Pierre

I’ve been sitting at home all day, nursing a sore throat and not really having much energy to do anything, so I finally finished reading the remarkable book, Pierre, edited by Nancy Southam. It is a memorable, entertaining, and moving compilation of memories of Canada’s most intriguing and charismatic prime minister. Southam, a close personal friend of Trudeau, asked former colleagues, staff, lovers, friends, and fellow heads of state to write about the man that they knew. The result is a portrait of an amazingly gifted, shy, feisty, complex man with an insatiable love and curiosity for the world, and a deep love and closeness with his children.

Some examples:

There is an amusing story of a dinner hosted by Trudeau as Prime Minister. His guests were all of the provincial premiers, with some of whom he had testy relationships. One of the premiers at that dinner recalled:

Mr. Trudeau taunted Mr. Levesque [premier of Quebec] … Mr. Levesque replied in kind. They began insulting each other in ever-more-rapid French. And then they looked about the table and realized the rest of us were not able to fully appreciate their verbal sallies. So they kindly switched to English, thereby allowing us to more fully comprehend the barbs being tossed.

There are wonderful stories of Trudeau’s devotion to his children, and how his world truly centered around them. Also accounts of his kindness to other children, and his ability to relate to them. One of his son’s childhood friends wrote:

Time spent in the company of Justin’s dad was almost always defined by physical and mental challenges: show me what you have learned. Show me what you can do. Show me how you live.

One hot summer day up at Harrington Lake, he came out to the floating dock and challenged six cocky preteens to a very simple exercise (or so it seemed). We were to push out from the dock and see how long we could stand on a thin Styrofoam surfboard. We all failed miserably. But when I close my eyes, I still see Justin’s dad balanced between earth and sky on that slowly sinking piece of Styrofoam, his face a mixture orf steely-eyed concentration and unabashed mirth. The air punctuated by the excited voices of children counting off second after unbelievable second. There was always an incredible intensity of feeling that he directed toward his sons, toward children in general. It radiated from him. It was what I loved most about him.

There are many references to the devastation Trudeau experienced when his youngest son was killed while skiing in British Columbia when an avalanche swept him and a friend into an icy lake. There is a profoundly moving account of how Trudeau comforted his son's friend who had managed to escape alive and was burdened by terrible guilt that he had survived when Michel had not.

There are all sorts of tributes to Trudeau. I find the one from the actor Christopher Plummer to uniquely sum up Trudeau’s greatness:

What [Canadian pianist and virtuoso] Glenn Gould was to Bach, Trudeau was to Canada. He interpreted it with a freshness that was bold and utterly original. Few could match him in intellect or sophistication. Few had the political savvy, or wisdom and timing, to use it sparingly and to great effect. Very few came close to his knowledge and understanding of the two cultures, and none possessed his mystique or his curious glamour. There was also enough old-fashioned gossip hovering around him to add spice to any cause he undertook. Suddenly, for the first time perhaps, Canada was in fashion. And Pierre Elliott had firmly placed it on the map.

Whether you’re Canadian or not, I promise you that you will enjoy reading this fascinating compilation of stories and thoughts about one of the most accomplished and intriguing people of the 20^th century.