The author is a historian, sociologist, writer and retired teacher from UQAC. His research focuses on collective imaginations.
From the age of 15, I reserved a week before the start of school. I had decided to extend the scope of my poor travels, always on the go. Leaving with $35 in my pocket, I went to New York twice to stay for a few days.
The first time, the journey was quite painful. One evening, I found myself outside of Watkins Glen, a large village in upstate New York. At the start of the night, I was still there, in heavy rain. A patrol car stopped, two police officers got out. They looked at me with evil eyes. I didn’t understand everything they said to me, but I saw that they doubted my identity: “What tells us that you are really a student?” » I replied: “What tells me that you are really police officers?” » They laughed and left.
Later, a huge tractor-trailer picked me up. I was in heaven: a real van (I remember well: New York Expressway…). The driver fell asleep after twenty-four hours at the wheel; I wasn’t lucky, he had me come up so I could talk to him… It was still dark when I had to get off at the entrance to Albany — the truck was arriving at its destination. I crossed the entire city on foot, finding my way as best I could (the driver had given me a map), often retracing my steps. I later learned that, without knowing it, I had passed through the most dangerous part of the city twice. But I was like Voltaire’s Candide: everything was good, everything was going for the best in the best of all possible worlds.
In New York, as in Montreal, I sometimes spent the night in prison. When evening fell, I just had to go lie down on a bench in Central Park. Every time, police officers picked me up and put me in a cell, not without harshly scolding me for my recklessness. Once again, my suit and my student ID assured me immunity. I was never afraid. I was delighted with my adventures, with the unknown, with the marvelous. I felt like I was stealing happiness!
I sometimes stayed at the YMCA for $2 (a fortune, but never mind!). My diet was not complicated, I never ate lunch, I quenched my thirst at public drinking troughs, sometimes with water from fountains and, for the rest, I relied on hot dogs (25 cents, sometimes 15) .
I spent most of my time walking, observing. I was surprised by the alternation of signs of wealth and poverty, by the kindness of the people (yes, their kindness), by the churches so different from ours, by the incessant coming and going of ambulances and police cars. police officers. I met many wanderers like me, but most of the time poorly dressed, with emaciated faces.
My student card was very useful to me. I was able to tour the island by boat with a stop at the Statue of Liberty. I went to the top of the Empire State Building (via the stairs, I was wary of the elevator). To think of the exaltation I felt up there! I had learned the main bus and metro routes. But I mostly walked, with my little backpack. I went where chance led me, I was master of the city… I visited the Yankees stadium, the Rangers arena, the Bronx and Queens zoos, and what not (museums, galleries, libraries, university campuses? For later…).
My return to Jonquière was triumphant. I had so much to say.
When I was admitted to Laval University in 1963, my very innocent adventures were suddenly frozen in memories. I was entering with difficulty into another life, very civilized, not conducive to daydreaming. It took me a while to adapt to it. But I carefully preserved in a region of my mind the lights, the magic of Montreal and New York… They are still there. In another life that doesn’t want to die.