Moments after I sit down to interview Darrell Dexter, I learn there has been a change in plans.

It seems to be happening to him a lot lately. Consider the headlines of recent political columns which have blasted Dexter for his seeming openness to cutting services and raising taxes, the two things he swore he wouldn’t do in the landmark June election that saw him crowned the first NDP premier east of Ontario: Dear Darrell, the honeymoon is over, laments Dan Leger, director of news content for the Chronicle Herald. Or, as veteran journalist Stephen Kimber writes: They were lying. We knew they were lying even while they were still telling them. We voted for them anyway.

My headline would go something like this: Och, Darrell, I hardly knew ye. I had arranged to get an hour of face time with Dexter in order to write a considered, in-depth profile of the man. Soon after sitting down, Jennifer Stewart, his press secretary, sternly informs me I have 20 minutes. On the scale of changes of heart, this is low-priority and Dexter deals with it in much the way he seems to deal with everything: briskly. He sits down, runs a hand through his famously grizzled hair and starts answering questions. It is late in the day, and Dexter is pale, tired-looking and verging on hoarseness. But he conducts himself with the discipline of the former military man he is, marshalling information, delivering it clearly, managing expectations, staying on message. Five months into the job he’s long coveted, and Darrell Dexter is already an old pro in what experts like to call “change management.”

The Preparation

As far as politicians go, Dexter is neither particularly suave nor especially silver-tongued. In fact, his lack of pretence prompts Deputy Premier Frank Corbett, one of Dexter’s closest political confidants, to call him the “anti-politician.” But what he lacks in overt charm, he makes up for with what former federal NDP leader Alexa McDonough calls his “deadly earnestness”. He is so earnest, in fact, that asking his friends and confidants to come up with a surprising or little-known anecdote about the man is futile. What people remember about him is generally related to his tirelessness and deeply-felt sense of responsibility, whether it be handling recounts at the end of a long by-election, or campaigning until late in the evening to get a friend elected.

And yet, there is something in the bustle of his bearing that connotes a complicated energy. He is a passionate sports fan, especially of basketball. On the court, McDonough says, he’s competitive to the point of being scrappy. He is a quintessential middle-of-the-road kind of guy, whose normalcy is at the heart of his great appeal.

Born in the small town of Milton, Queen’s County, Darrell moved to Halifax in grade two when his father, a sheet metal worker, landed a job at the Halifax shipyard. For most of his childhood, he spent the school year in Halifax and his summers at his grandparents’ home in Milton. He was popular and demonstrated early some of his legendary energy, playing sports and working a part-time job as a paper carrier. When his was in grade nine, his family moved back to Milton where he attended Liverpool High School and, by his own admission, scraped by doing as little work as possible. A few years ago, one of his closest high school friends told a CBC-TV reporter he remembered Dexter saying in high school he’d one day be the “NDP premier of Nova Scotia.” Dexter has said he doesn’t remember it. He did, however, state in his yearbook that his life’s dream was to become a millionaire.

Dexter’s experience growing up both in the city and in a small working class town seems to have informed his political view. For years, Dexter campaigned on basic, no-nonsense issues that deeply affected the lives and pocketbooks of average Nova Scotians, such as public auto insurance, better care for seniors, and affordable electricity.

It doesn’t hurt that he conveys a sense of straight-talk – even about his personal life. Shortly before the spring election, he revealed to the Halifax newspaper The Coast, the existence of a half-brother living in England. His brother, Dennis Mackie, was the product of a brief affair between Dexter’s father and a British woman when he served overseas during World War II. In a campaign marked by certain instances of nastiness (most notably the release of topless photos of an NDP candidate leaked by a Liberal campaign worker), Dexter seemed to sense that honesty was the best defense.