Editorially speaking...
(Disclaimer: This isn’t another of my rants against the decision to demolish the award-winning, internationally renowned and highly popular Gold Rush/Old Town Exhibit in the Royal B.C. Museum in the name of so-called decolonization.
(Rather, it’s a lighthearted personal anecdote about the man who designed that wonderful exhibit 50 years ago and who died in Victoria last week, aged 90.)
As some of you will have seen in the news, tributes are pouring in to the family of Jean Andre, who was internationally recognized for his magic in creating many stunning museum exhibits (including the fairly recent remake of Duncan’s Cowichan Valley Museum).
I came to know Jean back in the early 1970s when I still lived in Saanich and he’d just arrived with his wife Joan and two sons. Somehow he came to know of the spelunking group that I and several friends belonged to and started going underground with us, he having had considerable experience in his home country, France.
Quiet and gentlemanly, Jean was a dozen years older than most of us but it didn’t show other than that we young bucks instinctively recognized and bowed to his maturity and superior worldly wisdom. As there was no questioning his spelunking ability, it was all a natural fit.
(I could go on about how we came to blackmail the B.C. government into making a provincial park of the Horne Lake area’s Riverbend Caves. And of the day we took renowned flautist Paul Horn underground so he could compare the acoustics of a cave with those of the Taj Mahal, but those are stories for another day.)
So, sticking to my original intention:
One Saturday several of us were invited to dinner with the Andres. Beside Jean and Joan there were fellow spelunkers Dave, Paul and I. Upon arrival we all sat in the living room while Joan finished preparing what proved to be my introduction to the African dish, couscous—and a new appreciation for curry.
But I digress. Jean offered everyone a beer which they willingly accepted. But, knowing that I didn’t care for brew, he drew me slightly aside and told me that he had something he just knew I’d appreciate: 125-year-old Napoleon brandy from his late father’s cellar.
He gently, almost reverentially, showed me an old wine bottle then carefully poured about half an inch of dark amber liquid into a small liqueur glass. As he passed it to me by sliding it across the table he told me there was one condition:
If I enjoyed it, great! But, if I didn’t care for it, I must promise that I’d tell him so and give it back to him so that it wouldn’t go unappreciated.
I agreed, of course, and taking the glass in hand, raised it to my lips, inserted my tongue, inhaled its delicious aroma and sipped.
What could I say, I, a Harvey’s Cream guy, thought it was bitter—eeeuuww.
That tiny sip was enough for me so I honoured our pact by politely telling Jean that, thank you for your generosity and consideration in sharing your father’s private stock with me, but I really don’t care for it.
Rather than having hurt his feelings, I saw his eyes light up—more for him!
At that, I placed the glass on the table. Just as he reached for it, I heard Dave, seated to my left and who hadn’t been part of Jean’s and my experiment, say, “You don’t want that? I’ll take it.”
In a blink, Dave’s hand shot out, grabbed the liqueur glass and poured its contents into his beer!
I swear I saw Jean, who was as physically fit as we younger cavers, almost choke, turn purple as his eyes bugged out as he saw his father’s priceless cognac disappear in a tall glass of cheap suds.
I don’t remember much of the rest of the evening (other than the delicious couscous) but for the fact that Jean was very quiet. Had something on his mind, I supposed.
(I’m sure that Jean won’t mind my sharing this with you and that he’s pleased to know that he’ll be better remembered for his many great accomplishments than for this scribble which I hope you found mildly amusing.)
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If you wish to read a more serious take on Jean Andre’s remarkable career, Google him to see the Times-Colonist tribute of January 7, 2022.