GILBERT MALHOEUF
Gilbert Malhoeuf. Carleton Tavern, Armstrong Street, Dec. 1, 2016.
“I deliver Meals on Wheels. I did some today, and I’ve got to do more tomorrow. I’ve done it for about a year and a half. And I like to have a beer now and then. And go visit a couple of buddies.
“My father was a plumber. I started with him. I went to a trade school in Toronto. Back then it was the Provincial Institute of Trade. Now it’s George Brown College. When I grew up I went to the tarsands in Athabasca, before it was all paved. That was at Suncor, north of Fort McMurray. I was a pipefitter. It was like a puzzle. All the pipes were numbered.
“And then I became an interpreter. The foreman only spoke English, and some of the guys were from Sorel and only spoke French. But good welders — some of them could stand on their heads and weld a big piece of pipe. I was out there four or five months, and then I came back. That’s when my father passed away, back around 1980. And seven years after him, my mother passed away. She passed in the living room and he died in the kitchen.
“My mother was a Lalonde. You know Newsy Lalonde, from the Montreal (Canadiens)? We’re all related.
“So I was a plumber like my dad.
And heating. I worked on the Arts Centre when they built it. Some of the ductwork there you could drive a truck into. That place was so big, I remember on the first day I got there early, but I was late for work because I couldn’t find the office.
“After that I worked on the Campeau building, with the rotating restaurant on top. And the new post office, the one on Heron Road. And Island Park Towers. We were working there in 1967 when the voyageurs came down the Ottawa River. We could see them. So, yeah, I guess I helped build this city, or a little bit of it anyway.
“I’ve been from the east coast to the west coast, to every province, but I’ve never been farther south than Albany, New York. I get my kicks up here. I don’t need that.
“My generation … all the guys at my Local, we’ve all got asbestosis. We didn’t know. My doctor says you can’t get rid of it. It’s in there for life. It’s like little needles in your lungs.
“Doctor said, ‘You can’t do anything about it, Gib. You’re going to die with it. That’s all there is to it.’ But it hasn’t killed me yet. I could walk across the street and get killed by a car.”
I worked on the Campeau building, with the rotating restaurant on top. And the new post office, the one on Heron Road. And Island Park Towers.