My request for material from Members in mid January was a resounding success. Sincere thanks to all of you who submitted material. This newsletter is all about you, your memories, your photos, and life in St. Lambert during your high school days. Please keep things coming so we can include in next month's Alumni Connection.Angus Cross
Welcome New Alumni Association Members and renewed Members
New Regular Member
Class of 1973
from unknown, NB
New Regular Member
Class of 1964
from Pickering, ON
New Life Member
Jane Webb (Porritt)
Class of 1963
from Clapham, England, UK
Class of 1965
from Deep Brook, NS
Arlene Bardin (Greene)
Class of 1957
from San Diego, CA, USA
Class of 1974
from Fredericton, NB
Barbara Handrahan (Shotton)
Class of 1964
from Toronto, ON
Veronique Le Kim
Class of 1980
from Brossard, QC
New Members and Renewals are urged to login and check their respective Class Pages.
Check that the information we have for you is correct. Also let us know if you have
email addresses for any of your missing classmates.
If you have a problem logging in please contact Angus Cross email@example.com
Memberships expiring in February
Loudiadis Constantin 1967
Humphrey Heather Elizabeth 1966
Gaver Cheryl 1971
Rylander (Dickson) Kay 1956
Groundwater Jim 1959
Hodson Jack 1960
MacLean Rod 1980
Kipps (King) Brenda 1972
Phillips Robert (Bob) 1959
Paquet (Ascah) Catherine 1969
Donation to Scholarship Fund for outstanding boy and girl at Saint-Lambert International High School
I graduated from class of '86 and my son, Michael Crilis, graduated last year from class of '2017. Along with being awarded SLI'S Honour Society, he was also awarded the Class of '67 Scholarship for Outstanding Boy 2016-2017. Michael's father and I could not have been more proud of him and we would like to make a donation to the scholarship foundation in order to continue honouring outstanding girls and boys for the years to come.Niki Xenos
I've got a bucket list, and I bet you do too. Perhaps you haven't written it down yet, but somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of your mind there is a place where thoughts get stored when you read about something, or see a photo that stirs you, or hear a story of a friend’s trip or adventure, and think "One of these days I'm going to do that'
Well, I'm from the graduating class of 1953 so, as you may imagine, I don't have an unlimited amount of time to try to empty my bucket list, but that doesn't mean that it isn't worthwhile to give it that old CCHS try. Last year, Trip to Eastern Europe got ticked off, as I went on a river boat cruise down the Rhine, visiting Prague, Vienna, and Budapest, with my sister, Dale, and Bev Allen, a classmate from the good old days. 50th Wedding Anniversary trip was another delightful first time experience, as my wife Caroline and I explored various and sundry art galleries and museums, as well as a lot of fine restaurants in Amsterdam, Bruges, and Brussels. A golf trip to Scotland proved the opportunity to enjoy A Lunch At Muirfield, a treat I had promised myself ever since I played golf at Muirfield for the first time, way back in 1992.
But that is not what I want to discuss today. On my birthday, a few months back, I was reminiscing about these trips, when it suddenly occurred to me “I bet my kids have bucket lists too” As I love more than anything to spend time with my kids, it then occurred to me that I could perhaps double up by offering to fund each of my four children, now all in their 40’s, on trip with me to satisfy one of their bucket list items that we can enjoy together.
The offer, needless to say, was received with great enthusiasm, and planning started almost immediately. My son Rod, a beer enthusiast, opted for a trip to Belgium to visit several of the Trappist monk facilities, famous worldwide for their brewing skills, so we will be off on a tour starting March 10, (http://www.belgianbeerme.com/mini-trappist-tour/ if anybody wants to join us). My youngest daughter, Jennifer, is very keen on tennis, although she doesn’t play it, so we will visit Wimbledon, in July, while my eldest daughter, Laurie, who recently completed yet another degree, a Masters in Bioethics, chose to visit Greece, the ancient home of ethics. We will, therefore, be touring Athens and the islands in September. My other daughter, Sandra, is just into a new job, and hard pressed for vacation time, but we plan on a week or 10 days in either New York or London to see plays, concerts, and various other cultural activities (and, she stresses, some shopping) in the near future.
Lest you think my wife is being left out, we two will visit Spain for a couple of weeks in May/June.Don Morrison
Hi Angus. I just read about your need for articles for the next issue and thought you might consider using the following story. It is one of 225 short stories I have completed for a book I am publishing (2019?) entitled; "Chasing Nature -- A Lifetime of Wildlife Adventures and Observations." The chapters cover my days of youth, high school, two universities, my three career positions of Curator and Director of the Manitoba Museum, Oak Hammock Marsh Interpretive Center, and the Assiniboine Park Zoo, plus my days of retirement. A colleague from my Museum days is preparing 40 cartoons to accompany some of the funny accounts. This exercise has been a great way of remembering so many wonderful days in the field and lab. I think my Who's Who article contains the picture of me and my friends dissecting the cat, if you can use it again. Best regards, Bob
ONE WAY TO SKIN A CAT
Since I developed early an obsession about animals, it was only natural that I began to wonder how they were put together. What were they like inside, under the fur, feathers and scales? I had cleaned a number of fish and so had an introduction to internal anatomy, but my first real opportunity to pursue this study further came in my high school biology class -- with a large preserved frog. This exercise served to peak my interest further, but how to proceed? Since I had come to know a local veterinarian, through his treatment of several of my family’s pet cats, I built up my courage one day to ask him if he could provide me with a dead cat to dissect! After he over-came his surprise at such an unusual request, he kindly said he would try to find a suitable candidate for me.
A few weeks went by without a phone call, and I began to think that he had changed his mind, but he did indeed call back. Greatly excited, I ran the ten blocks to his office, where he handed me a box containing a frozen black cat, which apparently had died from some non-infectious cause. The following morning I proudly presented my prize specimen to my biology teacher, Mr. Leonard Orr -- my favourite and very understanding mentor. Aware of my ambition to become a surgeon someday, he agreed to help me by supervising the dissection after school the next day. Well, somehow word spread throughout the school of this impending operation, causing much giggling or repulsion among the students, and raising of eyebrows among the other teachers.
Lessons seemed to drag on that day, but finally 3:30 pm arrived, and I made my way down the halls to the ‘operating room,’ followed closely by six of my interested classmates. Mr. Orr had laid out a scalpel and scissors, and there stretched out on a piece of plywood was my now-thawed patient. I thought this can’t require a much-different different procedure than with a fish or a frog, so I picked up the instruments and made the first tentative incision along the belly, through the skin and muscles. As the unpleasant aroma of dead cat rose up from the opened abdomen, my onlookers lurched back, and one of them headed to the ‘home-economics’ room to fetch some clothes pins for everyone’s noses. I still have the picture a friend took of the comical scene, with my observers (with pins on their noses) leaning in over my shoulders to inspect each organ extraction. The two-hour operation left me exhilarated and exhausted, but I had learned a valuable lesson and a new appreciation of anatomical detail.
I also felt a debt of gratitude and empathy for the cat, and decided to save as many parts as I could -- settling on the skeleton and pelt. My chemistry teacher allowed me to boil up the bones in his lab, and I hung the salted pelt out my classroom window to dry in the sun and breeze. I wonder how many of today’s veterinarians and teachers would have approved of my plans? Sadly, most people go throughout life without a clue about the marvellously complex nature of their bodies, and even less on how to take care of them. I owe a lot to that little black cat and my teachers.Robert Wrigley
I retired from Environment Canada nine years ago. While some have faced this crossroad with fear and trepidation, I was ready to embrace the lifestyle with grace and pleasure. No more 6:00 a.m. risings for work or, in winter, coming and going home in the dark.
In addition to husband, Michael, already at home, my new venture was to get and train a dog, picking one needing a rescue. Jaunty was the first; an untrained terrier mix with lots of spirit and a zest for life. Just what any retiree needs to occupy their time.
Dog training proved how smart, talented and devious a terrier can be. Jaunty graduated with honours. He knew all his commands and could execute them flawlessly in the class or in the house. Outside was a different story. As soon as he was off-leash in the authorized wee dog forest, the come command became optional. No amount of ongoing training or bribery worked. Jaunty was a terrier on a freedom mission until he decided it was time to return to the leash for our walk home. However, in spite of his insubordination and bursts of freedom, Jaunty was a lesson in love, devotion and entertainment all at the same time. Naturally, I could extoll Jaunty’s virtues (documented in his memorial book) for paragraphs, but I will stop here and say that Michael and I enjoyed every moment with him up until his departure in 2016.
After a few months, thinking to capitalize on my experience with a terrier and to assuage the void left by Jaunty’s loss, I decided to adopt another rescue dog and found what looked like another terrier mix, albeit with a different appearance. He was offered by the rescue organization with the proviso that he not go to a home with children as there was a history of biting. Kasper arrived in time for Christmas 2016, somewhat bedraggled and shaggy. His first trip to the veterinarian in January established that his pedigree was not primarily a terrier, but a Chihuahua-mix with some terrier likely in the blend. The vet was unsure if his biting came from a rough beginning or just a Chihuahua’s sometimes bitey proclivity.
Thus began another round of training, love and patience, which has been rewarded by grand improvement in Kasper’s behaviour and great strides in seeing a dog transform from a fearful pet to a nature that is now playful and cuddly. His health issues have been addressed and overcome. The last frontier is Kasper’s residual distrust of strangers, which needs continuous management. Nonetheless, the signs for a complete turnaround are still within reach. Time will tell.
In addition to travelling to some of our bucket list destinations, one other retirement pursuit has been to volunteer as an English tutor to new Canadians. Ottawa has ELTOC, a wonderful organization that helps new Canadians who are unable to attend government English classes. Currently, I tutor three Vietnamese students on Sunday morning, their only available time when they are not working. The experience has been more rewarding for me, I am sure, than for them. As a picture is said to be worth one thousand words, I am attaching a picture of my students, who have just constructed and decorated their first gingerbread house. It was a break from our more formal lessons and done in the interest of sharing a Canadian tradition.
With time for reading (library books and daily papers, what a treat), skating the Rideau Canal, snowshoeing, walking, and biking, who could ask for anything more.Adele White (Middleton)
These paintings are part of a series of 25 called Victoria Park. The first house is on Victoria. As kids, we knew it as the MacDonald House.The 2nd is The Dix house on Edison. There's an entire series of paintings of familiar St. L homes, including, sights no longer to be found. This series might make a swift pictorial for another issue ?
For example, a home we knew as Angers, on Victoria, was moved. There are paintings of Theroux's on Upper Edison. There are engravings of Scottish sights, The Scott Monument for example. Ships. Our family were lighthouse keepers, up and down the Scottish coasts. Isle of Lewis our heritage home. (Frase and I lived in Scotland. I moved there right after HS. 20 years on ... I found The Natural State.)
I lived in St. Bruno and only went to CCHS for Grade 11. I do not recall how many of the Class of 1962 were from St. Bruno but it was not many. We travelled to school using the provincial bus. In the mornings we would have been able to catch the bus that went through the village. We were dropped off on the Taschereau Blvd across from the Highway Cafe. I do not know how many lanes the road was in those days but I do remember it had very wide verges and of course as one of the main routes to Montreal it was busy. We had to get across the road without the aid of crosswalk, traffic lights, or a crossing guard. From there we walked the several blocks to school no matter what the weather. I never recall the schools closing for weather back then! Going home we had to get out on the verge and wave the bus down for it to stop for us. Sometimes there would have been a group of us other times if we were detained at school, usually by Mr. Ryder for a detention, or an after school activity we could be on our own. The buses ran every hour and only during peak times did they go through the village otherwise we got off on the highway and once again had to get across the busy road without the benefit of traffic lights. Then we would walk the rest of the way home which, depending on where you lived, could be a long way. I often think of that journey when I see all the cars and school buses lined up outside the high school near my home in Burlington, Ontario.Myfanwy Burbidge (Gibson)
I recently watched an old NFB documentary on the building and opening of the Saint Lawrence Seaway circa 1959. The opening ceremonies at the St Lambert Locks were attended by the Queen and President and it was amazing to watch. Also it was amazing to contemplate what a huge project it was, & whether or not it would even get built today, with the current attitudes of environmentalists, First Nations, local and provincial politicians, the Charter, etc. etc.
Just sayin'.Rod MacKinnon
There is a poem by June Masters Bacher entitled: "Bits of Others"
We are shaped and we are fashioned
By the people that we know;
And from each we borrow something,
Taking it where we go.
Often there is no returning
For our journeys lead us on -
Lending to each new encounter
Bits of others we have known.
Gayle Hutchison (C'77) Charity Golf Tournament
Photo of the 2017 Tournament. The photo includes many CCHS Alumni who attend and support this tournament.
Here are a few facts:
- 2017 was our 21st year holding the tournament.
- Started by Gayle Hutchison and Susan Reid (’77) to raise money for St. Mary’s Oncology Department focusing on Patient Care.
- After Gayle’s passing in 2002 from Breast Cancer, the tournament continued with support from family and friends.
- To date the tournament has raised over $251K
Back in 2014, Janice and I had the fortunate opportunity to cross the country via RV, returning through the US. On that journey we discovered some fascinating places, as you can imagine. The attached is an entry from my journal for a day in August of that year.
February 3, 1959 - The day the music died! Clear Lake is the place the music died. We were surprised to realize that it was here in Clear Lake, on February 2nd 1959, at the Surf Ballroom, that Buddy Holly gave his final performance, along with Ritchie Valens and J.P. Richardson (The Big Bopper). After their show, they boarded a plane piloted by Roger Peterson and flew into history.
The trio took a charter flight because the tour bus they were using was not performing and began top freeze up.
Waylon Jennings, playing base for the Crickets, was on the bill that night also, and because space was limited on the small aircraft, he and The Big Bopper flipped for the last seat. J.P. won the toss, but it turned out to be a very sad victory, since the plane never made it more than 8 miles out of Clear Lake before its chilling end in an Iowa corn field.
The story goes that Buddy jokingly said to Waylon: “I hope the old bus freezes.” It is said that Waylon replied: “I hope the old plane crashes.” Words he would rue for the decades to follow.
We visited the Surf Ballroom, which, in 2011, was placed on the National Register of Historic Places by the Department of the Interior.
Wayne Christgau, the saviour and manager of the Surf Ballroom, was gracious and free with info, telling us to go into the “Green Room” backstage and look at the walls where many of the great performers have signed their names. The walls in the entryway are festooned with photos of Wayne and countless celebrities. He mutters sadly: “Unfortunately, it took a plane crash to save the place!”
We spent considerable time here, listening to the ghosts of music past.
After leaving the Surf Ballroom, we headed north of town to the crossroads of Gull and 315th Street, where a marker (Buddy Holly glasses) indicates the start of a half mile track through a corn field, at the end of which is a monument to the three performers who died that night, along with their pilot. As we walked through the corn, the thunder was rumbling in the distance, and a very warm wind was blowing, a marked contrast to that night in February of 1959; the Day the Music Died.Len Riendeau
Unfortunately there are very few of our classmates still around. As a matter of fact you have deleted St Lambert High School from your logo. So for us the graduates 🎓 of the 40’s there is really little interest. However I do wish you continued success. We have lived in Toronto for almost 60 years, and have met with several of our relocated classmates.
Editor's Note: The name St.Lambert High School still appears on our website front page and we still communicate with 38 grads from the 40'sDorothy Foster (Burke)
I am seven years old. My parents took a photo of me with a big bow in my hair wearing my best dress.
by Lilian Puust (Soomet)
C'57 Life Member
from Toronto, ON
The huge bow in my hair was common among Estonian children. The bigger the better!
I think it was also common among other European children at the time. After we arrived in Canada, I refused to wear them anymore.
Lined up in front of me are my seven dolls.
“You can take three dolls with you. We have to finish packing right now, “says my mother.
“But I have to take them all,” I say.
“There is no room in our suitcases,” Hurry, is her answer.
How can I choose between my children? First, I pick up blond-haired Lily, a beautiful doll with blue eyes which open and close, which I got for my fifth birthday. Then I pick up Erik, a second-hand rubber doll, whose colourless rubber hair I have painted blond. He is supposed to be a baby but since he is bigger than Tõnu, my third doll, I decide that his plumpness is all muscle and that he is an athlete. Tõnu has brown hair and looks thoughtful and smart. I don't know who will adopt the ones I leave behind.
"What will happen to you?" It is happening too fast. My heart aches.
My favourite friends, two boys, are playing in the next room. I have played with them every day for almost three years. One is the real Tõnu and the other is Rein Lemberg.
There is no time to cry. What if I never see them again?
“Say good-bye to your friends,” says my father. “It is time to leave.” I manage an unsatisfying quick good-bye to Tõnu and Rein. We close the door and leave for downtown Stockholm and the train station.
No one explains where we are going. For a while I believed we were going to live in England because my parents were practicing speaking English. When I told a neighbour lady that, she said, “Don’t go there. They don’t have food.” Then I thought that we were going to America. That sounded good since my friend Helle said, “Everyone is rich in America. The streets are paved with gold.” I do not quite believe her; but if it is true, I want to see that!
We are at the station where my uncle Valdur is waiting. He is my father’s brother and also my god-father. “I have a present for you,” he says, handing me a leather-bound “Kalevipoeg”, the story of Estonia’s ancient hero. I like to look at the illustrations, but the book is in an old dialect; I cannot understand what it is about. The station is full of people. We get on the train, but my parents’ friends stay behind on the platform. Through the train window we see Uncle Valdur and Aunt Lydi among those waving good-bye to us. Some are crying.
“Will we see them again?” wonders my mother.
The train chugs for hours to the other side of Sweden to Göteborg, where we get on a huge ship, the Gripsholm. When we go on deck, big black waves and black clouds surround us. After three days we arrive in Southampton, and take an English train to London, England. It is December. Everything is cold and gray, the sky, the buildings and the streets. We have never seen so many old dark brick buildings. They all have strange-looking high chimneys lined up like rows of long serpent teeth on their roofs. Why? No one tells me. We find our little hotel. It has a sitting room with a fire place for all the guests and a separate dining room with teapots lined up on the tables. Our bedroom is upstairs. It is bitterly cold.
“How can we sleep here?”
A strange metal thing is in the room, but we can’t make it do anything until my father’s cousin Volli Metski comes all the way from Bristol. He has some magic coins called shillings and he feeds some to the thing. Through the night the room feels a little less cold under a hill of blankets and the thing heats the room a little but only for part of the night.
Next day, my father announces that we are going to a museum. As we go up its steps I see a real wolf at the front door. I hesitate and don’t want to go in. Behind it I see dinosaurs, just like the dragons in my nightmares. “Common, hurry up,” says my father. I follow very close behind. “Are they alive? They look alive, but frozen. Has it been that cold in here?”
“This is The Natural History Museum,” answers my father. “We can see what animals long ago looked like.”
We take another train which chugs to Liverpool, where we board an even bigger ship, the Empress of Canada. I have no one to play with - no toys, since they are in the suitcases. There is a Christmas tree full of coloured lights next to a staircase. I play climbing up some stairs and jumping down from higher and higher steps.
“Stop doing that!” someone commands. What shall I play now?
In the dining room a waiter stands beside our table, watching us as we eat. We feel uncomfortable being watched so closely. Is he counting the number of bites we take?
A storm hits the ship. The dining room is almost empty for the next meal. My mother stays in our cabin, but my father and I return to the dining room. Each day there are fewer and fewer people in the dining room, until it is almost empty. Every day my father says that we have to go up on the deck to look at the horizon and to breathe in fresh air. Sometimes there are people there; some are bent over the railing. “Don’t look at them,” he says. “Look at the horizon.” I am scared of how the boat rolls under my feet and being beside giant waves, which want to swallow up our ship. After five days we see huge icebergs, get closer to land. We finally dock in Halifax. We line up in a serious building where a man behind a desk asks my father questions in English. My father answers in English. It sounds strange. I don’t know what they are saying, but we soon climb aboard a Canadian train. As I look out the window all I see are trees very close together. They don’t have spaces where I could run and play, like in my forests in Sweden.
“This is New Brunswick,” says my father. More trees flash by. It gets darker and all I see is blackness moving across the window. My mother and I share the narrow top bunk, which folded out from near the ceiling. I feel squished, but fall asleep until I am awakened from a dream about big forests and Tõnu and Rein in Sweden.
“Wake up!” says my father, “We have to change trains.” Half asleep we get on yet another one, which looks just like the train we left. I am squished into the top bunk with my mother, just like on the previous train.
I am in the middle of a deep sleep when again I hear my father saying, “Wake up!”
Why do I always have to wake up from a deep sleep in the middle of the night?
“Hurry,” he says to my mother, “We get off here.”
My mother is combing her hair and mine at the same time as she says, “We’re here! We’re in Montreal.”
All I want to do is sleep. We walk through an empty train station. At the end of hallway in the distance standing alone is a man, woman and little black and white dog.
I am too sleepy to pay attention.
“Say hello to them,” commands my mother, as I stand behind her while peeking around her.
“This is aunt Ady,” says my mother.
Ady comes towards us. She has a beautiful smile and the most wonderful voice.
“Hello Lillu, I am so happy to meet you, finally.” I know immediately that she is going to be important to me.
The little dog is wagging its tail. “This is Folla.”
The man does not speak Estonian. “And this is Uncle Bill.”
Uncle Bill leads the way to his car and we start our drive through the dark night along the streets of Montreal decorated with coloured lights, waiting for Christmas.
In March we will feature the (Next chapter: Montreal) of Lilian's story....
Class Contacts Needed
If you are interested in representing your class year as Class Contact. Please contact Angus Cross at firstname.lastname@example.org.
CCHS WHO'S WHO
Many of our alumni have gone on to lead prominent lives and contribute, in many ways, to Canadian and global society. The Alumni Association wishes to recognize these outstanding people and their achievements. Check out the Who's Who Directory
Please contact Angus Cross at email@example.com if you know of an alum we should recognize.
Carol Emert (Bradley) C'61 We regret to inform you that on the afternoon of Monday 11th December 2017, our beautiful parents, David and Carol Emert, passed away together in a car accident at Ferry Park, Maclean NSW, Australia.
Irene Watson (Dunfield) C'59
In loving memorial, the family of Irene Harriet Watson (nee Dunfield) announces her peaceful passing after a short course of illness at the age of 75 years. Irene is the beloved wife of Bill (52 years), and will be lovingly remembered by sons John William Douglas (Kara) and Bryn Alexander. Irene’s passing is also mourned by her two granddaughters Orion Kathryn Anne and Gillian Leanne.
Irene was the loved first-born of Jean and Jack Dunfield, and grew with siblings Brian (2013, Sarah “Honey”) and Alan (Cathy) in Lennoxville and Montreal, Quebec. Irene and Bill met and married in Arvida, Quebec, in 1965. Their love carried them to an extraordinarily full and unique married life. Irene was a vibrant, kind, intelligent and beautiful person who taught elementary schoolchildren in Canada, Papua New Guinea and Malaŵi.
Irene was extremely proud of her highly accomplished sons. John, a journeyman master of four trades and a power engineer, and Bryn, an anesthesiologist and clinical assistant professor at the University of Calgary, Cumming School of Medicine.
Irene and Bill retired to Bundaberg, Australia, where they maintained a home, and travelled by cruise ships to hundreds of exotic locales over the past 11 years. We recently welcomed them back to Canada.
Irene lived out her final moments surrounded by loving family, and will be interred at a special location in the South Pacific Ocean that was deeply meaningful to her and Bill.
Robert "Bob" Stanley - C'60
Bob passed away on November 9, 2017.
Phillips, Howard Robert Frank - C'61
December 24th, 2017
Peacefully and surrounded by family, on Sunday, December 24th, 2017, in his 75th year, Howard was called home to be with his Lord. Beloved husband of Beverly. Loving father of Karen Ballem (Mark), Allison Duesbury (Stephen), and Susan. Proud grandfather of Eric, Rachel, Jackson, and Danielle. Dear brother of Marilyn Kerr (Ralph), Chester (Kathy) and Richard (Cathy) and brother-in-law Archie Tuck (Helen). Sadly missed by his nieces, nephews, cousins and their families. Predeceased by his parents Howard and ‘Cherrie’ Phillips. Howard taught for the Protestant School Board of Greater Montreal from 1965 to 1977 and for the TVDSB, from 1977 to 1997, until his retirement. As he did throughout his life, Howard continued to mentor and coach elementary school sports teams and serve through church music ministry during his retirement. Special thanks to Dr. J. Mangel, the London Regional Cancer Program, and the CCTC Team at Victoria Hospital for their exceptional care.
DEEKS, Selma (née Kushner) A long time art teacher at CCHS.
Peacefully, at home, On Wednesday, January 17, 2018. Devoted wife of the late Norman Deeks. Beloved mother and mother-in-law of Dr. Debbie Schachter and Dr. Irwin Kleinman, Paul and Peggy Schachter, Linda Schachter Hausberg and Jimmy Hausberg. Cherished Granny of Robert, David and Michael Kleinman; Dr. Jordana Schachter and Pierre Luc Duperre LaFrance, and Michael Schachter; Danielle and Maddie Hausberg. Dear sister of Roslyn Kushner Belle.
John A G Bloxham Life Member from the Class of 1958
November 26, 1941 to January 13, 2018 John Bloxham's family with sadness announce his passing Saturday, January 13, 2018. A true gentleman John will be missed by all. Survived by wife Sheila; son Mark (Nicole) Caleb and Sawyer (mother Darlene Perry); daughter Lara (Darrell Nordell) Liam and Ceilidh; sister Susan Morisset and extended family. Born Nov. 26, 1941 in Montreal, he joined the Canadian Forces as an officer candidate. He received a chemical degree at Concordia University Montreal then move from Gulf Oil to Syncrude's Fort McMurray opening. He especially enjoyed time in Internal Audit. Passions were Grandchildren, travel, computers, and family. Former president of Institute of Internal Auditors, life member of IEEE, United Way, and active in other charities.
My grandpa started walking
five miles a day when he was 60.
Now he's 97 years old
and we have no idea where the hell he is.