Most people,
who spend time in a rocking chair, find it an incomparable source of
relaxation.  Not Josiah Brake.  When he says he is going to ‘rock’, he means,
not that he is going to shake, but that he is going to ‘think’.  

Josiah isn’t
like most thinking people.  Others assess
issues and resolve problems while they drive to town, split a bit of fire wood
or sit in the doctor’s office.  Not
Josiah Brake. He needs to deliberate without distraction; employing a single
mindedness only time, quietude and a gentle rocking motion, comfortably affords.

Many U.S. Presidents
were great ‘rockers’; given their enormous responsibilities, Josiah thought, they
must have rocked all day long.  But, for
someone of his modest station, he could do all the thinking he needed after
supper, on a Saturday or on a Sunday.

Now this
Sunday, Josiah knew that Uncle Gnarley would pay him a visit. He had been
hoping that his old friend might knock on the front door, soon; he missed
conversations with the old economist since he had moved out of Petty Harbour.  While Josiah did not consider himself a well-educated
man, he felt that he was not the dullest person in the community, either; he was
an avid reader of the Telegram and he always listened to the news.  One of his favourite past times was bantering
with the retired Professor, testing him, from time to time, as to how he might
handle a particular problem. 

Josiah was
among those who felt that reasonable people should be able to air their
grievances and arrive at some common resolve, without putting civilization out
of kilter.

The issue that
got Josiah taking to his rocking chair, of course, was Jos Arnell. In fact, he
spent more time rocking, these past few days, than at any other occasion he
could remember.

It all had
to do with Jos Arnell’s cat which had gotten killed right outside Josiah’s front
door. Josiah thought badly for Jos’ loss, wrapped the little feline in a
blanket and sent the two buckos, who discovered the creature, to tell her the
grim news.  Feeling rather poorly over
the incident, Josiah decided to retire early.

Jos was not
one to be overly preoccupied with details. 
When she learned that her cat had been untimely dispatched, she headed
off in the direction of the most evident perpetrator of the crime. Entering
Josiah’s house, without as much as a ‘howdy do’, she found him banking down his
old woodstove for the night. Neither seeking confession nor explanation, Jos
proceeded to berate the man with the foulest language. “You lowdown scumbag”,
Jos charged at him; “you’re no better than a fart from Darin King.  If I sees you within an inch of me garden, I
swear to god I’ll mow ya down”.  Jos
invoked every profanity that Josiah had ever heard tell of, and seldom used,
unless he was severely provoked.  And, when
she seemed to have said more than enough, Jos banged the door shut and went
back home. Josiah was heartbroken; he had never been treated so poorly, by

Jos had,
understandably, blamed Josiah for the ‘loss’ of her cat.  Until now, at least, he thought her a friend;
they spoke with each other frequently. 
He was always generous with Jos and gave her loans while she waited for
her pension cheque.  He could not quite
figure out the cause of her outrageous behavior; she seemed like one who had
suddenly “departed from her script”.  “Yes”,
he thought, “that was a nice way of saying it. “Departed from her script”, he
repeated to himself; such was the outpouring of vitriol that followed the unfortunate

Now, about
her cat, the term ‘loss’ should be weighed advisedly, because there is more to
be said about the cat of Jos Arnell, than what’s already been said; but, that’s
for later.  I shouldn’t get ahead of my

Josiah had
been so deeply affected by Jos’ outrage he felt feint; he could think of nothing
else all week.  Every chance he got, he
took to his rocking chair.  He had to
figure out what had turned her against him. 
He hoped Uncle Gnarley could explain the sudden outburst.  Afterall, it wasn’t he that he ran over the
little feline; he hadn’t moved his truck in over a week. 

Josiah spent
most of Sunday in his rocking chair, too; he was saddened he could not use the time
better to think about more pleasant matters or even about the problems of the
world.  Still, having thought about the issue
between him and Jos, over and over, he felt he was making progress, even if he
was still unsure. 

Though no
one else was there to witness it, it must have been blessed relief that Uncle
Gnarley appeared in the stricken man’s living room, shortly after lunch.     

could readily see that Josiah looked strained and that he had barely emerged
from the rocking chair long enough to give him his usual handshake.  As soon as he found his old friend a nip of
scotch he hurried him to be seated.  In
an instant, Gnarley understood there was no time for light banter; he was about
to preside, as if a priest in a confessional, over what he was unsure, though
he knew that an excess of penance had already been exacted.

stayed silent while Josiah told the tale that had so aggrieved him. When he had
finished, the economist scratched his chin and said:  “Josiah, I’m an economist, not a
psychologist.  God, man, you don’t think
I can figure out what is giving Jos the itch, do you?” 

“Well”, said
Josiah, “I was hoping that you might shed some light on the matter; truth be
known, I feels like Steven Harper must feel, being kicked in the guts by Mike
Duffy.”  Gnarley let the comment pass,
feeling that Josiah had more to say.   

became contemplative for a moment and then turned to Uncle Gnarley.  “Perhaps, he said, you might be patient
enough to hear my own simple explanation. 
I’d be grateful even if you tell me I may have bumped my head.”  “Go ahead”, said Uncle Gnarley,

Josiah cleared
his throat and started in. 

“I believe,
Uncle Gnarley, that what I have related to you is a story of fear, he began
thoughtfully.  Fear changes people; it
makes them do and say things they would never ordinarily contemplate.  If you need an example, I saw some of the
same reaction, a couple of weeks ago, when Kathy Dunderdale spoke to the Board
of Trade.  Who do you think, Sir, she was
intimidated by, most?  By the Prime
Minister for having demanded that the European Trade Agreement contain one more
asterisk?  Or, was it the voters, who are
no longer amused with this Premier, as a litany of Opinion Polls confirm.  Fear, Uncle Gnarley, it is fear”, Josiah
spat, “that makes people say things they would never, otherwise, utter.”

He paused
for a moment to make sure Uncle Gnarley was still listening and to try and
catch a glimpse of any facial expressions that indicated whether the wise Professor
might think him destined for the loony bin. 
Gnarley wore only a thoughtful aspect, so Josiah felt confident enough
that he should keep going.

“A less
fearful Premier”, continued Josiah, “would have felt no need to up the ante.  Afterall, Sir, she was delivering a Speech to
a group of friends, people with whom she was familiar, business people, people
who have applauded her many times.  They
are or, at least were, one with her; as John Crosbie would say “cheek to jowl”,
he laughed lightly.  “Now, it seems, the intensity
of the applause has dulled; the Muskrat Falls project having been secured.  Her words, or at least the stuff in the early
part of her Speech were repeats, they offered nothing new or original.  What else was the Premier to do in the face
of an audience bored and flat-footed?  She
could not be blamed for expecting, once again, to be honoured, to be hailed as
the victor, the hero of Muskrat Falls, could she Sir? 

“I think”,
said Josiah, “she had suddenly realized that her friends had moved on.  It must be a lonely place, Uncle Gnarley,
when even your friends have taken you for granted.  Where did that leave the Premier? She had to
say something bold, she had to own them again. 
If necessary, she had to drag them to their feet; otherwise she would
have retained only the hollow bravado of a one trick pony.” 

At this
point, Uncle Gnarley was becoming quite startled at just how far Josiah was going
with his analysis; the man, he thought, must have spent a god awful lot of time
in that rocking chair. 

Josiah had
barely paused to get his breath before continuing:

“I believe it’s
where Jos Arnell finds herself, he continued. Had she picked up the phone or
popped in to see me as she would normally, any misunderstanding would have been
put to rights.  And, I’m thinking,
Gnarley, that’s what Kathy Dunderdale forgot to do with the Prime
Minister.  Wasn’t he the guy that had
followed through on the Federal Loan Guarantee, with barely an MP from his
Party elected in the Province, Josiah asked rhetorically?  Before, taking a strip off the man, don’t you
think she owed him, at least, that much? But, Sir, in the end, it was the PM ‘be
damned’”, he spit the words out with emphasis; “she could not see her friends

“Now”, Uncle
Gnarley, far be it for me to liken a spat between the Premier and the PM with
Jos and me; but, after thinking about it and whiling away many hours, in my
rocking chair, sir, that is my conclusion.” 
Josiah paused for a while to see if his analysis was still holding together.
Finally, he added:

“Jos, I
suggest, has far more reason to be fearful than a Premier who, even if she is sent
off to the sunset in the next election, will do fine. But, I believe, Sir, our
Mrs. Dunderdale is consumed by fear”, and, pausing for emphasis, he added
forcefully: “she denies the realty that tricks do not favour a poor magician.”

“What is it
Josiah that makes Jos fear you?” Uncle Gnarley asked, now completely astounded.
 “Jos is a lonely woman, Sir”, Josiah
replied, with an earnestness that was no less than he might employ if he were
announcing the second coming. “And, she doesn’t make friends easily. Apart from
the two of us, there’s that cat and her dog. 
We are, by far, her best friends, much like the people at the Board of
Trade are among the few the Premier has left. 
When you are in jeopardy of losing them, it makes one do stuff and say
stuff that, to most ordinary people, just seems strange.  That, Sir, is what I think, Jos’ uproar is
all about and if I might suggest, Sir, the Premier’s, too.”

Gnarley’s increasing bewilderment over Josiah Brake’s unusual, though careful appraisal
of Jos Arnell’s odd behaviour was kept well contained; he was not about to take
issue with one who had thought so deeply about his conclusions.  Josiah’s rocking chair had clearly been put
to a severe test.

Gnarley, himself, now felt tested. 
Josiah certainly had constructed a very strong proposition; one that he
was unwilling to challenge without having first accosted her ladyship.

He was ready
to offer some comment on Josiah’s musings, though his declaration was far
briefer than Josiah might have preferred. 
Josiah, Gnarley declared, I shall have to reserve judgement on the
matter.  I may not be able to speak with
the folks at the Board of Trade, but I shall speak with Jos Arnell.

It is truly
a fine theory; one which you now compel me to prove, one way or the other.

Having said
all that he intended, Uncle Gnarley left Josiah Brake in his rocking chair and
headed down the road to see Jos Arnell.

NOTE: PART II of “DO WE NEED MORE ROCKING CHAIRS?” will be posted on Thursday.
Des Sullivan
Des Sullivan
St. John's, Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada Uncle Gnarley is hosted by Des Sullivan, of St. John's. He is a businessman engaged over three decades in real estate management and development companies and in retail. He is currently a Director of Dorset Investments Limited and Donovan Holdings Limited. During his early career he served as Executive Assistant to Premier's Frank D. Moores (1975-1979) and Brian Peckford (1979-1985). He also served as a Part-Time Board Member on the Canada-Newfoundland Labrador Offshore Petroleum Board (C-NLOPB). Uncle Gnarley appears on the masthead representing serious and unambiguous positions on NL politics and public policy. Uncle Gnarley is a fiscal conservative possessing distinctly liberal values and a non-partisan persusasion. Those values and opinions underlie this writer's views on NL's politics, economy and society. Uncle Gnarley publishes Monday mornings and more often when events warrant.


If a Big Mac costs McDonalds $10 to produce and it is sold for $1.50, McDonalds will go out of business. They would not declare a profit!


Bill left public life shortly after the signing of the Atlantic Accord and became a member of the Court of Appeal until his retirement in 2003. During his time on the court he was involved in a number of successful appeals which overturned wrongful convictions, for which he was recognized by Innocence Canada. Bill had a special place in his heart for the underdog.

Churchill Falls Explainer (Coles Notes version)

If CFLCo is required to maximize its profit, then CFLCo should sell its electricity to the highest bidder(s) on the most advantageous terms available.