When Larry Zolf’s first book, “Dance of the Dialectic,” was published in 1973, there was a reception held in his honour in the library of the fifth floor press gallery “hot room” on Parliament Hill.
A few of us, about thirty journalists, political staffers and Members of Parliament, had already gathered when Pierre Trudeau showed up. He’d been expected to attend but, still, it was an unlikely place for the prime minister to be.
Trudeau paused for a moment in the doorway, sizing up who was in the room. Spotting the prime minister, Zolf said in a loud voice, “Who the f–– are you?” Trudeau looked more than a little stunned at what hardly passed for a greeting but proceeded to enter anyway. No one but Larry Zolf could have been so irreverently foul-mouthed with the prime minister and gotten away with it.
Zolf, a journalist, commentator and court jester, was by far the zaniest person I’ve ever met. He was tall, well over six feet, paunchy, and had a memorable face that consisted of black-framed glasses, a large schnozz, and later a bushy moustache, all surrounded by a head of wild and curly hair.
He’d always have an off-the-wall story to tell, fortified by ample amounts of his own laughter, but could make fun of himself, too.
“I have a magical false nose and glasses,” he would say. “Magical in that the glasses come off, but the nose doesn’t.”
Born in Winnipeg’s North End, Zolf claimed he learned about German philosophers Friedrich Hegel and Karl Marx while being dandled on his father’s knee. As a student at the University of Toronto, he managed to inhabit two worlds. On the one hand, he wrote a thesis on Ontario Premier Mitch Hepburn. On the other, he did stand-up comedy at the coffeehouses in Yorkville, the hot night-time neighbourhood at the time.
He joined the CBC in 1962, made an award-winning documentary, and then polished his name and reputation as a contributor to the popular current affairs program, “This Hour Has Seven Days,” hosted by Patrick Watson and Laurier LaPierre.
In 1966, a call girl named Gerda Munsinger, allegedly a Soviet spy, was said to have slept with two federal cabinet ministers: George Hees and Pierre Sévigny. Zolf decided to confront Sévigny at his home in Montreal. He showed up at Sévigny’s door with a camera crew and knocked. Sévigny, a war veteran with a wooden leg, answered. When he saw Zolf, Sévigny attacked him with his cane. Zolf replied in kind by kicking Sévigny in the shin. Zolf always referred to the incident as his Citizen Cane period.
Zolf could be acerbic and wacky but was always well-informed. You could roundly disagree with him but still enjoy his deft puns and pointed language. A political animal, Zolf called himself a socialist although over the years he came to admire Progressive Conservative leaders such as Joe Clark and Bill Davis who were Red Tories.
He played no favourites among the parties. One time, Zolf wrote jokes for Pierre Trudeau’s off-the-record speech to the annual Parliamentary Press Gallery Dinner. I attended that dinner and I can tell you that Trudeau’s terrible sense of timing ruined every funny line of that ghosted material. When Zolf ran into Trudeau a few days later, the prime minister asked Zolf how he thought the speech had gone. Replied Zolf, “You, sir, couldn’t deliver a joke in a Brink’s armored truck.”
Zolf and I were not close friends, but he came to the house once. He arrived with his first wife, Patsy, a Newfoundlander and pc28urban planner, and their two children, David and Rachel. Zolf paid no attention either to his kids or ours, he just grandstanded as only he could do throughout the visit.
Zolf was both fired and rehired by the CBC, two feats he forever celebrated. Zolf also wrote columns, film reviews, and six books. The titles were all-important. His book about the Senate, for example, was called “Survival of the Fattest.” Zolf was also his own biggest fan. In “Just Watch Me: Remembering Pierre Trudeau,” Zolf claimed that he was “the only mischief maker that Trudeau approved of or respected.”
During his later years, Zolf and I would regularly have lunch in Toronto. He never bothered with the eating part. Instead, he brought piles of typed pages and spent his time reading aloud to me whatever he was working on. There were also in-depth conversations, the likes of which I’ve rarely had with anyone since.
No, there was no one like Larry Zolf – a screwball who always had something to say that was both cutting edge and crazy. He died in pc28at the age of 76 in 2011. I miss him still. We all need a lot more laughter in our lives.
To join the conversation set a first and last name in your user profile.
Sign in or register for free to join the Conversation