BOURCIER o@ca.on.manitoulin.howland.little_current.manitoulin_expositor 2008-11-19 published
Kimberley Ann BOURCIER
Kimberley Ann BOURCIER of Espanola passed away at the Espanola General
Hospital on Friday, November 14, 2008 in her 51st year. Beloved wife
of Mike Bourcier of Espanola. Dear daughter of James and Helen (nee
Cosby) Chisholm of Little Current. Very dear mother of Mitchell
(fiancée Elana Spruit) and Erik (Aimee Tremblay) both of Espanola.
Step-granddaughter of King Chambers of Little Current. Cherished
grandmother of Avery. Loving sister of Bonnie (Mrs. Richard Cardiff)
of Terrace Bay. Will also be sadly missed by many Friends and
relatives. Friends called at the Bourcier Funeral Home, Espanola on
Sunday, November 16 from 2-4 and 7-9 pm. Funeral Mass at Saint Jude
Parish, Espanola on Monday, November 17 at 10 am with Father Gilles
Grandmont officiating. Interment at Cold Springs Cemetery on
Manitoulin Island. If so desired, Memorial tributes may be made to the
Northern Cancer Research Foundation.

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BOURDAGE o@ca.on.middlesex_county.london.london_free_press 2008-04-24 published
BOURDAGE, Claude
At London Health Sciences Centre, Victoria Campus, London on Tuesday April 22, 2008. Claude BOURDAGE of Sarnia in his 67th year. Beloved husband of Ardee CHAPSKI. Dear father of Rick BOURDAGE (Cathrin) and Michael BOURDAGE (Cindy) all of London and Tracey CHAMBERS of Sarnia. Loving grandfather of Natasha, Stephanie, Zachary and Kylie. Brother of Madeline CAMPBELL (Jack) of Port Stanley, Jackie WHITCROFT (George Pate) of London, Pauline HENSHAW (Dave) of Putnam and Lillian EMERSON (Jim) of Morpeth. Nephew of Denise BAGEL of Montreal, Québec. Predeceased by his son Stephen BOURDAGE. Cremation has taken place. A private family service will be held. Expressions of sympathy and donations (London Health Sciences Foundation) would be appreciated and may be made through London Cremation Services (519) 672-0459 or online at www.londoncremation.com

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BOURDON o@ca.on.york_county.toronto.globe_and_mail 2008-01-02 published
He served in the Second World War and became a general in the militia
He signed up less than 10 years after the First World War, fought in Italy and Holland and then returned to the militia - all the while holding a good job with Quaker Oats
By Buzz BOURDON, Special to the Globe and Mail, Page S8
Ottawa -- Serving as a Canadian infantry officer during the Second World War, Max CLARKE saw his fair share of fighting during the Italian and Northwest European campaigns. He served as the second in command of an infantry company, and as a staff officer he got the opportunity of seeing how operations were planned.
Mr. CLARKE's wartime experiences, acquired the hard way during almost two years of active service, proved valuable during the postwar period as he reached high rank in Canada's army reserve. In fact, he originally started in the militia less than 10 years after the end of the First World War, when budgets were meagre and Canada's first line of defence was provided by 75,000 dedicated reservists. Known then as now as "twice the citizen," many were decorated veterans who eventually came to see a second war with Germany as highly probable, despite the naive hopes of others.
Landing in Italy in October, 1943, as a staff officer with the 11th Canadian Infantry Brigade (11 CIB,) Mr. CLARKE quickly honed his trade under fire from a tenacious and well-trained German army. There was no scope for mistakes, since soldiers' lives depended on the right decision being made at the right time. It took time, though. Everyone was green, including Mr. CLARKE.
One day, a company of infantrymen from the 1st Battalion, Irish Regiment of Canada, was probing enemy positions. Unfortunately, the company commander's radio malfunctioned and he lost contact with his headquarters. No one knew what had happened. Were they all dead? In the confusion of battle, it would be easy to assume the worst, which is what Mr. CLARKE did.
One of his duties was to report the casualties his brigade suffered every day - how many were killed, wounded or missing. Since he hadn't received any information on that company, he duly reported its 126 soldiers as missing. Naturally, this caused a stir at the headquarters of 1st Canadian Corps. How could an entire company go missing? A patrol, maybe, but not a company, surely.
The following day, Mr. CLARKE was highly relieved to hear that the ghost company was safe and sound. The lesson learned? "Max learned never to report something unless he was absolutely sure of the facts," said his son, retired lieutenant-colonel Henry CLARKE.
In May, 1944, Mr. CLARKE's past caught up with him when his brigade got a new commander. He'd crossed swords with him more than a year earlier and the new boss quickly made it obvious he had a long memory. "Your work around here is no good," Mr. CLARKE was told. "Max looked at his acting commander, and at his own yellow-tinged skin and said, "Very good sir. I have the jaundice," and signed himself out of the 11th Brigade staff and into hospital," Henry CLARKE wrote in a biography of his father titled The Military Memoirs of a Nuisance Kid.
After recovering, Mr. CLARKE was posted to the 1st Battalion, Hastings and Prince Edward Regiment. After just three months as the second-in-command of Baker Company, Mr. CLARKE found himself back on the staff again, this time with the headquarters of 1 Canadian Infantry Brigade. Many regimental soldiers viewed staff officers with disdain, accusing them of shirking the fighting. The truth, though, is that infantrymen need staff officers, if only so they can order the beans, bullets and boots urgently required by soldiers in the field.
One day, the brigade commander ordered Mr. CLARKE to make a reconnaissance of the next town. The word was that the Germans had pulled out but he wanted to make sure. "Max grabbed a driver and scout car and headed up the road. Not too far along he passed a number of soldiers from the 48th Highlanders of Canada crawling carefully along the ditch towards the still distant town. They didn't know for sure if the Germans had gone, but they weren't taking chances either. Max waved cheerfully, and carried on," his son wrote. Sure enough, the enemy had left town the night before, with the result that he was one of the first Canadian soldiers to liberate the port of Rimini on the northern Adriatic Sea.
While that turned out well, Mr. CLARKE suffered some narrow escapes. One day, he was checking a bridge to see whether it was intact when the Germans fired some mortar rounds at him. Hearing their distinctive whine, Mr. CLARKE took to his heels and hit the dirt. The first round exploded so close to him that his raincoat was blown over his head.
Another time, he escaped certain death by a few inches. He was sitting in an abandoned factory on radio watch near Faenza, in northern Italy, when a German 88 mm shell "struck flush on the end of the wall, exploding backwards. Had it come a few inches to one side, it would have exploded in the room where Max was working. A few inches to the other side, and it would have destroyed the signals van and its crew. No one was injured, but the crew and Max set a record in moving to the rear of the building," wrote Henry CLARKE.
Max CLARKE grew up in Hamilton during the First World War. Living near an army camp full of soldiers training to go overseas, the young Max was thrilled by the shouts and sounds of army life. One soldier took the time to talk to him and his Friends. "Whether Trooper COLLINS survived the war Max would never know, but from the time spent with this soldier came an interest in soldiering that would last a lifetime," his son wrote.
The third generation of a military family, Mr. CLARKE joined the Peterborough Rangers in 1927. Promotion was slow and the pay was just a dollar a day, which went to the regimental fund anyway, but he didn't care. He was, at last, a soldier.
By 1937, Mr. CLARKE, whose day job was at Quaker Oats, was a lieutenant with the newly formed Prince of Wales Rangers. Two years later, he volunteered for active service when Canada declared war on Germany on September 10, 1939. The next year, Mr. CLARKE transferred to the Stormont, Dundas and Glengarry Highlanders, of Cornwall, Ontario
More than three long years of training in Canada and Britain followed before Mr. CLARKE landed in Italy. His war ended in May, 1945, near Apeldoorn, in the Netherlands. Decades later, his son asked him whether it had all been worth it. "It's hard to know how to assess it. For me, I was lucky to get home in one piece. But then, it was a great experience; the greatest experience of my life. But [for] so many people who lost their lives or parts of them, it would be a completely different story. It was worth it because we [won]. If we hadn't, it would have been much worse."
Demobilized in October, 1945, he returned to his job at Quaker Oats and to the militia. He knew it was important that Canada maintain its military preparedness so he rejoined the Prince of Wales Rangers. The unit later converted to an anti-aircraft role and Mr. CLARKE served as its commanding officer from 1948 to From 1961 to 1965, Mr. CLARKE (by then a brigadier-general) commanded No. 13 Militia Group, which oversaw reserve units from Oshawa to Brockville. He retired from the army in 1968. From 1970 to 1975, he was honorary colonel of the Hastings and Prince Edward Regiment.
After retiring from Quaker Oats in 1971 - he'd been production manager overseeing every plant across Canada - he worked for the Federal Business Development Bank. After that, he and his wife, Madeline, travelled all over the world. Devoting time to photography and painting, he also played golf with his grand_sons.
Known as an even-tempered man, Mr. CLARKE never raised his voice, "but you could tell when you had overstepped the line because [his] voice became very even. One didn't trifle with the brigadier, believe me," said his son. "For all that, he was understanding and oh, so, patient."
Maxwell Edwin CLARKE was born September 3, 1912, in Peterborough, Ontario He died there of natural causes on November 14, 2007. He was 95. He is survived by his wife, Madeline, daughter Maxine, and sons Arthur and Henry. He also leaves seven grandchildren.

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BOURDON o@ca.on.york_county.toronto.globe_and_mail 2008-01-04 published
Ottawa photographer chronicled Rideau Hall for almost 20 years
Until 1982, he photographed every governor-general and prime minister, beginning with Lord Alexander of Tunis and Louis St. Laurent. Along the way, he became good Friends with John Diefenbaker
By Buzz BOURDON, Special to the Globe and Mail, Page S8
Ottawa -- John EVANS photographed a lot of people over his 50-year career, from queens and prime ministers to ordinary people who just wanted their lives recorded, but he always tried to treat all his subjects with the same courtesy.
Working as the official photographer to four governors-general (Georges Vanier, Roland Michener, Jules Leger and Edward Schreyer), Mr. EVANS was a fixture at Rideau Hall in Ottawa for 18 straight years. No matter what the event - state dinners, Order of Canada investitures, group photos of the federal cabinet or royal visits - he was there to capture it on film from 1964 to 1982.
During those years, Mr. EVANS, who often wore a monocle, took the photos of an impressive array of world leaders, including U.S. president Richard Nixon and Pope John Paul II. For more than 30 years, he photographed every governor-general and prime minister, beginning with Field Marshal Viscount Alexander of Tunis and prime minister Louis St. Laurent. He made many Friends along the way, including John Diefenbaker, before he became leader of the Progressive Conservative party.
Mr. EVANS saw so much of the Queen when she was in Ottawa that the two were on excellent terms, said his wife, Dody. He first took her photo at the end of the Second World War, when she was a princess and heir apparent to the throne. "When she came [to Canada], he was always there. She was very friendly - down to earth," Mrs. EVANS said.
In 1977, the Queen and Prince Philip visited Canada to celebrate her silver jubilee, 25 years after she ascended to the throne. Not only did Mr. EVANS cover that visit for Rideau Hall, but he also took the official jubilee portrait. The Queen wore a long white gown and a tiara, while Prince Philip was dressed in the blue patrol uniform of colonel-in-chief of the Royal Canadian Regiment, complete with sword. Both wore the star and sash of the Order of the Garter. That portrait, taken with an 1880 Topley wooden-framed camera that produced eight-by-10-inch negatives, has since been reproduced countless times.
Mr. EVANS owned three tuxedos - one of which always hung in his office in case he needed it in a hurry. But he never hesitated to bend the rules of protocol to get the best shot. A perfect example was in 1968, when Pierre Trudeau succeeded Lester Pearson as prime minister. Mr. EVANS was required to take a photo of the country's new leader, his cabinet and Mr. Michener.
As the subjects were taking their places, Mr. EVANS noticed that the neckties of the governor-general and Mr. Trudeau appeared to be askew. Marching smartly up to both men in the middle of the front row, he politely asked them to straighten their ties. They knew he was in charge of taking the picture, so they had no choice but to comply. The moment was captured by a Canadian Press photographer, whose shot appeared in newspapers across the country. Mr. Trudeau appeared sheepish while Mr. Michener looked upset. For once, Mr. EVANS was in the photo, instead of behind the camera.
That small moment, while trivial in itself, summarized Mr. EVANS philosophy. "Be aggressive when it's necessary, but be diplomatic at the same time. The prime thing is to be a good mixer," he told the Ottawa Citizen in 1981. "You may have to meet Her Majesty the Queen, or a sewer worker. But either way, you have to meet them on their own ground."
John EVANS grew up in Bristol, England, the son of a ship's carpenter who later became a cabinet maker. He first saw the inside of a darkroom at 13, when he got a job with the Bristol Evening News. They didn't let him take photos, but they did let him clean up. He eventually was allowed to carry a photographer's equipment.
During the Second World War, he joined the Royal Navy but was let go after three days, when doctors discovered that an old hip injury had caused his right leg to be shorter than his left. He drove an ambulance for the rest of the war.
After studying photography at the Polytechnic Institution in London, he became a staff photographer for English Electric, the manufacturer. In 1948, he decided to try his luck in Canada and arrived in Toronto in October with just $21 in his pocket and a burning desire to make something of himself. He knew not a soul in the whole country.
For the next few months, he wrapped parcels at Simpson's for the Christmas season and sold shoes. Then he got a job with Rapid Grip and Batten, a photographic engraving and printing firm. They sent him to Ottawa as a manager and he started taking photos. After that, he never looked back.
Covering all sorts of events for the photo agency Capital Press, Mr. EVANS took pictures that appeared in both the Ottawa Journal and the Ottawa Citizen. A vocal person who loved to tell stories and share his good humour, he met everyone in town, from municipal politicians and firemen to police officers and the butler at Laurier House. Sitting in the kitchen with the butler, he got to chat with Mackenzie King, who had retired a year earlier as prime minister.
Mr. EVANS covered fires, society weddings, service club luncheons, art gallery openings and Rideau Hall events. He photographed cabinet minister C.D. Howe - the "minister for everything" - in his shirt sleeves launching a bowling ball down a lane.
His photos also appeared in U.S. publications, including Life and Time. Waiting at Ottawa's Union Station for the arrival of a group of international statesmen - then, just about everybody still travelled by train - he shot Clement Attlee and Winston Churchill of Britain and Dwight Eisenhower of the United States with a Speed Graphic camera. At an Ottawa fire hall, he photographed a group of excited schoolboys sitting in a fire truck and wearing fire helmets.
Some photo opportunities were more relaxed than others, but some were nerve-wracking, especially when world leaders and celebrities were present. Staking out his spot in the midst of a dozen other photographers, Mr. EVANS waited patiently for just the right moment. "There's a lot of pressure on the job. Nine times out of 10, you don't have a second chance," he said.
By 1964, Mr. EVANS was ready to strike out on his own. It was a huge gamble because he was "flat broke" and married with three children to support. But he was convinced he could make it as an independent photographer. First, he went to see a friend for a small favour.
That friend was Mr. Diefenbaker. While he was no longer prime minister (he had lost a general election to Lester Pearson the year before), Mr. Diefenbaker was still a man of influence. Two days later, Mr. EVANS received a $10,000 dollar loan from the federally run Industrial Development Bank. He rented a store on Sussex Drive and John Evans Photography Ltd. was open for business.
"He and Dief were good Friends," Mrs. EVANS said. "[They] had a good rapport; they liked each other."
They called themselves "the two Johns," she said. "Olive [Diefenbaker] would send us a Christmas ornament every year. John was always there [at 24 Sussex Drive] on jobs and I went with him to carry the equipment. Olive said, 'Bring Dody!' "
Once in business for himself, Mr. EVANS worked seven days a week and took just about every job that came his way. "We worked bloody hard in those days," Mrs. EVANS said. "If you worked hard you did well."
From fine-art reproductions for the National Gallery of Canada to corporate industrial jobs and department-store fashion shoots, everything was good. "I'll do any kind of photography for an honest dollar," he told the Citizen.
Even so, after having photographed thousands of people over the years, he never claimed to have a favourite subject. "He liked everybody," said Mrs. EVANS. " He'd follow a family, from the wedding, christening, Christmas photos, [to their children's] engagements."
Mr. EVANS employed eight people and later opened a framing shop with his son, Peter. Portraits of famous people covered his walls, from Joe Clark of the Progressive Conservative party to Margaret Trudeau cradling her four-day-old son Justin. That photo of mother and child graced more than 120 magazine covers around the world.
But although his business blossomed, the atmosphere changed at Rideau Hall in 1982, when Jeanne Sauvé was appointed governor-general. Mr. EVANS didn't speak French, and he was soon on the outs.
In 1995, he decided to retire. He sold most of his equipment and devoted himself to woodworking and travelling with his wife. In 1998, he suffered a stroke that left him walking with a cane. A second one, in 2000, left his mind clear but took his speech.
The 140,000 negatives he created were distributed to the city of Ottawa archives, Library and Archives Canada and the Rideau Hall archives.
John Henry EVANS was born October 22, 1924, in Bristol, England. He died of pneumonia in Ottawa on November 3. He was 83. He leaves Dody, his wife of 56 years, daughter Susan and son Rod. His son Peter predeceased him.

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BOURDON o@ca.on.york_county.toronto.globe_and_mail 2008-01-17 published
Army intelligence officer pitted wits against Germans and Warsaw Pact
After going ashore on D-Day, he was in the thick of the fighting at the battles of Caen, Falaise Gap, Boulogne and the Scheldt. During the Cold War, he was director of military intelligence in Ottawa
By Buzz BOURDON, Special to the Globe and Mail, Page A7
Ottawa -- Reg DICKSON/DIXON didn't even get his feet wet when he hopped off his landing craft onto enemy soil on June 6, 1944, about seven hours after the Allies invaded Normandy in the largest seaborne invasion in military history.
Serving as the intelligence officer of the 1st battalion, Stormont, Dundas and Glengarry Highlanders, Mr. DICKSON/DIXON never forgot what he saw as he hit Juno Beach at about 12: 20 p.m. Groups of German prisoners were waiting glumly to be led away. Beachmasters yelled directions amid carefully controlled chaos, while Canadian troops filed inland, passing German bunkers reduced to ruins by a huge naval and air bombardment.
Mr. DICKSON/DIXON was one of about 156,000 soldiers from Canada, Britain and the United States who went ashore, supported by almost 7,000 ships from eight different navies, plus 12,000 aircraft. Mr. DICKSON/DIXON and his battalion were part of the 9th Canadian Infantry Brigade of the 3rd Canadian Infantry Division.
The Glens' mission was to get inland as far as possible, and then help "firm up" the Allied bridgehead against a German counterattack. "Our route took us through the village of Bény-sur-Mer. We were ready to carry on, but as the North Nova Scotia Highlanders were running into trouble, we were ordered to deploy, which we did in the vicinity of the village church. The rifle companies were digging in, our anti-tank guns positioned, and our mortars sited and ready to fire," Mr. DICKSON/DIXON wrote decades later in his unpublished autobiography, I Was Forged On The Anvil of War.
Mr. DICKSON/DIXON's job was to gather information on all aspects of the enemy so his commanding officer could make informed decisions, but finally, late that night, he decided to grab some shut-eye. He told Paddy, his batman, where to dig a slit trench. Paddy started digging but soon hit rock. "He dug some more, but it seemed that he had hit a rock outcrop, not an isolated stone. It was not until many years later that I thought, 'That was not a rock outcrop I lay down on that night. It was the top of an old sarcophagus.' We were in a churchyard."
Despite anti-aircraft fire, Mr. DICKSON/DIXON soon fell asleep under a clear sky. He had survived D-Day, but thousands of others hadn't, and the fighting continued into the evening. Not surprisingly, there was little sleep ahead for Mr. DICKSON/DIXON, since he was in action for the next 65 days before he managed to snatch three days off. Even then, he had to prepare for the next battle.
As battalion intelligence officer, Mr. DICKSON/DIXON functioned as a sort of battle adjutant: "Much of my work was to keep track of all our own and flanking locations, and see that brigade H.Q. and those in our own unit knew where we all were.
"As well, it was my job to keep a log of events and write the war diary, to supervise our observation posts and plot on the map where the enemy were located. It was my job always to be able to give a useful answer when the C.O. asked 'What's going on?' "
There was always a lot going on with the Glens, a battalion based in Cornwall, Ontario Over the next six months, Mr. DICKSON/DIXON took part in the battles of Caen, Falaise Gap, Boulogne (France) and the Scheldt (Belgium and Netherlands).
Since a boy, Mr. DICKSON/DIXON had been accustomed to the unexpected. Raised in England, he set out to see the world at 16 and made for Canada. Arriving on the Atlantic coast in 1929, he planned to make his way to the Pacific and then down to Australia before heading back home. Instead, he only made it to Peterborough, Ontario, where he met a young woman named Ethel and fell in love. In 1932, they married.
Working for General Electric during the Depression, Mr. DICKSON/DIXON eventually lost his job and turned to just about anything that brought an honest dollar, from sharpening knives to creating window displays for Eaton's. When Canada declared war on Germany on September 10, 1939, he enlisted in his local militia regiment, the Prince of Wales Rangers, within weeks. Five months later, he was commissioned as a second lieutenant, ending up with the Glens.
He landed in Britain on October 7, 1942, beginning 20 long and tedious months of training before Normandy. In November, 1944, he was promoted captain and spent the rest of the war as an intelligence officer at the brigade and divisional level.
Decades later, Mr. DICKSON/DIXON, a poet and painter who suffered greatly amid the horrors of modern warfare, described in emotional terms what he had experienced. His words were completely opposite from the terse and unemotional and entries he had made every day in his unit's war diary.
"I saw the heads and guts of horses plastered on walls. I saw the mutilated bodies of our own and enemy soldiers. I saw the Hitler Youth SS fanatics and wondered, if they got near to my slit trench, how the weapon I had been issued with, a mere revolver, could have stopped them. I went without sleep many nights, and had to evacuate my bowels in a small hole hastily scooped out with a shovel during a lull in the shellfire. I had my boots on for 12 days at a time, and although we shaved I was without a wash except for my face during those first days. I saw the arrogant pride in the eyes of captured SS officers. I saw cities and towns in ruins. I saw our tanks hit and on fire, and heard the screams of the crew trapped inside."
After the war, Mr. DICKSON/DIXON elected to make the army his career and served in the Canadian Intelligence Corps. The Cold War was hot, and from 1956 to 1962, he served at Army Headquarters in Ottawa as director of military intelligence for Soviet and Warsaw Pact ground forces. He retired as a major on December 18, 1962.
It was a paradoxical time for him, he recalled later. "I was living a strangely divided life at this stage. At home, I was a fairly typical suburban civilian concerned with all the goings on in suburbia and domestic life and social affairs. At work in director of military intelligence, I was living in the atmosphere of potential war - possibly atomic - in a mental state similar to when I was with the battalion. We needed to keep the aggressor constantly in mind, for this was vital for the defence, not only of Canada, but for the West and the world."
After retiring from the army, Mr. DICKSON/DIXON studied the history of art at Ottawa's Carleton University. Hired by the federal government's National Historic Sites Service in 1966, his first project was restoring Kingston's Bellevue House, the home of Sir John A. MacDonald, Canada's first prime minister. The following year, he and Ethel proudly escorted the Queen and Prince Philip on a tour of the house. The Queen was particularly interested in the kitchen, he noted.
Ethel died in 1987 after 55 years of marriage. Mr. DICKSON/DIXON later remarried.
Besides volunteering for six years with the Children's Hospital of Eastern Ontario in Ottawa, Mr. DICKSON/DIXON, a perfectionist in everything he did, kept painting, producing 700 pictures over four decades. Many of them were impressionist and abstract. "So much of his soul was poured into their creation," said Dianne DICKSON/DIXON, his daughter.
While she was growing up, her father never spoke about his war. "It was only much, much later, when I was a mother, that he spoke very briefly about it. Like most veterans, they did not talk about their experiences and the sights, sounds and smells of war to outsiders and probably not even to themselves, for they understood one another in a way that we couldn't. My father only said, 'Can you imagine what it is like to have your best friend blown up beside you?' "
On the evening of November 10, the day before Remembrance Day, Mr. DICKSON/DIXON watched the Hollywood film on D-Day, The Longest Day. "He told us the film was all so real, but like a dream now," said his wife, Grace. He died two days later. At his funeral, members of his regiment, the Stormont, Dundas and Glengarry Highlanders, including a piper, paid tribute to his wartime service.
Reginald Richard DICKSON/DIXON was born December 18, 1913, in Audenshaw, England. He died of a heart attack in Ottawa on November 12, 2007. He was 93. He leaves his wife, Grace, daughter Dianne and stepdaughters Jo-Ann and Cheryl.

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BOURDON o@ca.on.york_county.toronto.globe_and_mail 2008-02-11 published
Canada's youngest-ever general quit over the unification of forces
Promoted to brigadier at 27, he led armoured units through fierce fighting all the way from Normandy until the fall of Germany. He later became vice-chief of defence staff
By Buzz BOURDON, Special to the Globe and Mail, Page S10
Ottawa -- Standing stiffly at attention in front of a very senior British officer, Robert MONCEL of the Canadian army blinked in disbelief when the lieutenant-general told him tersely, "you may send in your brigadier now."
Keeping his temper in check, he replied, "Sir, I am the brigadier!" The corps commander had obviously neglected to check the badges of rank sewn on the shoulder straps of Gen. MONCEL's battledress jacket. He looked, he would have seen the three stars and crown of a brigadier-general.
Promoted on August 17, 1944, Gen. MONCEL was the youngest general officer in the Canadian army when, at 27, he took over command of the 4th Canadian Armoured Brigade. The general had obviously pegged him as a lieutenant, possibly a captain.
To counter his youthful appearance, Gen. MONCEL had decided to grow a mustache to make him look more mature. He was tired of people calling him "babyface on stilts!" Gen. MONCEL, a tall, slender, soft-spoken man known for his sense of responsibility, enjoyed meteoric promotion during the Second World War. Talented officers who prove themselves in combat and at headquarters are considered valuable assets, and Gen. MONCEL earned the admiration of his peers and the approval of his superiors. He commanded 4th Canadian Armoured Brigade from the breakout at Normandy, where he was mentioned in dispatches, all the way through France, Belgium, the Netherlands and into Germany until final victory on May 8, 1945.
Maj.-Gen. Harry Foster thought a lot of Gen. MONCEL. " Guy Simonds said that if I got in trouble I could always rely on MONCEL," he wrote in his diary. "I came away with the distinct impression that if young MONCEL had been 10 years older Guy would have given him the division and left me with the brigade."
That was high praise indeed. Known for his exemplary skills as a staff officer, Gen. MONCEL was able to make the transition from fighting a paper war to commanding soldiers in battle. Not every officer can. " MONCEL proved to be an excellent brigadier. The officer he replaced was suffering from stress and fatigue and had been drinking heavily, behaviour that had an adverse effect on the formation. MONCEL's tenure of command would prove a great contrast. He provided competent leadership and was well respected," said retired major Michael McNorgan, co-author of The Royal Canadian Armoured Corps: An Illustrated History.
Mr. MONCEL was awarded the Distinguished Service Order for the leadership he displayed at the end of February, 1945, when 2 Canadian Corps mounted Operation Blockbuster. Commanding Tiger Group, Gen. MONCEL and his force fought a tenacious enemy during the Battle of the Hochwald Forest.
He "stationed himself well forward with the leading battle groups and on several occasions, when the impetus of the attack was in danger of being lost by stubborn enemy resistance, personally directed consolidation of objectives and the further forward movement of his armoured and infantry elements," the DSO citation read. "All this was done under extremely heavy hostile fire, and the gallant bearing of this officer, and the complete disregard for his own personal safety, were an inspiration to all troops under his command."
Bob MONCEL was born into the 12th generation of an old French-Canadian family. His father manufactured electric fuse boxes and wanted his son to take over the company, but young Robert decided business was not for him. While studying at Bishop's College School in Lennoxville, Quebec, he found a spiritual home in its cadet corps. Founded in 1861, the corps was the oldest in Canada. "It came naturally and easily to me, something I could do fairly well."
He attended Montreal's McGill University and served as an officer with the Victoria Rifles of Canada, which was founded in 1862. Back then, an officers mess in the militia was frequently an exclusive club limited to the social elite. When you applied, they wanted to know who your father was.
Canada declared war on Germany on September 10, 1939, and soon after that Gen. MONCEL went overseas with the regular army's Royal Canadian Regiment. After the Germans unleashed their blitzkrieg in May, 1940, he and the Royal Canadian Regiment were ordered to France the following month in a hopeless effort to reinforce the British Expeditionary Force. Amid complete chaos, Gen. MONCEL, who commanded a Bren gun carrier platoon, was soon ordered to turn tail and make for the French coast.
"In the chaos of the evacuation much valuable equipment was abandoned or destroyed to keep it from enemy hands. Although told to destroy his vehicles Lieutenant MONCEL instead used his initiative and cool judgment to arrange the evacuation of the carriers and got them back to Britain," said Mr. McNorgan.
That caught his superiors' attention and Gen. MONCEL was soon promoted captain. In 1941, he finished first on a staff course. The commandant, Guy Simonds, marked him as a bright officer and he was on his way. In January, 1943, he was promoted lieutenant-colonel and given command of the 18th Armoured Car Regiment (12th Manitoba Dragoons).
Eight months later, Gen. MONCEL was posted to the headquarters of 2 Canadian Corps, where he organized its general staff branch. He was made an officer of the Order of the British Empire for his "painstaking work and efficiency" there. France made him a Chevalier de la Legion d'honneur and awarded him the Croix de Guerre avec Palme.
After the war, Gen. MONCEL elected to stay in the army. He filled a variety of high-level staff jobs, including quartermaster-general, deputy chief of the general staff and commander of Eastern Command, responsible for the Atlantic provinces.
By the early 1960s, things were about to change for Gen. MONCEL and his beloved army. The Minister of National Defence, Paul Hellyer, was determined to unify the three fighting services, come hell or high water. In 1964, Gen. MONCEL gave Mr. Hellyer the benefit of the doubt and became the first comptroller-general of the integrated Canadian Forces Headquarters. A lieutenant-general at only 47, he had almost eight more years to serve until compulsory retirement at 55. There was still time to go even higher. In 1965, he was appointed vice-chief of defence staff.
In his 1990 autobiography, Damn the Torpedoes, Mr. Hellyer recounted how he had briefly considered appointing Mr. MONCEL the second chief of defence staff. "A handsome, debonair and bilingual officer, Bob had an excellent war record and was a good administrator. Nevertheless, he was something of an enigma. He wore a lace handkerchief up his sleeve -- which must have been unique in the army -- and his logic was a bit inconsistent. He spent hours trying to persuade me we should only have one regiment of Canadian infantry, with numbered battalions. That would have meant abolishing [some] famous Canadian regiments."
Mr. Hellyer soon decided that offering the top job to Gen. MONCEL would be a mistake. "Whereas, I had managed to outlast [Air Chief Marshal Frank Miller], the reverse would be true with a younger, fresher antagonist [Mr. MONCEL] who could scuttle the plan by simply stonewalling until I was gone."
In 1966, amid tremendous controversy over unification that split the country, Gen. MONCEL decided the minister was moving too fast and resigned. In his book, Mr. Hellyer implied Gen. MONCEL was unhappy with the appointment of Lieut.-Gen. Jean Allard as chief of defence staff. "The three remaining top men had decided, overnight, to resign en masse. It appeared to me like a calculated attempt to embarrass me in the eyes of my government colleagues and the public."
The following year, in February, 1967, Gen. MONCEL, who usually shunned the spotlight, appeared in front of a Parliamentary committee to express his doubts about unification. "To me, [unification] appeared to be moving on an uncharted course at a very, very high speed towards a very, very dim destination, and I did not think I could produce the staff work necessary at that speed to keep the thing on the rails."
"He clobbered us," Mr. Hellyer wrote. "He had been a very effective witness. He said he wasn't opposed to unification, per se, if there were a change in Canadian commitments. However, with our existing commitments, it would affect our close working relationships with the United Kingdom and U.S. This was a bit of stuff and nonsense, but it sounded plausible to anyone who wanted to believe it."
It didn't take long for Gen. MONCEL to get another job. Appointed co-ordinator for visits of foreign heads of state during Canada's centennial celebrations in 1967, he supervised 54 state visits to Ottawa and Montreal, including the Queen, the Shah of Iran and the Emperor of Ethiopia. After it was over, he was made an officer of the Order of Canada.
Gen. MONCEL retired to Nova Scotia after Centennial year. He kept busy with painting, gardening, boating, woodworking and community projects. He also obtained his private pilot's license for airplanes and helicopters, and learned the guitar, organ and flute.
Robert Guillaume Napoleon MONCEL was born on April 9, 1917, in Montreal. He died of natural causes in Halifax on December 10, 2007. He was 90. He is survived by his son-in-law, George CONSTANTIS, grandchildren Aliki and Constantine. He was predeceased by his wife, Nancy, and by daughter Renee.
On December 17, 2007, a military funeral was held at Canadian Forces Base Halifax. The mourners included Gen. Rick Hillier, the chief of defence staff.

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BOURDON o@ca.on.york_county.toronto.globe_and_mail 2008-02-20 published
Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod was the last of his kind in the Senate
Urbane former colonel in the Canadian Guards took over the job in 1990. At the time, the upper chamber was in the middle of a rancorous and bitter debate over the passage of the Goods and Services Tax bill
By Buzz BOURDON, Special to the Globe and Mail, Page S10
Ottawa -- Jean DORE was playing golf one day when his wife, Marilyn, took a call for him. When he got home, she said a senior bureaucrat from the Prime Minister's Office wanted to see him. "You better get cracking. Ottawa wants you right away!"
Rene GUTKNECHT, the Senate's Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod, had resigned suddenly and a replacement was urgently needed. Then-prime minister Brian Mulroney and his government was trying to steer its controversial goods-and-services bill through the Senate and things were going badly. Would Colonel DORE take the job, effective immediately?
An experienced soldier who had loved ceremony ever since he had served with the postwar army's crack ceremonial regiment, the Canadian Guards, didn't need to think about it. He accepted with alacrity and became Canada's 12th Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod since Confederation in 1867.
His first day on the job was October 15, 1990, and, by all accounts, he hit the ground running. Besides handling administration, finance, personnel and the page program, plus learning the Senate's arcane protocol, he spent long hours sitting inside the bar of the chamber when the Senate was in session, keeping an eye on things as members debated the issues of the day.
Reporting directly to Guy Charbonneau, the Speaker of the Senate, Col. DORE was also responsible for the chamber's security. If the Speaker expelled a senator for breaking the rules, Col. DORE would have been obliged to escort the offender from the chamber. As it turned out, he was never called on to do that.
In fact, Col. DORE couldn't have picked a more dramatic time to start his new job. The Senate, which is often ignored, misunderstood and vilified because its members are appointed by the prime minister instead of standing for election, was for once at the centre of things. Its Liberal majority was trying to block the Goods and Services Tax bill, which had caused enormous controversy during its navigation through the Commons.
Debating the bill around the clock for more than a week, Liberal senators used every tactic they could think of to delay its passage. Hour after hour, day after day, Col. DORE did his best to stay alert as the Liberals tried their best to slow the process down.
They wouldn't even let him go home for three days. He managed to shower, but he had to send for clean clothes. Finally, the bill passed, everyone breathed a sigh of relief and things went back to normal. It was a dramatic start for Col. DORE, to say the least. Now one of Parliament's most senior administrators, everything he did would be watched and analyzed.
For the next seven years, Col. DORE, a reserved man who inspired great respect and affection among his colleagues, was a familiar sight to senators, staffers and the public when the chamber was sitting. Dressed in his tailcoat, white tie and gloves and wearing a bicorne hat - a style dating from the 18th century - he led the Speaker's procession to the Senate to open that day's sitting.
Carrying the Black Rod, the brass-mounted ebony staff that symbolized his authority and lent its name to his official title, Col. DORE was an impressive and formidable figure as he marched through the halls of Parliament, followed by the mace bearer, the Speaker, two clerks and three pages. Once the procession reached the bar of the Senate - only senators and floor officers are allowed past it into the chamber - Col. DORE would call out, "Mr. Speaker!" to warn senators to take their seats.
He then sat down and took attendance as the procession continued. After Mr. Speaker reached his chair, positioned in front of the throne - only the Queen or her representative may sit in it - prayers were offered and the business of the day commenced.
First created in 1350 by royal letters - the current title dates from 1522 - Black Rod was originally the personal messenger or attendant to the monarch when he or she went to Parliament, but only in the upper house. After New France was ceded to Britain in 1763, British parliamentary traditions were introduced to Canada. Although provincial legislatures are unicameral, they each employ a Black Rod for ceremonial events.
Richard Greene, who retired as the Senate's deputy clerk in 1999 after 43 years with the Senate, became close Friends with Col. DORE. " His stature and bearing impressed me greatly. I could tell that this was a gentleman of the old school," he said. "He was [also] a very kind man. He helped a lot of employees monetarily in time of crisis. He did [that] quietly and discreetly."
Col. DORE also played a key role in organizing ceremonial, logistics and protocol for the opening of Parliament, state funerals and investitures of governors-general. He also helped welcome foreign heads of state and government on official visits.
Once a year, when the governor-general went to Parliament to read the Speech from the Throne, Col. DORE was in his element as he played a vital constitutional role. After the governor-general was seated on the throne, Col. DORE went to "the other place," as the House of Commons is known, to summon its members to listen to the Queen's representative describe the government's agenda for the forthcoming year.
Wearing his five medals and a sword, he marched to the Commons, whose door was closed to symbolize its independence from the sovereign. After knocking on it firmly three times with the bottom end of the Black Rod - the dents in the wood are evident - the door opened and Col. DORE marched up to the bar of the House. After bowing, he delivered his message: "Mr. Speaker, her Excellency commands this honourable house to attend her immediately in the Senate."
Unfortunately, this dignified message, which carries the force of centuries of history behind it, was not received by members of Parliament with the respect it deserved. In fact, Col. DORE was heckled by dozens of members of Parliament who should have known better. He got his revenge, though, by turning off his hearing aid.
Jean DORE grew up in Montreal during the Depression, the son of an upper-middle-class doctor from Outremont. After attending private school, he matriculated at the University of Montreal. In 1950, he became an officer in the army reserve with Les Fusiliers Mont-Royal.
Two years later, after volunteering for full-time service, he was in Hannover, Germany, with the 1st Canadian Infantry Battalion. In 1953, the battalion was renamed the 3rd Battalion, Regiment of Canadian Guards, and Col. DORE spent the next six years honing his ceremonial and infantry skills.
After leaving the army in 1959, he worked for Redpath Sugar Refineries as a manager. He still loved the military, though, and transferred back to the reserves. From 1967-70, he commanded the 6th Battalion, Royal 22e Regiment, based in St-Hyacinthe, Quebec In 1970, he was promoted colonel and given command of District No. 1, which oversaw Montreal's militia units.
In 1997, Col. DORE retired, and with him went the word "gentleman." He was succeeded by Mary McLaren, for whom the job title was altered.
In his retirement, Col. DORE enjoyed golf, sailing and chess. He also spent time with his Friends at the now defunct National Press Club. Comfortable with reporters, politicians and Parliament Hill staffers, he was so highly regarded by club members they considered him their unofficial sergeant-at-arms. Every Remembrance Day, the club hosted veterans and Col. DORE took pleasure in showing them around.
Dave BROWN, a veteran columnist with the Ottawa Citizen, lunched regularly with Col. DORE at the press club. "When [he] walked into a room, even strangers knew they were in the presence of a gentleman and an officer. Many a soggy reporter tried to pry a secret or hard opinion out of the man, but they only got reserved good humour," said Mr. BROWN. "[His] quiet dignity allowed him to cross the line between the formality of his parliamentary post, and the sometimes rowdy atmosphere of the club."
No matter how hard people tried, they never succeeded in getting Col. DORE to overcome his innate courtesy. One night at the press club Senator Heath MacQuarrie ordered Col. DORE to call him by his Christian name, Mr. BROWN recalled. Col. DORE was agreeable - with a twist. "Okay, Senator Heath!"
Joseph Albert Jean Real DORE was born on April 5, 1928, in Montreal, Quebec He died in Ottawa on December 17, 2007. He was 79. He is survived by his wife, Marilyn. He also leaves brothers Hubert and Jacques, and sister Cecile.

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BOURDON o@ca.on.york_county.toronto.globe_and_mail 2008-03-27 published
Hugh VALLERY, 88: Soldier And Educator
His few days of combat led to 16 months in a PoW camp
By Buzz BOURDON, Special to the Globe and Mail, Page S8
Ottawa -- Hugh VALLERY's shooting war lasted just four days before he was taken prisoner by the German army in one of the bloodiest campaigns fought by Canadian soldiers during the Second World War.
Fighting as a platoon commander with the 1st Battalion, Hastings and Prince Edward Regiment, Mr. VALLERY first saw combat on December 9, 1943, when the "Hasty P's" were waging a desperate battle in winter along the Moro River in Italy. Running south of Ortona through eastern central Italy, the Moro River was a centrepiece of the German army's Gustav Line, which blocked the Allies from moving on Rome.
Ordered to capture a farmhouse located at a strategic crossroads, Mr. VALLERY and his platoon did their best, but were repulsed. The promised artillery support never materialized. Mr. VALLERY and his men were on their own.
Decades after the war, Mr. VALLERY wrote an account, in the third person, of the final moments of his four days in combat. The climax occurred when he and his few remaining men "ran, crawled and wormed" their way through a scrubby vineyard, reaching the edge of a clearing. The farmhouse was 200 metres away and "suspiciously silent and ominous," he wrote.
"In the gathering dusk, they dodged from hollow to hallow, until only fifty yards remained as a final obstacle. Suddenly a loud shout, unmistakably a German command, warned all seven [Canadians] to hit the ground and to roll for cover. Four of the luckless soldiers met bullets and lay where they fell. One Bren gun, one Tommy gun, a rifle and a few grenades were scanty protection against a well-prepared German position," wrote Mr. VALLERY.
An hour later, their ammunition was gone and the nearest friendly troops were more than a kilometre away. All hope seemed lost. In swift succession, "fear, desperation and panic filled his whole being as the Germans came ever closer."
Mr. VALLERY knew that to lie perfectly still might give him a chance to remain undetected but "to run would be suicide. Suddenly the Germans loomed out of the darkness and demanded surrender. He and his companions stood up with their arms held overhead - alive, but sick at heart."
Taken prisoner, his war devolved into a conflict of tedium, frustration and scanty rations that would go on for 16 months.
Hugh VALLERY grew up in Peterborough, Ontario, during the Depression. While times were hard for most families, luckily his father was a foreman at the local General Electric plant and the VALLERYs got by. After Canada declared war on September 10, 1939, Mr. VALLERY, a history student at Queen's University in Kingston, Ontario, joined the Canadian Officers Training Corps. He went active in 1942 and landed in the United Kingdom the following year.
It took 11 weeks for Mr. VALLERY's family to learn that he was alive. The first information they received was a telegram, dated December 27, 1943: "Regret deeply Lieutenant Hubert James VALLERY officially reported missing in action thirteenth December 1943 Stop further information follows when received."
He was sent first to a PoW camp in Czechoslovakia. To fight boredom and raise morale, the prisoners read books, played sports and took correspondence courses to further their education.
At the beginning of 1945, Mr. VALLERY and his fellow prisoners were moved to another camp in Brunswick, Germany. The Allies and the Russians were fast approaching. Preferring to be captured by the Allies, the camp commandant decided to disobey an order to move his prisoners toward Berlin and into the path of the Russians. "Instead, he realistically negotiated with the prisoners, and one lightly armoured jeep liberated the camp in a very peaceful handover - not a shot was fired," said Mr. VALLERY's son, Douglas.
Mr. VALLERY, his weight reduced from 175 pounds to a shocking 118, was free. A few months later, he returned to Canada and a happy reunion with his family. After graduating from the Ontario College of Education in 1946, he taught at various Toronto public schools, finishing his career in 1970 as superintendent and assistant director of education for the Metropolitan Toronto School Board. He also served in the army reserve, retiring as a major in the mid-1950s.
A voracious reader and strong family man, Mr. VALLERY never forgot his wartime service. For him, war was absurd, yet paradoxical. "The losses inflicted are tragic and unbearable. It brings out the best and worst in humanity. It was a defining moment, and an opportunity of a lifetime to be involved in a challenging global movement."
Hubert James VALLERY was born on May 3, 1919, in Peterborough, Ontario He died there of complications relating to pneumonia on December 29, 2007. He was 88. He is survived by Marjorie, his wife of 65 years, son Douglas, daughter Linda and seven grandchildren.

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BOURDON o@ca.on.york_county.toronto.globe_and_mail 2008-05-02 published
Radar expert fought racism, then the war
Cape Bretoner refused menial jobs and became one of the first black men in the Royal Canadian Air Force
By Buzz BOURDON, Special to the Globe and Mail, Page S9
Ottawa -- When German submarines began attacking Allied ships off the coast of Nova Scotia at the start of the Second World War, Sam ESTWICK decided to do something about it.
His family lived in Cape Breton, and the enemy seemed to be getting a bit too close for comfort. So Mr. ESTWICK got on the train to Halifax in the summer of 1940 and presented himself at a Royal Canadian Air Force recruiting office. He wanted to be a fighter pilot, and with his high-school marks, he thought he had a good chance.
The Royal Canadian Air Force recruiting officer didn't see it that way. In fact, he refused to even speak to Mr. ESTWICK, who was born in Barbados but arrived in Canada at the age of 4.
"I was told that I could not be accepted because of my colour. I tried to point out that I wanted to help fight our common enemy. This made no difference. He told the clerk that he could not trust 'a man of colour,' Mr. ESTWICK wrote decades later.
Many people might have given up, but Mr. ESTWICK, a stubborn and patriotic man who knew he had a right to fight like everyone else, became even more determined to enlist. He was as good a Canadian as anyone else, a loyal subject of King George VI. Wasn't the war about fighting the Nazi views of racial superiority?
Mr. ESTWICK contacted his federal member of Parliament, Clarence Gillis, and the matter was raised in the House of Commons. Royal Canadian Air Force brass and politicians passed the buck.
There were fewer than 20,000 blacks living in Canada then, and the Royal Canadian Air Force was looking for recruits of "pure European descent," a recruiting booklet stated. In the minds of senior officers, black men may have been suitable for manual labour - No. 2 Construction Battalion, which was entirely black besides the officers, had served overseas in the First World War - but Royal Canadian Air Force fliers were to remain lily white.
The brass had obviously never heard of William Hall, a black Nova Scotian who served with Britain's Royal Navy and won the Victoria Cross at Lucknow, India, during the mutiny there in "Orders were put into place to deny blacks enrolment as air crew and to ensure they could be accepted as ground crew only after rigorous screening at the national headquarters level. This internal policy was officially sanctioned at the highest levels of the Royal Canadian Air Force. Leaders, likely reasonable men in other respects, held the incredible belief that blacks were unsuitable for air crew training. Blacks were thought suitable for ground crew, but only if they were adaptable to life in an all-white environment. The racist practices of the Royal Canadian Air Force continued well into the 1950s, although a government policy prohibited it," wrote Dennis and Leslie McLaughlin in For My Country, a 2004 National Defence Department booklet.
The Royal Canadian Air Force wrote Mr. ESTWICK on February 27, 1941, telling him that "there does not appear to be any trade or category for which you would be suited."
Three months later, however, while Mr. ESTWICK was cooling his heels back home in Cape Breton, Charles Gavan Power, minister of national defence for air, wrote Mr. Gillis to say there were "no regulations existing at the present time which will debar any coloured person from service in the Royal Canadian Air Force."
Mr. Gillis seemed fed up with the runaround, too. On June 2, 1941, he wrote in a letter to Mr. ESTWICK that low-ranking officers "will practise discrimination unless the Negro boy is prepared to do what you are doing - assert his rights as a Canadian citizen and to work through those who are prepared to see that democracy functions and is put into practice, rather than talk about it as an abstract principle, as many do today."
Finally, the Royal Canadian Air Force offered Mr. ESTWICK two choices: He could be a waiter, presumably in an officers' mess, or a general dutyman, performing menial jobs. Sticking to his guns, he refused both options. He wanted to be a pilot or radio technician, "for which I had the prerequisite basic qualifications."
In December, 1941, the Royal Canadian Air Force finally cracked. Mr. ESTWICK was offered a place in a school for radio direction finding, later known as radar. The tide had turned in his war against racism - he was one of the first three black men to join the Royal Canadian Air Force, his family believes. Now it was time to start training for the shooting war.
Curiously, weeks later, Mr. ESTWICK was told that if he applied again for air crew, he might make it as a pilot. "Well, this radio direction finding thing was too exciting to give up," he wrote. "Not only was it in a field that I wanted, radio, but also it appeared to be so secret - no one else even talked about it."
Samuel Malcolm ESTWICK grew up down the road from No. 6 mine in Glace Bay, Nova Scotia His father, a miner, died when Sam was 9, making him the man of the family. Excelling in school and the boxing ring, he also loved the drill and discipline of the school's cadet corps. One day, during an important inspection, the reviewing officer told Mr. ESTWICK that he would make a fine officer. Those words proved prophetic.
During the Depression, Mr. ESTWICK did anything he could to help his mother and three sisters. He sold newspapers, worked in the coal mine and drove a truck. He didn't neglect his education, studying radio and electrical engineering at night.
After finishing at the top of his class in the Royal Canadian Air Force radar course, Mr. ESTWICK shipped out for the war, one of 5,000 Canadian radar technicians lent to the British. On his way to India by ship, he found that racism was pervasive. In Durban, South Africa, a bartender refused to serve him, so Mr. ESTWICK, who still had a boxer's fast hands and attitude, figured things were about to get interesting.
Suddenly, a British commando stepped in. " 'Hold on, Canada. That guy's more my size.' And he proceeded to put [him] down. He didn't have to. I could have done it," Mr. ESTWICK told the Ottawa Citizen decades later.
Mr. ESTWICK spent the next three years in India, Libya, Egypt and Britain with Royal Air Force and Royal Canadian Air Force squadrons, making a significant contribution to the Allied victory as a pioneer in both radar and civil rights.
After the war, he decided to remain in the air force's telecommunications branch. That was good for the service, because Corporal ESTWICK was the "only radar mechanic still available in the Royal Canadian Air Force who is thoroughly familiar with the maintenance of radar equipments. [He] is exceptionally well qualified," Group Captain Walmsley wrote on January 28, 1946.
Over the next decade, he instructed at Clinton, Ontario, and worked at various radar sites, besides climbing the promotion ladder to Warrant Officer Class 1 - making him possibly the first black man to achieve the Royal Canadian Air Force's highest non-commissioned rank. In 1955, he was finally commissioned as an officer. He retired in 1963 as a flight lieutenant, the Royal Canadian Air Force equivalent of captain.
After working in the electronics industry, Mr. ESTWICK founded his own company in 1980. He volunteered with many community groups, including the Senior Citizens Council of Ottawa-Carleton.
Despite his struggles against racism, Mr. ESTWICK was not a bitter man, according to his daughter Leslie.
"My dad had a really clear idea of what was right," she said. "He defended his country and family. It was the right thing to do. He was a family man, a really strong Canadian. If he was to describe himself, black would be well down the list after Canadian, family man, military man."
Samuel Malcolm ESTWICK was born October 8, 1915, in Padmore Village, Barbados. He died in Ottawa of natural causes on February 13. He was 92. He is survived by Elizabeth, his wife of 50 years, plus daughter Leslie and son Eric. He was predeceased by his first wife, Evelyn, and son Brett.

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BOURDON o@ca.on.york_county.toronto.globe_and_mail 2008-05-16 published
Ottawa insider was at the centre of the October Crisis of 1970
Schoolteacher who joined the Privy Council Office thrived in the inner sanctums of power. He served five prime ministers, including Pierre Trudeau, whom he considered a friend
By Buzz BOURDON, Special to the Globe and Mail, Page S8
Ottawa -- It was the beginning of the October Crisis, and Jack CROSS was secretive when he called home to say he wouldn't be there for dinner. "I can't tell you why," he told his wife, Doris. "I'll be home when I can."
The date was October 15, 1970, and the federal cabinet was meeting to consider proclaiming the War Measures Act after the terrorist group Front de libération du Québec (FLQ) had kidnapped British trade commissioner James Cross and Quebec labour minister Pierre Laporte.
A few hours later, the government went ahead and Mr. CROSS, the assistant clerk of the Queen's Privy Council for Canada (orders-in-council), played a unique role in a drama that would divide opinion from coast to coast. Some people believed the government had overreacted by suspending basic civil rights, while others applauded prime minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau for protecting Canadians from an insurrection.
A career civil servant who had worked for six prime ministers from Mackenzie King to Mr. Trudeau, Mr. CROSS watched anxiously from Parliament Hill as the drama unfolded. Wondering whether "this still could be Canada," he waited while Mr. Trudeau consulted his advisers.
"Canadians might've been accustomed to uniforms and arms during wartime, but to have them appear in peacetime gave one an uneasy feeling," Mr. CROSS said decades later.
Finally, at 3 a.m., Mr. CROSS got his orders. Mr. Trudeau may have decided to proclaim the act, but certain legalities had to be observed. Mr. CROSS would drive to Rideau Hall and get it signed by Governor-General Roland MICHENER.
That short trip was not without drama, Mr. CROSS said in 1996. Within minutes, his armed bodyguard noticed that a car seemed to be tailing them. "When it got alongside, it slowed down, which made him very nervous. It stayed with us a little while, then sped away."
A few minutes later, Mr. CROSS arrived at Rideau Hall and was ushered in to see Mr. MICHENER, who was waiting in his dressing gown and pyjamas. As the Queen's representative in Canada, he wasn't going to sign something he was uncertain about, so Mr. CROSS had to some explaining. "He had some hesitation about signing a document that strong," Mr. CROSS said.
Mr. CROSS then had to go to the Queen's Printer to get the act printed. The final legality was to affix the Great Seal of Canada to the original. By that time, it was 6 a.m. Even so, his night was not over.
Back on Parliament Hill, 35 reporters clamoured for details as the sun came up. Mr. CROSS's boss, Gordon ROBERTSON, the clerk of the Privy Council, agreed that he and Mr. CROSS would answer their questions.
After Mr. ROBERTSON spoke, Mr. CROSS took over. Described in that day's edition of the Ottawa Citizen as a "second spokesman," he outlined the act's history. It had been invoked only twice, and that was during each world war.
"It is a blunt instrument. If we had had more emergencies, graduated instruments with dealing with certain kinds of emergencies might have been developed," he told the reporters. "But now it is the whole damn thing or nothing. Once proclaimed, it is up to the government to exercise discretion - the powers used should be commensurate to the conditions."
It had been an unforgettable night, both for Mr. CROSS and for Canada. By the time the impromptu press conference was over, Montreal police were already rounding up the first 500 people. Mr. CROSS went home for breakfast and then returned to work. Tragically, Mr. Laporte was found murdered on October 17, while Mr. CROSS of Britain was released unharmed December 3.
The son of Wesley CROSS and Louisa CROSS, he was the youngest of eight children raised on a farm near Chesterville, Ontario, a village located just west of Cornwall. After high school, he attended Ottawa Teachers College and graduated in 1934. His first assignment was to teach at a one-room schoolhouse near Chesterville. He remained there for several years and left teaching to enlist in the Royal Canadian Air Force after the outbreak of the Second World War. He served in a secret radar group attached to a night squadron in Yorkshire, England.
After demobilization, he started work with the Privy Council Office on February 1, 1945, the day after he was interviewed. "I had never heard of it. One of their men had left the previous day and they wanted him replaced as quickly as possible. It was just a matter of timing," Mr. CROSS told his cousin Clarence.
Then numbering only 35 people, the Privy Council Office was housed in the East Block of Parliament Hill. During the war, it had issued 12,000 orders-in-council per year, but a radical reorganization was needed and Mr. CROSS played a part in that, editing and publishing orders and regulations.
Mr. CROSS met about everyone in government, including Mackenzie King, who visited "at least once a year. He'd sit by the window, and reminisce about what he had done in his past and about government. It was always a very friendly visit."
Meanwhile, he had met someone else who ended up being very important. Some time in 1953, a friend invited him to go bowling, where he encountered an attractive young woman named Doris. Little did he know that they had been set up by his friend, who had decided to play matchmaker. They began seeing each other and romance bloomed. They married in 1955.
Over the next 31 years, Mr. CROSS built an enviable reputation as a senior civil servant, a behind-the scenes expert in many areas, including the documentation and protocol for the appointment and installation of ministers of the Crown and provincial lieutenants-governor.
Working for such famous privy council clerks as Arnold Heaney, Jack Pickersgill and Mr. ROBERTSON, he knew of developments long before they became public knowledge. He kept those secrets to himself. "He was a very private man who believed strongly in his official oath of secrecy," said his daughter, Catherine TRYON. "He knew what was going on before it happened, he knew about cabinet shuffles, and when an election was to be called."
One day in 1967, Mr. CROSS inadvertently let the cat out of the bag. He prematurely informed Mr. Trudeau that he was promoted to minister of justice. Prime Minister Lester Pearson had arrived later than expected from a trip and hadn't had time to ask Mr. Trudeau to accept the portfolio. "Mr. Trudeau, realizing my embarrassment, quickly assured me he would express surprise [to Mr. Pearson] later that morning."
Ms. TRYON realized her father knew a lot of important people, but "he was just my dad. I admired him for being a kind and loving father, devoted to his church, community, country and family. He didn't care about someone's rank, background or accomplishments. What he respected most was kindness, honesty and generosity."
Working at the highest level of government didn't mean Mr. CROSS, who cherished Canada's system of parliamentary democracy, lost his humanity. In the 1960s, he was able to cut red tape at two federal departments - Veterans' Affairs and National Defence - when they denied a terminally-ill woman the Canadian Memorial Cross 20 years after her adopted son was killed during the war.
At the time, only natural mothers could receive the award. Within three days, Mr. CROSS had the definition of "mother" changed, and the woman received her silver cross.
The last prime minister Mr. CROSS worked for was Mr. Trudeau, whom he met in 1949 when the latter was hired by the Privy Council Office. Their offices were two doors apart on the East Block's third floor and they soon became Friends. In fact, they may have been distantly related. Mr. Trudeau's mother was Grace ELLIOT/ELLIOTT while Mr. CROSS's mother was Louisa ELLIOT/ELLIOTT.
"They worked together, bowled together and according to my father 'even did some girl watching together.' Years later, Pierre would tell my father's staff, 'I used to work for Jack too!' " said Ms. TRYON.
After Mr. CROSS retired from the Privy Council Office in 1976, Mr. Trudeau paid him a singular tribute. "I hold Jack CROSS in high regard. He is a devoted, talented man, a friend who gave me my first job."
For his decades of devoted service, Mr. CROSS was appointed a member of the Order of Canada in 1985. His citation mentioned his 1973 book, Guide to Canadian Ministries since Confederation July 1867-April 1973.
After working as a consultant, Mr. CROSS and his wife moved back to Chesterville in 1981. He spent his retirement with various community organizations such as the Shriners and Rotary. He also liked to play bridge and putter around his house.
Jack Lester CROSS was born in Chesterville, Ontario, on May 6, 1911. He died of natural causes in Ottawa on March 25. He was 96. He leaves his wife, Doris, daughter Catherine, sister Dorothea and five grandchildren. His son, Ronald, predeceased him.

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BOURDON o@ca.on.york_county.toronto.globe_and_mail 2008-06-09 published
Richard PAUDYN, 86: Soldier And Polish Patriot
He survived a Siberian gulag to find freedom in Canada
By Buzz BOURDON, Special to the Globe and Mail, Page S10
Ottawa -- Richard PAUDYN survived the horrors of a Siberian labour camp, followed by months of front-line combat during the Second World War before emigrating to Canada and building a life during the postwar prosperity boom.
Exiled to Siberia along with hundreds of thousands of other Polish citizens after Germany and the Soviet Union carved up their homeland in 1939, Mr. PAUDYN endured 18 months of brutal treatment at the hands of the feared NKVD, the Soviet secret police.
Trying to survive long, tedious days spent in backbreaking labour in all kinds of weather, followed by a few hours of sleep at night, he barely kept body and soul together on a miserable diet designed to break the spirit of the zeks, or prisoners. Greasy soup made from rotting fish heads, thin gruel that a starving dog would turn its nose up at, the disgusting rations fell far short of what a human being needed to survive the Siberian winter. The temperature could fall to -40 and beatings were routine.
The one thing that kept Mr. PAUDYN going was the faint hope that he and his fellow Poles might one day be released by the Soviets to join the fight against the Nazis. Finally, after Germany attacked Russia in 1941, Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin permitted them to do just that.
A few months later, Mr. PAUDYN was training with the Polish Armed Forces in the West, one of about 250,000 Poles who fought with the Allies during the Second World War. Serving as a tankman with the 6th Armoured Regiment "Children of Lwow," Mr. PAUDYN fought at the bloody battle of Monte Cassino in 1944. Founded by St. Benedict in A.D. 524, the abbey of Cassino blocked the road to Rome and was fortified as a vital stronghold of the Germans' Gustav Line.
Worried that the Germans would station their artillery spotters inside the 500-metre high abbey, since it commanded the countryside below, the Allies decided to bomb it. On February 15, 1944, U.S. bombers dropped 1,150 tons of high explosive and incendiary bombs and levelled the monastery to a smoking mass of rubble. At the time, the abbey was unoccupied by the Germans, the U.S. Army concluded in 1969.
That April, Mr. PAUDYN and his regiment, part of the 2nd Polish Corps, of the British 8th Army, relieved their British comrades in the front line and prepared to assault the abbey, now defended by tough German paratroopers.
For Mr. PAUDYN and his fellow Poles, pretty much all devout Catholics to a man, fighting to capture an important Catholic symbol remained a pivotal moment of their war against the brutal occupiers of their country. On May 11, 1944, a massive bombardment from 1,600 guns kicked off the Allied attack. For three days, Mr. PAUDYN's regiment fought in the mountains above Cassino and suffered heavy losses.
Finally, on May 18, Polish soldiers from the 12th Podolian Uhlans Regiment found the abbey abandoned. A Polish flag was raised over the ruins and the battle was finally over. Mr. PAUDYN had survived, but many of his countrymen had not. Overall, the Allies suffered 54,000 casualties at Cassino, while the Germans lost 20,000 men.
Richard PAUDYN grew up in Lwow, now a part of the Ukraine, during the 1930s. Poland had only enjoyed its independence from czarist Russia since 1918, and Mr. PAUDYN and his fellow students were inspired by the history of the Polish army, then, as now, a distinctive element of Polish society.
After Poland collapsed in ruins in September, 1939, Mr. PAUDYN, who was only 18, tried to escape to Hungary. In January, 1940, he and his best friend Ted Wehrstein were betrayed by a guide while trying to cross the Hungarian frontier and they were arrested by the NKVD. After a quick trial, Mr. PAUDYN was sentenced to eight years hard labour in a Siberian gulag.
After the war, he spent three years in Britain before immigrating to Toronto in 1948. He arrived with a small suitcase containing a few photos, his medals (including Poland's Cross of Valour), and some clothes. Still, he was alive and ready to start over.
During the 1950s, Mr. PAUDYN worked for de Havilland Aircraft before moving to McDonnell Douglas's purchasing department. In many ways, the 1950s was one of Canada's best decades and he made the most of it. The war was won and unemployment was very low. People were moving to the newly built suburbs and optimism for the future was high. Even so, Mr. PAUDYN never forgot his Polish roots and his wartime comrades. Active in Branch 20 of the Polish Combatants Association and the Canadian Polish Congress, he received many awards his community service.
Ryszard Zdzislaw Stefan PAUDYN was born on November 27, 1921, in Warsaw, Poland. He died in a car crash in Toronto on March 9, 2008. He was 86. He leaves his wife Ania, daughter Barbara, son Richard, sister Bozena and seven grandchildren.

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BOURDON o@ca.on.york_county.toronto.globe_and_mail 2008-06-24 published
Philippe GARIGUE, 90: Educator
British-born francophone revitalized bilingualism at York University
By Buzz BOURDON, Special to the Globe and Mail, Page S10
Ottawa -- Playing a prominent role in the intellectual, artistic and academic life of Montreal for almost three decades, Philippe GARIGUE knew everyone who counted during an era in Quebec history that transformed a province.
Building a worldwide reputation as a professor, philosopher, poet, bibliophile and author, Prof. GARIGUE moved with complete ease between Canada's two major linguistic groups and was on a first-name basis with such men as René Lévesque, Marc Lalonde and Pierre Trudeau before they became national figures.
Indeed, Mr. GARIGUE and his Italian-born wife hosted the cream Montreal's intellectual society in their Outremont home after they emigrated to Canada in 1954 at the invitation of McGill University. His reputation - earned in part as a senior researcher at the London School of Economics - had preceded him.
Philippe GARIGUE was born in Manchester, England, the son of a professionally trained opera singer who had been born in Egypt of a diplomat father. In the early 1920s, when he was about five years old, his mother took him to Paris. Attending both primary and secondary school there, he revelled in the city's intellectual and literary life.
Everything changed when the Second World War broke out on September 1, 1939. He immediately left for England and joined the British army. Commissioned as an officer in the Royal Fusiliers, he served in the Middle East, North Africa and Italy. He also served with the Special Air Service Regiment before being seconded as a liaison officer.
The fortunes of war saw Prof. GARIGUE negotiate with the enemy on one memorable occasion. Allied shelling was causing heavy damage in the Italian town of Assissi and the frescoes of the town's basilica were suffering. He decided to do something about it.
"He got in touch with the German commander and said, 'The war has destroyed everything. It cannot destroy this church and its art,' said his granddaughter, Alexandra GARIGUE. " The Germans moved their forces so the church would no longer be in the line of fire. The British did, too."
After the war, Assissi made him an honorary citizen.
Some months later, he was stationed in the Italian town of San Remo, where he met the twin daughters of the mayor. Amalia and Giovanna were 8. It was wartime and romance flourished for Prof. GARIGUE and Amalia. They wed in 1946.
After the war, he went back to his studies and obtained a doctorate in anthropology from the University of London in 1953.
Not long afterward, Canada came calling. Just three years after arriving in Montreal, he was appointed dean of social sciences at the University of Montreal. There, he created four new departments: political science, anthropology, criminology and demographics. "Under Mr. GARIGUE, the faculty exploded," said Guy Rocher of the University of Montreal. "It hired about 100 professors, welcomed thousands of students and started to award doctorates in different disciplines. This was the golden age of the faculty."
It was during the 1950s that Prof. GARIGUE also decided to convert from Anglicanism to Catholicism. His sponsor was the deeply religious Georges Vanier, later to become Canada's first francophone governor-general.
In 1972, the university decided to create a new faculty of arts and science by amalgamating four faculties, including Prof. GARIGUE's. "He went back to teaching," said Prof. Rocher, an expert on the sociology of law. "It was hard for him to see the faculty he had given so much to disappear."
Over the years, Prof. GARIGUE, a member of the Royal Society of Canada, was awarded many academic honours. His poetry won him literary prizes, including the Prix du Concours litteraires du Quebec.
In 1980, Prof. GARIGUE moved to Glendon College, York University's bilingual liberal arts college. Enrolment had fallen to 900 students and, as the new principal, he knew he had a big job in front of him. "My idea was to promote Glendon as the best institution to get a bilingual education," he said years later. "I started to promote the idea of attracting the francophonie - this was the key word for the future."
By 1987, enrolment had climbed to more than 2,000 and he retired as professor emeritus 10 years later.
He was made an officer of the Order of Canada in 1987.
Philippe GARIGUE was born in Manchester, England, on October 13, 1917. He died of natural causes in Toronto on March 25, 2008. He was 90. He leaves Amalia, his wife of 61 years, daughter Viviane and son Pierre. His son Robert predeceased him.

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BOURDON o@ca.on.york_county.toronto.globe_and_mail 2008-07-24 published
She never remarried, never forgot her war-hero husband
By Buzz BOURDON, Special to the Globe and Mail, Page S8
Ottawa -- Martha COUGHLIN spent her entire adult life deeply in love with the same man, in both peace and war. Everyone thought Lieutenant-Commander Tony COUGHLIN and his wife were made for each other, but their happy marriage lasted only five years, cut short by his death at sea.
Still, her all-too-short marriage was so important to Mrs. COUGHLIN that she venerated it for six decades. In fact, she never married again, preferring to spend the rest of her life alone, cherishing the memory of her husband and his wartime valour. Lt. Cdr. COUGHLIN, known for his fighting spirit, was decorated for helping to sink a U-boat during the Second World War.
Mrs. COUGHLIN's inspiring story of love and devotion still tugs at the heartstrings 69 years after she married her handsome sailor on September 23, 1939, a bare two weeks after Canada declared war on Germany. They spent their honeymoon in New York but it was a short one, since Lt. Cdr. COUGHLIN was badly needed as the Royal Canadian Navy expanded dramatically into the Allies' third-biggest sea force.
After serving six months on convoy duty in the Atlantic as HMCS Assiniboine's gunnery officer, Lt. Cdr. COUGHLIN was seconded to HMS Resolution.
Meanwhile, Mrs. COUGHLIN worked in Ottawa for Metropolitan Life and hoped for the best. On May 26, 1943, her husband took command of HMCS Chilliwack.
On March 6, 1944, Chilliwack played a key role in the destruction of U-744. For almost 48 hours, the corvette was among several warships that stalked a German submarine in the North Atlantic. In the end, U-744 was forced to the surface with depth charges and then pounded into submission by gunnery. Lt. Cdr. COUGHLIN was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross.
Seven months later, on October 19, 1944, Mrs. COUGHLIN's world fell apart when she lost her husband. The day before, a storm had almost washed Lt. Cdr. COUGHLIN overboard from his fourth ship of the war, HMCS Iroquois. Shipmates hauled him to safety, but his leg was fractured. He developed pneumonia and died at Because overseas travel was severely restricted during the war, Mrs. COUGHLIN was unable to attend her husband's burial at the Royal Navy base in Scapa Flow, Scotland. In tribute to their former captain, the crew of Chilliwack presented the ship's bell to Mrs. COUGHLIN. It hung proudly in her Ottawa home for the rest of her life.
Martha COUGHLIN grew up in Ottawa to a life of privilege. The grandniece of lumber baron J.R. BOOTH, she enjoyed a comfortable and carefree childhood during the 1920s.
When her mother died in 1931, her aunts took her under their wing and "continued to school Martha in the ways of a proper young lady as they had been raised in the 1880s. Martha went through life with very firm ideas about how men and women should behave. While she felt men were ideally suited for opening doors for women and fixing things throughout the house, she did not believe that women should be restricted in any way from pursuing whatever they chose to do," said her nephew, Roger DENT.
Mrs. COUGHLIN met her future husband in 1931, at the start of the Depression. Times were hard so the couple decided to settle for a long engagement until things improved.
During the six decades that followed the war, Mrs. COUGHLIN kept the memory of her dashing sailor in a special place in her heart. That didn't mean she stopped living - far from it. She built an active social life, attending parties, luncheons, and played bridge with her Friends, but she just wasn't interested in meeting another man, said her sister-in-law, Theresa DENT. " She did sometimes have an escort for a ball, but she was clear that she'd never remarry. She never removed her wedding band."
An optimist who loved life, Mrs. COUGHLIN graduated from Carleton College (now Carleton University) in 1954. She also spent a year in Paris, studying at the Sorbonne. In 1965, after retiring from Metropolitan Life, she taught typing and shorthand in Ottawa high schools until 1979, insisting on the same high standards she had learned 40 years earlier.
"Manners, posture and politeness were demanded of all students. Those daring enough to chew gum in class were forced to place it on their noses," said Mr. DENT.
An avid world traveller, Mrs. COUGHLIN first visited her husband's grave at Scapa Flow in 1951. She returned nine times, the last in 2000. Making more than 50 trips outside North America, she also went to New York and Halifax to revisit the familiar sights she'd shared so briefly with him.
Mrs. COUGHLIN liked rereading the hundreds of letters her husband wrote during their courtship and the war. On March 16, she suffered a stroke and was hospitalized. A family member fetched some photos of her husband so she could look at them one more time. It gave her great comfort.
Martha Hazel Dent COUGHLIN was born March 4, 1914, in Ottawa. She died May 2, 2008, in Ottawa of natural causes. She was 94. She is survived by nieces and nephews.

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