The first time I met Pete was on a cold winter night at a doughnut shop on Sherbrooke St. W. Seated at the counter, several stools apart, we got into conversation. He was in his 30s, unemployed, but donating his time and skills to help in a project building homes for the needy in St. Henri. Over the next while, I often ran into him. He appeared to be a well-balanced young man who enjoyed composing songs on his guitar and at one time had envisioned a career in music. He owned a little red truck, which was old but was his pride and joy.