An Evening With Stephen Leacock

Whenever I go into a bank, I get rattled. The clerks rattle me, the wickets rattle me. The sound of money rattles me. Everything rattles me. The moment I cross the threshold of a bank and attempt to do any business there, I become an irresponsible idiot.

That's it. Now I was about to cut down the corporate structure. Big business. Even the Russians liked this story and printed it in their humorous magazine as an example of a decadent western capitalism. I finished that sketch and they loved it. Then I told them I was an anarchistic polygamist, opposed to all forms of government, objected to any kind of revealed religion, and that the state, property and marriage was a tyranny of the bourgeoisie. Now they knew where I stood. I breezed through one sketch after another. Placing my pauses, emphasis and accents, just as Leacock had done. I had listened to his recordings from the CBC radio archives in Toronto and had thoroughly steeped myself in his vocal intonations, remembering to build each sketch to its proper climax and punch line.

Before I know it the bell rang. I looked at my watch. Most students tire of a lecture in about five minutes. Clever students do it in three. Others never go to a lecture.

The gave me a thunderous applause. I bowed and told them to leave their dollar at the door as they passed out.

An indescribable feeling of exhilaration went through me as I stepped back from the lectern and made my exit. Yes. This was going to be my life's work. Portraying Stephen Leacock to the world.