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Alfred Monninn is shown at his 90th birthday party. (ERIN WILCOTT)
Alfred Monninn is shown at his 90th birthday party. (ERIN WILCOTT)


Manitoba judge Alfred Monnin was a fierce proponent of French Add to ...

No matter if it was during a lively debate around the family dinner table or rendering judgments in a 33-year career on the bench, Alfred Monnin, the former chief justice of Manitoba, was erudite, concise and always grammatical. Schooled by Jesuits and perfectly bilingual, he knew that rules had to be followed, although on occasion he tacitly agreed they could be gently bent. When they were broken, however, he could be stern and terrifyingly blunt.

Parlez français!” he would demand of his five sons if they were caught speaking English at home, even with their friends.

Once, when an accused claimed he had been forced by his male buddies to rape a young woman, he drily noted: “I can’t believe any red-blooded Canadian male would let himself get pushed around like that.”

And as the judge running the provincial inquiry into Progressive Conservative Party efforts to split the left-of-centre vote in the 1995 Manitoba election, he noted that in all his years on the bench, “I have never encountered as many liars in one proceeding as I did during this inquiry.”

Richard Chartier, the province’s current chief justice, noted that his predecessor’s decisions are still regularly cited, including one the appeal court revisited only a few months ago. “In 1981, he had overturned a trial judge’s decision to order a guilty party to make a donation to charity as a sentence,” the Chief Justice said. “His reasons back then were very precise and timeless. He said, ‘The less we hear of this practice, the better.’ ”

It was typical of a man who didn’t believe in taking the easy way out. For Mr. Monnin, who died of old age on Nov. 29 at the age of 93, one could not buy absolution, although in a pinch, community service would suffice.

His importance went well beyond his contributions on the bench, Chief Justice Chartier continued. As a fierce proponent of the French language, as a war veteran and as one who believed that communities must transcend their boundaries to come together and participate not only in Manitoba but in the country as a whole, Justice Monnin was an example for all Canadians.

“He had a strong work ethic, a strong sense of integrity and honesty and the moral courage to make unpopular decisions because they were right,” the Chief Justice said.

Alfred Maurice Monnin was born in Winnipeg on March 6, 1920, the youngest of Alphonse-Louis and Adèle Monnin’s three children. His father was a Swiss notary who came to Canada in 1905 with the notion of preparing the way for his wife, elder son and daughter to soon join him. But with the start of the First World War, it took four years for the family to be reunited. When it was, young Alfred was the result, a little boy with a mischievous streak who grew up in St. Boniface in a traditional European household with a much older brother and sister.

For high school and his undergraduate degree, he attended the Collège de Saint-Boniface, where he spoke English in the schoolyard, much to the consternation of his Jesuit teachers, who placed a premium of French being correctly spoken both in and out of class. He was also nearly expelled for smoking, confided his son, Justice Marc Monnin, one of Mr. Monnin’s two sons appointed to the Appeal Court once presided over by their father. (The other, Michel Monnin, is now working part-time as a supernumerary judge.)

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Justice Marc Monnin said. “The rules were there for us. We had to speak French. But you felt he was working the stern side because he really liked to tease people and had a great ability to put people at ease.”

After completing a BA in Latin philosophy in 1939, Mr. Monnin decided to become a lawyer because, at the end of the Great Depression, there was a dearth of them and he rightly figured there would be a need at one point in the near future.

“As it happened, the war came,” he told University of Manitoba law professor Darcy MacPherson in a wide-ranging interview in 2012. “At the end of the war, there was as much work as we wanted and as much work as we could do. So that’s that. That’s how I got here.”

Around the same time he started to study law, he joined the Canadian Forces, staying put long enough to marry Denise Pelletier in January, 1943, before being deployed to Europe. Arriving just after D-Day, he fought for the next two years in Normandy, Belgium and Holland, part of an Allied campaign he was reluctant to speak about afterward, no matter how his sons, or strangers, pestered him for answers.

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