Beyond the city all I could see were snow speckled brown hills. I thought, "I've come to the edge of civilization." – Jack E. Bearden Harbourville, NS

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Your responses:

In the early eighties as a student at UofT, I had the honour of being present to hear Mr. Trudeau speak at Convocation Hall. As usual, his speech was powerful, moving, eloquent, and humorous. As a member of the Young Liberals I was privileged to join in for a question and answer session with the Prime Minister.

Of course I felt enormous pressure to prepare a worthy question that would both represent our school and our party. As luck had it, I had recently completed a course dealing with women and the constitution, and thus used my new found knowledge to compose my question ... one related to a particular resolution from the National Conference on Women and the Constitution.

Mr. Trudeau looked quite puzzled at my question ... and I was sure he could tell I was trying too hard to impress, and might be way over my head.

He then stated that it was quite uncommon for young men such as I to be aware of such important women's issues. I proceeded nervously to briefly describe the content of the course I had taken at our university.

"Ah ... I see .... and I don't suppose you are one of a handful, or perhaps the only male in the class?"

Yes, I admitted, I was the only male.

With a coy smile, Mr. Trudeau said "You see ... it looks as though we may have similar motives for getting involved in politics."

Merci Monsieur Trudeau, père de notre pays, et vrai un libéral ... pouvez vous vous reposer dans ét.

Andrew Schneider
Oakville, Ontario

I was back in Canada, driving on the 401 between Windsor and Toronto, just outside London, the moment this giant of a man left this world thus offering all Canadians as a people, the space and eternity to build upon his noble, visionary legacy.

I thought it was extremely appropriate that at the time of Prime Minister Trudeau's passing, that I be back home, in the compassionate and just environment he helped create, and generously took upon himself to share with me, amongst all people of the great land that is Canada.

In my car, my mind was made up. I was to pass by Toronto, say hello to some old friends, then resume my journey to Montreal, my birthplace, and the home and final resting place of its greatest citizen, Mr Trudeau. I also felt a profound sense of loss which exacerbated the loneliness of living abroad, and I felt I had to be close to my family in this difficult time.

That night, in my old bedroom, before sleep, my older brother Jimmy and I discussed the life of the man who inspired us like no one else before him or since. My view is that Canada has always been the best part of North America, and the first nation of the world. Pierre Elliott Trudeau was the first to convince his fellow Canadians of that fact and take genuine pride in it, while assuming the task of educating the world on that reality.

I asked my brother if he could describe the great statesman in one word. He hesitated. I asked him to do the same for René-Levesque, and Robert Bourassa, among other legendary Canadian political figures. He quickly came up with accurate descriptions for those gentlemen, both long quietly passed into eternity. But we remained unsuccessful in summing up the late Prime Minister in like fashion.

Long after Jimmy was sound asleep, the subject still plagued me. I could not for the life of me find the right word to define this dazzlingly engaging individual, and I wrestled with various intimations in the dark room.

Just before I too succumbed to sleep, I decided to cheat a little by changing the rules. Instead, I began to attempt to define the word "Canadian" with another word. This exercise proved to be relatively easy. I had my answer in no time at all, and was able to sleep soundly thereafter. The word, you may ask? I think it's obvious by now: Trudeau.

Merci, cher amie, et au revoir.

Nicolas Metaxas
Virginia, USA

The day of Pierre Trudeau's funeral I fell asleep and had dream.

I dreamed Trudeau was staying in Winnipeg, in a big old house in Cresentwood, like the one on Guelph which my cousins lived in I had gone over there, he was leaving and I wanted to see if he needed help. He was cleaning the place when I arrived so I helped him. The place was run down but I could see how grand it had once been, how grand it could yet be.

We cleaned the place from the top floor to the bottom, chatting as we went as if we had known each other for years though we had never met. Finally, we got down to the great, darkened hall. Bricks had fallen from the old bare walls, breaking on the floor and covering it with coarse dust, but we set ourselves to it and picked them up enjoying the job, in and of itself.

We were almost done I turned and realized that Pierre was gone. I was alone in the great, dark hall.

And all at once I realized it was a dream.

I woke up and marveled at how strange it was to be talking to Trudeau as if I knew him. I never doubted him at all but for a while I wondered at the house, trying to figure out what the dream had meant. Why the house? A once grand house that I so wanted to make grand again? Then it hit me all at once. The house was me. The house was Canada.

Thank you, Pierre, for showing us how grand a house can be.

Anthony A. Hart

As the house lights dimmed, and Mr. Zukerman came on the stage, a public address voice filled the room, announcing Pierre Trudeau's passing that afternoon at approximately 3:00 p.m., and that the first, and unscheduled, piece of the evening would be dedicated to his memory. There was an audible gasp in the audience, as others like myself took the brunt of the news for the first time. My eyes filled with tears as the melancholy strains of Elgar surrounded us in our collective sorrow.

It was a moment suspended in time, and I will never forget the flood of emotions palpable in that hall. I remember thinking... this is a dividing moment. An unfathomable Before and After for Canada. We will never again be the same. It seemed so impossible to imagine the country even going forward without him - our icon, brother, parent, mentor, leader, friend and hero. He was a compelling man, a patriot without rival, a citizen of the world, a whole human being of immense power and grace.

I came to Canada totally by chance circumstance in 1978, a young, idealistic and mostly naive American with a lot to learn about life and the world and myself. I fell in love with this country on sight, and came to be in awe of the legendary Canadian leader who spoke with such conviction, strength and compassion. He was truly larger than life, and inspired such a passionate pride in me for my adopted country that I cannot think of Canada without also calling him to mind. I believe he connected land, people, spirit and pride in an unprecedented way. And I am sad to say that, although there are many great Canadians among us today, I see no one his equal in stimulating and inspiring and uniting the people of this nation.

I have been on the Hill quite a lot these last few days. The atmosphere there is solemn, but charged with meaning. The roses, the gathering of people who linger at the flame, the weekend vigil of over 50,000 to say farewell. It is a bitter loss.

This afternoon, I heard Justin Trudeau speak at his father's funeral, and was greatly moved at his courageous words. He hoisted the torch... It's up to all of us now. It is my deepest hope that Mr. Trudeau's legacy will continue to be a beacon, and that each one of us will stand tall and proud to uphold our brightest vision of Canada, the true north strong and free, with a compassionate open hand held out to the world. I for one, will never, ever forget him. He lives on in all of us.

Meredith Kost
Ottawa, Ontario

Cathy Converse

I stopped. In the middle of rush hour traffic in the middle of the road. I cried. Luckily the traffic light ahead turned red.

The driver next to me looked at me in amazement, and through the open windows of both cars he asked if I was ok. I nodded. I shrugged. I said: "Mr. Trudeau is dead." Emotions raced across his face, from concern to uncomprehension to disbelief to realization. He turned and stared ahead, then leaned over and turned on his radio. The light turned to green and we both sat there for a second. Horns blared behind us, jolting us back. We pulled ahead, and as he signalled to turn he looked at me once more, this time with a sad, knowing smile.

In the four days since, I've felt the mourning of my countrymen mix with my own. Many others have expressed Mr. Trudeau's impact on this nation with elegance far more exquisite than I could.

So let me say, simply, that in my life it was impossible to not have been affected by "Pierre". After all, I came of age in Montreal in the late 1960s and 1970s.

And I met him once, when I was a journalism student in Vancouver in the early 1980s. It was October; I'd been in the program six weeks. I was on fire with the desire to dig out truth and consequences. Our entire class was sent out to document his visit to our college, all of us knowing too well how he could strip reporters into pieces.

Of course all the city's major media was on hand too. I found myself in a scrum as Mr. Trudeau was getting on an elevator. To this day I don't know how it happened, but as the door was about to close, I stepped through the crowd and into the elevator. I huddled, trying to be invisible in a corner, while Mr. Trudeau talked to the college president. As the elevator stopped and Mr. Trudeau was about to leave, he noticed me, my notebook and camera at hand.

"Did you want to ask me something?" he smiled. The doors opened to TV cameras and flashbulbs. I was too stunned to speak, but managed to lift my camera slightly. "Ahh, a picture then," he said. "Will this do?" He took the college official's hand to shake it. I took the picture. He smiled again and said: "Never be afraid to speak out."

Thank you Monsieur. I'm not.

Caryl Worden
Editor – Cottage Magazine

Seeing Joseph's obvious pleasure at being in the presence of our Prime Minister, I passed a note to our sitting member, Ralph Ferguson, requesting his intervention to enable Joseph to personally greet Pierre Trudeau. Much to our surprise and delight, Mr. Trudeau agreed. He not only exchanged greetings and handshakes with our family and Joseph, but informed Joseph that he had recently visited his homeland and commented on discussions held with "your President" Daniel Arup-Moi.

Joseph was overwhelmed by this experience and commented numerous times how fortunate we were to live in a truly democratic country where common farmers were able to shake the hand of their Prime Minister. This would not have been dreamed of in his homeland of Kenya.

Later that summer, while travelling on behalf of the Canadian Foodgrains Bank, I had the opportunity to visit Joseph and his rural school near Machakos in central Kenya. Imagine my surprise upon entering his modest two-room home to see the photo I had taken of him shaking hands with Pierre Trudeau in the place of honour on the table!

I have often thought of the tremendously positive impact that Prime Minister Trudeau's brief, but sincere, greetings had had on Joseph Mutisiya, his family, and his students. Canada will always have a special place in the thoughts of Joseph and his community. ( I was made an honourary member of the Camba tribe and still cherish the bow and quiver of arrows that were presented to me by the community's elders.)

This week, while discussing the life of our late Prime Minister, I was reminded by our now grown son, Alan, of a similar positive impact this occasion had on his perception of his country and its former Prime Minister.

In retrospect, I wish I had informed Pierre Trudeau of the impact of his actions. This no longer a possibility, I feel compelled to share it with my fellow Canadians. Thank you, CBC.

Don & Carol Langford

Heather and I had been high school classmates. One afternoon in Heather's kitchen, I noticed a newspaper photograph of the Prime Minister, Mr.Trudeau, attached to the refrigerator. It had been taken at an Ottawa restaurant and the caption remarked on the unidentified "beautiful young lady" who was his dinner companion. Heather somewhat hesitantly explained that the picture was actually on her fridge because it was a photograph of her sister Margaret. I soon learned that Margaret and Pierre's relationship, although successfully kept secret from the press, was actually very serious and had been a long lasting one. Margaret had met him while she had been on a family vacation several years before. Margaret's father, Jimmy Sinclair, had been a leading Liberal and member of Parliament and I assume had known Mr. Trudeau for some time. Margaret was still a young girl then, but had been smitten by his charm and did not forget him. When he came to Vancouver as the Liberal candidate for Prime Minister, Margaret was in the front of a group of young women in the lobby of the Vancouver Hotel. She jumped forward and kissed him – the first of the crowds of young women who would be taken by Trudeaumania. Margaret moved to Ottawa and their friendship "blossomed." The world was finally let in on the secret when they were married.

Unfortunately for us, for the rest of the following week our street had press photographers lurking behind every bush and shrub in hopes that the newlyweds would visit – which they never did.

My condolences to the whole family. Farewell to a legendary Canadian.

Anne Ridsdale Mott
Vancouver, BC

I first heard of Trudeau's death last Thursday evening as I headed home on St Catherine Street through the cold. A woman jumped out at me, held a microphone in my face and asked, "What is your reaction to the death of Mr. (Bouchard? I thought hopefully) Trudeau?"

The question seemed to go in slow motion. A quick thinker would have said, "You know, this is the first I've heard of this, I'm sorry, I don't have any reaction." But, feeling obliged to perform, I stood there like an idiot, and said – at least twice – "Well, gee, I can't think of anything to say." Then I said, "He was a legend."

I could just feel the woman's heart sinking, and hear her thinking to herself, "Oh, sh--, we can't use this…"

"Is he going to be buried from Notre Dame?" I asked.

The woman said, "Oh, I've no idea."

Thinking I'd wasted enough of their time, I said brightly, "Well, I must go get film for my camera!"

What an idiot…

My considered reaction:

He was one of a kind – a charismatic Canadian.

He had the kind of charisma and singularity that money can't buy, but only money can give expression to.

All told, he was the greatest made-for-TV movie this country ever produced.

May he rest in peace.

Millie Stanton

My first glimpses of Trudeau on TV grabbed my attention. "This might be a cool country after all" was my thought. Candidates running for leadership of the Liberal party looked like they were also from the mid 50's, accept for Trudeau.

The more I saw of him the more fascinate I became. I'd never seen anyone like him. Kennedy, had he lived, might have come close, though I think Trudeau was the more brilliant.

When the real election campaign happened I fell in love with all the candidates. They were each so distinct and straight forward, and none of them was remotely interested in sending me to Viet Nam. But Trudeau totally eclipsed all comers. My only worry was that a country that had a major city that looked like Ft. Worth frozen in the 50's might not want this guy as a leader. I wouldn't be allowed to vote for another 3 years. He won big time, of course, and my love for my new country grew in leaps and bounds.

I had 3 almost close encounters with Trudeau over the years. Two of them totally chance. The first was on purpose when a bunch of us counter culture types went to the Calgary airport to see him arrive during the 68 campaign. The second was on my first trip to Ottawa. I got lost while walking around town. I stumbled onto the parliament building. It was mid winter and everything was buried in new snow. It was one of the most magical things I'd ever seen. I had to see if I could get inside. I did, and literally stumbled into question period in session. Trudeau and Stanfield were finger wagging and going head to head from across the floor. "Is this for real?" I thought, "I just stumbled into the government while its actually happening! I AM in the right country!" I sat there for hours.

Years later I was in Ottawa again, this time on Canada Day. I was with my wife and our first two children in our arms. I'm quite sure we were watching a street parade. At least something was holding our attention in one spot for a considerable time. At one point while looking around I noticed that Trudeau was standing on a balcony a few floors directly over our heads holding two of his sons in his arms watching the same event. He and his children had probably been there as long as we had. Once again I marveled at the simplicity of such chance encounters with a nation's leader.

I've been a Canadian citizen for many years now. I don't think I've voted liberal in a federal election more than once since I gained that right. That would have certainly been while Trudeau was still party leader. But not until his death last week had I reflected on how much he influenced my citizenship. His stepping into the federal arena as I stepped into the country not only assured me that I had come to the right place, but over the years continued to build my pride in that decision, especially on a global scale.

My biggest regret is that I didn't take advantage of one of those chance encounters and make the effort to meet and talk with him. I envy those who did.

I can't imagine we'll see his like again in my lifetime, but I'm convinced it is possible. His passing has brought so much of his character to our attention that those who lead or aspire to lead can't help but take notice. Not that his qualities can be easily emulated, but those who by nature are visionary, and able to freely, clearly, and courageously express their thoughts should take heart. It is overwhelmingly obvious that these are the qualities a nation longs for.

Jack E. Bearden
Harbourville, NS

Tonight was different from all the other times. Collectively we felt heavy. The air was heavy. Thousands of us were smiling more deeply into each other's faces. It's Sunday, we're supposedly rested from our weekend, but each of us looked wearier, grayer, sadder. Why? What was it?

Beck mentioned that this was the last of a 32-gig tour, thanking Neil for the ride. Song after song of Beck's was somber, slow, melodic. We started to understand: he was saluting our collective Canadian spirit. Beck had felt it too: we were all experiencing a kind of group choke that one feels together at a funeral.

Neil came on. Rock n Roll Hall of Famer Donald Duck Dunn supported him on guitar, Jim Keltner who played for every legend on Earth supported Neil on drums, an admirably introduced "songwriter" handled the keyboards, Neil's 30-year partner was on bass, Neil's sister and wife were on back-up vocals. Neil was at first puzzled by his audience; you could see that. A proverbial pin could have been heard dropping during his songs, yet between them we rose en masse in standing ovation, roaring our salutes. You could see he was trying to figure us out. Why were thousands of usually unhibited raucous Vancouverites so subdued, listening more intently than usual to his every lyric? What was so different about this audience's suddenly plaintive wailing bursts of applause?

Halfway through the concert, during a lull while Neil held a confused look, tuning his guitar, a man in his 50s behind my head echoed down through the rows of seats overhead directly into Neil's ears: "Welcome home, Neil....." With that, our crowd of thousands did not make a sound. Instead we held our breaths in silence, making sure that Neil heard what the man was saying for us all.

Neil continued staring down at the neck of his guitar, finishing his tuning work. He led his band into an amazingly energetic, passionate performance of "Words" -- jamming with emphasis on the repeated line, "words....between the lines of hatred.." The song's anger became a sound of victory, and the meaning was clear: words of peace could strengthen us more than those of prejudice.

With the finale thrash chord, the arena full of us flew up to our feet, cheering, screaming. Neil had understood us! He lifted his bottle of water, flashed us his trademark leer, and said, "HERE'S TO CANADA!"

It was a full five minutes of cheering our agreement back upon him.

As usual, in a minimum expression of words, Neil Young had said so much for us: Our Prime Minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau was gone, and with him, our spiritual rebirth. Pierre Trudeau had taken Canada's creation, the United Nations, and, in actions and words of understanding, had gone round the world visiting those member nations too long frozen in dangerous words of political prejudice, to simply spread words of peace and trade. Despite demands from America and the rest of NATO powers in those years, Prime Minister Trudeau insisted that Canada's role was that of peacewatchers, peacekeepers, negotiators, arrogantly persisting to arrange mutual visits and trade with countries NATO was boycotting, keeping our international presence for peace, and that is just what we've become.

Neil Young said it just so: Goodbye, and thank you, Mr. Trudeau, was what we are all trying to say. What we all feel by Trudeau's passing is: HERE'S TO CANADA!

Ruth Lowther Lalonde
Surrey, British Columbia

As a student organiser in Ottawa I was involved in running a charity shoe shine called "Shinerama." First-year university students fanned out across the city to do a two day blitz. The challenge was to generate some free publicity to kick things off. By chance we had a contact in the Prime Ministers office. Trudeau had agreed to a shoe shine.

We found two pretty first year students and headed up to the lawn of parliament hill photographers in tow. There was Pierre who broke away from a meeting to join us. They shone his shoes and a bit of his socks too!! OK he said my turn. Then he got down and shone the shoes of the two girls. His staff loved it. Great retraining program they said. It made the front page of all the papers next day.

Trudeau was a laugh at times and we loved him for it.

Regards,
John Madden
Mississauga, Ontario

I have three Trudeau stories.

In 1968, when I was 17, I went down town to Trudeau's campaign headquarters which was in a small building at the corner of O'Connor and Laurier Streets. I volunteered to help on his leadership campaign and made placards and banners (P.E.T. is our Pet). I organized my grade 13 class and got them to attend "spontaneous" rallies and we followed Trudeau where ever he went. I was always at the back of the crowd and never did get to see him. It was a wonderful and thrilling time to be 17 and when he won the leadership, we went downtown to the Chateau Laurier (at least that's how I remember it). There I laid eyes on him for the first time, or at least the top of his head. That's when I learned that he was not the tallest man in the world.

Later the next summer, myself and my best friend we working for the Department of Public Works measuring government buildings. It was the perfect summer job for a number of architecture students from Carleton and Laval Universities. We measured all the rooms in a building and drew up plans if they were needed. This was all part of something called "Revenue Dependency" where Public Works would know how much square footage they had and then be able to charge the various tenant Departments rent. My friend Clark and I lucked out by being asked to meaure Rideau Hall (the Micheners residing), all its out buildings, 24 Sussex and Harrington Lake. Back in 1968, I can assure you that security was not what it is today. We were given free reign to walk about the house of the PM and measure with our fifty-foot tapes. Before long we were in Trudeau's bedroom. This was at the very height of Trudeaumania, so you can imagine how amazed we were. Before long we were looking in his closets (to measure them of course!) and pulling out his dresser drawers. I know this sounds rather sacreligious, but there Clark was parading around in Trudeau's knee length brown leather coat (which we had seen him wear on TV. Though I was much bigger than the PM, I tried to slip on his running shoes. We just stared at each other and couldn't believe where we were and how incredibly bold we were being. We hung up the clothes and sat and bounced on his bed. The room was decorated in pink and blue flowered wallpaper which was still a hold over from its previous occupant, Mrs. Pearson. Apparently the Pearsons slept apart and I remember Clark and I secretly thrilling to this special knowledge. Beside Trudeau's bed on a night table sat a black telephone with no rotary dial. Instead it was emlazoned with a large gold crown in the middle. This we were sure was a hot line to Parliament Hill, maybe even the Kremlin. But the piece de resistance was what was on his bed. On top of his pillow, he had a plush toy tiger with a zipper on the belly. Pyajama bags were popular back then with little kids. We unzipped the tiger and with out a word of a lie, he had his PJs in there.

We ended the advenure by doing chin-ups on a chin-up bar in his bathroom, though since I was 6'-4", the bar was already under my chin. I will always remember hanging out in his room that afternoon when he was away. Today I would surely respect his privacy more, but back then in that room something came over us and we acted like two groupies who find themselves alone in Mick Jagger's walk-in-closet.

The last story took place a few years later, in 1973. My entire family was attending my brother's wedding in Regina at the RCMP chapel. We were eleven of the most fanatical Liberal-loving, Trudeau-swooning Catholic Easterners you would ever want to meet. We stayed one night at the Regina Inn where it turned out Trudeau was staying as well. This was at a time when he was particularly reviled by everyone west of Batoche. When he came off the elevator into the lobby the next morning, we were all waiting for him – my three sisters, my two brothers, father, mother, uncle and even grandmother. The ladies screamed, the men clapped and cheered and for one brief moment, Trudeau wore a look of complete surprise which seemed to say "Well, maybe my fortunes out west are changing for the better."

To put him in perspective for my daughters, I tell them that there have only been four truly great Prime Ministers of Canada who have had a real vision for this land and where it may go. Sir John A. Macdonald, William Lyon MacKenzie King, Lester "Mike" Pearson and Pierre Elliot Trudeau.

I will surely miss him.

David H. O'Malley
Ottawa

I had the habit (a bad one) to stay in nearly constant touch with my office at least once a day. My secretary told me that one of my clients desperately needed to meet with me. The client was going to Wales and was leaving from the Toronto airport. We were nearly at the end of our vacation and he and his wife were leaving in three days. I thought - what the heck - it is only a little out of the way and we could see some different scenery if we went back through Canada, through Quebec City, Montreal and then Toronto.

We headed out from our ocean side cabin in Maine and we were off to St. Anne Shrine, Quebec City and on to Toronto. The kids were remarkably good and we arrived in Toronto the weekend of July 4. I drove around the airport and allowed the young ones to pick the hotel because they were so good. We checked into the Holiday Inn and I was off to the airport for the meeting with my clients. The work completed, I went back to the Hotel. The kids wanted to go swimming and I readily agreed, Down the elevator to the pool. I dove in and was aimlessly swimming laps. I came up from a dive and was head to head with someone. I moved out of the way somewhat apologetically. I thought, boy does he look familiar.

I looked around the pool area and something caught my eye. A man dressed in a suit. I got out of the water and walked around the pool keeping an eye on him. He seemed to be watching the man I nearly bumped heads with. My curiosity got the best of me and I approached the man in the suit. I identified myself and made idle conversation. He still was watching the swimmer, who had now moved to the hot tub or Jacuzzi (I have forgotten which) with my three kids in tow. I said he sure looked familiar. He said he ought to... He was the Prime Minister of Canada.

The man in the suit turned out to be the Mountie that had met Trudeau at the airport when he arrived on the last leg of his reelection campaign. The election was the following day. I was shocked at the lack of an entourage of security. I was further shocked to hear the Prime Minister had flown commercial.

I then met Pierre Elliot Trudeau. We engaged in conversation concerning my own Canadian heritage and I informed him my grandmother was Desany Trudeau who was born in St. Michel near Montreal. He flatly stated we were related and named ancestors I did not know. He did this in short blurbs of conversation, between conversations with my kids and other water splashes. He sat with my mother and talked to her about Trudeaus in Toledo. He was friendly, engaging and sincerely interested in my family.

I can understand the outpouring of sentiments I have witnessed on Canadian television. He truly captured our hearts. The Canadian garden has lost one of it's most magnificent roses.

John D. Garand
Perrysburg, Ohio

However, my most memorable encounter with Mr.Trudeau's legacy took place in British Columbia. I was visiting Seattle last summer and I was returning to Canada via the BC border crossing. It must have been about two in the morning when our bus reached the border. The Canada Customs officer, upon seeing that my passport was issued in Quebec, immediately started speaking to me in French. Though I explained to him that my first language was English, the officer still wanted to speak to me in French (I guess he wanted the practice).

So there we were: two anglophones at the BC border crossing, three thousand miles from Quebec, speaking to each other entirely in Canada's other official language.

I can think of no better way to illustrate the long-lasting and widespread impact of Mr.Trudeau's policies of official bilingualism in this country. He brought us together in a way that no else has ever come close to.

Terence Bowman
Montreal, Quebec, Canada