At around 10 years old, my friend Jaime and I used to play a simple game of bouncing a rubber ball off a blank wall and taking turns to catch it. That’s what we were doing in the yard of a stately mansion in Quebec City on a weekend afternoon, when we were politely invited inside by a servant.
I don’t recall if she offered us something to drink, but we were asked to wait in a well-appointed den, and a moment later what seemed to us an ancient man entered the room and politely greeted us.
It was Louis St. Laurent, Canada’s recently retired 12th prime minister (1948-57). He seemed kindly and affable, and in very good English (he had an Irish mother and a French father) courteously requested that we not bounce balls against his house, as at this point in his life he greatly valued peace and quiet. Of course we agreed.
Although I haven’t been back to Quebec City in many years, I know that the house still stands at 201 Grande Allée, and is open to the public as a heritage site that offers interactive historical tours. Mr. St. Laurent died in 1973 at age 92. Perhaps I can take some minuscule credit for his longevity.
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In university at what was then Loyola College (now part of Concordia University), I became president of the Residence Council (big deal!), and as such had to organize an annual banquet, which meant finding a speaker. Whoever organized the previous affair had invited an ex-CFL football player, a punch drunk guard or tackle by the look of him. (A sportswriter friend of my brother’s once submitted the following headline in describing a game between the Ottawa and Saskatchewan Roughriders: ‘Roughriders give Roughriders Rough Ride’.
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