Drummond, who died last week, was a gifted architect, academic and athlete, but to many, he was an unlikely satirist who left audiences convulsing with his Leacock Lecture addresses.
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There are those who have worn an abundance of hats in their lifetimes. And then there was Derek Drummond, who died last week after a brief battle with pneumonia just three days short of his 85th birthday.
Drummond would have driven any hatter mad with his metaphorical collection of headgear.
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Drummond found success wherever he had tread. He was a highly gifted architect and hugely popular professor. He was an acclaimed athlete, painter and photographer. He was a respected — albeit reluctant — administrator, having served as director of the McGill School of Architecture, McGill vice-principal of development and alumni relations and McGill interim athletic director. And that just scratches the surface.
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Yet the man who seemed so serene while silently pursuing one of his favourite hobbies, birdwatching, had an altogether different and far more loquacious side. Drummond was among the most hysterical humans many of us have ever heard.
Since I’m not well versed enough in architecture or administrating or birdwatching, I will focus on Drummond’s whimsical side.
Until 2019, Drummond served as host and head roaster at McGill’s annual Leacock Lecture, which used to take place in Montreal as well as in Toronto, Calgary and Vancouver. The lectures — now only held in Montreal and without lunch — has drawn some of the biggest names on the Canadian political and cultural landscape as well as some lowly media types like yours truly.
But the big draw for the McGill alumni plus their friends and family who attended his 75-plus gigs was Drummond. Ever clean but ever searing, Drummond went straight for the jugular, leaving audiences in stitches and the coming headline speakers slowly sinking in their seats.
In the world of live comedy, headliners never want opening acts who blow the room away before they hit the stage. The same applies on the speaker’s circuit.
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“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” Drummond, flashing his most devilish smile, tried to reassure me before attempting to deliver a Leacock Lecture before 1,000 people at Toronto’s Royal York Hotel in 2007. “Maybe take a shot or two before.”
Yeah, right. Maybe a bottle or two might have helped.
Naturally, Drummond killed. Although Drummond was most gracious about my speech, my mind has erased all memories of my performance, other than the level of terror I had felt before taking to the podium.
Perhaps Evan Solomon put it best after sacrificing his ego at a Leacock Lecture in Montreal: “Following Drummond is like being the body at an Irish wake.”
During Drummond’s tenure, the lectures attracted such Canucks as Peter Gzowski, Bob Rae, Preston Manning, Edward Greenspan, Dick Pound, Maureen Forrester, Hugh Segal, Will Ferguson and Terry Fallis.
“Manning surprised everyone and was, without question, one of the funniest speakers we’ve ever had,” Drummond told me in an interview. “The first time he was scheduled to speak, many opted not to come to the lunch because they thought he would be awful. Their loss. He was hilarious and got a standing ovation. He had no trouble following me.”
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Go figure.
But even Drummond was at a loss to explain how an architecture prof had become far better known as a funnyman. “It’s safe to say comedy and college professors don’t go hand in hand,” Drummond acknowledged. “I never had notions of doing anything outside the world of architecture. This other shtick came very much later and quite accidentally.”
The silver-haired, bespectacled Drummond was certainly the most unlikely-looking wit imaginable. He could have more easily passed for a slide-rule-toting actuary than a one-liner-slinging satirist. But with his impeccable delivery and comic timing, he showed no mercy whatever skewering our political Brahmins.
“In the words of Will Rogers, I don’t do jokes, I just watch the government and report the facts,” Drummond would love to regale. “In the words of Mark Twain, sacred cows make the best hamburger.”
Nor did Drummond back off from taking shots at close friends or family members. Like his late older brother Kevin, a former provincial Liberal cabinet minister-turned-Yes-side referendum-supporter: “My kids called him Uncle OuiOui.”
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Drummond would invariably run his material by his wife Anne Lafleur — who died last March after more than 60 years of marriage — but not necessarily for approval. “I’ll tell her some of the lines I’m using, and she’ll often go: ‘Oh no, you can’t say that! I’ll be so embarrassed.’ Then I know I’ve got it right.”
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Drummond’s son Gavin notes that as close and as inseparable as his parents were, there was no stopping his father once he had his mind set.
“He was fearless, but he was fair. In the end, he left us all laughing,” Gavin says.
And he left his family and others still learning new details about his life.
“It turns out that he was also a champion squash player. He was on the team that won the Canadian and U.S. national championships in 1967,” Gavin says. “He was a great athlete, but he wore it all pretty lightly like all his other accomplishments.
“The range of things he touched was just wild, yet he was such a humble man to his family, friends and so many others. Since his passing, neighbours we never met have been coming up to us in tears, telling us how kind, considerate and approachable he had always been. That is really the mark of the man.”
Derek Drummond is survived by his four sons Colin, Gavin, Rob and Louis, their wives, nine grandchildren and his sister, Barbara Brodeur. A Celebration of Life will be held at St. George’s Anglican Church, 1001 Canadiens-de-Montréal Ave. on Nov. 30 at 2 p.m. In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations be made to the Montreal General Hospital Foundation.
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