Barrington Street Blues by Anne Emery Page A

University of St. Thomas Aquinas. Thomas is called the Angelic Doctor; hence, the Angelicum.”
    â€œSounds lofty.”
    â€œWe’ll go over some time, and I’ll show you around.” He replaced the postcard on the hall table. “Is there a club called the Colosseum here in Halifax?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWas there ever such a place?”
    â€œNot as far as I know.”
    â€œOr a sports stadium?”
    â€œNo. Why?”
    â€œI’m thinking of a fellow I know who sleeps rough. Have you ever run across the Gladiator in court circles?”
    â€œThe Gladiator?”
    â€œThis homeless fellow. He sleeps in the park across from the Hotel Nova Scotian. Comes to the rectory once in a while for a bite to eat. Calls himself the Gladiator.”
    â€œNo — I’ve had guys who think they’re being monitored by aliens, or the KGB , or the CIA , but I’ve never had anyone from Roman times.”
    â€œThere but for the grace of God go you and I. Anyway, he performed or fought — it’s never the same story — at the Colosseum. Says he can take me there but then he gives me a sly look and says I wouldn’t like it. I got the impression he was talking about a place here in the city.”
    â€œNope. It may be real to him but not to the rest of us. Here’s thelittle chef. Good night, angel. See you soon.”
    Brennan and I took our leave and went our separate ways.
    â€ 
    I finished a chambers application at the Supreme Court building the next morning, then stood in front of the windows chatting with one of the other lawyers on the case, Glen Crocker. I peered through the gloom and saw what looked like a fellow barrister leaping about the plaza in front of the Law Courts. “Is that Al MacDonald doing a step dance out there on the pavement?”
    Glen joined me at the window.
    â€œProbably.”
    Another lawyer became visible in the fog. He machine-gunned MacDonald in the manner of a hot-dog hockey player who had just scored the winning goal against the Russians; then they high-fived each other and made “We’re number one” gestures to a non-existent TV camera.
    â€œWhat’s that all about?” I asked.
    â€œBig bucks, that’s what it’s about. Remember the humongous development project that was halted out there on Highway 103? Well, it’s on again. Shopping centre, office tower, condos.”
    â€œBut it was more than that, wasn’t it? Weren’t they practically building a small city?”
    â€œRight. The consortium designed an entire community, not just a strip mall with some shoddy housing nearby. They were making a genuine effort to do it right. The part closest to the water, out on the point and along the ocean, would be residential. The commercial stuff would be closer to the highway. It was all supposed to blend in.”
    â€œYeah, I heard they were ambitious. They wanted houses, shops, parks, trees, a school, doctors, dentists, a city square, everything within walking distance. The people would live and work in the neighbourhood. They wouldn’t have to commute to the city to work.”
    â€œSounds too good to be true, doesn’t it?”
    â€œYeah. But it used to be the norm.”
    â€œThought I might move out there myself,” Glen said. “Where you’ve got people and businesses, you need lawyers! The biggest thingwas that a couple of federal and provincial departments were going to relocate there. A government building. Jobs leaving downtown and going out to Bromley Point.”
    â€œThat was the name — I’d forgotten. But did it ever got off the drafting table?”
    â€œOh, it got a lot farther than that. Then it came to a screeching halt. And I do remember the screeching. They were crying in their Corona at Wigginstaff’s. The project was halted because of environmental concerns, land-use problems — there was probably an old Indian burial