Cam Mayberry's pursuit of the school trustees follows, in his own words.

 The Interviews. In August 1882, I came from Ingersoll and made application for the position of classical master of the Stratford H.S. This was my first experience in the (to me) humiliating ordeal of begging the favor of a school board. I came to Stratford shortly after graduation at the University of Toronto, to answer an advertisement in The Globe for a teacher of Latin, Greek, French and German. The ad asked for a personal application; hence my journey to this northern town.

 The first man for me to interview, of course, was the Secretary of the Board. This office was held by Mr. John Buchan, (see Caledonia Street), a fine old gentleman who lived in the cottage on Caledonia Street nearly opposite the north end of St. Vincent. My interview with Mr. Buchan was completely discouraging; he told me in as kindly a way as possible that the headmaster, Mr. Macgregor, (see McGregor Street), had already made the selection.

 "Mr. Robert Barron will be appointed tomorrow evening, " he said.

However, I asked the names and addresses of the trustees, and, after partly recovering, I sallied forth like a soldier who has been badly wounded but not utterly undone.

 Fortune took me next to Mr. Thomas Stoney. He kept a little harness shop in the rear of a store at the foot of Ontario Street. I told him how I had come leagues to please the Board who had asked for a personal application, only to find that the decision had already been made; and that the effort and expense on my part was of no account.

 The old man looked me straight in the eye and said, “Young man, you go on and put in your application.”

Is there any greater benefactor of the human race than the man who puts hope into the hopeless?

 Thomas Stoney had seen better days himself: he had been a man of importance in the town of Stratford and had been its mayor. [1873-1874]. He was born probably in the 1820s and his knowledge of the pioneer days was prodigious. If Thomas Stoney were living, I could, with his help, write countless volumes of history — such volumes as would rejoice the hearts of even Dr. Silcox (see Water Street) or Tom Orr! (see Cobourg Street).

 Now, Mr. Stoney was in somewhat straightened circumstances, but he had been a good stalwart Tory all his days and a grateful and generous party had given him his reward. He was made collector of letters in the city and for years he tramped the dusty streets of Stratford picking newspapers, postcards and dunning letters from the boxes that are nailed up against telegraph poles, and drawing the splendid remuneration of $200 a year.

As I journeyed between filling stations, I mentally computed my chances. At the first call on a trustee, I figured I had made one possible vote out of the six very doubtful ones. But the urge was pressing and on I went.

At that time, the Police-magistracy of Stratford was in the hands of Mr. James O'Loane. (see O’Loane Avenue).  He was one of the six who held my fate in their iron grasp. He was a big, powerful man with a wonderfully kind face and a beard that reminded me of the High Priests of Israel. How I admired his mighty physique and his easy manner! His courteous treatment of my recital roused fresh hope in me till he frankly told me had promised his support to another applicant, Mr. Isaac Levant a young teacher in St. Marys. He assured me with all the good-will of a true-born son of Erin that he would rush to my assistance in case he could not get his own man.

 The score after the second skirmish: about one-and-a-half possible votes.

Mr. James Steet was next to be sought. I was unable to see this trustee but I learned, in my much traveling, that he would support, as was perfectly logical, the Headmaster's choice.

 Prospects were not improving. I was next to interview the Rev. Mr. Patterson (see Patterson St.) on whom I expected it would be necessary to use my most deadly ammunition. Mr. Patterson was already an expert in the business of education: he had been at one-time Superintendent of Town Schools.

 I regret to record that the only ripple of distraction that disturbed my usually serene nerves occurred during my interview with that mild, cultured, scholarly, Episcopalian divine.

Therefore, I should not receive too curt a reception. This is exactly how I felt and I told Mr. Patterson so flatly, and rose to leave. He insisted I continue. I apologized, and we conversed with the utmost harmony during the rest of the interview. He came to the door with me when I left and shook me warmly by the hand, wishing my every success in the great calling of a teacher.

 He omitted to add that he hoped to see me again soon. I knew the worst. The Rector's vote was not for me. The air had turned decidedly chilly when I left the rectory. It was hard for me to realize that we had been sweltering in the heat of the Dog Days. However, the chill was welcome, as I trudged around Stratford.

 Mr. Robert Smith, chairman of the Board, I was unable to see me on account of illness and I moved on to the last member.He lived away to the east of the G.T.R. Station. William Roberts was the father of Mr. Roberts who kept the secondhand store on Erie St., and brother of John Roberts, a popular alderman. William Roberts was the exact opposite of his mild brother John. He was big and bluff, with a voice of authority: he used strong language. He never called a spade a hoe or a club. He was a builder by profession and, at the time of my visit, was erecting the Post Office on Ontario St.

My interview was exactly what such a meeting should be. He was friendly and business-like, asked many shrewd questions, but did not commit himself. He appeared to me as a trustee who was selecting his candidates on merit alone.

Nothing now remained but to await. I did not stay in Stratford the night of the meeting. But, early next morning, I sent this telegram to Mr. O'Loane as being the most convenient one to reach — "Who was appointed last night?" In a few minutes the answer came, 'You were, come to see me when you come up.”

In the final vote, Mr. O' Loane had transferred his support to myself, and, by this simple act, fixed my fate as a school master forever.