(Image: Charles LeBlanc)

Conrad Black is back in Toronto, and so far his plans sound pretty low-key for a baron. In an email to the Globe and Mail, Black wrote that his post-jail life will include updating his book and trying to lose some weight. He’s also trying to sort out a court case with U.S. tax authorities, suing British writer Tom Bower for $2.5 million over Bower’s biography of Black and his wife, Barbara Amiel, and wrapping up a few lingering Hollinger lawsuits. Not on the itinerary: buying back the National Post (which he launched in 1998), entering the newspaper business again or giving interviews to anyone in Canada but Peter Mansbridge. Black also refused the Globe and Mail’s long-standing invitation for a beer in characteristically verbose style: “I only drink the odd glass of wine and am trying to lose weight, so the forum you proposed, though appreciated, is a bit dated after these years that have passed.” [Globe and Mail]

(Image: UrsaSharp)

The man formerly known as prisoner no. 18330-424 (i.e. Conrad Black) is back in Toronto—greeted at his Bridle Path home with an awkward-looking kiss from Barbara Amiel and a lot of press. Newspapers speculated that Black, having served the last months of his sentence for fraud and obstruction of justice, would be taken to a deportation centre in Florida to be deported to either Canada or the U.K. Instead, he made his way to Miami International Aiport accompanied by a police motorcade, and is believed to have flown straight to Toronto in a private plane (we wouldn’t expect anything less from the baron). [National Post]

Coming soon to a country near you (Image: United States Marshals Service)

When Conrad Black leaves jail and his Mafia buddies behind at the end of the week, he’ll be welcomed back to Canada (or at least will be legally allowed to reside here), because the government has granted Black a one-year temporary resident permit. Not cool, says NDP leader Thomas Mulcair, who thinks “the British criminal Conrad Black” is getting special treatment since the country often denies permits to other foreigners with criminal pasts. (Though the Globe and Mail helpfully points out that Canada doled out 11,000 such permits last year, of which 6,500 were issued to people with criminal records). More compelling, or at least stranger, was Jonathan Kay’s argument in the National Post that Lindsay Lohan has had scads of run-ins with the law but didn’t have any issues being allowed into the country. We’re not sure it’s the same situation (Lohan was only here to film a movie, while Black likely plans to live in Toronto), but it makes us giggle to see Lilo and Baron Black of Crossharbour (can we call him CoBla?) occupying the same sentence. [National Post]

(Image: Charles LeBlanc)

America’s haughtiest jailbird, Conrad Black, is getting out of the slammer this weekend—and thinking longingly of Toronto. After serving more than 38 months for financial misdeeds, the media tycoon and former Canadian citizen wants to move back to the city where his wife, Barbara Amiel—and several beloved dogs—live. However, Black’s fate is in the hands of Immigration Minister Jason Kenney since Black renounced his citizenship to take a seat in the U.K.’s House of Lords (of course, there’s also the whole convicted felon thing). If the baron is allowed onto Canadian soil, he already has at least one invite: his epically loquacious memoir, A Matter of Principle, was nominated for this year’s National Business Book Award, which will be announced May 28 at a downtown hotel. See you there, Conrad? [CBC]

(Image: Charles LeBlanc)

The courts have delivered everybody’s second-most despised media supervillain something of a moral victory. The Supreme Court of Canada ruled yesterday that Conrad Black was actually within his rights when he filed libel suits in Ontario against a mostly American group of former Hollinger International Inc. directors, officers and advisers—including Black’s avowed nemesis, Richard Breeden, and former secretary of state Henry Kissinger. Of course, the victory is largely academic, since Black has already agreed to settle the suits, and he’s certainly not getting out of jail any sooner. The Lord’s lawyers say he was “delighted” to hear the news—but, given Black’s penchant for rhetorical flourishes and his profound distaste for Breeden, we figured he would have chosen a more bombastic descriptor. We certainly hope the hoosegow isn’t getting the good baron down.
[Globe and Mail]

CONRAD BLACK BOOK CLUB Chapter 12

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As his trial approaches, Conrad Black is wringing his hands. While his lawyer, Eddie Greenspan, is the finest legal mind in Canada, Black is concerned that Greenspan lacks the requisite knowledge of the American justice system.

Black, Barbara and his daughter Alana (who Black weirdly describes as “beguiling”) trek to Chicago for the trial. Their ties to hotelier Izzy Sharp land them a suite in the Ritz-Carlton (yes, Sharp owns the Four Seasons, but he hooks Black up with his peeps at the Ritz nonetheless—anything for the dear Baron). But they’re still poor—the hotel room has “no special grandeur,” only a galley kitchen and rooms in which Conrad and Barbara can each do their work. Because there’s plenty to do: Conrad finishes his Nixon biography, and Barbara purchases a Hungarian puli that she names George Black, after Conrad’s father. Aw.

The action gets into sitcom territory when Black attends jury selection, where he’s flabbergasted by the pedestrian intellect of his potential peers, including a “gigantic, moustachioed woman” who claims to believe that everyone accused is guilty. Black is aghast: if he weren’t so preoccupied with his trial, he would totally go Henry Higgins and transform the riff raff into the bon ton.

The trial commences and is predictably boring—we admit that our eyes glazed over. Black watches as the prosecutor, Eric Sussman, manages to foil every motion Greenspan tries to make (seeing as the latter is so green when it comes to American law and all).

Despite Greenspan, however, everything is coming up Conrad. Those involved with the community newspaper sales admit that they only dealt with David Radler and that Black wasn’t involved, and the non-competition payments are repeatedly classified by the witnesses as “conditions of closing,” which suggests that they were all above board. Even Globe and Mail columnist Margaret Wente tells Black that she doesn’t think he’s going to go to prison (even though she hoped that he would).

In the words of the Lord:

• On the potential jurors: “I was unprepared for such a procession of mainly monosyllabic and listless people.”

• On the hobbies and interests of the potential jurors: “Most were low-brow magazines, soap operas, bowling, bingo, gardening, and attending to dogs. There did not appear to be as many as half of them who had ever read a book, played a game of chess, or watched a serious newscast.”

• On his true-blue fan club “Friends gave me several parting dinners and an avalanche of messages arrived, many accompanied by prayers and uplifting poems. There was a Conrad Black Fan Club website and a sequence of supportive T-shirts: ‘Conrad Will Win,’ ‘Go Conrad,’ ‘Free Conrad,’ and so forth.”

CONRAD BLACK BOOK CLUB Chapter 11

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After what seems like a million pages (it’s actually 310), Conrad Black has finally been indicted. Boosted by testimony from David Radler (whom Black calls “the nasty gnome from Chicago”), the U.S. government is seeking a 95-year prison sentence. Plot-wise, we expected things to pick up around now—but instead Black just returns to his favourite topics: being poor, being persecuted by the media, and being friends with Elton John.

Believe it or not, Conrad is even more impoverished in this chapter than he was in the last. Liens are being taken out on all his homes (weren’t those sold already?), and the ever-noble Barbara goes behind Conrad’s back to sell her jewellery to “various oily gem dealers.” Black seems to be going slightly mad: at one point he even sets up a cardboard shelter in his garden room for lost ladybugs.

Seriously, Black’s basically a member of the 99 per cent now. Yet he’s still grateful the Man hasn’t taken everything away from him: at least he still has that sprawling, ostentatious Bridle Path mansion.

Also, did you know he’s friends with famous people? This time, he gives up trying to be casual about it, rattling off an actual list of celebrity friends. No surprise, it’s a collection of daffy eccentrics, including Dame Edna, Anna Wintour, Rush Limbaugh, Joan Collins, Ann Coulter and, of course, Sir Elton and David Furnish. (We’d totally go to that dinner party.)

Meanwhile, Black’s civil trial continues with a couple of small victories: the tax evasion charges and non-competition payment allegations are thrown out. Of course, prosecutor Eric Sussman then sticks him with the new charge of laundering money from Hollinger Inc. to finance Hollinger International. Zzzzzzzzz.

Oh, and somehow amid all the trials and hobnobbing and entomology, Black finds the time to write a 400,000-word biography of Richard Nixon.

In the words of the Lord:

• On his suffering: “On Christmas day, I read the book of Job. I discovered that while Job had endured more severe oppression than I had, he had been much less patient.”

• On Richard Nixon: “I’m not a bit like Richard Nixon, though in most respects he was an admirable person with whom comparisons would be flattering.”

•  On being the most overachieving client Eddie Greenspan ever had: “I wrote a 72-page dissection of the contradictory remarks and testimony of Breeden, Thompson, Kravis, Burt, Heath and Kissinger, as well as an outline of a response to all the counts.”

• On the depths of evil: “The posturing of seedy journalists, suddenly made over as Victorian dowagers, bandying about censorious descriptions of totally innocent people, was especially odious. Being removed from Christmas card lists was particularly irritating.”

CONRAD BLACK BOOK CLUB Chapter 9

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The action picks up with Conrad and Barbara enjoying the pleasant August heat on their Bridle Path terrace and engaging in some amateur nature observations (deer, foxes, raccoons, skunks) with a tipple of white wine. Meanwhile, Barbara gets her job back at Maclean’s and the pair hang with Elton John (again). Sounds like paradise.

Of course, the Baron is also broke and facing civil charges, and everyone in the world is out to get him (that last thing may or may not be a figment of his imagination). David Radler, Black’s former business partner, has entered into a plea bargain with the U.S. prosecutors: in exchange for his testimony, he’ll get off easy. And we do mean easy—he’s sentenced to six months at a cushy penal colony with horseback riding, theatre arts and golf. Golf!

Naturally, this grates Black’s cheese. He launches into the first of many long tirades against the American justice system (he thinks it’s corrupt). Also corrupt: lawyers, the whole lot of them (except his own). But that’s not all. Black believes his house is bugged—apparently he heard the spies after the wrong switch was activated on the other end (um, because that happens all the time).

Black, as he does in every chapter, spends a great deal of time cataloging the various books and articles published about him. Bonus: this time, there’s also mention of Shades of Black, a CBC TV movie starring Albert Schultz as Black, Lara Flynn Boyle as Barbara and Jason Priestley as a wise-guy investigator. And, once again, Black devotes many, many words to sputtering like Yosemite Sam over his hatred for Richard Breeden. But this time he also reserves some rage for Peter C. Newman, who wrote a book that apparently makes some saucy allegations about Barbara’s supposed powers of persuasion. Never one to pass up a dramatic overture, Black summons his lawyer, Eddie Greenspan, to serve Newman a libel suit at a fancy dinner for Maclean’s 100th anniversary dinner. And because the universe requires balance, that triumph keeps Black on high for exactly three days before he’s indicted on criminal charges.

In the words of the Lord:

• On the practical purposes of writing his first memoir: “I tried to reduce the number of books and articles written about me by writing a book about myself in 1992, which was quite well-reviewed and sold well.”

• On his relationship with David Radler: “I knew he often mocked my vocabulary, speeches or writing as vanity or affectation, but I took this in stride.”

• On Peter C. Newman’s Here Be Dragons: “The section about Barbara was the lowest, nastiest, most revolting piece of journalistic sewage I have read. Newman purported to be the all-seeing connoisseur of our bedroom and from his lurid imagination explained to readers and then to interviewers that Barbara hooked me with her sexual wiles, which he purported to detail, with a ghoulishly prurient imagination.”

• On lead prosecutor Eric Sussman: “When he spoke, his wrists and hands moved jerkily, as if they were being manipulated by an amateur ventriloquist. When he stopped speaking, he went to a default countenance that was gape-mouthed, punctuated by his tongue bulging against the inside of his cheek like a lingual erection.”

CONRAD BLACK BOOK CLUB Chapter 9

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Only in the distorted world of Conrad Black does moving become an ordeal on par with the Hundred Years War or the Rwandan genocide. He admires Barbara Amiel’s “sad and heroic efforts” as they pack up their 800 boxes to ship them to Toronto. Who knew renting a U-Haul truck could be so poetic?

Naturally, things get even weirder when the pair arrives home: Barbara seeks comfort with a life-size cardboard cutout of Black that she used to use when he couldn’t attend dinner parties, and Elton John gives her a jewellery box adorned with a pavé diamond, telling her she’s a star.

Meanwhile, Black is evicted from his offices at 10 Toronto St. When he arrives to clear out his humble belongings, he finds all his precious correspondence has been confiscated, including all his notes from every prime minister since, like, Laurier or something (except Kim Campbell, since she doesn’t really count). While naively transporting the remaining boxes to his car, he is surreptitiously videotaped and then slapped with the threat of contempt for obstructing evidence. Oh, such wacky hijinks.

But not all is lost: Black accepts an offer from the National Post to write a column on foreign affairs and begins to contemplate his next book, a biography of Richard Nixon. Also, at about the same time, a media type finally gives his case what Black considers to be a proper journalistic treatment—that is, he takes his side—and that media type is Ezra Levant.

So, with the looming possibility of a criminal case—not to mention that Conrad bruised his knee on a bike ride, a true family tragedy—the Blacks decide to make the most of the money they don’t have and visit England and the south of France. Apparently, late July and August is the height of “the season,” a phrase we thought died with Jane Austen. Back in Europe, they gallivant with Elton John (again) and his Scarborough-born hubby David Furnish, Lord Peter Carrington and Jacob Rothschild, who deign to be seen in public with the Baron.

In the words of the Lord:

• On his return home: “It was a retreat to Toronto, to a house I loved in a city and a country that hadn’t been especially congenial as I staggered along the gauntlet of the legal enforcers and jackal press of both countries (and overseas).”

• On his anticipation of a criminal case: “I would be upholding vital principles, I told myself—honest capitalism and impartial law, both of which had been degraded beyond recognition in this ghastly sequence of outrages.”

• On an excuse to use the word cockahoop: ““Let the press, as it did, go cockahoop celebrating my financial demise.”

• On (absurdly) comparing Barbara’s sadness to that of the Jews in World War II: “She reminded me of a well-known photo I showed her of European Jews during the Second World War being marched along the streets carrying their small bundles of belongings. Behind one such family walked a little girl, her body language summing up utter despair.”

• On David Radler’s attitude, described in a curious way: “He was a pessimist, and more than in the generic Jewish way.”

CONRAD BLACK BOOK CLUB Chapter 8

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While reading this useless chapter, we started to wonder whether Conrad Black was being paid by the word. Or maybe he’s being paid by the letter since he’s such a supercilious blowhard—and nothing happens.

First, Black tries to get Hollinger back through an appeal to the OSC. (He also suffers through meetings with Catalyst chief Newton Glassman and his brigade of “podgy” women. Stay classy, Conrad.) When his appeal fails—and he once again defaults to being the real-life equivalent of the Brain from Pinky and the Brain—he realizes that he is “completely finished as an important businessman.” We realized that about five chapters and nine years ago.

The rest of the chapter is more of the same: name-dropping and shaming the media. He recalls the regal honour of attending Donald and Melania Trump’s 2005 wedding (once again: classy), where Donald, Bill Clinton and Rudy Giuliani all sing “Go Go Go Conrad” and urge him to stand his ground.

Later, the media clue into the fact that the Canada Revenue Agency has a lien on his Palm Beach house (Black insists that he arranged it voluntarily) and start teasing him for being poor. Our favourite: when the Guardian tells Barbara Amiel that she can save money on pantyhose by using a Sharpie to draw vertical lines up the backs of her legs. Come on, that’s funny. Eventually, it’s the London house that ends up going—and good riddance since, according to Barbara, it’s way too big for their humble livelihood.

In the words of the Lord:

• On re-enacting Bleak House at Christmas: “Barbara and I even managed modest gifts, accepted almost furtively by her, lest the boot in her sky notice we were having a good moment—something we had judged inappropriate in the hair-shirted, Dickensian bleakness of December 2003.”

• On Barbara’s spiritual side: “Though Barbara fights it, she is privately a person of faith who in bleak hours falls back on cantorial music and ritual, usually alone in a room out of sight.”

• On Barbara’s lyrical repertoire: “Barbara began humming “Little Things Mean a Lot,” which was part of her vast repertoire of Hit Parade songs from the 1950s.”

• On Richard Breeden not being up on his political manifestos: “It shortly became obvious that Breeden had made a classic mistake, one that Machiavelli in particular, had warned against: excessive reliance on mercenaries.”

CONRAD BLACK BOOK CLUB Chapter 7

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As chapter seven opens, Conrad Black recalls the release of Richard Breeden’s lengthy investigative report called, somewhat hilariously, “A Corporate Kleptocracy.” Surprisingly, the long-awaited publication is a relief to Black—all of the alleged “skullduggery” turned out to just be rehashed accusations. Not much new information came out of the report, which, incidentally, is how we’re starting to feel about the Baron’s memoir (although it is expanding our vocabulary).

Not surprisingly, Black endures a fresh round of attacks from the media savages, who write new books and new articles that compare him to Cardinal Richelieu, Dr. Faustus and Fagan, while Babs is ridiculed for her pricey jogging clothes. Did Black mention how innocent his beloved Barbara is in all this? Well, he does it again a whole bunch of times in this chapter.

After Breeden’s report is released, Black is charged with a slew of SEC civil infractions. No sweat. It’s not like he’s going to get indicted on criminal charges. That’ll never happen.

Meanwhile, after this latest barrage of media attention, Black realizes he’ll never be able to return to Hollinger. Um, duh. He’s kicked out by the “witches’ coven” (the board), and to add insult to injury, informed of this fact on an otherwise pleasant walk through Central Park, right near the bench named for him and Barbara by Mayor Bloomberg (just in case we forgot that he knows important people).

Eventually, after a long, drawn-out deliberation, Hollinger Inc. is privatized and Black has only his new civil charges with which to contend. The chapter concludes with Black at his Toronto home—we’re not kidding—watching deer eat apples in his orchard as he hopes for a peaceful future.

In the words of the Lord:

• On the possibility of criminal charges: “Only when my dear Barbara, always prone to attacks of generic rabbinical pessimism, sadly whispered, ‘They’re going to take you away from me’ did I really fear a criminal trial.”

• On the savagery of his enemies: “All my opponents needed to do was bandy my name about, like Chamberlain flourishing his signed agreement with Hitler after Munich in 1938, to achieve their ends.”

• On writing letters to the editor: “I enjoyed writing the odd letter for publication. It gave me some satisfaction, however evanescent… These were mere pinpricks, of course, in a massive wall of orchestrated press animosity, but I hoped they showed I was still alive and that my (sparsely attended) corporate funeral had not yet taken place.”

• On his Bridle Path oasis: “Barbara and I walked (holding hands, as the Globe and Mail breathlessly reported) in the late afternoon along the street my father had created 50 years before when he developed the neighbourhood now known as the Bridle Path. I had carefully assembled and placed 20,000 books in the libraries and there remained important traces of the original house where I was brought up. The long-serving staff were thoughtful and unobtrusive, and the swimming pool and chapel I had built were great sources of exercise and refreshment of body and spirit.”

CONRAD BLACK BOOK CLUB Chapter 6

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Going on the word of Conrad Black alone (and his long, obscure words are the only ones we have), the Lord has basically become the business equivalent of Charlie Brown (same initials, even!). He’s just trying to do the right thing. But arch-nemesis Richard Breeden keeps pulling that football out of the way before he can kick it.

Black’s sale of Hollinger Inc. to the dapper Barclay brothers is blocked by the Hollinger International board, which challenges its validity. Even Black’s old pal Henry Kissinger votes against it, prompting the Baron to volley an “Et tu, Brute?” at the former Secretary of State (kind of a lame zinger, no? We’re sure Kissinger has heard much worse). This leads to a whole slew of trials, depositions and conferences with one Judge Leo Strine, a Delaware adjudicator who is, according to Black, as provincial as he is obtuse.

Meanwhile, Black’s new status as high society pariah is having an impact on Barbara. First she’s axed from the Telegraph, and then from Maclean’s; the editor who fired her, Black is quick to point out, often asked him for a job but never even passed an interview. Black insists that he’s devastated by his plummeting social status, but also notes that as a historian, he finds it interesting. Oh, brother.

Eventually, the sale of Hollinger Inc. is permanently halted—that’s when mammoth private equity firm Cerberus steps in, offering to refinance Hollinger Inc. Black is suspicious, and a ringing endorsement of Cerberus from Dan Quayle doesn’t help matters (although it provides another golden opportunity to name drop; which, naturally, Black takes).

Black’s suspicion eventually reaches Shutter Island proportions: he becomes convinced that Cerberus and Breeden are in cahoots. It sounds paranoid, but Cerberus’s last-minute withdrawal from the deal suggests that maybe Black isn’t so crazy after all.

Eventually, against the din of Black’s loud, vociferous protests, Hollinger International sells the Telegraph to the Barclay brothers, giving Breeden and co. a sum that equals 30 times what Hollinger originally paid for the paper. Resigned, Black sells his home in the U.K., hoping to quietly move on and become a “modest figure in American finance.” Which would be fine, if we didn’t already know that Black’s definition of “modest” is $80 million a year.

In the words of the Lord:

On Judge Leo Strine’s ineptitude: “It again revealed Strine’s naive inability to grasp the nature of the war that he had aggressively declined to bring to a swift and happy end with his mad and unjust verdict. This was corporate Armageddon, Gotterdammerung, not another Delaware commercial tiddly-winks match.”

On the Times’s reaction to Cerberus’s $2 billion loss in 2009: “The New York Times reported this unlikely freshet of muscular Americanism from one of Wall Street’s weediest vultures, defoliated of feathers, credibility, and investors, with becoming and wry amusement.”

On his loss of social status: “I had gone from being a person of prominence in some circles to a negative ex-presence, someone it was desired and enjoyable to humiliate, if not deliberately, by cavalier demonstration of my new insignificance.”