searching for justice

A letter from JACK POTTER:
a précis of his life and times.

Dear Wally,
I really enjoyed your book Short Pants to Striped Trousers and admired the research you put into it. It brought back memories of my youth and early years in the legal profession that you might find interesting.

I was born in 1929 and my first memories were of living with my family in a second-floor apartment at 3843 East Hastings Street, just inside Burnaby. My father John Sloan Potter, a solicitor, emigrated from Northern Ireland around 1912. My mother told me he had been an alderman for the City of Londonderry. I didn’t fully accept the truth of this until several years ago when, on a visit to Ireland, I looked up the records: he was an alderman from 1905 to 1911. My father did some legal work at home and my mother got a kick out of an old lady who would come knocking at our door asking “Is the lieyer in?”

My mother Dagbjort (Bertha) Johnson, of Icelandic descent, told me she had been a teacher in the four western provinces. After that, in the 1920’s, she had a sandwich shop near the Hudson Bay store and it was there she met my father. She was shocked that, next door to her shop, “confidence men” fleeced the naive in card games and other schemes and when she informed the police they didn’t seem to do anything.

I started grade one at a school on Gilmore Avenue but after six months, my family being in dire straits, we moved to a very small rent-free house at 3741 Napier Street; probably seized by the municipality for unpaid taxes (first social housing?). I attended Kitchener Street school up to grade eight and my life at that time was quite pleasant – good school pals and friendly neighbours. Some boys ran afoul of the law and we had a ritual that after a boy was released from reform school we would let him be first up at bats at recess.

I didn’t know Mike Puhach very well at this time although we were in the same grade. He lived on the other side of the Masonic Cemetery on Douglas Road where my parents are buried.

I remember my mother buying me my first bicycle and helping me learn to ride it; and my father buying me a BB gun that I used to shoot at birds and rows of bottles and cans. Around this time my mother’s sister Gudrun Johnson came from Manitoba and got married. She and her husband Fred moved to Ladner and in the summer I had the very enjoyable experience of cycling down Fraser Street, then across Lulu Island, taking the ferry from Woodward's Landing across the south arm of the Fraser River and riding past the berry farms to their house on Bridge Street. The old municipal hall was across the street from their house. A small lock-up and a morgue was at the back of the hall and sometimes, at night, I could hear the prisoners yelling.

Ladner was a special place in those days; probably ruined now by the growth of Tsawassen. Farmers would come to socialize on the main drag on Saturday nights. We shopped at the Piggly Wiggly and went to movies in the community hall. I was the worst black currant picker on Mr. Connolly’s farm, my mother being one of the best.

Aunt Gudrun’s husband Fred was a carpenter and worked on the Boundary Bay Airport. It was a training base for WW2 pilots. I would ride out there and see the sky filled with Tiger Moths, the first trainer for fledgling pilots who would later graduate to Harvards. I was at the official opening of this airport presided over by Austin Taylor who smoked a big cigar during the ceremonies in spite of the "No Smoking" signs. I also went to Westham Island, past the famous Chung Chuck potato farm. My aunt would warn me not to go near the “jungle,” the camp of unemployed men on the riverside of the dyke. I could see smoke rising from their fires. Eventually my aunt and uncle moved to Vancouver where he built and renovated houses.

In the early Forties my father was to receive a small inheritance from his family in Ireland. He put the matter in the hands of a downtown lawyer who procrastinated over several years giving many excuses. Finally my mother had the inheritance completed by David Brander Smith of Bull Housser. We heard later that the first lawyer was notorious for not completing files.

My mother was determined to own a home but not in Burnaby. She thought there was a stigma attached to Burnaby because it had gone into bankruptcy and was run by a commissioner appointed by the provincial government. Finally she was able to buy a house at 2125 West 5th Avenue behind the old Kits theatre. My father died in 1942 and my mother, who had not worked for years, rented out rooms – often to veterans of the War.

I enrolled in grade 8 at Kitsilano High School and the first person to greet me was Jack Kyle, the basketball player and cricketer, not the broadcaster. We have remained friends ever since. My years at Kits high were very agreeable and I was quite surprised when I had coffee with a former student who told me about some unpleasant memories of students who had been threatened with expulsion for bad behaviour. We had some marvelous teachers – O. M. Sanford for social studies and Don Mackenzie for math; and some of the worst – one who told us to “take a bat and ball and play in the yard,” and another who was easily distracted if we asked him about some event taking place in the war in Europe. I was thankful that I took typing but later regretted not taking shorthand which would have been so handy when interviewing clients and taking notes in the courtroom.

I was not pushed but I wanted to go to university. Clive Nylander’s mother and mine were good friends, both Icelandic, and they had quite a lively argument on whether it was better for us to take first year at university or Grade 13 at Kits. My mother favored Grade 13 and I followed her advice. I graduated from Kits in 1947 and entered UBC in the fall. I majored in economics with a minor in English literature. I was ‘at sea’ for the first couple of years. I had thought of engineering but I did extremely poorly in chem Lab and could not change a spark plug or be handy with tools. I had also considered architecture but was not a good artist; later I learned that architects hired artists to do the renderings. Eventually I chose law.

I thought I could retain my high school friends but they were in different classes and had different schedules. Not wanting to miss out on the university experience I joined the ATO fraternity and still remain friends with some of the “brothers.” For a short time I was on the Ubyssey when Jim Banham was the editor and Les Armour its main writer. I didn’t become an editor because it took up a lot of time and late evenings at College Printers.

I liked our law class. It was fairly small – about 50, cohesive – almost like being back in high school. You could make friends. I was not a brilliant student and had to study hard. The late Ted Pierce was a top student. Tommy Franck became a professor, Callaghan a judge, etc. One of our favourite activities after exams was to celebrate at the Georgia Pub. On one memorable occasion the late George Campbell (Kim’s dad) left after about only an hour, which was unusual for our group. He came back a short time later with a famous Birk’s blue box. He opened it and showed us a string of pearls for his wife, who, he said, had been so patient during his studies that she deserved a gift. I was extremely impressed. Unfortunately we later learned that she ran off with a yachtsman.

I was on the staff of Legal Notes; our editor was Bill Gill. One summer I worked at the Coyle battery factory where I met Pete Manson who later became a very distinguished member of the Bar. I also dug ditches at the Renfrew Housing Project for veterans and got a wonderful tan.

After graduating in 1953 with a double degree I articled with Campbell Brazier and was not a happy student. I resented picking up Mr. Campbell’s dry cleaning and doing other minor chores. I switched to Tommy Dohm and it was not much better because he had me spending most of my time adjourning cases at police court. Upon being called to the Bar I opened a practice in the back of a real estate office on Renfrew Street. About a year into practice I met my future wife Margaret Rebagliati: where else? – at the Georgia Pub!

After one of Margaret’s friends arranged a blind date we started going together and nine months later were married. Our plan was to go on a two-year honeymoon to Europe. Every young person went to Europe in those days. We took trains and busses across Canada and the US and the smallest Cunard liner, the Ascania, across the Atlantic. We stayed with my uncle and his wife in Liverpool, saw a bit of Britain, went to France, Italy and Switzerland and planned to return the next spring to do more touring. We came back to London and I got a job in the accounting department of a large manufacturing company: it produced wire crates used by milkmen to carry bottles of milk to their customers. I could have taken work as a solicitor but I wasn’t prepared to give them a long-term commitment. Marg worked as a temp secretary.

In the fall of 1955 Marg became pregnant and so we returned home in December. I cast about for a job and worked briefly for Street and Wollen, had a short stint selling life insurance and then shared space with Wally Beck. Marg worked for Sigler Mclennan & Clarke and through them I was able to acquire the practice of Anderson & Anderson in the old Sun Tower. The practice included a retainer with The Vancouver Sun. I toiled there for 19 years trying to keep The Sun, including Fotheringham, free from libel suits. I believe I was largely successful however the dropped word “if” in a story turned a hypothetical question into a statement that the hardware store of premier Bill Bennett and his brother had government contracts. Their lawsuit for libel was successful.

I carried on a general practice, successfully defended a number of impaired driving cases, had a couple of complaints involving estates resolved in my favour, filed divorce petitions: (remember Joe Romans?). I ceased full practice in 1983 but did some work at home until 1999 when the cost of the bar fee became prohibitive.

I have some memories of the Magistrates courts and characters associated with them. A few years ago Norm Mullins did a nice piece in the Advocate about the “East End Bar.” I remember Ralph Reid who always seemed to be in the cafeteria drawing a top-hatted penguin on a paper napkin and writing under it “West End Counsellor.” Remember John Macey? He knew every trick in the book to win an acquittal.

I was awestruck when I first saw Angelo Branca in a Supreme Court jury trial. He was exactly what I imagined a criminal lawyer to be – suave, fluent in cross-examination, persuasive in addressing the jury. I thought he would have excelled in the role of defense counsel in the movies or television.

I had a few interesting clients – one whose name rhymes with Miller. He had a wife who was having an affair with a man she met at a roller rink when my client was toiling as a welder on a northern pipeline. After they separated he consulted me and asked what I thought of his idea of sneaking out to where his wife was living and beating her to death with a tire iron. I said it was not a good idea and told him “I don’t defend murderers.” We sued for damages but were not awarded any. I thought the judge should have considered my client’s hurt feelings and humiliation instead of telling him that his wife was of very bad character, wasn’t worth anything and that he was well rid of her. As we were leaving the courthouse, he said – “Remember that advice you gave me about not killing my wife, I’m glad I took it.”

Some memories brought forth from your book:
Del Black, friendly and casual who seemed always to be sporting a black eye or the remains of one. After his premature death, Lorne Montaine told me that Del was warned not to jog because he had not been feeling well for several months but he decided to jog in Stanley Park where he died. It was several hours before his body could be identified because he wasn’t carrying any item of identification.

I always wondered how an old curmudgeon like Clare Bell could have a son who was such a wonderful tenor. On an occasion when I served Judge Bell with a notice appealing one of his convictions he gruffly told me I’d never win because I wasn’t a New Westminster lawyer.

We stayed at the old Wickaninnish Inn one summer and it was most enjoyable. The then U.S. ambassador to Canada and his family were also there and he told us they were completing a coast-to-coast trip across Canada.

In the 80’s we went to Puerto Vallarta for a holiday with another couple. They had a friend living there permanently who knew Geoff Crawford. They were told that Crawford had a wonderful beachfront home with a tennis court; that people often wandered along the beach and, thinking it was a hotel, went in only to be told that it was a private residence. I learned from your book that it was converted to an Inn. The story we were told was that Crawford became fed up with bureaucracy in BC and moved to Mexico. Sadly, we later learned of his murder.

In the 50’s I attended a political meeting in the old Georgia Auditorium at which Premier W. A. C. Bennett spoke and a heckler yelled: “What about Sommers?” to which Bennett replied, “Never mind about Sommers, it’s the Liberal winters we have to worry about.”

My earliest memory of Bill Craig was when he was master of ceremonies at the first law ball I attended in 1951. He was the president of the Law Undergraduate Society. When I met him on the street he was always friendly and greeted me with a smile. The last time I saw him was when I appeared before him in court in a complicated case involving an estate where the deceased had “bogged off to Bellingham” to get married (remember Ray Herbert’s phrase in Domestic Relations?) which nullified her will. A number of lawyers were involved in the case but Bill remained very patient and courteous and ensured that there was a convivial atmosphere in the courtroom.

I remember Gordon Johnson in the 50’s when he was practicing with Dick Hannesson in an office on east Hastings Street across from the old Forst’s store. Gordon was the more outgoing and friendly of the two. Hannesson, perhaps because he was Icelandic (I saw him at Icelandic functions – I was secretary of the Icelandic Lutheran Church for several years) was more subdued. Their office was the one closest to mine on Renfrew Street and I went there to have documents sworn. Also close by was Nino Rose’s, a very good Italian restaurant where I often had lunch.

Chapter 10 of your book “Downtown Vancouver . . .” brings up a real sore point with me. The old Hotel Vancouver site stood empty for years after the building was razed and I thought it would have been wonderful to develop that block and the one south of Robson into a park, something like Central Park in New York. In my opinion our city fathers caved in to eastern liquor interests. I had the CEMP construction manager speak to our Kiwanis Club and he said the tower to be built on the site of the old hotel would be golden reflecting the sky and the sun.

After appearing in magistrate’s court at 312 Main Street I often waited for a bus at Main and Hastings. If I looked toward the city centre my gaze inevitably became fixed on the black TD Tower at the Pacific Centre. Not golden and reflective of the sky and sun, but more like that burnt out skyscraper in the movie “The Towering Inferno.”

With its many towering apartment blocks it appears to me that the north shore of False Creek is looking more and more like Hong Kong.

I noted your comments on murder cases and it seems to me that you regret the abolition of the death penalty. I am in favour of capital punishment in cases in which the evidence is direct and not circumstantial. The “liberals” seem to have presented us with a number of contradictions including a “life sentence” that is not really life but 25 years; and jails so filled up with convicted murderers that they invented the “faint hope” clause permitting early parole. I don’t think rapist murderers can ever be rehabilitated. I don’t think our prisons are equipped to rehabilitate criminals.

I have a theory that the behavior of people is very consistent and would cite the case of bank robber Stephen Reid. A paragon of rehabilitation, he is once again in prison for yet another armed robbery. I was involved in a couple of stalking cases and they are truly frightening. There is nothing that can be done to deter an obsessive stalker other than to keep him or her in jail.

I am quite disappointed with our police force in the case of Robert (Willy) Pickton, the man accused of murdering Skid Road prostitutes. I wonder why, early on in the serial disappearances of the women, the force couldn’t have hired retired officers to assist in the investigation. If Pickton is found guilty I believe he will convicted of murdering ten times as many women as the infamous Jack the Ripper.

Jack Potter in retirement:
With regard to myself I have been living a life of quiet retirement watching our four children and one grandchild growing up. That they have all exceeded me in their careers is the best relationship a parent can have with his/her children. Our daughter is an executive (married to a businessman), our oldest son a set dresser for the movies (and lives with a very talented art teacher), our second son is a chartered accountant (married to a government securities lawyer) and our youngest son is an architect (married to an architect).

About 20 years ago Michael and Chris Puhach re-ignited our interest in opera and we have had seasons’ tickets and have travelled with them to San Francisco several times and were fortunate to see the great Pavarotti and other wonderful singers perform. We have had many enjoyable “opera” evenings with them when they serve dinner and play opera records. And we have enjoyed many memorable New Year’s Eve parties with them.

I play golf with Ivan Tufts, Phil Fee and Carl Jonsson who tolerate my being a high handicapper. Once at the Langara pro shop there was a young man working there who was the spitting image of you when you were in your 20’s – wavy blond hair and good looking. I inquired if he could be your son but he said no. I also bowl 5 pins and do a bit of landscape painting and play some bridge. Lately I have been attending dinner meetings of the Senior Lawyers section of the Canadian Bar Association at the Vancouver Lawn & Tennis Club. Carl Jonsson is our chairman and we have had a number of interesting speakers including Tom Berger and Gordon Gibson. The fellowship makes it well worth attending.

I have taken the liberty of writing out my obituary for the Advocate to save someone else having to do it. To quote the last paragraph:
Recently I heard a person describe himself as a Christian agnostic. This might fit me – I have never understood the theory of evolution but more eminent minds than mine have also found this concept difficult to grasp. I also do not know why living creatures were put on this earth. I have constantly marveled at the complexity and beauty of the universe and have been totally mystified by it all.

In short I hope my life will not be viewed as having been totally without accomplishment but from this vantage point seems to have been unduly short and I will have departed this earth with millions of others in relative obscurity. The words of T. S. Eliot in the Wasteland might be fitting.
“ . . . we have existed
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in the memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under the seals broken by the lean solicitor . . .”

I enjoyed your book and hope you will keep writing.

Regards,
Jack Potter
July 25, 2004