In 1882 Fredericton was indeed a “dry” town under the Scott Act. This did not deter an impenitent drinker like Captain Fraser who regularly ferried spirits to imbibers in need. In the cabin saloon of his steamer, Fraser daily regaled a captive audience with limericks, poetry and rants peppered with local gossip. When he ran out of inspiration, he read excerpts from the Boston Weekly Globe which featured articles about plump church-molested housewives and the back alley habits of tattooed landsmen. During such a reading Fraser met a young Charles George Douglas Roberts whom he called “the really dull kid with the really long name”. That year Fraser procured gin for Roberts who endeavoured to host Oscar Wilde himself for a little mutual rapport and recitation. Fraser, handing over the gin, gave Roberts a little fatherly advice about being cool with stuff and pouring out a little on the curb. He also warned him: -“Do not plagiarize me son, no matter how tempting it may be to impress a new friend, and I’ll only be warning you once.” A trembling Roberts took it to heart and thanked Fraser for his assistance before disembarking with the most gin he dared carry. That night, an unusually pensive Captain Fraser wrote in his journal:
“Tuesday October 3rd, 1882. If ever I happened upon myself, how delighted I would be to rediscover fire. In this cold and colourless landscape of polite hypocrite halfwits and moralizing dunderheads, I would gasp at first sight. Surrounded by scurrying sycophants obeying every social tide, I would warm myself on the beach by the glow of defiance. With my ungloved hand I would trace the scars of a lightning strike that signed my name along the mast. In darkness I’d carry all the hope of its smouldering chemistry and wish to see it once again set tinder dry bullshit fields ablaze along the shore. I think I’d laugh and thank the stars for birthing this unlikely child of uncompromising exothermic wit, illegitimate though the little bastard may be. I certainly would celebrate, bark and heartily bite the leg of all who would presume to tame or extinguish that necessary pilot light. I would rejoice in knowing that rare may mean bloody but it does not mean impossible. If I were to read myself, I’d recognize myself instantly.”
Oscar Wilde did arrive from Bangor the very next day and lectured Fredericton about The Decorative Arts. Soon thereafter, he and Roberts enjoyed a friendly literary exchange which was greatly assisted by Fraser’s gin as well as his influence. In his lecture Wilde warned of succumbing to poor taste and failing to aspire to the heights of aestheticism. Over a century later, Fredericton still struggles to understand what he meant. In modern times Fredericton is still mired in a platitudinous “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” limbo which stunts every aspect of its cultural evolution. Roberts, unsurprisingly, left his wife and children behind in 1897 and escaped Fredericton to pursue freelance work in New York. Moving on to cities like Paris, Munich and London he managed to avoid Fredericton for much of his life until his ashes finally departed Toronto destined for the Forest Hill Cemetery where Captain Fraser also buried three of his better wives.
