Marshall Button: Honouring our friend Mr. Dalhousie

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The community calendar of my youth always highlighted the last weekend of July up to the August holiday on the Monday. That’s when my hometown came to life for the Bon Ami Festival. The 10-day period was chosen because it’s the one time of year we can hope for decent weather.

“Bon Ami tout-le-monde, Bon Ami!” So went the booming voice of my friend Sandy MacLean throughout his lengthy tenure as mayor of Dalhousie-by-the-Sea.

The festival culminated with a Sunday afternoon parade. Mayor Sandy would sit on the trunk of an open convertible, probably borrowed for the day from Lounsbury Motors. His spit-shined shoes rested on the back seat as he bellowed out his bilingual greeting to onlookers. He made grand energetic hand gestures, taking the simple act of waving to an elaborate shadow karate tachikata demonstration, all the while making direct eye contact with babies and senior citizens alike. He was, and he still is, larger than life.

Sandy was the centre of my attention again a couple of weeks ago when he celebrated his 90th birthday in grand style. He was surrounded by 130 family and friends at La Source in Charlo. It was a celebration of nine decades (so far) of a life well lived. It was also a chance to see people I hadn’t seen in so many years and wonder, “My God, do I look as old to them as they do to me?”

The party was in the banquet area of the former 1970s discotheque. I became wistfully nostalgic when I saw the mirror ball and metal dance floor of my late teens and early twenties still in place. Sandy’s well-wishers travelled from all over New Brunswick and throughout Canada to get down and boogie and to wish him a happy birthday. Charlo and Dalhousie have now been absorbed by the municipality of Heron Bay, but don’t tell that to the biggest booster Dalhousie ever had.

It’s been a quarter-century since Sandy asked if I’d deliver the eulogy at his funeral. Now that he’s on a trajectory to outlive me, I thought it prudent to write this column just in case. As my mentor and former basketball coach, Mr. Dalhousie will have no hesitation providing feedback.

Sandy MacLean is known to many of you. Despite residing on the most northern point of our province, his presence has been felt throughout. High school principal, town councillor, mayor, Progressive Conservative party member, distinguished Rotarian, husband, father, grandfather, and friend. He ran in federal and provincial elections, but like many Conservatives on the North Shore, he didn’t receive enough ballot box love.

Sandy was born during the Great Depression, although his parents were gainfully employed – Mom was a schoolteacher and nurse and Dad was a construction accountant. When he was a boy, his family moved to Ontario, then to Quebec and finally back home to Dalhousie.

Sandy was an only child, as was his late wife Doreen (Duguay). Like many a good English speaking Catholic boy of means, he enrolled at Saint Francis Xavier University in Antigonish, where (no surprise to those who know him) he became head cheerleader for the sports teams, and he even offered advice to a future prime minister, freshman class president Brian Mulroney.

Sandy and Doreen’s children, Bernadette, Frank, Russell and Ann-Marie, didn’t have any first cousins, but they must have felt like they had dozens. The MacLean house was always filled with students, friends and guests. In those days, ships came to the port of Dalhousie to pick up newsprint to be delivered around the world. Sandy and Doreen made friends with many visitors from those ships, including renowned Roots author Alex Haley who stowed away, using the isolation at sea to ply his writing trade.

He lives in the house he was born in on the corner of Adelaide and George Streets. Frankie and Russell and their families also live in Dalhousie and provide support. Great pals Bobby Frees and Ron Villeneuve regularly check on him. The last time I visited him at home, he intimated, “Marsh, the mind is still sharp, but the body has other ideas.” He showed me a mangled thumb that was the result of a fall in the kitchen.

Sandy is not a perfect man. He’s energetic and passionate, and there’ve been times when his temper has gotten the better of him.

The boys and family friends have tried to convince him to move into an assisted living facility. But Sandy has made it clear that he has no intention of moving out without kicking, screaming, and bad-thumbing all the way.

It might seem like Sandy is living a charmed, fairytale existence, but he’s had as hard a go as anyone. It’s been almost 30 years since daughter Bernadette passed away at age 38, and Doreen died unexpectedly 20 years ago, aged 69. For the past 15 years, his special friend Gladys Paradis has been a supportive force in his life. Like good Catholic kids in Dalhousie, they’ve kept separate residences.

I got to be a close confidant when I was a teenager. He’d call me into his office where he would bare his soul and make me feel like an amateur psychologist. He was proud to be a bilingual administrator of a bilingual high school, and was devastated by the decision to create two separate schools based on the linguistic divide.

I’m happy to have been one of “Sandy’s Pets” for all these years, knowing he’ll be in the audience when I return home to do a show, and that I can expect regular phone calls on my land line. I’m in good company. The extensive “Pets” roster includes my cousin and lifelong friend Mark Frenette, a successful real estate professional in Toronto. The late great Candy Palmater, gifted comedian and Mi’kmaq advocate, was also a Pet. We sadly missed her at the party. But life goes on.

Can’t wait for your 100th, Sandy!

Drifting into time passages

Years go falling in the fading light

Time passages

Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight