What Stuart McLean taught me, in the classroom and long afterwards

I became a fan of The Vinyl Cafe when I was about 10 years old.

I was on board our family sailboat where the radio was one of the only forms of entertainment. The show was a summer replacement series on CBC Radio. I was supposed to be doing the dishes, but instead I was sitting down laughing as I listened to Dave trying to extract a skunk from under his deck.

It would be the first of many times where a Stuart McLean story would make me stop what I was doing and just listen.

I became a fan of Stuart McLean himself many years later. I was slotted into his third-year radio course at Ryerson University in Toronto, where I was studying journalism.

He wasn't a very good prof and I'm sure he'd be the first to admit it. By then, The Vinyl Cafe had taken off in popularity. He was gone more than half the time, and he realized he couldn't keep teaching.

I was in the last class he taught.

The only thing I really remember from that course was the day he took me aside and asked if I wanted to do some work for him.

I started going over to his house afternoons to do mostly busy work: find a clip for promos, mail stuff for him, research topics for stories, find the little details that he could weave into great stories.

"What's the deal with cream of tartar," would be the sort of starting point I was given.

One day I handed in my research on lemons (Stuart wanted to know why we called something bad a "lemon" when he'd never had a bad lemon).

A tale over a cup of tea

It had taken hours to come up with pages and pages of information, and I'm not sure he ever even got to read it.

Over a cup of tea, I told him my lemon story, about how my family had taken a few lemon seeds, placed them in some dirt and years later my parents had their own indoor lemon trees, producing bright yellow lemons even in the dark dreary winter.

He sat down at his laptop and I helped him write up the story of the lemon trees of Bloomingdale.

When I needed to shoot a video for a project at Ryerson, he offered up his car for me to "steal" and even appeared on camera swearing and chasing me down (injuring himself in the process).

He was a good sport.

He offered me a summer job that year. He didn't really know exactly what he wanted me to do, but he wanted to help me out.

The Times Colonist in Victoria gave me an offer as well, one that would let me be a reporter, the sort of job we both knew I really wanted.

He was the first to tell me to go for the adventure.

A whimsical way with stories

The next time he offered me a job was after I had been a reporter with CBC in Goose Bay for a couple of years. My job was on the chopping block, and I wasn't sure what I was going to do if I got cut.

He told me not to worry, I could always come work for him, he'd make a job for me.

Part of me is sad I never did go and work closely with him.

It's not just because he was incredibly generous to those close to him. The sort of radio he did was looked down upon by many in the industry.

He told whimsical stories, but he could tell them better than anyone else in the country.

There are days of chasing politicians that I think of how much more fulfilling it would be to have even a small part in helping a Dave and Morley story come to fruition.

3 lessons from Stuart McLean

My friendship with Stuart taught me a few things:

1. Listen more than you talk. He may have been a storyteller, but in person he'd much rather hear you talk about what's important in your life. Too many of us spend conversations waiting for our turn to talk — but taking the time to truly listen to someone is one of the best gifts you can give them.

2. Do small, unexpected things for people. Not long after I moved to Goose Bay, I was complaining to him about how you couldn't get the Globe and Mail. A couple of days later, a courier package arrived on my desk, inside of which was a Saturday Globe. Small actions can make a big impact.

3. Sometimes it can take a while to find what you're truly good at. Stuart started his CBC career producing documentaries, and from there he went on to teach at Ryerson and present a weekly column for Morningside. It wasn't until he was in his mid-40s that he started writing the stories we've all come to know and love.

Even years after I'd worked for him, he'd still make time to catch up when I was in Toronto.

If I happened to be in the same city where The Vinyl Cafe was on tour, he'd offer up tickets and meet for a drink after the show.

A treasure who made time for ordinary folks

He was a busy guy, a Canadian treasure who always had plenty of demands on his time, but I was always touched how he'd still make time for me.

There was nothing in it for him, but it meant so much to me. I only wish I was able to tell him.

As I sit here shedding a few tears, I can only imagine how tough this is for Jess Milton, his long-time producer (who was also a former student), for the Vinyl Cafe team who knew him so much better than I did, and especially for his three children.

It's a profound loss for them and for everyone who loves a good story.

He has left us a wealth of stories that will leave us laughing and crying for many more years.

I know I won't be the only one to hear his distinctive voice and cadence every time I read one of his books.

I guess this isn't goodbye, Stuart, but so long for now.

Peter Cowan is a reporter with CBC in St. John's, who has also worked in Labrador and Toronto. He was in Stuart McLean's last radio class at Ryerson University and then worked for him in 2005.