Goodbye Mr Bedard

Goodbye, Mr. Bédard!

I didn’t have the opportunity to work for Claude Bédard, but I know one thing. When I met him for an interview, I was told to prepare carefully. Because whatever the issue was, it was him. Not even close!

When I arrived at the Journal in the early 2000s, he was no longer in office, but it was as if I knew him. Finally, my father Claude was one of his confidants on the Nordiques circuit from the beginning to the end of the adventure in 1995.

Since both are known to be strong minds, I’ve obviously caught wind of some of their cock showdowns. There was a deep mutual respect between the two, far beyond these few arguments.

The father said it himself at home, a few minutes after he came to his senses after a holy tantrum. His boss, in turn, would often confide to me years later his admiration for those who served the cause of the Journal, especially on the cover of Nordiques.

Great knowledge

Since I type on the keyboard every day, I often spoke to Claude Bédard.

In this profession, at some point we have to consult someone who has been through it all. A witness to the past to understand the present. A source to know where to drink. An almanac of significant events.

Claude Bédard, that wasn’t bad.

I knew that his collaboration with the Journal in 1997 had not ended on the best of terms. When I first called him because I needed his clarification, I wondered if he really wanted to enlighten me. And yet…

Mr. Bédard, as I always called him out of respect, did not hesitate for a second to share his encyclopedic memories of the sport.

Out of respect for my father’s achievements? Maybe, but whatever, he was always a nice guy.

Long dinners

For him, a dinner that was supposed to last 30 minutes when the Nordiques arrived in the NHL in 1979 could stretch into three hours. An hour-long meeting to celebrate AMH’s 50th anniversary turned into a delicious return in time for an afternoon.

The worst part of the whole thing? Every time we would have taken more.

I will always remember that until our last meeting a year ago, he arrived bolt upright with a briefcase full of handwritten notes. It’s not about leaving a detail to chance, even if that means calling back at any time of the day to correct a date, an assist, a player’s number, or whatever.

I will miss all those very long interviews, Mr. Bédard, because in the end they were far too short. This time I will leave you. It’s time to rest.