Look Deep Into The PAST

Through The Looking Glass

If I can ask…
Do you have any favorite moments, friends or teachers from the high-school phase?

What was your favorite subject? What did you enjoy at that time?

For me it wasn’t the academics but rather the whole culture of the 60’s carrying over into the 70’s.
While there were the distractions of various inebriates for the times, there were also new thought formats and the small beginnings of spiritual and philosophical yearnings for me.

And of course there was the silliness of being a ‘youthful inexperienced male’, floundering about trying to figure out and come to terms with sexuality and what I was supposed to do with all that new information – and how to apply it. But while that aspect was clearly evident, it was not paramount.

In retrospect, I was like a tourist, constantly amazed by the macro/micro of what was going on beyond Chateauguay and Montreal and then in school as a melting pot. It was almost voyeuristic, in that I spent much time simply watching everyone – from the ‘glass hallway gang’, ‘orchard gang’, pines gang, Parkview gang, Colonia gang, Seigniory Park gang,Terrace gang, Heights gang-Canoe Club or Tennis Club, West End gang, Woodlands-Lery-Maple Grove and Beauharnois gangs to the Kahnawakero:no, to the teachers, -to each individual and how everyday, someone was either newly wearing make-up and looking more grown up, filling out, growing taller.

And the various behaviors displayed overtly or by default; those who were “out there” and those who chose to hang back. I had friends and acquaintances in most camps. It was all so much like Alice in Wonderland. But I just loved it. I became very much alive at that point –at least consciously aware of differences and yet sameness, in our struggle as a 'species' being.

If you have ever read Daemian by Hermann Hess, a story of a child becoming an adult- stepping over the line, out of the magic circle of family into the darker worlds- ‘on one’s own like a complete unknown’ -different and more subtle shades of gray; light melding inextricably with darkness. This was our turbulent birth via high-school into the outer older reality.

I have no blanks. I remember every “trip”physical, metaphysical or other - along with every memory of drinking too much or mixing wine with beer and ending up praying and trying to bargain with a porcelain god, "Please, I'll never do this again"... –if he/she/it would only make this retching stop or just get it the heck over with.

This is one aspect of 'the journey’ many of us passed through in youth and hopefully, came out the other side. We all know of some who, tragically, did not.

Now that I have emerged to who I am many years later, perhaps weathered by travel and life, I would love to see you and everyone – if only one last time. I want to look at you, greet, shake hands, to meet you as the higher class of being you have become. Back then, we were all so young and incomplete. These days, it matters not what you do to get by, or what you have or have not achieved - it is simply who you are that counts.

I am so curious to see us all- now and take a group picture after the dinner. I know that picture will become one of my most cherished possessions. Why? Because we all have a common past; a beginning place. On that REUNION evening we shall complete yet another part of our voyage- on this ever spinning rock. And I believe that meeting –that re-union will be most significant - a psychic metaphor of completion - within each and every one of us. Those who do not attend will always somewhere within, -wonder...what if... and only have the subjective convenient wallet sized crumpled memory of a past gone by, in the shadows fading.

I can always have days of vacation to travel, visit friends, see cities, lie out on a beach, go camping, write my book, be with my wife and/or children who I love dearly.

But we will not likely have another reunion with old friends, all in one place,- who, older or younger, in and out of school, (playing road hockey, playing tennis, going to the pool, playing guitar, thumbing rides through the USA and Canada)- experienced the 60’s and 70’s and teachers and bullies, Love gained and lost, heart break and elation and varying distractions - seemingly all together by common locale -High School .

Life goes by quickly and this REUNION EXPERIENCE will never happen again for us. Every year there are more who die off. Our demographic is entering that void where our own children are having children, causing us to become grand parents.

I want or NEED to visit my past- make the Haj, my pilgrimage -if just one last time.
Let us not let fear or simple laziness let this slip by.

You and all those who attend will cause the closest thing to TIME TRAVEL we ever will experience. I am so excited by seeing you and everyone else listed on the Alumni site. Do you realize how significant you are-(yes you!) to the rest of us? You were there –part of that dream – part of that fabric- and, yes, for some, it may have been a nightmare. It’s time to put some reality to it -exorcise it. Let us wake up for one unique moment, once more in time –older, wiser – wonderful people to behold! Come on down -one last time –then let us part with a completed circle of light -within.

Let the circle
be unbroken
by and by…

Pictured above - The Orchard Gang.

The D'Aguilar -Zizian Legends

I was bar-b-Q-ing in my ski outfit at sundown, contemplating the evening sky with a glass of ruby red wine.

Clear, crisp, frigid - a Chateuguay winter.

The banging- puck off the boards- reverberating over from the rink.
Flash back to 'pick-up' in the winter every night, - Barry Jones, Bob Jones, Graham and Brian Rennie, Frank Toth, Kit and Pierre Lacroix, Glen Finnerty, Danny Boyle and his dad and sometimes my dad too.

I envied Mr. Boyle. The puck slams into his leg, bounces off. He laughs, zooming by and scores on us. His leg was artificial. He remains a legend for those of us who witnessed this split second. He probably didn't know it, but Mr. Boyle became an example to many of us. "Just laugh and keep on going!"

I bring the burgers in to Jane, then go down to my office for a moment, a new message flashes on the computer. It is short and to the point; a complement from a very old friend. I smile and go back outside to close the grill, look up at the night sky, ah- but I'm transported once again to that special place.

...the aroma of Adidas and sweat, the tension charges the air in the gym - the bleachers- feet pounding the primal beat. The team is out and we roar.

There's Hopeton , Jimmy, Peter. Bobby, Jimmy Reid, Look at them! In their colours - Gold and Blue! They're ours ! What pride!

It's Wagar High versus HSB. We're behind by a point- "how could that be?"

The game is soon to end.

Zizian deakes out the flank - he could go all the way if he wants - but is ever the team player- he passes.The coach puts his hand to his brow.

Wagar steals the ball - looks like it's over now - but no!
Out of nowhere - Hopeton zips in front of the tall lanky centre, snapping the ball back to JimmyZ, who races up mid court -back to Hopeton. The clock is counting down the final minute of play.

Only one defender left ahead. Hopeton speeds up. What the heck is he thinking ? He'll run smack into the guy, - he slams the ball down -hard at floor between and through the defenceman's legs, springs up in flight and over the man -leap frog - total awe and hush -split second,-infinity- -roar-finishing off with a "swish" of the basket and a smile.
AAHHHH YEAHHH!

Did it happen this way? Did it happen at all? Did I dream it? Who knows- but both Jimmy Zizian and Hopeton D'Aguilar remain to this day - larger than life for many of us.

They have etched spots in our collective psyche that will remain along with the likes of Bobby Oliver, Edson Phipps, Dave Swan, Sheldon Seale, Sandy Traynor, Dave Maclean, Christine Russel, Bob Muir, J. Lahache, Trina Lamarre, Randy Phillips, Debbie Culham , Grant Wilson , Kenny Kane, Kerry Kane, Stewie Shearer, Bobbie Houston, Ference Somogyi and many others.

Looking up at the cold night, stars seem to peer back, curious, quiet, knowing -remembering.
It's all going by -so quickly.

Brass Monkey Weather

Brass Monkey Weather

If nothing else, this Reunion thought process is igniting my motivation to firm up, lose pounds and rid my chin of a few fat cells.

This morning, as I hit the snow covered wind swept streets for my ‘walk-run’, I had to ask myself –why now? I mean, I haven’t run in a few years since my knees began to ache. Perhaps when I stopped, I simply was bored and needed an excuse-‘whatever’.

So every second day, since last Saturday, I have been fast walking 4-6 telephone polls per street and soft running two, to an approximate total length of maybe 3-4 kilometers.

The thing about running and walking at ‘march-pace’, the body goes into a pleasant rhythm which causes one’s consciousness to focus upon various topics of concern. But after a certain point – perhaps 15 minutes into the pace, one’s consciousness goes time travelling.

The thudding sound of my boots on the hard snow street seems muted by the cold and I am aware of the February fragrance of frozen steel, but as my pace sets in, the warmth permeates my gloves and boots and gives rise to a memory of a similar morning- walking-walking-walking to school with Jimmy.

"This is brass monkey weather –there won’t be school today, man – there can’t be.” Jimmy’s breath hung suspended on the air. I looked out under the ridge of my frosted touque and spied the tears forming on his long eye lashes- becoming frozen and stuck.

“Maybe your right,” I muffled moist through my scarf. I could taste the wool that had become the traditional flavour of February since childhood.

A few weeks before, we had a massive amount of snow. In fact, the night it had come down, there was a knock on the door. There under the porch light, stood two Charlie Brown ragamuffins peering out of layers of winter outer clothing. Dave and Steve Poirier dressed as if prepared to climb a mountain.
“Come on out McConnell! - They’ve plowed the snow in Towers’ parking lot - the biggest snow mountains we’ve ever seen! Get your Mom’s old leather ski-boots on, bundle up and let’s go snow diving beneath the drifts!”

I’ll never forget that night.

But this day, with Jimmy was really extreme -freeze. Our steps squeaked and crunched on the brittle packed snow. If we even opened our mouths to speak, it felt like our breath was ripped out by the hand of a cruel winter .

We trooped on in our boots, gray flannel pants, ski jackets and long tassel touques, brief case school bag handles, frozen into our mitts. I was wearing my brown rubber over-boots (“galoshes”) with the slip buckle on the side, which I would ‘never be caught dead in’, but I didn’t need to fight with my mother on this occasion. It was brass monkey weather for certain “–definite witches’ tit.” said Jimmy, whose eyes could no longer be seen behind the fog of his large round glasses. The curls that emerged from beneath his hat had long since frosted.

The school was looming in the distance from our vantage point on Saint Francis Street as we were about to turn onto Maple.

It was ‘now or never’ time.
“So – ya figure there’s school today?” he ventured.
“I doubt it – I mean- maybe the busses couldn’t start” I posited.
“Let’s just go to my house – and make some corn fritters!” He said, “Besides, we can always go back to the school and slip in at lunch time.”
“Hmmm- Fair! This sounded good – fritters it is!” said I.
It was now official.
“You know how to make those things?” I asked.
“Just you wait.” He said, wiping new peering holes into the frost on his glasses. There was that Jimmy grin, suggesting all was possible in the magic of our existence.
But somehow that did not quite sound like a “yes” to me.

So instead of turning left at Maple past the small shopping centre, we turned right- heading up into the Heights. We continued on to the end of Maple and then over the tracks and up Robert Street (west).

We made our way down past St.Andrew’s United Church, Julius Richardson School and PieXII (referred to as Peedouze), and then along Salaberry North, past the train bridge and approached the ‘cement’ bridge that connected Chateauguay to the Woodlands/ Ville de Lery area.

As we passed under the ‘cement bridge’, we couldn’t help but notice the enticing hillside down from the top.



“Look at all that untouched perfect snow!”
It didn’t take any discussion. We bombed up there and made good use of our brief cases as mini toboggans. What speed! –what fun!

After a half hour of this though, our clothes were soaked and it was getting colder. So we kept on along Salaberry North to Jack Street where Jimmy lived.

Good to his word and Kitchen-wise beyond his young years, Jimmy took charge and into a sizzling vat of oil, he showed me how to drop dollops of batter mixed with corn nibblets.

What a feast, with Maple syrup– the aroma- hot coffee and corn fritters after a morning of fun in a February Quebec winter.

And no- we didn’t make it to school that day and I don’t remember being caught. Perhaps school was let out early due to cold? It had happened before and still does today. I know – my wife is a teacher. And teachers like those days too.

All of this, from a little exercise out in the cold this morning.
There was indeed a new found magic and purity of ‘fun’ in our youth during those high-school years in old Chateauguay- ‘there’s no place like home’.