THE happiest times in my nine months in Montreal were when Jim and Nancy took us up to their house on the lake. In the Sauve house, Jim's office was sparse and empty, but up in the lake house, the signs of his love and enormous heart were scattered everywhere. The photos and memories of his kids, the bits and pieces he and Nancy had brought back from all over the world on their travels together. Everything in the house had a story behind it and was evidence of their amazing shared life. It was up there that we really got to know them both, by eating, drinking, talking and playing around together. Jim loved us like the children we were, romping around in his show-shoes, sliding down the drive in the pitch-black on toboggans, and jumping up and down on his trampoline. When we told him we wanted to make a movie and that we needed to drag his canoe out into the middle of the frozen lake, he watched indulgently on, laughing in the background as we careened through the living room. Jim wasn't even bothered when we sat playing cards and drinking beer like punks on his porch. I sort of remember him playing with us at one point. The memory is hazy since we were out to get drunk. He led an exemplary life. He did not talk much about the fact he was a partner in a major law firm, or that he was on the board of McGill University, or that he was a city councillor, or that he was the head of the public library committee. Instead, with typical Canadian generosity, he let us do all the talking, and opened his heart to our experiences and opinions. Jim was ready for any discussion, and curious to hear all our ideas. When we christened him Abu Jim, he wore the moniker with pride. His patience was legendary. He needed it. When we arrived in Montreal, the house wasn't finished. When we left Montreal, the house wasn't finished. In a year of chaos, as we all struggled to define what the programme was, and what it should be, Jim was a rock. Above all, he was a family man, and he treated the Sauves as his extended family. Without his closeness and guidance, the year would have been a washout. I don't think the scholarship will be able to find anyone who can truly replace him. He touched all of us deeply and permanently. In the 19th century, one writer described North American men like this: "Dullness fled from their presence; they could tell stories, whistle melodies, and sing. Blithe cheerful souls they were, telling racy stories of Western life, chivalrous in the manners and free as the winds." That was Jim, with a big heart and an open mind, and the world is a much worse place without him. malcolm.moore@telegraph.co.uk