By Phil Roberts, 3-12-24
I’m quite familiar with “wardrobe malfunction.” For me, it became an issue in my first year on faculty at UWyo.
Before I was hired at UWyo, while I was still a doctoral student at the University of Washington, a conference organizing committee accepted my presentation proposal for a transnational conference on Canadian-American law. The conference was to be held in Victoria, B. C., the following year.
After my move to Laramie and getting acclimated to my new appointment, I had little time to make many alterations to the paper. That following spring, I took two days’ leave to travel to the beautiful city of Victoria, took a room at the Chateau Victoria hotel– very nice hotel downtown– and started attending all conference proceedings at the University of Victoria, a short taxi ride from the hotel.
As a brand-new faculty at Wyoming, I recognized that, unlike me, most attendees were giants, or well-regarded veterans, in their respective fields of Canadian or American law. Compared to some of the papers, filled with deep legal analysis or complex legal theories, my paper addressed the common occurrence of frontier lawyers who also edited newspapers and some of the ethical jams they found themselves in as a result. Clearly, conference organizers had no idea how they could fit me in to a panel or even pair me with another presenter. Consequently, they made my presentation the “plenary session” to conclude the first day.
My paper was sprinkled with humorous stories–not very scholarly–so it was a good choice to round out the day of weighty legal panels. I dressed in my gray, three-piece suit that I referred to as my “law suit.” During the earlier panels, I glanced at my notecards and polished, in my mind, the more engaging points. I was ready when I was introduced to speak from the open round platform stage in the center of the large room.
I had known no other attendee prior to that morning, but I became acquainted with two during the morning sessions–one, a young articulate and immaculately dressed law professor from the University of New Mexico and, the other, a veteran administrative law litigator from Ottawa who was a director on the board of one of the sponsoring agencies for the conference, University of York’s Osgoode hall.
It had been a n afternoon filled with academic panels interrupted for a half-hour sandwich buffet lunch. At 4 p.m., as the conference panels came to an end for the day, I was handed a mic and introduced by a conference organizer, I felt a little like a stand-up comedian. It was a bit unnerving to not have a podium and no place to set my notecards. I was met with polite applause by the tired, but dedicated 100 or so conference-goers still in attendance. I resolved to present from memory and it seemed to work spectacularly. Nearly every thing I said, I got a gale of laughter and even light applause!
I wrapped up with what I thought was a particularly funny story. Some people laughed so hard there were tears in some eyes as I bowed low and left the stage. Both of my new friends from morning reminded me they’d see me at the reception and dinner at the “Indian village.” One said, “Don’t forget to change into something casual!”
I rushed out and grabbed a cab, thrilled that I had been such a hit. As we pulled up in front of the hotel, I reached in my pocket for the Canadian money to pay the driver. As I put my hand in my pocket, I felt only air! The entire back seam of the pants had split wide open! Just a layer of underwear separated me from the Canadian breezes! After I finally paid the cab driver, I began to reconstruct the day. Had the pants split in the cab after the program? Did they split while I was on stage? If so, how much of the raucous laughter could be attributed to the blow-out? I changed clothes and went to dinner.
But did I dare ask anyone if they’d seen anything remiss? I thought I heard several people tittering as I walked by and hoped their pointing in my direction because I had been a star, rather than the unsuspecting victim of a wardrobe malfunction!
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