Storyteller’s voice silenced far too soon

It was one of those rare winter days where the air kissed your face like a warm embrace from a favourite aunt and the snow turned to brown sugar, like the kind Mom keeps in the pantry in a jelly jar with a slice of apple to keep it soft.

Our humours were sunny this winter day. Spring was paying an unexpected visit like an old friend back in town.

But by afternoon, our moods darkened and our hearts leadened as terrible whispers spread around our offices, on the news, over the Internet and across town that another old friend was gone.

Stuart McLean, beloved Canadian storyteller, died too early. He was just 68, young for someone whose work touched so many over the radio, on CDs, in print and in person.

His tender humour, distinctive voice and folksy style captivated nearly everyone he reached — young and old, liberal and conservative, country or big-city.

His Vinyl Cafe regaled us with the foibles of second-hand record-store owner Dave, his wife Morley, their kids Sam and Stephanie and a lovable collection of pets, friends and neighbours.

Only McLean could elevate the story of a dad cooking a turkey into a joyful Christmas tradition in its own right.

There were his essays, more like love letters to the small town or big city he happened to be visiting, music from artists you never heard of but grew to love.

And stories — oh, the stories. At his behest, ordinary Canadians exchanged our tales, embarrassing, touching and heartfelt.

McLean would be proud, and maybe a little abashed, to know we are still sharing stories — on how he touched our lives.

One father who drove his eight-year-old to ski lessons every Sunday remembered when he stopped to gas up. He turned off the ignition, silencing a McLean story twothirds in, prompting a voice to pipe up, insistently from the back seat, “Dad, leave the radio on!”

With Dave-like obliviousness, he never realized that the weekly exposure to Vinyl Cafe had turned his son into a fan.

How many of us had to leave the radio on as we dawdled on a trip or stayed in the car having reached our destination, or lingered at the sink after washing all the dishes or let the phone ring to voice mail so McLean could finish weaving his latest tapestry?

As he explained in a CBC-TV interview, “A good story is a story that, if someone left before telling you the end, you would be apoplectic ... What happens next? Go on!”

Stuart McLean’s voice has fallen silent too soon, but his stories live on. — Postmedia Network