Fifth Form at St. Andrew's (1964 - 1965)

The year must have started off with a lot of excitement, because my first entry was not until November 19, 1964:

It sure has been a long time since I wrote anything in this diary. Well, I had a great summer. We went to Paris, Piza, Sardinia, Franco Champs, all of Norway, Copenhagen (where we met the Moffits before they left for Canada), and all of Sweden, too.

Upper Sixth Form at St. Andrew's (1966 - 1967)

For some reason, I stopped writing my diary in Lower Sixth Form (1965 - 1966). What I remember of the Lower Sixth Form was that I began it by taking up residence with Fred Duggan as a House Captain in MacDonald House (the Lower School). Fred was not exactly an intellectual, so that perhaps curtailed my interest in keeping a diary somewhat. As well, I was developing an increased interest in my daily tasks with other people, apart from my historical concern about my own personal undertakings. Anyway, the next entry in the little green plastic covered diary is on November 8, 1966:

First Year at Glendon Hall (1967 - 1968)

What my diary does not disclose, but what is the fact, is that my attendance at Glendon Hall of York University was largely the result of the efforts of the then Principal, Dr. Escott Reid. Dr. Reid had attended at St. Andrew's sometime in our last year to address the graduating class on the value of applying to Glendon for admission. There is no doubt that he was cultivating a breeding ground for young public servants and foreign emissaries. We found out years later that he had visited many of the other private schools on a similar mission.

Second Year at Glendon Hall (1968 - 1969)

The return to school in the Fall of the year has always been a delight to me. The delight has continued even to this day, long after I have stopped "returning to school". For me, September is a time of rejuvenation, new beginnings, excitement and expectation. On the more mundane level, I always have my annual medical examination at this time of year. In a style not unusual for this period, I report:

Third Year at Glendon Hall (1969 - 1970)

This year appears to have been the clash between the Titan forces of religion and peer groups. No doubt some of the privilege of dwelling in those regions arose from the degree of liberty one feels as the course of study draws to a close, and one is a "senior". A good deal of the entries reflect my somewhat depressed view of my environment, the people, myself, my world:

No sunshine today. A place for despair only. There was no movement; the air lay very still. The breath of lethargy fell upon the campus. February 9, 1970.

But the winner was God, to whom I continued to look for guidance and direction. To this day, I often feel that it is only through a relationship with God that the world makes sense. While I have not as yet suffered any great loss or hardship, I somehow feel that such a religious focus will be the answer to all problems, big or small.

Law School at Dalhousie University, Halifax (1970 - 1973)

Law School revitalized me in many ways. It was the first time I had been out of the Toronto area (or "Upper Canada", as it was called in the Maritimes) for many years. I was away from literally everyone I knew, and I had lots of time on my hands to think about the past and to develop in directions that amused or pleased me. There was clearly less pressure on me from others, because I had no standard to conform to, other than any I may have had for myself. It was also a lonely time, and in fact it must have got the best of me, because I reapplied to Osgoode Hall (which had previously accepted me, but I had declined) for admission and was again accepted for my second and subsequent years. However, Dean Murray Fraser specifically asked me to stay, which of course I did, and I have never regretted that decision.

Articles at Macdonald, Affleck, Ottawa (1973 - 1974)

The singular feature about Articling (at least in the days when I did it) was that you barely got paid for it. If I remember correctly, my annual salary may have approached $4,000, if that. Which meant that the luxuries of life were unattainable, and one even had to be creative about the necessities. Fortunately for me, the necessities were all I needed at that time. Having broken off my engagement with Heather in the summer after leaving Halifax, I made a not unexpected about-face which included a passionate conviction to losing weight, eating only raw foods, no drinking (though I still smoked very heavily), very little socializing, going to bed early, getting up early to bicycle as much as 150 miles a week, and the like - or the dislike, if you will! I lived in Pestallozzi College, 160 Chapel Street on the corner of Rideau Street.

The Bar Admission Course at Osgoode Hall (September, 1974 - May, 1975)

Interestingly, there is a complete gap in my diaries from the time when I finished my Articles (August, 1974) until February 5, 1976 (when I was back working at Macdonald, Affleck). Had the gap been any earlier, I probably would not remember much about it. However, my times at Osgoode Hall were largely my times at Devonshire House as a Don, and I recall those days vividly. It was like returning to boarding school, but armed with all the knowledge and wisdom I had gained about living in that sort of environment. I recall, for example, peering out the window of my ground floor suite of rooms and seeing a new student arrive at the commencement of term with his parents.

First Year of Practice at Macdonald, Affleck in Ottawa (September, 1975 - June, 1976)

I have to say that Macdonald, Affleck did in fact give me my “fifteen minutes of fame” to which Andy Warhol purportedly said each of us is entitled or destined. That fame came in the form of an appearance before not only the Federal Court of Appeal, but also the Supreme Court of Canada (Appeal Division). To set the stage, there were twenty-five lawyers, all of whom (except me) wore a silk gown. Mine was a “stuff” gown. The reason at that time that I did not have a silk gown was that only those who had been given the honour of a Queen’s Counsel designation from either the Federal or Provincial Governments were entitled to “take silk”; and, only those who had practised for no less than ten years were even qualified for consideration a Queen’s Counsel appointment. I, on the other hand, was only in my first year of practice.

Law Practice at Galligan and Sheffield in Almonte (June 7, 1976 - February 28, 1978)

The upheaval of moving from Ottawa to Almonte clearly consumed a lot of my time and energy. There was so much to do, including finding a place to live, buying my first dog (“Lannie”, a yellow labrador), getting settled into the law practice (which primarily involved dealing with all the neglected files of Galligan and Sheffield), meeting new people, making new friends and coming to terms with being somewhat isolated in an Ottawa Valley village. My first entry in a diary after leaving Ottawa in June of 1976 was almost a year later on July 5, 1977:

Setting Up Private Practice of Law in Almonte (March 1, 1978)

On March 1st, 1978, I opened my own office for the Practice of Law.
My association with Galligan & Sheffield was terminated quickly, with a minimum of negotiation. I bought back from them everything that they had bought from Raymond Jamieson, except his files. The biggest asset that I have now is the books (which I have, already, added to considerably).
While my daily business has not really changed that much, I have to admit that there is something special about being on my own. In fact, it has given me a freedom which I do not yet fully appreciate. Naturally, there is a greater sense of responsibility. But the best part of it, is that I have removed from my life all concern that every employee who is worth his salt must have about advancement. It’s now a question of survival, and degrees.

James R. McGregor, Deceased

One of the first truly “business” type of encounters I remember is meeting James R. McGregor, known to his friends as “Jimmy”. Jimmy, who was a native of Almonte, had most recently climbed his way out of the mines in Sudbury, and decided he was never going back down. Instead, he and his wife, Nancy, with children from his first and second marriage, headed off for Almonte, where he was born, to enter the real estate business (and I understand from having talked to local real estate entrepreneurs that Jimmy’s presence was not viewed without concern, from a competitive point of view). I met Jimmy in Raymond’s old office. It was an encounter that I somehow felt must have been based upon a template from the past, for I had been told by Raymond that he had advised Albert Gale, the well known real estate agent who had founded the company bearing his name. Albert, like Jimmy, didn’t have a lot of education, but they were equally determined and clever. I had heard a story about Albert that, when he was standing in a potato field one day, he saw a man in a large black Cadillac come up to the farmer in the neighbouring field, sign some papers, then drive away.

The Work Ethic

On March 11, 1979 I wrote:
It appears that I am falling into the trap which confronts most private businessmen; namely, I am becoming entirely preoccupied with my work, and it is beginning to look as though I do not have any other activities to amuse me. The horrible thing about work is that it doesn’t go away unless you do it. So, I naturally end up at the office more often than I would prefer.

The Superior Restaurant

It would be impossible for me to speak about Almonte without mentioning the Superior Restaurant. It was the first restaurant I visited when I began working in Almonte (that is, apart from the Mississippi Golf Club in Appleton where Mike Galligan, Alan Sheffield and I had met to discuss the possibility of my employment). And I quite distinctly remember that when I walked through the door of the Superior and took my place at the counter (which I am wont to do particularly when I am eating alone), I was greeted by the very friendly face of Mrs. Gladys Currie. “Gladdy”, as she is popularly known, is probably the senior waitress at the “Soup” (as the restaurant is called), and she continues to work there to this day, though a less rigorous schedule. Gladys is good for business, not only because she is cheerful and constantly bubbling, but she positively encourages people to enjoy the pleasures of the restaurant, which for me meant the raisin pie (after having had soup and a sandwich). This was the beginning of a life-long love affair with the Soup:

L. C. Audette, O.C., Q.C.

The odd thing about Louis Audette is that, as much time as we spent together over the twenty years or so I knew him (from about 1973 until his death around 1995 at the age of 87), I reckon that neither of us would, if pressed, have much to say about one another. It is rather like talking about one’s relatives at length - not normal or usual in the ordinary course. Certainly, after a couple of drinks, given the right stimuli from the current conversation, memories of him would surface, usually in a humourous vein, but I cannot honestly say that we had a “close” relationship. We just got along and more or less tolerated one another’s inadequacies, which seemed to have been painfully obvious to each of us respectively, for at least as long as it took to have numerous drinks and dinner (and then more numerous drinks):

Getting Settled

While I probably have a passion for that Norman Rockwell picture-perfect view of middle class life, I have always harboured the idea that, because of my nomadic childhood, it was imperative for me to develop some kind of home-life.
And when I was asked if I intended to stay in Almonte, I replied yes. And the response was didn’t I think that I would get bored with it. Perhaps it was more of a reflection upon the person who asked the question. I was taken aback by the question. It has never occurred to me to leave Almonte. I have left enough places in my lifetime, and I don’t think that I could do it all over again. Anyway, I don’t have the desire to go anywhere else that would be as good for me. I’ve got too much into this place, and I love it, frankly. March 15, 1981.

Lanark County Folklore

No one could talk long about Almonte without mentioning some of the stories that one has heard. Among the first story-tellers I met in Almonte was Arnold Craig. Arnold was visiting Mr. and Mrs. Frank (“Honey”) Honeyborne who lived across the street from the bungalow owned by Rev. and Mrs. George Bickley (where I was living at the time). I remember that it was a New Year’s Eve. Rosalyn Morgan (a friend and former legal secretary at Macdonald, Affleck in Ottawa) had come for a visit that night, and we dropped over to Frank and Annie Honeyborne’s to give our best wishes for the New Year.

Arnold was an extraordinary looking person. He was quite short and had a large nose and ears that folded forward in the style of a small elephant. And he certainly had the proverbial “twinkle in his eye”. Whether it was true or not, he said that his wife was from Clayton; and, when he invited her to Almonte (when they were first courting) to go to a dance, he said he would put gravel in her shoes to make her feel at home. But, as the occasion of our visit was New Year’s Eve, Arnold recounted a story about a New Year’s Eve which he remembered from some years back. Imagine sitting in the cozy “front room” of Frank and Annie’s house, with a fresh layer of snow outside, everyone charged with a bit of cheer, and hearing Arnold tell this story with an accent which was clearly “Lanark County”, and probably resembled something from Ireland.  Here is his New Year's Eve tale:

For years, he said, I had been in the custom of going outside the house on New Year’s Eve with my shotgun at midnight and shooting off a couple of rounds to bring in the New Year. But one year, we noticed the next day that no one had bothered to call us on the telephone as they normally did on New Year’s Day. So I went outside to take a look and hadn’t I shot the Bell Telephone wires off! So the next year we decided to do something different. The wife and I, we live down by the River. I came up with the idea of going down to the River and throwing onto it a stick of dynamite (which he pronounced din-a- mite). We had been using dynamite for ice fishing for years. After the blast - WHOOSH! - the fish’d come right out of the water!

Anyway there I was down by the River’s edge, waiting for the wife to give me the signal from the kitchen that the clock had struck midnight. Finally I saw the wife wave from the kitchen and I knew that it was time. So I lit the stick of dynamite and threw it out onto the River. Well... Jeez!... didn’t the dog go out after it! He picked it up and started back towards me. I didn’t stop running until I got to the Bells Corners; and the dog or someone would’ve been hurt if he hadn’t dropped the stick of dynamite. But didn’t he drop it right under the shit house!

Another less humourous but perhaps more truthful tale was the one told to me by Bruce and Carl Sadler shortly after the death of their father, Howard Sadler, in February of 1981. Howard was an elderly gentleman about the same vintage as Raymond Jamieson. Howard lived on a large parcel of land in an old farm house on the edge of Town where he conducted his market gardening business. The story goes that years ago, he was selling strawberries for 15 cents a quart. The local IGA then began selling strawberries, 2 quarts for 25 cents. Howard followed suit and sold on the same basis. Then the price war escalated, with IGA selling 3 quarts for 25 cents. When Howard got
wind of this, he told his wife, Beatrice, that he couldn’t make a living selling his product at those prices; and, he went out into the field and plowed the whole thing up. Howard obviously had a healthy degree of pride, and undoubtedly a bit of a temper. I understand from Howard’s wife that Howard’s family came from Scotland, but I am not sure that they came here directly. He always had that rugged, weathered look which one might expect to see on a man who spent a good deal of his time outside on the land. Howard and his wife lived with his parents on the farm which he eventually purchased pursuant to a lease-type of agreement. The farm has now been transferred to the two boys.

As I mentioned, Howard Sadler and Raymond Jamieson were of the same vintage. Raymond was renowned for his stories, many of which have unfortunately never been recorded in writing (even though people tried without much success to gain an audience with him in his twilight years). But I heard and recorded bits of a couple of accounts told to me by Raymond. Here is one I noted in my diary on January 25, 1981 (Robbie Burns Day):

Every so often I have the pleasure of visiting with Mr. Raymond Jamieson at his house or in my office. He usually tells me stories about events in his legal career in Almonte. One story particularly caught my interest two days ago. It’s an account of a case in which Mr. Jamieson was involved. He represented the Defendant. The opposing lawyer was another former Almonte lawyer, Mr. W. H. Stafford, who is now deceased. Mr. Jamieson began his story by saying that Stafford was an excellent lawyer, very learned. The Plaintiff held a promissory note executed by the Defendant, representing the sum paid (or rather, to be paid) for a cow which the Defendant had purchased from the Plaintiff. The Defendant had apparently paid part of the price after he had taken delivery of the cow, but later refused to pay the balance; and, hence, the Action. As Mr. Jamieson stated to me, on the face of it, the Defendant was doomed. He had signed a Note for a sum certain, and he had not paid it.

Stafford called Jamieson during the course of the Action and told Jamieson that he noted that Jamieson had put in a Statement of Defence, and went on to say, “I’ll give you lots of Law at the Trial”. At the trial, Jamieson produced evidence that the cow had been sold to the Defendant with the assurance that it was in calf (which turned out not to be true, and it was for this reason that Jamieson’s Client refused to pay the balance of the Note, having satisfied himself that what he had in fact paid was sufficient for the cow itself). This “assurance” itself would probably not have been enough to have won the day for Jamieson and his Client; however, Jamieson further produced an advertisement from a newspaper which stated that a cow in calf was for sale. Jamieson won.
After the Trial (sometime after, perhaps a couple of days), Jamieson saw Stafford on the street and asked him what he thought of the Court’s decision (Divisional). Stafford stated that it was a poor decision.

But the crunch of the story came when Mr. Jamieson told me that Stafford subsequently bought the mortgage (which was then in default) on the Defendant’s house and foreclosed it!
Mrs. Marion Graham (who is a widow), had no trouble keeping the company of gentlemen. She is one of those women who enjoys the company of men. One of her friends was Mr. Jim Monette (uncle of Ray Monette, insurance agent for the Co-Operators in Almonte and Carleton Place). Jim had a place on White Lake, across the lake from Mrs. Graham's cottage. I had been invited to the cottage one weekend:

Last night, we had a lovely dinner: cocktails on the front yard, overlooking the Lake; Spencer steaks cooked on the out-door gas stove; homemade potato salad; bread and tomatoes; Beaujolais Superieure red wine; fruit pie; and Belgium chocolates. After dinner, we played cards, nattered away, and Jim kept us entertained with stories. He told two tales which I remember in particular. First, about how he put a stop to people stealing his cut wood; he drilled a hole in one log and filled it with gun powder; it apparently blew up the cast iron stove of one of his neighbours. Second, about how he deterred thieves from raiding one of his camps; he rigged up a shot-gun inside the door, and the gun went off when the door was slightly opened.

Though I have already mentioned some of the following items before, I quote from my diary of March 31, 1986:

About three weeks ago, on a Saturday morning, I met, as planned, with Mr. Raymond A. Jamieson, Q.C.. The following are some of the comments he made during that interview:

1. In spite of the revocation of the Queen's Counsel designation for Ontario lawyers by the incumbent Peterson Liberal government in Ontario, Mr. Jamieson still has his, since it was bestowed upon him by the Queen in right of the Government of Canada; i.e., it's a Federal appointment. He said he would send it back if the Queen wants it.

2. He was on the University of Toronto Track Team in 1920 - 21. At that time he was a resident of East House, Devonshire house, where I was a Don in 1974 - 75, while taking the Bar Admission Course at Osgoode Hall.

3. He is a member of the English Church, as he calls it. I'm assuming he's Anglican.

4. Twenty-five years ago (in 1960), he gave a talk to the Historical Society at their annual meeting, concerning all that had happened within 100 yards of St. Paul's Anglican Church. Dr. William Mostyn, the first Master of the Mississippi Lodge No. 147 in Almonte, was an Anglican and an Elder of the Church. Apparently the conspirators who met to plan the murder of D'Arcy McGee rallied at a house near the Church. The “bad guy” was one Whelan. His grandfather, Joseph, came to Almonte. Mostyn lived in Dr. Murphy's house, located at the corner of Brougham and Queen Streets, Almonte. Mostyn built it. It was subsequently inhabited by Dr. Dunn, Dr. Lynch (who was there before Dunn), and Dr. Murphy, all original Irish medical doctors. Mostyn hid the minutes of the D'Arcy McGee tyranny in the walls of the house when he built it. It took 13 lots to kill McGee. Whelan was arrested. It was a Catholic plot (Fenian - U.S.A. types from New York).

5. The house presently inhabited by Alaister Gale (the Ottawa architect) and his wife, Margaret, to the south of the Church, on the Mississippi River, was built by Mr. Jamieson's grandfather, Joseph Jamieson. It was later inhabited by A. M. Grieg, Percy Grieg (his son), Grant Campbell (now on the Ontario Municipal Board), and Harold Jamieson (father of Mr. Jamieson), who died in the '40s of a stroke. They were all lawyers, with the exception of Alaister Gale. Grant Campbell was the most recent inhabitant before Gale; Campbell was living there when I came to Almonte in June of 1976.

6. James Rosamond, Sr. had three children, James, Jr., Bennett and William. They were all great politicians. Bennett Rosamond was an active Anglican.

7. Mr. Jamieson was the first of the clan to be a Mason. His father, Joseph, was not a Mason. Raymond went on to become Master in 1928 - 29.

8. The cornerstone of the Anglican Church was laid by the Carleton Place (St. John's) and Almonte (Masonic) Lodges. At the time, the Almonte Lodge was under special dispensation, but was not yet legal. Masonry was an old trade union, which began with the laying of the cornerstone of King Solomon's Temple. At the ceremony in Almonte, the Senior Warden (Anderson) turned up drunk. He was voted down as the Master of the Lodge; took his demit; got sick; applied to get back into the Lodge for a Masonic funeral, which he got.

9. St. Paul's Cemetery used to be between the Rectory and the River.

10. Mostyn drowned on March 28, 1881 in Almonte. I have heard that he was
on his way across the River in the winter to visit a patient. He was buried on April 2, 1881. I would expect that the Whig Standard would have more details, since he was buried in Kingston.

11. The Clement house, located next to the Registry Office (near the Church) was the original Registry Office, but it got too small.

12. One Pidard was the Editor of the Almonte Times. He was of a distinct Tory
persuasion. The Gazette used to be Liberal.

13. The many lawyers who used to have their offices on Mill Street, next to one another, used to knock on the walls to communicate certain bits of information to one another. Among them were Stafford, Kirkland, Harold Jamieson, A. M. Grieg and Joseph Jamieson (who was appointed a Judge).

14. Mr. Jamieson's maternal grandmother was a Carss, after whose family the street is named (at the end of Union Street in Almonte).

15. The beautiful stone house on the River, at the south end of Martin Street, was originally owned by Dr. McDonald.

16. The Willard house on Martin Street was built by John Drynan, who owned a steam boat, which operated on the River, docking just outside the Willard house, which is located at the south end of Martin Street, just before the bend in the road. It was there that I used to take my first dog, Lanny, for walks when he was a puppy. I lived just up the street at Rev. Bickley's house, while he was the Minister of St. Paul's, just around the corner.

17. There were two fords across the River, within the Town precincts, one (before the Bridge) towards the Town Hall; the other, toward the Fair Grounds, where the Agricultural Hall is. The Bridge was named after McCallum, a Warden of the County of Lanark, and a soap manufacturer in Almonte. He was the same fellow who dedicated the land to the Lawn Bowling Club, pursuant to a deed drawn by Mr. Jamieson, which deed was later investigated by me (I even hired Toronto Counsel, Weir & Foulds, the same people Mr. Jamieson used to use when he was practising), and which was found to contain a rather serious error, which, if known by the McCallum heirs (and there are some still in Almonte) would entitle them to the reversion of the estate in the land. But the subject has thankfully never been brought up, and the evidence lies buried in a file at my office, probably under the name of Emile Callow (now dead, I did his estate), who was then the President of the Club.

18. There are a couple of streets in Almonte which have become known by names other than the names given to them originally on Wilkie's General Plan No. 6262 of the Town; namely, Christian Street (Hwy. 29) is really Christina Street; and, Princess Street is really Prince's Street. There are also two High Streets in Almonte, one in “Irishtown”, the other behind the Almonte Hotel, being the street on which the library is located...I omitted adding to the above that the Bridge is called the McLan Bridge (McCallum - Lanark).

There were other tit-bits of information which Mr. Jamieson shared with me - like the fact that his family was the first in Town to have a chauffeur driven automobile and a grand piano; and, a penny farthing (that old fashioned high bicycle having a large and a small wheel). On the subject of the penny farthing, I believe Mr. Jamieson stopped and corrected himself, since he remembered that in fact there was someone else who already had one. He recounted a story to me about a gentleman who apparently lived in the Almonte Hotel on Bridge Street, and who owned such a bicycle. The story goes that there were gentlemen drinking in the pub quarters on the main floor of the Hotel and someone challenged the owner of the penny farthing to a bet; viz., that he could not successfully career the bicycle from the top of the main stairs on the second floor, down the stairs, through the front hall, down the front steps and across the street, all without falling off. Well, to anyone with the least sense of engineering, this was no challenge whatsoever, for after all the large front wheel would simply flow over the various bumps without so much as a hint of obstruction. And so, bets were posted with an independent third party, and our hero headed off on his penny farthing from the top of the stairs. He had no trouble at all getting down the main staircase, nor of course through the hallway, nor even down the front steps. But, alas!, he had forgotten that the street was being dug up for some kind of repair or whatever (it hardly mattered at that point), and he plunged into the hole, just short of his destination - the other side of the street. Needless to say, he lost the bet.

Mississippi Lodge No. 147

Before I had come to Almonte, the only encounter of any kind which I had had with the Masons took place at the Chateau Laurier Health Club in Ottawa. One of the members of the Club was a police officer, and as we sat melting in the steam room he told me that he had been inducted into one of the local chapters of the Masons. When I asked me what it was all about, he replied that he really could not tell me anything because it was a very secretive organization. I let the matter drop, since I saw I would not get anything further from him on the matter, and anyway it did not sound like the type of association I would like to cultivate.

Monroe

In the late summer of 1993, Mrs. Marilyn Harris called me unexpectedly to tell me that she and her husband, Gordon, had “discovered” the very dog for me. The call was unexpected first because Marilyn and I, although sympathetic to one another, were not in the habit of calling one another, except perhaps to arrange a social engagement or consult upon some legal matter; and second, to my mind I was not even in the market to buy a dog. As it turned out, however, Marilyn's call was more than fortuitous, and to a degree she initiated a considerable change in my life.

The Sale of the Manse by the Reformed Presbyterian Church

In the late summer of 1998, I had occasion to act as Solicitor for the “Reformed Presbyterian Church in North America” in regard to the sale of its manse on the Bay Hill (across the street from the Church itself). The Purchaser’s conveyancer (Mr. David Wentzell of the Perley-Roberston firm) who attended at the Registry Office in Almonte to close the transaction commented to my Legal Assistant (Mrs. Hazel C. Anderson) that the title search was the easiest he had ever done.

The Double Life

On August 6, 1984 I recorded that, “Anyway...I'm not going to discuss business any further - that stuff is covered in my note book (diary) at the office. This writing is supposed to be reserved for anything but the office. Suffice it to say that we are surviving for the time being.” Customarily, the only diary I wrote was the one which I maintained in my home. But I began to keep another diary at the office, probably sparked by no more than boredom in the slow business periods. Considering that I read legal periodicals and articles virtually every day during my lunch break at home, it is not surprising that I felt there was only so much legal education that I could take, so I did not want to spend my spare time at the office doing more of that. And once again, the urge I have to record and document events must have overtaken me at the office.

The Fast Lane

I was told by my mother years ago (probably after I had bought yet another car) that I have the same affection for the automobile that my father's father apparently had. While I have honestly enjoyed each car I have ever had, one of them in particular stands out in my mind:
I have spent so much time recently fussing over the Riviera - test driving possible replacement cars all over the area, bargaining with salesmen, delivering and redelivering the car to Reid Bros. in Arnprior, where the car has been referred by the GM District Service Manager, L. R. (“Luc”) Pelletier; a multitude of phone calls to Oshawa, Ottawa, Orr's and Tommy Arial. The car has been going from bad to worse: the engine knocks, the tape deck doesn't work, the external door entry light is fickle, the transmission is still acting up (I found out that Orr knew all about this before he sold me the car - the bastard! The bastard, I repeat!), the heater still doesn't work, even though the computer was replaced yesterday (Orr's had again improperly diagnosed it as a computer problem, when in fact it must be the heat sensor), the heater fan is off-balance. Almost each day something else goes wrong, although I still have to admit that it's a beautiful looking car, and air-tight, and it drives like a dream, straight as an arrow. Tonight, I went up to Arnprior with Nick Carter, the service manager from Orr's (and the son of Jack Carter, one of my better clients), and finally dropped the car off for the beginning of the repairs. I had spoken with Luc Pelletier this after noon, and told him what else had gone wrong since I last spoke to him. He decided that rather than wait any longer (apparently all the new parts haven't arrive yet - not until next week sometime), it was better to get the car in immediately to look it over thoroughly, and order the new parts which would additionally be required. I told him that these repairs would probably go on for weeks, which of course he has denied. Maybe he wanted to get the car away from me before I found anything else wrong, and GM has to rebuild the whole car! While I would like to be optimistic about the repairs that are being undertaken now, I know from my past experience that it will be a miracle if they're done right.

The Nieces and other Infants

My sister's first child, Jennifer Chapman Hladkowicz, was born on May 2, 1985. The event was one of huge importance in our immediate family, because she was the first grandchild for my parents. For me, it was an opportunity to act like the beneficent uncle by setting up a trust fund (which, by the way, I later collapsed when my own business fortunes ran into difficulty):

It was a Thursday afternoon, and I have to confess that when Mother 'phoned me at the Office to tell me, I really didn't know what to do with the news, except of course to go through the niceties of saying how exciting, etc. But now - but NOW! - that I have seen the beautiful creation, and held her tiny little soul in my arms, I am nothing but love for her! I want to protect her, and ensure that she has nothing but the best forever. Already I am planning a multitude of reasons why she should not go out with this boy or that boy, or stay out late; and why she should learn to play the piano, and go for long walks along the canal. May 8, 1985.

Christmas

I don't suppose there is anyone who is immune to the spirituality and excitement of Christmas. The event is happily one of those annual traditions in my family; and, apart from the odd year in the most recent past when (for the sake of a holiday) I have taken off for southern climes, we have always all been together over Christmas.

The Elizabeth Kelly Library Foundation

Sometime in about 1984 or 1985, Mr. R. Louis Irwin of nearby Ramsay Township came into my office to discuss some thoughts he had about our local library (probably shortly on the heels of the library having moved from its rather unimpressive digs in the basement of the Town Hall to its new building near the Royal Bank, on the site of what had once been the train station). Louis was concerned that the library was having trouble maintaining itself, its staff and resources, and I recall that he particularly disliked the possibility that the library should have to grovel for government funding. He saw no reason why we could not create some vehicle of financial resource which would become self-supporting and self-generating. This was the beginning of what was to become the Elizabeth Kelly Library Foundation. I might add that I had had little to do with the considerable efforts of the many citizens of Almonte who orchestrated the raising of money to build the new library building. But it seemed that, that task accomplished, people were burnt out by the idea of anything to do with the library, and the matter of its maintenance costs had apparently slipped into obscurity.

Dr. Franz B. Ferraris, M.D.

It was really through Ray Timmons (Administrator of the General Hospital) that I meant Dr. Franz Benedetto Ferraris. Franz had been hired by the Almonte General Hospital as its anaesthetist, and he needed an office to hang his hat outside the Hospital. I happened to have an office available in my building, so Ray inspected it on behalf of Franz, and before I knew it Franz and his first wife, Terry, were sitting across from me at my desk, discussing the details, in the usual casual manner which Franz somehow imparts to even the most difficult subjects.

A Night Out With The Girls

On November 22, 1985 I escorted several elderly ladies to a piano concert in Almonte. It began with dinner at Mrs. Marion Graham's house. Mrs. Graham just invited me and a youngish widow, Mrs. Simone Pope. I had immense difficulty opening the bottle of wine. Resorted to knives, screw drivers and even a hammer! I finally succeeded in smashing the cork down into the bottle, but not without spraying wine all over my suit, glasses and the kitchen walls! Dinner was excellent - chicken, smooth mashed potatoes, and gravy, vegetables and a delicious apple crumble dessert.

Fancy Meeting You Here!

Life never ceases to amaze me! From my public school days I remember very clearly The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy. Its memorialization of coincidence and the significance we are to derive from it has never left me. Perhaps it is the romantic element in me that causes me to embrace, and even at times champion, coincidence and to a lesser degree its sister destiny. But rather than viewing coincidence as anything as foreboding as fatalism, I prefer to see coincidence as an opportunity in life to profit by the concurrence of events, to bring about an ultimate conclusion which is a correspondence of substance, nature and character, not merely fate.

Computers and Other Technical Advances

I maintain without a moment's hesitation or a shred of reservation that the single most influential event in my life has been the advent of the so-called “personal computer” or PC as it is known in the vernacular. Not surprisingly, however, my embrace of the computer was not without reluctance:

The Piano

Based as these accounts are on historical records captured in my diaries, the prehistoric period (roughly under the age of fourteen) does not afford an accurate indication of when I first developed an interest in the piano. But I am sure I was well under the age of fourteen, in fact closer to six or seven. The best I can recall is that I would find myself, when visiting the homes of people (usually adult friends of my parents) who were wise enough to have a piano (and in my opinion every home should have books and a piano), tapping on the ivories, and even being able to make a bit of music (by ear, of course). Whether it was this predilection or some deeper insight or motivation on the part of my parents which prompted me to go further, I do not know. Yet, at a tender age of about seven years at Horace Mann School in Washington, D.C., I found myself taking piano lessons. What was particularly extraordinary about these piano lessons is that we (the students) had no piano! Rather, we each had a cardboard keyboard (of about four octaves I expect), coloured black and white as you would imagine, which was of course two-dimensional only, and folded in the centre for ease of transportation (and practice, I suppose). I hardly need tell you how absurd it was to be “playing” the piano on a piece of cardboard! It is but a small step from this absurdity to the sentiment I have so often heard expressed by economically driven parents that, “We'll get him a good piano if he likes it.”! What is there to like about the piano except its sound!

“She's a Brick” - Ms. Jean Steel

Sometime after I moved into my current office at 77 Little Bridge Street (that is, when I began renting the office from Messrs. Jack Levi and Billy Guthrie), an addition was put on the back of the building (I think the purpose was to house part of the medical practice of a young doctor from Town). In any event, the addition was appropriately enough built of red brick, in fact old red brick, which I thought made a nice match for the rest of the building. What I did not know was that the old brick had actually come from the burned out wreckage of the Museum in Appleton. It appears that the fellow who was doing the construction of the addition had decided that there was little harm in removing the debris from the site following the recent unfortunate blaze of the Museum, and in defence he may even have been correct in that observation under other circumstances. However, in this case he was wrong. Very wrong.

Denis G. Arial

There are many tests of friendship. Money is probably safely described as the acid test. Shortly after I had met Denis G. Arial in the early winter of 1996, I engaged (or should I say “entrapped”) him in one of my well-known preoccupations - buying an item of gold, in this case a gold neck chain. I had placed my order for the chain through a small “hole-in-the-wall” type of business in Ottawa's Chinatown (Somerset and Booth Streets area). I had been told that the order would take about two weeks to complete, but as usual, in keeping with my impatience, I decided to stop by the store one Saturday morning, about a week earlier than I had been told. To my delight, the chain was ready. Now, however, came the real problem - paying for it. With cash. And only cash. Even though I had a bank card, my limit was something like $200 per day.

My Neighbours

Whether by design or mere accident, I have been told that I have a reputation for being a recluse, which observation frankly surprises me, though I do not feel injured in any way. In my own mind, I perhaps mistakenly harbour the view that I am rather out-going, but that just shows you how wrong one can be about oneself. Getting to know people is, I suppose, an undertaking which can take time. At least, such it is with my neighbours. Even after seventeen years in the same house at 4 Laura Crescent, I confess that I have only marginal acquaintance with most of my immediate neighbours. The exception is Barb and Dave Scott, who live next door. Dave has the distinction of being the son of the late Mr. “Dinty” Scott, former owner of the Superior Restaurant which is so dear to my heart. Barb, like my own mother, has a good measure of French Canadian blood in her, and it looks as though the mixture of Dave's Lanark County Scottish stock and her own “joie de vivre” has worked as well for them as it has for my own parents.

Jill and Julio - the Romance of the Century

I think the first time I can really recall having met Jill Halliday was when I met her in February of 1992 while dining with Klaus and Marilyn Linnenbruegger at their lovely home on Mitcheson Street. in Almonte. Jill was one of six dinner guests that evening. I distinctly remember being quite taken by her beautiful and extraordinary appearance. She was not “run-of-the-mill” by any means! There was something positively unique about Jill Halliday.

Who's Your Doctor?

Before I leave Jill Halliday, I have to recount another little vignette in our relationship. Shortly after I had begun doing some legal work for Jill, and before she had Julio in her life, I received a call from her at my Office, but she was not calling about legal work. She was calling because she wanted to report that she might need some help getting to the hospital. From what I recall, Jill had been working around the house and had severely bashed her knee on a door. We later found out that she had pulled off the kneecap.

Let's Do Lunch

There are very few times in my life that I have been “taken to lunch”. In the past number of years, my excuse for getting out of such proposals has been “I have to feed the dog”. Before that, I probably said I just didn't have the time. Almost without exception, these proposals to do lunch with someone were little more than annoyances. They were really just opportunities for each of us to chat, and to pay our own way.

The End of the Diaries

To recapitulate, my first diary was begun at the end of 1963 when I received the little green, plastic- bound tome from my sister for a Christmas gift while I was at St. Andrew's College. The last time I ever wrote another journal or diary entry was on February 6, 1994:
I resigned from LACAC (Local Architectural Conservation Authority Committee) last week. I regret getting out of the organization in one way (because I enjoyed being involved with it), but I think that I had fulfilled all that I had been asked to do, and that I had set out to do; viz., establish a constitution, create a policy and procedure manual, and generally computerize the records. At this stage of LACAC's development, it is quite possible that the two municipalities (Almonte and Ramsay) will go their separate ways, if not in fact, then at least in spirit. It provided me with a springboard for the decision.

Turning Fifty, Dr. Atkins and Streaking

To anyone who asks, I tell them that my life since turning fifty years of age on December 11, 1998 has been the best ever. As I write these words, I am nearing the end of my fiftieth year, and I note with some interest that the opening paragraph of this book refers to the past fifty years of my life, a reference which, when I began this undertaking in 1997, had not been made by design. Yet, here I am, completing my task and reflecting upon the past half-century; and, to me this my fiftieth year has been the crown on my life.

Miscellany

There are certain references in my diaries which, although not particularly relevant to any topic, amuse me. This one, for example, occurred while I was visiting Montreal:
On Sunday morning, I got up early and went to the 8:30 communion service at st. James on St. Catharine's Street (Montreal). There weren't many people there (about 25), and we sat in the choir stalls as we do at St. Paul's on Wednesday nights. I remarked how odd the Rector appeared when giving his sermon; he seemed to be preaching to an invisible audience in the empty pews, and virtually ignored looking at us who were in the choir stalls right next to him. Perhaps he was rehearsing for the 11:00 o'clock service. Easter Sunday, 1991.