There was that about him that, physically, was pen-like 鈥� the sharp line of his nose and profile, the quiet manner hiding a pointed intelligence, a humour that could be as black as ink. Roy Peterson drew more than editorial cartoons with his pen. He took aim.
He died Sunday. He was 77. He was on his living-room couch in his West 91原创 home.
鈥淚 went into the kitchen to fill up a glass of water he needed for his medications,鈥� son Laurie said, 鈥渁nd when I came back a few seconds later he was gone.鈥�
He leaves behind five children, nine grandchildren and a body of work that for the honours it received was unmatched in the history of 91原创 journalism.
In his 47 years as editorial cartoonist for The 91原创 Sun, he won a record seven National Newspaper Awards, more than any single journalist. He was awarded the Order of Canada. He was founding president of the Association of 91原创 Editorial Cartoonists and the first and only 91原创 to be president of the American Association of Editorial Cartoonists. In addition to his work with The Sun, he was published in many leading 91原创, U.S. and European journals and newspapers, produced a couple of books (including Drawn and Quartered, a collection of his cartoons during the Trudeau years he co-authored with Peter C. Newman) and for over 20 years he supplied the accompanying cartoon to Allan Fotheringham鈥檚 popular back-page column in Maclean鈥檚 magazine. He didn鈥檛 just rub shoulders with the greats of 91原创 journalism: He was one of them.
His work was sure and precisely drawn and a model of technique, and the subjects of his cartoons were often so controversial his editors sometimes quailed at running them in the paper. Peterson was a brave editorialist, and he would draw a bead on subjects that could fight back 鈥� Muslim fundamentalists, the Catholic Church, pillaging investment bankers. His pen skewered the powerful as well as the pusillanimous. He once drew a cartoon showing former Premier Bill Vander Zalm punting a baby through a football goalpost 鈥� a swipe at the provincial government for subsidizing professional football while B.C. hospitals suffered overcrowding. Vander Zalm thought the cartoon was in bad taste: Patients in our hospitals might have thought differently.
鈥淚t was the force of his cartoons that first attracted me,鈥� said former Sun columnist Paul St. Pierre, who as editor of the editorial pages in 1962 hired Peterson. 鈥淗is was a tough outlook. I would tell him he reminded me of the offspring of a tiger and a parrot. When he spoke, everyone listened.鈥�
鈥淗e was very erudite,鈥� said Jack Lee, a friend and, as a reporter at The Sun in the 1960s, a former colleague of Peterson鈥檚.
鈥淏ut he was never phonily so. He never did go to university but he loved following world events, and he had the natural, in-born intelligence to comment on them. That鈥檚 what the paper and readers wanted in him, I think 鈥� subject matter that was more than just humorous but that could sometimes be adult and dark.鈥�
The deftness of his drawing was disguised by the fact that he often agonized over his work. He devoured newspapers from around the world, mining them for ideas, and he could sit at his desk for days working on a cartoon.
鈥淚f he had a really good idea and he had some time,鈥� said Bob Krieger, former editorial cartoonist at The Province, 鈥渉e鈥檇 take a couple of days, working on it after he finished the more pressing stuff.
鈥淲hen communism fell, (he did a cartoon showing) every icon in Communist lore sitting in bankruptcy court, all cross-hatched. Marx and Mao and Stalin and Lenin 鈥� it was just brilliant. He said it took him a couple, three days. It would have taken anyone else a month and a half.鈥�
Krieger鈥檚 relationship with him showed a side of Peterson that few got to see. In public, Peterson could be guarded and quiet 鈥� there was a natural reticence to him. But to friends and colleagues, he was, as Krieger said, 鈥渁s generous and kind and considerate a human being as you鈥檇 ever want to know.鈥�
Krieger found not just a counterpart in Peterson but a friend and mentor.
鈥淭he day that I got hired by the Province, I went home and realized that I had just gotten the job of my dreams, and had no idea just what the f--- I was doing.
鈥淪o I picked up the phone to call the Sun newsroom, started to dial the number and hung up. Repeated that about 10 or 12 times before I finally got the courage to hang on line and ask to speak to (Peterson).
鈥淚 said 鈥榊ou don鈥檛 know me, but I just got hired as the Province cartoonist, and I have no idea what I鈥檓 doing.鈥� He said 鈥榃hy don鈥檛 you come over?鈥� So I walked to his office, and even before saying hello I think he said 鈥楬ow much are they paying you?鈥�
鈥淚 told him and he pointed to the wastebasket in the corner. 鈥榊ou see that? The guy that empties that every night gets paid twice that. Go back and ask for more.鈥� And he talked to me for an hour, calmed me down and sent me on my way. He was always incredibly warm and welcoming, just the kindest gentleman you ever want to meet in your life.鈥�
Peterson was 91原创 born and bred, and grew up in Kitsilano. He attended Kitsilano secondary, and a highlight of his school years may have been they day he and a buddy tried to bomb the school鈥檚 track meet with confetti. The buddy, who was a little older than Peterson, had a pilot鈥檚 licence. The night before the meet, Peterson and his buddy spent the night shredding blue and gold streamers (the school鈥檚 colours) into confetti, loaded it all onto a little Cessna and then, on the day of the meet, flew over and the crowd below. The confetti, borne away by the wind and the plane鈥檚 slipstream, snowed down on cars on the Lions Gate Bridge and freighters in the harbour.
Peterson started drawing when he was four, emulating, possibly, his three older brothers, who all liked to draw. It鈥檚 been suggested, too, that it was his older brothers that may have brought him to editorial cartooning, that in his way, he was repaying a debt he felt he owed them, that it was his way of honouring their sacrifices. All three of his older brothers were in the RCAF 鈥� Warren as a flight instructor, Lawrence as a fighter pilot and Sidney as a bomber pilot 鈥� and both Lawrence and Sidney were killed in the war.
鈥淭hat might have given him more determination to become an editorial cartoonist,鈥� said Laurie. 鈥淥ne of his brothers was quite a good artist, too, and they would exchange drawings. His brothers鈥� deaths affected him deeply, and that was a huge issue in his life. Remembrance Day was a huge, huge moment for him, too, and he would become very emotional about it.鈥�
In 2002, Peterson learned that the wreckage of the Halifax bomber his brother Sidney had piloted was discovered in the Netherlands, submerged in a clay bed near the town of Hank. He and his wife Margaret visited the site, and Peterson made representations to the Netherlands government asking that the plane be recovered so that his brother and crewmates could receive a proper military burial. The government stalled, but Peterson enlisted several friends to finance the project.
The Dutch people, galvanized by Peterson鈥檚 determination, funded the recovery of the plane (though no remains were found) and held a memorial service in 2006.
All the Peterson family, except Margaret, attended the service. She had died of cancer early in 2004, leaving Peterson heartbroken. They were devoted to each other.
鈥淲ithout my mom,鈥� said Peterson鈥檚 daughter Gillian, 鈥渢here was no Dad. Mom ran the show everywhere else that Dad didn鈥檛 鈥� the housework, getting us kids ready for school, organizing his office, doing the billing, sending out his finished cartoons 鈥� and remember, this was before the Internet when you can send out finished work electronically in a matter of seconds. It was a terribly hard struggle for him when she died.鈥�
A few months after her death, Peterson and his family went to Ottawa so he could be invested as an Officer of the Order of Canada. When he got back from the ceremony, Jack Lee talked with Peterson about it, saying it was sad that Margaret couldn鈥檛 be there to see him get the award.
鈥淗e said: 鈥楽he was. I was carrying her picture in my breast pocket next to my heart. When the Governor General placed the medal around my neck, Margaret felt it first.鈥� 鈥�
His later years were hard for him. Margaret鈥檚 death devastated him. He was treated for prostate cancer, and then later diagnosed with Parkinson鈥檚 disease. Macular degeneration ruined his eyesight. And his departure from The Sun in 2009 鈥� and there鈥檚 no reason to sugar-coat this 鈥� was not a happy one for Peterson. The Sun, facing difficult financial times, felt it could no longer afford Peterson. Peterson felt embittered by the parting.
But there was, too, in those final years, an emotional reprieve and a period of grace. Unable to work, and without Margaret, he reconnected with his children. He was a great father, Laurie said, loving, one that would do anything for his kids, but he was of a different generation from the demonstrative fathers of today. He was also an artist consumed by his craft.
鈥淒ad was totally focused on his work,鈥� Laurie said, 鈥渁nd you just made way for Dad鈥檚 deadlines.鈥�
But he came to depend more on his children in his last years, Laurie said, and a new, more expressive love grew between him and his children. Gillian, living on Pender Island, would call him several times a day to see how he was. And it was Laurie filling his father鈥檚 water glass so he would be sure to take his medications.
And it was Laurie who said, his voice choked with emotion:
鈥淚 know totally he is with my mom now. I know that鈥檚 where he wants to be.鈥�
