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| Norman Douglas |
(1) My girlfriend, soon to be my fiancée, future wife and then wonderful mother of our three children, was in Queen’s medicine and had three more years of study.
(2) I had been the starting goalie for the Queen’s Gaels hockey team during my three undergraduate years and yearned to continue playing.
(3) I knew my career choices were limited by my limited skills. I sucked at anything mechanical but could speed read and retain what I had read — and I loved to perform.
About 120 applicants were accepted. I think my hockey coach’s influence helped me get in.
So, in September 1968, I attended my first lecture in Macdonald Hall, feeling a tad intimidated. Some of the men (I think there were fewer than 10 women) carried briefcases and wore suits. And the professor was the dean himself — Daniel Soberman. The rumour (exaggerated by upperclassmen to scare us) was that he was merciless, humourless and had the perfect last name.
My first memory can be corroborated by fellow student Ken Anders. The dean asked a question. Anders raised his hand (his first mistake).
Ken’s answer was obviously way off the mark (strike two). The room went silent as the dean asked: “What’s your name?”
“Anders, sir…” (strike three).
The dean, looking around the room: “Anyone agree with Anders?”
Dead silence, not a creature was stirring. Soberman let the seconds tick by as Ken desperately looked around while no one moved.
I couldn’t stand it — I didn’t know this dumb Anders guy, but I raised my hand.
“What’s YOUR name?”
“Douglas, sir…”
With a sardonic tone, the almighty dean scowled: “Well, Anders and Douglas, you’re BOTH wrong.”
Later, as we all filed out from our first law class ordeal, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I expected it was Anders, to thank me. It was Anders. He said, “You thought I was right, didn’t you?” Thus began a lifelong friendship. And to this day, he insists I was trying to jump on the bandwagon.
I have hundreds of memories from those three years.
Would you like to hear another one? Right answer.
I had trouble with some of the courses (property law, commercial law) but ate up the criminal courses. The human drama of the courtroom was fascinating — like going to the movies or reading true crime (duh).
The primary professor of criminal law was Ron Price. One of my heroes. He actually took me to see the property law professor (Morley Gorsky) to vouch for me when I thought I had failed the property law course.
Ron had a caring heart. So much so that he started a tradition on Valentine’s Day: he asked for volunteers from his first-year criminal course to go to the women’s prison. Queen’s is, of course, in Kingston, Ont. — where the federal penitentiaries were.
Ron had persuaded the Corrections folks that it would be therapeutic for the inmates and educational for the students to mingle and dance at a Valentine’s ball.
The story you are about to hear is true. No names have been changed to protect the innocent.
There were rules. We were law students after all.
We were not allowed to hog an inmate. No close dancing. No detailed information. No judging.
I was nervous.
So, the first lady I walked across the room to ask for a dance (hoping she would say yes — the walk back would be excruciating) was kind-looking and quite cute.
Sigh of relief when she took my hand.
Then — I got tongue-tied. Now a tongue-tied lawyer will not go far after graduation — although fast-forward 30 years when as a judge I longed to have one in the courtroom. Never did.
After 45 seconds of dead silence and awkward waltzing, I finally asked, “So, what are you in for?” Now this is an obvious taboo question in every prison on earth — it can get you killed.
She nearly choked trying to stifle her laughter. Then she smiled and quietly whispered: “Murder.”
Now I defy you to come up with the proper response to that.
I guarantee you it is not this (the only thing I could think of after another long pause): “Oh, gun? Knife…?”
Are you thinking of Jerry Seinfeld’s line, “And you want to be my latex salesman?” Douglas, you want to be my lawyer?
I did not do any more dancing that night. And I have not told that story to many people over the years. I wonder if she thinks of me.
Now to those of you who want to know what the academic side of law school is all about, I can answer that in one word.
Reading.
I cannot exaggerate the amount of reading required in those three years. If you weren’t wearing glasses when you entered, you needed them by the time you graduated. Being a goalie, you didn’t wear glasses of course, so I battled through without them. By year six — 1971 — I was letting in too many goals, and halfway through the season I was sharing duties with our backup goalie, ending my five-and-a-half-year first-string run.
The next requirement was memorizing. The brightest students could rhyme off case names and citations for any legal issue raised. An impressive skill in our bubble world. Not too popular off campus at the other “bar” when trying to impress the opposite sex.
Now, let me introduce you to the most important person a law student must know intimately.
In Canada, he is called “the reasonable man.”
In England, he is “the man on the Clapham omnibus.”
And he is the Holy Grail in all law schools. All our laws are drafted with him in mind.
The correct solution to every legal puzzle is: what would the reasonable man do in that situation? We constantly tried to find him. He’s kind of like Waldo.
So, making it through law school is really about applying common sense. Simple, right? That’s what law school is all about. Easy as pie.
Norman Douglas is a retired criminal court judge with 27½ years of experience on the bench. His book, You Be the Judge, was published in December 2023.
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