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December 25, 1999: The Cournoyer 14th Annual Christmas Dinner (At Pam's Restaurant of course)
by Howard Freedman

December 25th is a boring day for those that donÕt celebrate Christmas. Everything is closed on that day in Toronto. Well, almost everything. A few restaurants are open, perhaps a Jewish deli or a Chinese take-out. And of course, PamÕs Restaurant is open on Christmas Day. PamÕs is a Toronto tradition, having been in business for decades. The Cournoyer family has been going to PamÕs for their Christmas dinner each year since Mrs. Cournoyer passed away.

PamÕs is located at Yonge and Eglinton in mid-town Toronto. I was out for a walk today, debating between treating myself to a slice of JoeÕs Pizza and having my third coffee at the Java Cup. I went for the Java Cup. The only patron besides me was Robert Cournoyer, an old classmate from high school. Robert and I werenÕt particularly close in high school, and I hadnÕt seen him in over twenty years. I recognised him though and introduced myself. I remembered RobertÕs last name, but not his first.

Robert caught me up on the last twenty years relatively quickly. He works part-time in the evenings as a security guard for a condominium. He worked full time as a security guard at TorontoÕs Eaton Centre for a few years, after graduating from university. He never worked in his field of study, which was urban geography. I asked him why he quit the full time job at the Eaton Centre. His reply: ÔAll security guards want to be copsÕ. Okay, I thought, I guess it must be difficult to have to listen to frustrated wannabe policemen. I made myself a mental note about RobertÕs comment; it sounded like an idea for a story. Robert continued. His mother died fourteen years ago. She had a heart attack. Robert said his father killed her. I gasped. ÔRobert, you just said ---Ô. ÔOh, donÕt take me literally,Õ he cautioned. ÔI just mean he contributed to her stress with his vicious temper. Anyway, when the olÕ lady died, I moved back home to help take care of my dad. I didnÕt really need a full time job then, and I hated the other guards at the mall anyway. Dad and I go to PamÕs every year for Christmas dinner, since the olÕ lady died.Õ

ÔSounds like a nice tradition,Õ I offered. ÔNo, no way. My olÕ man says, WeÕre going to PamÕs and weÕre GONNA enjoy it. I always go along, I figure I owe it to the olÕ man to go with him. He lost his wife, and my sister doesnÕt talk to him. She feels the same way about how mom died as I do, but she wonÕt forgive him. I figure dad didnÕt mean any real harm, its just his way and heÕll never change.Õ Robert laughs. ÔI think the real reason sisÕ wonÕt talk to the olÕ man is so she can avoid the Christmas dinner at PamÕs.

ÔIs the dinner that bad?Õ I asked. ÔOh, itÕs not the food, the food is quite good. ItÕs just that the same thing happens every year. We get in there and ---. Hey you know what, be a friend, come join us tonight? ItÕll take the pressure off me, and maybe the olÕ man will be better with company around.Õ ÔWell, I, uh, was going to ---Ô. ÔCÕmon, do it for a bud from your old track team.Õ ÔI was never on ---Ô ÔWell, we took shop together, remember, wood shop with Mr. Staples?Õ ÔNo, I never took ---. Oh alright, IÕll do it.Õ My plans were only to go to a movie by myself. Besides, the evening started to sound amusing. IÕve had a tradition with a group of guys to go for breakfast every Sunday. WeÕve been doing that for thirteen years now. This Cournoyer tradition is even older than Breakfast Club! Pretty impressive!

Robert told me his dad made a reservation for 6 oÕclock. I came a few minutes late and spotted Robert in line with his father. I could hear Mr. Cournoyer grumbling. I joined them in the line and Robert introduced me to his father. ÔAh whatÕs my idiot son doing now, invitinÕ old high school people he hasnÕt seen in---Christ, why canÕt he ever bring a GIRL along to our Christmas dinner.Õ ÔDad, HowieÕs an old friend from ---Ô ÔI donÕt wanna hear about that. Christ, every year they mess up the reservation. Next year we ought to go somewhere else.Õ ÔDad, I suggested, you know, some of the hotels ---Ô ÔNah, forget it, weÕre already here, and itÕs a TRADITIONÕ

Finally we reached the front of the line and the hostess asked if we had a reservation. ÔYeah,Õ Mr Cournoyer shouted, ÔCournoyer for three. My idiot son phoned and changed the reservation this afternoon.Õ The hostess took the reservation book from the counter. ÔLetÕs see, IÕve got one for Collins, thatÕs for four, and Kormen for two---Ô ÔNO, its Cournoyer, same as the hockey player.Õ ÔHockey?Õ the woman looked puzzled. Robert seemed irritated; he looked like he really had to hold back. ÔProbably before the womanÕs time, dad.Õ ÔAh, no one remembers when hockey was good. That Canadiens team was magnificent. Yvan Cournoyer was a helluva hockey player. Robert looked at me. He whispered, ÔSay nothing and enjoy the ride.Õ

We finally got seated at 7. Mr Cournoyer complained throughout the entire meal about the messed up reservation. Robert nodded his head in agreement, but didnÕt say a word. Mr. Cournoyer kept on about the Canadiens management. ÔThat silly team, look who they trade. Roy, Damphousse, Carbonneau, we coulda used those guys. You follow hockey, Howard?Õ ÔYes, but IÕm a Leaf fan, I replied.Õ Mr. Cournoyer smiled. ÔAh we had the better team in Õ67. Beliveau, Richard, Backstrom, and of course, good olÕ # 12, Yvan Cournoyer.Õ I debated him for a bit. I mentioned that Tim Horton was always my favourite player. ÔYeah, Mr. Cournoyer grumbled. Nobody remembers Tim. They go into those donut shops and donÕt see anything about the guy. Man, he was something. Miles Gilbert Horton. # 7. And that guy who wore # 14, Davey Keon ? He grabbed the Conn Smythe that year, didnÕt he? See, MY son isnÕt INTERESTED in this stuff, all he can talk about is that silly new basketball team we got here, whatÕs their name again?Õ

The waitress arrived with the bill. Mr. Cournoyer told her the meal was splendid. Robert looked shocked. I offered to contribute, but Mr. Cournoyer refused. The bill came to fourty dollars, including tax. He left a fifty-dollar bill on the table and we left.

ÔWell, that was swell, Howard. YouÕll join us next year?Õ ÔUh, sure, Mr. Cournoyer, wouldnÕt miss it for the world.Õ ÔGreat, my boy, great. IÕll go get the car.Õ Mr. Cournoyer left, and Robert and I shook hands. ÔSomething came over my olÕ man,Õ Robert mentioned. He seemed to calm down near the end. Usually he gets so cheap about the tip, and he starts barking about Chretien and the GST and how the service was lousy. It was nice for a change ---. Hey, listen about next year, you donÕt have to---Ô ÔRobert, its ok.Õ I gave him my phone number and suggested he call me for this for next year if his dad wanted.Õ I explained that I felt that traditions were important, and IÕd be happy to be part of this one once a year. It did seem to make him happy.Õ Mr. Cournoyer had come around with the car. Robert got in. Mr. Cournoyer waved to me. He was smiling. They drove off.

I walked home after, thinking about the day. When I got home I dug out some old hockey cards I saved, including Yvan CournoyerÕs card. I put it in an envelope and stapled the envelope to my year 2000 daytimer, on the page for December 25, 2000.