Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - Kindness - Wally

Episode Date: May 24, 2024

“Not everyone in the world is cut out to be a school janitor.” We’re full of the milk of human kindness on this week’s podcast. We play Stuart’s heartwarming interview with one of our favourite Arthur Award winners and Jess awards an Arthur of her own – to a Vinyl Cafe character! Plus, a Dave and Morley story that you may not have heard before. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

From the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton and this is Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe. Welcome. I overheard something at a restaurant the other day, and I can't stop thinking about it. And by the way, don't ever sit next to me in a restaurant. I can't help myself. I eavesdrop. I don't mean to. In fact, I actively try not to. But I can't help myself. Everyone's conversations are always so interesting. And in my defense, it was also kind of my job for a long time. I used to do this for the show. I used to, when we would go to record a show somewhere in a town, as Stuart and I were trying to get a sense of the place, I would plop myself down in a coffee shop and listen to what people were talking about.

It's part of how I would figure out what was important in that place. Anyway, just if you see me, don't sit next to me because I will be listening to pretty much everything you say. Anyway, what this woman said the other day was not central to her conversation. She just sort of dropped it in there, a subclause in the middle of the sentence. But it was an everyday insight that really stuck with me. This is what she said. She said, yeah, he's nice, but that's not the same thing as being kind. Now that rang true to me, but I wasn't sure why. I'd never really thought of it.

Have you? And if so, what do you think? I came to the conclusion that kindness isn't just about making someone feel good. It's about actually doing good. Niceness is kind of like social glue. You know, it's holding a door open for someone. It's saying thank you. It's asking them about their day. Kindness is action. It often requires doing something, noticing, acting, engaging, rather than just responding. We're going to talk about kindness today on the show, and I have two things I want to play you. I want to play you an Arthur Award. So many of you have asked if we could bring back the Arthurs. The Arthurs are the awards that Stuart used to hand out every Thanksgiving.

They are the awards that recognize everyday people for those everyday acts of kindness that too often just go unnoticed. We're hoping to present some new Arthur awards this year. And to refresh your memory, we're going to play an Arthur for you today on the podcast. And not only that, I'm going to hand one out. And I'm going to hand one out to a character. I'm going to give an Arthur to the Vinyl Cafe character that I think most deserves one. That's in the second half of the show. First, this.

This is Stuart McLean handing out an Arthur Award back in 2012. Dear Stuart, my name is Amber McNeil and I'm from Glenora Falls, Mabu, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. I write to you today about an awesome person who had an impact on my life and whom I'd like to recommend for your Arthur Awards. I come from a large family by modern standards. I'm the second eldest of five children. We were raised by wonderful parents, Bernie and Ethel. My dad worked and still does as a heavy-duty mechanic.

My mother stayed at home. We weren't rich by any stretch of the imagination, that's for sure, but I never remember going without anything I ever wanted or needed, and neither do my four brothers. 18 years ago, when I was 12, I announced I wanted to play hockey. Our neighbor, Angus Campbell, was over for a cup of King Cole tea that day. Angus is a huge hockey fan. He knows every stat of every NHL player. If you went over to his house in those days where he lived with his mother and his sister,

you'd see a stack of hockey news beside his lazy boy chair. After my kitchen announcement, my mom and dad looked at one another. They knew how much a full set of hockey gear cost. But it was the end of the season, so my dad said we'd go and look at new skates at the Bargain Hunter. I was too excited, and I think Angus was just as excited as me. His enthusiasm was always contagious. We continued to discuss the idea until Angus piped up and said, If Amber is going to be playing hockey, she's going to need a new set of blades.

How about we take a run up to Canadian Tire and pick out a pair? I'll get them for her. My parents insisted that they could get a used pair. It was an exercise in futility, because Angus had made up his mind. We were going to the Port Hawkesbury Canadian Tire on Friday night. So when Friday came, we piled into Angus' pickup. When we entered the store, we went to the skate aisle, and Angus summoned a fellow in a red shirt. door, we went to the skate aisle, and Angus summoned a fellow in a red shirt. It didn't take long before I had a pair of size 5 CCM tacks in the cart. My parents couldn't thank Angus enough. Angus said he was happy to do it, and then he pushed the cart to the shoulder pads and started

handing me shoulder pads to try on. My parents reminded Angus that he was only to buy skates. I'd never seen Angus fiery in any sort of assertive way, except when he was talking about Gretzky or Domi, but that night he truly would not take no for an answer. By the time we got to the checkout, the cart was full. From socks to helmet, all the gear I would need, all brand new. The lady at the cash gave us the total. It was more money than I'd ever seen.

More than $600. My parents tried one last time to sway Angus, but he wouldn't hear of it. The only thing he asked was that I let him know when my hockey games were and call him if I ever needed a ride to practice. wouldn't hear of it. The only thing he asked was that I let him know when my hockey games were and call him if I ever needed a ride to practice. What Angus Campbell did for me that day was the kindest and most generous thing anyone has ever done for me. I did call him often to let him know game times and to catch the odd ride. And I kept playing hockey. I played peewee, bantam, midget, triple-A and varsity hockey at Dalhousie University. I went on to win three provincial

championships, and I used the equipment that Angus Campbell bought for me at the Canadian Tire in Port Hawkesbury the whole time. Eighteen years have passed. I am 30 years old today. I still play hockey. I also coach a woman's team and a girl's team. And I still use the elbow pads and gloves that Angus bought me that day. Sure, they look a bit ratty, and I'm sure there are whole ecosystems living in the material, but I couldn't imagine playing with any others. Hockey has been and always will be a huge part of my life. I've gained strength, confidence, relationships, life lessons, and even met my longtime boyfriend during a night of co-ed hockey. Without the gift Angus gave me that day, I would not be who I am today. Angus turned 80 last year. He still knows every stat of every hockey player who plays in the NHL, and I still see him often.

who plays in the NHL, and I still see him often. In the few summers that I worked at the Red Shoe Pub in Mabu, I never charged him for the pot of tea he would order during the Sunday fiddle matinee. This didn't begin to pay back the $600, but he always got a kick out of any hockey stories I had for him and the fact that I was still using some of the original gear from 18 years ago. I implore you to award Angus Campbell of Glenora Falls, Cape Breton, a prestigious Arthur Award for his kindness, and ultimately the opportunities he bestowed upon me that day when I was 12 years old. That nomination came in from Ambra McNeil of Mabu, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. And we have Ambra on the line right now.

Listening in. Ambra, are you there? Hi. Hi, Ambra. How are you? Good. How are you, Stuart? I'm very well. Thank you very much. So how did you feel hearing your letter? It brought back a lot of memories, that's for sure. And it's pretty vivid.

It's just like yesterday that he did that great thing for me. How did you feel the night you sat down to write that letter? Well, actually, it was an afternoon. And it was after I had listened to other nominations. I was listening to your program, and it just automatically popped into my head to nominate Angus because he's just kind of a pillar in the community, and everybody knows him, and they see him everywhere. They see him at the Fresh Mart. They see him at church. They see him at the West Mabou Square dances and also at the hockey rink, too.

Is he a rich guy? No. He grew up in Glendora Falls just like I did and lived with his mom and his sister for many years and continues to live with his sister now. So, no, just a hardworking man, worked the roads and construction and not rich by any means at all. Huh. Let's get Angus on the line right now and tell him. Okay.

This'll be fun. Jess Milton, who's the producer of the show, is going to call him now or, you know, dial the number and we'll get him on the line. Here we go. Hello? Hello? Yes, hello. Is Angus Campbell there, please? Yeah, just a minute.

Thank you. Angus, it's for you. We've got him, Ambra. We've got him, Ambra. We've got him, yeah. Okay. Have you spoken to him recently? Not in a little while, no. Hello?

Angus Campbell? Yes. It's Stuart McLean speaking from CBC Radio. Yeah. From the show The Vinyl Cafe. Stuart McLean. Yeah, I got a radio show called The Vinyl Cafe. Oh, yes, yeah.

So every year on my show, we do a special edition where we give people awards. Yes. I want to give you an award this year. For what? awards. Yes. Want to give you an award this year. For what? You'd be nominated for being a great guy by

Ambra McNeil. Oh, I know, I know. Yeah, she's my neighbor. Yeah. When she was 12 years old, you bought her a set of hockey equipment. Oh, I rigged her right all out.

That's right. Yeah, and... Oh, yeah. And you changed her life. Is that right? She's on the line right now to tell you all about it. Hi, Angus. Hello, Ambra.

Yeah. How are you? Good enough, Ambra. How are yourself? I'm good. Are you surprised that I nominated you for an award? Well, thank you, Ambra. Thank you. Thank you for that I nominated you for an award? Well, thank you, Amber. Thank you.

Thank you for that. Well, Angus, no, it's a thank you to you. That was the nicest, most generous thing that anybody has ever done for me. And I heard about these Arthur Awards, and it's for people that do good things for others. And I thought that you were the perfect candidate. good things for others, and I thought that you were the perfect candidate. And that's why I nominated you, because the day you bought me that gear, you changed my life. Is that right?

That's right. You were at the women's golf, you were at Wayne Gretzky. Angus? Yes, sure. Yeah. Let's talk about hockey for a minute. Oh, yes. Who's the greatest player ever?

Oh, boy. Look, maybe I'm like a politician, won't give you a straight answer, but look, I have to take about three or four. Gretzky, Big Romero, Bobby Orr, and Sidney Crosby. They're in a league of their own. What about the best team? What was the best team ever? The Edmund and Oilers were the one that won about nine or ten cups.

When Gresham was there and Mark Mathieu and Curry, Kevin Lowe, Teganen, those other teams that was good also, that was hard to beat. The Islanders had a team that was hard to beat. And Montreal, the one way back in the Doug Harvey days, and Richard and Belville, won five cups in a row. But the best team that ever was was that team, the Edmunds and Oilers. Howie Meeker or Don Cherry?

Who would you like to run into at the Red Shoe? Howie Meeker or Don Cherry? Howie Meeker or Don Cherry. Yeah. I'd call them all of them even. And McClain with them. I'd call them even just to meet. To meet in my

way. You meet at the Red Shirt. I call it Macmillan's store. Tell me about that store. The Jim Macmillan's store? Yeah, tell me about walking in a Jimmy Macmillan's store in the old days.

Well, horse and wagons, big pole there, all over, tire horse, sleighs, wagons, big pole there, all over, tire horse, sleighs, wagons, and the winter sleighs, and no roads open, going through the fields in big snowstorms. The mail was walking to the post office, it was right across from our place, right near your place,

Amber, the mail, it went after groceries in Mabour, Inverness, and you bought a gallon of molasses, you fill it with a big punch of molasses, and kerosene, and no power, no lights, no power, electric power, loose tea, you got it in a pound tea tool, but you got it in a brown paper bag, and you weighed the tea string on it, and you weren't buying too much. You're making

your own bread. You had your own beef and milk. You had your own milk and everything. People had handshakes. You weren't buying that much. So you bought molasses and you bought tea? And sugar. Sugar? And kerosene for the lamps. How did you get around, Angus? Oh, it didn't go too much. You walked to Mabel, and sometimes you'd walk to Inverness. You'd walk there, and then it was heart and slate. It was all kerosene. So how far was it to walk to Inverness?

Quite a ways from it. It was about 9 or 10 miles, about 4 miles to Mabel. And that was the life then. They didn't take much of it. It was just that was everybody who stole it, and them were those days. I want to ask you about growing up then compared to growing up now. Would it be better for a boy to grow up when you grew up, or better for a boy to grow up today?

Be better for a boy to grow up when you grew up, or better for a boy to grow up today? Look, there was good things way back then, and there was bad things, and the same today. There's good things and there's bad things. It balances out pretty well. Angus, next time I make it to Mabu, can we have a mug up at the Red Shoe? Right on. And look, I drink, but it's only King Cole that I'm drinking.

That's tea. You know it, yeah. I know it. I have a box of King Cole tea in my cupboard, Angus. Stuart, go to talk to your Stuart McLean. Angus Campbell, it's a delight to talk to you.

Angus, we'll send you a prize in the mail. Well, good enough, Stuart. I got a new book out. I'm going to send you a copy of The Vinyl Cafe, The Revenge of the Vinyl Cafe. Is that right? Yeah, that's... I'll be getting that. You will be getting that.

Amber, you too. All right, sounds good. Thank, you too. All right. Sounds good. Thank you, Stuart. So long for now, Stuart. Okay. So long for now. That was Angus Campbell of Glenora Falls, Cape Breton,

and Amber McNeil, also, well, of Halifax these days, but also of Glenora Falls. Amber McNeil nominated Angus Campbell for an Arthur Award because 18 years ago, when she was 12 years old, he bought her a complete set of hockey equipment. That is so great. That is so great. We talked to so many fantastic people over the years and heard about so many great small acts of kindness. Do you have someone you'd like to nominate for the Arthurs? We want to hear about it.

If we get enough nominations, we'll hand out brand new Arthur Awards this year. The Arthur Awards are open now. So send us a note and tell us who you think deserves an Arthur and why. You can write us at VinylCafe at VinylCafe.com or just head over to our website and write us there. That's VinylCafe.com. dot com. Welcome back. I told you I wanted to hand out an Arthur today. After eavesdropping on that conversation in the restaurant about the difference between niceness and kindness, this is the character that I thought about. This is the character that I would nominate for an Arthur award. This is Wally. For as long as anyone can remember, and for reasons that no one can recall,

William Jarvis has been known as Wally to the teachers, the parents, and the children at Sam's School. The only person from the galaxy of adults to be addressed by their first name in the cosmos of kids. Wally the janitor. Wally the caretaker. World famous Wally. Cover-all, wool-capped, and more often than not, unshaved Wally. Wally who is best known and most loved for the lunch hour every April when he climbs up onto the school roof. And then with every kid from kindergarten to grade eight gathered below him, all of them howling with delight, Wally balances like a knight on a castle turret, balances on the very edge of the school roof, and tosses down one after the other an entire year of

roofed tennis balls. Wally's from Newfoundland. His father was a fisherman, and his father's father before that. Wally was going to be a fisherman, too. He used to set traps with his grandfather when he was a boy. But the fishery ended, and Wally ended up cleaning windows in the city, dangling over the edge of office towers in a body harness. He didn't mind it. It wasn't any different than being hauled up a mast to unfoul a halyard, and he still got to work with water. And on windy days, you got bounced around up there, just like being out in the bay, but it was lonely work. Sometimes Wally would tap on a window and pull a face. And the office workers would smile and hold up their mugs of coffee.

And he could count on someone to wave at him and invite him in. Wally couldn't go in, of course. All Wally could do was wave back and winch himself out of sight. But that is how he met his wife, Mrs. Wally. She was once one of the women who worked in one of the offices. And she thought Wally looked so sweet working away, and she told all the other women, and they said that she should do something about that. And one day she did.

She held up one of her homemade banana muffins, and Wally grinned and pointed down at the street. And darned if at the end of the day she wasn't waiting at the bottom of his rope with a muffin. They got married six months later. She's the only one who ever did anything like that. So it wasn't totally lonely. And Wally stuck at window washing for 12 years. He didn't mind the job, but he didn't love it. He loved his job at the school. Not everyone in the world's cut out to

be a school janitor. A lot of people would be worn down by the spilled paint, the gum stuck to the floor, and all that vomit. Not Wally. Wally loved it all. Every day was different. It was always some happy kid bringing him a birthday cupcake wrapped in wax paper, or some kid with troubles. Wally had a special touch for the kids with troubles. He's the only one in the school who that little thug Mark Portnoy will listen to. One year on the last afternoon of school, a Friday afternoon in June, the June Mark was in grade four, Wally found Mark's art folder in the garbage. An entire year's worth of art.

Wally saved it until school was back in September. You should have taken this home to your mother, said Wally. Mark Portnoy shrugged. Why, said Mark. So she could throw it out? I saved her the trouble. Wally began to flip through the portfolio page by page. Mark stayed and watched. He said, this is stupid, but he didn't leave. Wally set aside three pictures. Wally said, I'm putting these up in my office. Mark said, that's your problem. It was the first time anyone had put anything Mark Portnoy did up on a wall. had put anything Mark Portnoy did up on a wall. Next year, on the last day of school, Mark Portnoy brought his art file to Wally.

He said, I don't need this junk. Wally went through it again, choosing three more pictures, while Mark stood and watched patiently. Wally just might be the perfect school janitor. And then one day he vanished. One day the kids came to school and Wally was gone. There was an old man in his place and no one knew his name or where he'd come from, but they knew one thing, he was a disaster.

They knew that right from the first morning. Everyone sat in class that morning watching in horror. There he was, his first day, down on his hands and knees in the middle of the schoolyard, poking at the schoolyard drain. There was a pickaxe and a snake on the ground beside him. The schoolyard drain had been blocked for years. Wally had never gone near it. Wally understood the blessings of a blocked drain. Wally understood the pleasures of puddles, the slipperiness of ice. At recess, everyone tore outside. The grade 7s organized the grade 1s to stand on the drain.

And there was a standoff that lasted a good five minutes before the janitor picked up his stuff and went inside. It was Sam's best friend, Murphy, who got on the case. It was Murphy who went to the office and asked about Wally outright. Murphy, who brought the news back to the boys waiting for him in the boys' bathroom. Wally was made redundant, said Murphy. None of them, Murphy included, had a clue what redundant meant.

Peter Moore was the first to speak. Peter said, redundant? That's gross. Jeff said, is it fatal? I think so, said Murphy. Mr. Lovell said the union is grieving. Murphy tried to get more information after school. He asked the principal, Mrs. Cassidy. Mrs. Cassidy was late for a parent meeting.

Mrs. Cassidy didn't even stop moving. Wally's not with us anymore, she said, adding over her shoulder, it's been pretty brutal. There's been some serious slashing. Mr. Miller, the vice principal, confirmed it. Wally's being cut. Murphy carried the news back to the boys' room. It's worse than we thought, said Murphy.

What are we going to do, said Sam? I don't know, said Murphy. I've got to think about it. Then, that very night, on his way home from dinner at his grandparents' house, Murphy, alone in the back seat of his parents' car and almost asleep, opened his eyes as they passed the school. Murphy opened his eyes and saw him. It was him, said Murphy. They were back in the boys' washroom, Murphy, Sam, Peter, Jeff, and Gregory. Murphy said he was hunched over and moving really slowly. You saw him, said Gregory.

His shadow, said Murphy. I saw his shadow. It was huge against the wall, and he was all bent over. Why would he be all bent over, said Peter. Jeff punched him. Jeff said, because he's being cut up and made redundant, stupid. I knew that, said Peter. And then Peter, who was getting afraid, said, where do you think they keep them during the day? Jeff said, in the supply cupboard with all the other redundant people. That's why they keep it locked, said Jeff. They let them out at night and they roam the halls.

Everyone was nodding except Murphy. Murphy was shaking his head. Murphy said, the boiler room. Peter looked horrified. Peter said, all those weird noises. Jeff said, the clanging and the boiler room. Peter looked horrified. Peter said, all those weird noises. Jeff said, the clanging and the moans. Murphy nodded. Murphy said, it's the redundant people. After lunch, Sam got a note from Murphy in the middle of math class, which wouldn't be noteworthy except Murphy isn't in Sam's math class. Meet me in the locker room after school. When Sam arrived, Murphy was staring at

the rusted door that led into the boiler room. Murphy said, we have to get in there. Sam said, how are we gonna do that? I'm working on it, said Murphy. Murphy, who could arrange to get a note to a friend in a math class when he was nowhere near the classroom, is not a boy who favors doorbells. When Murphy comes to call, he comes on the wind, a handful of dirt chucked at a window, the hoot of an owl.

Hoo-hoo! Or as he came that night, a flashlight flashing from a garage roof. Sam was already in bed when the flashlight beam played across his bedroom ceiling. He went to his window and he peered into the night. He couldn't see anything, but he knew. He flicked his bedroom lights on and off, off and on. And then he slipped into a pair of sweatpants and out of his room. On his way by his parents' bedroom,

he stopped to listen to his father's rhythmic breathing. Murphy was in his backyard, sitting at the picnic table. Sam slipped out the back door. What's going on? I went and checked, said Murphy. It is him. I saw him. What are we going to do, said Sam.

Tomorrow night, said Murphy. We're going to free him. Murphy held out his hand. He was holding a key. The boiler room, said Sam. It was part question, but mostly it was a statement. Sam already knew the answer. When the board cut back on its custodial staff,

while he was too far down the seniority list to hold on to his day shift at Sam's school, they put him on the night shift. And the night shift was lonely, lonelier even than window washing. The school felt unnatural at night, as hollow as an empty amusement park. And on the odd night when there were people, there were never kids. And the people were nothing but an irritant. A week ago, there was a staff meeting that dragged on and on, and Wally had to stay an hour later than usual. Tonight, a neighborhood committee was meeting to discuss speed limits. Wally knew that he would have to interrupt them several times before they'd clear out, and that whatever he did, there'd be stragglers left behind,

preventing him from locking up and getting home on time. Sam and Murphy didn't know anything about any of that. All Sam and Murphy knew was Wally was in trouble. All they knew was they had to do something. According to the plan, they were going to meet in the schoolyard at the top of the slide when everyone was asleep. Sam lay in bed staring at his alarm clock, willing it to move, praying it wouldn't, until all of a sudden it was time. He got up and he got dressed and he carefully arranged a pile of laundry under his blankets the way Murphy had told him, trying to make it appear as if he was tucked in bed asleep.

Then he snuck downstairs and slid out the back door for the second time. He was wearing a backpack. packed a flashlight, a penknife, two peanut butter sandwiches, a piece of rope, a baggie of dog biscuits in case there were dogs, and a book to identify animal droppings. It was the middle of the night when he got to the schoolyard, at least 10 o'clock. And when he got there, he couldn't believe his eyes. There were cars in the parking lot, and there were lights on in the school.

Somebody must have squealed on them. Murphy waved at him. Murphy was already underway. Murphy was half-crouched, zigging and zagging his way across the schoolyard like a commando. Sam ran after him, trying to catch up. Sam didn't want to be alone. The side door of the school was mysteriously open. Come on, said Murphy in the darkness. Sam could hear Murphy, but he couldn't see him. They came out into a hall at the back of the staff room. There were people in there talking. Shh, said Murphy.

It's them. Who? said Sam. The people who make you redundant. Sam crept forward and peeked around the open door. He had never seen any of these people in his life. There was a man standing up saying something. It happened again last night, said the man. Somebody is going to get killed one of these days.

See, said Murphy. It is them. What are we going to do? It was Murphy Murphy who had done morning announcements Three times already that year Who got them into the vice principal's office And onto the school PA

It was Murphy who leaned into the microphone Lowered his voice And did his world famous Darth Vader impersonation It's time for you to go now famous Darth Vader impersonation. It's time for you to go now. Leave now while you still can. Then he sat back and shrugged.

Neither he nor Sam heard the ripple of laughter in the staff room, where the neighborhood traffic committee had been arguing about speed limits for the past two and a half hours. Murphy flicked off the PA, and he and Sam flew to the window. When they saw cars pulling out of the parking lot, they high-fived each other. Wally's office is in the boiler room. Murphy used his key to open the boiler room door. It's dark and gloomy in there. The ceiling is low and the corridor is narrow. There are pipes everywhere, on the walls and on the ceilings.

It's like a dungeon. Murphy said, come on. Wally was sitting at his desk beside the boiler. The boy stood in the doorway for maybe a minute without saying anything. Wally didn't see them at first. And then he must have sensed them. And he glanced up and saw the two of them standing there in the gloom like two ghosts. The sight of them should have startled him but after you spend 12 years hanging over the edge of high rises day in and day out you don't startle easily. Hello boys he said. Was that you on the PA? Murphy nodded. Murphy reached into his pocket and pulled out the key. Murphy took a step towards Wally and held out the key and said, You're free to go now.

Wally looked stunned. Murphy whispered to Sam, It'll take a while for him to recover from the redundancy. It's okay, said Murphy. They're gone. All of them, said Wally. They're not hanging around the doors. All of them, said Sam.

You're safe. You can go. I thought they'd never leave, said Wally, glancing at his watch. He wanted to walk them home, but they went alone. We're okay, said Murphy. Did you see how fast he wanted to get out of there, said Sam? They were in Sam's backyard. They were sitting at the picnic table again. Swear you'll never tell, said Murphy. I swear, said Sam, and they shook hands.

I swear, said Sam, and they shook hands. Five minutes later, Sam was pulling on his Spider-Man pajamas when he froze in horror. The pile of laundry he had stuffed under his covers was piled neatly on his desk chair. Sam stared at his bed in the darkness. He took a deep breath. He let it out slowly. The lump in his bed moved. Hi, said the lump.

Hi, said Sam. It was his father. Sam was the first to say something. Sam said, I can't tell you what I've been doing. Did you take an oath, said Dave? Yes, said Sam. Must have been very important to keep you up so late, said Dave. Yes, said Sam, it was. I've been pretty worried, said Dave. Me too, said Sam. said Dave. Me too, said Sam. Sam exhaled slowly and then he crawled into bed with his father. They lay there in the darkness and then Dave said, can you tell me anything? Sam smiled. I can tell you one thing, he said. And Sam reached out and pulled his father's ear to his mouth, and he whispered, I have radioactive blood.

Wally reappeared on day shift about a month later. The ongoing battle over the drain, not to mention a nasty wave of stomach flu, convinced the new janitor that early retirement wasn't such a bad idea. Wally came back. And the schoolyard drain is plugged solid again, just the way it should be. Only a very select circle know about Sam and Murphy's night in the school and how they saved Wally from redundancy. Some of the boys say it's not true. They say they weren't even there. That's what Mark Portnoy was saying at recess a few weeks ago. Mark had Murphy pinned against his locker and was threatening to take his lunch when Wally came along and Mark had to let him go.

Mark thought he could save face by asking Wally outright. He says him and Snotnose snuck in here one night and saved you from the recumbent people. Wally looked quizzically at Murphy and then at Sam, who was there too. And then he looked at Mark Portnoy and said, as a matter of fact, those people would probably still be there making their plans if it weren't for these two. Then he took Mark Portnoy down to his office and he gave him a muffin and some coffee from his thermos and Mark forgot about Murphy's lunch. And truth be known, Mark has been treating both Sam and Murphy

with what almost passes as respect ever since. That was Stuart McLean from 2006 with the story we call WALL-E. That was recorded at the Playhouse in Fredericton, New Brunswick. I love that story. What a fantastic character WALL-E is. I wish we got to know more about him over the years. And do you see what I mean about the Arthur Award? There's so many characters in the Vinyl Cafe universe that we could award an Arthur to. We could give Morley an Arthur Award in the category of emotionally resourceful. We could give Dave an Arthur Award for impulse to action, or maybe the most likely to move through life like a child, you know,

with curiosity and creativity and, yes, chaos. Or we could award Sam with an Arthur for having the biggest heart, or Stephanie for falling in love with a poet. Or we could award Mary Turlington an Arthur Award in the category of most likely to induce side-splitting laughter. But I wouldn't choose any of those characters. I'd choose Wally. For his kindness, you heard it there in that story. But for more than that, You heard it there in that story. But for more than that, I think the category would be most likely to seek connection, or maybe the ability to see good where others see the bad. Just think about what he did with Mark Portnoy at the beginning with the art. Wally sees something in Mark. He sees Mark's art, but really he sees more than that. He sees need under the cloak of cruelty. Not only does he see that need,

he does something about it. Most people would throw that art out. They'd think, that's not my problem. Or maybe that's not true. Maybe they wouldn't throw it out. Maybe they would keep it, but they'd put it in the lost and found or maybe Mark's locker. That's what most people would do. That's not what Wally does. Wally goes further than that. He hangs it up. No, it's not even that he hangs it up.

It's that he looks at it. He looks at it first. And he looks at it when Mark is watching him, which is key. He selects three favorites, and then he hangs those up. It's such a small act. It probably took him three minutes. But it has the power to change so much. It's just a ripple, but those ripples add up.

If you get enough of them, or if they hit at the right time, if they coincide, they can become something huge. They have the power to change. And that's kind of the epitome of the Arthur Awards. The Arthur Awards were designed to honor small acts, the little things that people do day to day, things that are often too small to be noticed. We're not talking about large gestures here. We're not talking about marathons of hope. We're talking about everyday acts of kindness, little things like saving Mark's art from the garbage, little things like offering him a muffin when you see him stealing someone's lunch. him a muffin when you see him stealing someone's lunch. Those little things often make the biggest difference. And I think that's because they're things we can all do. I guess another way to put

it is the very fact that no one notices them is part of their power. You know, I don't think Mark Portnoy would have been able to accept help if it had been offered in a grand gesture kind of way. Sometimes kindness has to go incognito. He does it with action, tiny actions. He hangs a few pictures up, no big deal. He shares his muffin. These are small acts of kindness, but they add up. And at the end, when Mark is beating up on Murphy, it's Wally who's able to stop him. And it's because of that that Mark starts extending kindness to Sam and Murphy as well.

He starts treating them with kindness because he has been treated with kindness. The little actions we take have impact. They might not have impact right away. I mean, think about that story. It took years. It took years for Mark to be kind to Murphy. I love that story because the actions Wally takes aren't grand. They are minuscule, but those actions add up. And I think those small acts of kindness are even more important than grand gestures because we can all do them. We can't all donate thousands of dollars to cancer research. We can't all quit our jobs to look after someone

we love. We can't all drop everything to do something big and important. I don't know about you, but I find that idea of that kind of grand gesture overwhelming. I don't have that kind of time. I don't have that kind of money, and I don't have that kind of energy. I don't know if I can be that generous with my time or my money or my energy. But I do have the time and energy to notice someone. To take one minute out of my day to really see someone and what they need. out of my day, to really see someone and what they need. We all have that time. Kindness is almost like a muscle. You have to exercise it to keep it strong. And that story, that character, Wally, reminds me to exercise that muscle, the kindness muscle.

And that is why I'd like to award an Arthur Award to Wally, the janitor, because he's the kind of person who washes windows and waves at the office workers inside. He's the kind of person who rescues tennis balls from the roof of the school. And he's the kind of person who sees a kid stealing a lunch, and instead of scolding him, offers him a muffin instead. So today, my Arthur Award goes to Wally. Who in your life is like that? Who makes your life better, and why? You think about that while we do this, and we'll all gather back here in a couple of minutes. All right, that's it for today, but we'll be back here next week with more from Stuart McLean,

including a Dave and Morley story about a memorable road trip. Halfway across the lake, the sky abruptly darkened and the ferry started to roll in the chop. And Dave said, I don't feel so good. I'm going to the car to fetch a sweater. And he was, in fact, when he opened the trunk, wondering what he should do, standing alone amongst the parked cars like a scarecrow, what he should do if his stomach got worse. And he was therefore preoccupied and totally unprepared for what happened next. He squinted into the trunk and leaned forward, feeling for his sweater. In the darkness, his hand brushed against something soft and wool-like on top of the picnic hamper. He tried to pick it up, and then with a shock of adrenaline rushing through his body, he let it go,

He tried to pick it up and then with a shock of adrenaline rushing through his body, he let it go. Knowing this thing he had touched wasn't a sweater thing but something that could breathe. It was a breathing thing. And at this point, Dave lost conscious awareness of what was actually going on. The adrenaline hit some primal reptilian gland and he became Cro-Magnon Dave, knowing only that the thing that wasn't a sweater, the breathing thing, was big enough to be a life-threatening sort of thing. Not a cougar, but maybe Wolverine. Cro-Magnon Dave made a grunting, prehistoric sort of sound

that 20th century Dave had never heard before, but immediately understood to mean, get me out of here. It's, you know, when you reach into dark places, places you can't see into, and even innocuous places like under a sofa. When you reach into places like this, expecting to come up with something like, say, a newspaper and hit instead something soft like come up with something like, say, a newspaper and hit instead something soft like the family guinea pig. Or worse, something you can penetrate like a festering piece of fruit left there by one of your children. Under the right circumstances, the most innocuous objects can kick the get-me-out-of-here gland into action.

And so when you reach into your trunk in the darkness of a ferry, expecting to grab a sweater, and you wrap your hand instead around something that can breathe, you do exactly what the reptilian gland says, which in Dave's case was to jump back and smack his head on the roof of the trunk. And a split second later, when the breathing thing, which some part of Dave's brain noticed, bore an amazing resemblance to Galway the cat they had left behind, when this thing explodes out of the trunk like the creature burst out of the astronaut's chest in that movie Alien, what you do is you instinctively grab it by the tail as it sails by you and you swing it in the air.

Galway landed on the roof of the car. That's next week on the podcast. I hope you'll join us. Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. The recording engineer is one of the kindest people I know, Greg DeCloot. Theme music is by Danny Michelle, and the show is produced by Louise Curtis, Greg DeCloot, and me, Jess Milton. Let's meet again next week. Until then, so long for now.