Towers of Song

Bon Soir and on to my next Montreal missive, revolving around one of its favorite sons, Leonard Cohen.

Last time I was there, Leonard was still among the living, and while I suppose I could’ve run into him by chance, it is impossible not to encounter his memory these days, re; all the tributes scattered throughout the city. Particularly impressive is the 22-story-tall Towers of Song mural that is visible pretty much everywhere, including the top of the mountain. It followed me everywhere. I have to say, it’s pretty cool when your city’s most prominent tribute is to an artist – as opposed to a general or grifter.

There is a second mural, not far from his old house, facing Park Portugal, kitty corner from Rue Marianne. An offering sits on the front steps awaiting Leonard’s return. Across the street from the park sits Bagel Etc., which was apparently his favorite breakfast haunt. I sat next to his empty stool, marked for the ages. A woman came in for some carry out, she was from the neighborhood, and we got to chatting, and yes, she said she would indeed see him there from time to time, at the counter, and he was always gracious always polite, always said hello her. Her name? Suzanne.

Speaking of Suzanne, I also happened by the Our Lady of the Harbor mentioned in “Suzanne,” as I was strolling through Old Montreal one day (pictured here). The Sailor’s Church is another name for the Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours Chapel, where “the sun pours down like honey” as the song goes. Leonard was friends with the owner of St. Viateur Bagel, another city institution that was founded in the fifties by Myer Lewkowicz, a Polish immigrant who survived the Beuchnwald concentration camp.

As a young man, Cohen also would also occasionally frequent the St. Joseph Oratory cafeteria; it’s the largest church in Canada, a fascinating visit and only ten minutes’ walk from where I was staying in Cote Des Neges. McGill University, of course, was his alma mater and the place that published his first book. So, in other words, there were touchstones everywhere. That said, I didn’t make it to Westmount, where he grew up, or the high school from which both Cohen and Kamala Harris graduated. Most of these arcane facts I knew already, except I was not aware that his family was very well-to-do and prominent in the city, and that his grandparents came from Lithuania, as mine did.

And so it was that I did set out to visit the family grave, walking through Cimiterie Mount Royal, past imposing tombstones and triple hearts. Later in the week, I’d catch Allison Russell at the jazz festival mainstage and she talks of how she used to sleep there sometimes, as a young homeless woman seeking refuge, fleeing from abuse. Leonard and his family rest in the other side of the main cemetrie, at the north end of the slope, in the Congregation Shaar Hashomayim section. As with his house, there were tributes and trinkets left by fellow travelers. I stayed a little while, paying homage, nodding to people coming and going. Thank you for the song, Mr. Cohen, thank you for your service.