Author Archives: L. G. William Chapman, B.A., LL.B.

About L. G. William Chapman, B.A., LL.B.

Past President, Mississippi Masonic Hall Inc.; Past Master (by demit) of Mississippi Lodge No. 147, A.F. and A.M., G.R.C. (in Ontario) Chartered by the Grand Lodge of Canada July 20, 1861; Don, Devonshire House, University of Toronto, Toronto, Ontario; Juris Doctor, Dalhousie Law School, Halifax, Nova Scotia; Bachelor of Arts (Philosophy), Glendon Hall, York University, Toronto, Ontario; Old Boy (House Captain, Regimental Sgt. Major, Prefect and Head Boy), St. Andrew's College, Aurora, Ontario.

Muddling interruptions

This time of year – the infamous Ides of March – predict what are invariably bungling interventions upon the projected springtime and summer seasons.

The Ides of March is the day on the Roman calendar marked as the Idus, roughly the midpoint of a month, of Martius, corresponding to 15 March on the Gregorian calendar. It was marked by several major religious observances. In 44 BC, it became notorious as the date of the assassination of Julius Caesar, which made the Ides of March a turning point in Roman history.

Less dramatically than Roman history, the record of events here adjacent the Mississippi River at the end of Spring Street, Almonte is scrambled by a mix of mud (from McCaffrey Trail, Village of Ashton), recent pellets of frozen rain and now a light snowfall which has succeeded to cloud the former clarity of the river view.

Otherwise however the prospects are far less muddled.  We’re already actively retailing the multiple advantages of arranging breakfast reunions at the golf club. Our confessed dissolution of entertainment at home by replacement at the golf club has proven to be a highly workable mechanism for stimulating not only social gatherings but more specifically strengthening familial connections upon all sides. Having the need, and knowing the way, to accommodate this worthy enterprise is a happy fortuity. Indeed it is reminiscent of those tribal or clan alliances which so spirited our ancestral Gaelic types.

It was true that the Highlander had few scruples about shedding the blood of an enemy: but it was not less true that he had high notions of the duty of observing faith to allies and hospitality to guests. It was true that his predatory habits were most pernicious to the commonwealth. Yet those erred greatly who imagined that he bore any resemblance to villains who, in rich and well governed communities, live by stealing. When he drove before him the herds of Lowland farmers up the pass which led to his native glen, he no more considered himself as a thief than the Raleighs and Drakes considered themselves as thieves when they divided the cargoes of Spanish galleons.

Excerpt From
Thomas Babington Macaulay
The History of England, from the Accession of James II — Volume 3

As often as I cringe upon reading the snobbish renditions of English history by Babington Macaulay (a prejudice which by the way has been advanced by scholars), I am bound to credit him with exceptional insight into human character notwithstanding his undisciplined preference for the likes and dominance of the British gentleman.  These ruminations by him or me however never amount to an interruption of my day.  In fact au contraire they stimulate what I fashion to be advancement albeit with qualification.

Living as I do a life of rampant idleness has nonetheless permitted me to dwell upon sufficient preoccupations to expiate any guilt of indolence. Foremost is a theme of physical exertion.  Initially I had sought to exhaust myself or at the very least prolong the stimulus to a point of depletion.  Finally however I have recognized that at my advanced age there is no need to hurry. Nor thankfully have I any inclination whatever to embarrass myself or somehow to prove myself by exhibiting what are frankly characteristics limited to youthful exuberance. My remaining limited rationality has enabled me to argue myself out of that particular jumble of thought. This morning for example I fulfilled my athletic ambition by twice (that is, on two separate occasions) having bounced up and down on my Rebounder.  I know it sounds silly and even quaint or meaningless; but I can assure you that it rapidly becomes a challenge.  And more importantly of course it becomes a fruitful engagement.  I chose that particular opportunity today because yesterday I had tricycled about 6 Kms about the neighbourhood. Following completion of either exercise routine – triking or bouncing – I am uncertain which is more beneficial.  I like cycling because it gets me out and about – and frequently stopping alongside the road to chat with walkers along the river. But the Rebounder is good return for the money!  The two events have I believe the further benefit of combining different strengths so there is that advantage as well.

Once I have purged the athletic impulse, and after having consumed a bowl of steel cut oats comingled with strawberries, prunes and a cocoanut based yoghurt, the afternoon precipitously opens upon my day. Granted I have likely delayed the evolution of my day’s enterprise by first confronting my MacBook Pro assembly to read and answer whatever email I happen to have received. I am one of those narcotic people who answers email upon receipt. My catalogue of acquaintances often suffer a similar urgency. As a result a conversation sometimes initiatated by a sleepless constituent in the middle of the night might easily continue well into the following morning depending upon the nature of the chat. However by the time noon is approaching (and I have taken my pills – God bless Advil Arthritis Pills), it is time to address the car wash proclivity.

In my defence an outing in my automobile is akin to a ride upon a Skidoo; it’s an assured adventure in addition to being an antidepressant. As I further discovered today while addressing the vacuuming, cleaning of the car mats and cleansing the collection of mud upon the undercarriage, my ability to stand for anything more than 30 seconds is questionable.  If I happen to extend the duration of unsupported mobility I quickly begin to collapse. All this I take with entire acceptance.  But it certainly advances my entitlement to automotive conveyance. Besides I have a partiality for anything mechanical (among them for example watches). Listening to a well-tuned engine, feeling the surge of a competent acceleration and playing with the onboard bells-and-whistles (including toying with Siri and music) are all preoccupations of endless levity.

Don’t get me wrong…

So often the introductory assertion, “Don’t get me wrong…” in fact predicts just the opposite intention, “You’re damn right I think so!” Seemingly we’re provoked initially to shield or outright hide our predominant disposition by characterizing it as some less direct offensive. At a minimum the initial statement, “Don’t get me wrong!” Is a caution to what follows, a hint at qualification. The last thing it is however is mistaken. In that sense at least the statement is undisguised.

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The Singular Features of Lanark County

As I write this autobiographic account I am 75 years old and complacently seated at my desk overlooking farm lands and the Mississippi River as it flows smoothly down from the Village of Appleton on the southeast side of Almonte to the Village of Blakeney on the northwest side of town amidst names such as Galbraith, Corkery, Union Hall, Rosetta, Clayton, Bennie’s Corners and the Mill of Kintail. I’ve had some time to gather my thoughts about what it is that distinguishes Lanark County. It was almost half a century ago in June of 1976 at 27 years of age, alone and with my Yellow Labrador puppy Lanny (whose purebred name was Lanark Drummond Beckwith of Rosedale) that, to the astonishment of some of my family, erstwhile friends and acquaintances in the city, I moved to Almonte from Ottawa where in 1973 – 1974 I had completed my Articles with Messrs. Macdonald, Affleck, Barrs., &c., 100 Sparks Street upon graduating from Dalhousie law school in Halifax, NS.  I was called to the Bar at Osgoode Hall, Toronto in March of 1975; and then subsequently practiced law briefly with Macdonald, Affleck, including not insignificantly appearances (or what now might rightfully be called my “15 minutes of fame” when I actually stood and addressed the bench) in the Federal Court of Canada (Appeal Division) and the Supreme Court of Canada on behalf of West Coast Transmission Co. Ltd. in its inventive challenge of Marshall Crowe as Chairman of the National Energy Board relating to possible bias in matters surrounding the McKenzie Valley Pipeline Hearings. It was a distinction never to be repeated on my part.  I believe of the 50 lawyers in the court room at the time I was the only one with a stuff gown; the rest had all taken silk. To my credit, however, of those Queen’s Counsellors I was only one lawyer among perhaps eight others who said more than, “My Lords, I respectfully agree with my learned friend Mr. Soloway”.  In accomplishing even that abbreviated commendation, the rustle of their silk gowns as they stood obsequiously from their black leathered wooden chairs was mystical.

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Oh, my! How long ago was that?

It was almost a year ago – June 3rd, 2023 – that Johnnie departed forever. I learned of his failing health and pneumonic death from his longtime friend and childhood schoolmate Lynn. Since then I have had the opportunity to converse via email with Lynn on several occasions as she resolvedly prepares to fulfill Johnnie’s last wish foregathering; and, during the same period my partner and I have reflected upon the times we and Johnnie spent together.  Today I was again prompted to think upon the past by the unusual circumstance of seeing a new model vehicle at my car dealership.  I was there to have routine maintenance done on my vehicle; and, while sitting in the showroom fiddling on my iPhone I was obliged to confront what had the appearance of a remake of the erstwhile Hummer.

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Airport Day

Some time ago, I can’t remember quite when exactly, my erstwhile physician asked if we might collect him at the airport upon his return to Canada. He had been away for a very extensive period of time, first crossing over South America and Tierra del Fuego all the way down to Antarctica. Then he returned through South America en route to Australia where he lingered for some time with his daughter, her husband and two grandchildren. Thereafter it was a skip over the South Pacific to Cape Town, South Africa. And it is most recently from that exotic venue that he has arrived back on terra firma in Canada through Newark, United States of America.

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Change de lieu

Arranging an appointment at Reid Bros Motor Sales in response to a manufacturer’s recall notice was for me equivalent to accepting an invitation to a welcome social event. While I won’t pretend to cherish the receipt of a recall notice, the overwhelming dissatisfaction is to endure mechanical impurity. Knowing that absolution awaits is by far the more desirable peril! For days I had lived in anticipation of fulfillment of the purgation and deliverance. Last evening for example I tactfully ensured that my alarm was set well in advance of the predicted departure time to guarantee arrival when scheduled.  So enthused was I by the possibilities that I had already formulated in my mind discussing with the Service Advisor (Alex or Phil) whether it were opportune to change the oil in addition to the customary ceremony of checking the tire air pressure. The prospects positively abounded!

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Things that distract me

Considering the panoply of distractions at hand at almost any moment of the day, and acknowledging the coincidental acquaintance of the word with a set of arms or suit of armour or even the less formidable association with trappings, regalia and apparatus, I am moved to comment upon the strength of two features of my own life; namely, my lineage and my preferences.  I suspect there is nothing but the most remote connection between them – and it is certainly not for that reason that I mention them – but I am prompted to my past and my present circumstances by the innate vital stimulation which these two singular resources afford me whatever I may conjecture about their bond and howsoever I might wish to characterize their hallmarks. It is, to speak candidly and again without intending to elicit any creative appeal, not unlike staring at a work of art and capturing what it is about it that appeals to one.

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Not for the pusillanimous!

Since it is incontrovertibly and contemporaneously a dreadful and a delicate subject, deciding what to do in the face of imminent death is not for the pusillanimous.  There is a further caution. The event is indiscriminate; by which I mean, it could happen to you!  Just to be clear, death is thoughtless, random, confused, uncritical, aimless, chaotic, casual and haphazard. One might even say desultory. Or capricious.

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The ineffable dream!

The wind is pressing the water upriver creating tiny uncommon markings of shadowy waves upon what is normally a placid undercurrent downriver in the opposite direction.  Above the blemished reflection there is not a cloud in the sky.  It is a cold, clear day beneath a dome of dry, blue stratosphere. The aspect from our second-storey windows is dynamic and heartening like the projection from the bow of a great ship. The distant tawny furrows glisten in the angled auburn sunlight.

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What was meant to be…

It has lately occurred to me that I have failed to fulfill a purpose of monumental acclaim; and that reason, to speak frankly, is the perpetuation of the species.

The idea is that despite the fact that an individual’s lifespan is short and organisms die, they reproduce offspring for the next generations to come; life is therefore perpetuated as long as organisms reproduce.

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