David Eddie - Damage Control: How to Tiptoe Away from the Smoking Wreckage of your Latest Screw-Up with a Minimum of Harm to Your Reputation

A LSO BY THIS AUTHOR:

Housebroken: Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Dad
Chump Change

For Pam

Most of the advice-seeking souls who regularly read David Eddies Damage Control column in The Globe and Mail probably dont know that one of their favourite newspaper destinations had a previous life in the magazine universe. The birth of Damage Control, in fact, is intertwined with that of Toro, the mens magazine that conceived it and put a roof over the columns head between 2002 and 2007, when Toro met its untimely demise.

Almost six years ago now, I was hired to edit Toro, which, at that time, was something completely new on Canadas media landscape a general-interest magazine for men. If that wasnt a daunting enough challenge, the affluent gentleman who was paying for Toros creation gave me about eight weeks in which to do it. I dont mean eight weeks to edit the stories and design the magazine. I mean eight weeks to hire a staff, find an office, buy computers, woo advertisers, and dream up what the magazine was to be about before commissioning, editing, designing, and fact-checking all the stories it would contain. This was an insane proposition, and I was experienced enough at the time to fully understand the glorious horror of what I was taking on.

My fear was often tempered in the early days by, well, alcohol. Toro didnt yet have an office, so, for about a month, the editorial team met in various bars and restaurants in Torontos Little Italy district, trying to hammer out what kind of magazine Canadian men might want to read. We decided then that we wanted Toro to have an advice column, but one with a twist.

I remember trying to explain our concept to the Toronto novelist and journalist Russell Smith (who also has a column with The Globe and Mail), that we didnt want it to be your typical advice column. We wanted the column to have some tension, which we planned to achieve by making it a forum for guys who found themselves in situations of extraordinary or extreme discomfort (likely involving embarrassment) and needed help. As I tried to articulate all of this to Russell, he interjected at one point and said, So its kind of like damage control for men.

Thats it! I yelped.

Whats it?

Damage control. Thats what were going to call the column: Damage Control: Advice for Guys in Sticky Situations.

It didnt take me long to decide who I wanted to write it. David Eddie had written an excellent book two years earlier called Housebroken: Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Dad. Housebroken was essentially a book-length advice column on the stickiest situation any man will ever find himself in: marriage. In fact, when I read Housebroken Id been married for about a year. Like David, Id landed a wife whose beauty and career success were several notches above what Id expected or deserved. And while my wife and I didnt have children at that time, Id begun to realize that my quasi-pathetic freelance writing life had sent me swerving rather dangerously into househusband territory. Which is why I remember clinging to the words on each one of the books pages, hoping David could help me find a way to avoid the sort of emasculation neither my wife nor I could have lived with for long.

I dont want to give David all the credit for the fact that I remain married to the same woman, but Housebroken had a profound effect on me. And when, as an editor, I imagined the kind of man Id want to consult when I found myself in a sticky situation, Davids voice was the first one that came to mind. It was the perfect mix of humility, insight, cojones, honesty, and, best of all, humour.

In the early days of the column, there were the obligatory girlfriend/wife questions What do I do if she finds my hidden stash of pornography? but there were also more than a few queries that came across the transom we probably never could have invented. Heres one that jumps to mind: On a ski trip in Northern Italy last winter, after my first day on the slopes, I went down to the hotels spa for a sauna. I walked in with a towel around my waist, only to discover a crew of naked young Germans, half of whom were women. I sat down and kept my towel on, but Im sure they were talking about me the entire time. Whats an uptight North American guy to do?

(In case youre wondering, David told him to leave the towel on again next time.)

I also recall Davids advice to the guy whose squash playing partner never offered to buy the post-match pints: Obviously your friends welshing is eating away at your innards, but lets face it: its not the male way to confront friends, to bring up issues, to want to talk. Its too similar to whining. If you must say something, better to make a joke with teeth like, Yeah, thats okay, theres a Raquel Welch movie I want to see on Showcase, anyway. Or Maybe Ill just sit here and have a Welchs grape juice. If he has any sense, hell get it eventually.

There was also the occasional question that forced David to put on his reporters cap. I remember helping him hunt down a lawyer who specialized in drunk-driving cases because a readers inebriated friend had been charged after being found at the side of the road, asleep in the rear seat of his parked car.

The end of Toro magazine in early 2007 happened to coincide with the launch of a new Life section in The Globe and Mail, which adopted both Damage Control (in a non-male-specific form) and our sex columnist, Claudia Dey. The Life section was also fortunate to inherit a number of other Toro alumni, including Pat Lynch, who has been editing both versions of Damage Control since 2004.

I can fondly envision David walking into the Toro office on many an evening to meet Pat so that the two of them could decamp to a local watering hole to discuss the questions that had come in for the next column. Occasionally, one of them, in a futile effort to gain my sympathy, would make a crack about how much of their precious time this column was taking up.

Dont worry, boys, I would say. One day that column is going to turn into a magnificent book.

I cant tell you how happy (and proud) I am that it finally has.

Derek Finkle

In case this reference is a little obscure, I, David Eddie, would like to add a slight footnote: it refers to welching on a bet; which actually, though I didnt think about it at the time, probably derives from a derogatory reference to Welsh people, unfortunately.

People dont seem to understand its a damn war out there.

J IMMY C ONNORS

All warfare is based on deception.

S UN T ZU

Okay, so you screwed up.

Again. Youre as surprised as anyone. You cant believe what a mutt, what a mook, what a plum duff you are.

Oh, my God, you might find yourself thinking. Im a freak! A fool! Im screwed!

You may begin to hyperventilate, to start to schvitz from fear, your hyperactive hypothalamus douching your entire bodybag in a fine, sour-scented mist of flop-sweats.