Remembering Pierre Foglia, the Journalist Who Pedaled Through Life
Pierre Foglia is gone. He left us at the age of 84, quietly, with the same sort of grace and irreverence that had marked his long career. If you ever read his columns in La Presse , you already know—Foglia wasn’t just a writer. He was a voice, a tone, a presence. He brought a whole new rhythm to journalism in Quebec, and now, that voice has been silenced.
His passing came after a difficult battle with Parkinson’s. He chose to leave on his own terms, through medical aid in dying, surrounded by the people he loved. It was a farewell that felt like the ending to one of his columns—tender, sharp, and with just the right amount of mischief. His final words? “Soyez sages.” Be good. Classic Foglia: telling us what to do, with a wink.
Also Read:- Laura Dahlmeier stirbt bei tragischem Bergunfall am Laila Peak
- Israeli Actor Alon Aboutboul Dies Suddenly at 60 on Tel Aviv Beach
Foglia wrote over 4000 columns for La Presse , where he worked from 1972 until his retirement in 2015. But even after stepping away, the paper remained his home. He read it religiously, proud of the new generation of journalists and the evolution of the publication. In his final days, he was still thumbing through pages on a tablet, asking who won the latest stage of the Tour de France, still curious, still connected.
He was, above all else, a cyclist at heart. His stories often came from the saddle of his beloved Marinoni bike, rolling through the quiet countryside of the Eastern Townships. To him, writing and riding were nearly the same act—both were ways to keep moving, to avoid the fall. His odometer once stopped at exactly 5555.5 km. He took it off the bike right then. It was perfect, and that kind of detail—quietly poetic—was just so him .
Foglia loved literature just as much as sport. He shared books like gifts, naming authors like Annie Ernaux, Alain Rémond, and Bukowski as friends in print. His writing, though grounded in the ordinary, touched something universal. Even a hospital dessert could become a punchline in his hands. “They call that chocolate mousse? It’s a disgrace,” he’d grumble, still full of fire.
He wasn’t sentimental, but he wasn’t cold either. He didn’t want tears. “If you cry, I’ll throw you out,” he warned friends who came to visit. Of course, he never would’ve followed through.
In the end, Pierre Foglia didn’t just write about life—he lived it, with curiosity, humor, and fierce independence. And now that he’s gone, all we can do is remember the ride, and try—just try—to be as wise as he told us to be.
Read More:
0 Comments