Wilfred James Vigneault

After being born in Pictou, Nova Scotia, to Bell Vigneault, née Dickey, and Charles Vigneault on April 17th, 1941, his family would soon move to Halifax, during World War 2, a time he vividly remembered, despite his young age (“Everyone was wearing a uniform!”).

As a young man, he was much affected by the early and sudden death of his father – when Wilf was just seventeen. At that time, he was already excelling academically, going on to earn a master’s degree in literature. That sharp-tongued facility with words would follow him throughout his life as a career journalist, although in the seventies he took a hiatus from journalism for a few years, working as the DJ for the very popular “Piccadilly” dance club in Halifax, and as a cab driver, before returning to journalism.

Journalism took him to many places, led to numerous fascinating encounters. He worked for newspapers, magazines, trade periodicals, and did lot of writing for commercial radio. Many of his anecdotes involved relating tales of his encounters with the people he was sent to interview, such as, when an entertainment reporter for the Halifax Daily News, he interviewed Family Man Barrett of The Wailers (“So, why do they call you ‘Family Man’? “Because I’ve had so many kids with so many ladies all over man!”).

His career started in 1960s Montreal, a city he adored and often talked about, relating stories of its food (“I discovered in Montreal that there was something called ‘garlic’”), his many romances there (“Everyone was always checking each other out, on the make. I loved it.”), and especially of his dear Montreal friends, one of whom, his British friend Wilson, was the best man at his first wedding with Margie.

Later in life, he opted to have one last adventure before retiring in Halifax, flying to Taiwan to teach English for seven years. Wilf loved Taiwan, its people, his students, the good friends he made there, raving about its food and culture, and was clearly charmed by the Taiwanese government’s generosity toward its citizens.

Wilf passed on his love of cinema and literature to his kids, who greatly benefitted from his discerning taste. They ended up taking in many films and books on his recommendation (“You have to see Bladerunner...”), shaping their aesthetics, giving them a sense of what to look for and how to appreciate good films and books when they find them. That, together with his playfulness and silly sense of humour, made him a very fun dad to be around.

Some of us are tempted to think that the phrase ‘doesn’t suffer fools gladly’ must have been coined after meeting Wilf. His powerful, cutting anger was formidable and sometimes certainly did not serve him well, but that characteristic was tempered by a finely tuned intellect that allowed him to express himself with the nuance that a lifelong engagement with writing afforded him. That same developed mind also expressed an essentially chivalrous heart, authentically concerned with justice, which would give no quarter to the bullshitters of the world, especially when they were oppressing others due to whatever form of bigotry and dogma.

He was a very good friend.

Wilf is survived by his younger brother Paul, his children, Lise, Luke, and Simon, and by his two former wives and friends, Margie and Joanne.

We will be waiting until it is warmer and until the covid restrictions have loosened to hold a wake (Wilf’s preferred celebration of death) – to be announced.