“He had a beautiful wool Canadiens sweater, with a zipper neck, he told us that it made all the ladies at the residence smile when he put it on,” says Danielle the hairdresser.
It seems that Mr. Gilbert lived his last moments in good spirits. “He was in great shape, we played pranks, we laughed… It was all there!”
Thursday morning, one of the victim's sons came to greet the employees of the hair salon, trying to find meaning in the unspeakable. “He told us ‘he died with a very nice haircut’”. Everyone's eyes glaze over a little as they recount the scene.
For the owner of the hair salon, the tragedy takes on a bitter odor. Yannick Parent shows an email sent to the City last July, demanding that we act and install a stop sign at the intersection. “There has been no child hit, but it will surely come,” he points out in the message he wrote.
Ironically, it was an elder who agreed with him, laments the hairdresser. The other hairdressers agree, pointing out that the two nearby schools leave no doubt about the urgency of intervening. “We hear the tires screeching all the time,” they argue.
It was at the Studio Garbo hair salon, a stone's throw from the intersection that he was going to try to cross one last time, that Mr. Gilbert experienced his last moments. (Sébastien Houle/Le Nouvelliste)
At the corner of the street, Madame Mercier the crossing guard watches over her intersection with maternal vigilance. Flashing signals that are activated using a button do not always have the desired deterrent effect. “It seems like we mock those who will stop, then those who will not stop,” explains the municipal employee.
She relates that barely 24 hours ago, Mr. Gilbert seemed in full control of his abilities when leaving the hair salon. He got into his four-wheeler and entered the intersection along the pedestrian crossing. The car arriving on his side never slowed down – information corroborated by the Sûreté du Québec, which is investigating the event.
What happens next is a series of macabre details that the brigadier tries to put out of her mind. “I didn’t really sleep all night,” she murmurs.
On Thursday, Madame Mercier thought for a moment about being replaced. “But I told myself I had to face the music.” Each child she took across during the day was given a call to order. “Attention! There is a gentleman who died here yesterday while crossing.”
On avenue des Cèdres, which passes in front of the town hall, which goes up towards the Gervais Auto Center, avenue de la Transmission, then the Saint-Marc district, the appearance of some betrays an eagerness not marked by civic-mindedness .
“Sometimes I have visions, I see a carpet with nails coming out of the crosspiece when I press the button,” quips the brigadier.
A child comes running from the Immaculée-Conception school, a stone's throw from the intersection. Benevolent and authoritarian at the same time, Madame Mercier calls him by his first name. “Wait! Wait! I'll take you across…”
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