“So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye.” No, this story has nothing to do with the von Trapps. I recently made a destiny moment decision: I tossed out my McGill University law schoolbooks. Well, maybe not exactly a destiny moment. But it made me think.
I was declutterring my house, and I figured, given that I bought the books over 50 years ago and that I was retired from practice, I may not have too much use for them. But I did feel invested in these tomes ,and my decision to decimate my stable of legal information was not a simple one. I thought about each book before giving it the ax.
My first target was The Law of Contracts, by British authors Cheshire and Fifoot.
It reported and analyzed iconic cases, such as Carlill v. Carbolic Smokeball, where the defendant in 1890s England advertised a 100-pound reward to anybody who used their smokeball and contracted the flu. They refused to pay up after Lily Carlill came down with the bug, arguing their gesture did not amount to a contract and their claim was mere “puffery.” Unforgettable case.
It also of course dealt with the seminal damages case of Hadley v. Baxendale. Huge stuff every law student had to know.
But the case that most stood out in my mind was the 1860s Pearce v. Brooks, where a contract between a carriage owner and a prostitute was held to be unenforceable. The principle was that the carriage was going to be used to attract clients, thereby promoting immoral activities and being unenforceable as being contrary to public policy.
I’m not sure why this case still sticks in my memory. It’s certainly a bit different than Smokeball. In any event, was this a good enough reason to hang onto the book? My verdict? Toss.
Next on the block was The Law of Real Property, by British authors Magarry and Wade. I wanted to give this book of hundreds of pages a fair trial. After over half a century, I did not recall much of the details of what I learned that made me sweat in order to pass the property exam. I did well remember the concept of fee simple, where in short a purchaser owns the land outright. How relevant was that to me now, if ever? It occurred to me that in over 42 years of practice, whenever I represented a client in a house purchase, I never once said to the client, “Hey Mr. Jones. You now own 127 Maple St. in fee simple.” Jones likely would have responded, “I thought the place was in Toronto.” Can’t blame Jones.
I also recall the book talking about the rare scenario of ownership in “fee tail.” This apparently is a conveyance of a property with restrictions as to who can inherit it. Getting back to Jones, I did not recall him—or anybody else for that matter—banging at my office door saying something like, “Hey, Strigberger. I just inherited this house in fee tail. Can I leave it to my nephew Henry”? No doubt I would have been at loss for words.
And giving the book a final flip through, I also stumbled upon the Rule in Shelley’s Case, arising out of an English 16th century decision concerning life interests in land. I can’t say this discovery made my day. What to do? I decided to mercilessly toss it.
I would add I may have acted in haste. I see a used hard cover available on Amazon for over $1,000, Canadian dollars. (That’s over $700 U.S.). Ouch. I thought about Cheshire. Not the aforementioned jurist; the Cheshire Cat. The feline would probably be grinning at me. Alas! What’s done is done.
I continued my purge without hesitation until I got to my The Law of Torts by Fleming. What came to mind was Wagon Mound, that case about the explosion on the cargo ship caused by a ship hand-tossing something into the hold. I remembered there was actually a Wagon Mound 1 and a Wagon Mound 2. I don’t know what No. 2 was about, nor was I going to dive deeper and find out. My wild guess was that the shipowners acquired a successor ship to Wagon Mound 1, and some lout made the same mistake of discarding a cigarette (or whatever it was) into the hold and boom! I figured I knew enough. Verdict? Dump.
And how did I dispose of these books? In the blue recycle bin, of course. I recall the day the garbage truck arrived for the pickup. The loader did not even give this treasure trove of legal knowledge a second look. I guess he wasn’t interested in finding out more about the Rule in Shelley’s Case. Nor was I going to run out and tell him about Pearce v. Brooks.
At least I succeeded in declutterring my house somewhat. Actually, there is one book I kept: Black’s Law Dictionary. I found a great use for this 5-inches-thick volume. When I feel like standing at my desk to work, it makes a perfect reading stand.
Marcel Strigberger, after 40-plus years of practicing civil litigation in the Toronto area, closed his law office and decided to continue his humor writing and speaking passions. His latest book is First, Let’s Kill the Lawyer Jokes: An Attorney’s Irreverent Serious Look at the Legal Universe. Visit MarcelsHumour.com, and follow him at @MarcelsHumour on X, formerly known as Twitter.
This column reflects the opinions of the author and not necessarily the views of the ABA Journal—or the American Bar Association.
