I think I became a fan the first time I ever heard Stuart McLean’s voice on Peter Gzowski’s Morningside program on CBC Radio from 1982-1997.
Earlier, Gzowski had a three-year run hosting This Country in the Morning which, for my money, was the best radio program in history. For all of those years, for three hours each weekday Canadians were treated to an audible smorgasbord of remarkable variety and depth. Through Gzowski’s travels and interviews we got an entirely new appreciation for our country.
McLean became a favourite on Morningside for his quirky little pieces about people and places that often are easily overlooked. Even in those early days he was a master storyteller, drawing out stories with his apparently limitless curiosity and unparalleled ability to listen. Gzowski was a brilliant interviewer himself, and his admiration and affection for McLean and his work was apparent.
I remember we were driving to some forgotten destination when we heard McLean report to Gzowski about his visit to a small community that still used human pinsetters in its small bowling alley. Host and reporter were both clearly engaged in this little recapturing of what was once a common experience in Canada, which gave birth to the five-pin bowling game.
I think what drew me to both of these men was their normalcy. Neither had the glib and polished radio voices that we typically associate with the medium. They stumbled, and hemmed and hawed, somehow never becoming annoying. It wasn’t difficult to imagine chatting at a neighborhood pub with either of them, and I wish I had had the opportunity.
As good a journalist as McLean was, it would have been difficult to foresee just how easy he would make it seem when he introduced the largely fictional Vinyl Café, and introduced listeners to Dave (whose record store boasted “We may not be big, but we’re small) and Morley, their kids and friends and neighbours.
His audience grew over the years, in large part because he insisted on travelling throughout the country, doing shows in venues large and small, showcasing Canadian musicians and telling stories about each town and city he and his crew visited. In that way he was continuing Gzowski’s early mission to help listeners better understand this vast land we call Canada, and he did so brilliantly.
We drove over to Trail, perhaps 15 years ago, Angela and I, in the company of our friends Rand and Barbara Archibald. Rand and I shared a love of radio, and our two favourites were Garrison Keillor and Stuart McLean. It was a wonderful evening as we got to see first hand how engaging McLean was on stage, and how much time and effort he put into getting to know the communities he visited.
When I got home last week and learned about McLean’s death I immediately Googled to find a Morningside segment that has been played on numerous CBC programs in recent days. In that piece, McLean had taken on the mantle of another CBC great, Danny Finkleman, who had, a decade earlier, gone out shopping in Toronto to discover what he could buy for $1.25. McLean gave himself a tougher task, limiting his spending to a buck.
The story started out innocuously enough, with McLean pulling items like chalk, bookmatches and toothpicks from his bag. But it started to go sideways when he produced a jar with a cricket inside, purchased for a dime from a pet store, which sold crickets as feed for reptiles. To this day, I am not sure if we really know whether that cricket was alive when Gzowski first cast doubt on its health.
“He’s not well, Stuart,” he began. Then, “This cricket has had the biscuit,” (there was a piece of Nabisco Shredded Wheat in the jar) and, eventually, in response to McLean’s comment about a cricket’s longevity—“I don’t think he’s got the long lifespan”—at which point Gzowski began the quick downhill slide to Out of Control with, “He’s playing the back nine of cricket existence this morning.”
“Maybe we’d better put the lid on,” the young protégé said, hopefully. “He’s not gonna get out of there,” said Gzowski, and soon the conversation deteriorated into paroxysms of laughter. They cut to a music segment, returned to the air and fell apart all over again.
My favourite Stuart McLean moment, though, was not with Gzowski nor a part of a Dave and Morley story. One Sunday afternoon I tuned into The Vinyl Café and soon found myself swallowed into an unforgettable story about a little boy who survived being swept over Niagara Falls. Roger Woodward was 7 years old in 1960 when the event took place and the always curious McLean had decided to track him down to learn about the event first hand.
On that magical Sunday, I heard McLean tell a story that left his audience gasping for air, myself included. Its telling was a remarkable combination of journalism and storytelling, made all the more powerful because we knew the ending, that Roger had survived. What we didn’t know was that Roger was on the phone, listening, while McLean told his story to a national audience in under 14 minutes. From their conversation immediately afterward, it was evident that Roger was as touched by hearing that story as the rest of the listeners. I won’t try to summarize it. Just Google “Stuart McLean Niagara Falls” and the first link takes you to Youtube, where you can hear the famous story as it was first told.
At a time in history where we are regularly bombarded with the latest rants of a dangerous and a self-absorbed megalomaniac, we need more than ever to search out human beings who can tell stories that lift us up, make us think, and leave us feeling better about ourselves and the people around us. We have lost one of the very best at doing just that. I am grateful to have had Stuart McLean in my life for nearly three decades.
