Topic: For all interested Canadians, my parents relationship with previous Prime Ministers
Blayne Bradley
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posted
Some little known facts:
My dad painted a portrait of Pierre Eliot Trudeau and his family, and received a letter of thanks.
Bill Clinton supports my dad's business venture in constructing the safety cowcatcher for buses, (which as far as I know only 5 buses in North American have) and received a personal letter from him.
My mom audited Brian Mulroney's mansion to help him raise money for his election campaign, very controversial my mom had to sign a NDA.
Jean Chretien (in earlier years when he was Justice minister) sent my mom an angry letter when my mom complained about something but because she didn't vote in elections Jean angrily told her off, awesome.
Oh other tidbit, I'm a descendant of Louis Riel.
Anyone else have interesting stories? I know one person got tipped by Cheney.
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I'm related to Lester B. Pearson through marriage, though I forget exactly how (my Pop's sister was married to his nephew or something like that).
Posts: 254 | Registered: Apr 2005
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My mom lived right across the street from where Trudeau stayed when he was in town (which was exactly once, it's a small town). She saw him for a few seconds.
Posts: 1594 | Registered: Apr 2006
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I first met Pierre Trudeau in the shadow of the Sphinx. He was wearing a floppy hat with dried flowers on it, something I found inexplicable and incongruous at the time but which in retrospect must have been an attempt at camouflage. He was defeated in this attempt, however, by the large button he wore that read, "Ask me about Pierre Trudeau, Prime Minister of Canada" -- because when you did, he'd say, "I like him quite a bit" in a way that made it clear that the hat-wearing, lumpy-faced person speaking either was Pierre Trudeau or else a close relative, since it was self-evident that no one else could care that much about some guy some little country had elected to spend a couple years standing at lecterns.
Anyway, I bought him an ice cream because he looked so miserable, and asked him to take my picture in front of the Sphinx. He never did give me back my camera, and I'm afraid that as a consequence the tone of our next few meetings was rather frosty.
Posts: 37449 | Registered: May 1999
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The second time I met Pierre Trudeau, I was in a coffeehouse in Amsterdam, waiting for the Brussels balloon courier. We did not acknowledge each other, but I believe I saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes that must have matched my own.
The third time I met Pierre Trudeau, we were both chained in the basement of Jean Paul Girard, the notorious Quebecois known to the police only by his nom-de-plume, La Vache Mauvaise. I was greatly indisposed at the time, I'm afraid, and it was not until I had fully recovered from the venom in my eyes that I recognized the Prime Minister; in my defense, he had changed a great deal in the intervening years and was wearing the upper two-thirds of an ape suit for reasons he would refuse to reveal until our next encounter. At any rate, it was enough time for him to favor me with a steely-eyed glare followed swiftly by the look of resigned disappointment learned early by those who discover themselves at a young age to be living in Canada. To make a tiresome, cliche story a little shorter, it transpired that my own mastery of close combat was naturally complimented by Trudeau's effortless duplicity and native legerdemain; La Vache Mauvaise proved no match, and we both returned to our superiors with the trophies required of us and a healthy respect for the other's ability.
Posts: 37449 | Registered: May 1999
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The first time I met Pierre Trudeau, I was awakened from slumber by him pulling me from a burning building. Though I had been having a pleasant dream of judging the 1947 North American Cutlery Exposition, I was inclined to be greatful.
However, displaying the ambiguity so central to his character, Trudeau, as I lay on the frozen ground, panting for breath, stole the laces out of all of my shoes, even though he had to go back into the fire to do so. He then fled north into the brightening dawn.
Based on this experience, my first impression of him was at best mixed.
At later points in our acquaintance, questioning him about the fire and the later theft led to him blaming Richard Nixon and signing a song of his own composition, with the refrain "He's a cobbler man. A cobbler man. Cobbler, cobbler, cobbler man." Looking back from the wreck of my first marriage, I finally came to understand the wisdom of his words.
Posts: 10177 | Registered: Apr 2001
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The first time I met Pierre Trudeau he was trying to recreate Gene Kelly’s dance scene from Singing in the Rain under a waterfall in upstate New York. The canoe paddles he had propped up to use as lightposts were leaning precariously, and after watching from the river bank for a few moments I started to back away slowly, hoping not to be noticed.
Unfortunately he spotted me, and came stomping towards me through the shallows, sending up great spurts of water while bellowing “I’m happy again.” I fled.
Thus began a tumultuous series of encounters based around film adaptations of Broadway shows. It was not until much later that I heard him utter anything not in rhyme, but I must say his version of “Surry With the Fringe on Top” was quite impressive.
Posts: 7954 | Registered: Mar 2004
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quote:Originally posted by TomDavidson: ...and was wearing the upper two-thirds of an ape suit for reasons he would refuse to reveal until our next encounter.
That's some good forshadowing there.
Posts: 496 | Registered: Apr 2005
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My ancestors are from the same area of scotland as william wallace. (I guess that gave away my last name.)
Posts: 1574 | Registered: May 2008
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I was on Spring break, and drove down to Boca with a bunch of friends. Well, I hadn't realized this at the time, but it turns out my skin is inordinately sensitive to the sun. Like, vampire-sensitive. So, instead of hanging out at the pool with the rest of the guys, I was sitting in the shade of the poolside bar, sipping too many margaritas, and feeling kind of loopy and kind of tipsy, but also a little bit sorry for myself.
"Would you like me to rub some Bain de Soleil on your back?"
I turned to find an older, slightly creepy guy leering at me, and I shook my head "no" and moved to the far end of the bar.
The guy moved on to another college girl at the bar, I suppose with another offer to lotion up her back. The bartender asked me if I recognized the man. At first I was puzzled, but then, when I looked at him again, I realized who it was.
And that was the first time I met Pierre Trudeau.
Posts: 10397 | Registered: Jun 2005
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Oh, this isn't a political thing, but when I was a senior in high school, I went to the Harvard Model UN. We were Ecuador.
Anyway, we were on the fourth floor of the Boston Park Plaza (I think), and the entire 3rd floor was off limits, because Ray Bolger and his entourage were staying there.
Saturday night, most of us were sitting in the hallway. They'd given us a 10pm curfew to be in our rooms, and while none of us really had any interest in going anywhere, someone (I don't recall who) decided to sit outside their door, just to violate the curfew as a matter of principle. Pathetic, I know, but it felt good at the time.
Enter Mr. Bolger, high as a kite. Drunk as a skunk. He was a cheerful drunk, though. He introduced himself to some of us, and when he found out we were from an Orthodox Jewish day school, he started singing Hanukkah songs with us.
Frankly, I'd rather meet a soused Scarecrow than a Canadian Prime Minister. But that's probably my Americentrism talking.
Posts: 12266 | Registered: Jul 2005
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quote:Originally posted by ambyr: Mi Yimalel? Maoz Tzur? Light One Candle? Hanukkah, O Hanukkah?
Lots of em, through the quality is certainly debatable.
The Hebrew ones (and the Yiddish ones) are mostly pretty good. The English ones are fairly uniformly dreadful.
Posts: 32919 | Registered: Mar 2003
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