MY SHORT FRIENDSHIP WITH LEONARD COHEN

 

My principal hangout was Club 22 at the Windsor Arms. It was a place where I felt at home, comfortable and confident. One evening, as I wandered into the club, I did not immediately see any familiar faces, so I ordered a drink at the bar. As I scanned the room, however, I noticed a solitary figure nursing a drink at a nearby table. It was Leonard Cohen.

 Gathering my courage, I approached him. "Hey Leonard, I'm Gary LeDrew, a friend of Lesley McDonnell. She talks a lot about you." Instantly, Leonard's eyes lit up. "The beautiful Lesley. Have you seen her lately?" he asked. "Not much since she married that St. Nicholas guy," I replied. We exchanged a few words about Lesley, each appreciating her in our own ways, and then our conversation naturally drifted to other topics.

 Born in Montreal, I shared my brief city history with Leonard, who himself had a strong connection to Montreal. He let me know he was in town for an opening at an art gallery on Dundas Street. The artist showcased had painted images inspired by some of Leonard's released songs. The opening was the next evening, and Leonard mentioned he had to attend but seemed relaxed about it.

 As the night grew older, we continued drinking and talking, covering a wide range of subjects from gossip to philosophy. Leonard appeared shy and uncomfortable in Toronto, admitting he had no friends around at that time. Despite his emerging fame, with three records out and a tour underway, he still seemed very unassuming.

 We stayed at the club until nearly closing time, and as we parted, Leonard invited me to join him at the gallery opening the next night. Our conversation had been warm, and he seemed to genuinely enjoy our time together. However, I explained to him that I couldn't attend because of a personal commitment—I was to see my daughters for the first time in five years.

 The next day had been a whirlwind. I received a surprise phone call from my ex-wife, who told me she had broken up with the man who had been preventing me from seeing my daughter Sarah. She offered that I could pick Sarah up that evening, provided I take her younger sister Shaleen as well. I agreed without hesitation, filled with joy at the prospect of reuniting with my daughters.

 When I recounted this to Leonard, he insisted, "Look man, I really need you to go. I don't really know anybody there and frankly, the whole thing is a bit embarrassing. I need the support, and you at least know the art scene." Even after I protested about not having seen my daughter in five years, he gently persuaded me, "So bring them. I'll take care of it."

 Thus, I found myself at the gallery opening the next night with Sarah and Shaleen in tow. The evening was a blur of wine, laughter, and a touch of chaos as the kids tore through the gallery with Leonard's full support. He remained polite during a couple of interviews but soon immersed himself in the informal atmosphere, a glass of wine always in hand. He was splendid with the children, and somewhere out there, a videotape exists capturing Leonard with Sarah in one arm, and Shaleen in the other, also holding a glass of wine.

 Eventually, I got the girls home, their spirits high from the unexpected adventure, and made arrangements for Sunday. I met Leonard briefly the next day for a few drinks before he caught the train back to Montreal. In my usual fashion at that time, I didn’t exchange phone numbers—I always assumed I'd see people again. Life took me to Uxbridge for a time, and upon my return to Club 22, I learned Leonard had asked about me a few times but I never crossed paths with him again.

 Years passed, and although I attempted to send a message when he came through on tour, I never received a reply. As it turned out, it was nearly 40 years before I would hear anything about him again. My fleeting but memorable night with Leonard remains a treasured snippet of my life, marked by deep conversations, unexpected reunions, and the serendipity that made that night unforgettable.