THE MYSTERY OF PHILLY LEE AND HAL C. BANKS

In 1958, Philly Lee my first cousin died in a car accident in Upstate New York, on the highway from Montreal  to New York  City. He was driving his new Volkswagen Bug and was alone in the car. I was eight years old.
It seems he fell asleep and hit a transport truck parked on the shoulder of the road. His mother Mable  my mother's sister and her husband had also immigrated to Montreal with my parents, from Newfoundland in 1949, around the same time Newfoundland joined Canada as it's 10th province

Aunt Mable was married to Phil Lee from Petty Harbor, Newfoundland who was a great, man's man and very funny. They had a girl Marie and a boy Philip jr, who we called Philly. He was a air traffic control operator in training at Dorval International Airport in Montreal, after a stint in the Air Force. He was 21.
His death became a great mystery which the extended family of Dwyer and Burke talked about for years after.

It seems Philly had been in Newfoundland visiting family and flew home that fateful day on a plane owned and operated by the Sea fearers International Union. It's infamous president; Hal C. Banks was also on board. He was a reputed tough guy who had arrived from USA in 1949 to bust the Communist controlled Shipping Unions. He built a high profile reputation and was often written up in the Canadian media. In 1964 he  skipped the country, just ahead of the RCMP ,who were about to arrest him on a variety of charges. He died in1985.

 The RCMP visited Philly's parents after the funeral but it seems they were tight lipped about Philly's activities and told no secrets or tales, if indeed they had any. They told them there was no foul play suspected, even though Philly had phoned his mother from the Dorval airport and said he had landed in Montreal and would be home soon. Uncle Phil and Mable were far too emotionally overcome to press for an answer. Philly was not married but was in a very serious relationship with a pretty young woman I used to see in our church. At the funeral she sat with Philly's family and cried her heart out.

Philly, at 21 was the oldest of my generation of youngsters who were coming fast and furious in those early days. He was handsome and charismatic and used to own a motorcycle before he was persuaded to trade it for the car. All the family men were doing well in their new city, most working in construction. My mother, Gladys Burke had a brother Joe and two sister and my father had two brothers and 3 sisters who had also made Montreal home in the previous five years. It was becoming a real Newfoundland outpost. The family was tight and parties consisted of Newfoundland songs and recitations and chat about how the cod were running at home.

Aunt Mable was destroyed by the tragedy and soon had a shrine to The Blessed Virgin, built outside out little church (which the Dwyer and Burke  men had spearheaded building) on the South Shore of Montreal Island.
At the funeral parlor I saw my first dead man. He looked great but Aunt Mable sobbing, took me by the hand and escorted me to the half open coffin and had me put my hand on Philly's forehead to see how cold it was. I could have done without that.

The years ran on and over time many of the family group moved away to Toronto and Boston and a few went home to Newfoundland but the mystery of Philly's death was never solved and his memory faded.
Sometime in the 1990s I visited my Uncle Joe Burke(who since died ) in Montreal and over a chat he told me he had done a renovation at the home of senior RCMP officer and had told him the story of the mystery of; why Philly died in an accident  on the road to New York City when he had told his mother he would be home soon. The officer said he would see what he could find. As he was cluing up the job and leaving the officer said he had found and read the file on Philip Lee and his relationship with Hal Banks and would tell him him if really wanted to hear it. Uncle Joe said he thought about it but finally said : "No, he didn't."

YOU MAY NOT LIKE CONRAD BLACK BUT YOU HAVE TO RESPECT HIM.

My Wife, Jean O'Byrne Dwyer  and I were sitting at the bar in the main floor lounge of the Chateau Laurier Hotel in Ottawa ( One of my favorite bars) a few years ago, enjoying a libation when I noticed a copy of Conrad Black's new book a few feet away. I inquired with the bartender how it came to be there, as he was in a jail in Florida. It seems the evening before a nonfiction book award had been held in the very place and copies of all five of the nominee's books including Mr. Black's were available to the attendees. Some were left behind.

I had been reading his columns in the National Post, which he wrote each Saturday from Jail and was so impressed with his candor that I e-mailed him at his address which was at the foot of the column; cbletters@gmail.com. Not long after he replied, much to my surprise. He thanked me for my comments and encouragement. He could have easily run home to Britain or Canada and down faced the mean American legal system but he remained unbowed and unrepentant. I immediately pulled out my iPhone and emailed Conrad Black; "I am sitting at the Bar in the Chateau Laurier, having a drink with my wife and your new book is on the bar from last nights non-fiction awards presentation, which I am sure you were made aware of." I hoped he found the note comforting from his jail cell, knowing he was still in play in Ottawa. He wrote back shortly and thanked me again for the news.

I felt he had been railroaded, at best, but that's the thing about Conrad Black. He taunted his accusers as they drafted a case around his expenses, which is, as a great friend and lawyer once told me; They always go after the expenses because it's so easy to manipulate. You either like or hate Conrad. And he's not easy to like especially from a distance but you have to respect his honor, toughness and resolve. And if you don't, your sense of fairness needs adjusting.

I followed his trial as closely as possible and was astonished how he had held his ground and maintained his familiar demeanor and dignity. I was waiting for it to falter especially when he was convicted and sentenced but he didn't show it. Oh I think in his quietest moments, late at night, alone in that bunk he asked the question; Lord why have you forsaken me?

From jail, good reports abounded about his kindness, encouragement and the classes he offered his fellow inmates. And he soldiered on, won an important Supreme Court appeal (itself no easy job), was released for a short time until his judge  Amy St Eve re-sentenced him for a shorter time, just for good American measure.

On May 4 2012 at 67 years of age Conrad left jail and returned to Canada. He had served 42 months of an original 72 month sentence. The amount of cash he was supposed to have squandered, reduced and made to look almost silly, given his job the size of his company and earning power.

Around that time my sons Patrick and Jon were looking to restart their well liked, private, speaker series; 'Discussions at the Bistro' and as Jon was a friend of the owner  and chef of Spendido restaurant in Toronto,  Chef Barry they agreed to hold it there and Jon asked me if I could write and ask Conrad Black if he would be the first speaker. After some negotiating he agreed (Spendido is a favorite of his and his wife, Barbara Amiel).

The series featured a fine 3 course dinner with great wines and then, the guest speaker was introduced by Jon. In lieu of a fee, everyone of the 80 diners would get a signed copy of his new book. The evening sold out in a day.

I was excited to finally meet Lord Conrad Black and he was a delight. Friendly, engaging, funny and after a long Q&A and some great food and wine and his talk, he held back and sat down with us for a quiet drink and chat in the empty restaurant. My only disappointment was his famous, smart wife Barbara Amiel was a no show.