My mother insisted there was a correct way to use the English language and by ‘correct’ she actually meant the ‘right’ way, as in the ‘only’ way, the ‘proper’ way. Add to that emulsive petri dish, a young Tony Peyton studying formal Latin and you have incubated a remarkable narrow understanding of language. That was me. That said and to this day, every time I veer off even a little bit, away from the pedantic discipline of the ‘proper’ use of language, I hear my mother’s chiding insistence. Dismiss that as you will. If you had English parents you would understand the echo of ‘chiding insistence’. It is a noise that can’t be unheard.

But now, here I am in my seventh decade. I am a writer, hardly a day going by without writing my blog or a short story or my current novel. Hardly a day going by without a number of conversations with a wide variety of people, family, friends at my favourite dog park, clerks at the grocery store, neighbours, my wife, my children, my dog. Fact is I am insatiable, communicating in whatever form and with whomever is my happy place.

Now, where needed I could craft the most formal message with punctilious precision. For many years I used that skill in my legal career drafting all manner of claims and appeals, where one mistake could be catastrophically consequential! I became a criminal defence lawyer and honed my spoken language skills with juries. Great fun I should say and great stakes indeed and it was there, where the stakes were the highest that I found my place with words. As with most young lawyers, actually as I think of it as with all of us, when we are young we tend to use words like sledgehammers, beating our ‘Word Foe’ into submission. When we don’t succeed we raise our voices and say the same thing louder, then when all else fails, adding profanity as if to underscore how correct we really are. And I was no different. When I became skillful with words, was when I finally came to understand the power of understatement.

Relatively early in my career as a criminal defence lawyer I learned a valuable lesson at the sharp end of a judge’s anger, Mr. Justice Patrick Dohm. He was a great judge; firm, fair and in complete control of his courtroom, a big man with a booming laugh. Three defendants, three. lawyers, three prosecutors, it was a big deal and a long trial. We were in the third week and I was cross examining a German police officer. To say it was frustrating is an understatement of epic proportions but I was young and what I lacked in skill I made up with in dramatic courtroom flair. Although he could speak English very well he testified in German, using an interpreter to answer each question. It was smart and one of the more frustrating experiences I had in court. Cross examination is a great tool and used well there are few witnesses who don’t wear down and spill the goods, even experienced police officers. But this one was good and the slow, ponderous ‘question, interpretation, answer, interpretation, answer’ was infuriating. All that notwithstanding the officer was hell bent on wanting to convict my client who had been part of a conspiracy to transport cocaine from Venezuela to Vancouver, through Vienna and London and ‘wanting to convict’ always taints the evidence. Finally, after hours on the stand, he slipped. I had him and pounced.

“Why are you lying to this court?!” I exclaimed in full outrage.

BANG! Down came the gavel which from experience I had learned was never a good thing in the middle of my cross examination.

“Mr. Peyton, my Chambers NOW!”

Uh boy, not only was I in for it but that is never a good look in front of a client and this client was not to be trifled with. He would be okay with losing, if that had to happen, after all he had done it (well at least coincidentally he had recently travelled from Venezuala to Vancouver via Vienna and London, followed by cops from all four countries) but he was not okay with me ‘screwing up’. The judge shouting at me in open court, in front of the jury would have looked like ‘screwing up’ and about screwing up he had no sense of humour.

The Court Clerk closed the door behind me and stood back. The judge threw a book at me from behind his desk. It was an Oxford dictionary. I had appeared in front of Judge Dohm in many criminal trials and this was not my first ‘Mr. Peyton Chambers Now!‘ moment with him but through it all he was always fair and surprisingly familiar with me.

“Tony, there are five hundred words in that book which mean liar. Learn them and don’t you ever call a police witness a liar in my courtroom again!”

I was furious.

“My Lord, that man is lying and you know it as well.”

“Yes, he’s lying, of course he is. You’re doing a good job establishing that but when you call a cop a liar in my court you bring the administration of justice into disrepute. I won’t have that. Learn the words and use them. Thank you!”

Looking back it was just part of my word path. As a surgeon learns skill with a scalpel I needed to learn skill with words. In court, words were my scalpel. This was just a valuable lesson along the way.

One of my favourite clients was a prostitute.

Oh stop yourselves! She was uncomplicated and honest, asking no favour of life nor circumstance, asking only to be treated with respect. I defended her on a number of criminal charges over the years. One morning I was in my office preparing for trial and ‘Phoebe’ arrived demanding to see me. It was 9a.m. Now understand this when ‘Phoebe’ arrived’, of one thing you could be certain. A story was about to unfold.

“I’m sorry Tony, I know you don’t like to be interrupted before court but I had to see you. I’m heading out of town for a while, going down to Expo and I need you to deal with this bastard!”

With that she laid a personal cheque down on my desk. It was for $200, from a fellow in Alberta and it had not cleared. This was 1986 so ‘Phoebe’ was going to relocate for the summer, to ply her trade at Expo. I didn’t need to ask what the payment was for.

“You took a personal cheque ‘Phoebe’? What were you thinking.”

“I know I could kick my ass. Listen he was a nice guy. He told me all about his ranch near Red Deer and his kids and stuff. He paid cash for the first hour and wanted more but told me he didn’t have any more cash. So I took his cheque. I mean it has his name and where he lives on it! Can you collect it for me?”

By this stage in my career I was defending murderers and drug dealers and sex offenders so I really should have turned ‘Phoebe’ down. But I liked her.

“Sure” I said. “Why not.”

Now there was nothing illegal about ‘Phoebe’s’ line of work nor her request of me. In law it was simple. An oral contract for services had been breached. Oh, stop yourselves. Honestly!

My client was owed $200. I new I could have gone all lawyer on this poor fellow whose cheque had not cleared, sending a formal demand for repayment, a demand which would have no doubt landed with a thud on his family table in rural Alberta, raising all manner of unanswerable questions. But that is not what ‘Phoebe’ wanted. She just wanted her $200, it was a question of respect. She left my office and it took a few days to think my way through this issue. I wanted to get ‘Phoebe’s’ money but neither she nor I wanted to ruin the man’s life over it.

And then it came to me. I have a copy of the letter I wrote.

“Dear Mr. XXXX,

Re: Rental Agreement

My name is Tony Peyton and I represent ‘Phoebe XXXXXX’ with whom I believe you are acquainted. I am advised that when you were last in Kelowna BC, the week of April 15 – 17, 1986 you rented my client’s equipment which she advises, she keeps in good, clean and running order. My client further advises that you were pleased with the rented equipment heretofore mentioned and expressed a wish to rent my client’s equipment for a further period of time. My client was pleased to do so. She advises that you left her equipment in good order and expressed your satisfaction, even asking if you might rent it again when next you come to town.

Please find attached a personal cheque written on your account. It did not clear the bank. My client is displeased. She provided her equipment for a second hour based on your promise of payment. Please return full payment forthwith to the above noted address by courier, this week.

Thank you, in anticipation.

Yours respectfully

Tony Peyton, Barrister”

Full payment was received within the week.

Of course it was. It was as good an example of the power of understatement as I have experienced; trusting words to move a person to action not by force of delivery or by loudness but simply by understanding how my words would be understood, what impact they would have.

The whole point of communicating by the spoken word or the written word or whatever is the chosen medium, is to be understood. That can’t be done by raising one’s voice. That promises being heard, not being understood. No the whole point of communicating is to be understood and in order to be understood, one has to use the language of the person with whom you are wanting to communicate. Turns out I spoke ‘Red Deer farmer guy’ really well.

Well that’s my story. I mean I could finish by saying nothing more, eloquently understating the obvious. For those of you who have read my stories you will know that is an unlikely ending. More probably I could finish with a flourish painfully telling you what is by now abundantly obvious.

Doh, I just can’t stop myself!

So where was I …