Guy St-Laurent

Yes CJ, its story time with Gerry again; Saturday mornings are a therapeutic time for writing.

When we were kids we went to St. Catharine-de-Sienne School. It was about 1.5 kilometers away. Mom would buy us bus tickets, but we would sometimes walk. This was before there was such a beast as French Immersion. So off we went to French school.

My oldest sister, Pat, missed out on the French school, but the rest of us started our education in French. I think both of my brothers switched over after grade 4 and my youngest sister after grade 5. I finished grade school in French. In my first year of high school, our English teacher was so upset about the lack of basic grammar skills that she threw a snap grammar quiz at us. In all 5 of her classes. The 25 of us from French schools all finished in the top 30.

But back to my subject matter. On nicer days, we would enjoy walking to school. We started to become familiar with the neighborhood that we would shortly be moving into. On our way to school, we would pass an apartment building at the juncture of Elmhurst, Patricia, & Sherbrooke. Usually, the superintendent of the building would be outside. We always said hello.

We soon discovered that Mr St-Laurent had a son that went to our school as well, Guy.We used to occasionally walk with him, and we became chums. When I was in grade 3, Frank and I were the only 2 still going to St. Catharine. One day during recess, we were all rushed back into class early. Apparently some of the older kids had decided to pick up one the poles to hold the lights over the skating rink and carry it around.

Grade school kids are neither judicious nor strong. In their attempt, they could not, as a group raise it all the way, so many just let go. Guy St-Laurent was at the end and didn’t know it was being dropped. While trying to hold it up, he slipped, and the pole hit his head. He died.

9 years is too young an age to learn about death. You are too old to be able to brush it off. Unfortunately, you are far too young to be able to rationalize what happened. You are also way too young to be questioning why God would let this happen. Grade 3 is wrong place to be trying to figure out life.

For the next 10 years or so, while the St-Laurents still lived there, Frank and I would always greet him: “Bonjour Mr. St-Laurent, comment aller vous aujourdhui?” You see , Guy had been an only child, and sub-consciously, I think Frank and I knew that the right thing to do was always show the poor man deep respect. He was always gracious and as we became teenagers, he would even engage us in small talk. We would, however , never discuss Guy.

November 27 is a day when I think about Guy; Guy was a cheerful and fun-loving guy. We liked him because he was older but would still talk to us. November 27, I always remember that day in grade 3. It usually also leads to me think about life, death, and other darker thoughts. Guy was a great kid. Grade school was a great time. This event was a life defining moment for me; I regret that the defining was going on when I was so young.

In the past friends and family have both commented to me that I take death really well. I lost 3 of my grand-parents when I was old enough to remember. I lost my best friend to AIDS in 1990. My Dad, Big Al, my hero, left us too soon in 2003. I don’t take it well. I move on with the grief that comes from someone dying because of what I did on November 27, 1969. You see it worked then, and it still works.

Everyone grieves differently. Guy was a good kid, a good son, and unfortunately, a good teacher. I learned to grieve that day, and even though it was terribly upsetting for a 9-year-old, Guy taught me well.

So Guy, no empty RIP, but please do rest in peace. You were far too young to die, your passing has helped me become who I am.

Guy St-Laurent, a good kid, will always be a part of me.

Cheers!

(I don’t go out of my way to be morose, really)