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| Marcel Strigberger |
I recall as a kid in Montreal, we had problems with our next-door neighbour, Madame Poirier (pronounced Poiri-AY). She owned a large mutt Roger (pronounced Roj-AY) whom she allowed the run of the land, which included Roger doing his business on our lawn. This often led to confrontations with my mother.
One autumn morning, both women were out raking leaves. Roger decided to pay us a visit, dumping a large calling card next to a prized tomato bush. This did not sit well with my mom. A heated argument ensued with my mom pointing to Roger with her rake. Madame Poirier unapologetically retaliated by taking a swing with her rake at my mother. Fortunately, my mother ducked quickly avoiding a potential decapitation. Roger, who at this point was seated comfortably observing the melee (pronounced meh-lAY), joined the confrontation, scooting towards my mom and barking. My mother responded by tossing her rake like an Olympic javelin gold medalist at Roger. The rake missed its mark. However, Roger decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and he darted home, tail between his legs.
My dad rushed out and thought it best to avoid escalation and to get my mom into the house, thereby preventing a duel by rakes. He then called the police.
Two officers arrived, one significantly older than the other. The younger officer took a statement from my mother, who was quite histrionic. She described Madame Poirier’s rake as a Samurai sword and Roger as the Tasmanian devil. The younger cop made frantic notes, nodding his head and uttering a few well-timed hmms. My mom no doubt expected the police to charge Madame Poirier with attempted murder.
The older officer, one Lafontaine, who was listening attentively, had not said much. He noted he would speak to our neighbour.
Upon returning, he told my mother that Madame Poirier had a different version of the event, claiming self-defence. He said she could possibly pursue an assault charge against Madame Poirier but cautioned that doing so could lead to more neighbourly acrimony.
He suggested my mom see a lawyer and then let him know if she wanted him to “go by the book.” I did not quite understand what that meant.
My dad was adamant about not getting lawyers involved. However, my mom’s desire to bring Madame Poirier to justice won out. We set up a consultation, to which my parents took me as they deemed me to be a witness of interest.
The lawyer, a grey-haired gentleman by the name of Horowitz, wearing a dapper three-piece suit, listened to my mother relating her tribulations. She even focused on whether we could have Roger impounded. I visualized that scene in The Wizard of Oz where Almira Gulch pays a visit to Dorothy’s house with a Sheriff’s order allowing her to remove her little dog, Toto.
In addition, she queried about taking legal action against our neighbour with the rake, which she now described as a weapon of mass destruction.
Mr. Horowitz concluded that some action might be possible from a criminal and/or civil angle if my mother wanted to pursue her rights in accordance with “the big book.”
I thought about what that officer had said about “the book” and wondered if that book was different from “the big book.” Was it larger?
The lawyer cautioned my parents that legal proceedings, between neighbours especially, can take time to resolve, become costly and turn ugly. My father said they would think about it.
Within a few days, my parents received a bill from Mr. Horowitz for $50. This was about in the range of my father’s weekly salary as a tailor. I recall my dad lighting up a cigarette and puffing it profusely as he scanned the bill.
My parents soon opted not to go by the book. Neither big nor regular. Maybe the bill was a factor. My dad actually often encouraged me to become a lawyer, saying, “Lawyers make lots of money.” Maybe Roger was a catalyst for me pursuing this noble profession. Who knows?
I do recall the subject of the book coming up while in practice. After getting called to the bar, I was fortunate to work under the wings of a seasoned litigator and mentor called Hank. One evening, after a dinner for retiring police officers, one of them, called McKenzie, asked if anybody could give him a ride to the subway station. Hank readily volunteered. In fact, he passed the subway station, and we drove McKenzie all the way home.
I asked Hank why he did not just drop the gentleman off at the subway station as he had requested. Hank replied, “While in practice, you will run into situations where you have some discretion and choices. Whenever possible, give people more than they expect. I could have just taken him to the subway station and that would have been according to ‘the holy book’.”
I wondered about this holy book. Was it similar to Lafontaine’s or Horowitz’s books? Or was it perhaps biblical? “If requested to drop someone off at a subway station, thou shalt so drop him off.”
Not long afterward, I had to visit a client who was in custody at a local jail. Visiting lawyers had to sign in and wait to be ushered in. For some reason, there were delays, and I was near the end of the lawyer queue. To my surprise, I heard someone calling me. It was McKenzie. He said, “You’re the guy who works with Hank?”
Apparently, McKenzie had some sway here, and he got me in almost immediately. I thought of Mark Twain, who said, “Always do the right thing. It will impress some people and amaze the rest.”
I am not sure what I did right, but McKenzie certainly did the right thing. I was happy he did not go by the book. Any book.
Oh yes, as for my parents, to our surprise, the situation calmed down. For some reason or other, the neighbour decided to curb Roger.
Is it best, even for lawyers, to sometimes not go by the book? Nay or yeah (pronounced YAY).
Marcel Strigberger retired from his Greater Toronto Area litigation practice and continues the more serious business of humorous author and speaker. His book Boomers, Zoomers, and Other Oomers: A Boomer-biased Irreverent Perspective on Aging is available on Amazon, (e-book) and paper version. Visit www.marcelshumour.com. Follow him @MarcelsHumour.
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