Kenneth Gordon Savery, known simply as Gord, was born in Papineauville at the end of March 1955, but he always saw himself as a person from Val Morin who had moved to Sainte-Lucie. Gord, a key player in countless people’s lives, was a modest person who never saw himself as the centre of anything. His sister, Sandra, said he would be very surprised to think that he would be praised in a write-up.
Gord was the animator of a Rube Goldberg balancing people’s needs and we were a part of it. He explored deeply into the meaning of each of us and kept things going, balancing this and that, sometimes just making sure that we knew how to finish building the bathroom, or posing insightful questions about our personal interests, regardless of their complexity. He would report back to us over a beer, our friend and sounding board.
Gord could be anywhere in his finely balanced social construct. Everywhere he was, he kept us laughing – reflecting us back to ourselves. Like the time he was building a Formica-covered cabinet and our five-year-old son, David, watched, explaining to him with a son’s swagger: “My Dad would use a chain saw.” “He knows his dad,” Gord added, opening another beer.
Gord also travelled the world, and as his brother-in-law John Richard recalls, explored North America in his green Scout, converted into a camper complete with denim curtains. John also observes that he was an early environmentalist, repurposing almost anything. Gord’s colleague on many jobs, Claude Plouffe, referred to his stockpile as Reno-Gord. He often arrived with stuff that he proposed we re-use. He had a huge collection of things, because he didn’t want to see them discarded. If everyone thought like Gord, our whole society would go through a paradigm shift that would save our planet.
I remember calling and checking with every appropriate store for a modern propane adaptor to attach to my old gas stove. No-one could be bothered to help. When Gord dropped by, I told him what I had been looking for. “Oh,” he responded, “I have a couple of those in the back of the car.”
We could not find a small stainless-steel sink for the screen porch. Gord came to the rescue again, inviting us to drop by his place at the lake and choose one. He guided us through the various departments of his warehouse and its displays – under the trees – until we came to the one that consisted of small, stainless-steel bar sinks. Most remarkable, and no doubt a huge challenge for Kerry, his daughter, is that Gord knew exactly what he had and where it was in his incredible collection of… things seeking a loving home.
Gord built the porch, rebuilt most of the house and added a tower that looks like a silo on our gambrel-roofed house. We travelled to Ireland and brought Gord and Kerry a map of the Kingdom of Kerry in Ireland. He and Kerry made a map for us, showing the addition to our house and calling it ‘The Kingdom of the Tower.’
Regardless of the emergency or the situation, Gord never seemed fazed. John recalls that, back in the old days of Auberge Mont Sauvage, a rambunctious friend pushed Gord into the pool before the last call was to end a Friday post-work 5 à 7. Gord calmly climbed out, shed his wet clothes and made it to the bar for the last round.
A generation after David bragged about his father’s skill with a chainsaw, David’s daughter, Ozara, learning to talk but having trouble with her Rs, began calling him “Go-d.” We all laughed of course, and Gord took it in stride. Go-d was, after all, her ‘uncle’ who in her eyes could do anything and loved us all.
Having a beer… or a couple of beers…with Gord was a ritual. I figured when I stopped drinking beer, switching to shandies, and then just ginger ale, that Gord might feel our ritual was threatened.
He was too practical for that. He was concerned that, with his occasional few beers and no help from me, our supply would not stay fresh. Whether we were home or not, Gord would come by and replace our beer with a fresh supply. “It doesn’t keep, Joe. You have to use it up.”
He respected and valued things in his own clear way. I found some items in the recycling bin and asked Gord about them, saying they’re not on the list of things that can be recycled. “I recycle those…” he quipped.
At least I thought it was a quip until I heard a Quebec environmentalist on the radio saying in answer to a caller’s question, “Put them in the recycling bin. If enough people do, they’ll find a way to recycle them.”
One of the challenges in our relationships with Gord was that we had to share him. He was driven by emergencies. Urgent jobs would be completed…to a point. Then he risked being called elsewhere, to another emergency, in his huge social matrix.
Many people depended on Gord. Our dependency was also punctuated with emergencies and was one of friendship, but Gord went where he was needed the most, and in our need, we imagined – projected – a long friendship with some rocking chairs and a few cold beer awaiting. I am sure all who knew him had similar expectations.
Still, when the animator stopped suddenly on November 5, the Rube Goldberg stalled, and it took a while to realize that we must remain animated with or without Gord’s attention. To move forward in the big machine that Gord oiled and pampered (and always had the replacement parts for) is what we must do to honour our friendship, to honour Gord.
Gord was the animator of a Rube Goldberg balancing people’s needs and we were a part of it. He explored deeply into the meaning of each of us and kept things going, balancing this and that, sometimes just making sure that we knew how to finish building the bathroom, or posing insightful questions about our personal interests, regardless of their complexity. He would report back to us over a beer, our friend and sounding board.
Gord could be anywhere in his finely balanced social construct. Everywhere he was, he kept us laughing – reflecting us back to ourselves. Like the time he was building a Formica-covered cabinet and our five-year-old son, David, watched, explaining to him with a son’s swagger: “My Dad would use a chain saw.” “He knows his dad,” Gord added, opening another beer.
Gord also travelled the world, and as his brother-in-law John Richard recalls, explored North America in his green Scout, converted into a camper complete with denim curtains. John also observes that he was an early environmentalist, repurposing almost anything. Gord’s colleague on many jobs, Claude Plouffe, referred to his stockpile as Reno-Gord. He often arrived with stuff that he proposed we re-use. He had a huge collection of things, because he didn’t want to see them discarded. If everyone thought like Gord, our whole society would go through a paradigm shift that would save our planet.
I remember calling and checking with every appropriate store for a modern propane adaptor to attach to my old gas stove. No-one could be bothered to help. When Gord dropped by, I told him what I had been looking for. “Oh,” he responded, “I have a couple of those in the back of the car.”
We could not find a small stainless-steel sink for the screen porch. Gord came to the rescue again, inviting us to drop by his place at the lake and choose one. He guided us through the various departments of his warehouse and its displays – under the trees – until we came to the one that consisted of small, stainless-steel bar sinks. Most remarkable, and no doubt a huge challenge for Kerry, his daughter, is that Gord knew exactly what he had and where it was in his incredible collection of… things seeking a loving home.
Gord built the porch, rebuilt most of the house and added a tower that looks like a silo on our gambrel-roofed house. We travelled to Ireland and brought Gord and Kerry a map of the Kingdom of Kerry in Ireland. He and Kerry made a map for us, showing the addition to our house and calling it ‘The Kingdom of the Tower.’
Regardless of the emergency or the situation, Gord never seemed fazed. John recalls that, back in the old days of Auberge Mont Sauvage, a rambunctious friend pushed Gord into the pool before the last call was to end a Friday post-work 5 à 7. Gord calmly climbed out, shed his wet clothes and made it to the bar for the last round.
A generation after David bragged about his father’s skill with a chainsaw, David’s daughter, Ozara, learning to talk but having trouble with her Rs, began calling him “Go-d.” We all laughed of course, and Gord took it in stride. Go-d was, after all, her ‘uncle’ who in her eyes could do anything and loved us all.
Having a beer… or a couple of beers…with Gord was a ritual. I figured when I stopped drinking beer, switching to shandies, and then just ginger ale, that Gord might feel our ritual was threatened.
He was too practical for that. He was concerned that, with his occasional few beers and no help from me, our supply would not stay fresh. Whether we were home or not, Gord would come by and replace our beer with a fresh supply. “It doesn’t keep, Joe. You have to use it up.”
He respected and valued things in his own clear way. I found some items in the recycling bin and asked Gord about them, saying they’re not on the list of things that can be recycled. “I recycle those…” he quipped.
At least I thought it was a quip until I heard a Quebec environmentalist on the radio saying in answer to a caller’s question, “Put them in the recycling bin. If enough people do, they’ll find a way to recycle them.”
One of the challenges in our relationships with Gord was that we had to share him. He was driven by emergencies. Urgent jobs would be completed…to a point. Then he risked being called elsewhere, to another emergency, in his huge social matrix.
Many people depended on Gord. Our dependency was also punctuated with emergencies and was one of friendship, but Gord went where he was needed the most, and in our need, we imagined – projected – a long friendship with some rocking chairs and a few cold beer awaiting. I am sure all who knew him had similar expectations.
Still, when the animator stopped suddenly on November 5, the Rube Goldberg stalled, and it took a while to realize that we must remain animated with or without Gord’s attention. To move forward in the big machine that Gord oiled and pampered (and always had the replacement parts for) is what we must do to honour our friendship, to honour Gord.