- by Paul Conway

When celebrities notice us we feel a warm glow, and their celebrity is enriched in our eyes. And why not. There's no harm in enjoying the notice of important people, as long as it doesn't give us a swelled head. The celebrity who notices us without putting us at such a risk, but also without making fun of us or putting us down, achieves for us an especial kind of elevation.

Stephen Leacock did that for Wiarton and for "a small place, just a village, away out past Wiarton", a small place called "Something-Head". But before I tell you about that, I want to make sure you understand what kind of a league that puts Wiarton into. We're talking the big leagues here, in Ontario literary small places.

When Stephen Leacock wrote Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town, beyond doubt the most famous of his 53 books, he tells us how he located the little town. In the Preface he says: "Mariposa is not a real town. On the contrary, it is about seventy or eighty of them. You may find them all the way from Lake Superior to the sea, with the same square streets and the same maple trees and the same churches and hotels, and everywhere the sunshine of the land of hope." But anyone can see he's stretching the boundaries, because in 1912, when he wrote that book, Stephen Leacock's personal world of little towns was bounded by Montreal on the east, and Strathroy on the west. From "Lake Superior to the sea" indeed!

On the north he must have known about Wiarton before then, even though he didn't mention it until 1943, because the most intense scrutiny fails to show that he was there in all the years of his public lecturing, which began in 1903.

Now in those days Ontario had about 250 small towns, so that Leacock's seventy or eighty -- call it seventy-five -- represents about 30%. That's pretty select company for Wiarton, even more so because in the entire span of his 53 books and 750 other pieces he only mentions a handful of others. Trigger the warm glow.

What he says about Wiarton is ... not much. Here is the whole kit and caboodle:

. . . He didn't belong to the city as Dannie did. He'd just come from a small place, just a village, away out past Wiarton . . . You know what fellows look like when they come from past any place like Wiarton.

"He" is Slugger Pethick, one of two main characters in a story called "Damon and Pythias" in a book called Happy Stories Just To Laugh At. You can find that story on-line at http://www.fadedpage.com/showbook.php?pid=20160410. You won't find it in the Bruce County Public Library, or the Owen Sound & North Grey Union Public Library, which is a pity, because reading these stories in a well-set-up book is much better than on-line.

. . . He'd had no advantages, brought up rough, away off in the country, somewhere back of Wiarton.

. . . when he met anybody he used to say, "Pleased to meet you," and start to pull off his gloves, even if he didn't have any on—the way they do back of Wiarton . . .

. . . Slugger's father, I say, was just a little country clergyman . . . a "horse and buggy" clergyman, for on Sunday, after he'd preached in his own place in the morning—it was called, what was it? Something—Head—he drove out seven miles to take an out-of-town service at another place; seven miles out and seven back.

. . . Success? Why, of course, no end of it. In the very first year the Slugger was able to send home to "mother" back of Wiarton a sewing machine—and a washing machine and an ironing machine—presents dear to the heart of people like "mother" . . .

. . . The country clergyman was, of course—though he never saw the advertisements—the Rev. Arthur Pethick, of Something-Head beyond Wiarton.

. . . There was something about "nobility"—I mean about being connected with nobility—that hit Dannie and Pethick where they lived. It naturally does hit anyone who lives beyond Wiarton, or even anyone living above College Street, Toronto.

. . . Slugger Pethick pulled off gloves he didn't have on and said, "pleased to meet you," as clumsily as the day he left Something-Head. The phrase is, of course, not one to be used to a lady with a title. It should be kept for society beyond Wiarton where they take pleasure in one another's society. People of birth don't. (If you think this story may be getting dark don't worry; remember: it's a happy story, just to laugh at.)

. . . Mrs. Fordeck had said: "Doesn't this heavenly night remind you of Capetown?" He had answered, "Wiarton is very much like this in September," and she said, "I should just love to see Wiarton," and he said, "I hope you will some day. I could give you a letter to Bill Furze, the postmaster, and he'd show you round," and he had added, "If I was up there, I'd like to show you round myself . . ."

. . . Slugger in his dreams went through scenes in which a cross-examining barrister said:
"Answer the question, please, without evasion. Did you, or did you not, on the evening of September twelfth compare Capetown to Wiarton?

That's the lot. It's not much, I know, but it's something. It puts Wiarton-and-beyond-to Something-Head on the literary map in special company, probably one in a handful, since "seventy or eighty" is definitely a stretch. Seven or eight is more like it.

Make room there, Orillia, while we stand beside you.