For as long as anyone could recall, Colin Scott Dafoe had seemed a genuinely larger-than-life individual whose irrepressible adventuring spirit, unorthodox methods, and rugged individualism were among his most endearing characteristics. Few among his small circle of family and friends were surprised by his brilliant achievements in Yugoslavia — or anywhere else in the world, for that matter. It was not difficult to imagine him parachuting into the mountains of eastern Bosnia and treating thousands of wounded behind enemy lines when throughout his life he had embarked on dangerous pursuits. Indeed, it was typical of him to plunge headlong into unfamiliar terrain when others would hesitate, and then rely solely on his mental and physical stamina, ingenuity, and courage to return him unscathed. It was the mark of grandeur in him that set him apart from others. And it is generally agreed among those who knew him that it was inculcated at a very early age.
    It helped that he grew up in modestly affluent surroundings in Madoc, Ontario, a small rural community roughly halfway between Toronto and Ottawa on what is now the Trans-Canada Highway. The Dafoe family was well established in the area and had already produced one visibly successful son in John Wesley Dafoe, editor-in-chief of the Manitoba (later Winnipeg) Free Press from 1901 until his death in 1944.
    But the patriarch of the family as the century opened was William Allan Dafoe — known as the "Old Doc." He was, according to one historian, "a stern, parsimonious, inflexible man" who seemed "more than normally conscious of his position in a community of farmers." His son Dr Allan Roy Dafoe, feeling persecuted at home, fled north almost immediately upon graduating from medical school. From his self-imposed exile in the remote town of Callander, Ontario, the shy and somewhat dour man would rise to international celebrity as the country doctor who delivered the Dionne Quintuplets on May 28, 1934.
    If the Old Doc was strong-willed and austere at times, he had an active, inquiring mind and eclectic interests, among them a fascination with local history and the Dafoe genealogy. The latter was the subject of at least one monograph, in which he noted that the family name was exclusively Canadian. A corruption of the name "Devoe" — not uncommon in New York State — the name was eventually traced back to the Flemish and Dutch name "De Vos." The "Dafoe" family name had originated in Canada with the United Empire Loyalists who, along with the Mohawk, had settled along the shores of the Bay of Quinte in the late 1700s.
    Dafoe's cousin, Frank Dafoe, shared the Old Doc's enthusiasms. Born in Sidney Township, a small village outside Frankford, Ontario, Frank Dafoe was the youngest member of a family of seven. But at six feet and only 125 pounds, he was too frail for farm work. He left Sidney Township — or ran away — to attend the Ontario Business College in Belleville, beginning a new tradition in the Dafoe family: that of successful, self-made men.
    In Belleville, Frank Dafoe met and later married Eleanor Robinson, originally from Adolphustown. In 1900, the young couple arrived in Madoc, where Frank soon entered into a partnership with two hardware merchants to form Thompson, Richardson and Dafoe Ltd. Frank Dafoe became sole owner of the store in 1906. The following year, Eleanor Dafoe gave birth to their first son. Sadly, the infant boy died two years later after swallowing Gillette lye. Eleanor was expecting again as the tragedy struck.
    So it was that on November 21, 1909 Old Doc Dafoe was summoned to a two-and-a-half-storey brick duplex on St Lawrence Street in downtown Madoc. He delivered Eleanor and Frank Dafoe's second child — a healthy boy they named "Colin Scott."
    Although Colin grew up in "a perfectly ordinary way," it is virtually impossible to find such evidence. For one thing, Colin's father was himself an unusual man. Frank Dafoe came from a Methodist background and was a Liberal in a Conservative riding when a man's politics and his religion were significant factors in determining his position in a community. A proud man who seldom raised his voice or apologized, Frank Dafoe had an independent spirit that was equally important in deflecting criticism. As an astute businessman widely respected for his integrity, Dafoe ran his small hardware store so successfully that he was able to commission an architect to design an "estate" after the style of an English manor. The Dafoe house at 221 St Lawrence Street in Madoc was constructed in 1912-13 complete with cut-and-lathed interior woodwork, custom-made electrical fixtures, and cast-iron radiators throughout — all at a cost of $10,000. The Dafoe House remains something of a local landmark, and was celebrated as such during Madoc's centennial in 1978. Colin Dafoe chose the room with a dormer window off the third-storey attic for his own when he was only four years old.
    Eleanor Dafoe had given birth to another child by then — a girl named after her. In January 1914, she produced another boy, Roswald, who was named "after some ecclesiastical friend." He never did like the name and would adopt "Ross" instead. "It was easier to spell and sounded better," he reasoned. However, his nickname, "Dude," has outlasted even his own choice. He earned it by dressing up in his father's hat and suit jacket to greet him at lunch. Frank Dafoe, upon discovering his son at the front door, would proudly exclaim: "Why, look at the little dude!" The name stuck.
    In April 1915, Eleanor Dafoe gave birth to daughter Clarice. Nine and a half years later, in December 1924, the last of the children arrived. Eric Dafoe was known as "Rosebud" from the outset, later shortened to "Bud" as he matured into a husky young man.
    The Dafoe children got along well in what was considered a happy and well-ordered household. The upbringing was strict, but never physical. Neither parent was particularly demonstrative. The children attended Sunday School regularly and said grace before meals and prayers before bed. There was a piano in the house and Colin and his eldest sister, Eleanor, were tutored by a local music teacher. They often played duets together. Summers were spent at the family's cottage on Moira Lake.
    Yet, Colin Dafoe soon showed himself to be a rebel and adventurer at heart. "He was always a daredevilish sort of fellow," Eleanor recalled. Among his talents was that for borrowing things and never returning them. "He was a great one for giving everyone else's stuff away, too," Eleanor added. But for all his quirks, he was a good brother, and especially protective towards the two girls. Frank Dafoe and young Roswald both thought the world of him and considered him to be a natural athlete. To encourage this tendency Colin was given the first pair of skis in Madoc. They were homemade, of course, but still an improvement on the skis crudely fashioned from barrel staves worn by the other kids in the neighbourhood.
    An avid canoeist as well, Colin enjoyed going out on Moira Lake on his own for hours at a time. His boldness almost got the better of him once when a storm broke unexpectedly. Though only ten or eleven at the time, he demonstrated remarkable self-assurance by pulling the canoe ashore and sleeping under it until the next morning.
    There were other early signs of Dafoe's developing independence. If Frank Dafoe sent his son out to do yardwork, he would often later discover that Colin had disappeared and would eventually find him playing baseball in a nearby park. Still, Frank remained confident in his eldest son and was tolerant of his behaviour.
    Roswald's affection for his brother bordered on hero-worship, and Colin took advantage of any opportunity to test him. He would rely on Roswald to pilot him everywhere by boat or canoe, and later expected to be chauffeured by him. Roswald was seen as a useful object for tackling practice when Dafoe began to play football. He usually went along with Colin's antics goodnaturedly, but inevitably savoured those times when he bettered his brother.
    One such occasion remains with Roswald vividly. Colin had taken up boxing and so expected him to fill in as a sparring partner. One day, they had gone a few rounds outside when Roswald landed a solid jab and knocked his brother out cold. Colin woke up moments later, rubbed his chin, and said simply: "Well, that's enough of that, I guess." It would prove typical of Dafoe in later years that he could find humour in most situations — and perhaps most significantly when he was at the centre of the joke.
    Eventually Dafoe's free spirit led to a sharp disagreement with his father. It came as a result of Frank Dafoe's wish to see his eldest son join him in the family business after pursuing a formal education. Dafoe, on the other hand, wanted to move to Toronto, where a relative had arranged a job for him at Manufacturers Life.
    Both Colin and Roswald had always worked in their father's hardware store during the summers from the time they were old enough. Age was a serious factor given that Frank Dafoe's specialty, in addition to hardware, was dynamite. The two boys delivered it by truck to mines and construction sites in the Madoc area. It came therefore as a great shock that Dafoe did not seem interested in continuing beyond the summer work.
    For reasons that remain unclear, Dafoe had not yet finished high school when he left Madoc for Toronto in 1929 — just before his twentieth birthday. Roswald recalled that their father took Colin's decision to leave very hard. There was a painful disagreement over it. Years later, Dafoe would tell friends that his father had "kicked him out of the household" and that "it was the best thing that could have happened" — revealing more as an example of his developing talent as a raconteur than as an accurate account of events.

In the spring of 1930, Colin Dafoe returned to Madoc in an ambitious mood. He had finally decided what to do with his life. This change was due largely to the influence of Dr William Dafoe, who had arranged a job at Manufacturers Life in Toronto for his nephew and then taken the young man under his wing.
    Will Dafoe was the younger brother of Allan Roy Dafoe. An accomplished sportsman — outstanding at hockey, lacrosse, and soccer — he maintained the trim body of an athlete. He was well travelled and had an excellent record from the First World War. He had done graduate work in obstetrics and gynaecology in Edinburgh and had studied elsewhere in Europe. Perhaps as a result of this worldliness and shared athletic interest, Will Dafoe managed to tame his nephew's rebel spirit long enough for Colin to focus his attention on the future. Dafoe had decided to study medicine — a pursuit for which he had ample role models in his own family. But before he could enter Queen's University he had to finish high school.
    Colin rushed through the remainder of his curriculum at Madoc High School in the first few months of 1930. He studied French during this period, and was tutored by the wife of Henry Kervin de Letinhoe, who owned and operated a fox- fur farm on the south shore of Moira Lake. The Letinhoes were probably not quite as aristocratic as their European-sounding name suggested, although to this day it is recalled that Dafoe was tutored by "a Belgian Countess." In any event, it is unlikely that he paid for the private lessons, and as usual it was Roswald who ferried his brother to and from the appointments by rowboat.
    Finally, in September 1930, Colin Scott Dafoe entered the Medical Faculty at Queen's University — a freshman in the Class of '36. He would excel athletically, as expected, and, despite some "erratic behaviour," perform well scholastically. He associated with a colourful crowd that included John "Red" McNichol, Frank Earle, Gerry Graham, and Reg Patterson — all medical freshmen — and, from the Class of '35, Hugo T Ewart.
    Tall and muscular, John McNichol was the same age as Dafoe. He was given the nickname "Red" in honour of his brilliant hair and pinkish complexion. Frank Earle — called, for reasons long forgotten, "Harry the Horse" by his friends — was an equally imposing figure who ran hard and fast when playing football. Dafoe was similarly renowned as a vicious tackler on the varsity team, and his spirited performances on the playing field earned him the title "Tiger" Dafoe.
    Still, it was Dafoe's wildly unorthodox approach to life in general that was most vividly remembered from this period. His peculiar behaviour periodically resulted in difficulties with the lodgings he shared with his friends. One such occasion saw Dafoe and John McNichol atop a horse-drawn buggy loaded with furniture and books, travelling door to door in search of new accommodations after being tossed out of yet another flat. Dafoe took it all in stride and even seemed to draw nourishment from his nonconformity. "He had the weirdest way of doing things," McNichol has said. "He would work like a dog, but in the strangest ways you could imagine."
    Dafoe was a night-owl. He would go to bed shortly after dinner, leaving instructions to be awakened at midnight, and would work until dawn. He also did lab assignments and dissections at night. He would finish in the morning, sleep until midday, and then return to campus, arriving in class mid-afternoon. The schedule seldom varied. In the winter, he would wrap himself in an old eiderdown after the fire went out and continue studying. He was just as likely then to stay wrapped in the eiderdown and sleep outside in a toolshed, often when there was a foot or more of snow on the ground. He claimed it toughened him. It also encouraged the perception of him as a serious-minded outdoorsman.
    But Dafoe was not entirely opposed to amenities — especially if they added colour to an expedition. For an outing with John McNichol and Frank Earle, Dafoe, ever resourceful, managed to borrow an Essex roadster from the manager of the prestigious Rideau Club in Ottawa. After a week of camping and canoeing in Algonquin Park, the friends returned to Madoc late one evening. Dafoe did not want to wake his parents, so he suggested they all sleep in a park next to the local armoury. "It was typical of him, really," Frank Earle said afterwards. "Always ready for anything."
    On good days, the group might skip out to see a movie at Kingston's Capitol Theatre. It has been said of life at Queen's that "the sex urge started on campus and moved to Princess Street," where assorted night denizens congregated in the clubs. It is difficult to say to what extent Dafoe and his friends were caught up in this scenario. Dafoe was known, however, for his capacity for alcohol. He got himself "juiced up" at a pep rally one night before a rugby match in London, Ontario, stripped to the waist, then climbed up on a stage in a nightclub, shouting to the crowd: "I'll wrestle any man in the house!" Fortunately, he was rescued by his friends before anyone could accept the challenge.
    He also had a habit of disappearing, sometimes for a week or more at a time. John McNichol recalled one such episode during their third year, when an anatomy professor asked where Dafoe was hiding. McNichol said he didn't know, but privately assumed Dafoe had gone "on a binge somewhere" or was out fishing or duck hunting. He would return eventually, but rarely provide any explanation — something at odds with his reputation as a story-teller.
    Dafoe had begun to weave intricate tales about his family background. With dead-pan solemnity he assured his friends that he was a full-blooded Algonquin Indian. Then he circulated the story that his mother was Spanish. Throughout his life, Dafoe would fabricate similar accounts whenever he became impatient with dull-witted authority figures or, as seemed to be the case during his university days, when he was in the mood for a little fun. It was easy enough for him to do. Dafoe was dark-skinned and he tanned easily, especially during summer jobs outdoors. The stories were almost believable as a result. He was a muscular young man in his early adulthood, and with his tousled dark-brown hair, chestnut-coloured eyes, rugged features, and trim moustache — grown at Queen s to help him look older and more distinguished — he cut a dashing figure. He cultivated the swashbuckler image on occasion, too, once taking off after a speeding car and jumping aboard, clinging to a headlamp while draped over the hood and dangling one leg down the side. Foolhardy perhaps, but also "vintage Dafoe," as such stories came to be known. And they were not in short supply.
    Dafoe interned in Ottawa one summer and then, the year before graduating, went on an extended canoe trip with another Queen's student and his sister, now Mrs Eleanor Barton. She had not been well and Dafoe had cajoled her into coming along for the fresh air and exercise.
    They started out at Lake Couchiching and travelled down through the Trent System, roughing it mostly, as Dafoe preferred. The trip afforded Eleanor another opportunity to admire her brother's natural skills as an outdoorsman. She had remained sceptical of his decision to pursue a career in medicine, which seemed so confining and conservative for this rugged extrovert.
    Indeed, Dafoe found his professors at Queen's equally doubtful and he spent more than an hour before his final exams persuading them that he should be allowed to write. Although they were proving mulish and drew his attention to his poor attendance record, he was eventually admitted, and passed his exams without difficulty.
    John McNichol had always thought of Colin Dafoe as someone who did not learn quickly but who had great determination. "He was like a man possessed," he reflected. "Uncommunicative, taciturn, introspective, but dedicated in his own way."
    In many respects, Colin Scott Dafoe was more like his father than either of them realized. But by his own rules he had managed to finish the education he had started in the fall of 1930.
    He was now set to embark on the next crucial stage in his life.