Remembering Montreal’s ‘godfather of bartenders’
Brousseau got his start at age 14
The city’s most veteran bartender and one of its most beloved, Omer Brousseau, died at age 82 a few weeks back. Brousseau, acclaimed as the best martini-maker in Montreal and beyond, had been a mixologist for 68 years — which has to be a record of sorts. He was a Montreal original.
Those with highly developed skills in mathematics will have deduced that Brousseau got his start in the trade when he was all of 14. Apparently, forged IDs were all the rage back in the 1940s as they are today, and liquor laws were somewhat looser then.
His first stint behind a bar was at the renowned and now-defunct Drury’s restaurant. His last stand was at the ornate L’Autre Saison bar on Crescent Street where he had worked for nearly 14 years until crippled by a stroke more than a year ago. Ever dapper — as well as diplomatic — Brousseau also mixed cocktails at such hot spots as the Neptune, Roma Antiqua, Tour Eiffel and Troika.
Over the decades, Brousseau served just about every major politico, celebrity and athlete, not to mention a who’s who of rogue’s gallery patrons. Dotting the bar at L’Autre Saison are photos of him with everyone from baseball star Sammy Sosa to Paul Newman. He also poured libations for Quebec premier Maurice Duplessis, singers Edith Piaf and Charles Aznavour and film star Dorothy Lamour. “Those were the days bars never closed in Montreal,” Brousseau rem- inisced in an interview we did three years ago. “If the walls could have talked, what stories they would have told. People think Montreal is wild today. Hah! They have no idea what wild is.”
Those heady days to which Brousseau was referring saw the likes of Sammy Davis Jr., Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis popping up in the city and playing clubs like the legendary El Morocco. And stripper Lili St. Cyr, holding court and little else, at the old Gayety Theatre.
Brousseau was one of seven kids. His family left their native Windsor, Ont., for better prospects in Montreal when he was 3. His mother died when he was 6, leaving the family in disarray and compelling him to start working before he was a teen.
“There was no question about that,” he recalled in our interview. “My oldest brother became a missionary. Another brother became a priest. Someone had to help pay for food and rent.”
Brousseau had been married twice. The first, more than 60 years ago, lasted six months. The second one was going strong more than 30 years until his death.
Brousseau’s stepdaughter, Linda Leboeuf, says he was one of a kind: “Even after his passing, he lifts and will always lift my spirit and that of everyone he came into contact with.
“He was just the most gentle, generous, caring and good man, with us at home or at work. He never spoke ill of anybody — such a positive man. Even when left completely paralyzed on one side by a stroke and unable to eat except to take in fluids intravenously as a result, he never complained and always managed a smile for me, my sister and our mother. He smiled until the day he died.”
Kazim Toural, co-owner of L’Autre Saison, is equally effusive in praise: “This city lost the godfather of bartenders, and I lost a wonderful friend and one of the most fascinating people I ever met in my life. They just don’t make them like Omer Brousseau any more.”
Toural first met Brousseau in the early 1970s at the Tour Eiffel, and spent the next 25 years trying to entice him to come to L’Autre Saison. “I was just into having a restaurant. A bar was not my business. But I was so impressed with his style that I built our bar just for him. I told him I wanted him to retire happy with us. I have some young people behind the bar now, but nobody will be able to re- place Omer. He left his mark on all of us.”
This city’s and country’s comedy community
is in mourning over the passing of Montrealer Sean Keane, who died last week at 52 following a heart attack. Ironically, Keane, who had congenital heart issues, was among the fittest of comics, running and swimming daily.
Keane was also among the most innovative and provocative of comics as well. Sporting his trademark suit and shades, Keane had an old-school swagger on stage. Though he stopped performing regularly over the last decade, he kept writing comedy at a feverish pitch.
“Sean’s passing came as such a shock to the family,” said his younger brother Denis Keane, who works on the other side of the mic — in matters technical — at the Comedyworks.
“Since I was a kid, growing up with him, he would just make me laugh. And it never stopped. It leaves a big hole in my life as well as that of so many others. He had such an aptitude for comedy. People who didn’t know of him before will now — particularly as these old videos of him start surfacing.”
What people would be surprised to learn about Keane is that he had a soft spot for animals. “If he would spot stray dogs or cats, he would take them in and feed them,” Denis noted. “He was almost obsessive about that. He was eccentric in some ways, but he had such a great heart.”
Carolyn Bennett, comedian, comedy writer and one of Keane’s closest friends, started out in the business with him nearly 30 years ago at Ernie Butler’s Comedy Nest.
“From Day 1, Sean had the gift. He was unique. He was also a writing machine. And his stuff was brilliant,” said Bennett, a Montreal native now living in Toronto.
Keane last performed at the Winnipeg Comedy Festival this year. It was his first live performance in almost eight years.
“I think he had an anxiety problem about performing live,” Bennett explained. “He never enjoyed the road. At his funeral, it was asked why Sean never made the big leagues. The answer, according to one of his friends, was that Sean wasn’t predatorial enough. He was too kind, too nice a guy. This is a nasty, cutthroat business, and to get ahead, you have to be nasty and cutthroat. He wasn’t.”
Last words goes to Keane here. At the Winnipeg Comedy Festival, he uttered: “I guess the question I’m most often asked is: ‘What?’ ”