Alex Macalister was this overeducated ponce that we used to hang out with in Montreal. He was a good guy and really funny but he talked like a Lord Byronesque version of Ignatius J Reilly and would drink himself into these dark mental places where all he wanted to do was tell the world to fuck off and then go kill himself.
Just before we moved to New York he was going down a dangerous path of booze and misanthropy that eventually landed him back at his parent’s house going to rehab every day at the ripe old age of 36. There was one incident that really sticks out from that brief epoch of misery.
It happened in the summer of 1998. Macalister was madly in love with this girl who worked at a local bar called The Double Deuce. One day he woke up hungover and decided he was going to tell Meghan his intentions and if she didn’t comply he was going to kill himself. So he drank a bottle of Scotch and headed down St. Laurent St. to the bar. Without so much as a hello, Alex marched up to her and said, “I mean to be forthright. I am very attracted to you and have been so for a very long time. I’d like to start seeing you immediately.” She tried to let him down easy but he had an ultimatum in mind, love or death. After her refusal he slammed his hands down on the bar matter-of-factly and said, “That’s it!” Then he stormed out of the bar and proceeded down St. Laurent to end it all. St. Laurent is also called The Main because it goes from the very top of the city and goes through the Jew part, past the frogs, through the Plateau (hipster area), past the Pakis, then the homeless and the sex clubs, then comes Chinatown, Old Montreal and, eventually, the St. Lawrence River. Alex walked and walked towards the river and only stopped once to grab a plastic bag out of the garbage for his head. (“the head bag” had become Alex’s trademark. The second most famous incident being the time he tried to fake out the smoke detector in an airplane bathroom by putting a bag on his head and lighting up a cigarette. The bag caught on fire and he barely made it off his head before being disfigured for life). When he got to the port he put the bag on his head, tied the handles round the back next to his ponytail, and leapt in.
Fortunately the port is always saturated with tourists and they were grabbing policemen by the arm when Alex was still in mid-air (it’s a pretty far jump to get to the water). Within minutes the SPVM (Service de police de la Ville de Montréal) were in boats and puttering over to rescue our drunken pal. He had clawed the bag off using his inch long fingernails and had these long lines of blood going down his face. Though he had changed his mind about the bag he hadn’t changed his mind about death and was determined not to be rescued. That meant the cops had to wrestle and fight with him when the boat finally came near. He scratched at them and they punched at him until eventually the authorities won the fight and Alex’s life was saved.
When we got the story Alex was sitting on the edge of his bed still completely drenched with a cigarette in his mouth and thin lines of dried scabs all over his face. It’s not right to laugh at your friend’s pathetic suicide attempt but holy shit did we ever. I’m actually laughing now as I remember it.
KEVIN RILEY
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