Jim was the heart of Sauve House amidst its sterile regulations. It struck me when I first came to Montreal, how rooted he was. So many ofus were like driftwood, tossed around by unrest at home and in our careers, separated from our loved ones, beached finally at a grim grey airport in Montreal, where the first thing we saw was Jim, towering over everyone else and bearing his SAUVE sign, welcoming us to the city and (as we soon realised), to his life. Quiet, strong, with foundations reaching down to the core of the earth, with a history in the city and country, with a family, friends and a home. Everything he owned and loved had a story. For all his enthusiasms and love of life,he was a still centre from which we could get our bearings. My most cherished memory of that year is our trip to the Laurentians,tobaggoning wildly in the evenings, Basu twisting up and falling over inelegantly as he tried to dance a Bollywood number in snowshoes. And Jim himself, puffing and rubbing his hands as he came in from the cold. With his collection of flags from every country, bringing out the right one to hoist on the flagpole by the lake and the open pleasure he took in the variety of his guests. For the scholars he chose the United Nations flag, not just to represent our varied origins, but also reflecting his deep held belief that there was a place we could all come together to talk and be human. When we were leaving Montreal, Henk, Jamlong and I went to find a farewell present for Jim. It really wasn't hard. We found a little oil lamp made of milky glass, most apt for the genie of Sauve House. I imagined then that it would join the array of things that surrounded him in his office or his homes, perhaps to be shown years later to visitors and old stories retold. My last memory of the city is of waving him farewell at the airport, promising to be back to visit him, before disappearing through the gates.