiated in front of four archbishops, nine bishops, hundreds of priests, and a throng of laity.190 Delivering the eulogy, Archbishop MacDonald highlighted Morrison’s role in developing the diocese: The growth of the diocese during his Episcopate must not be overlooked, with its many new parishes, new churches and schools, new hospitals and convents, as well as other charitable institutions. These developments are often the result of various forces; and yet within his own diocese, because they need his approval, the Bishop is the one mainly responsible for them. There may be times when Bishops seem to hinder development, but viewing things from above, they are able to see all sides of the problem concerned better than most other people, and by their prudent judgment may sometimes save situations which otherwise might end in failure.191 Newspapers picked up these sentiments and paid tribute to Morrison’s work in Antigonish and his role in the establishment of Extension. This was especially true of local papers such as the Sydney PostRecord, which editorialized: “The extensive development of the diocese under his careful and able administration, the continued progress of St Francis Xavier University, and the part he played in founding and bringing to its present position of worldwide note what is known as The Antigonish Movement, is now a matter of history.”192

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After the funeral, Morrison’s casket, accompanied by a Knights of Columbus honour guard, was taken to St Ninian’s Cemetery on a hill overlooking the university and the town in which he had lived for thirty-eight years. The route was lined with a guard of tribute, which included nurses in uniform, school children, and university students. With the remains of the winter snow still on the ground, Morrison was laid to rest beside his predecessor, Bishop John Cameron, within the cluster of monuments to the deceased.193

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Conclusion

Archbishop Morrison was an enigma to many of his family members, friends, and colleagues, and most certainly to historians. His life was complex and fraught with paradoxes, and his career can be  interpreted in different ways. His narrative is partially about mobility, and in this sense his experience is typical. In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, many young Canadian men (and women) employed the Catholic Church as a vehicle for education and advancement. Born into a rural P E I family, he worked hard and sacrificed for a place in the seminary. He returned from Rome as a model of piety, well read, serious, and urbane. According to Raymond MacLean, these young men were “cosmopolitan in a very local setting.”1 Throughout Canada, youthful confident clergymen like Morrison became leaders in society. He undoubtedly had talent and a vigorous work ethic, yet the small island diocese permitted rapid advancement. His friendship with his superior, Bishop Charles MacDonald, and the Scottish “tartanarchy” that existed in P E I fostered a rapid rise through the ranks of the Charlottetown diocese. He was not spectacular, but he was solid. Other priests might have preached more eloquently or ministered more affectionately, but Morrison got things done. When it was clear, due partially to his Scottish heritage, that Rome could not elevate him to Charlottetown, he was selected for Antigonish in 1912 to provide stability and good governance in a diocese plagued with acrimony. Although a compromise candidate of sorts, it is likely that he would have been elevated to another diocese had Antigonish not been vacant. In a 1964 interview, the historian Msgr Hugh Somers mused: “I must say this much. Of everything

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that is said about Morrison, he was a good bishop.”2 In short order he put the diocese on stable financial footing, and quickly healed the rifts created by his predecessor, the politicking Bishop Cameron. He was strict on law and tradition; he respected his priests and insisted that they be models of piety and duty. When informed that a young clergyman was playing hockey most mornings in Glace Bay, he told the sporting priest that his considerable energy would be better spent taking communion through the snowdrifts to shut-ins. Sage advice perhaps, yet not an attitude that endeared him to the priest.3 Like any good bishop, he was loyal to his Roman superiors (sometimes less so to his provincial superiors) and expected loyalty in kind. If that fidelity was challenged he could be obstinate, and yet his contemporaries are clear that he respected men who spoke their minds. As Somers recalled, “I got to know him as much as anybody. And that was due to the fact that I never was scared of him. You had three strikes against you if you were scared.”4 Despite his authoritarian manner, his priests conceded that Morrison was fair-minded. His letters to young people fearful of hell’s damnation reveal a man mature in his faith and an advocate of the sacrament of forgiveness. Yet he was also capable of grudges, as his lingering antipathy toward Fr A.E. Burke and Angus L. Macdonald illustrate. He expected obedience from all Catholics, even those occupying the premier’s office. Due to his assertive nature, it is easy to situate Morrison within the camp of ultramontanism as a holdout from a bygone era. He was comfortable around the relics of saints, scapulars, and other material aids of spirituality. He was fond of the devotional life, and had an abiding respect for the Church and its history. But he was much too practical to grasp to rigid orthodoxy. Although he resisted secular tampering in the affairs of his Church and sought to buttress Catholic influence in the political arena, he did not – could not – guarantee the supremacy of the Church in political life. Unlike his predecessor in Antigonish, who forced his way into the political discourse of the country, Morrison was keen to remain aloof from the political fray, entering the arena only, so he argued, to defend the Church. By the second decade of the twentieth century, the Church had grown weary of politicking prelates, and so too had Morrison. Even when challenged by Premier Macdonald in the 1930s, he was reluctant to make his political opinions public.

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Morrison’s career bridged very different eras in Roman Catholicism. When he was ordained, Victoria was still on the throne of ­England, and Canada was still considered by Rome to be a mission country. Traditions taken for granted by contemporary Catholics were foreign to him (he once wrote Rome to inquire if it was permissible to give Holy Communion at Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve). Today the bishop of Antigonish resides in a house on an ordinary street. In Morrison’s time the stately, if dilapidated, residence stood out on a hill, close to but separate from the town. He was insulated by his authority and stature. Raymond MacLean wrote that he was the type of bishop who “sent out pronouncements to be read by parish priests and who appeared only at Confirmation ceremonies or the blessing of a cornerstone.” This isolation, he argued, “seemed to reinforce the image of power.”5 Peter Nearing echoed these sentiments, noting that “wherever a bishop appeared, the people flocked around him as if it were their only opportunity to come near a bishop and speak to him.”6 Yet Morrison could not, and did not, shield himself from modernity. Beginning as a seminarian in Pope Leo XIII’s Rome, he recognized the inevitability of accommodating modernism to a degree. He faced the daunting task of task of responding to the ills of the twentieth century armed with weapons of the nineteenth. Throughout the first half of the tumultuous twentieth century, he experienced successes and failures. Unprepared for the social ramifications of industrialization, Morrison spent the first twelve years of his episcopate completely stymied by the problems of industrial Cape Breton. He built parishes and schools but found it difficult to gauge the pulse of the Cape Breton working classes. He was an agriculturalist at heart (as were most of his priests), and always hoped that Antigonish might reinvigorate the countryside so that the miners could go back to the land. But that did not stop him from seeking solutions. For Morrison it was a matter of putting Rome’s principles into practice. By the end of his career, Morrison, like the Canadian Church, also came to an enhanced and more mature understanding of the Church’s response to radicalism within society. Although unable to unearth a solution to the issues of labour and capital in Cape Breton (and ­elsewhere), by the end of the Second World War, Morrison’s attitude toward the “industrial situation” was completely different from that  of 1912. Of course he remained an avowed enemy of com­ munism and recoiled at irresponsible rhetoric, but he no longer saw

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destruction of religion lurking behind every radical pamphlet or speech. His attitude that action had to accompany prayer made it easier for his priests to labour among the working classes. In fact, the 1947 assertion by an Antigonish priest that the Church should “march with the masses” illustrated an attitude within Morrison’s diocese that would have been unheard of in the 1920s. By 1940, Morrison had also freed his flock to vote for the CCF , predating Archbishop (later Cardinal) McGuigan’s 1943 affirmation that Catholics “in good conscience” could vote for that party. Morrison’s career is fascinating in the sense that one can track his changing orthodoxy. When he arrived in Antigonish, he held a firm grasp on the diocese and had few advisors. He had an abstract fear of radicalism, an ingrained fear of Protestantism, and a rather aloof understanding of society’s economic and social problems. Yet by the late 1930s, although Morrison remained firmly in administrative control, Catholic social action was active in eastern Nova Scotia. The office of bishop remained important, but Morrison was replaced as the face of the diocese by Fr Tompkins, Msgr Coady, Fr Gillis, and others. Moreover, lay people (many of them women) were active in the parishes constructing a new Catholic social order. Twenty-five years before the second Vatican Council, Morrison had come to understand that the laity had a proper and indispensable role in the mission of the Church. Yet throughout, Morrison and his priests remained guided by the principles of their Roman superiors. There is a tendency among historians of the Antigonish Movement to overstate the ecumenicalism of the Extension Department. Undoubtedly the department was a big tent, and both Tompkins and Coady recoiled at the sectarian mentality. But Morrison’s clergy were foremost men of the Church. Bishop John R. MacDonald, for instance, once wrote that Extension was the “Mystical Body in action” (a theological term that meant the people). Msgr P.J. Nicholson, president of St F.X. from 1944 to 1954, argued that Extension was exalted because it corresponded “to the teachings of the Church.”7 Fr Michael Gillis served as the diocesan director of the “Priests’ Eucharistic League” and organized diocesan Eucharistic congresses that prayed for the conversion of communist Russia. The aim of the Antigonish Movement, argued D.J. MacDonald, “was to implement the teachings of [the] Holy Father and his predecessors with regard to Social Justice.”8 These sentiments were in complete harmony with Morrison’s principles.

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It is clear that Morrison made a number of mistakes during his career. He was bishop of Antigonish for thirty-eight years, a span that is unlikely ever to be matched (his predecessor Bishop Cameron had been in office for thirty-three years). Impressive to be sure, yet his longevity was terribly damaging to both the diocese and his legacy. By the 1940s, Morrison barely resembled the astute and energetic man who had once guided the diocese with a firm hand. He was deaf, disengaged, and deliberate. For the younger people, both clergy and laity alike, it was unbearable. Unfortunately for Morrison, it was this generation that would supply historians and journalists with material about the period. As Msgr Coady’s associate, Sister Irene Doyle, once commented, the youth “saw Morrison through Bishop John R. MacDonald’s eyes” and knew “very little of his previous actions.”9 The Church eventually learned its lesson: under the present code of canon law, Morrison would have been compelled to submit his resignation in 1936 at the age of seventy-five. However we may want to interpret Morrison’s career, historians will always return to his relationship with Fr Tompkins, Msgr Coady, and the Antigonish Movement. A number of things are evident. First, Morrison and Tompkins were not lifelong adversaries, and indeed were active collaborators in the decade between 1912 and 1922. The papers of both men reveal that from the beginning of the Antigonish Forward Movement in 1913 to the inaugural people’s school in 1921, the diocese took on a “new lease of life.”10 Obviously Tompkins was the inspiration for the progressive impulsive of the diocese in this period, but he regularly sought, and clearly obtained, Morrison’s support. Between St Dunstan’s and St F.X., Morrison spent a career in post-secondary education, and certainly understood the realities of college administration. Undoubtedly, he viewed education within a religious prism and believed that Catholic colleges were first and foremost feeder mechanisms for the seminary. But his objections to Fr Tompkins’s plan for university federation in 1922 were not simply parochial or reactionary. Yes, a regional college would strip his diocese of its crown jewel (a small junior college would have remained), but Morrison was not convinced that a federated uni­ versity would make it easier for Catholics of his diocese to obtain an education. To save his college, Morrison reverted to tired religious sentiments, and thus it is possible to view his antifederation stance as a rejection of a liberal or progressive philosophy. Yet he

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recognized the importance of St F.X. to his diocese, both economically and emotionally. Tompkins’s transfer to Canso in December 1922 forever ensured Morrison’s notoriety. Many of Tompkins’s followers and chroniclers did not appreciate the nuances of the university merger debate, and employed Canso as powerful symbol of the priest’s lifelong battle against a conservative hierarchy. Of course, Morrison was partially to blame for this interpretation. The lingering antipathy toward Morrison from Tompkins’s banishment, aided by Morrison’s cautious nature and personal aloofness, reinforced the perception that Tompkins was banished because of his vision for education. Accounts of a callous and intolerant prelate persecuting a saintly and progressive clergyman made for a great yarn and aided book and magazine sales. Despite Msgr Coady’s assertion that Tompkins’s removal to Canso “had nothing to do with the Antigonish Movement,” many historians continue to employ Canso as a metaphor for wider episcopal conservatism in Antigonish. Once Morrison’s reactionary disposition toward Tompkins and his ideas became canon, it was easy for historians to apply that interpretation to all forms of historical scholarship. Whether it be the Antigonish Movement, the Cape Breton working-class narrative, or education, the lonely footnote devoted to Morrison or “the hierarchy” (and usually the diocese in general) regurgitated the reactionary theme. Yet Morrison’s philosophy was much more complex. Clearly he was not an instigator of social and educational progress in Atlantic Canada, and this book certainly does not make that argument. But he did not have to be. He had in his diocese, at any given time, one or more remarkable priests (or laypersons) to remind him that the Church had wider responsibilities besides baptisms and funerals. He was pushed and “scared” into action from 1928 to 1930, and when he finally consented to an extension program, he turned apprehensively to Coady and asked, Could they “make it a go?” No comment can better illustrate Morrison’s cautious attitude. Once committed to Extension, however, Morrison worked hard for its success. At times he frustrated the department, was obstructionist at meetings, and always cautious, yet he was dedicated to the work. Despite the prevailing orthodoxies, the growth of the movement in rural Catholic parishes throughout the Maritimes and Newfoundland is clear evidence that the “hierarchies” were supportive. Writing of his experiences as a cooperator in P E I , John Croteau

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mused that “the public at large never knew the extent of the work that the bishop [J.A. O’Sullivan] did to further the movement.”11 This was certainly true in Antigonish. After his death, his former clergy (some of whom held episcopal office) publicly credited him with helping to organize Extension. Perhaps, somewhat cynically, it could be argued that these were merely false praises, appropriate for the public occasion but not truly believable. But in private, many of the Extension insiders, most notably Msgr Coady, expressed similar opinions. In 1950, responding to complaints that Bishop James Boyle of Charlottetown was not “spearheading a Catholic movement on the island,” he pointed out that priests in Antigonish had criticized Bishop Morrison in the same fashion for thirty-five years. However, in hindsight Coady recognized that the kind of leadership Morrison gave was the best: “If he had been the kind of man who would take the bit in his mouth, he would want to have things done his way and to the extent that he willed. I feel that a bishop just can’t spearhead too radical a movement in the economic and social field. He can’t do what you and I can do. It is not necessary, in any case. If he is broadminded enough, as Bishop Morrison was, to give the green light to the rest of us, that is all that is required. This Bishop Morrison did.”12 Coady’s longtime assistant, Sister Irene Doyle, agreed. Commenting on Morrison’s successor, Bishop John R. MacDonald, Doyle noted, “Once I heard Dr. Coady say that he would prefer to work under Bishop Morrison. Bishop MacDonald was supposed to be for it – but he was breathing down your neck too much.” While Bishop John R. was “wanting reports” and wanting “to be asked permission,” Morrison “would let you go ahead.” In fact, as Sister Doyle testified, Dr Coady felt that “Bishop Morrison never blocked him in anything.”13 Such sentiments were lost in the saints and sinners canon that dominated the literature after 1950. Archbishop Morrison may not have been an attractive personality for many, but he was an important figure in twentieth-century Nova Scotia and instrumental in ensuring that Catholic social action was brought about in Antigonish along “safe and sane” lines. He was, as his friends and detractors admitted, very practical.

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Notes

a b b r e v i ati o n s Archival sources frequently cited in the notes are identified by the following abbreviations. AADSJ AAJP AAT A B E J MP ABRP ADA ADHA A L MP A NNP A S MF BIA BJCP B MP DCA DCP F MP H P MP JJTP JSDTP LAC MF NS A R M P NP

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Archives of the Archdiocese of St John’s A.A. Johnston Papers Archives of the Archdiocese of Toronto Archbishop Edward J. McCarthy Papers Archbishop Roche Papers Antigonish Diocesan Archives Archdiocese of Halifax Archives Angus L. Macdonald Papers Archbishop Neil McNeil Papers A.S. McIntyre Fonds Beaton Institute Archives Bishop John Cameron Papers Bishop Morrison Papers Diocese of Charlottetown Archives Daniel A. Chisholm Papers Father Morrison Papers Msgr Hugh Peter MacPherson Papers James J. Tompkins Papers John S.D. Thompson Papers Library and Archives Canada Morrison File Nova Scotia Archives and Records Management Peter Nearing Papers

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PROPI SCA S T F X UA

Notes to pages 3–10

Public Records Office of Prince Edward Island Scottish Catholic Archives St Francis Xavier University Archives

i nt ro duc t i o n 1 This theme was explored in Ludlow, “Saints and Sinners,” 99–126. 2 Scottish Catholic Society Meeting minutes, 19 March 1929, STFX UA . 3 The Casket, 14 April 1950. 4 Fowler, The Lord Helps Those, 21. 5 Coady to D.A. MacInnis, August 1949, RG 30-2/1/2726, STFX UA . 6 Welton, Little Mosie, 103. 7 Corbett, “Dr. James Tompkins,” 31. 8 Corbett, “M.M. Coady,” 65. 9 Sisman, Hugh Trevor-Roper, 53. 10 Gilley, “Roman Catholicism and the Irish,” 147. 11 Memorial Volume: The Scottish Catholics, 18–19. 12 Coady to Fr Adolphus Gillis, 16 January 1950, MG 20/1/917, STFX UA .

c ha p t e r o n e 1 Morrison’s baptism record and his death certificate both document his birth as occurring on 10 July. However, Morrison believed his birthday to be on the ninth, as did Antigonish diocesan historian Fr A.A. Johnston. Morrison is fortunate that his baptism was recorded at all, as Fr Pius McPhee was somewhat “slip-shod in such matters.” Morrison to T. Campbell, 22 January 1938, letter #23460, B MP, A DA . 2 Murray, British North America, 265. 3 See Bumsted, Land, Settlement and Politics, and The People’s Clearance. 4 Although most of the pioneers came from Moidart, a quarter were from South Uist and former leaseholders on the Boisdale Estates. These people lived under the patriarchy of a malevolent landlord who attempted to convert his tenants to Presbyterianism by issuing a number of callous sectarian decrees. He offered his crofters the choice of obeying his commands or being evicted. They chose the latter. See Ada MacLeod, “Glenaladale Pioneers”; Bumsted, “Captain John MacDonald.” 5 The captain belonged to an ancient family with historical ties to both Rome and Jacobitism, and was respected throughout the Highland territory. In 1745, as a lad of three, he had observed his father raise the standard of “The Young Pretender,” Charles Edward Stuart, on the family

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lands. See Pigot, “MacDonald of Glenaladale,” Dictionary of Canadian Biography, vol. 5, 514. 6 See Memorial Volume: The Scottish Catholics, 18–19. 7 Angus B. MacEachern to John Geddes, October 1791, B L/4/33/11, SC A . 8 Quoted in Mullally, “Angus Bernard MacEachern,” 1; see also G. Edward MacDonald, “Good Shepherd.” 9 MacEachern to Geddes, October 1791, BL/4/33/11, SC A . 10 Quoted in Mullally, “Angus Bernard MacEachern,” 86. 11 MacEachern to A. Cameron, 3 December 1819, B L/4/33/12, SC A . 12 Johnstone, Series of Letters, 35. 13 Robertson, “The 1850s Maturity and Reform,” 336. 14 Hatvany, “New Middle Class,” 355. 15 Angus Morrison married Flora Steele and together they produced a family of five sons and three daughters: John (married Ellen MacInnis), Angus (married Annie MacAdam), Donald (Elizabeth Campbell / Susan MacAskill), Ronald (married Margaret MacKinnon), Allan (unmarried), Catherine (married Patrick Feehan), Ellen (married Neil MacKay), and Mary (married Patrick MacInnis). HFG -Morrison-36, MF, PR OPI. 16 They were married by Fr Pius MacPhee before witnesses Ronald Morrison and Susan Campbell. Fr Pius MacPhee (1820–1889) was a close friend of the Morrison family. He was born in PEI and educated at St Andrew’s College and afterwards at the Grand Seminary of Quebec. Ordained at the tender age of twenty-three, he was the last rector of the old St Andrew’s College in 1844. In 1853 after serving in various parishes, he was appointed pastor of St Andrew’s, St Peter’s, and Tracadie. See O’Shea, Priests and Bishops, 201. 17 H F G-Morrison-36, p. 4, M F, PROPI . 18 O’Grady, Exiles and Islanders, 106. See also G. Edward MacDonald, “Yankee Gale.” 19 A native of Kilkenny, Ireland, Fr William Phelan (1836–1921) arrived in P E I in 1864 and was ordained for the priesthood soon after. He served at East Point and was the long-time pastor at Sturgeon. 20 There is some confusion as to the exact date of Elizabeth’s death. When searching for his baptismal record in 1918, Jack Morrison was told by Fr A.P. McLellan that he was born on 29 March 1867. Yet, Elizabeth’s tombstone records her death as 3 April 1867. The family was clear that Elizabeth died on the same day that Jack was born. 21 Morrison to A.P. McLellan, 26 September 1913, letter #5556, B MP, ADA. 22 Morrison to Miss Faustina Sullivan, 13 February 1909, FMP, DC A .

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Notes to pages 14–19

23 The painting of Donald Morrison was mislaid during Morrison’s move to Antigonish. He sought its return on a number of occasions but it was never recovered. Morrison to Gregory McLellan, 3 December 1912, letter #434, B MP, ADA. 24 Bolger, Canada’s Smallest Province, 136. 25 Quoted in Harry Bruce, Maud, 20. 26 The children of Donald and Susan Morrison were Stephen, born in 1872, George 1874, Peter 1876, Mary Elizabeth 1878, Margaret 1880, Vincent 1883, Theresa 1886, and Catherine 1888. 27 Morrison to M.F. Coffin, 30 December 1922, letter #9946, B MP, A DA . 28 Rider, Charlottetown, 64. 29 Acheson, “The 1840s,” 318. 30 G. Edward MacDonald, “Peter McIntyre,” 638. 31 Robertson, “Party Politics,” 32–3. 32 Bolger, Canada’s Smallest Province, 230. 33 The Patriot, 2 July 1873. 34 Reports of the Visitors of Schools for the Three Counties, Prince Edward Island (Charlottetown: Henry Cooper, 1874), PR OPI. 35 Morrison to Allan Morrison, 6 September 1919, letter #6686, B MP, A DA . It is interesting to note that Morrison’s successor as bishop of Antigonish, John R. MacDonald, also complained that he received little encouragement to enter the seminary. See Nearing, He Loved the Church, 11. 36 In 1879 a bill was passed by the provincial legislature amalgamating the Normal School and Prince of Wales College. See Marion Bruce, Century of Excellence. 37 For demographic information on Charlottetown in this period, see Rider, Charlottetown, 90–2. 38 Kelley, The Bishop Jots It Down, 25. 39 Minutes of the Meetings of the Board of Education, 3 August 1881, PROPI. 40 See O’Connor, “Charlottetown’s Orange Lodge Riot.” 41 Morrison to Francis J. Wall, 22 November 1934, letter #20773, B MP, ADA. 42 Morrison frequently used the term “Protestant political mentality.” See, for example, Morrison to Gregory McLellan, 3 June 1922, letter #9368, B MP, ADA. 43 See Hughes, Archbishop O’Brien, 170. 44 Morrison to Mrs George Wilson, 29 August 1941, letter #26018, B MP, A D A . Morrison was always sympathetic to those seeking monies for their education and often spoke of his endeavour to “put together funds” for

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his schooling. The extra work, he believed, taught him “how to meet people and deal with them.” 45 Morrison to J.J. MacNeil, 11 September 1913, letter #724, B MP, A DA . 46 G. Edward MacDonald, History of St Dunstan’s, 155. 47 Shook, Catholic Post-Secondary Education, 44. 48 G. Edward MacDonald, History of St Dunstan’s, 153. 49 As an example, of the fifteen members of the 1886 St Dunstan’s rugby football team, six became Catholic priests. Daily Examiner (Charlottetown), 3 November 1894. 50 Shook, Catholic Post-Secondary Education, 45. 51 H.M. MacDonald, The Builders, 51. 52 Macmillan, History of the Catholic Church, 426. 53 G. Edward MacDonald, History of St Dunstan’s, 158. 54 Ibid. 55 Macmillan, History of the Catholic Church, 426. 56 Ibid. 57 Coady, My Story, 5; MacLellan, Coady Remembered, 34. 58 Donahoe, Prince Edward Island Priests. 59 Alexander MacDonald, A Bit of Autobiography, 32. The beetle was the heraldic decoration of the building’s previous owner, the Barberini family. 60 McNeil, The Pope and the War, 17. 61 Kertzer, Prisoner of the Vatican, 20–1. 62 The Freemans Journal, 20 June 1887. 63 John Chisholm to Cameron, 30 July 1886, fonds 3, series 2, sub. 1, B J C P, ADA. 64 There is no known correspondence from Morrison during his time in Rome. As a result, the author had to rely on Morrison’s later recollections and correspondence with classmates. Morrison to Wall, 30 November 1937, letter #23300, BM P, ADA. 65 Rhodes, Power of Rome, 281. 66 Agócis, Italian Labour Movement, 20. 67 Rhodes, Power of Rome, 74. 68 Vincent Morrison to Morrison, 26 February 1940, letter #25749, B MP, ADA. 69 Morrison to Alexis Cardinal Lepicier, 6 April 1929, letter #15867, B MP, ADA. 70 William Canon MacDonald (1862–1941) was born in Benbecula, Scotland, and educated locally and at the Propaganda College. After ordination he returned to Scotland and served in the parishes of Glenfinnan (1903–19), Portree (1919–24), and Dunoon (1924–41). Fr John J. Purcell, a convert

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Notes to pages 24–30

to Roman Catholicism, spent most of his career with the Society of Jesus in British Guiana (now Guyana). He laboured in various positions in the capital city of Victoria and edited the Catholic Standard. He died in 1939. 71 Quoted in MacLean, Piety and Politics, 14. 72 Morrison later contributed thirty thousand lire for the upkeep of the Church of St Agnes. Morrison to Cardinal Fumasoni, 15 November 1935, letter #21486, BM P, ADA. 73 The Casket, 25 November 1965. 74 Freemantle, Papal Encyclicals, 156. 75 Rainbird, The Popes, 442. 76 Morrison to Wall, 16 November 1936, letter #22398, B MP, A DA . 77 Macmillan, History of the Catholic Church, 465. 78 Quoted in Alexander MacDonald, A Bit of Autobiography, 34. 79 Quoted in the Report of the Selected Committee Appointed by the House of Commons to Consider the Question of Steam Communication between Prince Edward Island and the Mainland in Winter and Summer (Ottawa: MacLean, Roger and Co., 1883), 64. 80 MacMillan, History of the Catholic Church, 478–9; Toronto Daily Mail, 3 April 1891. 81 Landrigan, “Peter MacIntyre,” 92. 82 Born in St Peter’s Bay Parish, Alexander MacAulay (1863–1951) was educated at the University of Ottawa, St Dunstan’s College, and the Grand Seminary of Quebec. He was curate at St Dunstan’s Cathedral for four years and then pastor of Morell (1894–1903), Hope River (1903–13), and St Peter’s Bay (1913–50). See O’Shea, Priests and Bishops, 132. 83 Morrison to S.T. Phelan, 18 March 1913, letter #330, B MP, A DA . 84 Ibid. 85 The priest who found McIntyre was Fr Hugh Gillis, long-time rector of St Ninian’s Parish. MacMillan, History of the Catholic Church, 480; Bishop John Cameron to Sir John Thompson, 1 May 1891, Thompson Papers #15410, Public Archives of Canada. 86 Kelley, The Bishop Jots It Down, 22. 87 Evening Telegram (St John’s, Newfoundland), 26 July 1897. 88 G. Edward MacDonald, History of St Dunstan’s, 202. 89 The Collegium was started by Francis C. Kelley (1870–1948), who later became the bishop of Okalahoma, U S A. The assistant editor of the paper for much of Morrison’s years as rector was Alfred Sinnott (1877–1954), who was to become archbishop of Winnipeg. These two prominent St Dunstan’s alumni are good examples of the direction in which excellent

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scholars of the college were encouraged. Copies of The Collegium can be found in the special collections at the Robertson Library, University of Prince Edward Island.   90 R.B. MacDonald, “The Succession,” unpublished manuscript, 1991, p. 15, S T F X UA . See also Fr R.B. MacDonald’s three-part article in The Casket entitled “Diocesan Disputes” on 2, 9, and 16 September 1992.   91 When Fr Alexander McLellan died in August 1937, Morrison wrote, “Our contacts continued unbroken for almost fifty years, and I shall miss him very much, as he was one of the last few links to bind me to the old surroundings.” Morrison to Vincent Morrison, 13 August 1937, letter #22918, BM P, ADA.   92 Morrison to Alfred Sinnott, 19 September 1946, letter #29513, B MP, ADA.  93 The Collegium, October 1892.  94 Charlottetown Herald, 8 February 1893.   95 Morrison to Willie Morrison, 24 November 1899, fonds 4, series 1, sub. 3, folder 1, BM P, ADA.  96 Charlottetown Guardian, 6 July 1892.   97 Morrison to Daniel A. Chisholm, 6 November 1894, R G 5/7/632, DC P, S T F X UA .   98 Morrison to Chisholm, 22 November 1894, R G 5/7/633, DC P, STFX UA .   99 Quoted in G. Edward MacDonald, History of St Dunstan’s, 170. 100 Ibid., 169. 101 The three graduates were Terence Campbell, Frank Murphy, and William McKenna. 102 Daily Examiner, 23 June 1894; see also Centennial Booklet. 103 True Witness and Catholic Chronicle, 28 April 1897. 104 G. Edward MacDonald, History of St Dunstan’s, 173. 105 Morrison to Sinnott, 1 December 1945, letter #29086, B MP, A DA . 106 The Collegium wrote in the September 1895 issue that although they would miss Fr Morrison as their rector, they were confident that he would watch over his new flock in Charlottetown “with untiring zeal and sympathetic devotedness.” 107 Bernard, Things That Are Above, 36. 108 Hennessy, The Catholic Church in Prince Edward Island, 104. 109 Morrison to Harry F. MacLeod, 7 September 1896, fonds 4, series 1, sub. 3, folder 1, BM P, ADA. 110 Morrison to John Morrison, 7 August 1896, box 22, fonds 5, series 1, B MP , A DA. 111 Daily Examiner, 22 September 1894.

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112 Various parish histories in PEI make mention of “Rev Dr Morrison” blessing an altar, bell, or graveyard. See Immaculate Conception Church, 21. 113 Morrison to James Reardon, 16 March 1948, letter #39248, B MP, A DA . 114 Ibid. 115 For information on Fr MacKinnon see O’Shea, Prince Edward Island Priests Away, 151. 116 Morrison to Patrick McQuillan, 9 May 1900, fonds 4, series 1, sub. 3, folder 1, B M P, ADA. 117 Ottawa Citizen, 3 July 1899. 118 Ottawa Citizen, 2 August 1899. 119 Morrison to F.X. (Dan) Morrison, 23 February 1897, fonds 4, series 1, sub. 3, folder 1, BM P, ADA. 120 Kelley, The Story of Extension, 161; see also O’Shea, A.E. Burke, 39. 121 Quoted in O’Shea, A.E. Burke, 53. 122 The Casket, 12 September 1905. 123 Ibid. 124 Chadwick, History of the Popes, 366. 125 Morrison to Dan Morrison, 6 January 1907, FMP, DC A . Although the passage on Peter Morrison was full of errors, it was correct in describing him as an “enterprising owner of a saw mill at Mount Stewart.” According to the publication, “his mills are well equipped and able to make special effort to cater to the wants of each customer who comes to him.” MacKinnon and Warburton, Past and Present, 611. 126 Charlottetown Examiner, 12 September 1907. 127 Morrison to Sister St Dorothy, 13 March 1919, letter #6131, B MP, A DA . 128 Vernon River became available after the death of Fr Patrick Doyle in September 1907. Doyle served at St Joachim’s for seventeen years and was well respected; see O’Shea, Priests and Bishops, 75. For a history of the parish of Vernon River, see Bolger, History of Vernon River Parish. 129 Morrison to Mary MacKinnon, 7 November 1907, fonds 4, series 1, B MP, ADA. 130 Morrison to Peter Curran, 1 April 1907, fonds 4, series 1, sub. 3, folder 1, B MP , A D A . 131 Morrison to Mrs J.J. Wickham, 18 December 1907, FMP, DC A . 132 Morrison to Curran, 19 November 1907, FMP, DC A . 133 Quoted in Devlin, “The Eucharistic Procession of 1908,” 412. 134 Summerside Journal, 14 April 1870. 135 Peter McIntyre to Cornelius O’Brien, February 1890, Bishop J.C. McDonald Papers, D CA. 136 O’Neill, All Politics Is Local, 5.

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137 Curran to McCarthy, 8 February 1909, vol. 2, letter #155, A B EJ MP, A D H A . There were also complaints that Charlottetown was not sending enough Irish boys to the seminary. See Heidi MacDonald, “Developing a Strong Roman Catholic Social Order,” 38. 138 Curran to McCarthy, 8 February 1909, vol. 2, letter #155, A B EJ MP, ADHA. 139 Ibid. 140 Curran was hopeful that James Reardon of Minnesota would be appointed to Charlottetown. Curran to McCarthy, 8 February 1909, vol. 2, 155, A B EJM P, ADHA. 141 Petition from Irish Priests in PEI , 1 November 1907, fonds 3, series 2, sub. 1, folder 32, BJCP, ADA. 142 Morrison to D. Raffaele Sbarretti, 31 December 1909, FMP, DC A . 143 James MacDonald to McCarthy, 26 March 1909, vol. 4, 340, A B EJ MP, ADHA. 144 Morrisey, “Ecclesiastical Particular Law,” 146. 145 Montreal Gazette, 2 December 1912. 146 McCarthy to Cardinal P.F. Stagni, 29 July 1911, vol.1, 60, A B EJ MP, ADHA. 147 Gregory McLellan to Morrison, 20 April 1910, FMP, DC A . 148 Morrison to M. Monaghan, 26 December 1910, FMP, DC A . 149 The death was very sudden and most of the family was “shocked.” They were disappointed that Morrison could not make the funeral but they understood that he was busy. Mary Morrison to Morrison, n.d., fonds 4, series 7, sub. 1, folder 4, BM P, ADA. 150 Morrison to Mary Ellen Morrison, 4 December 1911, FMP, DC A . 151 Charlottetown Herald, 25 January 1911. 152 Morrison to MacEachern, 25 January 1911, FMP, DC A . Morrison provided the headstone for his father’s grave at a cost of $75. 153 Dan Morrison to Morrison, February 1909, FMP, DC A . Morrison once explained to a friend that many eastern priests went to the western United States because the bishops from those states recruited more aggressively than did those from western Canada. 154 Quoted in R.B. MacDonald, “The Succession,” 15. 155 Ronald MacDonald to Morrison, 5 May 1911, FMP, DC A . 156 Morrison to F.X. Morrison, 24 March 1911, FMP, DC A . 157 Archbishop Edward McCarthy to Morrison, 3 November 1911, FMP, DCA. 158 P.F. Stagni to Morrison, 31 July 1912, fonds 4, series 1, sub. 1–3, B MP, ADA.

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Notes to pages 46–52

159 Montreal Gazette, 5 August 1912; Charlottetown Examiner, 5 August 1912. 160 Vernon River Parishioners to Morrison, August 1912, fonds 4, series 1, sub. 1–3, B M P, ADA. 161 Red and White, December 1912, 34–5.

C ha p t e r T wo    1 These are the words of Antiono De Luca, special investigator for Rome, who wrote of the ethnic discord between Irish and Scottish Catholics in Nova Scotia in 1844: “The Scots are quite mild, cold and reflective by nature, and they live with ill grace alongside the Irish, who are generally vivacious and thoughtless,” De Luca mused. “Nor has the identity of religion among the Catholics of these two nationalities availed to extirpate this primitive germ of discord in Nova Scotia, for each group is anxious to live as far away as possible from the other.” Johnston, The Catholic Church in Eastern Nova Scotia, 2:176–7.    2 McGowan, “Antigonish after Confederation,” 28.   3 Johnston, The Catholic Church in Eastern Nova Scotia, 2:493–501.   4 Ibid., 2:548–53.    5 In 1885 Cameron used the pulpit to personally attack the local liberalindependent candidate, Alexander MacIntosh. See Waite, Man from Halifax, 141; Gillis, “Sir John Thompson and Bishop Cameron”; Gillis, “Sir John Thompson’s Elections”; Waite, “Annie and the Bishop.”    6 McGowan, “Antigonish after Confederation,” 31.    7 Donald M. MacAdam to Edward J. McCarthy, 31 July 1908, vol. 3, #253, A D H A , A B EJM P.    8 Robert Fraser to Hugh Peter MacPherson, 15 September 1910, fonds 7, series 1, sub. 1, folder 11, HPM P, ADA; McCarthy to Merry Del Val, 10 March 1909, vol. 4, 340, ABEJM P, AD HA .    9 MacPherson to Fraser, 16 November 1911, fonds 7, series 1, sub. 1, folder 11, H P MP, ADA.   10 Fraser to MacPherson, 1 July 1912, fonds 7, series 1, sub. 1, folder 11, H P MP , A D A. Michael Francis Howley (1843–1914) was archbishop of St John’s, Newfoundland, from 1894 to 1914. See Crosbie, “Michael Francis Howley,” Dictionary of Canadian Biography 14:514–22.   11 Morrison to McCarthy, 13 August 1912, letter #2, B MP, A DA .   12 R.B. MacDonald, “The Succession,” 18.  13 Ibid.  14 The Casket, 5 September 1912.  15 Ibid.

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16 Kinnear, “Trappist Monks,” 103. See also Schrepfer, Pioneer Monks. 17 Kinnear, “Trappist Monks,” 102. 18 Morrison to McCarthy, 27 August 1912, letter #2, B MP, A DA . Morrison also suggested the names of Fr Joseph MacLean of Summerside and Fr John C. Macmillan of Cardigan Bridge. 19 The Casket, 5 September 1912. 20 There were rumours that Fr H.P. MacPherson was going to be appointed the next bishop of Charlottetown, but they proved unfounded. Unidentified to Tompkins, 10 December 1912, MG 10-2, 1A, F 1, J J TP, BIA. 21 Archbishop Ronald Macdonald was a native of Maryvale, Antigonish County. He was a former professor of classics at St F.X. and a long-time pastor of Pictou. He was consecrated as bishop of Harbour Grace, Newfoundland, in August 1881 and spent twenty-five years in Conception Bay. The Antigonish Diocesan Archive has a fascinating diary that he kept while visiting his flock (via boat) in remote Newfoundland outports. The Casket, 26 September 1912; Johnston, Antigonish Diocese Priests, 65. 22 Morrison to Donald MacPherson, 19 October 1912, letter #7, B MP, A DA . 23 Quoted in Waite, Man from Halifax, 82. 24 Dawson, Handbook for the Dominion of Canada, 71. 25 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 10. 26 The bishop’s residence was sold after Morrison’s death in 1950. It was demolished in 1968 to make room for the expansion of the St F.X. campus; see “Bishop’s Palace,” accessed 15 November 2008, http://people. stfx.ca/lstanley/History/vanishing/vanished2.htm#bishopspalace. 27 Morrison to Sister St Peter Chrysoloque, 26 December 1912, letter #112, B MP , A DA. 28 G. Edward MacDonald, “James Charles MacDonald,” Dictionary of Canadian Biography, vol. 14, 626. 29 Maritime prelates to apostolic delegate, 17 January 1908, fond 3, series 2, sub. 1, B J CP, ADA. 30 Boucher, “Acadian Nationalism,” 198. 31 Years later in 1935 when Morrison was asked to comment on Fr Patrick Albert Bray, who was under consideration for a diocese in New Brunswick, he expressed concern about the ethnic discord in that province. “I would say that in view of the unfortunate racial rivalries that are so deeply deplored by the Holy See and which are not absent from New Brunswick, the appointment of a bishop of St John needs the most careful consideration, which no doubt it will receive. I recall the excitement of 1912 in that city when the late bishop was appointed, and I would not

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like to see a repetition of it in the present instance.” Morrison to Cassulo, 19 March 1935, letter #21048, BM P, ADA. 32 Boucher, “Acadian Nationalism,” 250. 33 Fr (later Monsignor) Daniel Joseph MacIntosh was a highly respected priest. He spent most of his career ministering on Cape Breton Island, while serving as bursar of St F.X. from 1908 to 1910. He died in December 1925. Morrison did not mean “to make the office a very burdensome one,” as the bishop was “strong enough to keep up the work [him]self.” Morrison to Daniel J. MacIntosh, 10 October 1913, letter #805, B MP, ADA. 34 Quoted in G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 38. 35 Ibid. 36 John Grant, the famous Scottish book dealer located at 31 George IV Bridge, Edinburgh, provided Morrison with much of his library. On one occasion Morrison had nine volumes of Horace Walpole’s letters sent to Antigonish. Sadly, much of the archbishop’s library is no longer found in the stacks, nor in special collections, of the Angus L. Macdonald library at St F.X. 37 Rev. Hugh J. Somers, interview, 11 October 1964, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, folder 50, PN P, ADA. 38 Rev. A.A. Johnston, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, folder 13, PNP, ADA. 39 “Constitution of the Diocese of Antigonish, 1921,” A A J P, A DA . 40 Rev. A.A. Johnston, interview. 41 MacLean, Piety and Politics, 188. 42 Morrison to J.H. Blacquire, 8 April 1910, B MF, DC A . 43 Antigonish diocesan historian Fr A.A. Johnston was well aware of Cameron’s tactics. In A History of the Catholic Church in Eastern Nova Scotia, he wrote: “During the closing half-dozen years of Bishop Cameron’s reign, the happiness of people, priests and bishop in two districts of the diocese was clouded by events whose details, in due time, will probably be given by some future historian” (2:522). 44 MacPherson to Donato R. Sbarretti, 4 July 1910, fonds 7, series 1, sub. 1, folder 11, H PM P, ADA. 45 Morrison to J.J. MacKinnon, 4 March 1914, letter #1102, B MP, A DA . 46 When in November 1915 the statue was two weeks late arriving in Halifax, Morrison worried that it had been shipped on the Ancona, which was torpedoed in the Mediterranean. Convinced that the statue was at the bottom of the sea, Morrison was relieved when he received word that it had made it safely across the Atlantic. It was not erected on campus until

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1916. Although Morrison was pleased with the final product, he felt that the head of the statue was “too much bent forward,” which gave it a rather stooped appearance. “Bishop Cameron always stood up straight” and “somewhat prided himself on his erect stature,” Morrison wrote. Morrison to E.L. Perrin, 7 February 1916, letter #2907, B MP, A DA . 47 Bernard, Things That Are Above, 44. 48 Red and White (St Dunstan’s), March 1913. 49 Morrison wrote, “All the electrical wires in the rear of the building upwards and downwards were enclosed each one separately in an insulating conduit cable covering, and the switch board being of slate.” The fire was obviously electrical but he could not see how it “could have started from that point.” Morrison to Gregory McLellan, 17 March 1913, letter #323, B MP, ADA. 50 Morrison to Ronald MacDonald, 17 March 1913, letter #324, B MP, A DA . See also Lannan, “St Dunstan’s Cathedral Fire.” 51 Cameron, For the People, 150. 52 The Casket, 17 October 1912. 53 Morrison to John Beaton, 8 April 1914, letter #1206, B MP, A DA . 54 Cameron, For the People, 150. 55 Morrison to Beaton, 29 May 1913, letter #545, B MP, A DA . 56 Quoted in Cameron, For the People, 154. 57 G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, ix. 58 Hill, Congress of the Universities, 285. 59 Edwards, “MacPherson-Tompkins Era,” 58. 60 Coady to Tompkins, 8 January 1917, M G 10-2/1A/F3, J J TP, B IA . 61 J.H. White to Tompkins, 12 May 1916, MG 10-2/1A /F2, J J TP, B IA . 62 Cameron, For the People, 150. 63 Tompkins to Morrison, 6 September 1913, letter #697, B MP, A DA . 64 Quoted in Cameron, For the People, 150. 65 For an interesting examination of the Whitney conglomerate and the Government of Nova Scotia see Fergusson, Hon. W.S. Fielding, 126–9, 234–8. 66 Frank, “Cape Breton Coal Industry,” 11–12. 67 MacEwan, Miners and Steelworkers, 8. 68 Census Canada 1901, 1911. 69 See Crawley, “Off to Sydney,” 27–51; Ludlow, “More than Codmen,” 73. 70 The present church was not built until 1924; it recently closed. 71 Industrial Canada, June 1922, 52. See also St John the Baptist Parish, Remembering and Giving Thanks. 72 Donald MacLeod, “Colliery Safety,” 226.

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Notes to pages 65–9

73 The Casket, 28 November 1912. 74 Owen, “Presbyterian Missions,” 113. 75 Morrison to Alexander Thompson, 14 July 1914, letter #1269, B MP, A D A . Morrison appointed Dr Thompson to act as spiritual advisor to the new federation. 76 Morrison to D. Viola, 22 April 1913, letter #416, B MP, A DA . 77 MacAdam to Morrison, 13 February 1913, letter #241, B MP, A DA . 78 McGowan, “Toronto’s English-Speaking Catholics,” 218. 79 Morrison to Viola, 30 October 1912, letter #22, B MP, A DA . 80 Roderick MacInnis to Morrison, 21 January 1913, letter #161, B MP, ADA. 81 S.R. Gwozd to Morrison, 17 January 1913, letter #179, B MP, A DA . 82 Morrison to MacInnis, 16 January 1913, letter #173, B MP, A DA . 83 See Mullan, “St Mary’s Polish Parish.” My thanks to Professor Mullan for sharing his paper. 84 Morrison was invited to the conference by Bishop Kelley, and asked to preach in a Boston church while visiting. Morrison could not refuse as Kelley “was always ready to help [him] out when [he] was in Charlottetown.” Morrison to Francis Kelley, 6 February 1913, letter #225, A D A , B MP. 85 Bishop Francis C. Kelley was born in 1870 at Vernon River, PEI. He was ordained for the Diocese of Detroit and laboured in various Michigan ­parishes. In 1905 he founded the Catholic Church Extension Society and became its first president. He enjoyed an interesting career (authored some fourteen books) and was named bishop of Oklahoma in 1924. See Kelley, The Bishop Jots It Down. 86 Quoted in McGowan, “Toronto’s English-Speaking Catholics,” 216. 87 Ibid., 214. 88 Morrison to MacInnis, n.d., letter #687, BMP, A DA . 89 Morrison to MacInnis, 5 September 1913, letter #697, B MP, A DA . 90 Tompkins to C.J. Tompkins, 1 August 1916, MG 10-2/1A/F2, J J TP, B IA . 91 Owen, “Presbyterian Missions,” 123. 92 MacIsaac, A Better Life, 156. 93 MacAdam to Morrison, 18 January 1914, letter #965, B MP, A DA . For information on the denominational schools of Newfoundland, see Frecker, “Origins of the Confessional School System,” 11–14; Frecker, Education in the Atlantic Provinces; McCann, “No-Popery Crusade.” 94 Superior General, Sisters of Charity (Glace Bay), to Morrison, March 1916, letter #3066A, BM P, ADA. 95 Morrison to John Fraser, 31 March 1916, letter #3086, B MP, A DA .

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  96 In Sydney, Fr MacAdam was clear that many Catholics believed that a “fair-minded” Protestant could do more for the community as mayor than any Catholic. MacAdam to Morrison, 18 January 1914, letter #965, B MP, ADA.   97 Morrison to George H. Murray, 4 April 1914, letter #1195, B MP, A DA .   98 Morrison to Joseph A. Chisholm, 13 August 1913, letter #672, B MP, A DA .   99 Morrison to Robert Borden, 12 February 1914, letter #1040, B MP, A DA . 100 MacInnes, “Farmers and Workers,” 157. 101 Ibid. 102 The Casket, 4 December 1913. 103 Alexander, The Antigonish Movement, 67. 104 Morrison to H.P. MacPherson, 30 March 1914, letter #1165, B MP, A DA . 105 Cameron, For the People, 166. 106 Ibid., 151. 107 Neil McNeil to Nicholas Meagher, 8 December 1900, fonds 8, series 4, sub. 1, A AJP, ADA. 108 The Casket, 11 June 1914. 109 The Casket, 19 July 1914. 110 Morrison to Gregory McLellan, 15 September 1914, letter #1461, B MP, ADA. 111 Duguid, The Great War, 9. 112 Morrison to L.E. Perrin, 15 August 1914, letter #1352, B MP, A DA . 113 Pham, Heirs of the Fisherman, 103. 114 Gwynn, The Vatican, 14. 115 The Casket, 6 August 1914. 116 Kinnear, “Trappist Monks,” 104; Schrepfer, Pioneer Monks, 90–1. 117 Cameron, For the People, 163. 118 Quoted in Cameron, For the People, 156. 119 McGowan, Waning of the Green, 250. 120 R.W. Thibeau to Tompkins, 10 July 1916, MG 10-2/1A /F2, J J TP, B IA . The young man in question was Joseph Leonard Moran who enlisted in the Royal Naval Air Service. He was killed in an accident while on duty in England on 12 December 1917. 121 Tompkins to Thibeau, 13 July 1916, M G 10-2/1A/F2, J J TP, B IA . 122 Cameron, For the People, 161. 123 MacPherson to H.L. Edmonds, 24 December 1919, R G/5/9/2483, HPMP, S T F X UA . See also the New York Times, 28 April 1916; Tompkins to Mrs R.C. MacLeod, 29 January 1917, MG 10-2/1A/F3, J J TP, B IA . 124 E.M. MacDonald to Morrison, 18 September 1914, letter #1432, B MP, ADA.

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Notes to pages 75–9

125 Princess Henriette to Morrison, 27 March 1915, letter #2044, B MP, A DA . Princess Henriette Marie of Belgium (1870–1948) was married to Prince Emmanuel, Duke of Vendôme (1872–1931). 126 Circular, 19 September 1914, letter #1479, B MP, A DA . 127 For information on the Canadian Patriotic Fund, see Brown and MacKenzie, Canada and the First World War, 198–200; Rutherdale, Hometown Horizons, 91–110. 128 McGowan, Waning of the Green, 252. 129 Morrison to Donald Mackintosh, 8 September 1914, letter #1429, B MP, A D A . Born in Glasnacardoch, Invernesshire, Archbishop Donald Mackintosh (1876–1943) was educated at Aberdeen, Paris, and Scots College, Rome. Ordained in 1900, he served as vice-rector of Scots College from 1901 to 1913 and rector from 1913 to 1922. He was consecrated as archbishop of Glasgow in 1922 and served until his death in 1943. According to Tom Gallagher, Mackintosh was capable but autocratic; consequently, the “growth of the archdiocese was much slower than otherwise it might have been.” See Gallagher, Uneasy Peace, 185. 130 Brewer, “Antigonish and World War I,” 18. 131 Morrison to R.W. Rutherford, 4 August 1915, letter #2318, B MP, A DA . 132 The Casket, 25 March 1915. 133 Crerar, Padres in No Man’s Land, 42. 134 Circular, 15 February 1916, letter #2937, B MP, A DA . 135 Ibid. 136 The Casket, 12 August 1915. 137 Brewer, “Antigonish and World War I,” 46. See also James W. MacDonald, Honour Roll; John R. MacDonald, Catholics of the Diocese of Antigonish. 138 Quoted in Keshen, Propaganda, 22. 139 McGowan, “Harvesting the Red Vineyard,” 52. 140 Morrison to A.B. MacDonald, 29 September 1915, letter #2487, B MP, ADA. 141 Crerar, Padres in No Man’s Land, 33. 142 O’Gorman, “Canadian Catholic Chaplains,” 73. 143 Other colonies fighting within the British military in France faced similar difficulties. Fr Thomas Nangle of Newfoundland threatened to withdraw Catholic soldiers from the Newfoundland contingent arguing that Catholic parents would not allow their sons to serve in a unit without a chaplain. See O’Brien, “Out of a Clear Sky,” 409–10. 144 Catholic Register, 13 May 1915; Crerar, “Bellicose Priests,” 23. 145 R.C. MacGillivray to Morrison, n.d., letter #3397A, B MP, A DA . 146 Morrison to James Lougheed, 12 August 1915, letter #2336, B MP, A DA .

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147 Morrison to Donald MacPherson, 7 September 1915, letter #2404, B MP, ADA. 148 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 13. In a letter to a young priest taking a new parish in 1916, Morrison wrote: “I would have liked that you should have at least a year’s training with some other priest, but relying on your matured judgement, and under the stress of the circumstances, I am obliged to have you take immediate charge of a parish on your own responsibility.” Morrison to Lauchlin MacDonald, 31 May 1916, letter #3232, B M P, ADA. 149 Morrison to Miles Tompkins, 20 May 1916, letter #3255, B MP, A DA . 150 Miles Tompkins to James Tompkins, 13 June 1916, MG 10-2, 1A, F2A , JJTP, BIA. 151 MacGillivray to Morrison, n.d., letter #3397A, B MP, A DA . 152 Morrison to Robert Borden, 23 March 1916, letter #3051, A DA , B MP. 153 Wolstan T. Workman to Morrison, 26 July 1916, letter #3402, A DA , B MP . 154 Morrison to Borden, 23 March 1916, letter #3051, B MP, A DA . 155 Morrison to Miles Tompkins, 20 May 1916, letter #3255, B MP, A DA . Tompkins wrote to Fr James Tompkins, “If the Bishop calls me back, I suppose I shall have to go, but much against my will.” Miles Tompkins to James J. Tompkins, 13 June 1916, M G 10, 2, 1A, J J TP, B IA . 156 Crerar, Padres in No Man’s Land, 42. 157 O’Shea, A.E. Burke, 53. 158 Morrison to Neil McNeil, 29 January 1913, letter #193, B MP, A DA . 159 Quoted in McGowan, “Fr Alfred Burke.” 160 Alfred Burke to Robert Borden (copy), 17 April 1916, letter #3397A, B MP , A D A. 161 Ibid. 162 Burke to Morrison, 18 April 1916, letter #3198, B MP, A DA . 163 Ibid. 164 Workman to Morrison, 26 July 1916, letter #3402, B MP, A DA . 165 Crerar, Padres in No Man’s Land, 48. 166 Miles Tompkins to Tompkins, 13 June 1916, MG 10-2, 1A, F2A , J J TP, BIA. 167 Morrison would enter into an agreement with the prime minister only to have that agreement ignored. In March 1916 he sent Borden a telegram that read: “I am just informed that orders have come from the Militia Department that the Catholic Chaplain of the Sixty-Fourth, now stationed at Halifax, is not to accompany the Battalion overseas. There must be some mistake. It is imperative that a Catholic Chaplain accompany them

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Notes to pages 83–7

and remain with them as there is a large number of Catholics in the Battalion.” Morrison to Borden, 28 March 1916, letter #3072, A DA , B MP. 168 Morrison to Patrick McQuillan, 30 March 1916, letter #3085, B MP, A DA . 169 Morrison to F.P. Day, 7 April 1916, letter #3110, B MP, A DA . 170 Morrison to Borden, 11 September 1916, letter #3437, B MP, A DA . 171 Morrison to Robert Phalen, 1 May 1916, letter #3185, B MP, A DA . Morrison was impressed with Fr Workman. “From what I have heard of Father Workman during the past eighteen months or so, I would consider him a fair-minded person who wishes to do the right thing for the soldiers, and I would be disappointed should matters turn out otherwise at least as far as concerns the Catholic soldiers from Eastern Nova Scotia.” Morrison to Ronald MacDonald, 23 April 1917, letter #4112, B MP, A DA . 172 Morrison to MacAdam, 1 May 1916, letter #3186, A DA , B MP. 173 Morrison to Miles Tompkins, 20 May 1916, letter #3255, A DA , B MP. 174 Crerar, Padres in No Man’s Land, 52. 175 Crerar, “Bellicose Priests,” 33. 176 Crerar, Padres in No Man’s Land, 53. 177 John O’Gorman to Tompkins, 17 January 1917, MG 10-2/1A /F3, J J TP, BIA. 178 Crerar, Padres in No Man’s Land, 54. 179 Morrison to Miles Tompkins, 9 March 1917, letter #3992, A DA , B MP. 180 Crerar, “Bellicose Priests,” 34–5. 181 O’Shea, A.E. Burke, 72. 182 Morrison to Fr J.J. MacNeil, 21 March 1917, letter #4016, B MP, A DA . 183 Fitch, “Doing Their Duty,” 12. 184 Morrison to R. MacDonald, 21 June 1917, letter #4396, B MP, A DA . 185 MacGillivray to Morrison, 21 April 1917, letter #4330, B MP, A DA . 186 Morrison to Edward Kemp, 3 April 1917, letter #4045, B MP, A DA . 187 Heath, “The Protestant Denominational Press,” 28. 188 Quoted in Morton and Granatstein, Marching to Armageddon, 194. 189 The Casket, 19 July 1917. 190 Morrison was concerned that conscription might hamper agricultural production. Morrison to R.B. Bennett, 27 December 1916, letter #3740, B MP, ADA. 191 McGowan, Waning of the Green, 278. 192 Brewer, “Antigonish and World War I,” 24. 193 Morrison to Edward L. Girroir, 14 September 1917, letter #4517, B MP, ADA. 194 Heath, “The Protestant Denominational Press,” 28. 195 Tompkins to John McNeil, 9 July 1917, MG 10-2/1A /F3, J J TP, B IA .

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196 Quoted in Theobald, Bitter Harvest, 75. 197 Quoted in Boucher, “Acadian Nationalism,” 266. 198 Quoted in Brewer, “Antigonish and World War I,” 59. 199 Morrison to G.S. Campbell, 12 November 1917, letter #4672, B MP, A DA . 200 Brewer, “Antigonish and World War I,” 60. 201 Daniel, For God and Country. 202 Nova Scotia Highlander Magazine, 14 July 1916. 203 The Casket, 18 July 1918. 204 One such cable read: “To you, brave officers and men of the Canadian Overseas Forces, who are offering your lives for the Empire and Canada, and therewith upholding the cause of public justice and international honor, we tender our first and most cordial New Years Greetings. We read of your actions with soul-stirring interest and with the highest admiration. You have proved yourselves eminently worthy of the lasting gratitude of our country. You are the pride of the Empire and the glory of Canada. With hats off we salute you. God bless and protect you all, and in due time bring you safely home.” “Night Letter,” 9 December 1915, letter #2721A , BM P, ADA. 205 Morrison to W.B.A. Ritchie, 18 August 1916, letter #3397, A DA , B MP. 206 Tompkins to Michael Gillis, 23 January 1917, MG 10-2/1A /F3, J J TP, B IA . 207 Tompkins to D. MacGillivray, 25 January 1917, MG 10-2/1A/F3, J J TP, BIA. 208 Tompkins to E.M. Hannifen, 25 January 1917, MG 10-2/1A/F3, J J TP, BIA. 209 Morrison to Miles Tompkins, 14 September 1918, letter #5517, B MP, ADA. 210 Morrison was extremely pleased with this new arrangement. Although all the Antigonish students were committed to their seminaries for the year 1913, Patrick Nicholson transferred from the Grand Seminary of Quebec to St Augustine’s in 1914. Morrison to Neil McNeil, 19 September 1913, letter #754, BM P, ADA. 211 Morrison to H.P. MacPherson, 23 October 1915, R G/5/9/9011, HPMP, S T F X UA . 212 For a more comprehensive history see Cameron, And Martha Served, 63–72. 213 Morrison to MacAdam, 14 February 1917, letter #3916, B MP, A DA . 214 MacPherson, “Religious Women,” 98. 215 Cameron, And Martha Served, 65. 216 S.M. Faustina to Morrison, letter #4481, B MP, A DA . 217 Articles of Agreement, 7 August 1917, Archives of the Sisters of St Martha.

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Notes to pages 91–4

218 Cameron, And Martha Served, 65. In private, Morrison admitted that the Marthas needed a new motherhouse “in the worst way.” Morrison to Donald MacPherson, 21 August 1918, letter #5457, B MP, A DA . 219 Cameron, And Martha Served, 66–7. 220 Davis, “I’ll Drink to That,” 176. 221 Forbes, “Prohibition and the Social Gospel,” 280–1; Rose, Demon Rum, v–xv. 222 Rose, Demon Rum, 83. 223 Presbyterian Witness, 19 October 1907; Forbes, “Prohibition and the Social Gospel,” 228. 224 Morrison to clergy, 24 April 1915, letter #2069A, B MP, A DA . 225 Morrison to Rev. L.G. Chouinard, 1 September 1914, letter #1398, B MP, ADA. 226 Morrison to Priests’ Total Abstinence League, 19 July 1918, letter #5385, B MP , A D A. 227 Davis, “I’ll Drink to That,” 190. 228 Morrison to H.R. Grant, 7 September 1916, letter #3425, B MP, A DA . 229 Tompkins to Michael Gillis, 2 February 1917, MG 10-2/1A /F3, J J TP, B IA . 230 See Canadian Mining Journal, 15 August, 1 October, and 15 December 1917; “Mine Explosion in New Waterford, 1917,” Cape Breton’s Magazine, no. 21 (1978), 1–11; MacKenzie, Blast!, 79–91. 231 Boston Daily Globe, 26 July 1917; Cape Breton Post, 26 September 1924. 232 Morrison to John Hugh MacDonald, 30 July 1917, letter #4438, B MP, ADA. 233 Morrison to John R. MacDonald, 6 December 1917, letter #4742, B MP, A D A . On that morning, students in the Science Hall were disturbed by a “very noticeable rumble and shaking of the building resembling what we thought might have resulted from a slight earthquake. It was all over in a moment and the class went on as usual.” McCarthy, Times of My Life, 59. 234 Morrison to Msgr Murphy, 24 December 1917, letter #4790, B MP, A DA . 235 The Spanish flu pandemic of 1918 also took a number of lives. In November, Georgeville native Fr Ronald Angus MacDonald (1888–1918), serving at St Anne’s in Glace Bay, succumbed to the virus. He was the first priest in the diocese to lose his life to the pandemic. Antigonish was lucky; in Ontario, the situation was so desperate that the bishop of Hamilton wrote to request a loan of priests to replace those who had died. 236 Morning Chronicle, 12 November 1918. 237 Morrison to Josephine Handrahan, 7 November 1918, letter #5691, B MP, ADA.

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238 John Bernard Croak from St John’s Parish in New Aberdeen was killed 8 August 1918 at Amiens. The Victoria Cross was awarded posthumously to his mother, Mrs James Croak, by the lieutenant governor of Nova Scotia at Government House on 22 November 1918. 239 Morrison to William Hennessey, 15 November 1918, letter #5723, B MP, A D A . Ambrose Hennessey was born in Charlottetown in 1892. He enlisted in the Saskatchewan Regiment and was killed on 2 September 1918. He is buried in Haynecourt British Cemetery in Cambrai, France.

c h a p t e r t h re e    1 Other Antigonish priests who travelled to California stayed with Fr Dan and made the rectory at St Joseph’s their “headquarters.” Dan had a “good big car” and he took visiting Antigonish clergy “around the locality and to the mountains.” Morrison to Alexander Thompson, 18 November 1916, letter #3650, BM P, ADA.   2 Cameron, For the People, 157–9. Ultimately, Neil McNeil’s gift of a million dollars to St F.X. was contested at his death by his many nieces and nephews. New York Times, 14 February 1922.   3 Boston American, 9 March 1919; Cameron, For the People, 173.    4 Morrison to T. O’Sullivan, 3 November 1920, letter #7759, B MP, A DA . Fr O’Sullivan was the provincial secretary of the Self-Determination League for Ireland. In 1920 he organized a parade to St Mary’s Cathedral in Halifax where an office for the dead was sung for the repose of the soul of Terence MacSwiny, lord mayor of Cork, and the other dead hunger strikers of the Irish War of Independence.    5 When Dan returned to California, he gave a lecture at an American Red Cross dinner speaking to the economic situation in Europe. Berkeley Daily Gazette, 29 October 1920.   6 The Casket, 22 July 1920.   7 New York Times, 24 February 1887.   8 G. Boyle, Pioneer in Purple, 46.    9 Rev. Michael Gillis, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, folder 12, PNP, A D A . See also Nearing, He Loved the Church, 70.   10 Morrison to M.A. McInnis, 16 August 1920, letter #7520, B MP, A DA . During the Second World War, various Canadian prelates were determined to publish a record of the Catholic war effort. To Morrison’s annoyance, they seemed unaware that Antigonish had already achieved such a testimony after the Great War. Morrison to C.L. Nelligan, 12 October 1942, letter #26851, BM P, ADA.

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Notes to pages 99–103

11 Morrison to William B. Wallace, 1 December 1919, letter #6917, B MP, ADA. 12 Cameron, And Martha Served, 71. 13 Tompkins to Halifax Herald, 1 December 1917, MG 10-2/1A/F3, J J TP, BIA. 14 MacLean, The Casket, 132. For information on John Boyd, see StanleyBlackwell and MacLean, Historic Antigonish, 82; Johnston, The Catholic Church in Eastern Nova Scotia, 2:228, 270, 289. 15 MacLean, The Casket, 136–44. 16 Ibid., 124. 17 MacAdam to Morrison, 25 June 1917, letter #4343, B MP, A DA . 18 Morrison to Robert Phalen, 17 February 1915, letter #1895, B MP, A DA . 19 Morrison to Joseph Grivetti, 31 August 1923, letter #10821, B MP, A DA . 20 In a letter to the former member of Parliament, Hugh Cameron, Morrison explained the problem. “I may at once explain that The Casket as a newspaper is under the control of the company’s stockholders, and while it is Catholic in character, and non-partisan in politics, yet it can scarcely be considered the accredited organ of the bishop, in that he has not a stockcontrolling influence with the company.” Morrison to Hugh Cameron, 18 April 1916, letter #3147, BM P, ADA. 21 G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 52. 22 Morrison to Phalen, 15 April 1915, letter #2047, B MP, A DA . 23 Remes, “Saner Minds,” 61. 24 Ludlow, “Saints and Sinners,” 104. 25 Morrison to Michael Donovan, 22 April 1914, letter #1239, B MP, A DA . 26 Morrison to Phalen, 10 May 1915, letter #2121, B MP, A DA . 27 MacInnes, “Farmers and Workers,” 159. See also Shook, Catholic PostSecondary Education, 84. 28 McNeil to Tompkins, 17 December 1917, MG 10-2/1A/F3, J J TP, B IA . 29 Tompkins to J.A. Walker, 6 January 1918, MG 10-2/1A/F4A , J J TP, B IA . 30 The Casket, 24 January 1918. 31 The Casket, 14 February 1918; Tompkins to Donald F. MacDonald, 6 January 1918, M G 10-2/1A/F 4A, JJTP, BIA . 32 G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 63. 33 Michael Gillis to Morrison, 13 April 1918, letter #5285, B MP, A DA . 34 Tompkins to McNeil, 22 February 1918, MG 10-2/1A /F4, J J TP, B IA . 35 Tompkins to P.W. Thibeau, 21 January 1918, MG 10-2/1A /F4A , J J TP, B IA . 36 Donovan to Morrison, 28 June 1922, letter #9241, B MP, A DA . 37 Tompkins to B.P. McCafferty, 26 December 1918, MG 10-2/1A /F4, J J TP, BIA.

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38 G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 62. 39 When the sale was complete, Tompkins transferred the purchased shares back into the possession of Morrison. Contract between Tompkins and Donovan, fonds 4, series 4, sub. 1, folder 1, B MP, A DA . 40 Shook, Catholic Post-Secondary Education, 84. 41 J.D. Keane to Tompkins, 12 February 1919, MG 10-2/1A/F4, J J TP, B IA . 42 Phalen to Tompkins, 27 February 1919, MG 10-2/1A/F4, J J TP, B IA . 43 John Cameron to Thompson, 31 December 1889, letter #11356, J SDTP, L A C . See also MacLean, The Casket, 54. 44 Circular, 19 March 1919, letter #6147, B MP, A DA . 45 Donovan to Morrison, 28 June 1922, letter #9241, B MP, A DA . Donovan later charged that he had been cheated. In 1926 Donovan was still desperately trying to retrieve what he believed was rightfully owed to him. He claimed that he had not been compensated for the liquid assets of The Casket. He also claimed that Tompkins promised him $1,000 and a seat in the Canadian senate or some other government posting. See Donovan to Morrison, 5 January 1926, fonds 4, s­ eries 4, sub. 1, folder 1, B MP, A DA . 46 As the relationship between Morrison and Donovan had broken down, Donovan actually sold the company to Tompkins, and the next morning Tompkins sold it to the diocese. Morrison to P. Di Maria, 7 November 1921, letter #8775, BM P, ADA. 47 Donovan to Morrison, 18 July 1923, fonds 4, series 4, sub. 1, folder 1, B MP , A D A. 48 MacLean, The Casket, 143. 49 The Casket, 1 January 1920. 50 MacInnes, “Farmers and Workers,” 166. 51 Donovan to Morrison, 22 August 1919, letter #6549, B MP, A DA . 52 H.M. MacDonald, The Builders, 52. 53 Michael Donovan quotes his friend in a letter to Morrison, 5 January 1926, fonds 4, series 4, sub. 1, folder 1, BMP, A DA . 54 Cameron, For the People, 164. 55 Tompkins to Henry S. Pritchett (copy), 3 December 1919, document attached to letter #6818, BM P, ADA. 56 Tompkins to Morrison, 24 November 1919, letter #6819, B MP, A DA . 57 G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 71. 58 Reid, “Health, Education, Economy,” 66. 59 Morrison to Tompkins, 14 November 1919, letter #6865, B MP, A DA . 60 G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 48–9. 61 Tompkins to Morrison, 11 December 1919, letter #6846, B MP, A DA . 62 Morrison to Tompkins, 16 December 1919, letter #6960, B MP, A DA .

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Notes to pages 106–11

63 Morrison to Tompkins, 16 December 1919, letter #6960, B MP, A DA . 64 Tompkins to Morrison, 23 December 1919, letter #6869, B MP, A DA . 65 G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 78. 66 Tompkins to Morrison, 13 January 1920, letter #7109, B MP, A DA . 67 Ibid. 68 Tompkins to John Ryan, 17 November 1920, MG 10-2/1A /F2, J J TP, B IA . 69 Welton, “Wonderful Possibilities,” 122. 70 Tompkins to Morrison, 13 January 1920, letter #7109, B MP, A DA . 71 Morrison to Tompkins, 14 January 1920, letter #7061, B MP, A DA . 72 Morrison to Tompkins, 14 January 1920, letter #7061, B MP, A DA . 73 Tompkins to Morrison, 11 December 1919, letter #6846, B MP, A DA . 74 Reid, Six Crucial Decades, 161. 75 Tompkins to Miss K.C. Quigley, 10 June 1919, MG 10-2/1A /F4, J J TP, B IA . 76 Rose, Newton, and Benians, Cambridge History, 667. 77 Census of Canada, 1921. For the experiences of individuals who outmigrated from the Maritime provinces during this period, see Gary Burrill, Away. 78 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 25. 79 Tompkins to Coady, 16 August 1916, M G 10-2/1A/F2, J J TP, B IA . 80 Reid, Six Crucial Decades, 161–5; Reid, Nova Scotia, 126–8. 81 Reid, Nova Scotia, 126. 82 Quoted in Beck, Politics of Nova Scotia, 2:75. 83 Rawlyk, “Farmer-Labour Movement,” 31; Beck, Politics of Nova Scotia, 2:78–82. 84 Rawlyk, “Farmer-Labour Movement,” 35. 85 Morrison to Hugh MacPherson, 17 November 1921, letter #8805, B MP, ADA. 86 The Casket, 22 July 1920. 87 Pictou Advocate, 16 and 23 July 1920. 88 McLachlan received 8,194 votes. 89 Beck, Politics of Nova Scotia, 2:88–9. 90 Quoted in Frank, J.B. McLachlan, 4. 91 Quoted in Cameron, For the People, 167. 92 Beck, Politics of Nova Scotia, 2:86. 93 Morrison to William L. Mackenzie King, 14 December 1921, letter #8885, B MP , A D A . 94 Forbes, Maritime Rights Movement, 74. 95 For a full account of Coady’s position, see Coady, Masters of Their Own Destiny, 17–29. For his position vis-à-vis the Maritime Rights Movement, see Alexander, The Antigonish Movement, 131.

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Notes to pages 111–16

277

  96 G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 85.   97 I have borrowed the phrase “clergy-intellectuals” from Michael Welton; see “Wonderful Possibilities,” 117–34. They included Fr James Boyle, Louvain / Columbia, professor at St F.X. in 1913; Fr Moses M. Coady, Urban College, professor at St F.X. 1910–15; Fr Cornelius J. Connolly, Munich, professor at St F.X. 1911–22; Fr Michael Gillis, University of London, professor at St F.X. 1919–20; Fr Hugh John MacDonald, Urban College, vice rector of St F.X. 1911–25; Fr John Hugh MacDonald, Urban College, vice rector of St F.X. 1908–11; Fr Daniel J. MacDonald, Catholic University of America, professor at St F.X. 1912–44; Fr Hugh MacPherson, Lille, professor at St F.X. 1900–50; and Fr Miles N. Tompkins, Ontario Agricultural College, manager of Mt Cameron Farm, 1919–1924.  98 Shook, Catholic Post-Secondary Education, 84; Dodaro and Pluta, The Big Picture, 306.   99 Morrison to Tompkins, 29 September 1919, letter #6711, B MP, A DA . 100 Coady to J.E. Michaud, 10 December 1941, R G 30-2/7/36, STFX UA . 101 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 15–16. See also The Casket, 14 August 1919. 102 Morrison to Mary MacEachern, 18 October 1920, letter #5637, B MP, ADA. 103 Quoted in Cameron, For the People, 169. 104 University of Wisconsin, Short Course in Agriculture, 3. 105 Tompkins, Knowledge for the People, 26. 106 Quoted in Cameron, For the People, 171. 107 Tompkins to Morrison, 31 December 1919, letter unnumbered, B MP, ADA. 108 Morrison to Tompkins, 14 January 1920, letter #7061, B MP, A DA . 109 Tompkins to McNeil, 20 January 1921 (misdated as 1920), MN A P07.31, A NNP , A AT. 110 Laidlaw, “Adult Education,” 83–84. 111 Ibid., 64. 112 Tompkins to McNeil, 27 January 1921, MN A P07.31, A NNP, A A T. 113 Morrison, foreword to The People’s School (Antigonish, 1921). 114 Halifax Chronicle, 23 April 1921. 115 Morrison to J. Ryan Hughes, 3 February 1922, letter #9079, B MP, ADA. 116 Circular, 21 April 1920, letter #7324, BMP, A DA . See also Cameron, For the People, 172–3. 117 Morrison, foreword to The People’s School.

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Notes to pages 116–20

118 Tompkins wrote, “They are only high-schools and they think themselves universities.” Tompkins to Angus L. Macdonald, n.d., F1348A/106, A L MP , NSARM . 119 Tompkins to Neil McNeil, 5 April 1918, MG 10-2/1A /F4, J J TP, B IA . 120 Tompkins to Donald F. MacDonald, 9 March 1918, MG 10-2, 1A, F4, JJTP, BIA. 121 People’s School, 1. 122 The Casket, 30 January 1919; MacInnes, “Farmers and Workers,” 203. 123 Morrison to Neil R. McArthur, 12 February 1921, letter #8086, B MP, ADA. 124 Reid, “Beyond the Democratic Intellect,” 286. 125 Learned and Sills, Education in the Maritime Provinces, 25. 126 Ibid., 35. 127 Waite, Lives of Dalhousie University, 261. 128 Learned to Tompkins (copy), 1 December 1921, document 8745, B MP, ADA. 129 Tompkins to Morrison, 11 December 1921, letter #8672, B MP, A DA . 130 Quoted in Cameron, For the People, 71. 131 Neil McNeil to John R. MacDonald, 11 February 1922, fonds 8, series 4, sub. 1, A A JP, ADA. 132 The Casket, 22 March 1922. 133 Quoted in Cameron, For the People, 183. 134 Morrison to Gregory McLellan, 3 June 1922, letter #9368, B MP, A DA . 135 Red and White, December 1919, 72. 136 Tompkins to Angus L. Macdonald, 4 March 1923, F1348A/143, A LMP, NS R A M. 137 Neil McNeil to Tompkins (copy), 13 May 1922, letter #9125, B MP, A DA . 138 Morrison to the Knights of Columbus, 24 June 1921, letter #8453, B MP, ADA. 139 V. Mullins to Morrison, 14 November 1922, letter #9568, B MP, A DA . 140 Minutes of a Conference of Representatives of Maritimes Provinces Universities and Colleges (Halifax: Privately published, 1922), 54. 141 Welton, Little Mosie, 40. 142 G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 107; Cameron, For the People, 179. 143 In 1909 the parish of St Ninian’s alone gave $2,000 to the college; see MacLean, The Casket, 109. 144 The Casket, 24 June 1920. 145 MacLean, The Casket, 126. 146 Morrison to J. Ryan Hughes, 3 February 1922, letter #9079, B MP, A DA . 147 Welton, “Wonderful Possibilities,” 128.

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148 Cameron, For the People, 183. 149 Tompkins to Brother Jerome, 23 January 1917, MG 10-2, 1A, F3, J J TP, BIA. 150 Tompkins to Angus L. MacDonald, 11 August 1922, F1348/2, A LMP, NS A R M. 151 Neil McNeil to Nicholas Meagher, 7 April 1922, fonds 8, series 4, sub. 1, A A J P , A D A. 152 P.J. Webb to Angus L. Macdonald, 2 January 1922, F1348/66, A LMP, NS A R M; Morrison to J.H. Nicholson, 3 June 1923, letter #10376, B MP, ADA. 153 It is important to note that this support was private. Clergy known to ­support Tompkins at this time included Fr Patrick Nicholson, Antigonish; Rev. Dr Alexander Thompson, Glace Bay; Fr D. Doyle, Sacred Heart, Sydney; Fr James Kiely, Holy Redeemer, Sydney; Fr Michael Gillis, Boisdale; Fr Ronald MacDonald, St Peter’s; Fr Michael McCormick, East Bay; and Fr Stanley MacDonald, Sydney Mines. P.J. Webb to Angus L. Macdonald, 2 January 1922, F1348/66, A LMP, NSA R M. 154 Roche to Peter Di Maria, 23 February 1923, 107/21/1, A B R P, A A DSJ . 155 Welton, “Wonderful Possibilities,” 118. 156 Hanington, Every Popish Person, 188; Apostolic delegate to Morrison, 18 March 1924, letter #10918, BM P, AD A . 157 Tompkins to Roche, 24 October 1922, 107/21/3, A B R P, A A DSJ . 158 Morrison to Gregory J. McLellan, 3 June 1922, letter #9368, B MP, ADA. 159 Quoted in Cameron, For the People, 184. 160 Tompkins to Learned, 19 July 1922, M G 10-2, 6b(I), J J TP, B IA ; Cameron, For the People, 184. 161 Tompkins to Learned, 19 July 1922, M G 10-2, 6b(I), J J TP, B IA . 162 H.P. MacPherson to Morrison, 7 October 1922, letter #9496, B MP, ADA. 163 After Bishop Boyle’s death in 1954, Fr Coady insinuated in an article for The Casket that Boyle was transferred because of his commitment to merger. The transfer “looked at the time like defeat” wrote Coady, “but it turned out to be a stroke of providence.” The Casket, 10 June 1954. 164 In August, Fr John R. MacDonald moved to Edmonton to take a teaching position on the advice of his uncle, Archbishop McNeil. MacDonald had long supported Tompkins and wrote his uncle telling him that if anyone could achieve success in educational ventures, “Father Tompkins is the man.” But getting too involved in such a contentious issue was

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Notes to pages 123–6

not a good career move for an ambitious young priest. See Nearing, He Loved the Church, 18. 165 H.P. MacPherson to Morrison, 7 October 1922, letter #9496, B MP, A DA . 166 McCarthy to Morrison, 11 October 1922, letter #9502, B MP, A DA . 167 Edward LeBlanc to McCarthy, 16 October 1922, vol. 3, 175, A B EJ MP, ADHA. 168 G. Edward MacDonald, History of St Dunstan’s, 297. 169 McArthur wrote, “If it is Bishop Morrison’s intention, not to enter this scheme under any conditions, our committee should know it, in order that we may guard ourselves at the meeting from making any statements which might later on, be construed by the public, as expressions of opinion, representing the views of St Francis Xavier College and the Diocese of Antigonish.” McArthur to Morrison, 16 October 1922, letter #9523, B MP , A D A. 170 St Francis Xavier University Board of Governors Minutes, 20 October 1922, R G/5/9/12362, S TFXU A. See also Cameron, For the People, 186–8. 171 Xavierian, March–April, 1914, 20. 172 Welton and Lotz, Father Jimmy, 41. Other supporters made the same arguments. Archbishop Roche in St John’s wrote that “it would be a calamity if the scheme went through without Catholic participation.” Roche to McCarthy, 5 January 1923, 107/21/2, A B R P, A A DSJ . 173 Alexander Thompson to Tompkins, 22 October 1920, MG 10-2/1A/F4, JJTP, BIA. 174 Quoted in Welton, “Wonderful Possibilities,” 128. 175 While waiting for Rome’s decision, the bishops of the Maritimes and Newfoundland believed that Antigonish had “already presented its case in Rome.” McCarthy to Roche, 5 January 1923, 107/21/2, A B R P, A DSJ . 176 McCarthy to Roche, 5 January 1923, 107/21/2, A B R P, A DSJ . 177 Morrison to Cardinal Merry Del Val, 11 November 1922, letter #9767, B MP , A D A. 178 Morrison to William Clapperton, 7 March 1923, letter #10157, B MP, ADA. 179 For another account see Henderson, Angus L. Macdonald, 22–6. 180 Coady to Angus L. Macdonald, 1 December 1922, F 1348/24, A LMP, NS A R M. 181 Phalen to Macdonald, 15 December 1922, F1287/2, A LMP, NSA R M. 182 H.P. MacPherson to Macdonald, 30 January 1923, F1348A/108, A LMP, NS A R M. 183 Macdonald to Phalen, 22 December 1922, F1287/5, A LMP, NSA R M.

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Notes to pages 126–9

281

184 James Boyle to Angus L. Macdonald, 8 November 1922, F1348/15, A L MP , N S ARM . 185 The Casket, 14 December 1922. 186 The Casket, 7 December 1922. 187 Morrison to Charles W. MacDonald, 7 December 1922, letter #9833, B MP , A D A. 188 H.P. MacPherson to Morrison, 7 October 1922, letter #9496, B MP, A DA . 189 Ronald MacDonald to H.P. MacPherson, 13 December 1922, R G5/9/15931, S TFXU A. 190 Morrison to Tompkins, 13 December 1922, letter #9855, B MP, A DA . The outgoing pastor at Canso had formally resigned his post in the spring of 1919. Morrison to J.W. MacIsaac, 31 May 1919, letter #6369, B MP, ADA. 191 Quoted in Welton, “Wonderful Possibilities,” 131. 192 Mifflin, “Antigonish Movement,” 11. 193 Welton, “Wonderful Possibilities,” 131. 194 Morrison to J.W. MacIsaac, 18 December 1922, letter #9885, B MP, A DA . 195 G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 77. 196 Macdonald to Tompkins, 20 December 1922, F 1348/41, A LMP, NSA R M. 197 James Boyle to Macdonald, 8 November 1922, F1348/15, A LMP, NS A R M. 198 P.J. Webb to Macdonald, 2 January 1923, F1348/66, A LMP, NSA R M. 199 H.P. MacPherson to Phalen, 6 March 1923, G5/9/10407, STFX UA . 200 Tompkins to Angus L. Macdonald, 4 January 1923, F1348/69, A LMP, NS A R M. 201 P.B. Waite argues that St Francis Xavier University’s refusal to enter into federation was not crucial to its success. According to Waite, it was the decision of Acadia University against federation that really weakened its chances. See Waite, The Lives of Dalhousie University, 272. 202 The debate on education continued well after the merger question was dead. Interestingly, the philosopher George Grant argued in the 1950s that the study of philosophy was the “analysis of the traditions of our society” against our “varying intuitions of the Perfection of God.” According to Grant, by the 1950s this activity was “no longer practiced in the universities of English Canada, except in the Catholic ones.” By that point, most universities had allowed themselves to “become narrow technical bodies that awarded doctorates on topics such as the excreta of rats.” See Christian, George Grant, 153. 203 Circular, 25 May 1923, letter #10355, BMP, A DA . 204 Cameron, For the People, 192–3.

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Notes to pages 129–37

205 Morrison to Pietro Di Maria, 24 September 1925, letter #12529, B MP, ADA. 206 Laidlaw, The Campus and the Community, 147. 207 Forbes, Maritime Rights Movement, 56. 208 Sydney Post, 1 June 1901. 209 MacAdam to H.P. MacPherson, 4 November 1921, G5/9/5949, STFX UA . 210 Quoted in Frank, “Company Town / Labour Town,” 178. 211 Frank, “The 1920s,” 245. 212 Freemantle, Papal Encyclicals, 166–95. 213 McGowan and Clarke, Catholics at the Gathering Place, 209. 214 Quoted in Maurutto, Governing Charities, 26. 215 McKay, “Provincial Workmen’s Association,” 133. 216 For a good account of socialism in the Maritimes, see Frank and Reilly, “Socialist Movement in the Maritimes,” 85–113. 217 MacGillivray, “Cape Breton in the 1920s,” 54. 218 The Casket, 29 January 1920. 219 Ibid. 220 Morrison to William Kiely, 30 December 1920, letter #7914, B MP, A DA . 221 Morrison to A.L. MacDonald, 22 February 1921, letter #8109, B MP, ADA. 222 Forbes, Maritime Rights Movement, 59. 223 The Casket, 15 April 1920. 224 The Casket, 21 October 1920. 225 Morrison to John H. MacDonald, 3 November 1919, letter #6837, B MP, A D A . Michael Welton notes that Msgr Coady also believed that the strength of communism in the colliery towns emanated from a small foreign community. Welton, Little Mosie, 59. Interestingly, as David Frank illustrates, J.B. McLachlan was aware of this attitude and asked that English miners lead the crowds. Frank, J.B. McLachlan, 385. 226 Earle, “Glace Bay Gazette,” 70. Although Earle is speaking to the period between 1930 and 1950, his analysis can also be applied to the 1920s. 227 Morrison to J.A.M. Gillis, 27 January 1922, letter #9042, B MP, A DA . 228 Frank, J.B. McLachlan, 214–15. 229 The Casket, 21 November 1921. 230 MacGillivray, “Industrial Unrest,” 48. See also Sydney Record, 3 July 1922. 231 Frank, “The Trial of J.B. McLachlan,” 209. 232 Morrison to C.F. MacKinnon, 4 August 1922, letter #9483, B MP, A DA . 233 Morrison to J.A.M. Gillis, 31 July 1922, letter #9463, B MP, A DA . 234 Morrison to MacKinnon, 4 August 1922, letter #9483, B MP, A DA .

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Notes to pages 137–44

283

235 Morrison to J.J. McNeil, 7 October 1922, letter #9685, B MP, A DA . 236 Ibid. 237 Vigod, Quebec before Duplessis, 91. 238 Morrison to J.J. McNeil, 14 March 1923, letter #10174, B MP, A DA . 239 Morrison to MacAdam, 10 April 1923, letter #10230, B MP, A DA . 240 Morrison to J.J. McNeil, 14 March 1923, letter #10174, B MP, A DA . 241 Morrison to Michael MacNeil, 5 June 1923, letter #10377, B MP, A DA . 242 Morrison to MacAdam, 8 June 1923, letter #10395, B MP, A DA . 243 Ibid. 244 Circular, 15 June 1923, letter #10403, BMP, A DA . 245 Ibid. 246 Eugene M. Quirk to Morrison, 9 July 1923, letter #10237, B MP, A DA . 247 Dumas, Bitter Thirties, 24. 248 Donald M. McAdam to Morrison, 12 April 1923, letter #10231, B MP, ADA. 249 Fr. Michael Gillis, interview, Coady International Institute, St F.X. University, (recorded in 1966), S TFXU A. 250 Quirk to Morrison, 9 July 1923, letter #10237, B MP, A DA . 251 Ibid. 252 Morrison to Thomas O’Reilly Boyle, 17 February 1922, letter #9126, B MP , A D A. 253 Cameron, For the People, 171. 254 Quoted in Frank, “The 1920s,” 246. 255 Frank, “The Trial of J.B. McLachlan,” 211. 256 Morrison to MacAdam, 18 July 1923, letter #10462, B MP, A DA . 257 Frank, J.B. McLachlan, 314. 258 Forbes, Maritime Rights Movement, 60. 259 Newton Moore to E.H. Armstrong, 15 October 1924, MG 2, vol. 2, folder 2, E.H. Armstrong Papers, N S ARM. 260 Forbes, Maritime Rights Movement, 61. 261 Cape Breton Post, 12 August 1924. 262 Purcell, Unsung Heroes, 40. 263 F.X. Morrison to Morrison, 15 May 1924, letter #11186, B MP, A DA . 264 Morrison to Sister M. St Michael, 4 October 1924, letter #11625, B MP, ADA. 265 San Francisco Chronicle, 21 September 1924. 266 Morrison to Joseph MacDonald, 1 October 1924, letter #11617, B MP, ADA. 267 Quoted in Frank, “The 1920s,” 247. 268 Quoted in Frank and MacGillivray, George MacEachern, 93.

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Notes to pages 145–52

269 Morning Leader, 30 April 1925. 270 Circular, 12 March 1925, letter #12057, BMP, A DA . 271 Ibid. 272 J.H. MacDonald to Morrison, 27 March 1925, letter #12212, B MP, A DA . 273 Sydney Post, 27 April 1925; MacEwan, Miners and Steelworkers, 136. 274 See MacLean, Piety and Politics, 155–6. 275 Morrison to J.H. MacDonald, 20 March 1925, letter #12075, B MP, A DA . 276 Ibid. 277 Morrison to William Chisholm, 19 March 1925, letter #12071, B MP, ADA. 278 Morrison to Lancelot Minehan, 11 April 1925, letter #12145, B MP, A DA . 279 M.A. MacAdam to Morrison, 8 May 1925, letter #12120, B MP, A DA . 280 Morrison to P.F. Martin, 25 May 1925, letter #12275, B MP, A DA . 281 Morrison to Vincent Morrison, 14 December 1925, letter #12707, B MP, ADA. 282 Alexander MacDonald, A Bit of Autobiography, 1. 283 Morrison to Thomas O’Donnell, 24 January 1917, letter #3842, B MP, ADA. 284 For an account of Bishop Sandy’s troubles see Terence Fay, History of Canadian Catholics, 190–2. 285 Morrison to Pietro di Maria, 1 December 1924, letter #11766, B MP, ADA. 286 When Bishop Sandy died in February 1941, Morrison was unable to attend the Mabou burial due to the flu. He did, however, issue a statement to be read at the service, calling MacDonald an “eminent scholar,” a “copious writer of deep research,” and the “vanguard of intellectual activity in all that pertained to the religious and social problems of the day.” Letter on the death of Bishop MacDonald, letter #25718, B MP, A DA . 287 Gordon Harrington wrote, “At the present moment, there is no greater patriotic duty that one can perform than to assist in unraveling the matters that now so greatly agitate the coal fields of the Province.” Harrington to Morrison, 29 September 1925, letter #12519, B MP, A DA . 288 Frank, J.B. McLachlan, 401. Frank also argues that MacPherson was instrumental in arranging for McLachlan’s appearance at the commission. 289 Ibid., 428. 290 Circular, 9 November 1925, letter #12637, B MP, A DA . 291 C.F. MacKinnon to Morrison, 12 January 1926, letter #12787, B MP, ADA. 292 Morrison to MacKinnon, 14 January 1926, letter #12814, B MP, A DA . 293 MacKinnon to Morrison, 12 January 1926, letter #12787, B MP, A DA .

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285

294 Morrison to MacKinnon, 14 January 1926, letter #12814, B MP, A DA . 295 See Trenholm, “Radical Labour.” This incident has been cited as an example of Roman Catholic collusion in a number of accounts. See Mellor, Company Store, 51–5; Ross, “Dr. Arthur Samuel Kendall,” 16. 296 John Cameron to Coady, M G 45/2/393, William X. Edwards Papers, S T F X UA . In a letter written to Bishop Cameron after the incident, Fr Charles MacDonald argued that he was only trying to avoid a strike and that he never gave permission for the machine guns, but instead allowed the soldiers to congregate inside the church so that they would “be off the streets.” Charles MacDonald to Cameron, 3 September 1909, fonds 3, series 3, sub. 1, folder 77, BJCP, ADA. In the 1930s, Fr MacDonald gave $5,000 for salaries at the Extension Office. 297 Windsor Star, 1 March 1975. 298 Frank, J.B. McLachlan, 489. 299 Fr J.H. Nicholson to Morrison, 5 February 1926, letter #12879, B MP, ADA. 300 Alexander MacEachern to Morrison, 8 February 1926, letter #12893, B MP , A D A. 301 Morrison to Michael MacAdam, 8 February 1926, letter #12903, B MP, ADA. 302 Morrison to J.E. McClurg, 8 February 1926, letter #12910, B MP, A DA . 303 Frank, “Cape Breton Coal Industry,” 32; Frank, J.B. McLachlan, 432. 304 Mellor, Company Store, 319. 305 Morrison to Vincent Morrison, 17 November 1926, letter #13586, B MP, ADA.

Chapter Four   1 Godman, Hitler, 15.   2 The Casket, 30 June 1927.   3 McBrien, Lives of the Popes, 360.    4 Morrison to Mrs E.S. MacLeod, 10 November 1927, letter #14457, B MP, ADA.    5 Sister M. Celene, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, folder 52, PNP, ADA.    6 Rev Hugh John MacDonald, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, folder 20, P NP , A D A.    7 Rev. A.I. MacAdam, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, folder 19, PNP, ADA.   8 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 26.

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286

Notes to pages 158–65

  9 Neil McNeil to John R. MacDonald, 22 September 1926, fonds 8, series 4, sub. 1, A A J P, ADA. 10 Quoted in Cameron, And Martha Served, 134. 11 Morrison to Hugh MacPherson, 19 November 1925, letter #12638, B MP, ADA. 12 Minutes of the Fourth Annual Rural Conference of the Diocese of Antigonish, 10–11 November 1926, letter #13652, B MP, A DA . 13 Morrison to J.A. Walker, Minister of Agriculture, 4 September 1926, ­letter #13409, BM P, ADA. 14 Aspden, Fortress Church, 183. 15 Matthews, “Collateral Damage,” 89–92. 16 Rawlinson, “Distributive State,” 5–7. 17 Ward, Gilbert Keith Chesterton, 446. 18 Fay, Co-operation at Home and Abroad, 5; see also Greenlee, Sir Robert Falconer, 276. 19 Laidlaw, The Campus and the Community, 67. 20 Coady to R.J. MacSween, 24 March 1953, R G30-2/1/2963, STFX UA . 21 Circular, 7 December 1926, letter #13795, B MP, A DA . 22 Circular, 21 December 1925, letter #12725, B MP, A DA . 23 Tompkins to Morrison, 6 August 1923, letter #10302, B MP, A DA . 24 Saunders, Economic History, 78. 25 Tompkins to Morrison, 15 December 1923, letter #10616, B MP, A DA . 26 G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 121–2. 27 Tompkins to Morrison, 29 March 1925, letter #11928, B MP, A DA . 28 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 31. 29 Jarvis, Twentieth Century Thinkers, 226. 30 Minutes of Fifth Annual Rural Conference, 28–29 September 1927, B MP, ADA. 31 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 31. 32 Ottawa Citizen, 6 August 1927. 33 Morrison to Alexander Thompson, 27 September 1927, letter #14367, B MP , A D A. 34 Forbes, Aspects of Maritime Regionalism, 16. 35 Forbes, Maritime Rights Movement, 185. 36 Mellor, Company Store, 319. 37 Forbes, Maritime Rights Movement, 184. 38 Morrison to Andrea Cassulo, 27 December 1927, letter #14597, B MP, A DA . 39 Morrison to Cassulo, 14 February 1928, letter #14761, B MP, A DA . 40 Morrison to Alexander L. MacDonald, 26 April 1927, letter #14063, B MP , A D A .

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Notes to pages 165–7

287

41 Frank, J.B. McLachlan, 439. 42 Quoted in Frank, J.B. McLachlan, 439. 43 Quoted in Nearing, He Loved the Church, 32. 44 H.P. MacPherson to M. Faustina, 25 September 1933, R G/5/3486, HPMP, S T F X UA . 45 Laidlaw, The Campus and the Community, 45–56; see also Corbett, Henry Marshall Tory, 122–8. 46 Cameron, For the People, 212. 47 Fr Michael Gillis, interview, recorded in 1967, STFX UA . 48 In fact, at the rural conference in 1924, Fr Thomas O’Reilly Boyle moved a resolution that the conference “requests the college authorities to form a department of extension work, which will organize People’s Schools in the central points of the diocese, and direct Study Clubs in all sections.” Minutes of Priests’ Conference on Rural Problems, 24 January 1924, ­letter #10792, BM P, ADA. 49 Morrison to A. Boudreau, 20 February 1926, letter #12949, B MP, A DA . Msgr Alfred Boudreau (1893–1977) was ordained by Bishop Morrison on 29 June 1916. Boudreau earned a BA from St Anne’s college and was awarded an honorary LLD from St Francis Xavier University in 1974. He was active in the union movements as well as in cooperative ventures. 50 Frank, “The 1920s,” 241. 51 For a discussion of the relationship between the rural Scottish Catholic tradition and the Antigonish Movement see MacInnes, “Role of the Scottish Catholic Society”; see also “Notes on Fr Donald M. MacAdam,” MG 100, A.A. MacKenzie Papers, S TFXUA . 52 “The Scottish Catholic Society of Canada,” R G/13/SC /F1, STFX UA . 53 (1) St Andrew’s Council, St Andrew’s, 1919; (2) St Margaret’s, Glace Bay, 1920; (3) St Columba’s, Iona, 1920; (4) Kilbar, Christmas Island, 1920; (5) Bishop Fraser, New Waterford, 1920; (6) St Kentigern’s, Sydney, 1920; (7) St Peter’s, Port Hood, 1920; (8) St Mary’s, East Bay, 1920; (9) Mary Stuart’s, Boisdale, 1920; (10) Montrose, Glendale, 1920; (11) Stella Maris, Creignish, 1920; (12) St Margaret’s, Arisaig, 1920; (13) St Andrew’s, 1920; (14) St Joseph’s, 1920; (15) Bishop Cameron, New Waterford, 1926; (16) Bishop Morrison, S.W. Margaree, 1925. 54 R.J. MacSween to J.H. MacNeil, 24 January 1953, R G/13/SC /F10, S T F X UA . 55 McIsaac, “Our Scottish Catholic Heritage,” 29. 56 MacInnes, “Farmers and Workers,” 183–4. 57 Minutes of Scottish Catholic Society Meeting, 19 March 1929, R G/13/SC / F 2, S T F XU A.

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Notes to pages 167–71

58 Morrison is quoted in J.H. MacNeil to S C S Membership, 11 October 1928, R G/13/S C/F3, S TFXU A. 59 R.J. MacSween, “The Part Played by the Scottish Catholic Society of Canada in the Establishment of the St F.X. Extension Department,” R G 30-3/25/1586, S TFXU A. 60 S C S National Chairman to C.F. MacAdam, 17 November 1933, R G/13/ S C /F6, S T F XU A. 61 Morrison to Stephen B. McNeil, 27 September 1928, letter #15331, B MP, ADA. 62 Laidlaw, The Campus and the Community, 66. 63 Report to the Board of Governors by the College Alumni Association, 1928, G 5/9/12384, S TFXU A. 64 Alexander Laidlaw, “Silver Jubilee Review of St F.X. Extension Department,” RG 30-3/25/1503, S TFXU A. See also MacInnes, “The Role of the Scottish Catholic Society,” 37. 65 Mifflin, “Antigonish Movement,” 13. 66 MacInnes, “Farmers and Workers,” 220. 67 Coady, My Story, 13. 68 Morrison to P.J. Arthur Cardin, 30 August 1929, letter #16187, B MP, ADA. 69 Morrison to J.A. DeCoste, 19 December 1929, letter #16428, B MP, A DA . 70 Minutes of St Francis Xavier University Board of Governors meeting, 14 January 1930, S TFXU A. 71 Minutes of the Scottish Catholic Society meeting, 19 March 1929, R G 13/ S C /, S T F X UA. 72 Quoted in Laidlaw, The Campus and the Community, 70. 73 Fr Michael Gillis, interview, recorded in 1967, STFX UA . 74 Coady to MacSween, 24 March 1953, RG 30-2/1/2963, Extension Department Papers, S TFXU A; Coady, My Story, 13. 75 Lotz and Welton, “Knowledge for the People,” 104. 76 R.J. MacSween, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, folder 39, PNP, A DA . 77 Coady to MacSween, 24 March 1953, RG 30-2/1/2963-6, STFX UA ; Ludlow, “Fostering Social Awakening.” 78 Ward, Nova Scotia, 57. 79 Quoted in Laidlaw, “The Campus and the Community,” 107. 80 Fr Alex Poirier was sent to aid Tompkins in Canso. Morrison to Tompkins, 18 September 1928, letter #15309, B MP, A DA . 81 G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 147. 82 Morrison to Tompkins, 11 December 1929, letter #16412, B MP, A DA . 83 Tompkins to Morrison, 11 February 1930, letter #16507, B MP, A DA .

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Notes to pages 171–7

289

  84 Morrison to P.J. Cardin, 30 August 1929, letter #16187, B MP, A DA .   85 Morrison to Tompkins, 9 January 1930, letter #16497, B MP, A DA .  86 Ibid.   87 Coady to Morrison, 3 February 1930, letter #16626, A DA .   88 Morrison, letter of introduction of Moses M. Coady, 8 February 1929, ­letter #15686, BM P, ADA.   89 A.B. MacDonald to Tompkins, 21 November 1931, R G 30-2/2/2358, S T F X UA .   90 Morrison to William L. Mackenzie King, 8 March 1929, letter #15789, B MP , A DA.   91 Morrison to Tompkins, 8 March 1929, letter #15790, B MP, A DA .   92 Coady to MacSween, 24 March 1953, R G 30-2/1/2966, STFX UA .  93 Welton, Little Mosie, 70.   94 Macklin, Grimes, and Kolb, Making the Most of Agriculture.   95 Coady to study club leaders, 9 October 1930, R G 30-3/25/815, STFX UA .   96 Quoted in Welton, Little Mosie, 70–1.   97 Proposal of the Extension Department of St Francis Xavier University, Antigonish, N S , letter #19193, BM P, AD A .   98 Morrison to Coady, 12 March 1935, letter #21033, B MP, A DA .  99 McCluskey, The Scots College, 111. 100 McIntyre, “Challenges 1922–2000,” 119. 101 Ryan, Social Doctrine, 242. 102 Pius XI, Social Encyclicals, 234. 103 St Francis Xavier University Yearbook, 1933, 28. 104 Ryan, Social Doctrine, 243, 289. 105 Reid, “Democratic Intellect,” 286. 106 Circular, 26 September 1931, letter #17993, B MP, A DA . 107 Forbes, “The 1930s,” 277. 108 Circular, 26 September 1931, letter #17993, B MP, A DA . 109 Morrison to John B. Kyte, 12 January 1931, letter #17370, B MP, A DA . 110 Morrison to Neil R. McArthur, 1 July 1925, letter #12340, B MP, A DA . 111 Morrison to R.L. MacDonald, 22 June 1925, letter #12359, B MP, A DA . 112 Morrison to Alexander Thompson, 15 October 1931, letter #18016, B MP, ADA. 113 D O S C O to Morrison, 9 June 1931, letter #17915, B MP, A DA . 114 Morrison to Tompkins, 4 November 1932, letter #18959, B MP, A DA . 115 Men with four children or more received $12 per week, while men with three children or fewer received $10. 116 Mellor, Company Store, 325. 117 Circular, 26 September 1931, letter #17993, B MP, A DA .

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Notes to pages 177–80

118 Morrison to G.S. Harrington, 22 February 1932, letter #18425, B MP, ADA. 119 Welton, Little Mosie, 105. 120 G. Boyle, Organic Power, 1. 121 Forbes, “The 1930s,” 281–2. 122 Morrison to Miles Tompkins, 28 April 1932, letter #18594, B MP, A DA . 123 Morrison to A.J. MacIsaac, 23 February 1932, letter #18426, B MP, A DA . 124 MacInnes, “Farmers and Workers,” 299. 125 G. Boyle, Organic Power, 7. 126 A.S. MacIntyre to John MacPherson, 1 May 1935, R G 30-2/7/110, S T F X UA . 127 A.S. MacIntyre, “Summary of Work in Industrial Areas,” R G 30-2/7/275, S T F X UA . 128 Slater, Religion and Culture, 136; Morrison to J.H. MacDonald, 23 February 1932, letter #18427, BM P, ADA. 129 Laidlaw, The Campus and the Community, 79. 130 Extension Bulletin, 7 November 1933. 131 Morrison to Tompkins, 23 October 1933, letter #19842, B MP, A DA . 132 Morrison to John H. MacDonald, 23 February 1932, letter #18427, B MP, ADA. 133 Cooney, John Charles McQuaid, 221. 134 Morrison to Cassulo, 6 June 1932, letter #18675, B MP, A DA . 135 Michael Welton argues that the notion that Extension drove communists out of Cape Breton is a myth. The communists “had more or less run out of gas by the time the Catholic Church got around to organizing various co-ops in the disordered coal fields.” Welton, Little Mosie, 74. 136 Morrison to Cassulo, 6 June 1932, letter #18675, B MP, A DA ; J.H. MacDonald to Morrison, 27 May 1932, letter #18683, B MP, A DA . 137 The Casket, 30 April 1925. 138 Circular, 5 May 1924, letter #12297, BM P, A DA . From 1 June 1923 to 1 June 1925, St Martha’s Hospital in Antigonish treated 1,544 Catholics and 907 Protestants; most of the Protestants were from Guysborough County. Statistics come from Sisters of St Martha, Story of St Martha’s Hospital, 6. 139 Diocesan Statistics, 1928, BM P, ADA. While the Church took great pride in the service that it provided through the hospitals of the diocese, these services took up a considerable amount of the diocesan finances. In 1928 the Ross Hospital in Sydney required a special diocesan drive to raise $75,000 in order to maintain the facilities. This was a lot of money in an era with a poor economy.

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Notes to pages 180–6

291

140 Born in Dublin, Dr Francis J. Wall (1866–1947) was educated at Belvedere College (SJ), the Diocesan Seminary, and Holy Cross College. After studying at the Propaganda, he served in a number of parishes before his appointment as auxiliary bishop of Dublin on 23 January 1931. 141 Irish Independent, 21 June 1932. 142 Morrison to Wall, 20 August 1932, letter #18788, B MP, A DA . 143 Mary Morrison to Morrison, 14 February 1928, letter #14860, B MP, ADA. 144 Rev. William J. Gallivan, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, folder 10, P NP , A D A . 145 Morrison to Mary Morrison, 6 December 1933, letter #19944, B MP, A D A . See also the Charlottetown Guardian, 21 December 1933. 146 Morrison to Mary Morrison, 30 December 1932, letter #19148, B MP, ADA. 147 Morrison to Wall, 11 November 1933, letter #19910, B MP, A DA . 148 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 44. 149 Rev. William Gallivan, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, folder 10, PNP, ADA. 150 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 46. 151 Rev. Bernard Chisholm, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, folder 3, PNP, ADA. 152 Ibid. 153 Morrison to Michael MacDonald, 19 May 1939, letter #24324, B MP, ADA. 154 Morrison to “My Dear Child,” 18 February 1944, letter #27854, B MP, ADA. 155 Morrison to Ronald L. MacDonald, 25 September 1913, letter #757, B MP , A DA. 156 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 46. 157 Beck, Politics of Nova Scotia, 2:164. 158 Morrison to Coady, 29 September 1933, letter #19803, B MP, A DA . 159 Morrison to Tompkins, 26 October 1933, letter #19852, B MP, A DA . 160 Laidlaw, The Campus and the Community, 80. 161 Fr Michael Gillis, interview, recorded in 1967, STFX UA . For another account see Alexander, Antigonish Movement, 89. 162 Moses Coady, “Biographic Sketch of Alexander MacIntyre,” 21 October 1949, R G 30-2/1/3074, S TFXU A. 163 Quoted in G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 156. 164 A.S. MacIntyre to A.B. MacDonald, 16 May 1934, R G 30-2/7/79, S T F X UA . Not every steelworker was impressed with Fr Boyle’s pitch.

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Notes to pages 186–9

George MacEachern argued that Extension’s motives were to “take pressure off the governments and keep workers from the unemployed union.” See Frank and MacGillivray, George MacEachern, 48. 165 MacInnes, “Farmers and Workers,” 306. 166 Joseph R. Chisholm to Morrison, 14 October 1932, letter #18922, B MP, ADA. 167 Campbell, Banking on Coal, 58. 168 MacInnes, “Farmers and Workers,” 417. 169 For a good examination of the CCF and the Catholic Church see Dennis, “Beginning to Restructure the Institutional Church.” 170 A.S. MacIntyre to A.B. MacDonald, 10 August 1933, R G 30-2/7/59, S T F X UA . 171 Baum, Catholics and Canadian Socialism, 197; Baum is also quoted in Alexander, Antigonish Movement, 102. 172 Lotz, Humble Giant, 49. 173 Morrison to H.P. MacPherson, 30 March 1933, letter #19418, B MP, A DA . 174 Morrison to James McKenzie, 25 September 1933, letter #19790, B MP, ADA. 175 Morrison to Leo Keats, 25 September 1933, letter #19789, B MP, A DA . Baum argued that pressure from funding sources and detractors accusing the Antigonish Movement of being “socialist” partly explained Extension’s political neutrality. Alexander, Antigonish Movement, 102. 176 See Coles, Dorothy Day: A Radical Devotion; Miller, Dorothy Day: A Biography; Byrne, Catholic Worker Movement. 177 Morrison to Tompkins, 23 October 1933, letter #19842, A DA . In E.A. Corbett’s short biography of Tompkins, he recalled the priest saying that Day was “a fine woman.” See Corbett, “J.J. Tompkins,” 87. 178 Beck, Politics of Nova Scotia, 2:140. 179 Welton, Little Mosie, 96. 180 Angus L. Macdonald to Stanley Macdonald, February 1937, F 422/4, A L MP , NS RAM . 181 Beck, Politics of Nova Scotia, 2:166; see also Henderson, Angus L. Macdonald, 49. 182 Beck, Politics of Nova Scotia, 2:166. 183 MacLean, The Casket, 71. 184 A challenge was made to the license of John T. Bonner (1902–1950) in the spring of 1928. Morrison did not object to the government appointing another purveyor, so long as Bonner retained his license and the wine imported continued to be suitable for the Mass. When Morrison found out that a new purveyor would replace Bonner, Morrison sent an angry

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Notes to pages 189–94

293

letter to the premier and the matter was resolved. Morrison to Edgar Rhodes, 13 April 1928, letter #14928, BMP, A DA . 185 Morrison to Angus L. Macdonald, 1 December 1933, letter #19934, B MP, ADA. 186 J.J. MacIsaac to Morrison, 18 December 1933, letter #20202, B MP, A DA . 187 Morrison to M.A. MacAdam, 6 March 1934, letter #20222, B MP, A DA . 188 Angus L. Macdonald to Morrison, 11 January 1934, letter #20253, B MP, ADA. 189 John Hugh MacDonald to Morrison, 6 March 1934, letter #20375, B MP, ADA. 190 Morrison to Angus L. Macdonald, 24 January 1934, letter #20104, B MP, ADA. 191 Fr Stanley MacDonald claimed that he was removed as a parish priest because of his influence on the labour movement in industrial Cape Breton. Writing to Angus L. Macdonald, Fr Stanley argued that he was the only priest trying to do anything for industrial Cape Breton. “Coady wouldn’t do anything to help, he is too thirsty for glory and didn’t want me in the limelight … They are concerned with maintaining the status quo, and the Antigonish supremacy. I refuse to be a tool.” In another letter, Fr Stanley wrote: “I believe, Extension is working against me. Coady and A.B. want men who will sit at their feet and slobber over them.” Stanley Macdonald to Angus L. Macdonald, October 1937, F422/16-25, A LMP, NS A R M. 192 Morrison to Knights of Columbus, 3 January 1939, letter #24075, B MP, ADA. 193 Morrison to James A. Butts, 25 August 1934, letter #20532, B MP, A DA . 194 Morrison to James C. McGuigan, 3 November 1936, letter #22378, B MP, ADA. 195 Morrison to apostolic delegate, 24 February 1936, letter #21774, B MP, ADA. 196 Diocesan Statistics, 1935, BM P, ADA. 197 Halifax Chronicle, 21 January 1938. 198 New York Times, 12 January 1936. 199 Morrison to H.P. MacPherson, 9 June 1936, letter #22020, B MP, A DA . 200 Quoted in G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 171. 201 Rev. Hugh John MacDonald, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, folder 20, P NP , A D A . 202 Cameron, For the People, 241. 203 Rev. A.J. MacIsaac, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, folder 26, PNP, ADA.

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Notes to pages 194–9

204 Circular, 30 July 1934, letter #20482, BM P, A DA . 205 Morrison to D.J. MacDonald, 29 January 1937, letter #22636, B MP, A DA . 206 New York Times, 12 January 1936. 207 Red and White, March 1937, 79–80. 208 E. Cardinal Pacelli to Morrison, 8 March 1938, R G 30-3/8/375, STFX UA . 209 Morrison to Umberto Mozzoni, 12 April 1938, letter #23626, B MP, A DA . 210 Morrison to Mozzoni, 12 May 1938, letter #23669, B MP, A DA . 211 G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 190. Fr Tompkins never wavered in his ­aggressive pursuit of education. In 1939, Alexander MacIntyre wrote from Cape Breton: “Dr. Tompkins is in here almost every day raving over the incompetency of the Extension staff in failing to have a supply of Dr. Coady’s books on hand. It seems useless to tell him that the books have been ordered in good time. If you have a few spare copies on hand, please shoot them along so that we can have a little peace around here.” Alexander MacIntyre to A.B. MacDonald, 27 October 1939, RG 30-2/7/208, S TFXU A. 212 Ward, Land of Cooperation, 93. 213 Fowler, The Lord Helps Those, 20–1. 214 Bertram B. Fowler to A.B. MacDonald, 23 April 1938, R G 30-2/2/748, S T F X UA . 215 Like so many “outsiders,” Bertram Fowler was prone to hyperbole. In one letter to Coady he wrote: “I am looking forward with a great deal of anticipation to our meeting and to the impression that your demonstration of co-operation is going to make on my associates. I have already assured them that they are going to witness a modern miracle and are therefore all more or less in a state of palpitate anticipation. I know they will not be let down.” Fowler to Coady, 29 June 1937, R G 30-3/28/2700, S T F X UA . 216 G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 201. 217 Neal, Brotherhood Economics,149. 218 Extension Bulletin, 18 October 1938. 219 Welton, Little Mosie, 95. 220 Extension Bulletin, 18 October 1938. 221 Quoted in Welton, Little Mosie, 96. 222 Morrison to Coady, 18 March 1938, letter #23578, B MP, A DA . 223 Catholic Worker, September 1938, 4. 224 New York Times, 21 February 1938. 225 Time Magazine, 29 August 1938. 226 A.S. MacIntyre to A.B. MacDonald, 31 October 1938, R G 30-2/7/164, A S MF , S T FXU A.

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Notes to pages 200–6

295

227 Angus L. Macdonald to Stanley MacDonald, 17 October 1938, F422/47, A L MP , N S ARM . 228 Ibid. 229 Coady to J.E. Michaud, 12 December 1941, R G 30-2/7/31, Extension Papers, S TFXU A. 230 MacIntyre to A.B. MacDonald, 28 October 1938, R G 30-2/7/162, A SMF, S T F X UA . 231 Macdonald to Tompkins, 16 June 1942, vol. 1518 (F762/1), A LMP, NS A R M. 232 D.J. MacDonald to W.F. Carroll, 18 March 1938, R G 5/10/525, President MacDonald Papers, S TFXU A. 233 Coady to Lewis MacLellan, 21 April 1952, R G 30-2/1/2904, Extension Papers, S TFXU A. 234 Stanley MacDonald to Angus L. Macdonald, 25 May 1938 (F422/44), A L MP , N S ARM .

C ha p t e r F i ve   1 Coady, Masters of Their Own Destiny, 7.   2 Croteau, Cradled in the Waves, 6.   3 Croteau, Cradled in the Waves; J.D. MacDonald, Memoirs, 56–7.   4 Laidlaw, The Campus and the Community, 95.   5 Welton, Little Mosie, 101.    6 Morrison to Dorothy Miller, 18 January 1939, letter #24121, B MP, A DA .    7 The early quarrels between Halifax and Antigonish usually flared on questions of education. Discussion of the amalgamation of colleges into a University of Halifax in the 1870s induced some Scottish clergy to complain that Archbishop Hannan was plotting to gain control of the mainland counties of the Diocese of Arichat and then “appoint an Irish bishop.” MacLean, Piety and Politics, 60; see also Waite, Man from Halifax, 61–5.    8 Morrison to Paul Bernier, 10 June 1939, letter #29388, B MP, A DA .    9 Morrison to J.T. McNally, 12 June 1939, letter #24389, B MP, A DA .  10 Saint Mary’s Journal, October 1940.   11 For a more detailed account see Hanington, Every Popish Person, 199–202.  12 Graham, Vestibule of Hell, 213.  13 Griffith, Socialism and Superior Brains, 245.  14 New York Times, 29 January 1922.  15 Godman, Hitler, 11.

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Notes to pages 206–9

16 William Foley to Angus L. Macdonald, 20 November 1922, F1348/19, A L MP , NS ARM . 17 Tompkins to Angus L. Macdonald, 23 November 1922, F1348/20, A LMP, NS A R M. 18 Huber, Our Bishops Speak, 219. 19 Irish Catholic Directory, 1938, 579; Whyte, Modern Ireland, 92. 20 Berry, Render unto Rome, 65. 21 Hogan, “Salted with Fire,” 24. 22 Apostolic delegate to Morrison, 28 September 1937, letter #23763, B MP, ADA. 23 Welton, Little Mosie, 109. 24 Morrison to William Clapperton, 8 March 1939, letter #24212, B MP, ADA. 25 Writing to Dennis after a financial contribution to Extension in 1943, Morrison commented: “I know you are motivated by Christian charity, wherein one hand is not expected to know what the other gives, but many a time I have wished to be free to tell the beneficiaries just who the benefactor is.” Morrison to W.H. Dennis, 9 January 1943, letter #27066, B MP , A D A . 26 One of Morrison’s fellow missionaries in Lishui was Louis Arthur Venedam (1899–1958), a native of Pomquet, Antigonish County. Having survived the Japanese invasion, Fr Venedam was later imprisoned by the Communists, roughly interrogated and expelled from China. For more on Fr Venedam see Marion Landry, A Man of Faith. 27 Morrison to Vincent Morrison, 26 July 1938, letter #23777, B MP, A DA . 28 Morrison intended to travel to Rome with Archbishop John Hugh MacDonald. MacDonald kindly offered to go as Morrison’s attendant, but the bishop wrote that he would “rather hesitate” about having an archbishop as his “attendant.” “It should be the other way around,” Morrison wrote, “and I should be quite willing to serve in that capacity.” Morrison to John Hugh MacDonald, 1 May 1930, letter #24295, A DA . 29 Morrison to John H. MacDonald, 13 September 1939, letter #24549, B MP , A D A . 30 Cameron, For the People, 258. 31 Halifax Herald, 2 November 1939. 32 Morrison to Wall, 11 November 1939, letter #24706, B MP, A DA . 33 Cooney, John Charles McQuaid, 113. After the death of Archbishop Byrne, Bishop Wall served as vicar capitular for Dublin. 34 Morrison to cousin [no name], 27 November 1939, letter #24842, B MP, ADA.

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Notes to pages 210–13

297

35 Montreal Gazette, 31 August 1944. 36 By 1943, Nelligan was complaining that Antigonish had not “given a sufficient number of chaplains to look after the spiritual welfare” of the men and women who enlisted from the diocese. Charles Leo Nelligan to H.P. MacPherson, 6 April 1943, fonds 4, series 3, sub. 1, folder 2, B MP, A DA . 37 Morrison to Nelligan, 16 November 1939, letter #24732, B MP, A DA . 38 For an in-depth examination of the chaplaincy service during the Second World War see Hamilton, “Padres under Fire.” 39 Welton, Little Mosie, 160. 40 Cameron, For the People, 246. 41 Report of committee appointed by St F.X. to consider expenses of Extension, 11 September 1939, letter #25868, B MP, A DA . 42 Earle, “Radicalism in Decline,” 148. 43 D.L. Currie to H.P. MacPherson, 9 December 1941, R G 30-2/7/29, HPMP, S T F X UA . 44 M.A. MacAdam to D.J. MacDonald, 27 November 1941, R G 30-2/7/25, D J MP , S T FXU A. 45 Coady to J.E. Michaud, 12 December 1941, R G 30-3/7/31, STFX UA . 46 In February 1940, the priests of Cape Breton and Victoria counties, who had started meeting regularly to discuss the issues of their region, formally requested that Morrison give his opinion on the C C F and its political activities. Minutes of meetings of pastors and curates of Cape Breton and Victoria County, 1939–42, fonds 8, series 6, sub. 2, A A J P, A DA . 47 Earle and Gamberg, “United Mine Workers,” 11. 48 Morrison to C.H. Bauer, 9 February 1940, letter #24950, B MP, A DA . 49 Ibid. See also Welton, Little Mosie, 172. 50 Fay, History of Canadian Catholics, 211. 51 Earle and Gamberg, “United Mine Workers,” 22. 52 Morrison to apostolic delegate, 27 February 1936, letter #21784, B MP, ADA. 53 James Reardon’s scholastic achievements while at the Quebec seminary were well publicized. On 30 June 1894, the Charlottetown Daily Examiner wrote of the “young Irishman” who had “carried off the honours” in Quebec. Reardon was awarded his B A at the age of twenty-one after only a single year of study. According to the Quebec Telegraph, “the guardian of the Gulf has just right to feel proud of possessing this young man, who is really an intellectual phenomenon.” 54 Morrison to Wall, 6 December 1941, letter #26177, B MP, A DA . 55 Morrison to MacGillivray, 11 December 1941, letter #26185, B MP, ADA.

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Notes to pages 214–19

56 Vincent Morrison to Morrison, 5 November 1940, letter #26404, B MP, ADA. 57 Ibid. 58 Vincent Morrison to Morrison, 17 July 1943, letter #30085, B MP, A DA . 59 Morrison to Antoniutti, 17 February 1942, letter #26383, B MP, A DA . 60 During the war some miners refused to work alongside the Italians, while others refused to work without them. See Iacovetta, Perin, and Principe, Enemies Within, 51. 61 Migliore and DiPierro, Italian Lives, 87–93. 62 Morrison to Louis St-Laurent, 31 July 1942, letter #26701, B MP, A DA . 63 Morrison to Felice Martinello, 11 December 1942, letter #26985, B MP, ADA. 64 Morrison to Ildebrando Cardinal Antoniutti, 17 February 1942, letter #26383, B M P, ADA. 65 “Report on the Conference of Rural Rehabilitation,” September 1941, R G30-3/28/70a, S TFXU A. 66 The bishop preached a similar message in January 1944, telling a St Ninian’s audience that “democracy fails when selfishness and greed gain ascendancy.” Canadian Register, 15 January 1944. 67 Morrison to Jean-Marie-Rodique Villeneuve, 25 May 1942, letter #26604, B MP , A D A . 68 Time Magazine, 27 January 1947. 69 Morrison to George Landry, 12 April 1930, letter #16713, A DA . 70 Morrison to W. Foran, 5 March 1928, letter #14845, B MP, A DA . 71 Walls, No Need of a Chief, 32. 72 Robinson, “Ta’n Teli-Ktlamsitasimk,” 80. 73 Morrison to James Lougheed, 6 July 1921, letter #8494a, B MP, A DA . 74 Morrison to Ronald L. MacDonald, 26 April 1917, letter #4143, B MP, A DA . 75 Walls, “Kingsclear Blunder,” 10. 76 T.A. Crerar to Morrison, 24 September 1941, letter #28364, B MP, A DA . 77 Morrison to A.R. MacDonald, 29 November 1941, letter #26144, B MP, ADA. 78 Morrison to Crerar, 15 December 1941, letter #26195, B MP, A DA . 79 Crerar to Morrison, 17 May 1943, letter #30751, B MP, A DA . 80 Robinson, “Ta’n Teli-Ktlamsitasimk,” 82. 81 Director of the Department of Mines and Resources to Morrison, 22 December 1947, fonds 4, series 3, sub. 1, folder 6, B MP, A DA . 82 Morrison to R.C. MacGillivray, 11 May 1943, letter #27291, B MP, A DA . 83 In his history of St F.X., James Cameron suggests that radio was mentioned in the original plans for Extension in 1930 and had been discussed on

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Notes to pages 220–5

299

numerous occasions. See Cameron, For the People, 247–8.  84 The Casket, 4 December 1970. See also Nunn, “Life Was His Podium.”   85 Morrison to Reardon, 13 April 1942, letter #26460, B MP, A DA .   86 McGowan, “People’s University of the Air,” 20.   87 Minutes of the Rural and Industrial Conference, 12 December 1945, R G/30-3/28/136, S TFXU A.   88 Coady to Michael Gillis, n.d., M G 20/1/939, STFX UA .   89 Coady to Mary Arnold, 13 April 1943, RG 30-2/1/139, STFX UA .   90 Morrison was incensed that Monsignor McRae’s subordinates would publish such a rumour without confirmation. Characteristically, he was upset that an accomplished and respected priest (McRae) would be put in such an embarrassing situation. Morrison to Antoniutti, 27 April 1942, letter #26494, BM P, ADA.   91 Morrison to M. Ignatius, 17 December 1942, letter #26997, B MP, A DA .   92 Morrison to Antoniutti, 23 November 1942, letter #26942, B MP, A DA .   93 Morrison to Wall, 6 December 1943, letter #27680, B MP, A DA .  94 Ibid.   95 Quoted in Nearing, He Loved the Church, 51.   96 R.J. MacSween, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, PNP, A DA .   97 John Hugh MacDonald to John R. MacDonald, 13 March 1944, Archbishop John Hugh MacDonald Papers, Archdiocese of Edmonton Archives.   98 Apostolic delegate to Morrison, 2 March 1944, letter #30174, B MP, A DA .   99 Morrison to Wall, 9 December 1944, letter #28491, B MP, A DA . 100 The Casket, 13 April 1944. 101 John R. MacDonald to Morrison, 4 March 1944, letter #30182, B MP, ADA. 102 John H. MacDonald to Morrison, 6 March 1944, letter #30222, B MP, ADA. 103 Croteau, Cradled in the Waves, 129. 104 Canadian Register, 17 June 1944. 105 Morrison to John R. MacDonald, 9 May 1944, letter #28105, B MP, A DA . 106 Morrison to John R. MacDonald, 5 March 1944, letter #27898, B MP, ADA. 107 John Hugh MacDonald to John R. MacDonald, 15 March 1944, Archbishop John Hugh MacDonald Papers, Archdiocese of Edmonton Archives; see also Nearing, He Loved the Church, 56. 108 Morrison to M.E. McLaughlin, 14 November 1944, letter #28436, B MP, ADA. 109 Morrison to Wall, 9 December 1944, letter #28491, B MP, A DA .

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Notes to pages 225–33

110 Steele, Dear Old Rebel, 119–20. 111 Quoted in Johnston, History of the Catholic Church, 2:498. 112 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 56. 113 Ibid., 59. 114 Rev. William J. Gallivan, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, folder 10, P NP , A D A . 115 Morrison to Wall, 3 December 1945, letter #29887, B MP, A DA . 116 Morrison to John R. MacDonald, 15 April 1945, letter #28746, B MP, A DA . 117 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 58. 118 Canadian Register, 7 October 1944. 119 The Casket, May 1945. 120 Morrison to John R. MacDonald, 9 May 1945, letter #28788, B MP, A DA . 121 Morrison to Reardon, 13 May 1945, letter #28797, B MP, A DA . 122 Morrison to apostolic delegate, 16 April 1945, letter #28747, B MP, A DA . 123 Quoted in Nearing, He Loved the Church, 61. 124 The Casket, 7 June 1945. 125 Ibid. 126 Quoted in Nearing, He Loved the Church, 42. 127 Rev. Bernard V. Chisholm, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, folder 4, P NP , A D A . 128 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 62. 129 Welton, Little Mosie, 194. 130 Ibid., 193. 131 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 63. 132 Fr Michael Gillis, interview, Coady International Institute, St F.X. University, 1966, S TFXU A. 133 Quoted in Nearing, He Loved the Church, 63. 134 Morrison to Reardon, 23 July 1946, letter #29426, B MP, A DA . 135 Michael McLaughlin to Morrison, 16 June 1945, fonds 4, series 3, sub. 1, folder 3, BM O, ADA. 136 Morrison to R.C. MacGillivray, 16 February 1945, letter #28659, B MP, ADA. 137 “Modern Moses,” Time Magazine, 25 November 1946; Alfred Sinnott to Morrison, 29 November 1945, fonds 4, series 3, sub. 1, folder 4, B MP, ADA. 138 Alex Johnson to Fr Michael Gillis, 22 March 1946, fonds 4, series 3, sub. 1, folder 4, BM P, ADA. 139 For a more personal account of Fr Nicholson see Donovan, R.J. MacSween, 47–50.

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Notes to pages 234–40

301

140 Nicholson to Angus L. Macdonald, 17 April 1946, R G 5/11/8209, PNP, S T F X UA . For more on Nicholson’s recruitment efforts, see Donovan, R.J. MacSween, 49. 141 Gillis to Nicholson, 28 March 1946, RG 5/11/4822, STFX UA . 142 J.W. Brown to Nicholson, 21 March 1946, R G 5/11/1251, PNP, STFX UA . 143 McGuigan, “Cardinal James C. McGuigan,” 179. 144 Morrison to McGuigan, 15 April 1946, letter #29319, B MP, A DA . 145 The speech was published in a collection of Macdonald’s speeches assembled after his death. See Angus L. Macdonald, Speeches, 152–62. 146 The Casket, May 1947. 147 “Meeting of the Pastors of Twelve Mining Parishes of Cape Breton County,” Sydney, 13 March 1947, fonds 4, series 3, sub. 1, folder 5, B MP, A DA . 148 Ibid. 149 Morrison to Charles W. MacDonald, 26 March 1947, letter #29851, B MP , A D A. 150 Morrison to Tompkins, 11 January 1937, letter #22586, B MP, A DA . 151 Quoted in Welton, Little Mosie, 63. 152 “Meeting of the Pastors,” 13 March 1947, fonds 4, series 3, sub. 1, folder 5, B MP , A D A. 153 J. Boyle, A Middle Way, 3. 154 Circular, 9 June 1947, letter #29934, BMP, A DA . 155 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 70. 156 Antoniutti to Morrison, 26 April 1947, RG 30-3/201/457, STFX UA . 157 Quoted in Nearing, He Loved the Church, 63. 158 Coady to Gillis, 17 January 1948, M G 20/1/974, STFX UA . 159 Cameron, For the People, 271. 160 Ibid., 272–3. 161 Donovan, R.J. MacSween, 102. 162 Nicholson to Alex Johnson, 3 February 1950, R G 5/11/6218, PNP, S T F X UA . 163 St F.X. faculty to Morrison, 13 September 1948, fonds 4, series 3, sub. 1, folder 8, BM P, ADA. 164 Moss, “Harry G. Johnson,” 646. 165 Morrison to A.B. Leverman, 31 May 1948, letter #30326, B MP, A DA . 166 Morrison to Reardon, 16 March 1948, letter #39248, A DA . 167 Stella Marie to Morrison, 25 August 1949, fonds 4, series 3, sub. 1, folder 10, BM P, ADA. 168 Morrison to Alex Campbell, 21 September 1949, letter #30782, B MP, ADA.

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Notes to pages 240–4

169 Her obituary was published in The Casket on 22 September 1949. 170 Sister Mary Celene died on 13 June 1999 at St Martha’s Regional Hospital at the age of eighty-two. 171 Quoted in Nearing, He Loved the Church, 70. 172 Morrison to John R. MacDonald, 24 November 1949, letter #30802, B MP , A D A. 173 Sister M. Celene, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, folder 52, PNP, A DA . 174 Rev. J.H. Gillis, “How Mother Departed This Life,” unpublished paper, fonds 8, series 4, sub. 1, AAJP, ADA. 175 An interesting obituary is found in the Manitoba Ensign, 4 March 1950. 176 Shortly before Tompkins’s death in 1953, the apostolic delegate cabled a note in celebration of the priest’s “Golden Jubilee.” In the note, the delegate conveyed the message that Tompkins was “a well deserving apostle of social movement and zealous pastor.” Apostolic delegate to John R. MacDonald, 22 May 1952, fonds 5, series 3, sub. 2, A DA . 177 G. Boyle, Father Tompkins, 223. 178 Quoted in Nearing, He Loved the Church, 71. 179 Coady to Antoniutti, 10 February 1950, MG 20/1/15, STFX UA . 180 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 71. 181 William Chisholm, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, folder 5, PNP, ADA. 182 Mulvihill, Sisters of St Martha. 183 After Morrison’s death, Bishop John R. MacDonald praised the Marthas for giving such wonderful care to the archbishop. “The words of commendation are many for the generous reception of the late Archbishop Morrison by you and your sisters at Bethany,” he wrote. “All of the good things that were done for him so willingly made for his happiness during his last days before entering heaven.” MacDonald to Sisters of St Martha, 22 April 1950, fonds 4, series 7, sub. 1, folder 7, B MP, A DA . 184 The Casket, 20 April 1950. 185 Edward Purcell to John R. MacDonald, 17 April 1950, fonds 4, series 7, sub. 1, folder 7, BM P, ADA. 186 Vatican to John R. MacDonald, 18 April 1950, fonds 4, series 7, sub. 1, folder 7, B M P, ADA. 187 Sinnott to John R. MacDonald, 17 April 1950, fonds 4, series 7, sub. 1, folder 7, B M P, ADA. 188 Georges Cabana to John R. MacDonald, 14 April 1950, fonds 4, series 7, sub. 1, folder 7, BM P, ADA.

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Notes to pages 244–9

303

189 In a telegram to Bishop MacDonald, Premier Angus L. Macdonald wrote: “I regret exceedingly that duties in Legislature tonight and tomorrow will prevent my attending funeral of Archbishop Morrison. I have asked Mr. Colin Chisholm, M.L.A. to represent me at ceremonies. Please accept my sincere sympathy in loss Diocese has sustained and my best wishes for your own successful administration of affairs in Antigonish.” Angus L. Macdonald to John R. MacDonald, 18 April 1950, fonds 4, series 7, sub. 1, folder 7, BM P, ADA. 190 Archbishop John Hugh MacDonald, Edmonton; Archbishop Joseph A. O’Sullivan, Kingston; Archbishop Norbert Robichaud, Moncton; Bishop William J. Smith, Pembroke; Bishop John M. O’Neill, Harbour Grace; Bishop Georges L. Landry, Hearst; Bishop James Boyle, Charlottetown; Bishop Patrick Bray, Saint John; Bishop Alfred B. Leverman, Halifax; Bishop C.S. Leblanc, Bathurst; Bishop P.J. Skinner, St John’s. 191 The Casket, 20 April 1950. 192 Sydney Post-Record, 19 April 1950. 193 Morrison left his estate to four institutions within the diocese. He gave one quarter to the Sisters of St Martha in Antigonish and another to St Martha’s Hospital, hoping that they would use the money on the chapel to be built in the new wing under construction. The last two quarters went to Mount Saint Bernard College and St Francis Xavier University.

c onc l us i o n    1 MacLean and Campbell, Beyond the Atlantic Roar, 217.    2 Msgr H.J. Somers, interview, 11 October 1964, folder 50, PNP, A DA .    3 A the time Morrison wrote: “At best, hockey is rather a rough game for a priest to be one of the performers, and to say the least it is indecorous and lowers the dignity and respect due to the priesthood … If the priest wants to have physical exercise, he can get plenty of it tramping through the parish visiting those who need strengthening in the faith.” Morrison to M.A. MacAdam, 15 February 1930, letter #16599, B MP, A DA .   4 Ibid.   5 MacLean, Piety and Politics, 189.   6 Nearing, He Loved the Church, 72.    7 Nicholson, “Antigonish Movement,” 13.   8 D.J. MacDonald, Philosophy of the Antigonish Movement, 6.

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Notes to pages 250–2

  9 Sister Irene Doyle, interview with author, Bethany, Antigonish, May 2005; Ludlow, “Fostering Social Awakening,” 52. 10 Tompkins to Mother St Margaret, 25 February 1914, MG 10-2/1A /F1, JJTP, BIA. 11 Croteau, Cradled in the Waves, 132. 12 Coady to Fr Adolphus Gillis, 16 January 1950, MG 20/1/917, STFX UA . 13 Sister Irene Doyle, interview, fonds 9, series 2, sub. 1, PNP, A DA .

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Shook, Lawrence. Catholic Post-Secondary Education in English-Speaking Canada: A History. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1971. Sisman, Adam. Hugh Trevor-Roper: The Biography. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 2010. Sisters of St Martha. The Story of St Martha’s Hospital, 1906–1925. Antigonish: St Martha’s Hospital Fund Campaign, 1925. Slater, Peter. Religion and Culture in Canada. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1981. Stanley-Blackwell, C.C. Laurie, and R.A. MacLean. Historic Antigonish Town and County. Halifax: Nimbus, 2004. Steele, Harvey. Dear Old Rebel: A Priest’s Battle for Social Justice. Lawrencetown: Pottersfield Press, 1993. St John the Baptist Parish Glace Bay, 1903–1993: Remembering and Giving Thanks. Glace Bay: St John the Baptist Parish 90th Anniversary Committee, 1993. Theobald, Andrew. The Bitter Harvest of War: New Brunswick and the Conscription Crisis of 1917. Fredericton: Goose Lane Editions, 2008. Tompkins, James J. Knowledge for the People: A Call to St Francis Xavier University. Antigonish, 1921. Trenholm, Hayden. “Radical Labour and the Catholic Church: The Case of Cape Breton.” BA thesis, Mount Allison University, 1977. University of Wisconsin, College of Agriculture. The Short Course in Agriculture: 1920–21. Madison: University of Wisconsin, 1920. Vigod, Bernard L. Quebec before Duplessis: The Political Career of LouisAlexandre Taschereau. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1986. Waite, P.B. “Annie and the Bishop: John S.D Thompson Goes to Ottawa, 1885.” Dalhousie Review 57 (1977): 605–16. – The Lives of Dalhousie University. Vol. 1, 1818–1925, Lord Dalhousie’s College. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1994. – The Man from Halifax: Sir John Thompson, Prime Minister. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1985. Walls, Martha. “Countering the ‘Kingsclear Blunder’: Maliseet Resistance to the Kingsclear Relocation Plan, 1945–1949.” Acadiensis 37, no. 1 (Winter / Spring 2008): 3–30. – No Need of a Chief for This Band: The Maritime Mi’kmaq and Federal Electoral Legislation, 1899–1951. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2010.

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Ward, Leo. Nova Scotia: The Land of Cooperation. New York: Sheed and Ward, 1942. Ward, Maisie. Gilbert Keith Chesterton. Rowman and Littlefield, 2005. Welton, Michael. “‘Fraught with Wonderful Possibilities’: Father Jimmy Tompkins and the Struggle for a Catholic Progressivism, 1912–1922.” Studies in Continuing Education 27, no. 2 (July 2005): 117–34. – Little Mosie from the Margaree: A Biography of Moses Michael Coady. Toronto: Thompson Educational Publishing, 2001. Welton, Michael, and Jim Lotz. Father Jimmy: Life and Times of Jimmy Tompkins. Wreck Cove: Breton Books, 1997. Whyte, J.H. Church and State in Modern Ireland, 1923–1979. London: Gill and Macmillan, 1971.

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Acadia University, 117, 129 Acadians: in Antigonish 48, 105, 113; Great War, 78, 87; in New Brunswick, 46, 56, 123; on PEI , 11, 47 Alexander, Sr Mary, 240 Antigonish Forward Movement, 71–2 apostolic delegate (Canada), 35, 45, 53, 125, 150, 170, 192, 206 Armstrong, Ernest Howard, 146 Asquith, Herbert, 40–41 Atlantic Broadcasting Company (C J F X ), 219–220, 235 Bailey’s Brook affair, 59–60 Belgium Relief Committee, 75–6 B E S C O (British Empire Steel Corporation), 130, 132, 134, 139–44, 146, 148, 151–2, 155, 163 bishop’s residence (Antigonish), 55, 57, 182, 230 Bonner, John T., 189, 190, 292n184 Borden, Sir Robert, 36, 71; chaplains’ dispute, 81–5 Boudreau, Msgr Alfred, 166, 287n49

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Boyle, Bishop James, 106, 111, 121, 126, 186, 219, 291n164; elevated to episcopate, 223; Extension Department, 252; transfer from college, 122, 279n163 Boyle, Fr Thomas O’Reilly, 141, 150, 151, 178 Bridgeport, 152 Burke, Fr Alfred, 35–6, 81–5 Cameron, Bishop John, 16, 24, 28, 48, 60, 205, 225, 245; acrimony in diocese, 59–60, 194; bishop of Antigonish, 49–50, 98; on university federation, 117 Campbell, Fr Sam, 185 Campbell, Vera (Morrison’s housekeeper), 39, 54, 229–30, 240 Carroll, Dr J.J., 243 Casket, The (newspaper): Antigonish Forward Movement, 71–2; on conscription, 86–7; Great War, 74, 76–8, 84; Knowledge for the People, 112– 13; Second World War, 209, 215; on socialism, 108–9, 133–6;

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takeover of, 99–105; university merger, 116, 118, 120, 122, 124–9 Catholic Church Extension Society, 67, 82, 149 Catholic Immigrant Society (Cape Breton), 65 Catholic Labour Union (Cape Breton), 138–41 C C F (Co-operative Commonwealth Federation), 187, 199–200, 210– 12, 249 Chiasson, Bishop Patrick, 123 Chisholm, Fr Bernard, 182–3, 230–1 Chisholm, Colin (M LA), 244, 303n189 Chisholm, Fr Daniel A., 31 Chisholm, Fr Finley, 173 Chisholm, Sir Joseph, 70 Chisholm, William (M LA), 146 Clapperton, Msgr William R., 208, 214 Coady, Msgr Moses M., 6–9, 90, 101, 111, 121, 125, 129, 160, 242, 252; assistance from Morrison, Extension Department, 168–9, 171–2, 185, 195–7, 199, 202, 218, 226, 235, 237, 249; MacLean Royal Commission, 166; nonpartisanship, 175, 187, 199–200, 211; personal, 202, 231–2; relationship with Fr Tompkins, 130 communism, 132, 179–80, 185, 193, 199, 207, 212, 237 Crerar, T.A., 218 Croak, John Bernard, 94, 273n238 Curran, Fr Peter, 21, 26, 39, 40 Curran, Fr Thomas, 42 Currie, L.D., 210–11

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Dalhousie University, 106, 115, 117, 121, 125, 129, 233 Day, Dorothy, 188, 199 DeCoste, Fr J.A., 168–9 Dennis, William H., 208, 296n25 de Valera, Éamon, 181, 209 Dominion (Town), 65, 138 Dominion Coal Company, 64 Donovan, Michael, 99, 103–4, 275n45 DO SC O (Dominion Steel and Coal Corporation), 163, 176–7 Doyle, Flora (Morrison’s sister), 13, 44 Doyle, Sister Irene, 250, 252 Eucharistic Congress: Antigonish, 238, 249; Dublin, 180–1; London, 40–1; Minnesota, 212 Extension Department: addition of Alex MacIntyre, 184–6; Atlantic Broadcasters, 219–20; desire for Morrison to resign, 231–2; effect of Second World War on, 210; founding, 166–71; growth, 202– 3; nonpartisanship, 175–6, 187, 199, 210–11; philosophy, 174–5, 204; praise of, 193, 195–7; ­relationship with Angus L. Macdonald, 199–200; role in centralization of Mi’Kmaq, 218– 19; rural and industrial conference, 195; technique, 172–3; work in industrial Cape Breton, 178–9, 235–7 Fallon, Bishop Michael, 77–8, 90 Fay, Charles Ryle, 159–60 Foley, Msgr William (Halifax), 206 Fowler, Bertram, 196–8, 294n215

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Index

Fraser, Fr John Anthony, 68–9, 152 Fraser, Msgr Robert, 51, 58 Fraser, Bishop William, 48, 57 Gallivan, Msgr William J., 226–7, 240 Gautheron, René, 105 Gibbons, James Cardinal, 33 Gillis, Fr Daniel, 17 Gillis, Fr Hugh, 60 Gillis, Fr Michael, 57, 83, 89, 121, 140, 160–1, 185, 210, 221, 238, 249; creation of Extension Department, 165–8; role in honorary degree for Angus L. Macdonald, 233–4 Glace Bay, 64–5, 90, 131–2, 140–1, 153, 162, 176, 178, 210–11 Grant, H.R., 91–2 Harrington, Gordon, 151, 186, 284n287 Heatherton, 4, 146, 160, 194, 219, 220 Hennessey, Ambrose, 94, 273n239 Howlan, George, 27 Innis, Harold, 159, 199 Irish Home Rule, 4, 18, 96, 100 Johnston, Anthony A., 236 Kelley, Bishop Francis C., 17, 67, 82, 128, 266n85 Kiely, Fr William, 133 Knights of Columbus, 86, 88–9, 186, 199, 233, 243 Landry, Bishop George, 232 Laval University, 3, 31–2, 95

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League of the Cross (LOC ), 91–2 Learned, William S., 117–18, 124, 127 LeBlanc, Bishop Edouard-Alfred, 46, 56, 87, 123 Lismore. See Bailey’s Brook affair Lougheed, Senator James, 79–81 Loyal Orange Lodge, 18, 68–9, 76 MacAdam, Fr Donald M., 50–1, 53, 65, 166; accompanies Morrison to Rome, 72; Catholic labour union, 139; chaplains, 84; death of, 143; Scottish issues, 100, 167 MacAdam, Fr Michael A., 57, 97, 145, 147, 154, 211, 242 MacDonald, Bishop Alexander (Sandy), 73, 148–50 MacDonald, Angus Bernard, 169– 70, 172, 196, 198–9, 200 Macdonald, Angus L.: frustration with Extension Department, 199–200; Mass wine controversy, 189–91; relationship with Morrison, 188–99, 247; St F.X. honorary degree, 200–1, 232–5; university merger, 124–9 MacDonald, Fr Charles, 126, 152, 285n296 MacDonald, Fr Daniel J., 61, 194, 200, 233, 249 MacDonald, Fr Hugh John, 4, 158, 220 MacDonald, Bishop James Charles, 3, 26, 29, 40–2; decline and death of, 43, 46, 55 MacDonald, Archbishop John Hugh, 121, 143, 145–6, 162, 167, 190, 244; elevated to

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episcopate, 193; honours for Morrison, 222–4; New Waterford explosion, 92–3 MacDonald, Bishop John R., 80, 97–8, 104, 114, 159, 249–50; bishop of Antigonish, 242–3, 250, 252; coadjutor to Morrison, 231; elevated to episcopate, 221; return to Antigonish, 225–30; role in Extension Department, 167, 173; sharing residence with Morrison, 182–3; university merger, 121 Macdonald, Archbishop Ronald, 54, 263n21 MacDonald, Fr Ronald, 61, 80, 85 MacDonald, Fr Ronald (Souris), 45 MacDonald, Fr Ronald L. (Inverness), 186–7 MacDonald, Fr Stanley P., 179, 190–1, 201, 235, 293n191 MacEachern, Bishop Angus B., 11, 12, 20, 28 MacEachern, George, 144 MacGillivray, Msgr Ronald C., 80–1, 85, 158, 210, 213 MacInnis, Fr Roderick, 65–7 MacIntosh, Msgr Daniel J., 56, 158, 264n33 MacIntyre, Alexander S., 178, 184– 5, 199, 211 MacIntyre, Fr Angus, 20 MacIsaac, Fr James F., 210 MacIsaac, Dr John L., 189–90 MacKenzie, Fr Alexander, 158 MacKinnon, Archbishop Colin F., 48–9, 53, 225 MacKinnon, Fr Colin F., 151–2 MacKinnon, Fr John J., 59–60 MacKinnon, Fr William, 34

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Mackintosh, Bishop Donald, 58, 76, 268n129 MacLean, Fr Ronald, 216 MacLeod, Dr Roderick C., 75 Macmillan, Cyrus, 172 MacNeil, C.F., 189–90 MacNeil, Fr John J., 137–8 MacPhee, Fr Pius, 10, 13 MacPherson, Msgr Donald, 79–81 MacPherson, Msgr Hugh (Little Doc), 72, 102, 121, 165, 234 MacPherson, Msgr Hugh Peter (The Old Rector): coal commission, 177; death of, 242; description of, 56–7; Duncan Commission, 151–3; Great War, 74–5; hostility toward Bishop John R. MacDonald, 98; nominated as bishop, 50–1; organization of Morrison’s consecration, 51–2, 53; president of St F.X., 105, 107; relationship with Morrison, 151, 155, 158, 165; retirement, 193; university merger, 118, 120–9 MacPherson, John J., 189 MacSween, R.J., 167, 169, 221 March, Bishop John (Harbour Grace), 121, 205 Maritime Labour Herald, 132, 135, 155, 185 Maritime Rights Movement, 108–11 Martinello, Felice, 216 McArthur, Neil, 123, 169, 175, 280n169 McCarthy, Archbishop Edward, 43, 46, 50–1, 53, 90; university federation, 122–5 McClurg, J.E., 144, 153–5 McGuigan, Cardinal James, 37, 180, 234–5, 244, 249

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McIntyre, Bishop Peter, 15–16, 20, 27, 41; death of, 28–9 McLachlan, James Bryson, 109, 134–6, 141–2, 151, 155, 163, 165, 178, 185 McLaughlin, Fr Michael, 210, 224, 232 McLellan, Fr Gregory, 19, 43, 51, 61, 209; nominated as bishop, 53–4; on university federation, 119 McNally, Archbishop John T., 95, 204–5, 212 McNeil, Archbishop Neil: appointed archbishop of Toronto, 46; Catholic labour unions, 140; on Catholic schools, 67; description of Rome, 72; Great War, 76–7, 86–7; relationship with Fr Tompkins, 102, 114; on rural abandonment, 158; Sisters of St Martha, 90; on university federation, 118, 121–7 McNeil, Neil (Boston), 96 McQuillan, Fr Patrick, 35, 83 Meagher, Nicholas, 120 Mi’Kmaq, 216–19 Mit brennender Sorge, 207 monastery: Augustinian Fathers, 193, 241; Trappist, 28, 52–3, 74 Morrison, Angus (Morrison’s grandfather), 10–12 Morrison, Donald (Morrison’s father), 10–14, 44 Morrison, Elizabeth (Morrison’s mother), 10–13 Morrison, Fr Francis Xavier (Dan), 13, 30, 35, 44–5, 95–7; illness and death, 143–4 Morrison, Archbishop James: appointed bishop of Antigonish,

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46–7, 50–3; appointed archbishop, 222–4; on Catholic schools, 67–9; chancellor of St F.X., 62, 194–5, 239; Charlottetown priest, 27–9; death, 243–5; death of mother, 13; education of, 17–18, 20–1; Great War, 73–9, 79–85, 86–9, 98; industrial Cape Breton, 64–9, 131–43, 145–7, 152, 154–5, 164–6, 176–7, 237; nonpartisanship, 175–6, 187, 211; on people’s schools, 114–15; personality, 4, 14–15, 58–9, 150, 157, 182–4, 198, 231, 238–9; plenary council (1909), 42–3; on politics, 69–71, 109–10, 211–12; rector of St Dunstan’s Cathedral, 33–8; rector of St Dunstan’s College, 31–2; relationship with family, 148, 182; relationship with Sisters of St Martha, 90–1; relationship with Fr Tompkins, 5, 7, 71–2, 105–7, 112–14, 170–1; role in Extension, 168–9, 171–2, 175; Second World War, 213–16, 228; teaching career, 19; temperance, 91–2; transfer of Fr Tompkins to Canso, 127–8; on university merger, 115–30; at Urban College, Rome, 21–6; Vernon River, 38–47 Morrison, Susan (MacAskill), 14, 182 Morrison, Fr Vincent (Morrison’s brother), 24, 148, 156, 208, 213–14 Mount Allison University, 62, 119, 129 Murray, Premier George, 36, 69–70

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neo-Thomism, 23, 43 New Aberdeen Parish (Glace Bay), 64–5, 68–9, 109, 135, 138, 152, 179 Newfoundland: migrants from, 5, 64–5, 69 New Waterford, 66, 92–3, 121, 138, 141, 143, 167, 176, 178–9, 211, 235 Nicholson, Fr John H., 167 Nicholson, Msgr Patrick, 121, 233– 4, 239, 243, 249 North Sydney, 133 Nunn, J. Clyde, 220 O’Dwyer, Bishop Edward Thomas, 106 O’Gorman, Fr John Joseph, 84–5 O’Leary, Bishop Henry, 46, 90, 123 O’Sullivan, Bishop J.A., 203, 223, 252 O’Sullivan, Fr Thomas, 96, 273n4 P E I . See Prince Edward Island people’s school, 106–7, 112–15, 117, 141, 147, 151 Phalen, Robert (Casket editor), 100–3, 125–9 Phelan, Fr James, 54 Phelan, Fr William, 13 Plucinski, Fr Antoni, 66 Pope Benedict XV, 72, 74, 97 Pope Pius IX, 15, 25 Pope Pius X, 36–7, 43, 73–4 Pope Pius XI, 22, 156, 174, 196, 207 Pope Pius XII, 207, 208 Port Hawkesbury, 60 Poulet, Charles, 218

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Prince Edward Island, 10–12, 19, 27, 33, 147; sectarianism, 18 Prince of Wales College, 17–18 Purcell, Fr Edward, 243 Purcell, Fr John J., 24, 157, 182 Quadragesimo Anno, 174 Quirk, Eugene M., 139–40 Reardon, Msgr James, 213, 228, 231, 239–40 Rerum Novarum, 5, 131–4, 138–9, 147, 174 Rhodes, Edgar Nelson, 147–8 Richard, Sr Mary Celene, 240 Roche, Archbishop Edward, 121, 123 Rogers, Bishop James, 56 Ruoppolo, Fr Germano, 22 Ryan, Msgr John A., 111, 131, 174 Saint Mary’s College, 121, 204–5, 212 Savage Harbour, 3, 10–12, 44, 182, 223 Scots College Rome, 26, 51, 57–8, 125, 173–4, 208, 214 Scottish Catholic Society of Canada, 6, 166–9, 287n53 Sills, K.C.M., 117 Sisters of Charity, 31, 68, 193, 205 Sisters of Saint Martha, 107, 240, 229, 243, 302n183; constitution, 173; expansion, 90–1; work in the diocese, 165, 180, 193 Sinnott, Archbishop Alfred, 29, 35, 45, 95, 180, 232, 238, 243 Soaib, Fr Louis, 66

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socialism, 102, 131–2, 135, 137, 159–60, 174, 179 Somers, Fr Hugh, 239, 246–7 Somerville, Henry, 102–3 St Andrew’s (Nova Scotia), 49, 160, 175 St Andrew’s (PEI ), 10, 12–13, 17, 20–1, 29, 44 St Bonaventure’s College, 121 St Dunstan’s Cathedral: assistant at, 26–8; construction of, 3, 33–4, 37; fire, 61 St Dunstan’s College: affiliation with Laval, 31–2; professor at, 29–31; rector of, 31–3; student at, 3, 19–21 St Francis Xavier University, 73, 96, 112, 194–5, 233, 239; attitude toward, 61–2, 101, 112, 130, 132, 244, 250–1; Extension, 141, 160, 168–70, 172–3, 175–6, 237; French chair, 105; Great War, 74–5; honorary degree from, 36; people’s school, 113–15; university merger, 115–28; World War Two, 209–10 St George’s Parish, PEI , 18–19, 39, 240 St Mary’s Orphanage, 98–9 St Mary’s Parish, 66–7 St Nicholas Parish, 66, 215–16 St Ninian’s Cathedral, 36, 53, 60, 209, 221, 225, 228, 241, 243 St Thomas University, 121 Stanislaus, Mother Mary, 90 Steacy, Rev. Richard Henry, 78, 82–5 Sydney, 64–5, 67–9, 84, 98, 125, 130, 136, 140, 141, 143–6, 148,

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151, 162, 164, 169, 173, 176, 180, 184, 186, 211, 236, 241 Sydney Mines, 137, 151, 176 Syllabus of Errors, 15 Thompson, Fr Alexander, 50–1, 53, 56, 124 Thompson, Sir John S.D., 50, 55, 188 Tompkins, Fr James J., 5–8; Antigonish Forward Movement, 71, 89; on Catholic schools, 68; description, 62–3; description of Morrison, 64; detractors, 63; education and social conference, 111; Extension, 168, 179, 185, 188, 196, 236–7; on fascism, 206; French chair, 105–6; Great War, 74–5, 84, 87, 89; industrial Cape Breton, 179, 185, 199, 236–7; Knowledge for the People, 112–13; pastor of Canso, 161–3; people’s school, 106–7, 114–15; personal life, 193–4, 196–7, 242, 294n211, 302n176; relationship with Morrison, 170– 2, 188, 198, 250; takeover of The Casket, 99–105, 275n45; transfer to Canso, 127–30; university merger, 115–26 Tompkins, Fr Miles, 61, 80–1, 83, 85, 178 Tompkinsville, 199 Tory, J.C., 108 United Mine Workers (District 26), 111, 134, 137–8, 141–2, 151–3, 163–5, 177, 210–12, 236 Urban College, 21–6, 49, 158

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Vernon River (St Joachim’s Parish), 38–40, 42, 46 Viola, Fr Domenico, 66 Wall, Archbishop Francis J., 24, 96, 157, 170, 180–1, 206, 209, 213, 238

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Wallace, Judge William B., 99 Whitney Pier, 64, 65–7, 141, 219, 220 Winter, Rev. Malcolm, 40 Workman, Fr Wolston, 84

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