The Icelandic Canadian - 01.06.1967, Blaðsíða 62

60
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
Summer 1967
meet him on any day of the week, on
his own terms.
When the Liberals came to power
in 1915, under T. C. Norris, Johnson
was taken into the cabinet as Minister
of Public Works. He later held the
portfolio of Attorney-General.
Norris gave this province the best
government it has ever had. He re-
deemed more of his election promises
than any premier of Manitoba, before
his time, or since. He put on the
statute books more social legislation-
votes for women, prison reform, work-
men’s compensation, among other
measures—than any government that
has ever served this province. Stand-
ing at his right hand, when these good
works were performed, was Thomas
H. Johnson, a good parliamentarian,
a good administrator, and a good Can-
adian.
Many years ago, I was invited to
join the Liberal Party. With that end
in view, I attended a small gathering
of the party faithful. Speeches were
made by several prominent Liberals.
They all boiled down to the same
thing—the Liberals were divinely con-
stituted to be the rulers of Canada in
perpetuity. As the evening wore on a
slight, grey-haired man stood up to say
a few words. He had not been speak-
ing for more than a minute when I
thought to myself, here is a man who
spells the word Liberal with a small
T. I cannot remember his words, brf
they were to this effect: Poitics is ser-
vice, not self-service. Let us show less
enthusiasm for grasping greedily at
the loaves and fishes of politics, and
more for the good we may be able to
do. Let us get down to fundamentals.
Let us have a policy that looks beyond
our party to the general good of the
country.
When I tell you that this man was
an Icelandic-Canadian, need I tell you
his name? I did not have to tell my
father. When I gave him an account of
the meeting and I came to the one
speech that put first things first, D^1
said to me: “that could only have been
my old friend Dr. S. J. Johannesson.”
I hope that Canadians of Icelandic
origin appreciate this truly great man
for what he was. In all truth, Dr.
Johannesson was a secular saint of
humanity. He was not a typical Ice-
lander. He was typical of humanity at
its highest reach. He was a species
composed of a single individual. The
pattern from which he was made was
used but once.
Schiller says:
“In the moral world too, there’s
nobility.
Common natures
pay with that which they do,
noble ones
with what they are.”
Dr. Johannesson was a man of noble
nature. His works were great—but he
himself was greater. But let me read
to you one of his poems that reflects
the magnificent spirit which was con-
tained in his small envelope of flesh.
A mouse was raiding his larder —
which was never too well stocked. He
set a trap to catch this mouse, baiting
it with a piece of cheese. He caught
the mouse, and, when he came upon it
in the trap, these thoughts welled up
in his mind and he put them down on
paper. Here, in Watson Kirkconnell’s
translation, is what he wrote:
TO A MOUSE IN A TRAP
Cowering and a prisoner,
Furry little beast,
How your mind is frantic,
Check’d your happy feast!