ED

If I could be a writer, I mean a real writer with a regular gig who gets paid for writing, I’d choose to write like Stuart McLean. I’d show his genuineness, his lightness, his talent for making something special out of ordinary things. I’d have his patience to pick something and stick with it. I’d understand how he created two ordinary people named Dave and Morley on CBC radio , and then gave so much radio time to fashioning a friendly city neighbourhood for them to live in. I’d have his knack for taking fictional things, and turning them into real things, like the Arthur Awards.

The Arthurs have few criteria and no formal application forms. They recognize ordinary people because, as Stuart says, most people recognized in the mainstream media have no use for additional recognition. Why, he wonders, does Wayn Gretzky need one more award?

And so, because Stuart has created this opportunity, and because there is no tedious application process, and because there is no need to provide several references with full permission and contact information, I nominate our neighbour Ed for an Arthur Award. He is a particularly good candidate because he makes our street feel friendly, like Dave and Morley’s street. Ed has tools to lend you and wisdom to share. He’s got a two-storey garage and a one-storey garage filled with gadgets for every job. When he brings them over, he teaches you how to use them by doing some of the work. He will show you how to clean the wood with a brick after lending you his ice chipper to lift your ceramic tiles. He will figure out how to put plug-ins on your kitchen island. He will help you straighten the posts when you build a crooked fence.

Ed’s a neighbourhood guy from way back. He grew up doing odd jobs in the Little Brick Yard just a few blocks down the road, where today’s new million-dollar houses now command a view of the river. When you get your yard looking nice he can make you so proud of it that you’ll try to make it look even better. In the spring he finds tender asparagus in the bush where coal miner’s houses used to stand, and he lets you choose which spears to take. He invites you to pick his saskatoons, his cucumbers, his juicy apples. If you don’t get over to pick them, he’ll pick them and bring them over. That’s the best part. When he comes over, he sits on your veranda and tells you the neighbourhood news.

Ed knows the news because he is out there listening. He and his dog Sugar take a daily walk through the bush in Dawson Park with a bag in hand to pick up litter. He’s on a first-name basis with the guys digging the sewer line under the river. He talks to the park rangers. He knows the locations of the makeshift river valley camps that spring up in these days of tight housing.

Ed’s an ordinary guy. If he won’t organize a neighbourhood action group, he will come to support you when you get one going. He and his buddies like greasy breakfasts and roast beef lunches in car dealer cafeterias. Ed likes country music. To be honest, I’ve never heard him mention the CBC. But I don’t think Arthur would hold that against him. Do you?

We live in a culture where houses are usually purchased because of their location, or their roomy kitchens, or the view from their front windows. Wonderful features, to be sure. So I was a bit surprised when the previous owner of our house told us we should buy this one because it has such great neighbours. But living across from Ed has got me wondering how neighbourhoods would assemble themselves if we made it possible for buyers to search for houses that come with fabulous neighbours.