1971
Its memory still embedded in my spine. The 1970 October crisis was barely behind us, but what fuelled it was still alive. On March 3rd to March 5th nature hit us hard with a record-setting snow storm reminding us that cities are pastimes, playthings, Lego, artificial, fragile and impermanent. It was nicknamed the “Storm of the Century”. Didn’t know it then. In Montreal, all we remember was life coming to a halt, on the Trans-Canada highway, downtown, suburbs, everywhere people were stranded. Schools were shut down for days until traffic could move. Skis and Ski-Doos took over the streets. Took most people hours to walk home that first night. Some froze to death. Others were lucky to have their ears still attached to their heads. Thirty-plus people died across Québec, at least seventeen in Montreal, some from being stranded in cars and others from heart attacks and from all the other possible reasons. Death has many, and doesn’t need any. Every success in life is ultimately a win in the death column. With one quick coup de théâtre nature thrust us back into the 19th century, and none of our 20th century toys and technological advances could save us. Cars were buried in snow and people were shovelling a foot deep to spot the roof of their car. We kids had fun, celebrated and built hockey rinks on the street and could finally play non-stop and not worry about cars – for days. It was a defining moment for Montrealers, among the elite events of the last 50 years. Expos ’67, the October ’70 Crisis, the ’76 Olympics, the ’76 PQ victory, the ’80 referendum, the ’95 referendum, the 1998 Ice Storm, and the ’71 blizzard. It had brought people together. Many hitchhiked to work and everyone got picked up. That’s Montreal. The total 47 centimetres that fell on the city – though record-breaking then - was puny compared to what other parts of Québec were hit with. But Montreal was Montreal, the biggest and most culturally dynamic city in Canada, a role it would gradually surrender to Toronto only a half-dozen years later – after 334 years of being Canada’s financial and cultural hub. The one-day record was finally broken again on December 27, 2012. I was there for that, too. So was my 9-year old son, but not my 6-year dead father and the thousands who left the city for Toronto from ’76 to ’82. My father didn’t care for Toronto, loved Montreal, and couldn’t wait for snow, and every winter he stood outside for hours waiting to welcome it with open arms and a shovel in hand.
