Baltej Singh Dhillon is, in every sense of the word, a pioneer. A decade ago, he was sworn in as Canada's first turbaned Mountie. He was asked to report for duty at the RCMP station at Quesnel, B.C., a town of 10,000 rough and tough men and women who make their living from lumber and mining, with another 20,000 residing in the immediate surroundings. Ten percent of the population consisted of Sikhs, and at least as many Natives - that is, aboriginal people.

Baltej Singh Dhillon

It's an eight-hour drive northwards from Vancouver, located between Williams Lake and Prince George. Not far from Barkerville of Gold Rush notoriety, Quesnel sports five mills, the main source of employment in the vicinity.

Quesnel also boasts four pubs, each with a well-defined clientele: The Billy Barker, for example, is patronized by Natives. The Quesnel has a mix, with "whites", Sikhs and younger Natives commingling with ease. The Caribou is the hangout of the old guard: the "wasp nest", as one person described it to me.

Finally, Hooligans, which staystill 2.00 a.m. - that is, an hour later than the other three. By the time the die-hards are shooed out of their regular haunts, the beverages have done their work and all differences have been eradicated, at least temporarily. Everybody heads for Hooligans.

This was the local social scene when Baltej began work on June 1, 1991. During the course of his first shift, he was sent on a "bar walk" late in the evening - a routine stroll through the bars in town meant merely to show the police presence.

The town, of course, had been abuzz for days about the imminent arrival of this latest and well-publicized addition to the Force. He'd been shown on the national news on every channel, night after night, as the media covered his recruitment, training, graduation - in fact, every move. Now he was here, for theirs to keep.
Baltej took his six-foot frame first to The Billy Barker - it happened to be the first on his route. He was greeted with smiles all around. A couple of women came over and hugged him. A few others wished him well, and went back to their drinks and the TV.

The next stop was The Quesnel. Hed the door and a sea of faces turned in unison in his direction. Somebody cheered. Others broke into an applause. Four women broke the ranks and rushed towards him. Hugged and kissed him. A young man dug his way through and extended his hands. Others followed. All who greeted him were "white". The Sikhs and Natives held back, unsure of how to react. But, there were hails from everywhere. Wonderful. Great. Glad to meet ya. Good to see you in this town.

Baltej felt good all over. Thanked them all. And quickly strolled out and headed for The Caribou. Entered through the front door. The din subsided, until all you could hear was the TV. Even the bartenders froze. Baltej stepped forward. Somebody booed. Others joined in. It became a chorus and a clamour. Somebody thumped on the table.

Baltej walked on, past the bar, through the tables and the jeers. Somebody yelled an obscenity. A figure rose from a table and lunged towards him. Baltej stopped. The fellow steadied himself against a chair and stared defiantly at the towering officer. Baltej focused his eyes on him. Saw an uncouth figure. A stubble on his chin. Dishevelled. In his 40's.

"Take off your gun and meet me outside, eh?" he shouted, only inches away from Baltej's face. Loud enough for everybody to hear. Yeah, Yeah, contributed a few.

Baltej walked on slowly towards the next crowd. He looked back and saw the challenger slump into a chair. A few more boos, as hed a door a minute later and emerged into the clean, fresh air.

Hooligans was deserted. It was too early for anybody to be there yet.

Baltej was back on the beat the next day. Same bar walk. The Billy Barker first. Then The Quesnel. The Caribou. And finally, Hooligans.

This time around they ignored him everywhere. The novelty was gone. Things soon became routine. He became part of the landscape.

Through the years since then, even a few thousand miles away, we hear rumours about Baltej incessantly. He has quit, says one rumour. He's about to quit, goes another. He's fired. He's running a grocery store. He had an accident. He's dead. He's crippled. He was caught taking a bribe. He was beaten up. He doesn't wear a turban anymore. The last one was actually heard from a senior police official in Ottawa, Canada's capital.

Well, Baltej is doing fine. I've met him off and on through the years, and as recently as a few months ago. He looks as splendid as ever, in his turban and beard.

He is based in Vancouver now. Citizens of various ilk, his colleagues and peers, his superiors: all have praise for him. He's above average, says his boss.

The only people that seem to be unhappy about him today are those who have a brush with the law. After all, remember, Baltej is a policeman!