Are you retired yet?
“Are you retired yet?” was the most common question people would ask me before I closed my law practice. The second most common question was, “When are you retiring?”
I actually stopped practicing in early 2017, after a brief stint of 43 years. I have since been focusing on my ongoing humour writing and speaking career.
This leads me to the third most common comment, “Lawyer and humour? Isn’t that an oxymoron?” (It’s good to know what the public thinks about lawyers.)
How and why did I transition? Ah huh!
The Big Bang of both careers started one afternoon in Grade 2 when my mother took me to my physician. Upon arrival his receptionist said he was ill. When I got to my class, the teacher asked where I had been. Innocently I replied, “I went to the doctor, but the doctor was sick.”
The kids broke out in uncontrollable laughter. Doctors do not get sick. They’re superhuman.
I felt exhilarated by the laughter. It was a magic lotus-like elixir.
But the teacher was not amused. She said, “Trying to be funny?” She punished me. I had to write out 20 times, “I will not joke around.”
I thought that was unfair. There and then my law career started. Sort of. I wanted to pursue fairness passionately. But what profession deals with justice? At age seven I had never heard of lawyers.
That laughter buzz stayed with me and I became the class clown. On one occasion another teacher said to me, “You should go with your mother to a psychiatrist.” I responded, “What’s wrong with my mother?
That comment got me ejected from the class. The injustices continued.
But the ensuing laughter from my classmates was well worth the consequences.
Not long after Perry Mason came along on television. I was enthralled by his character. People are accused of a crime they did not commit, they hire a lawyer, and he proves they’re innocent. I’m in. I’ll show those teachers.
Near the end of my undergrad years at McGill, I realized my career path was a toss-up between law school and the comedy world. I loved both options but felt I had to focus on one. Comedy it was.
I took a year off and freelanced for the CBC. I also applied to law school in the unlikely event I could not make a living freelance writing. The unlikely event became likely.
I got called to the Bar of Ontario in March 1974, BC (before computers).
My passion for comedy and humour, however, was unabated. I contributed stuff for publications, legal and non, including the Toronto Star and the Globe and Mail. As well I published my first book, Birth, Death and Other Trivialities: A Humourous Philosophical Look at the Human Condition.
In the late ’70s, Yuk Yuks and other comedy clubs came along, and I spent several years having the time of my life doing stand-up, sharing the stage with the likes of unknown comics such as Howie Mandel, Bob Saget and Jim Carrey.
I was tempted to move down to LA, as they did, and take my chances but I did not think my good wife and three small kids would appreciate me closing my practice and risking financial ruin.
I did various gigs, including a most memorable appearance at a conference of the Ontario Superior Court Judges’ Association. This was the first time judges reacted to my presentation with applause (it was also the last time). I experienced that Grade 2 buzz moment feeling big time. And I even got paid for it (as opposed to being made to write out some nasty sentence 20 times).
A litigation and divorce law practice can tax your time and nerves. We have good days and bad days. I was indeed making justice happen on the good days. But the bad days kept me up in the middle of the night, ruminating about my cases and concurrently lamenting that they kept me from freely pursuing my labour of love, namely bringing humour to the planet.
As I was nearing age 70, I thought about that adage, the best time to plant an oak tree is 20 years ago. The second-best time is today.
Was age an issue? I noted that Winston Churchill became PM, hitting the big time at age 66. And Colonel Harland Sanders sold his first franchise while in his 60s. Even Stalin reached his prime as a senior.
I, of course, had a different product to offer than Churchill; and certainly different than Stalin. At least my name wasn’t Harland.
My No. 1 son, Daniel, an insurance lawyer, gave me subtle hints, such as, “Stop practicing. You’re old.” I have since revised my Will.