Retirement time has come for the parliament clockmaker

(Quebec) After 43 years of service as master watchmaker of parliament, retirement time has come for André Viger. Over the coming weeks, he will pass on to those who come after him his extensive knowledge about the 23 mechanical clocks, more than a century old, in the National Assembly, which meticulously mark the time that passes for each successive government in Quebec.

We were first warned: for the interview, the appointment was set at noon sharp in the foyer, and the man would be on time. This was the case. During his entire career caring for parliament clocks, Mr. Viger never missed a week of work. He of course had a few fishing and hunting trips every year, but he made sure not to leave for more than a week, just to be able to make his rounds.

“As soon as I know there is a replacement, I am relieved about that. But I told my boss that I could come back if there was anything,” explains the 81-year-old enthusiast, for whom “retirement” is above all a “rearrangement of work”.

On the parquet floor which separates the stands of the Salon bleu and the Salon rouge, Mr. Viger slips behind a door which takes him where he goes up every Tuesday, towards the clock tower of the Parliament building. Halfway to the top is the old mechanism, 143 years old, which he oils carefully so that the parts do not break.

Each time he walks through parliament, Mr. Viger does so by walking at his own pace, but above all, without ever taking the elevator. In total, he climbs more than 700 steps every week, “maybe even more!” », he exclaims.

The clock, made in the United States, is in excellent condition, he continues.

“Its energy is a weight of 300 pounds to operate the hands and 800 pounds to operate the bell. The cable goes four floors higher and I come to bring it up once a week. It’s this gravity that pushes on the wheels, which push on my balance wheel,” he explains precisely.

The genesis of a passion

Although he is undoubtedly passionate about his profession, Mr. Viger was not predestined to become a master watchmaker. In his youth, after taking a gap year at the end of his 11^e year, he worked in restaurants, such as at Château Frontenac and Palais Montcalm, then as a bartender at Gérard or at Lafayette, in lower town.

“I loved it, but at a certain point, I told myself that I had to think about my future,” he remembers.

He then saw an advertisement to take courses at the Montreal watchmaking school. Having saved a lot of money, he told himself that he must seize the chance and make the jump to the big city to learn a trade, which he never left.

Since his beginnings in a jewelry store, where his boss quickly trusted him and encouraged him to take his master watchmaking courses, Mr. Viger has never stopped handling time and everything that measures it.

One day, 43 years ago, the jewelry store where he worked with a European boss, who knew old mechanics, received a call from the National Assembly. A clock in the president’s office no longer worked and the city’s master clockmakers did not have the parts to repair it. Mr Viger was then asked to go to parliament and find a solution to the problem, which he did.

“I told them they would benefit from having a watchmaker come once a week to oil them and keep them clean,” he says. Without knowing it, he had just negotiated a contract that would follow him for the rest of his professional life.

Return to the workshop

Over the next few weeks, André Viger will meet the three men who will take over from him to maintain the clocks. He wants to show them his routine, but he’s not worried about them.

“The hardest part is not to stray. It took me three weeks to be able to do my work without getting lost,” he says.

The old clocks in parliament, as old as they are, are very reliable, he adds. “It’s much easier to repair than the new ones,” says the man who certainly doesn’t wear an electronic watch on his wrist.

At home, in his workshop, André Viger will continue his work for the clients who trust him. He also takes care of the collectibles he has amassed throughout his life. “If I had bought everything I wanted, I wouldn’t even have money for my pension, it’s as simple as that,” he says.

But to know what time it is, Mr. Viger will still regularly pass in front of the parliament tower, to look at the hands of the clock that he has pampered for almost half a century.