Get ready for the true story behind Fendall House at 5333 Decelles, one of the oldest structures in the Snow Coat des Neiges, now owned by Louis Deumie, a psychiatrist from France.
The city of Montreal announced a decade ago that they had "saved" the 1906-built structure that had been "empty since the early 1990s."
The city permitted the then-owner to move entire the home over to sit atop a new foundation and permitted him that owner to built a four-unit building alongside the venerable old greystone farmhouse.
In fact, the provincial government was to blame for the building falling apart.
Government bureaucrats from the Quebec Curators Office destroyed a document establishing ownership to a 61-year-old caretaker and then allowed the house to fall into extreme disrepair.
That's what Yvan Chaput, who grew up a Duplessis Orphan claims.
He told me the details of the story when I interviewed him in 1995.
![]()
As a child Yvan Chaput would wonder about the flaky white stuff outside the window flying through the winter sky. He’d only knew snow through the windows of the St. Jean de Dieu insane asylum (now called Louis H. Lafontaine).
“I never went out in the snow. The nuns wouldn’t let me outside to play, so I never knew what it was,” said Chaput, who would be 80 now.
As a Duplessis Orphan, Chaput was a normal child committed to Catholic-run insane asylums to allow the provincial government to get more federal grants.
“The worst was that I didn’t know when my birthday was. I never knew how old I was. I never went to school. I still can’t read or write,” Chaput told me.
Later in life Chaput found a home as a handyman for Gertrude Fendall, the last remaining member of a family that once owned large chunks of Cote des Neiges.
From 1969 Chaput helped maintain Fendall's home at 5333 Decelles. “I never charged her more than $5 an hour. Those were happy times for us.”
In 1986 Fendall asked him to paint a room in the colour of his choice. He chose blue.
She then wrote up a codicil, a separate, legal document adding his name to the will that she had written three years earlier.
He was to inherit her home after she passed away, said Chaput.
The codicil, which Chaput could not read, was tucked away inside a desk drawer inside the house.
One day in 1990 Fendall noticed that the 90-year-old Fendall had a cut on her leg,
“Gangrene was starting, I knew I had to bring her to the hospital or else they’d have to cut it off,” said Chaput.
“She had never been to a hospital, she didn’t even have a Medicare card. She had never been sick.”
The officials at St. Mary’s Hospital chose to keep her. She was assigned her to public curatorship. Chaput says there was nothing wrong with Fendall.
Although in most such cases individuals are returned home and offered home care, authorities refused to allow Fendall to go back, in spite of her protests.
Within weeks of Fendall’s hospitalization bureaucrats from the provincial public curator’s office emptied her home. Gone were the valuable artwork and antiques, as well as the codicil that Chaput says would have left him the house.
Chaput’s efforts to have her returned home and find out what became of her belongings fell on deaf ears at the famously unaccountable Public Curator.
That winter the curator’s employees neglected to heat the home.
Pipes froze and burst, ruining the wood on the floors and plaster on the walls. In the months before her death in 1995 the curator sold Fendall’s historic family home to Andrée Ballard for $200,000. Fendall never knew that her home had been destroyed.
“I never told her that all her things were taken away and her home was ruined,” says Chaput.
Developer David Owen obtained an option to demolish the home and build condos but a preservationist group led by Pierre Ramet pressured the city to keep the structure.
When I interviewed him in 1995 Ramet told me that it was unclear whether the new administration will allow the building to stand.
Chaput moved to a nearby basement apartment and saw the home every day after it fell apart. “It’s a wreck, it’s disgusting, the whole thing makes me sad,” he said.
I have not spoken to Chaput since 1995 and do not even know if he's still alive.
The city of Montreal announced a decade ago that they had "saved" the 1906-built structure that had been "empty since the early 1990s."
The city permitted the then-owner to move entire the home over to sit atop a new foundation and permitted him that owner to built a four-unit building alongside the venerable old greystone farmhouse.
In fact, the provincial government was to blame for the building falling apart.
Government bureaucrats from the Quebec Curators Office destroyed a document establishing ownership to a 61-year-old caretaker and then allowed the house to fall into extreme disrepair.
That's what Yvan Chaput, who grew up a Duplessis Orphan claims.
He told me the details of the story when I interviewed him in 1995.
“I never went out in the snow. The nuns wouldn’t let me outside to play, so I never knew what it was,” said Chaput, who would be 80 now.
As a Duplessis Orphan, Chaput was a normal child committed to Catholic-run insane asylums to allow the provincial government to get more federal grants.
“The worst was that I didn’t know when my birthday was. I never knew how old I was. I never went to school. I still can’t read or write,” Chaput told me.
Later in life Chaput found a home as a handyman for Gertrude Fendall, the last remaining member of a family that once owned large chunks of Cote des Neiges.
From 1969 Chaput helped maintain Fendall's home at 5333 Decelles. “I never charged her more than $5 an hour. Those were happy times for us.”
In 1986 Fendall asked him to paint a room in the colour of his choice. He chose blue.
She then wrote up a codicil, a separate, legal document adding his name to the will that she had written three years earlier.
He was to inherit her home after she passed away, said Chaput.
The codicil, which Chaput could not read, was tucked away inside a desk drawer inside the house.
One day in 1990 Fendall noticed that the 90-year-old Fendall had a cut on her leg,
“Gangrene was starting, I knew I had to bring her to the hospital or else they’d have to cut it off,” said Chaput.
“She had never been to a hospital, she didn’t even have a Medicare card. She had never been sick.”
The officials at St. Mary’s Hospital chose to keep her. She was assigned her to public curatorship. Chaput says there was nothing wrong with Fendall.
Although in most such cases individuals are returned home and offered home care, authorities refused to allow Fendall to go back, in spite of her protests.
Within weeks of Fendall’s hospitalization bureaucrats from the provincial public curator’s office emptied her home. Gone were the valuable artwork and antiques, as well as the codicil that Chaput says would have left him the house.
Chaput’s efforts to have her returned home and find out what became of her belongings fell on deaf ears at the famously unaccountable Public Curator.
That winter the curator’s employees neglected to heat the home.
Pipes froze and burst, ruining the wood on the floors and plaster on the walls. In the months before her death in 1995 the curator sold Fendall’s historic family home to Andrée Ballard for $200,000. Fendall never knew that her home had been destroyed.
“I never told her that all her things were taken away and her home was ruined,” says Chaput.
Developer David Owen obtained an option to demolish the home and build condos but a preservationist group led by Pierre Ramet pressured the city to keep the structure.
When I interviewed him in 1995 Ramet told me that it was unclear whether the new administration will allow the building to stand.
Chaput moved to a nearby basement apartment and saw the home every day after it fell apart. “It’s a wreck, it’s disgusting, the whole thing makes me sad,” he said.
I have not spoken to Chaput since 1995 and do not even know if he's still alive.