Dear Stuart,
I don’t think for a minute you will remember me. But I remember you. Like many other Canadians, I followed your documentaries on Sunday Morning. I laughed at the ailing cricket adventure on Morningside. (“That cricket is not well, Stuart.”) And, of course, I loved The Vinyl Café. Letters were an important part of that program, so I decided to write this one to you.
I work for the NWT Literacy Council. In June 2006, you came to the Northwest Territories to support our work, like your pal, Peter Gzowski, had done before you. We were honoured, but a bit nervous. We booked the Northern Arts and Cultural Centre for two nights – two live shows – with all the proceeds coming to our organization. What if we couldn’t fill the theatre on both nights? How embarrassing would that be? I remember this vividly: the tickets went on sale – online – on Monday, May 15 at 12:01am. Within a few hours, they were sold out – a record for two shows, Jess, your producer, told us. And this in a town that’s known for leaving things to the last minute. Stuart McLean and Yellowknifers! How could we ever have doubted that this would work?
For several days, you wandered round town, meeting regular folks and dignitaries – watching, listening, learning, and writing. And then it was showtime.
On both nights, the theatre was packed, and a real feeling of anticipation and excitement filled the air. You came out on stage wearing your new outfit. “I’ve been shopping,” you announced proudly, “at the dump. Yellowknife could have the tidiest dump in the country. It’s not unlike Walmart, except it’s busier, of course.” The audience roared its approval. You had gone scavenging at the dump – a favourite pastime of seasoned Yellowknifers – with Walt Humphries, local prospector, storyteller, and dump officianado. Right there, you nailed us!
Customer service at Bullock’s Bistro, the cast of characters at the Strange Range (that’s the Gold Range Hotel to the uninitiated), Aboriginal languages, consensus government, Premier Joe Handley, Commissioner Tony Whitford, Tsiigehtchic, Łutselk’e – names of people and places, and information rolled off your tongue, as if you had lived here forever.
You sat comfortably in an armchair enjoying the local performers – musicians Leela and Jay Gilday, Tracy Riley and Brodie Dawson, and storyteller René Fumoleau. You partied afterwards at the Wildcat Café with the performers, and even danced. Somehow, I don’t think of you as a dancer!
With support from the Inuvik Literacy Society, we sent you north to Inuvik to do a book reading and book signing event. There you met Chris. “How do you spell Tsiigehtchic?” you asked him. “T-s-i-i-g-e-h-t-c-h-i-c,” he said. “And how do you pronounce it?” “Oh, that’s easy,” said Chris, not missing a beat. “We pronounce it Arctic Red River.” You went canoeing in the Mackenzie Delta under the midnight sun with Inuvik’s Mayor, Peter Clarkson. (It was June, remember!) And you flew – somewhat apprehensively – in a small plane to Tuktoyaktuk – apprehensively, that was, until the pilot flew low over the tundra, and you were enthralled. You worked all those experiences into your shows.
Thanks to you, we raised over $20,000 for community literacy projects. But you left us with much more than money. In a few short days, you put your finger on the pulse of who we are. You took our everyday lives and wove us into your stories of Canada. Along with the stories of Dave and Morley, Mary Churlington, and Kenny Wong, people across Canada heard OUR story. We felt so proud. We waited eagerly for the shows to air, and yes, we even tuned in unashamedly to the reruns.
I asked people if they could remember which particular Dave and Morley stories you told in those shows. No one could – not because they weren’t funny, or we didn’t like them. We did! We laughed and clapped, and smirked because we thought we knew what was coming next. “Don’t get ahead of me,” you admonished us sternly.
What people remembered ten years on was this: you shopped at the dump, like the rest of us do, and you learned to spell and pronounce Tsiigehtchic. You touched our soul and we loved it.
Thanks for coming, Stuart, and thanks for the memories. RIP, my friend, we will miss you.
– Helen Balanoff
