Go to School, You're a Little Black Boy. Lincoln Alexander

Nobody can intimidate me.

      CHAPTER 4

       Called to the Bar

      At the time I was called to the bar, there were few other black lawyers practising in all of Ontario, among them George Carter, Lloyd Perry and Oliver Holland (in Hamilton). Not only were we rarities, it was also difficult to make inroads in the profession because established practices were just not interested in hiring blacks. Despite the great cachet of the degree I held, there was a definite feeling of uncertainty upon graduation,

      The first hurdle I faced was in securing an articling position, and the experience provided me with yet another example of the steep challenges minorities face. Articling jobs for blacks, women, and minorities in general were severely limited. I was fortunate enough to secure an articling position with Sam Gotfrid, Q.C., establishing a friendship that lasted through our lives. This course of action, it turned out, was common. The limited articling posts for minorities in Toronto were almost always with firms operated by Jewish lawyers. Almost inevitably, these lawyers had been confronted by the same obstacles I was facing. In one very obvious sense, through our limited articling options, we were already being removed from the profession’s mainstream.

      I wasn’t in any position to make changes, at least not yet, and for now I needed work. I had a wife and a little son and a valuable degree to put into play. You have to remember that this was in 1953. As my articling experience quickly taught me, law firms not only didn’t want black lawyers, they also didn’t want female lawyers, and they certainly didn’t want Jews. It was not easy if you didn’t fit into that privileged class of the white male.

      Obstacles aside, my experience with Samuel Gotfrid proved invaluable, and it enabled me to inch my way toward a genuine career in law. Getting started was no easy task. One of my first eye-opening experiences came after articling when I applied for a post as a junior lawyer with a leading Anglo-Celtic Hamilton firm. I presented myself quite correctly as an excellent law student. I had finished in the top quarter of the graduating class at the country’s leading law school. Furthermore, I was a war veteran. These were exceptional credentials.

      I had talked by phone with a representative of the firm and it had gone exceedingly well. As we were wrapping up our discussion, I asked somewhat casually, “Would it matter to you, sir, if I told you I was black?” The simple question was greeted with dead silence. To his credit, that lawyer did agree to meet with me, but in the end he said the firm’s clients were English, Irish, and Scottish and would not accept me. That angered me, and it occurred to me that his was the easy answer of a coward, unwilling to make an honourable, bold statement for social justice, all for the sake of commerce.

      That firm actually offered me financial assistance — to what end I’m not certain, though I suspect it was to get lost and start on my own practice — but was not willing to offer me a desk in its office. Though this experience rattled my faith in humanity, in a few years I would join a firm led by an individual who could restore that faith tenfold. But at the time, I applied for a post with a two-person Hamilton firm operated by a sister and brother, Helen and Edward Okuloski. Finally, after numerous rejections, I was working in my profession.

      Okuloski and Okuloski was a new breed of law practice; the two partners had forged out on their own because they had been shut out of the mainstream law firms. Apart from being of Polish descent, Helen was also something of a maverick because there weren’t many women practising law in Hamilton. But she was one of the best lawyers in the city at the time. The firm was in the east end of Hamilton, near the steel factory that had denied me a white-collar job. It was a valuable training ground for a young lawyer. Many Polish, European, and other post-war immigrants were settling in this part of the city and buying houses at that time, so I got an early introduction to commercial and real estate law. My experience with the Okuloskis was incredible, and I came to love the Polish and German people for whom we did so much work; many of them later voted for me when I started my political career.

      What I appreciated about the Okuloskis was that I know they didn’t hire me out of tokenism or sympathy because of my colour. Helen made it clear that her sole concern was whether I had the aggressiveness and mental tenacity to succeed in the profession, and as a professional, that’s all you can ask for. In some ways, they took a chance because they hired me at least partly on the recommendation of Sam Gotfrid, with whom I had articled. Sam’s reference said that I was quite competent, but also shy and inward-looking and lacking in confidence.

      Actually, Gotfrid’s was a fair observation, though it was not so much that I was scared to speak out in public. Those who know me might find it hard to believe, but there was good reason for reticence. I was still only the fifth black lawyer ever in Ontario and the only one in the city at the time (though not the first; Oliver Holland, the first black lawyer to practise in Hamilton, had retired). Given my minority status, it was wise, I concluded, to exercise discretion as much as I could. But Gotfrid’s observation made me realize I had to stand up and be counted.

      After getting my feet wet with Okuloski and Okuloski for a couple of years, I moved on to join Dave Duncan, described by many as one of Hamilton’s most flamboyant and successful lawyers at the time. Because he was so prominent and visible, he really could have hired any lawyer he wanted, but he chose me, which was both rewarding and flattering. Dave operated a general law practice and had a reputation for being unyielding and outspoken. In the courtroom, he could put on a show. He was a great criminal lawyer and was highly regarded by the police.

      His business practices did need some honing, however. My first encounter with Dave’s business methodology was after we had received a $1,000 retainer, and he said, “There’s $500 for you and $500 for me.” But the money never ended up on the books. Eventually, he was audited and was fined. In his own defence, Dave went through the books with the auditors and showed them how much work he had done pro bono and how much he could have actually billed. In Dave’s mind, that more than justified the omission of a few payments, but it didn’t hold water with the auditors. In the end, I was able to draw on my experience with the Okuloskis to guide Dave toward proper accounting procedures.

      Because Dave was so visible in the community, working with him couldn’t help but get attention, so it was reasonable to expect that joining him would help advance my career. When we joined forces, I had the distinguished honour of being a member of the first interracial law partnership in Canada, Duncan and Alexander. We remained partners for nearly eight years.

      Besides giving purpose, strength, and direction to my law career, Dave Duncan would eventually introduce me to another career — politics. Dave’s political activities included serving as an alderman in Hamilton from 1954 to 1958. More importantly, he was active in the Progressive Conservative party, which led me to become more involved with the party locally. Dave, who backed Hamilton MPP Ada Pritchard during the 1960s, had also earlier worked on the campaign that led to Ellen Fairclough becoming Hamilton’s first female member of Parliament in a 1950 federal by-election.

      Politics was a way for a lawyer to raise his or her profile, but as a black, increasing involvement with the Conservatives had greater significance for me than it did for many others. The late 1950s was a time when blacks were beginning to find greater acceptance in politics as parties sought their support in a growing, multicultural Canada. I even received some national attention.

      On the professional side, my partnership with Dave Duncan ended in 1962, when he became senior solicitor for Ontario’s transportation department. I found it financially difficult to maintain a practice on my own. It was generally understood the best route to financial success was commercial law, and, not surprisingly, that area was not welcoming black lawyers with open arms.