ODDS’N’SODS — One heck of an engineer

In 1956, while working in Elliot Lake, Ont., I met Jack Mitchell, an engineer from the Algom Nordic operations. Little did I realize how our paths would cross and how close our friendship and association would become. This relationship ended in December, 1992, with Jack’s sudden and premature death, but many good memories remain in this old retiree’s mind.

In 1961, when the Blind River, Ont., uranium boom was becoming a bust, I accepted the position of construction and production manager at the International Minerals & Chemicals (IMC) project in what was to be known as “the potash capital” of Canada — Esterhazy, Sask.

At the time, the surface plant project was being disassembled and expanded to more than double the original capacity and IMC was looking for competent, aggressive staff to operate the project. In 1962, Jack Mitchell joined us as mill superintendent at the K-1 plant.

Our startup days as pioneers in the Canadian potash industry were hectic. Ours was a high-risk capital investment. Once, following a few production interruptions, my concern prompted me to visit the K-1 concentrator at 3 a.m., just to check up on things. Who did I run into in the flotation section but Jack Mitchell and a couple of his supervisors. His initial question was, “What are you doing here at this time?” My brief explanation drew a shake of his head and a solemn “The problem with you, Bob, is you oversupervise.” Of course, it didn’t occur to Jack that he was guilty of the same sin, as production was then running smoothly.

Jack’s work ethic did not preclude supporting colleagues in their private endeavors as Bill Stanley (now with Coopers & Lybrand), who worked for him, loved to point out. Bill’s wedding was planned near Christmas, but no passenger trains stopped at Esterhazy and, of course, there was no scheduled air service. Working his last shift prior to departure and getting to the church on time became a major challenge. “Easy to solve,” said Jack. “I’ll arrange a flag stop at our siding with CN Rail (IMC’s major transporter of potash).” Bill did get married on time and had an extra day of honeymoon as well, thanks to Jack.

Both Esterhazy operations were running smoothly in 1965 — so much so that Jack, myself and two head-office vice-presidents accepted an invitation from the Russian government to visit their fertilizer complexes at Leningrad and Soligorsk.

Throughout, our party was under continuous surveillance. “Bugs” were visible in meeting areas and hotels and we were always accompanied by officials. At Leningrad, frustration finally forced Jack and I to sneak out, alone, on an early morning sightseeing tour, without a “tail.” When we returned, following two hours of refreshing freedom, the hotel lobby looked like a 3-ring circus. Our Russian “comrades” were frantically searching for the two missing Canadians. Upon discovery, we were treated to a stern-sounding, untranslated rebuke, after which Jack quietly commented, “I’d call that trip a small but satisfying victory for the cause of democracy, at least.”

Jack Mitchell, born in Loon Lake, Sask., exposed to northern British Columbia and the Yukon in his student years (and later through many associations with Cliff Frame’s Faro and Sa Dena Hes projects), loved the North country. A verse by his favorite poet, Robert Service, expresses that fondness: There’s a land where the mountains

are nameless;

And the rivers all run God knows where;

There are lives that are erring and aimless,

And deaths that just hang by a hair;

There are hardships that nobody beckons;

There are valleys unpeopled and still;

There’s a land — oh, it beckons, it beckons,

And I want to go back — and I will.

I’m sure you have, Jack. Your friends and acquaintances will never forget nor replace you.

— R.D. Lindberg is a retired mining executive residing in Ontario and Florida.