The Broken Violonist of Hochelaga
It had not always been this way.
Sitting on the sidewalk, broken and frail, the skin of his face aged by the weather and cold from all those nights spent outside in the later part of his life.
Life had been so full of possibilities, yet, it was now reduced to the judgement of those passerby, who barely gave him a look, far from the connection he used to share with them in his early life.
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Jean was young, living with his parents and 3 siblings in Montréal, in the borough of Hochelaga. The house they were living in wasn't the biggest on Pie-IX boulevard, but it was confortable.
Jean's dad was a doctor, and worked very hard to provide a full life to his family. Getting a formal education was very important to him, and Jean, the oldest, was a few years prior enrolled in a private school were he could perfect his knowledge under the tutelage of the best teachers of the city.
A well rounded education was a priority for Jean's father.
In school Jean's became one of the top student, earning the pride of his father. He excelled in all fields, but particularly in his classical music class.
Jean was the first violinist of the school orchestra and was viewed as one of the best musician the school had seen and was promised to a very bright career. He was a prodigy.
Jean's soul vibrate each time he picked up his violin, allowing him to escape the sorrow of the day to day life after World War II.
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It was his first rehearsal at the OSM, he had never seen so many talented musician in the same room before.
Jean had auditioned for a place in the orchestra weeks ago, and was astonished when he received the letter in the mail, saying he had been accepted into the group.
The salary was going to be very modest, and would barely allow him to pay his rent, for the small appartement he was sharing with 3 other musicians on boulevard St-Laurent.
Jean had left the house earlier in the year, to the despair of his parents, to share a life with people who had the same affinity and dreams.
As he sat in his chair, preparing his violin and nervously looking at his surroundings, Jean knew he had made the right decision and this is where he was meant to be.
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The years that followed, Jean's talent propelled him to the ranks of first violinist at the OSM. The critics were in awe of his talents and that for the first time in the OSM's history, a French Canadien from Montréal, one of their own, was at the forefront of their beloved orchestra. In the post WWII climate, this was one of the rare balm on a city that was learning how to breath again.
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As time passed, Jean became so dedicated to his craft and his career, that it was his obsession. Despite the fact that his career was growing and he was acclaimed by the public and the critics, Jean's relationship with his father and family grew astray. He hadn't talked to his father in years, and was only able to speak with his mom, on a few times, on a few secret phones calls she was able to do in hiding of his father.
Being estranged to his family weighed a lot on Jean's soul, so he buried himself in his work, to try to forget about the pain that the situation caused him. Music was his only outlet, the only thing that made his soul vibrate and fulfilled him.
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Many decades later, Jean is sitting on the side walk, not knowing what happened to his life. He couldn't figure out where it took a left turn, and found himself homeless, begging for money, while playing on his violin, who many days, had broken strings. The choices the was left with was to use this money to buy himself food or replace the broken strings.
Some days, he was able to scramble for a little extra change, and replace that broken string.
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As I pass by this man on the sidewalk, many times I've heard him play, on his violin that was out of tune and missing a string.
Once in a while, he's been able to find a replacement string, and if you pay attention, you can hear the talent this man has and that resurfaces. Many will walk by, thinking it's just another person begging for money. I've thought so on many occasions. However, now when I walk by him, I remember the day I heard him and his music was so beautiful. I think of all the potential this man once had, and what kinda of stories he might be able to tell us. We all have a past, a present and a future, we just don't know everyone's full stories.
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