Retail
By L. G. William Chapman
When I arrived in Almonte in 1976 as a young lawyer, my office was on the second floor of 74 Mill Street, formerly occupied by Raymond A. Jamieson, QC. His longtime legal assistant, Mrs. Evelyn Barker, graciously stayed on to assist in the transition. Mr. Jamieson had just retired after an extraordinary 54-year career, having been called to the bar at Osgoode Hall in 1921.
Across the street, just up from where the new post office now stands, stood an old stone and red brick building owned by Johnnie Graham, Editor and Publisher of The Almonte Gazette. I naturally subscribed, though I rarely had need of it. Once, during a difficult period in the 1990s, I placed a small advertisement for my law office—something Mr. Jamieson had done regularly—but I quickly learned that advertisements rarely stem the tide of a recession. As ever, nothing succeeds like word of mouth, whether in good times or bad.
Eventually the Gazette was sold to a consortium of rural newspapers, headquartered in Toronto, if memory serves. Not long after, I was approached by Louis Irwin—who would later play a pivotal role in the Elizabeth Kelly Library Foundation. He asked me to contact the new owners with an offer to purchase the paper. I did so, but soon received a call from a man in Toronto who briskly informed me, “Mr. Chapman, there is something I think you ought to know: we’re in the business of acquisition, not disposition.” That was the end of it.
I was reminded of that succinct exchange just recently, while dealing with the sale of my Evo Latitude tricycle. On my partner’s suggestion, I contacted the editors of The Millstone and requested a notice in the Classified Ads section. That was only a day ago. Since late last evening—and well into the morning—the phone hasn’t stopped ringing. The response was enthusiastic, and by the time of writing, the trike was sold. I had the less pleasant task of notifying several interested buyers that the matter had already been concluded.
What surprised me most was how vividly this modest episode evoked the complexities of retail life. As a professional, I had largely escaped such considerations. There was no competition in the traditional sense, no overlapping appointments, and payments were typically addressed through that comfortable instrument known as the retainer.
Yet I found myself losing sleep. The first person to call was not the first I had arranged to meet. When it seemed likely the second caller—scheduled earlier—might want to buy, I felt obliged to inform the first. At 4:00 a.m., I attempted to send a message, only to discover she had a landline. Bell Canada couldn’t deliver a voicemail, with or without a thirty-cent surcharge. I couldn’t bring myself to call so early, though she later told me she’d been wide awake until 6:00 a.m.
As I tried to return to sleep, I received another message—from a woman in Montréal, whose husband in Almonte was ready to come immediately, cash in hand. Meanwhile, someone else had left a message offering to come at 8:30 a.m. Suddenly, I had a list of prospective buyers and overlapping appointments.
In the end, a gentleman arrived first, inspected the trike briefly, and handed me the money. I then reversed course, contacted the other would-be buyers, and asked The Millstone to withdraw the advertisement. Yet even after the sale, the phone kept ringing.
As an aside, I knew—or recognized—many of the callers. My long tenure in this community continues to pay quiet dividends.
The larger lesson I draw from all this is that none of us should underestimate the nature of another’s work. We are often tempted to believe our own obligations are weightier or more exhausting than others’. But this brief foray into the world of buying and selling gave me a fresh respect for retail life, with all its immediacy, uncertainties, and practical demands.
The details of daily life, even the seemingly inconsequential ones, can weigh heavily—and unexpectedly. I can’t remember the last time I lost so much sleep over something so minor. But perhaps that, too, is part of the lesson.