ON YONGE STREET by GORDON LIGHTFOOT. Story by Rowan MacDonald

 

Toronto, Canada, December 2013

Frigid winter air burns my lungs, as I hoist a Western Bulldogs scarf over my mouth.  Fresh snow and salt crunch beneath my feet, wind chill and flurries pummel my body.  The bright lights of billboards flicker in the distance.

A dishevelled man holds out an empty Tim Horton’s cup.  My legs slip and slide, like a deer learning to walk, as snow mixes with ice on the busy footpath.

A spruiker leers towards me, yells and forces a pamphlet in my face.  I pull up the hood on my winter jacket.

I’ve walked this street before.  People interact with you.  It comes with the territory – even during polar vortexes.

Everyone you pass seems to wanna say hello
Even late at night on the freshly fallen snow

I prefer these people and their intensity, the hustle and bustle, the vibrant colours of Yonge Street.  I’d rather be here than back in the silent apartment, with the mood swings and gaslighting.  Give me Yonge Street, the longest street.  Give me the blizzards and towering department stores.  Give me the noisy traffic and flashing billboards.

Everyone you pass seems to wanna say hello

Even late at night when the streets are all aglow.

Gordon Lightfoot is my teacher of all things Canadian.  As I walk the streets of Toronto, his sounds fill my ears.  I listen to him most days; his rich baritone like a good friend in a cold, foreign place.

On Yonge Street isn’t one of Gord’s most popular songs – but one of the first I hear.  The imagery of his music brings Canada alive.  His songs distil what it’s like to live in Canada, they become an antidote to homesickness.

I stumble down to Yonge and Queen and jump on the 501.  Pale, weary commuters with red noses and cold hands cram together.  I look at them with their double-doubles, Maple Leaf jerseys, and toques pulled tightly over their heads.   I wonder if the voice of Gordon Lightfoot is keeping them warm too.

***

Months later, Gordon does a Reddit AMA session, fielding questions from fans around the world.  I thank him for my Canadian education and ask about “On Yonge Street.”

He says it took him 27 hours to reach Australia the first time, then spills on his beloved Toronto and inspiration for said song.

“I love all of Canada.  But I really love Toronto, because it’s just a fast-moving city; very very fast-moving, terrible traffic jams all over the place, millions of people, everybody’s walking around the street.”

I’m struck by Gord’s enthusiasm for Toronto and passion for music.  The endearing qualities that make him a well-loved Canadian icon shine through each answer.

“So, I was watching people with their children one day.  I was in my car, and I saw these people looking after their kids and they were trying to cross the road and I was afraid I was going to plough into them at one point – and all of a sudden, I got the idea to write that song, ‘On Yonge Street’ in my car.  I have ideas for songs when I am driving around in my car, you know?”

I’m glad he didn’t plough into anyone.

***

Gord came close to death numerous times.  He was a survivor.  His music ensured that I survived those bitter winters and embraced Canadian culture.  His voice was a familiar sound in an unfamiliar environment.  His songs were a refuge in a turbulent time.

I made casual mention of Gordon Lightfoot during a call home.

“Oh yes,” Mum said.  “I saw him perform in Hobart during the 70s.”

“What?”

“Yes, 1974,” she said.  “Sundown Tour.  Great concert.”

“How did I not know this?” I asked.

“Think I still have a few of his LPs,” she laughed.

Unknown to her, the man she saw, in his only ever Tasmanian show, had taken care of her son on the other side of the world – forty years later.

***

Hobart, Tasmania, May 2023.

I’m sitting on a couch listening to my sister read from a clipboard.  Notes from a hospital meeting.

“The MRI revealed a new diagnosis,” she says.  “Unrelated to his tumour and Parkinson’s.”

“Well, shit,” I reply.

I take a moment, stare at the floor, feel my phone vibrate.  It’s a text from Mum.

“How about poor old Gordon Lightfoot passing away!”

Consecutive blows, minutes apart.  I retreat to my bedroom and seek out the old friend that helps me through hard times.  I place “Sundown” in my player, hit play and know that somehow, everything will be alright.

 

Gordon Lightfoot

Stereo Story #711