“The most special part of the process for MacDonald was when the … widows and some of their children came to visit his foundry. Nadine Larche made the imprint of her husband’s running shoe by pressing it into the base of his statue.
“The other widows also added their own personal touches to the public tribute, including some of their late husbands’ service medals …
“‘It’s just been a life-changing experience, having met these women and having shared the experiences of coming here in the foundry and [having] been entrusted with creating this,’ MacDonald said.
“‘I’m going to look back at this as a moment in my life. This is a huge chapter.’
“In a circle around the three life-size figures are maple leaves. MacDonald travelled to Moncton and had the officers’ family members, their fellow Mounties, school children, and citizens imprint their fingerprints on wax versions of the maple leaves, which were later bronzed.
“He hopes the monument becomes ‘basically the heart and soul,’ of the tragedy and helps ‘people of the area really recognize the sacrifice that these men have made and what it means to be a police officer.’”
When I was inside the tent, Morgan kept giving people permission to walk up onto the sculpture’s large platform and stand among the officers, to get a close-up view of the tiny details. People hesitated at first, not wanting to seem crass or out of line. But at the artist’s urging, both children and adults started walking up to and around the three officers. It was moving and extraordinary to witness.
People carefully examined everything. They seemed in awe. They touched it. Pointed. Gasped. Cried. Smiled. Sighed. Hugged.
Morgan urged me to go up and look inside Constable Gevaudan’s dress hat, which the officer is holding in one hand. As this was before the public unveiling, I did not know the exact details of the memorial.
I carefully walked up onto the statue platform and went around the back of Gevaudan’s likeness. I bent down and looked inside the hat and was immediately moved – actually, blown away – by what I saw depicted. It is a picture, a snapshot, Constable Gevaudan always carried with him, of himself with his daughter Emma. The cast-in-bronze representation of the photo is placed inside the hat’s bottom, facing outwards. In the picture, the father and daughter are beaming and smiling and look happy. It was crushing and beautiful all at the same time.
Morgan explained to me that many officers, members of the military, and first responders carry photos of their families with them, either in their hats, or on their person while they are working and serving.
Fabrice and Emma’s smiles continue in perpetuity, as does our love for someone beloved when they die. Morgan’s ability to capture the three officers’ essence is extraordinary.
That is another crucial aspect of this artwork that is special; each person who views it will see something different, a detail meaningful to them, even though we all view the same monument. That is the true beauty of art: it represents something unique for each person.
Morgan has created a masterpiece and a legacy.
The bronze sculptures and Honour Garden give the three families, the New Brunswick RCMP, the people of Moncton, and the wider community a unified symbol of peace, hope, and gratitude. It is a location where people can weep, contemplate, grieve, reunite, meditate, talk, and pray; where they can simply just be in the moment. It is a place to honour those who have paid the ultimate price and made the ultimate sacrifice, while protecting others.
Angela Gevaudan gave her large talking stick, the maple masterpiece handcrafted by Elder Joe Michael used at the private event, to Morgan. The Gevaudan family talking stick has found its permanent home in Logy Bay, Newfoundland. Angela gave it to Morgan at the public unveiling event, a surprise the artist was not expecting and one that occurred in front of the massive crowd of hundreds of onlookers.
“As soon as I got back from Newfoundland after working with him [at the foundry] I felt this is where the stick needed to go,” Angela said.
Angela Gevaudan described the Moncton Honour Garden and Morgan’s accompanying statue as a “peaceful place [where] people can take from it what they need.”
It appears from the initial reaction that is exactly what is happening. The enormity of the public response, welcome, and gratitude Morgan had received for his work was just beginning to sink in when we spoke.
“I’m sure if you went there now … there would still be a group of people looking at it and soaking it all in. I’m just flabbergasted [with] that outpouring [of support.] It goes back to why I wanted to have those thumbprints and those leaves [on the statue’s base]. In a small way, it reflects what everybody was going through – the community outpouring of support. It’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like that before,” the artist said, of the overwhelming response from the people of Moncton and throughout Canada.
As mentioned, the base of the monument is surrounded by twelve maple leaves. Each maple leaf has thumbprints on it. Morgan travelled to Moncton in February 2015 to visit several spots where people could come and place their own prints in wax, which would, in turn, be sculpted in bronze around the foot of the statue.
Morgan collected 1,500 thumbprints at several New Brunswick locations over the course of a week. He went to Dieppe City Hall, Riverview City Hall, and three different schools. Additionally, each family of the three fallen officers also had their own private thumbprint sessions, as did the RCMP.
Morgan collected so many thumbprints he worried about being able to fit them all on the monument. He said many people were visibly moved when donating their prints. “They were breaking down in front of you; brings it home what it all means. It’s amazing. Again, I’ve never experienced anything like that.”
He realized there were stories behind the thumbprints. He never asked anyone why they donated theirs, but he had a strong sense that some were residents who lived in the area where the tragedy and lockdown occurred, or they were officers not in uniform. “There were certain people, you could tell, they were holding it together, but out of the corner of your eye, after they were done, you could see them shedding a little tear on the side,” the artist said.
The RCMP detachment visit was especially moving, according to Morgan. “The people who came there, it was intentful. There was purpose in it. There was an anticipation of doing that. There was a lot of care of wanting to get the prints, and people would take care after they gave the prints. The whole thing had gravity to it.”
The tiniest details hold power and weight. People have taken ownership and wanted to be part of the legacy.
The artist does approximately one public statue unveiling per year. He has grown accustomed to presenting in front of government officials, business leaders, and other dignitaries. What made him nervous about the Moncton unveiling was anticipating the reactions from the three RCMP wives, families, and their loved ones. Morgan said he wanted everything as perfect as possible for them.
“My nervousness came from the wives seeing it for the first time; this is it – this is the final work of art. Even though they have been in the foundry and participated in the process … they see the visual of it in clay, but that’s not the bronze. To have them see it for the first time, you want to do it justice. You want to do the memory of the guys the best you possibly can. My worry is, Am I doing the best as I can, given the circumstances?” he said.
Morgan tried his best to make each family as comfortable and as welcome as possible when they travelled to Newfoundland to the foundry to help in the creative process. “If you can imagine, I am a total stranger to them at this point, and to do something so personal. ‘Your husband has passed away and you are trusting this situation – that is so painful,’ that’s what was going through my mind, the pain of this … I opened the foundry up and if they wanted to be there alone, totally fine by me. … I let them guide the process, as opposed to me saying, This is the agenda.”
JL: “Is there a part of you in that memorial?”
M
M: “Artwork is like your handwriting … how you write, your personality comes through and your soul and spirit is encompassed in the artwork itself. Just the act of doing it, it just encapsulates it; it’s infused with who you are.”
Morgan’s answer is beautiful and true of any creative process, whether the craft is sculpting, painting, writing, cooking, dancing, singing, or playing a musical instrument. “You can’t separate yourself from it … that’s what art is, that unique expression that comes from the person who creates it,” he said.
Morgan was also concerned about the tight project deadline and having everything ready for the June 4, 2016, unveiling. He began the actual construction process in September 2015. He had only nine months to complete it, a staggering timeline that resulted in him working seven days a week, for twelve to thirteen hours a day. Some days he worked longer, into the early morning hours. “On the odd third or fourth day, I would be staying up in the foundry until two or three in the morning to keep ahead of the project,” he said.
He took pictures every day of his progression. “Any small error in casting of the foundry process, and I’m talking a minor error, if I forgot to order a certain material or it’s not arriving on time, an equipment failure or a million variables that goes into creating a statue, if I wasn’t on the ball with it, it would be delayed by a week or two weeks.”
That was never an option because the unveiling took place two years to the day when the officers died. “The weight of this is not lost on me – the importance of getting it done,” Morgan said. “It’s a million emotions in me. It [the tragedy] upsets me the way it upsets other people … when the wives are telling their stories and through the project you get to know them, they become friends, and then you’re at the unveiling and you see the kids interacting with it, it’s just like a dagger through the heart.”
After the success and emotion of the unveiling and the memorial weekend, the artist returned to the Honour Garden the day after, on June 5, 2016, to get portfolio pictures of the sculpture. These are photos of the artwork in its final location and home without anyone in the shots. There was such a crowd, even the following day, it was impossible for the artist to shoot professional pictures of his artwork. “I’m literally there for hours and I can’t find a moment, literally two seconds to get an unobstructed view. The hush over people just looking at it – this is insane. I’ve never see that; the emotion of it, it’s just awe. It’s incredible.”
Morgan tried his best to encapsulate and summarize the legacy he has dutifully and painstakingly created for generations to come: “They [the individual statues] exist in a public place now; a likeness of them that people can go and see … for a very, very long time. [It’s] who they are: their essence, their biography. Their lives are going to transcend our generation. After I am gone, after you are gone, after your children are gone and your grandchildren, [the statue will stand]. So that, in and of itself, is comforting for the wives – to know that, as long as they are here on the planet, they’re going to be able to go down and see them be honoured in such a way.”
Morgan MacDonald’s Legacy Letter
To the people of Moncton:
From the outset of creating the RCMP monument for Doug Larche, Dave Ross, and Fabrice Gevaudan, my goal has been for this to be as positive and meaningful as it could be for the families of these men.
I have been chosen to create many pieces in the past for communities, but nothing so raw, emotional, and present as their stories.
Knowing how important the moments I would spend with the wives, in the years to come, and for their own family history, would be, I wanted to ensure they had every opportunity to tell the stories they felt mattered.
This has been a difficult project to accomplish.
This is true not only because of the physical act of creating a bronze sculpture and all its intricate detail, but for the story, the events, and the reason why it was being created.
Most of all, the difficulty was in the challenge to evoke and encapsulate the spirit of who these men were.
Its goal: to give meaning and closure to the community, and a space to reflect on their sacrifice.
In doing this, I had the honour of sharing in the story of their lives. These three men were complete strangers to me. I have never met them, and unfortunately never will – in this lifetime.
For me, I had the unique opportunity to walk in their footsteps and see first-hand the legacy they have left behind.
Whether it was friends, co-workers, or close family, you could get a sense of what it may have been like to meet them.
After so much time focused on the piece, what I’m left with is an unexplainable feeling as if I knew them. In this respect, through the work, I think I may be like every other person who will experience this monument in the years to come.
Every time someone visits the work, and takes the time to experience the piece, they will discover a part of them, they will get a sense of their story, who they were, and maybe walk in their footsteps for a while – to know what it is they have given to the community.
The community is safer because of them, and they represent what is good.
As time goes on, I believe what will endure is their spirit, the good they represent, and all else will fade away – in time.
I don’t think we have any concept of who and how many people this will touch, in the future, as it will be there for a very long time.
In the end, I hope others can find strength and purpose in Doug’s, Dave’s, and Fabrice’s story.
Realize that every moment, however seemingly insignificant, as long as we are here – is important – and that we can achieve much in our own lives.
9
Angela Gevaudan: White Eagle Dove’s Wisdom
(Angela Gevaudan has generously shared the speech she gave at the public unveiling ceremony of the RCMP monument in the Moncton Honour Garden in 2016. It follows in full.)
My name is Angela Gevaudan. My spirit name is White Eagle Dove, bestowed upon me by my Elder Joe Michael. We are very fortunate to have Joe with us today. Thank you, Joe, for your offering.
Joe entrusted this talking stick to me some time ago. A talking stick is considered sacred in Mi’kmaq culture. When holding it, you must speak the truth and speak from your heart. Speaking your truth is also a Reiki principle Fabrice and I shared as a core value. Being open and honest with each other even when it was uncomfortable to do so is the main reason our relationship was so strong.
We trusted one another implicitly.
It’s been difficult for me to relinquish the relationship I shared with Fabrice.
The word “relinquish” actually came to me from a definition for a synonym of “widow.” I’ve never liked the word “widow.” For me, it conjures up images of a woman, dressed in black, face covered with a veil, completely defined by the loss of her husband. If you look up the word “widow,” you will find sentence examples like, “… she lived alone, with her cats, like a much older woman, a poor widow.” I have read about women who are actually ostracized in some cultures when their husbands die.
These women are seen as vulnerable. Many are abused and discarded. You can appreciate my reluctance to accept this … label. The words and definitions we accept as truths greatly impact the way we feel about our experiences.
I ended up continuing my research to see if there was another word I could relate to a little more, when I came across the word “relict.” “Relict” is listed as a synonym for widow in the sense that you “… relinquish what once was.”
I suppose there isn’t one word that can fully describe this experience for me.
There are so many different aspects to it. But that definition got me thinking about the idea of letting go. It’s not easy to let go of someone you love, to let go of the life you knew and cherished, but what is the alternative?
Is it a disservice to their spirit and, more importantly, to us, when we try to hold on to what is no longer? If someone offers you a gif
t, and your response is “… but I want more,” what are you really saying?
Fabrice, Emma, and I never took one another for granted. We were grateful to be together, to learn from each other, to appreciate each and every experience and moment we shared.
We never felt “entitled” in any way, but understood that every intimate relationship we are able to share in this life is a precious gift. For these, and so many other reasons, I do not carry the burden of regret.
The time we shared is the gift. We are disillusioned with the expectation of having a certain amount of time on this Earth. When an elderly person passes away, we may be sad, but tend to be more accepting.
When a younger person dies, we say things like, “They barely had a chance to live, it isn’t fair; they were taken far too soon.” The truth is: none of us really knows how much time we get.
I believe we each have a different amount of time to be able to accomplish what we are meant to accomplish in this life.
There are people who live for a hundred years, but never really do anything with their time. There are also people, like Fabrice, who, at the age of forty-five, had travelled the world, lived on nearly every continent, felt the thrill of adventure, educated himself, worked in many different fields, realized his dream of becoming a peace officer, and gave of himself fully to me and to Emma.
Fab would often credit his parents, Laurence and Jacques, for the values they instilled in him. He was proud of their approach, a delicate balance of nurturing and discipline. From their teachings, along with his curiosity and determination, Fabrice chose to live a heart-centred life.
Perhaps in some way, Fabrice, Doug, and Dave will continue their roles as protectors by having their lives shared in a way that will help break the stigmas surrounding policing, and replace the hate directed at them with the love that has been shown to us – their families.
Perhaps those who visit this monument will see that these men, like all police officers, are, at the end of the day, human.
The Legacy Letters Page 12
