Rampage (37 page)

Mr. Chrétien’s condolences, along with the other speeches, were obviously well-intentioned expressions of emotional solidarity. However, the attitude that the OC Transpo massacre “will always defy our understanding” is a dangerous one. If we throw up our hands in frustration every time a mass murder occurs, how can we adequately adjust our society and legislation to prevent future tragedies?

In truth, there is ample evidence to draw conclusions as to why the mild-mannered Pierre Lebrun became a rampaging maniac. His “going postal” is among one of the easier cases to explain in
Rampage
. To quote union president Paul Macdonnell, “In every work site, some kidding goes on. Regarding Mr. Lebrun’s stuttering, we investigated it over two years ago; we talked with his co-workers. I believe Mr. Lebrun’s illness greatly exaggerated what he believed people were doing to him.”

There is an acceptable framework in which teasing can occur, and conversely, an area where such behaviour is psychologically harmful to the recipient. Anyone with even a shred of empathy should be able to recognize that focusing public attention on a speech impediment goes beyond the realm of “kidding” into outright meanness. By semantically transforming cruelty to “kidding,” Macdonnell minimized the attack on Lebrun’s disability happening at OC Transpo. Life is harrowing enough for somebody suffering from a socially humiliating impediment without having it rubbed in his or her face on a regular basis.

Does this excuse Pierre Lebrun’s actions? No, but the teasing certainly contributed significantly to the mental illness that provoked them. According to Lebrun’s family doctor, John Joanisse, his patient struggled to deal with anxiety, depression, insomnia, and paranoia. He was not a psychotic. Judging by the disorganized thoughts in Lebrun’s suicide note, it seems that paranoia was the main cause of his murders. Those with paranoia are more sensitive to personal slights, bear lifetime grudges, and can even perceive insult where none has occurred. This explains much of Lebrun’s psychology. Paranoia originates in an early history of trauma or persecution. After repeated emotional or physical attacks or both, an individual begins expecting to be targeted. As a result, he or she develops a deeply suspicious attitude, which hinders social skills and begets more negative interaction. Eventually, someone with paranoia will start to conceive notions that others are speaking ill of, or conspiring against, him or her, when this is not the case. A very simplistic but understandable model proceeds as follows:
trauma — pain — fear — defensive attitude — unfounded suspicions
. The sustained emotional attack which triggers paranoia may begin domestically with abusive or overbearing parents, or through bullying in school or extracurricular youth activities. The teasing of Pierre Lebrun likely began at a young age, when he was either mocked for his stammer or harassed to such a degree that he developed a stammer, which provoked more criticism and humiliation, worsening his impediment. The childhood teasing made Lebrun more emotionally vulnerable to teasing as an adult. Eventually, he became overwhelmed with feelings of exclusion and persecution. It takes a special person to cope with constant antagonism. Did being ridiculed at OC Transpo cause Pierre Lebrun’s severe paranoia? No — the cumulative effects of a lifetime of “kidding” did.

If we are going to judge Pierre Lebrun, something must be said about his funeral. Seventy-five people packed Vanier funeral home to remember a man who, despite his personal difficulties, they loved and respected. His mother kneeled by his closed coffin and wept. Many who spoke on his behalf expressed that they felt a good man had been driven too far. Michel Pelletier, a friend from Lebrun’s hometown of Kapuskasing, recalled how they would play tennis every summer. “I can’t begin to explain what he did, but I can say he isn’t getting the respect he deserves.” Also on hand were four of his co-workers from OC Transpo, who refused to write off Lebrun as a monster. “He was a good guy,” one female employee lamented. “It wasn’t fair the way he was treated by everyone.… They pushed him over the edge.”

Chapter 11

The Disgruntled Citizen

The Disgruntled Citizen is usually what the average Joe envisions when he or she hears the term “mass murderer.” Rather than selecting specific victims, he directs his rage at society as a whole, storming unexpectedly into a public space, armed and ready to kill. Predictably, he is the most feared permutation of mass murderer, because anyone and everyone can find themselves in his crosshairs.

On September 5, 1949, Howard Unruh shot thirteen dead in the streets of Camden, New Jersey. A paranoiac, Unruh had compiled a list of perceived slights perpetuated against him by his neighbours, planning his bloody vengeance through target practice.

For over fifteen years, former merchant marine George Hennard held the record for America’s worst firearm massacre. Driving his pickup truck through the front window of Luby’s cafe in Killeen, Texas, Hennard screamed, “This is what Bell County has done to me!” before gunning down random customers with a Glock-17 semi-automatic pistol. Twenty-two would die, while another eighteen were injured. Hennard ended his October 16, 1991, rampage via gunshot to his own head.

Thus far Canada has been largely spared from this deranged subcategory of mass killer. One of the closest examples we have is
Denis Lortie
, who on May 8, 1984, entered the Quebec National Assembly intent on executing representatives of the Parti Québécois government, along with anyone else who got in his way. Ultimately, despite the stated political motive behind his crimes, he would only claim the lives of the latter.

Kay Feely      

Denis Lortie

“I’ll kill everyone — everyone in my way.”

Victims:
3 killed/13 wounded

Duration of rampage:
May 8, 1984 (mass murder)

Location:
Quebec City, Quebec

Weapons:
Two C-1 sub-machine guns; 9-mm Inglis pistol

The Language of Violence

At 9:30 on the morning of May 8, 1984, a bearded man in a beret and army fatigues stepped out of the rain and into the offices of a Quebec City radio station. Until eighteen years ago, the now-defunct CJRP had broadcast live from suburban Sillery, specializing in oldies, talk, and news radio. In his hand the commando carried a sealed envelope addressed to André Arthur, an outspoken Francophone radio host. When the man asked to see Arthur in person, reporter Maritchu d’Abbadie-d’Arrast informed him that the host was currently “on the air.” The stranger and d’Arrast spoke privately outside, where he introduced himself as “Mr. D.” and handed her the package, with instructions not to open it until 10:30 a.m. D’Arrast agreed, all the while eyeing the hunting knife strapped to his trouser leg.

Once “Mr. D.” had sped away, the staff tore into the envelope like hyenas on a sickly gazelle. Inside, they found an audio cassette labelled, “The Life of a Person.” Sliding it into the tape player, they listened as a disembodied voice blared, “I’m a person who knows myself very well, but you don’t know me. What I want is not for me, but for the future of the French language … the government now in power is going to be destroyed, including [Premier] René Lévesque … [for] doing much wrong to the Francophones of Quebec and Canada.” The madness continued in bursts of terrifyingly incoherent thought, interrupted only by equally indiscernible patches of dialogue:

“Between 10 and 11 o’clock the party won’t exist anymore. I’ll kill everyone in my path at the National Assembly.

“I want to destroy the Parti Québécois.

“The Parti Québécois wants to have only one language in Quebec. For what reason? They want to confine us to Quebec. They tell people not to go live elsewhere.

“I’ve travelled a lot in Canada, and I’ve noticed that people of the other language find us French Canadians stupid.

“Maybe I will hurt a lot of people, but what do you expect? To achieve something good, you have to destroy.

“I could have attacked something more important, like the Liberal Party in Ottawa. This is a very important point for me because my language is in Quebec and I don’t want anything or anyone to destroy it.

“But one thing I can tell you: I only have one life to live.

“Politics is a real circus. I’m going to destroy them before they do more harm.

“The PQ is worse than the communist party. They want to make Quebec independent, but they won’t succeed. I will destroy them. No one will be able to stop me — not the police, not the army.”

Convinced that tragedy was imminent, the staff at CJRP contacted the police within fifteen minutes. It was already too late. A man matching Mr. D.’s description had entered the Quebec National Assembly armed with a sub-machine gun. Shots had been fired, and people were hurt. There was no going back now.

The Killer Corporal

“Mr. D.” was, in fact, twenty-five-year-old Corporal Denis Lortie — a Québécois supply technician at CFS Carp in Ontario, thirty kilometres west of Ottawa. Born in 1959, he had been raised in the provincial capital of Quebec City. Lortie’s father was a tyrant, allegedly abusing his children and committing incest with his own daughter. As an adult, Denis Lortie joined the army, and was stationed in Halifax. There he met fellow Francophone Lise Levesque, whom he married in 1980. He sired a son in 1982 and a daughter in 1983.

Eventually Lortie was reassigned to CFS Carp, to which he commuted daily from his home on the Uplands base, located in a small farming community near Ottawa airport. Also known as “The Diefenbunker,” CFS Carp had been constructed as a nuclear shelter during the Cold War, and could house up to five hundred politicians. On the surface, Lortie seemed to be a regular family man, occasionally going for a beer at the Crazy Horse Lounge with his fellow soldiers. Neighbours on the base recalled that during a blizzard in the winter of 1984, he had helped them free their cars from knee-high snow.

Despite his air of normalcy, on the inside Lortie was losing control. With the birth of his young daughter, he became increasingly worried that he would become sexually abusive like his father. He was also insecure regarding his grasp of the English language, and felt that it was hindering him socially and professionally. Instead of addressing these issues, Lortie’s thoughts turned to violence. For a time he considered murdering his wife and two children before committing suicide, but eventually he directed his anger at Quebec’s ruling political party, the sovereignist Parti Québécois. On May 7, 1984, Corporal Lortie told his superiors that he needed time off to arrange a divorce. Stealing two C-1 sub-machine guns and a 9-millimetre Inglis pistol from CFS Carp, he rented a Buick Skyhawk and drove northeast across the provincial line to Quebec City. There, he took a tour of the National Assembly before checking into a room at a Laurier Boulevard motel to await his destiny.

The next morning, after delivering his manifesto at CJRP, Lortie drove to the city’s treasured Citadelle, which straddles the historic Plains of Abraham. One of the oldest structures in Canada, its first walls were erected in the seventeenth century by Louis de Buade. Whether Lortie targeted it for its cultural significance or simply because it housed the Royal Twenty-Second Regiment of the Canadian Armed Forces is unknown. Regardless, at 9:30 a.m. he stepped out of his car and, for thirty seconds, unloaded a barrage of sub-machine gunfire at the windows, while frightened tourists took shelter behind a cement wall. Soon after, Lortie parked his car outside the National Assembly, Quebec’s provincial legislature, and stormed in through a side door on Grande-Allée Boulevard, draped in bullets and brandishing his weapon.

“Where are the legislators?” he screamed in French, unleashing bursts from the C-1. “I am going to kill them!” If Lortie had used his watch rather than André Arthur’s radio show to time his 10:00 a.m. entrance, he would have had no shortage of PQ politicians to assassinate. However, Arthur had wrapped up twenty minutes early that day, prompting Lortie to accidentally enter at 9:45 a.m. Rather than firing on legislators, the killer corporal’s bullets flew at assembly workers and tourists. Jacynthe Richard, a receptionist, was the first to be hit, suffering serious injuries. Lortie strode out of the hallway and into the main lobby, where civil servants hurried past a gang of schoolchildren on a field trip from Ste. Foy. Again, the C-1 roared its mechanical message of hate, killing fifty-four-year-old messenger Camille Lepage as he came down the staircase. The hall was filled with children’s screams, their teachers ordering them to lie on the floor, as Lortie stormed by.

Five minutes into his rampage, he began marching up the National Assembly’s central staircase, shouting, “I’ve got a gang to kill on the second and third floor.” Splinters and casings filled the air as he unloaded his rage on inanimate objects. Many more people were wounded. Making his way toward the “Salon Bleu” Assembly chamber, Lortie inadvertently passed the building’s restaurant, where several important political leaders were dining. Among them were Electoral Reform Minister Marc-André Bédard and Finance Minister Jacques Parizeau. The latter, who would go on to lead the Parti Québécois through Quebec’s 1995 sovereignty referendum, would have suited Lortie’s victimology perfectly. Instead, the killer corporal entered the Assembly chamber, where preparations were underway for a presentation of the chief electoral officer’s estimated 1984/85 budget. The workers looked up in horror as Lortie unloaded his sub-machine gun, fatally wounding sixty-one-year-old Assembly page George Boyer and fifty-seven-year-old aide Roger LefranÇois. Several others sustained non-lethal injuries. If he had arrived ten minutes later, the legislature committee would have been present.