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.
I am very lucky to have an excellent secretary (Jennifer M. Thomson) working for me. Just plain luck! She is everything one could hope for.
The decision to go on my own was probably made sometime in mid-January, though I’m not exactly sure when. It somehow just came over me, and before I knew it, I was making all sorts of plans. It was really just a coincidence that I arranged with Galligan & Sheffield to buy part of Jamieson’s practice back. If they hadn’t suggested it, I would just have gone out entirely on my own.
One of the things that I am particularly pleased about is that I was able to rent Jamieson’s old office. I have always been very fond of the old place; and the price is right ($100 per month).
For the most part, I have been exhausted since I started up. Many nights I have been up late. And business hasn’t been slow at all. And I keep the office open until 1:30 on Saturday afternoons; plus working on Sundays. However, I don’t really mind it at all, since I consider it just the price of being young and new at the game.
I remember my parting meeting with Mike Galligan as vividly as I remember my last luncheon with Alistair Macdonald at the Rideau Club when I had determined to leave Macdonald, Affleck. Mike had invited me to have lunch with him at the Superior Restaurant (in the back room, where the heavy business meetings were customarily conducted, away from the regular dining traffic at the front of the restaurant). The purpose of the meeting was allegedly to discuss our future business association. I recall that we were having soup at the time, and when I told Mike that I had decided to go out on my own, he put down his soup spoon and said, “You’re miles ahead of us.”, to which I replied, “No, I’m just trying to catch up.” I do not recollect much after that, but it was clear that Mike understood my mind was made up, and what remained was only to work out the details. I am, however, pleased to note that my relationship with Mike has only improved over the years, and I shall always be
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.
I am very lucky to have an excellent secretary (Jennifer M. Thomson) working for me. Just plain luck! She is everything one could hope for.
The decision to go on my own was probably made sometime in mid-January, though I’m not exactly sure when. It somehow just came over me, and before I knew it, I was making all sorts of plans. It was really just a coincidence that I arranged with Galligan & Sheffield to buy part of Jamieson’s practice back. If they hadn’t suggested it, I would just have gone out entirely on my own.
One of the things that I am particularly pleased about is that I was able to rent Jamieson’s old office. I have always been very fond of the old place; and the price is right ($100 per month).
For the most part, I have been exhausted since I started up. Many nights I have been up late. And business hasn’t been slow at all. And I keep the office open until 1:30 on Saturday afternoons; plus working on Sundays. However, I don’t really mind it at all, since I consider it just the price of being young and new at the game.
I remember my parting meeting with Mike Galligan as vividly as I remember my last luncheon with Alistair Macdonald at the Rideau Club when I had determined to leave Macdonald, Affleck. Mike had invited me to have lunch with him at the Superior Restaurant (in the back room, where the heavy business meetings were customarily conducted, away from the regular dining traffic at the front of the restaurant). The purpose of the meeting was allegedly to discuss our future business association. I recall that we were having soup at the time, and when I told Mike that I had decided to go out on my own, he put down his soup spoon and said, “You’re miles ahead of us.”, to which I replied, “No, I’m just trying to catch up.” I do not recollect much after that, but it was clear that Mike understood my mind was made up, and what remained was only to work out the details. I am, however, pleased to note that my relationship with Mike has only improved over the years, and I shall always be
grateful to me for having given me the opportunity to practice law in Almonte, and all that that has entailed.
Life in Almonte has proven to be very rich and rewarding for me in many ways. Partly (or perhaps even, mostly) it gave me the opportunity to fulfill myself, to be a part of many things, to avoid that condemnation of Karl Marx of being disjointed from the product for which one labours. I was able to see results and growth from my daily efforts. There were of course many incidents of a more personal nature, which spoke of the ever-growing fabric of my community involvement:
When I first woke up this morning, the sun was shining. And I was angry, because I knew that I couldn’t face it.
I went back to sleep. And when I awoke again, the clouds had moved in, and I thought of rain and coffee and cigarettes.
After my shower, I felt better. And the sun was shining.
Today was one of the most splendid days of the summer, with the warm air above the earth being swept here and there by waves and billows of cool Autumn air.
As I lay in the sun in the back yard, drifting from sleep to now, I realized that I heard Larry Maynard’s sea plane taking off, and I remembered his offer to let me use his canoe. I folded the blanket and towel, let Lanny out of his run, and drove over to Larry’s house. Mrs. Maynard found me the paddle, and I pushed off across the shallow Mississippi River, with Lanny swimming and walking behind me. Then I stopped along the opposite shore to let Lanny get into the canoe with me, then headed back to Larry’s landing.
Then I phoned Halcyone; and within minutes I had arrived at their place. I went for a swim.
Now I am having a scotch and soda, preparing steak and kidney pie, with sliced fresh tomatoes from Rev. George Bickley. August 21, 1978.
John and Halcyon Bell were among the first people in the area to extend the social branch to me. They had a lovely home in the country. It was hidden down a long and winding road through the bush nestled in the middle of about 200 acres of land they owned just outside Almonte, off the Clayton Road. While their home now enjoyed not only a rather grand in-ground pool overlooking the meadow behind the house, and an indoor terrarium complete with the most exotic looking frogs and other amphibia, not to mention the compelling display of Lalique crystal and fine Russian Samovar, I understand that for about thirty years they did not have even electricity. John was the son of James Macintosh Bell, who, John told me, formerly owned “Old Burnside” in Almonte, where his father lived with his wife and children “...and a skeleton staff of fifteen..”, which I am inclined to believe, having been in that huge home, and seen its fireplaces in almost every room. The reason for John and Halcyon’s hermitage to the country is not entirely clear, but it did not take much of an inductive leap, once you had met John, to accept that it had (so I was told by someone or other) something to do with John’s dislike for society in general, other than on his own turf and terms. John was a graduate of Upper Canada College on Avenue Road in Toronto, but considering the social order in which he would likely have found himself as a result of his father’s affiliations (I understand, for example, that his father had even been on the Board of the Bank of New Zealand), it is difficult to imagine him being out of his accustomed enclave in Almonte, other than by design. John and Halcyon were clearly hard workers. Their home and surroundings were nothing short of the product of very great and dedicated industry. They were both artistic as well. The walls of their home were covered with paintings which they had done. And Halcyon was a gourmet cook! Once I tried reciprocating their generosity by having them to my very humble home in Almonte, and John spent the entire morning (it was a brunch) walking outside in the back yard, sipping a bit of rye and water. When he was not holding court next to the large picture window in the front room of his own home, with its huge fireplace, he simply was not happy. One certainly would not condemn a man for this, because by comparison, his own environment was so expansive and cozy and beautiful. But I could tell that a repeat visit to my digs was unnecessary.
Life in Almonte has proven to be very rich and rewarding for me in many ways. Partly (or perhaps even, mostly) it gave me the opportunity to fulfill myself, to be a part of many things, to avoid that condemnation of Karl Marx of being disjointed from the product for which one labours. I was able to see results and growth from my daily efforts. There were of course many incidents of a more personal nature, which spoke of the ever-growing fabric of my community involvement:
When I first woke up this morning, the sun was shining. And I was angry, because I knew that I couldn’t face it.
I went back to sleep. And when I awoke again, the clouds had moved in, and I thought of rain and coffee and cigarettes.
After my shower, I felt better. And the sun was shining.
Today was one of the most splendid days of the summer, with the warm air above the earth being swept here and there by waves and billows of cool Autumn air.
As I lay in the sun in the back yard, drifting from sleep to now, I realized that I heard Larry Maynard’s sea plane taking off, and I remembered his offer to let me use his canoe. I folded the blanket and towel, let Lanny out of his run, and drove over to Larry’s house. Mrs. Maynard found me the paddle, and I pushed off across the shallow Mississippi River, with Lanny swimming and walking behind me. Then I stopped along the opposite shore to let Lanny get into the canoe with me, then headed back to Larry’s landing.
Then I phoned Halcyone; and within minutes I had arrived at their place. I went for a swim.
Now I am having a scotch and soda, preparing steak and kidney pie, with sliced fresh tomatoes from Rev. George Bickley. August 21, 1978.
John and Halcyon Bell were among the first people in the area to extend the social branch to me. They had a lovely home in the country. It was hidden down a long and winding road through the bush nestled in the middle of about 200 acres of land they owned just outside Almonte, off the Clayton Road. While their home now enjoyed not only a rather grand in-ground pool overlooking the meadow behind the house, and an indoor terrarium complete with the most exotic looking frogs and other amphibia, not to mention the compelling display of Lalique crystal and fine Russian Samovar, I understand that for about thirty years they did not have even electricity. John was the son of James Macintosh Bell, who, John told me, formerly owned “Old Burnside” in Almonte, where his father lived with his wife and children “...and a skeleton staff of fifteen..”, which I am inclined to believe, having been in that huge home, and seen its fireplaces in almost every room. The reason for John and Halcyon’s hermitage to the country is not entirely clear, but it did not take much of an inductive leap, once you had met John, to accept that it had (so I was told by someone or other) something to do with John’s dislike for society in general, other than on his own turf and terms. John was a graduate of Upper Canada College on Avenue Road in Toronto, but considering the social order in which he would likely have found himself as a result of his father’s affiliations (I understand, for example, that his father had even been on the Board of the Bank of New Zealand), it is difficult to imagine him being out of his accustomed enclave in Almonte, other than by design. John and Halcyon were clearly hard workers. Their home and surroundings were nothing short of the product of very great and dedicated industry. They were both artistic as well. The walls of their home were covered with paintings which they had done. And Halcyon was a gourmet cook! Once I tried reciprocating their generosity by having them to my very humble home in Almonte, and John spent the entire morning (it was a brunch) walking outside in the back yard, sipping a bit of rye and water. When he was not holding court next to the large picture window in the front room of his own home, with its huge fireplace, he simply was not happy. One certainly would not condemn a man for this, because by comparison, his own environment was so expansive and cozy and beautiful. But I could tell that a repeat visit to my digs was unnecessary.
Interspersed with my visitations with new friends was, of course, work. And it was not always a labour of love, as some raconteurs might have us believe, as they look back on those “happy days”:
AnotherSundayevening. Sundayevenings,alongwithMondaymornings,should be stricken from our calendar. They’re both absolutely dreary; the first because of the prospect of work, the second because of the realization of it. They both involve the return of the human animal to an unnatural state - that of labour, an occupation to which I, for one, am total unsuited. At least we could have a six day work week, or even a seven day work week, with three afternoons off during the week. Such a scheme would have the benefit of satisfying nature’s destiny for man, while at the same time affording us temporary relief from the same, without removing us for such an inordinate length of time from it to permit us to ponder and understand (and learn to abhor) the “condition humaine”. Necessity (while it may be affectionately referred to by some as the mother of invention) is a shroud of unhappiness for most, a reminder to us of our mortality, a stigma of the masses, an opiate of those crazed with designs on success, a miserable disease of creeping want and frustration. It encourages not hope, not desire, nor anticipation; but obligation - and what a horrible way in which to give to Life the benefit of our existence. By necessity! There is no loving desire, no joy of return; rather, a grovelling submission to the unwanted burden of relief from yet another week of work. November 19, 1978.
However much kicking and screaming I may have done about work, the fact was that we were busy. On December 7, 1978 I made the decision to abandon my cacoon in Raymond Jamieson’s old second-floor office on Mill Street. My move was across the street to my current office at 77 Little Bridge Street, which was then owned by Bill Guthrie and Jack Levi, men who owned then, as they
AnotherSundayevening. Sundayevenings,alongwithMondaymornings,should be stricken from our calendar. They’re both absolutely dreary; the first because of the prospect of work, the second because of the realization of it. They both involve the return of the human animal to an unnatural state - that of labour, an occupation to which I, for one, am total unsuited. At least we could have a six day work week, or even a seven day work week, with three afternoons off during the week. Such a scheme would have the benefit of satisfying nature’s destiny for man, while at the same time affording us temporary relief from the same, without removing us for such an inordinate length of time from it to permit us to ponder and understand (and learn to abhor) the “condition humaine”. Necessity (while it may be affectionately referred to by some as the mother of invention) is a shroud of unhappiness for most, a reminder to us of our mortality, a stigma of the masses, an opiate of those crazed with designs on success, a miserable disease of creeping want and frustration. It encourages not hope, not desire, nor anticipation; but obligation - and what a horrible way in which to give to Life the benefit of our existence. By necessity! There is no loving desire, no joy of return; rather, a grovelling submission to the unwanted burden of relief from yet another week of work. November 19, 1978.
However much kicking and screaming I may have done about work, the fact was that we were busy. On December 7, 1978 I made the decision to abandon my cacoon in Raymond Jamieson’s old second-floor office on Mill Street. My move was across the street to my current office at 77 Little Bridge Street, which was then owned by Bill Guthrie and Jack Levi, men who owned then, as they
-66- do now, a good deal of real estate in Almonte:
It was not all that difficult to come to the decision, since I will have more room for possible expansion, better electrical system, a normal washroom, ground floor, AND (this is the best part) a 5-year lease, with the option of termination on three months notice and payment of a month’s rent as a penalty. The only bad part about it is that the rent is $275 as opposed to $100 per month that I am presently paying. The move is scheduled to take place on February 1, 1979.
As a result of the move, I got my introduction to the Drummond Brothers, Dave and Gilmour. They were the President and Vice-president of Drummond Bros. Inc., house movers. And, as I discovered, they also assisted in moving other large objects, like safes. Along with Raymond’s old books, furnishings and filing cabinets, I had also purchased his safes. He had two. One appeared to have been purchased new by him. It was made by Goldie and McCulloch of Guelph, Ontario, and it had his name in fancy gold lettering above the door. The other, larger safe had been purchased by Raymond at a Sheriff’s auction in the Township of West Carleton. Raymond told me that the auctioneer had said he could have it for $1 provided he paid to move it. The story about getting the safes out of the second-floor office was good competition for the story about getting them in there in the first place. Raymond told me that he had hired Mr. Fred Larose to assist in getting the Goldie and McCulloch safe up the steep staircase from Mill Street. The job was made even more difficult by the fact that there was a landing almost at the top, but then a sharp right turn and a few more steps before gaining entry to the office. And of course add to this the stress of knowing that, until the safe was up the stairs, no one could go near the office, since there was no other way of entry. My recollection of the event, as told to me by Raymond, is rather sketchy, but I believe it took more than a couple of days to complete the task, and not without some very creative engineering when it came to rounding the bend. I suspect the other, larger safe would have been easier to handle, because it was narrower, though taller.
Getting the two safes out of the office was handled by Drummond Bros. in a way I hadn’t anticipated. They decided, quite rightly I am sure, that it would in the long run be far easier to remove the safes from the windows facing Mill Street, than down the twisted staircase. They constructed large, heavy wooden scaffolds. They must have used some kind of pulley network, because they certainly did not merely rely upon a crane and boom from a truck to hoist them from the window to the street below. What, however, made the experience so unique and memorable was not so much the clever techniques they employed, but rather listening to the Drummond Brothers’ on-going chatter, in menacingly serious tones, about the likelihood of doom and tragedy that would befall the undertaking. This, combined with a constant and not oblique enquiry into my ability to pay the escalating costs of the job, did little to engender any confidence or pleasure with the crew. Not surprisingly, as it turned out, nothing could have been further from the truth. They handled the huge and heavy objects with the facility of professionals. I might add that, getting the safes into my new office, they also opted for the windows, since they felt the weight of the safes might crush the front veranda. The Drummond Brothers eventually collapsed their company, in the wake of ever- increasing public liability insurance costs, a feature of their high-risk and dangerous business which
It was not all that difficult to come to the decision, since I will have more room for possible expansion, better electrical system, a normal washroom, ground floor, AND (this is the best part) a 5-year lease, with the option of termination on three months notice and payment of a month’s rent as a penalty. The only bad part about it is that the rent is $275 as opposed to $100 per month that I am presently paying. The move is scheduled to take place on February 1, 1979.
As a result of the move, I got my introduction to the Drummond Brothers, Dave and Gilmour. They were the President and Vice-president of Drummond Bros. Inc., house movers. And, as I discovered, they also assisted in moving other large objects, like safes. Along with Raymond’s old books, furnishings and filing cabinets, I had also purchased his safes. He had two. One appeared to have been purchased new by him. It was made by Goldie and McCulloch of Guelph, Ontario, and it had his name in fancy gold lettering above the door. The other, larger safe had been purchased by Raymond at a Sheriff’s auction in the Township of West Carleton. Raymond told me that the auctioneer had said he could have it for $1 provided he paid to move it. The story about getting the safes out of the second-floor office was good competition for the story about getting them in there in the first place. Raymond told me that he had hired Mr. Fred Larose to assist in getting the Goldie and McCulloch safe up the steep staircase from Mill Street. The job was made even more difficult by the fact that there was a landing almost at the top, but then a sharp right turn and a few more steps before gaining entry to the office. And of course add to this the stress of knowing that, until the safe was up the stairs, no one could go near the office, since there was no other way of entry. My recollection of the event, as told to me by Raymond, is rather sketchy, but I believe it took more than a couple of days to complete the task, and not without some very creative engineering when it came to rounding the bend. I suspect the other, larger safe would have been easier to handle, because it was narrower, though taller.
Getting the two safes out of the office was handled by Drummond Bros. in a way I hadn’t anticipated. They decided, quite rightly I am sure, that it would in the long run be far easier to remove the safes from the windows facing Mill Street, than down the twisted staircase. They constructed large, heavy wooden scaffolds. They must have used some kind of pulley network, because they certainly did not merely rely upon a crane and boom from a truck to hoist them from the window to the street below. What, however, made the experience so unique and memorable was not so much the clever techniques they employed, but rather listening to the Drummond Brothers’ on-going chatter, in menacingly serious tones, about the likelihood of doom and tragedy that would befall the undertaking. This, combined with a constant and not oblique enquiry into my ability to pay the escalating costs of the job, did little to engender any confidence or pleasure with the crew. Not surprisingly, as it turned out, nothing could have been further from the truth. They handled the huge and heavy objects with the facility of professionals. I might add that, getting the safes into my new office, they also opted for the windows, since they felt the weight of the safes might crush the front veranda. The Drummond Brothers eventually collapsed their company, in the wake of ever- increasing public liability insurance costs, a feature of their high-risk and dangerous business which
of course could not be easily ignored. They do, however, continue to exhibit their numerous talents in this most unusual business, while in the employ of a local friend and entrepreneur, and while continuing to keep their clients wide-eyed with fear over what disaster is about to occur.
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