Although these events happened 72 years ago in March, 1946, quite far away and long ago, the cold, early-morning and grim discovery that I heard about from my bedroom adjacent to the kitchen still rings crystal clear in my mind, “Jacqueline est morte et François est à l’hôpital” – “Jacqueline is dead and François is in the hospital.”
My aunt Florence, whose sister, Beatrice, had attempted to end her own life through coal gas poisoning had unwittingly snuffed out the life of my lovely girl-friend, Jacqueline, and, soon thereafter, that of her brother, François.
See above the PDF copy of the Lowell Sun article obtained recently from the Boston Public Library. I, unfortunately, was not able to obtain this dramatic piece of local history through the Lowell Public Library where all microfiche data regarding news of the city are normally stored. This seems curious.
However, as the Fates might have it, she herself managed to escape the usually fatal consequences, but soon found herself a suspected murderess.
My two, Centralville playmates suffered the consequences of their frightened mother’s confusion and desperation.
Confusion and grief reigned in my home as I overheard anguished (all in French) conversations between my mother and Aunt Florence. who seemed to be constantly chatting in and around our kitchen-pantry area. “It will be in the newspaper. Everyone will know about this horrible, awful mistake.”
My Aunt was very concerned that strangers and friends – indeed, everyone in the city – would look down upon her whole family, forever. It seemed to be a case of pride since the Galibois family name – her maiden name – carried a sterling quality in the region of Montreal.
To me, much of this anguish of words appeared nonsensical since my lovely friend was dead in a casket at Ouellette’s Funeral Parlor, just up the street. I was angry, confused and lost. My brain had gone numb a few days before. There was nobody to talk with. My brother Bob was only three years old. He could not yet grasp the raging despair in my guts.
The nuns at school seemed to accept this tragedy in their own prayerful way. There was serenity plus several rosaries said of “Hail Mary and Our Father” pleas behind their very quiet composure. And, as for my mother and father? Mom seemed to tremble in the wake of this family tragedy while Dad remained stern and silent, as always. How could he be so strong showing little emotion when I was vomiting inside?
I really felt alone in the whole world. My emotional bottom had be ripped out from under me. My stomach churned and churned. Why this fatal blow?
