Meeting Stompin' Tom, Canada's Woody Guthrie

Happy heavenly birthday to Stompin’ Tom Connors, the man who made it his mission to write and sing songs about all the people and places (or least as many of them as he could in his lifetime) that make up the great vastness that is Canada. In many ways, Connors was our Woody Guthrie: a voice for loggers, miners, truckers and ordinary Canadians. 

I once got to interview the Stomper. It was 1990 and Connors was embarking on his first tour in 13 years on the condition that there were to be no radio presenters and no interviews given to the media, which he felt had trivialized his crusade to Canadianize the country's airwaves and its music industry. 

But at the first stop, a high school auditorium in Owen Sound, Connors agreed to speak with the writer from Maclean’s, strictly because he wanted to explain the reason for his comeback tour. Between sets, I was led to his Winnebago, which was parked behind the auditorium, and introduced to the man who regarded me suspiciously as he sat with a cigarette holder in one hand, a can of cold beer in the other and his booted feet crossed defiantly on the table. He acknowledged he’d have been happy to continue living comfortably off his record royalties, but felt that someone from his generation needed to take a stand on some critical issues facing Canada, to set an example for young people.

“There's a feeling out there, especially after free trade,” he told me, “that if we don't find roots fast we're going to be uprooted." He added: "I'm not saying keep the Americans out. Just give Canadians their due—and we're overdue for that." That was Connors, always one of our most unabashed flag wavers.

I met the Stomper again 18 years later, when EMI Music Canada invited a small number of journalists to Connors’ estate northwest of Toronto. The occasion was the release of his latest album, The Ballad of Stompin Tom. Connors was highly protective of his privacy, so EMI hired limos to pick up each journalist and transport them to and from the secret location of his hideaway home in the woods (which I later learned was outside the hamlet of Ballinfad). 

We gathered inside a large, special room inside the Connors' homestead: a wood-panelled bar, complete with tables and chairs, a dart board, pool table, musical instruments, antlers on the walls and a juke box full of tunes by himself and his heroes, Wilf Carter and Hank Williams. Dressed from head to toe in trademark black, including a cowboy hat, Tom stood by his bar and regaled us with a few tales. Then he reached for a guitar and treated us to a boisterous rendition of his classic “Bud the Spud.” Later, each journalist got a chance to chat briefly with the man. Some asked for autographs. I opted for a photograph. The resulting, somewhat blurry snap shows me, fittingly, overshadowed by the large brim of his Stetson.

On the limo ride home, I reflected on just how lucky I’d been, to be part of a select few who got to spend time with Stompin’ Tom in his man cave: a personal barroom designed to look just like the many watering holes, including the Maple Leaf Tavern in Timmins, where the legend first got his start.