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:
With brass plated sash locks on eight of eleven windows, I feel secure in my new home at 313 St. George Street.
Almonte has been very good to me in the short year that I have been here. Arrived on June 7th, 1976 (to work), and moved into 60 Martin Street on July 13th (which I believe was a Tuesday), 1976. The Martin Street house was owned by Rev. and Mrs. George F. Bickley, the Rector of the Anglican Church which was just around the corner, across from the Registry Office.
On June 1st, 1977, I obtained title to my first house. There followed a general clean- up (inside and out), and Martin Bloyce (the cousin of one of my Clients, Violet B. “Midge” Exley) attended to painting the whole inside of the house for $200 (who can complain!; $25 less than my monthly rental at Martin Street), plus a Will.
As for my house, it’s situate on a lot 60' X 100'; one bedroom (which is mostly mattress), a study which faces the back yard, a sunny kitchen and fairly large eating area, a cozy living room, a charming hallway entrance, a sun porch at the rear, a junk room off the sun porch, a small but pleasant bathroom, and an old garage with flag- stone floor. It would be fair to say that I really love the little place, and I consider my investment of $28,500 well worth it. I feel the same way about this place as I did about all my other favourite dwellings in the past. I relate to it very well; and, I quite seriously detect a certain personality of the house which is well suited to my own. Naturally, there are many things which can be done to the grounds, but this will take time. For now, I feel sure that the house perceives my love for her, manifested by my personal cleaning care.
Enough of the house, though I would willingly speak at greater length about it. Let me say a few words about my work. My employers, Michael J. Galligan and Alan D. Sheffield, have been extremely kind to me, and good people to work with. In the past year I have worked as hard as possible to bring in a good return for the firm. Unfortunately, as is often the case, I did not achieve as great a financial return as I had hoped; however, already things are looking better. Occasionally I feel more pressure than I would like; but, generally, the pace is to my liking. And I am pleased to say that I have had excellent experience in many matters since I have been here. I am particularly delighted that I was, and continue to be, involved in the organization and delivery of lectures for Algonquin College Continuing Learning.
With brass plated sash locks on eight of eleven windows, I feel secure in my new home at 313 St. George Street.
Almonte has been very good to me in the short year that I have been here. Arrived on June 7th, 1976 (to work), and moved into 60 Martin Street on July 13th (which I believe was a Tuesday), 1976. The Martin Street house was owned by Rev. and Mrs. George F. Bickley, the Rector of the Anglican Church which was just around the corner, across from the Registry Office.
On June 1st, 1977, I obtained title to my first house. There followed a general clean- up (inside and out), and Martin Bloyce (the cousin of one of my Clients, Violet B. “Midge” Exley) attended to painting the whole inside of the house for $200 (who can complain!; $25 less than my monthly rental at Martin Street), plus a Will.
As for my house, it’s situate on a lot 60' X 100'; one bedroom (which is mostly mattress), a study which faces the back yard, a sunny kitchen and fairly large eating area, a cozy living room, a charming hallway entrance, a sun porch at the rear, a junk room off the sun porch, a small but pleasant bathroom, and an old garage with flag- stone floor. It would be fair to say that I really love the little place, and I consider my investment of $28,500 well worth it. I feel the same way about this place as I did about all my other favourite dwellings in the past. I relate to it very well; and, I quite seriously detect a certain personality of the house which is well suited to my own. Naturally, there are many things which can be done to the grounds, but this will take time. For now, I feel sure that the house perceives my love for her, manifested by my personal cleaning care.
Enough of the house, though I would willingly speak at greater length about it. Let me say a few words about my work. My employers, Michael J. Galligan and Alan D. Sheffield, have been extremely kind to me, and good people to work with. In the past year I have worked as hard as possible to bring in a good return for the firm. Unfortunately, as is often the case, I did not achieve as great a financial return as I had hoped; however, already things are looking better. Occasionally I feel more pressure than I would like; but, generally, the pace is to my liking. And I am pleased to say that I have had excellent experience in many matters since I have been here. I am particularly delighted that I was, and continue to be, involved in the organization and delivery of lectures for Algonquin College Continuing Learning.
Mr. Raymond A. Jamieson, Q.C. (in whose office I presently practice) has been a tremendous inspiration to me in many ways, but especially in his love for history, coins, stamps and current events. He reminds me that there is so much more to life than just Law; and, he encourages me, through his example, to take an interest in the varied things in life and to develop my mind as much as possible. Recently, I have acquired a somewhat disturbing tendency to feel a responsibility to myself to grow in every way. I find that, while I still enjoy socializing with my good friends, I feel compelled to utilize my time in more fruitious pursuits. And I suppose that this is one reason that I have decided to return to writing, in hopes of generating a more interesting and fluid style. And Heaven knows, there are so many things to write about. So many events to capture, people to remind oneself of. Like John and Halcyone Bell, who have so industriously spent their life in building up a fabulous relationship, while at the same time building an enviable estate (another of my aspirations, I might add).
Suffice it to say that I am, as Jimmy Newton (our Crown Attorney) would say, full of piss and vinegar - and, as he would also say, mostly piss. But the important thing is that Almonte has provided me an environment in which I feel most comfortable, and most anxious to develop in every way.
While Galligan and Sheffield ran their offices from the building they owned at the southeast corner of Mill and Bridge Streets (where the Royal Bank was at the front, Dr. Coupland, D.D.S. - now Dr. Naji Louis - upstairs, and the law firm taking up the back space and the basement level), they had installed me in the considerably less modern office of R. A. Jamieson at 74 Mill Street. The office on Mill Street was located on the second floor, to which one ascended by a steep set of stairs tightly squeezed between two buildings. Raymond Jamieson once told me of the occasion when he received a telephone call from an elderly lady who asked Raymond if he could visit her at her home to draw her Will, since she was unable to tackle the stairs to his office. Raymond said, “I never did tell her that I would have crawled down those stairs for fifty dollars”. The stairs had a small landing near the top, before turning right into the office. Mr. Jamieson told me that Mr. Fred Larose had managed many years before to get a large black safe up those stairs and into the office. I believe the undertaking took a considerable length of time, and I can only marvel at Mr. Larose's success, since when I moved out of that office subsequently (and took the safe with me) the safe was taken out of the front windows, using scaffolding, block-and-tackle and a large truck with a boom (crane).
The old office was heated by an old oil burner, which frequently flooded, and was made operable again by Raymond’s faithful friend and Secretary, Evelyn A. Barker (now Hosie). She would, with the greatest of skill, stuff the flooded stove with several rolls of toilet paper in order to dry it out and get it going again. On the third floor in the attic above the office was the bathroom, which had two taps on the sink, but there was only cold water. When seated on the toilet, one could look down at a hole in the floor and see the top of my desk in the office below. Raymond had been renting the office for years from Philip Neadham, the eccentric and caustic shoe repair man who maintained his store on the street level, for $25 per month. Mr. Neadham had his own sense of humour. I recall Raymond telling me about Mrs. Anne Bickley (the Rector’s wife) who, shortly after arriving in Town, had attended at the shoe store to have some repairs done. After turning over the shoes to Mr. Neadham, when she was about to leave the store, she turned back and commented to Mr. Neadham that he had not given her a “chit” or receipt for the shoes, to which Mr. Neadham purportedly replied, “Well who’d want them but you!”. Years later, when I was settling the estate of the late Rev. Bickley, I recounted this story to Mrs. Bickley, who confirmed the general truth of the anecdote, although she advised that when she had been about to leave Mr. Neadham’s store, her reason for turning back was that she had forgotten to tell Mr. Neadham her name, which comment elicited the same response.
Raymond Jamieson was very knowledgeable about Almonte, though no one was ever able to extract from him all that he knew. I have heard stories about addresses he gave to local groups, among them an address at St. Paul’s Anglican Church, regarding the events which had taken place within a hundred foot (or so) radius of the Church. He apparently alleged that the assassination of D'Arcy McGee had been plotted in the “Doctor’s House”, where the long line of Irish physicians did, and do to this day, reside. Raymond also addressed the local Masonic Lodge about the significance of the splendid carpet which covers the Lodge floor in its rooms at 34 Mills Street, and apparently the Members were kept enthralled. Since I was not in Almonte at the time of either of those events, I cannot comment further on them, but I do remember Raymond telling me about the former legal community in Almonte. He had a couple of good stories. Most of the lawyers had their offices on the second floor offices of the buildings along the south side of Mill Street, between Bridge and Brae Streets. Because the buildings in that area are tightly packed one against the other, there was nothing more than (in most cases) a rather insignificant “common” wall between the offices, and the lawyers were able to communicate with one another by tapping a hard object on the walls. One knock meant “See you in five minutes for a coffee”; two knocks meant “I cannot join you for coffee today”. Or whatever. A more interesting story was the one he told about W. H. Stafford, who was reputed at the time to be the most expensive and most successful lawyer in Town. I understand he represented some rather important Clients, including mining interests in the area (probably operating out of Toronto in the neighbouring Darling Township). Stafford was portrayed by Raymond as a very stern man, who did not like to lose. Stafford was acting for a Client to collect a balance owing on a promissory note. The note had been given as security for payment of the price of a cow, which the purchaser had thought (or been told) was in calf. It later turned out that the cow was not “in calf”, so the purchaser refused to pay the balance of the debt. Stafford, when pleading the case in court, dealt simply with the plain fact of the matter - that there was a promissory note for a stated amount, and nothing contained on the face of it which referred to a cow, much less a calf. The Judge, no doubt moved by the equities of the case, chose to see beyond the mere evidence of debt, and decided the case against Stafford. When Stafford left the building, he uttered to Raymond (who was acting for the fellow who had bought the cow) that “It was bad law!” or words to that effect. This would have been the end of the matter, one would have thought. However, it turned out that years later the person who had bought the cow (and refused to pay the debt) ran into financial difficulty. His mortgage was in arrears. Stafford got wind of this, bought the mortgage and foreclosed the house! A nasty bit of revenge.
Mr. Jamieson lived to be a very ripe old age (97 years), and I think it was only in the last six months of his life that he had any real problems, comparatively speaking:
Sharron Tate was supposed to come for a visit tonight, but that and the Art Appreciation Course were cancelled due to the storm. I used the “extra” time to pay a visit to Mr. Raymond A. Jamieson, Q.C. (in the Almonte General Hospital). He was apparently delighted to see me, but when he began tapping his fingers on his hospital food tray, I knew he was getting tired, and I left. He asked me not to be so long before my next visit. I suspect the time goes slowly in the hospital, but he never complains about it (or anything else for that matter). He always likes to chat about the various people and local events. It's not gossip so much as current affairs, as one might say. January 14, 1992.
I believe it was on one of these visits to Mr. Jamieson at the hospital when I told him, in response to his usual question “So what's new?”, that John Kerry was building a chapel onto his funeral home on Elgin Street. When he asked me what it was like, I told him that it was very nice, to which he responded, “I'm looking forward to going there!”. And he did! John, by the way, is to this day very fond of Raymond. John told me that when he first came to Town some 45 years ago, Raymond took particular care to introduce John and his wife, Marion, to the people on the local cocktail circuit. It was in fact Albert Gale of Albert Gale Real Estate Ltd. who introduced John to Raymond in connection with one of the many real estate transactions which were to follow in the Kerry family.
Raymond Jamieson died at four o'clock on Friday, February 28, 1992. I found out at six o'clock that evening, just as I was leaving the Office. Glenn Kerry, who was handling the funeral, called me for help on the obituary, which I was surprised to learn had not been prepared. I came back to Almonte on Sunday for an afternoon wake and visit with the family (I had also called on Friday night); then for the Masonic Funeral on Sunday night. The regular funeral was held on Monday afternoon. I did not go to that. Mike Galligan, Joe Granich, certain grandsons and other old friends were pall bearers. Mike will, I believe, be handling the estate, since I think that was a term of the deal when Mike bought out Raymond's practice back in 1976. I was interviewed about Raymond on Monday morning by Lois Tuffin ofThe Almonte Gazette. Alice (daughter of Raymond) has indicated that she intends to come to my Office to clean out certain things in an old safe of her father's which I still have. I said I would never go through it until he had died. It will be illustrative of the general passage of a page of history, cleaning out Raymond's old safe. Not to mention the feeling that I will have of finally having everything in the Office being mine. It's a break with the past. March 3, 1992.
In the Fall of 1977, on the heels of purchasing my new house, I was awakening to the material world and my present and future financial position. I was constantly reviewing my budget in my diaries, determining my income, my expenses and my debt. This effort to get control of my finances was
Sharron Tate was supposed to come for a visit tonight, but that and the Art Appreciation Course were cancelled due to the storm. I used the “extra” time to pay a visit to Mr. Raymond A. Jamieson, Q.C. (in the Almonte General Hospital). He was apparently delighted to see me, but when he began tapping his fingers on his hospital food tray, I knew he was getting tired, and I left. He asked me not to be so long before my next visit. I suspect the time goes slowly in the hospital, but he never complains about it (or anything else for that matter). He always likes to chat about the various people and local events. It's not gossip so much as current affairs, as one might say. January 14, 1992.
I believe it was on one of these visits to Mr. Jamieson at the hospital when I told him, in response to his usual question “So what's new?”, that John Kerry was building a chapel onto his funeral home on Elgin Street. When he asked me what it was like, I told him that it was very nice, to which he responded, “I'm looking forward to going there!”. And he did! John, by the way, is to this day very fond of Raymond. John told me that when he first came to Town some 45 years ago, Raymond took particular care to introduce John and his wife, Marion, to the people on the local cocktail circuit. It was in fact Albert Gale of Albert Gale Real Estate Ltd. who introduced John to Raymond in connection with one of the many real estate transactions which were to follow in the Kerry family.
Raymond Jamieson died at four o'clock on Friday, February 28, 1992. I found out at six o'clock that evening, just as I was leaving the Office. Glenn Kerry, who was handling the funeral, called me for help on the obituary, which I was surprised to learn had not been prepared. I came back to Almonte on Sunday for an afternoon wake and visit with the family (I had also called on Friday night); then for the Masonic Funeral on Sunday night. The regular funeral was held on Monday afternoon. I did not go to that. Mike Galligan, Joe Granich, certain grandsons and other old friends were pall bearers. Mike will, I believe, be handling the estate, since I think that was a term of the deal when Mike bought out Raymond's practice back in 1976. I was interviewed about Raymond on Monday morning by Lois Tuffin ofThe Almonte Gazette. Alice (daughter of Raymond) has indicated that she intends to come to my Office to clean out certain things in an old safe of her father's which I still have. I said I would never go through it until he had died. It will be illustrative of the general passage of a page of history, cleaning out Raymond's old safe. Not to mention the feeling that I will have of finally having everything in the Office being mine. It's a break with the past. March 3, 1992.
In the Fall of 1977, on the heels of purchasing my new house, I was awakening to the material world and my present and future financial position. I was constantly reviewing my budget in my diaries, determining my income, my expenses and my debt. This effort to get control of my finances was
only part of my greater desire to distance myself from myself just enough to be able to see what was going on. Even to this day, I regularly conduct an “inventory” in my mind about what I have, what I’m doing, where I’m going, who I’m with, who is alive, etc. I have no doubt that my dedication to writing my diaries was nothing more than an extension of my inventory-taking - just getting it all down on paper so I could somehow stop the world long enough to slow down the spinning blur that seemed to be all about me. The pace at work, combined with my lecturing and on-going social gatherings, was making things hectic. But, as I wrote on October 17, 1977:
The fact of the matter is that I shall never be able to gain control of everything; everything keeps changing, shoes wear out and need to be resoled, dust collects, work piles up, age creeps up, money is earned and money is spent. The whole thing just never stops. Well, this futile exercise now complete, I shall retire. To bed, that is. To start all over tomorrow morning!
Settling into Almonte was also part of the picture:
Today was different. Suddenly my year and a half in Almonte is like a story I have heard without having understood it. And my appreciation of what I didn’t understand has opened my mind. I am beginning to understand.
It’s hard in one way to put my finger on it. But as I walked about the Town in the mist tonight with (my dog) Lanny (always ahead of me, and looking back to see that I am following), and there were very few people to be seen in the quiet darkness on the shinny streets and sidewalks, I looked into the dusty, junky windows of the front- street stores, filled with cheap things and out-of-fashion clothing and shoes; I looked at the dirty streets and sidewalks; I was the target of a water-filled balloon from a passing car; I thought of the destructive Halloween antics; I thought of my dusty office and filthy office windows; I saw one or two boys shoving one another playfully in the middle of the empty main street; and I realized that this is a small town, not like the anonymous avenues of Toronto filled with beautiful people. And I recalled how Mike and Alan wondered what a bachelor would want to be in a small town for; and I felt lonely, and wondered how I plan to survive the rest of my life here without someone to share myself with.. And I recalled that I had said to Mrs. Barker, my secretary, today that all I wanted to be was a REALLY GOOD LAWYER. And I thought that I must devote more time to reading more law, familiarizing myself with corporate law, shareholders’ agreements, trust indentures, and any heavy-duty substantive anything law. November 9, 1977.
I suppose that for most of my life, having lived in so many different places, for such short times, the only thing that had ever really mattered was getting the job done that had to be done, whether it was spending a summer on holidays, or getting a law degree. Now, for the first time, I was starting to notice the background to my undertakings. The venue was becoming part of the fabric of my life. And I can honestly say that I have never looked back. More than once, someone has asked me when
The fact of the matter is that I shall never be able to gain control of everything; everything keeps changing, shoes wear out and need to be resoled, dust collects, work piles up, age creeps up, money is earned and money is spent. The whole thing just never stops. Well, this futile exercise now complete, I shall retire. To bed, that is. To start all over tomorrow morning!
Settling into Almonte was also part of the picture:
Today was different. Suddenly my year and a half in Almonte is like a story I have heard without having understood it. And my appreciation of what I didn’t understand has opened my mind. I am beginning to understand.
It’s hard in one way to put my finger on it. But as I walked about the Town in the mist tonight with (my dog) Lanny (always ahead of me, and looking back to see that I am following), and there were very few people to be seen in the quiet darkness on the shinny streets and sidewalks, I looked into the dusty, junky windows of the front- street stores, filled with cheap things and out-of-fashion clothing and shoes; I looked at the dirty streets and sidewalks; I was the target of a water-filled balloon from a passing car; I thought of the destructive Halloween antics; I thought of my dusty office and filthy office windows; I saw one or two boys shoving one another playfully in the middle of the empty main street; and I realized that this is a small town, not like the anonymous avenues of Toronto filled with beautiful people. And I recalled how Mike and Alan wondered what a bachelor would want to be in a small town for; and I felt lonely, and wondered how I plan to survive the rest of my life here without someone to share myself with.. And I recalled that I had said to Mrs. Barker, my secretary, today that all I wanted to be was a REALLY GOOD LAWYER. And I thought that I must devote more time to reading more law, familiarizing myself with corporate law, shareholders’ agreements, trust indentures, and any heavy-duty substantive anything law. November 9, 1977.
I suppose that for most of my life, having lived in so many different places, for such short times, the only thing that had ever really mattered was getting the job done that had to be done, whether it was spending a summer on holidays, or getting a law degree. Now, for the first time, I was starting to notice the background to my undertakings. The venue was becoming part of the fabric of my life. And I can honestly say that I have never looked back. More than once, someone has asked me when
I will be moving back to the City, as though that were the only logical thing to do after a statutory period in the purgatory of a small town. But it has never occurred to me. Not even for a moment. In fact, I am quite convinced that it would spell my doom. Each year that I am in Almonte, I become more and more entrenched. And it surprises me when new-comers to the Town look to me for advice and direction regarding life in this Town. I have never, of course, made the error of presuming to have the qualifications of a real “local”, but at least I have learned to spar with them. I take great pleasure, when in the company of people like Lyndon Somerton for example, of making some derogatory remark about some “new person in Town”, and “Who did they think they were anyway, coming here and telling us what to do!”. This would of course enrage Lyndon who has no second opinions of my outsider roots.
While I would not have considered leaving Almonte, I was beginning (November 9, 1977) to consider leaving Galligan & Sheffield. In fact, certain people (for whom I continue to work to this day), were encouraging me to “go out on my own”. It was not an option I was considering with any levity. It seemed to be a huge task, fraught with risk and danger:
By being entirely on my own at Raymond’s old office, I can see exactly how much business I am able to generate. I get very little worthwhile work from Raymond’s practice. If I were able to bill $50,000 a year, I could take $20,000 for myself, pay my secretary $10,000, and still have $20,000 for expenses. At that rate, I could retire a sizeable bank loan quite quickly. What I have to do is wait at least two years to see whether I can keep up the billings, what my reputation is like, and whether I can handle my life here. Actually, I don’t have too much choice. The type of work that I do is by no means all that intellectually demanding, so I wouldn’t be worth much to a law firm in the City. The only thing that I really have going for me here is that I am known as being thorough and meticulous, and I explain things to my clients. This coming year will also be a challenge for me because I will be losing Mrs. Barker as a secretary, and then I will REALLY be on my own. But she has been an excellent teacher of estate administration law. With what she has taught me, I am pretty well set up in that area.
Galligan & Sheffield were themselves making plans. On November 14, 1997 there is a reference to the fact that they had informed me that they were intending to close Raymond’s old office and move me back into their main office behind the Royal Bank:
When I move into the new office with Mike and Alan, I”ll miss the old office; Lanny always comes to the office with me at night, and I’m sure that he won’t like the new office as much, either.
Meanwhile, I was stilling rolling ideas around in my own mind:
This year has been a pretty rough year for me. I’ve done a lot of growing up (but, my God!, it’s a slow process), I’ve had to work very hard, I’ve had a lot of important hassles with friends, and I’ve spent one helluva lot of money. No matter how you cut it, life just isn’t a piece of cake. Sometimes I think I should go out and practice on my own, but I’m not sure that I could handle the responsibility at this point. And the thing that really bothers me is that I know in the back of my mind that I might not find it as easy as I think. I don’t yet have any idea what it might be like to really be under a lot of pressure. But the worst part of it all is that I’m not so sure that even if Mike and Alan were to offer me a partnership I would want to take it.
While I would not have considered leaving Almonte, I was beginning (November 9, 1977) to consider leaving Galligan & Sheffield. In fact, certain people (for whom I continue to work to this day), were encouraging me to “go out on my own”. It was not an option I was considering with any levity. It seemed to be a huge task, fraught with risk and danger:
By being entirely on my own at Raymond’s old office, I can see exactly how much business I am able to generate. I get very little worthwhile work from Raymond’s practice. If I were able to bill $50,000 a year, I could take $20,000 for myself, pay my secretary $10,000, and still have $20,000 for expenses. At that rate, I could retire a sizeable bank loan quite quickly. What I have to do is wait at least two years to see whether I can keep up the billings, what my reputation is like, and whether I can handle my life here. Actually, I don’t have too much choice. The type of work that I do is by no means all that intellectually demanding, so I wouldn’t be worth much to a law firm in the City. The only thing that I really have going for me here is that I am known as being thorough and meticulous, and I explain things to my clients. This coming year will also be a challenge for me because I will be losing Mrs. Barker as a secretary, and then I will REALLY be on my own. But she has been an excellent teacher of estate administration law. With what she has taught me, I am pretty well set up in that area.
Galligan & Sheffield were themselves making plans. On November 14, 1997 there is a reference to the fact that they had informed me that they were intending to close Raymond’s old office and move me back into their main office behind the Royal Bank:
When I move into the new office with Mike and Alan, I”ll miss the old office; Lanny always comes to the office with me at night, and I’m sure that he won’t like the new office as much, either.
Meanwhile, I was stilling rolling ideas around in my own mind:
This year has been a pretty rough year for me. I’ve done a lot of growing up (but, my God!, it’s a slow process), I’ve had to work very hard, I’ve had a lot of important hassles with friends, and I’ve spent one helluva lot of money. No matter how you cut it, life just isn’t a piece of cake. Sometimes I think I should go out and practice on my own, but I’m not sure that I could handle the responsibility at this point. And the thing that really bothers me is that I know in the back of my mind that I might not find it as easy as I think. I don’t yet have any idea what it might be like to really be under a lot of pressure. But the worst part of it all is that I’m not so sure that even if Mike and Alan were to offer me a partnership I would want to take it.
I am reminded of what my mother said when I told her I was thinking of opening my own office. She said, “Don’t do it. It’ll give you a headache!” And I guess she was right to a point. But by February 1, 1978, it was clear that something was coming to a head:
This evening I made a four-page list of things I would need when I open my new office. I am so pissed off at Mike and Alan. My secretary (Patricia Ewaschuk) was in my office for two and a half hours today, after 3:00 yesterday, three hours on Monday, and not at all on Friday. The rest of the time she has been over at the Registry Office doing title work. And Alan told me last Friday that Mike wanted to discuss a few things with me, and Mike said on Monday that we would have a talk, and I haven’t heard from him since. As usual, everybody’s busy, but it’s just getting me down that I never seem to be in on any of the real business of the firm with those two. It's just a matter of time before I leave. All I have to do is get organized, get prices for things, get a secretary, get set up, and start. I’m just getting so tired of being treated as a mere employee. They have never discussed anything with me, except when I bug them enough. It’s just driving me crazy. And I can’t understand this perfectly ridiculous situation with the lack of a secretary. Nothing is getting done at my office. I have to answer the phone myself even when I’m with clients; there’s no one around when I’m not there, the door is closed, and I’m losing clients because of it. Rush letters are an impossibility. And they seem oblivious to it. It’s as though nothing is wrong.
In keeping with my general positive approach to life, I have to say that as much as I am indebted to Macdonald, Affleck for giving me the reason to leave them to go to Almonte, so too am I indebted to Galligan & Sheffield for giving me the reason to leave them to go out on my own. Likewise I have to confess that my own impatience (a weakness of mine which I have come to know so well over the years, but sadly have never corrected) has never contributed much to a smooth working relationship with others. Once I take a notion in my mind, I move with it quickly, sometimes at my peril, but often enough with good results (which naturally cultivates the habit).
This evening I made a four-page list of things I would need when I open my new office. I am so pissed off at Mike and Alan. My secretary (Patricia Ewaschuk) was in my office for two and a half hours today, after 3:00 yesterday, three hours on Monday, and not at all on Friday. The rest of the time she has been over at the Registry Office doing title work. And Alan told me last Friday that Mike wanted to discuss a few things with me, and Mike said on Monday that we would have a talk, and I haven’t heard from him since. As usual, everybody’s busy, but it’s just getting me down that I never seem to be in on any of the real business of the firm with those two. It's just a matter of time before I leave. All I have to do is get organized, get prices for things, get a secretary, get set up, and start. I’m just getting so tired of being treated as a mere employee. They have never discussed anything with me, except when I bug them enough. It’s just driving me crazy. And I can’t understand this perfectly ridiculous situation with the lack of a secretary. Nothing is getting done at my office. I have to answer the phone myself even when I’m with clients; there’s no one around when I’m not there, the door is closed, and I’m losing clients because of it. Rush letters are an impossibility. And they seem oblivious to it. It’s as though nothing is wrong.
In keeping with my general positive approach to life, I have to say that as much as I am indebted to Macdonald, Affleck for giving me the reason to leave them to go to Almonte, so too am I indebted to Galligan & Sheffield for giving me the reason to leave them to go out on my own. Likewise I have to confess that my own impatience (a weakness of mine which I have come to know so well over the years, but sadly have never corrected) has never contributed much to a smooth working relationship with others. Once I take a notion in my mind, I move with it quickly, sometimes at my peril, but often enough with good results (which naturally cultivates the habit).
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