by Richard W. Millar, Jr.

This is my last column. There, I said it. I have no plans like Sean Connery to remake “Thunderball” and come back in “Never Say Never Again.”

Every seven or so years, my birthday falls on Mother’s Day and it did so this year. It was not a milestone birthday like those that end in zero, but it was one (87) which gave me pause. (Actually, it gave me more than pause, but pause will do for these purposes.)

First, a few moments of historical reflection. I have been a member of the Orange County Bar Association for approximately 54 years and the American Bar Association for about 58 years. I have read countless Presidents’ columns in their publications over the years. When I was waiting in the wings, so to speak, for my presidency of the OCBA, I attended the ABA’s training program during which I read many other bar association’s publications. Despite these preparations, and like most bar presidents, I did not look forward to writing a column for this magazine, much less twelve of them, with their attendant deadlines.

You could say that I was burned out before I started, at least when it came to columns.

I made an internal decision that I did not share with my editor, who at that time was Jeremy Miller, but I decided I would not write what I will call “standard” bar fare and, instead, would write some things about lawyers and judges who, perhaps, veered from true North, with, hopefully, a little humor in the process, and which some amongst you might actually read. So, that is what I did. Jeremy did what editors do, but he did not question my choices in subject matter or style. Nor do I recall him saying that he did or did not like them.

Until the end of my term.

Just as I was reveling with relief from never having to write another column, Jeremy came to me and asked me to continue to do so. It was a shock. I thought I was “done.” It was the last thing on my mind, but he told me that people actually liked what I had written, which I still think he may have made up. But, “Millar’s JurisDiction” was whelped.

My first column under that moniker came out January 2003, like I was the unwelcome house guest who wouldn’t leave.

And, I have been writing them—as well as other articles—ever since.

Which brings me to the Walrus.

At some point in my education, I read Lewis Carroll’s poem, “The Walrus and the Carpenter.” Unlike “Alice in Wonderland” from which I remember little more than the word “jabberwocky,” the poem, or parts of it, have stuck in my mind forever.

The plot, to the extent that a poem has a plot, was simple. A walrus and a carpenter were walking together along the beach at night when they came upon an oyster bed. (I realize the doctrine of suspension of disbelief is at play here, but I digress.) The walrus, who was the main actor, the carpenter just being along for the ride, persuaded a number of the oysters to leave their bed and join them for a nice walk on the beach and the the promise of pleasant conversation. After walking for about a mile, they came upon a rock and rested and:

“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing wax—
Of cabbages—and kings—
And why the sea is boiling hot—
And whether pigs have wings.”

At this point, it was curtains for the hapless and unsuspecting oysters who, too late, realized they had been lured to their doom, or perhaps, more accurately, to become walrus’ and carpenter’s dinner.

I don’t know why the poem has stuck with me lo these many years. It is more than the rhymes and the alliteration and the overall absurdity. It says something. I’m not sure what, but something . . . .

In any event, on the night of my birthday, the walrus came to me in my dreams.
“The time has come,” he said.

Richard W. Millar, Jr. is tired and retired. He can be reached at dickmillar9@gmail.com.