LARRY STANLEY
July 10, 1954, Lloydminster, Saskatchewan — February 3, 2000, Toronto
An abridged version of a Lives Lived column in the Globe & Mail, written by Sharon Baltman
The spokes of Larry’s days extended in so many directions, that no one person, aside from Larry himself, could accurately describe them all. Wherever he went, he connected intensely with others, be they artists, doctors, street people or children.
Larry was born on a farm in Saskatchewan as the third of four sons. His father died when he was quite young. His mother taught piano, but Larry refused to learn to read music, and insisted on playing by ear. He finished school, wrote music, sang, and played keyboard in bands out West, and in his mid-20s made his way across Canada to Toronto.
In Toronto, Larry performed all over town — at the Spadina Hotel, the Rivoli, C’est What?, The Free Times Cafe, Roxy’s, Lee’s Palace and the Brunswick House. He played solo, he played what he called “beck-up”, he co-wrote plays, he played with other musicians (The Time Twins, Daisy Debolt, Barbara Lynch, Invent The Game, Heads In The Sky). He wrote music and lyrics, recorded, and taught himself to play accordion.
And Larry liked to party. He smoked. Drank scotch (or whatever), and joked endlessly with a spontaneous wacky wit. Yet Larry was delicate, gentle and compassionate.
When Larry’s partner, Will, became ill with AIDS, Larry gave up both his day and night jobs, and cared for him 24 hours a day. During that same time, his mother became critically ill, so Larry flew back to Saskatchewan for her death. He attempted to mourn his mother by visiting friends and travelling slowly back to Toronto, but while in Edmonton, he was called to return to Lloydminster because his eldest brother Ken’s leukemia had flared up. Ken died within four weeks of his mother. By the time Will died some months later, Larry was a bag of bones, well-preserved by scotch.
It took him a couple of years to regain his will to live -- and flourish. He wrote songs again, performed some, and came back to life. Then he got pneumonia that wouldn’t go away. He died two days after the diagnosis of lung cancer was made. Larry always did everything with all his heart and soul.
July 10, 1954, Lloydminster, Saskatchewan — February 3, 2000, Toronto
An abridged version of a Lives Lived column in the Globe & Mail, written by Sharon Baltman
The spokes of Larry’s days extended in so many directions, that no one person, aside from Larry himself, could accurately describe them all. Wherever he went, he connected intensely with others, be they artists, doctors, street people or children.
Larry was born on a farm in Saskatchewan as the third of four sons. His father died when he was quite young. His mother taught piano, but Larry refused to learn to read music, and insisted on playing by ear. He finished school, wrote music, sang, and played keyboard in bands out West, and in his mid-20s made his way across Canada to Toronto.
In Toronto, Larry performed all over town — at the Spadina Hotel, the Rivoli, C’est What?, The Free Times Cafe, Roxy’s, Lee’s Palace and the Brunswick House. He played solo, he played what he called “beck-up”, he co-wrote plays, he played with other musicians (The Time Twins, Daisy Debolt, Barbara Lynch, Invent The Game, Heads In The Sky). He wrote music and lyrics, recorded, and taught himself to play accordion.
And Larry liked to party. He smoked. Drank scotch (or whatever), and joked endlessly with a spontaneous wacky wit. Yet Larry was delicate, gentle and compassionate.
When Larry’s partner, Will, became ill with AIDS, Larry gave up both his day and night jobs, and cared for him 24 hours a day. During that same time, his mother became critically ill, so Larry flew back to Saskatchewan for her death. He attempted to mourn his mother by visiting friends and travelling slowly back to Toronto, but while in Edmonton, he was called to return to Lloydminster because his eldest brother Ken’s leukemia had flared up. Ken died within four weeks of his mother. By the time Will died some months later, Larry was a bag of bones, well-preserved by scotch.
It took him a couple of years to regain his will to live -- and flourish. He wrote songs again, performed some, and came back to life. Then he got pneumonia that wouldn’t go away. He died two days after the diagnosis of lung cancer was made. Larry always did everything with all his heart and soul.
