TAVERN TERROR - The Ernie LeBlanc Story
Chapter 3 story from the book “Prison Chains Broken”.
Things had never been so good. Sure, there’d been the
bootlegging, the stealing, the parties, and the girls, but now
something new was a part of the action. Something people in
those parts hadn’t seen too much of. Something they’d heard
about in other places, but could scarcely imagine in their quaint
Canadian town. But this was the late 1960’s and the winds of
change were blowing. The days were gone when homemade
liquor and a cigarette were enough to take the edge off a long
day’s work. There was something new for things like that, one
that made the old folks cringe and the young folks giggle.
But this new stranger didn’t ride into town like some
gunslinger from yesteryear - on a fiery black stallion with a gun
on his hip. No, this deadly invader slithered in virtually
unnoticed - in backpacks and shaving kits, in tire rims and seat
covers - quietly working his brand of destruction with nothing
more than an ordinary table spoon and a syringe.
And before anything could be done, the drug culture sank its
fangs into Moncton, New Brunswick. Which was great - for
Tim MacKenzie. He was in the midst of all the action. Like a
lot of his friends, he’d grown up on Moncton’s east side - a
place full of moonshine, gangs, and cheap tricks.
1
He’d lived almost all his life pulling B&E’s, drinking all night,
and talking with his fists.
But he’d never seen anything like this. Why beat someone up
for change and a few bills, when you could sell them a tab of
acid and eat for a week?
But there was more to it than the quick fix and the easy score.
This culture brought with it a particularly unpleasant set of
friends. Men who were used to playing the high-stakes poker of
big city drug lords. Men who’d just as soon slit your throat as
sell you a pill. Men who had no compassion for the junkie and
no tolerance of those who tried to weasel out of the growing
web of deceit and big business that was the drug culture.
There were also those whose minds had been tantalized and
then raped by a sharp needle or shiny pill. People who no
longer cared who they hurt or what they had to do to support
their desperate hunger for just one more fix. People who used
to be your friends.
No one’s really sure which of those two groups broke into Tim
MacKenzie s apartment that night. Not that it matters - the
result was the same. Whoever it was knew what they were
doing - knew how to make sure whatever problems Tim was
having were well taken care of. Three bullets through the skull
has a way of doing that. Ernie LeBlanc knew Tim MacKenzie.
They were friends. They’d spent a lot of years together, sharing
the good times and bailing each other out of the bad.
2
They’d been turned on to the drug scene together. Along with
some other friends, they’d learned about the rush of speed, the
wild dreams of LSD, and the mellowness of pot. They knew
what it was like to pop pills and drink all night and live for
nothing more than the next party. They’d even done some
dealing together.
They knew what they were getting into - they thought. But
even Ernie, who by this time was as savvy, hardened, and
street-wise as they come, was shaken up when he learned about
Tim.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t the only murder that would unnerve
him and the rest of his buddies. They’d know what it was like
to hear, once more, that another crony had been viciously shot
to death. They were scared - but they were also mad. They
decided they weren’t going to take it laying down. They
weren’t about to see the good times they were on to, come to a
screeching halt because someone decided to do a little target
practice. So, they bought guns. If someone was dumb enough
to try to hit them again - he’d pay for it. But that wasn’t good
enough for Ernie.
One night he fuelled up on pills and alcohol and decided to let
some people know he was in town. He was high, he was angry,
and he had a gun. When his car pulled up to a restaurant next to
the tavern where he worked, he was a raging 26-year-old kid
who wanted to scare the living daylights out of some people.
3
Seconds after he leaped out of his car, he was much more than
that.
The next morning, the Moncton police were hot on Ernie’s
heels. He was in custody before noon. Yes, all he’d wanted to
do was let a few people outside that restaurant know he and his
buddies weren’t about to take what was going on without a
fight. But when you’re high and angry and have a gun in your
hand, a lot more can happen than just talk. Sometimes, people
can get killed. Ernie lost control of himself that night. If he’d
just had his fists, nothing would have happened that an ice pack
and a couple of aspirin wouldn’t cure. But the power in that
gun was just too big a temptation. He didn’t need to make a
fist, swing his arm, or dodge a jab. All he had to do was slide
his finger a couple of inches to the trigger. Which is exactly
what he did. During the two weeks before his trial, Ernie
blamed society for his predicament. He cursed everything he
could think of, for leaving him to hang on a murder charge.
My guess is that, if any of us had been Ernie, we’d have felt the
same way. To understand what I mean, we need to take a look
at where he came from. We need a glimpse of what life was
like for a little boy who knew little more growing up
than...Bedbugs and Cockroaches.
4
Ernie was born in the rural community of Notre Dame, New
Brunswick, eighteen miles outside of Moncton. He was the
eighth in a family of twelve children (three sisters and eight
brothers). His father was an illiterate laborer, qualified for little
more than menial tasks. The hours were long and the pay was
minimal. So, his dad wasn’t around much. His mom raised the
family. Food was either scarce or non-existent. At times, he
was sent to school with no breakfast and no provision for
lunch. Often, what meals the family could afford consisted of
bread and molasses. There were aunts, uncles, and cousins
around, and often that helped ease the pain of their poverty.
Ernie remembers relatives coming by their farm for a day’s
worth of drinking. Not the greatest model for a young,
impressionable boy, but at least the liquor allowed some
laughter to break up his otherwise dark, dismal existence. His
family moved to Moncton when he was seven. It wasn’t as
much a move up, as a change of pace. Yes, there was a house
to live in this time (for a short time prior to this, the family had
lived in a logging camp), but a two room house provides little
for a family that large.
The sleeping arrangements were an adventure, to say the least.
His parents slept in the kitchen/family room area, while nine of
the children shared three beds in the remaining bedroom. (Two
of Ernie’s oldest sisters were grown and had moved away). As
uncomfortable as that was, someone else on the block must
have had it worse.
5
Ernie remembers that one of the boys from the neighborhood
routinely dropped by in the middle of the night, slipped through
the window, and slid into bed with them. But the boy down the
street wasn’t the only visitor they had. There were bedbugs,
cockroaches and rats. More rats than you care to imagine. Rats
that thought nothing of scampering across the room in the
middle of the night or running across your feet as you lay in
bed trying to forget they were there. Rats that, when the mood
struck them, didn’t hesitate to sink their teeth into your leg or
arm - something Ernie’s sister discovered one night. There
were so many that, at times, Ernie and his brothers would
spend two or three hours in the middle of the night trying to
catch and kill them. That was Ernie’s world. A world of pain
and poverty - a world that, for many, proved to be a powerful
incentive for crime. After all, it’s pretty hard not to take bread
when you’re hungry. So, it’s no surprise that, like so many
before him, little Ernie started stealing to make life a little
easier.
At first, it was a piece of candy here, or a package of gum
there. And it wasn’t done out of hatred as much as a desire to
know the simple pleasures of childhood - the sweet taste of a
gumdrop, or the cold taste of a popsicle on a hot summer day.
But “getting away with it” is a lot like eating half a candy bar you have to have more to be satisfied. Before long, sweet tarts
and fudgesicles weren’t much of a thrill.
6
So, Ernie and his friends found out what it was like to swipe a
bike, leaving more than one innocent kid crying in his mother’s
arms for that special Christmas bike he’d never see again.
Soon, bikes weren’t enough. It had to be cars. Ernie and his
friends were so small that they couldn’t see over the steering
wheel. But that didn’t stop them. What they lacked in size they
made up for in sheer grit and initiative.
Remarkably, Ernie was never caught. Many of his friends were
and often ended up on probation or in reform school. But
somehow he always managed to get away, which made him
something of a hero and leader.
With all of his outside activity, he didn’t have much time for
school. In fact, he doesn’t recall ever doing any work outside
the classroom and often refused to participate during class
when he was called on. But there was a reason for that. Holes.
When you come from a home where a feast is any meal
consisting of more than one item and where lanterns are used
because there is no money for the light bill, clothes aren’t a real
priority. Hand me downs are the order of the day.
Being number eight on the list meant that by the time clothing
made its way down to Ernie, it was ready for the rag heap. That
was especially true of his pants. More often than not, Ernie
would begin the school year wearing pants with holes in them.
Unlike today, that was not the latest style.
7
He was embarrassed to be seen in them. That’s why he refused
to answer questions when called on. If he did, he’d have to
walk to the front of the class and then everyone would see his
holes. You can imagine his delight when finally, at age
fourteen, he got a new piece of clothing. No, it wasn’t a pair of
pants, as much of a thrill as that would have been. But it was
something that quickly became his most prized possession.
Something he loved being seen in. Something he’d wear on
every occasion possible. And in New Brunswick, where the
winters are long and the air is cold, there was plenty of
opportunity for him to wear... His new coat.
Ironically, that coat would be his undoing. Because to Ernie, it
was much more than a coat - more than a lifeless product of
some seamstress’ hand, more than just cloth and needle, more
than just a fabric sheath to ward off a north wind. That coat was
everything Ernie wanted in life - warmth, comfort, and
security. When he wore it, he wasn’t just keeping himself
warm, he was wrapping himself in a blanket of wishes for a
better life. It was also his self-esteem. It drew people’s
attention. It made them sit up and take notice. It made Ernie
look better than he really was. Like someone important someone with class. Someone respected by all and feared by
many. Someone who was more than just another kid on the
street.
8
So you can imagine his reaction one day when his teacher
violently tore his coat away from him. He displayed more than
just a slight show of surprise. It was more like a graduate-level
course in profanity. When it was over, he received an “A” in
vulgarity and was kicked out of school. So much for his
education. By this time, he didn’t really care anyway. He had
his coat and a fifth grade education. Enough, he figured, to go
on with the rest of his life.
He soon found out he didn’t have quite as much to work with
as he thought. Employers weren’t exactly beating his door
down. He did manage to land a job as a telegram boy - about
the only thing a fourteen-year-old with a bicycle could do. But
like the old joke goes, Ernie soon found out there was
something he really despised about his job... Work. So he stole
cars and pulled B&E’s - and started drinking. It was not his
first introduction to alcohol. That had come years earlier when
a bootlegger’s son gave him his first beer. But now it was more
than just an occasional drink. It became as much a part of his
life as getting up in the morning.
Sure, he knew what alcohol could do to a person. He’d seen
enough winos stumbling around the street. Once, he’d even
seen one down a bottle of rubbing alcohol, walk down the
street a few yards and drop dead. But he didn’t care. Liquor
was a part of a boy’s rite of passage into adulthood.
9
He figured if he’d been man enough to work for a while and
pay his mother board, he was man enough to tip a bottle. He
also learned how to fight, and fight well. In 1966, he was the
New Brunswick Golden Gloves champion and was the
provincial representative in the All Canadian Championship.
He lost, but the respect he earned and prowess he gained served
him well in the days to come. He was a young man who knew
how to use his hands.
His two older brothers taught him about something he didn’t
think he’d ever need to learn about. Prison. When he was ten,
both of them started doing time. Each time they came home,
they’d have stories to tell and big plans for the future.
Unfortunately, those plans didn’t involve going straight. Over
the next twelve years, they’d go through an endless cycle of
being released only to return a short time later for having
broken the law again. When they were out of prison, they’d
often go out on midnight B&E’s. When they returned, Ernie
cooked eggs for them, watched them count their money, and
listened to plans for their next score. Ironically, he swore he’d
never do the same thing. He had no heroes, but he knew he
didn’t want to be like his brothers. But, he was - he just
couldn’t see it. He’d know in due time. By eighteen, he was a
bouncer at a club owned by one of his father’s friends. In those
days, you had to be 21 to even get near the place, but Ernie’s
fast hands made him too good a commodity to pass up.
10
By this time, his life revolved around getting drunk, going to
dances, tipping cars, picking fights, and meeting girls. But
there was a special girl in that fast and racy bunch - one Ernie
took quite a liking too. Before long, she was pregnant. As
rough and godless as life was in those days, marriage was still
the mandated norm in situations like that. So, they stayed
together for a while. But Ernie just couldn’t own up to the
responsibility.
When she saw that all he was ever going to do was fight, drink,
and be picked up by the police, she took their daughter and left.
Sadly, Ernie thinks there may have been more children from
their union, but he’s not sure. If there are, she gave them up for
adoption because he’s never met them. In his words, “At
seventeen, I was a mad young man. I was just wild, running
around and drinking, with no plans for the future”. Which was
O.K., because the only thing that mattered was the next party,
the next drink, and the next girl. That kind of lifestyle can make
you do some pretty stupid things. Things that would shake
most of us up - make most of us think twice about our
mortality. But when you’re a teenager living fast and loose, you
don’t think a lot about life and death. Which leads you to do
things like... play Chicken with a Gravel Truck.
One night, Ernie and a few of his friends decided to go out for
a night that was like a thousand others. The drinking, as it
always did, started early and went on all night long.
11
By six the next morning, they were almost out of their minds.
Seven or eight of them piled into a car and raced at high speed
out of town on Moncton Road, then on to Lake Burne Road
toward the airport. On the way there, they drove up to a gravel
truck. They started playing chicken with it - running up behind
it and scooting around it, all the while driving with their lights
off. The driver of the truck sped up in hopes of breaking away
from them, but it was no use. He couldn’t shake them.
Suddenly, the boys’ car hit the soft gravel of the shoulder and
began to skid. Before they knew what happened, it flipped and
landed on its roof. About that time, the Royal Mailman was on
his way into town. He was notorious for not letting anything
delay him from his morning deliveries. But when he happened
by the crash scene, and saw a twisted, four-wheeled accordion
laying belly-up on the shoulder, he had to stop and render aid.
What he saw astounded him. There was Ernie, who’d been in
the back seat, with half his body through the driver’s side front
window. The only thing that held him in was a buddy who
apparently grabbed for him as he went flying out of the
window.
Everyone in that car walked away. In fact, they left the scene
laughing. By seven o’clock, they were back at the Blue Circle
restaurant, one of their favorite hang-outs, trying to convince
people who’d seen the accident that no one had been hurt. That
wasn’t the only close call they’d have.
12
One night he was with one of his brothers and a friend. As
usual, they’d been drinking. They picked up a girl and sped out
of town to a place in the country they used for partying. On the
way there, they came to a sharp curve and lost control of the
car. It flipped over some bushes into a field. Ernie was still
conscious enough to realize the girl was badly hurt. He gave
her mouth to mouth resuscitation, but it was too late. She was
already dead. You’d think a couple of experiences like that
would be enough to sober anyone up. Enough to make them
realize that no matter how tough or invincible they thought they
were, death had a way of catching up with people who took
unnecessary chances. Not Ernie LeBlanc. If anything, it had the
opposite effect. It made him realize his number just wasn’t up.
And if that was the case, there was no reason not to keep doing
the same things. So he did - day after day, year after year riding on a downward spiral of delinquency and sin. By the
time he was in his twenties, drugs had hit town. Now, booze,
fast cars, and women weren’t enough. To really get his kicks he
had to trip out on acid, go nuts on speed, and then get tame
with some pot and a few pills. All of which just led to more
crime. By now he was the king of a local street gang named
The Trappers, and spent a fair amount of time in provincial
jails for assault. When he wasn’t locked up, he was in bars, in a
fight, or robbing drunks as they left a bootlegger’s. But, as we
said, that was fast becoming the hard way to make money.
Drugs were the big score, so Ernie started selling them.
13
So did Tim MacKenzie. It had happened! He’d sworn it never
would, but it was just a matter of time. Ernie LeBlanc was just
like his brothers.
It was no mystery - his life had been forged from the same steel
as theirs - the cold, gray world of poverty. A world of handouts
and hand-me-downs - of bootleggers and bullies. A world of
hopelessness. A world where often the only meal was the
heartache of knowing tomorrow would be just like today. It
was also a cruel world - a world whose twisted sense of justice
and honor depended on who had the biggest gun. Its saviours
were the demons of escape and pleasure, who cleverly
disguised their venom in a bottle, a pill, or a moment of cheap
passion only to leave their victims paralyzed in sin. That was
Ernie LeBlanc’s world - the one he blamed for the drugs, the
gun, and the dead man. He’d trusted the wrong things and been
betrayed - and he was angry at the world for the bum rap. Now
he had nothing to look forward to but an 8 x 9 cell. One he’d
call home for the rest of his life.
I’m sure if the captain of the “Titanic” had it to do over again,
he wouldn’t have gotten quite so close to that mammoth slab of
ice floating in the North Atlantic. But when an iceberg rips
open your ship like a giant can opener, there’s no such thing as
a second chance. Ernie never met that captain - but he knew
how he felt.
14
I’m sure in the quiet moments he spent in that holding cell, he
wished, whether he admitted it to anyone or not, that things
could have been different. That life could have been more than
hunger pangs and drunken brawls. That he could have been
born into a nice family in a middle class neighborhood with a
chicken in the family pot and two cars in the garage. One
where his father wasn’t so consumed with scratching out a
living, that he had no time to spend with his children, give them
his affection, and teach them right from wrong.
I’m sure he craved all of that - wished, somehow, he could do it
all over again. But when you take the law into your hands and
steal someone’s life, there’s no such thing as a second chance.
Ernie LeBlanc was at the end of the line and he knew it. After
his incessant cursing, his fits of anger, his stomping, fuming,
and fussing - after all of that was behind him, he knew he was
facing a life of bitter hardship in prison. A world where fear
was the ruling emotion and trust was something you read about
in the library. A world of despair and hopelessness - where
suicides and stabbings were common place, leaving everyone
to wonder who’d be next.
For two long, lonely weeks, he was tormented by the thought
of what awaited him. No matter what he did, or how he tried to
distract himself, he couldn’t look away from the dark, stormy
cloud of doom gathering outside his cell. He didn’t want to face
it. He couldn’t face it.
15
His only solace was the free drugs the jail doctor dispensed to
prisoners under stress. But each time the drugs wore off,
nothing had changed. Ernie learned the terrible lesson that
drugs, no matter how powerful, never alter reality.
One night he crumbled into his bunk. In sheer desperation he
cried out, “If there’s a God, please help me. If you’re real help me!” It was the bleak, hopeless cry of a man who had no
courage to go on. The next morning, something strange
happened. When the prison doctor gave Ernie a pill, he didn’t
take it. He put it into a styrofoam cup and walked away. He
hasn’t had so much as an aspirin since. Something else
happened. His four-letter vocabulary stopped immediately. And
he found himself feeling compassion for other prisoners - those
who, just a few days before, he would rather have shot. At first,
he didn’t understand what was going on. It seemed impossible
that someone who’d spent the last two decades of his life
finding out about the worst of humanity - could suddenly start
exhibiting some of the traits that represented its best. Where
had that come from?
Slowly, Ernie began to understand. He realized something
more than just a desperate cry for help had taken place in his
cell that night. Something other than the foolish plea of an
agnostic sinner who had nothing better to do than whine to a
God who, if he was there, probably didn’t care.
16
He realized God did care. He cared enough to, in a way Ernie
didn’t totally understand, visit him that night. He was
concerned enough about his plight to reach into that cell and
hold him with the palm of His hand. Suddenly, things were
different. That haunting feeling about the misery ahead was
gone. Yes, there’d be the trial, and yes, he’d be convicted of
murder. But on his way to Dorchester prison, Ernie was a
different man because...he had the peace that surpasses all
understanding.
At the very least, he was going to spend the next decade in
prison. It was hard, because Ernie was leaving behind the
freedoms he’d enjoyed - plus his wife, Carol, and three-yearold son, Mark. He met Carol at a dance when he was twenty
one. They had some good times together over the years, and by
the time Ernie was twenty three, they’d had a son and were
living together in a common law marriage. Now all of that
would be put on hold. Carol would raise Mark on her own,
while Ernie did his time. And he’d have to do his best to
support her from a prison cell.
But he was ready for that. God had prepared him. He knew that
during the next ten years, he’d have more peace than a lot of
guys in for two years on auto theft. He knew that there were a
lot of people on the outside- friends he’d left behind, and
people he didn’t even know, who were in more slavery to
drugs, and alcohol than he’d ever be in cell number #2568.
17
Yes, you lose your identity in prison. He was no longer a name,
but a number. But that was O.K. - it didn’t really matter. God
knew who he was. And God was going to take care of Ernie
LeBlanc.
When Ernie was sentenced, a priest gave him a Bible. He’d
never read one before. Catholic school had been full of Hail
Mary’s and the church’s teaching, but he’d never heard
anything from the Bible about salvation and peace with God
through Jesus. He didn’t know where to begin reading. So, he
just opened it and began at the first page he turned to. His mind
was like a dry sponge soaking in everything. Soon, he began
praying. His prayers weren’t the fancy prayers of the Catholic
Church, but simple, sincere, conversations with God. There
was no pretence, no effort to impress Him with his knowledge
and understanding - just a poor sinner trying to make sense of
his growing awareness that God was interested in a 5’7”
nobody from New Brunswick.
But something was bothering Ernie. Guilt. Yes, he knew the
peace of God’s concern and love. But that wasn’t quite enough
to help overcome the grief he felt for what he’d done on the
street that night. He’d wasted someone’s life because he was
irresponsible enough to jump out of a car tanked up on booze,
pills, and revenge.
18
He was sorry that in houses all over New Brunswick, loved
ones were mourning, trying to comfort themselves with a
memory and a photograph. His crime wasn’t like a lot of other
inmates’. If they’d stolen a car, it could be returned and
damages paid. If they’d heisted jewellery, that could be given
back. If they’d embezzled company funds or laundered drug
money, that could all be set straight. But there’s no such thing
as chasing a bullet down when you have second thoughts.
One night, Ernie heard the message of “salvation in Christ”
from a Salvation Army chaplain conducting a service in the
prison. He gave an invitation to accept Christ as Saviour. Ernie
knew that was something he needed to do. He got out of his
chair, walked to the front of the room, got down on his knees,
and made a profession of faith in front of his fellow inmates at
Dorchester Penitentiary. He’d known the comfort of a God who
cares - now he knew the salvation of a Saviour who died and
rose again. Then, God brought Pierre Allard into Ernie’s life.
Pierre was a prison chaplain with an enthusiasm for God that
was different than any chaplain Ernie had ever seen. His face
glowed with God’s radiance. He was a man who had a zeal for
God and a love for prisoners who needed the Saviour. He
helped show Ernie that some of the most faithful, godly men
who ever lived had known what it was like to murder someone.
Moses knew the burning anger of revenge and took it out on an
Egyptian he saw abusing a fellow Hebrew.
19
David knew what it was like to steal love from another man’s
wife and then have him murdered to cover up the pregnancy
that resulted. Paul gave permission for a group of Jewish
zealots to pummel a man to death with rocks while he stood by
and watched. But each of these men knew God’s forgiveness.
They learned that, yes, their sin was horrible - but they also
discovered there was something infinitely greater than the
ugliness of what they’d done – God’s ability to forgive them,
and use them in a significant way. Ernie LeBlanc was finally
free. Yes, he could see the prison bars, but there will never be a
prison bar anywhere that can stop the grace of God. He knew
God loved him, God cared for him, and had forgiven him for
what he’d done. Now it was time to start... The Long Journey
Home.
For the next five years, Ernie learned how to live day to day for
the Lord. He learned how to resist temptation - the kind that
came from inmates constantly offering him drugs. But Ernie
didn’t need drugs anymore. To put it in his words, “I was high
24 hours a day with the Lord”. He learned how to deal with the
stinging pain of rejection. Friends he’d known on the outside men he knew would have died for him on the streets of
Moncton - suddenly became aloof and distant because of his
new faith. That hurt. But that was O.K. They might have died
for him, but Someone else had.
20
The desire to regain a lost friendship just wasn’t enough to
force Ernie to turn his back on a God who’d made that kind of
sacrifice for him. He learned not only how to witness with his
words, but with his life. “A lot of people”, he wisely says,
“won’t read the gospel. But they’ll sure watch it”. He realized
that Dorchester was full of men who were observing him and
the other Christians there. They wanted to see if his
Christianity was just another gaff or if there was really
something to it. Ernie didn’t want to let them down. He learned
that often, men want to watch you walk before they hear you
talk. Once they were convinced his faith was more than just a
put-on, many of them became genuinely interested in what had
made such a difference in his life. They saw that, despite the
confines of his cell, he had a freedom you couldn’t get from a
bottle or pill. That gave him the opportunity to share Christ
with a lot of inmates during his years in prison. But there was a
restlessness in Ernie - a voice that kept calling him home. He
knew there was a wife and little boy on the other side of
Dorchester’s walls that needed him desperately. He wanted to
get out. About the same time, Psalm 23 became a very
important passage to him. He began to think a lot about God’s
green pastures, and what a greener pasture would be for him.
He thought too about God’s quiet waters, and what form that
might take in his life. Eventually, he realized a greener pasture
would be a medium-security prison; and, that a place of quiet
waters would be a minimum-security prison.
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He began asking God to open a door that would allow him to
get to those two places. Within six months, he was transferred
to the medium-security prison at Spring Hill, Nova Scotia.
Even though he’d changed situations and was one step closer to
freedom, he still lived with a deep concern for his family. By
this time, his son was having trouble in school - in large degree,
he knew, because he wasn’t at home to give him the guidance
he needed. It’s hard, Ernie recalls, to raise a son over the
telephone. But God comforted him with two passages. The first
was Mark 4:35-41. In it, Christ and his disciples are crossing
the Sea of Galilee when a fierce gale blows up. As the storm
rages, the Lord sleeps in the stern while his disciples make out
their wills. Finally, they awaken him, scared that death is just
around the corner. The result? Christ calms the sea and gently
chides them for their lack of faith. The second passage was 1
Peter 5:6-7, “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty
hand of God, that he may exalt you at the proper time, casting
all your anxiety upon Him because He cares for you”. These
passages helped Ernie see he need not worry about his family.
He saw that, despite the circumstances, all he had to do was
entrust them to God’s care and relax. Which is exactly what he
did. God also brought new meaning to some of Paul’s final
words to be content in whatever circumstances I am... (4:11)
and a command he gave the Thessalonians, “in everything give
thanks”... (1 Thess. 5:18).
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One morning, he awoke at 5 a.m., excited for the opportunity to
leave prison for the first time to share his testimony with
people on the outside. As he contemplated the coming day, he
looked around his cell. He saw a toilet, sink, a bunk, and a
small couch. He saw a chair. He saw a picture of his family. He
realized he was alive... and healthy... and saved. He dropped to
his knees. With tears rolling down his cheeks, he thanked God
for all He’d given him. Despite his meager surroundings, Ernie
knew he was a rich man. Spring Hill was Ernie s greener
pasture. God led him to a pool of quiet water when He
transferred him to the Westmorland Farm Annex, just outside
Dorchester prison. During his one year stay there, Pierre Allard
arranged a number of limited passes for him to fellowship with
a local body of believers. Those passes also allowed him to
share his testimony with people in local communities near the
prison.
By this time, Ernie had spent nine years in the prison system.
There was one final step before his date with freedom began. It
was a psychological test that, provided he passed, would allow
him the opportunity to be released to a halfway house near
Moncton. The results were interesting. You don’t think like an
inmate, the psychologist told him. You’re more like a salesman
or policeman.
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Proof positive that, despite twenty six years of delinquency and
another nine interred in the pressure cooker world of a prison,
God had transformed Ernie’s mind from that of a cagey street
brawler to a man who was ready to make a positive
contribution to the world around him. That final year was
wonderful. It was home, but it was a whole new world. A place
where brothers and sisters in Christ stopped him on the street
and gave him money to help him land on his feet. A place
where, more than once, someone told him that watching him
had led them to the Saviour. A place where he found the loving
support of a warm, caring church. A place where people would
pay for his furniture and buy him a car once he was out on his
own. A place where people genuinely cared about Ernie
LeBlanc.
Ten years after he entered a closet-sized cell in Dorchester
prison, Ernie stood in his living room and thought about how
far he’d come. God had done incredible things in his life. He’d
taken a cocky, 26 year-old rebel and turned him into a man
who was learning, each day, what it meant to walk humbly
with Him. He’d taken someone who’d been a tool of the devil
and made him an instrument of peace in a world of violence
and hopelessness. He’d rescued a man who deserved to spend
the rest of his life behind bars and given him a new life, a new
start, and a new family. Ernie owed everything to God - which
is why he’s dedicated his life to serving Him.
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With the help of some caring supporters, he’s going to Bible
college to strengthen his knowledge in God’s Word. He’s also
working with prison organizations like the John Howard
Society, Cons for Christ, AA, and, on his own, is spreading the
word that Jesus loves and cares for people in prison. What does
he want cons to know? Three things. First, that Satan has
sucked them into a cesspool from which there is no way out.
He warns, “If you’ve allowed Satan to take you deep, know
that he’s robbed you, and all he’s going to do is take you
deeper still”. There is no such thing as a man who’s climbed
out on his own. Second, he wants them to know the simple yet
profound message of salvation. “I hear a lot of men tell me”, he
says, “that they are no good. That’s a lie. Each of us is created
in God’s image. God does not make junk. The solution to our
problem isn’t a better self image it’s Romans 10:9, ...if you
confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord, and believe in your
heart that God raised Him from the dead, you shall be saved”.
Third, he cautions them against depending too heavily upon
other Christians as models for their faith. He says, “Don’t look
to man with whom you can find fault. Look to Jesus, the author
and finisher of our faith”. All of us know the disappointment
that comes from watching our brothers and sisters stumble.
Finding a group of believers, even if you’re in prison, that is
committed to exalting Him (rather than themselves) is essential
for keeping that perspective. Ernie didn’t deserve God’s grace.
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After all, he was a cold-blooded killer. He deserved to rot in
prison and then go to hell. But like millions of others, he came
to grips with how wretched he was. When he did, the curtain to
his soul was torn in two and he stood face to face with the
Saviour. It’s no wonder then, that when you meet Ernie
LeBlanc, you meet a man on fire for God - a man who wants,
with all of his heart, to share the good news with people who
have no hope. He is not a man ashamed of the gospel because
he knows it’s secret. He knows that, to the world, it is a foolish
fairy tale (1 Corinthians 1:18). But not so to those who believe.
To us, it is the power of God for salvation.
Amen.
“What He’s done for me, he can do for you. He’ll set you
free.”
Ernie LeBlanc
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old
things have passed away; behold all things have become new.”
2 Corinthians 5:17, NKJV
For more information about the book “Prison Chains
Broken”, go to www.Hebron.ca .
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