We were 17 or 18 years old. Coming from high schools in various regions of Quebec, we were a few dozen adolescents gathered in a special class of belles-lettres, boarders at the Collège Sacré-Cœur in Victoriaville. Transition year between the scientist and the classical course.
The program was full. Michel flew over all subjects with disconcerting ease. He already had the permanent angelic smile, the piercing gaze and the charisma that marked all those who knew him afterwards.
At the student residence, on the sixth floor, we were roommates. Like happy and somewhat turbulent siblings, we shared our daily life from morning to night: navy blazer, gray pants, white shirt and wine red tie. Meals in the refectory, discovery classes six days a week, daily curfew, upstairs television lounge… Where we learned together, in deafening silence, the death of John Fitzgerald Kennedy…
We discovered the world of classical humanities, guided by masters who were often passionate and contagious, but sometimes soporific and disconnected… But always, in the total enthusiasm of the hungry spirits that we were.
Michel was interested in everything with a contagious passion. I remind you that we were seventeen. And our discussions undoubtedly already gave a glimpse of the adults and professionals that we were going to become.
After a few years at the college, I had the pleasure of meeting Michel at Laval University. He had not changed, quite the contrary: all his qualities as a charismatic, gentle and curious communicator had developed. Like at 17, like sixty years later, he shed a light on his entire environment, in a constant search for the good, the beautiful, the best.
Michel Nadeau, thank you.