No, I did not go to Stan Carew's funeral today. Patricia had a doctor's appointment that came close to abutting the funeral start time. We figured that a funeral was more of an intimate family affair, so we decided not to go. Maybe that was a mistake. The CBC streamed it on its website.
I heard a documentary series on the CBC this afternoon about a guy who was trying to track down the origin of a couple of photographs taking during the Crimean War. The host of the program insinuated himself into the story every few seconds, completing sentences that the story's subject had started, not as part of a conversation, but just through the kind of editing that barely let the subject get a word in edgewise while the host looked erudite and urbane but came across as a boor. Had I been the subject of the story, I would have walked away or told the host to shut up.
My point is that I did not know Stan Carew. I am not sure how many people did. It would be foolish of me to state I did know him and therefore to write that much about him other than the known facts, which I have done in my latest Frank column. To have written about him knowingly would have made me like the host of the show I just mentioned, and been a disservice to the subject (Stan) and made me look like a so-and-so. Even people who worked with him since the 1970's have confessed to not knowing as much about Stan as they thought they did. His gift was his voice, and his delivery was smooth and silky and seductive and beguiling.
Over the years I spent maybe five minutes with him. Our longest conversation was the time I was on hold after winning a mystery vocalist contest on his show. He was getting my mailing address and he talked about how a couple of things that made me think he was comfortable with me. He did agree to an interview with me at one point a year or so ago, but like many things in my life, I did not follow through. My loss. I think. I am not sure how much I would have learned about him. He was a private man.
The best way I can illustrate the kind of guy I think he was, was a telling comment he made when he filled in on Information Morning a few years ago, between Christmas and New Year's. I think he was filling in for Don Connolly, but it may have been Louise Renault. I cannot remember. But the co-host asked Stan how his Christmas had been. "Fine", he said. "I spent Christmay Day binge-watching the latest season of 'Dexter'". Not many people would spend their Christmas Day that way, and admit to it. Why did he choose to spend that day by himself? Or was it his choice at all?
Do you still think you knew Stan? Really?
Anyway, after her appointment, we got some breakfast at the Canadiana Restaurant in Bayer's Lake before returning to the house. We decided not to go to the cottage this weekend after all. Instead, we drove to Peggys Cove and ambled about the rocks like a few hundred other people did. My camera is upstairs, or I would include a couple snaps of our trip there. Maybe I will put them here tomorrow, if I think of it.
We returned to the house yet again. Patricia napped and I ate dinner. She came downstairs to eat after "Inner Space" was over. I took a nap and now I am here in my home office telling you about my day while you use toothpicks to hold your eyes open because you're so damned bored with reading about the trifles of my life.
Well, phooey to you.
See you tomorrow, you dirty rat finks you.