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by Duncan Matheson
As published in the November 2000 issue of Atlantic Progress
It's Sunday morning, the final day of this year's Stan Rogers Folk Festival in Canso, Nova Scotia, and you couldn't wipe the grin off Brian O'Handley's face if you tried.
He's sitting at a picnic table on site, taking a breather. "I've been at the Canso Co-op for 23 years, and this is the best week we've ever had," he says. For the record, the next best week was during last year's festival. The manager of the local co-op has come off a very hot three weeks, supplying everything from paint for the concession stands to food for the performers, not to mention the food and camping paraphernalia for a good number of the 13,500 music fans who have just helped set a new attendance record.
Downtown, Theresa Bond Keating hired an extra five people just to try to keep up with the dishes at her Tess's Ocean Mist, the only sit down restaurant in the community. Keating and her staff pumped out 600 breakfasts on each of the three mornings of the festival, not to mention lunches and dinners.
Canso mayor and arena manager Ron George spent his weekend up to his wrists in sausage grease in the arena canteen, which is on the festival site. George says the estimated $27,000 in food sales they brought in will help keep the arena operating. "I'm not saying it would close otherwise, but there's no question we'd be in trouble."
As far as music festivals go, Stanfest, as it has become known, is a mere baby, but very big for its age. Although it's only been around for four years, it has already established itself as a major folk event, and is arguably the fastest growing music festival on the continent.
The numbers underline the success. The festival has gone from drawing 3,000 people in 1997 to 13,500 this year. It just turned its first profit; in fact, it brought in enough this year to pay off the accumulated debts of the first three years, with some money left over. That's almost unheard of for music festivals, where the rule of thumb is seven years before a profit is realized. It continues to wean itself off government help. In its start up year, the provincial and federal governments were good for half of the $300,000 costs. This year total government funding was about $30,000 of the $415,000 budget. The economic impact on the area this year is estimated at $1 million, a serious return on investment in anybody's book.
The root of it all. But how did Stanfest come to be? And why, of all places for an international music festival, is it here in this tiny community of few facilities (the only motel has four rooms) and so far from the population centers? For the uninitiated, Canso should not be confused with the Canso Causeway to Cape Breton. The town of Canso is on the extreme eastern tip of mainland Nova Scotia, about 100 km down the coast from the causeway. And no population center is even close. Halifax is three hours away, Moncton is even further, and Sydney is, well, you better bring a lunch.
A quick bit of history. Canso is the oldest fishing port in the Maritimes. In its heyday in the '80s, the local fish plant employed up to 800 people, with lots more on the boats. But then in 1990, the ground fishery collapsed, and so, almost, did the town. Fish plant layoffs drove unemployment to a staggering 70%, and over the next few years there was a large out-migration, especially of young people. But not all young people. And here's where the seed for Stanfest took root in 1995.
One local who refused to go down the road was Troy Greencorn, a young man who returned to his hometown after university to work as an economic development officer. Economic minded and a visionary, he was looking for something that would give the community an economic boost. His business side told him that diversity was germane to the area's economic future. His visionary side wanted something that would put Canso back on the map. His dream - to create an international music festival.
He took his idea to his brother-in-law Chris Lumsden, who owns the local sign shop, and to Bill MacMillan, who owns a local campground. The three put their heads together, trying to figure out how they could pull this off. And then they struck on their ace in the hole - Stan Rogers. Even though he was killed in an airplane crash in 1983, Stan Rogers remained as big an icon of Canadian folk music as there has ever been, and he had ties to the area. His mother was from here. They figured if they could take advantage of this link, if they could use his name, if it could be the Stan Rogers Folk Festival, people would come.
At the same time that Greencorn and friends hatched this idea, Stan's widow Ariel happened to be in PEI for the 1996 East Coast Music Awards, so the trio headed to the island to give it their best shot.
She heard them out, but it was important to her that if they were to use Stan's name, they had to do it right. She had two conditions. One was that they hire Mitch Podolak, a man who was close to Stan and the brains behind the successful Winnipeg Folk Festival, to oversee organizing this event for the first year or two. The other was that the focus not be on Stan and his music, but on a variety of songwriters and their music.
They could live with that, so the festival had a name. Their first challenge had been met, but there were many more to overcome. As Ariel Rogers put it, "for a little while it was like watching a bunch of ants trying to push a string up a hill."
Next came selling the idea to the local community. And not only gaining their support, but getting 500 of them to volunteer. No mean feat, given the town's population is only 1,200 and change. Mary Taylor, an unemployed fish plant worker hired to manage the festival office, had a simple answer to that: "Phone everybody, tell them what we're trying to do and ask them to help." So that's exactly what they did. Five to six hundred phone calls later, the volunteers were lined up, and equally important, many of the concerns of the community, from traffic to vandalism, were if not laid to rest, at least put on the back burner as organizers were given the benefit of the doubt.
July 3 now, a day after this year's festival ended, and Canso Junior High teacher Sue Meade is wiping down tables in what was the performers' green room. She says volunteering continues to be the thing to do. "People ask, 'What are you doing this year?' And you are expected to have an answer," she says. If it isn't volunteering for any of the 20 crews, from gate and stage management to first aid and transportation, it might be offering the back yard for a visitor to pitch a tent.
Greencorn calls it their "guerilla inclusion strategy;" people have to volunteer just so they don't feel left out. But more than that, Greencorn believes people feel a social responsibility to pitch in. "From the start they realized there was a lot at stake. I think they bought into the dream partly because they were scared of what would happen if we failed, but then people got caught up in it, and now feel a real ownership of this festival."
There's no question this is a Herculean community effort. And the volunteering started long before many of the thousands who now attend could even find Canso on a map. "We were faced with turning what was basically a couple of large grown-over hills and a field into a major festival site, with all the necessary infrastructure," says Greencorn. "But Canso has always been an industrial town. People here know how to work with their hands, so there was an incredible amount of talent we could tap into, everything from electricians to guys with chainsaws. Ninety percent of the effort and expertise to build this was volunteered."
But while volunteers are cheap labour, they do require maintenance, and the organizers are careful to make sure they feel appreciated. Each volunteer is expected to work 10 hours over the three days, and for this, they get a pass to the rest of the festival and a T-shirt that identifies which volunteer crew they are on. It's functional during the event, and popular the rest of the year; kind of a uniform that shows someone is part of the team. As well, the volunteers are invited to join with performers such as Lennie Gallant, Rawlins Cross, the Glamour Puss Blues Band, Gordie Sampson and Eric Bogle, the guy from Austrilia who wrote "And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda," for after-hours parties, and several weeks after the festival ends, they are all brought together for an appreciation bash.
This army of volunteers is a big reason why the festival has been successful. "Simply put," says Greencorn, "we couldn't do it without them." Another reason for the success is the strong support of sponsors.
Sponsorships have grown from $17,000 the first year to $60,000 this year, in the midst of what is quite an unusual sponsorship policy. The rating system often used at major events, where sponsors are categorized as gold, platinum or silver or some such thing based on how much they donate, doesn't exist here. All are afforded the very same VIP treatment, whether they are giving several thousand dollars as a major sponsor or $500 to sponsor a small tent. This year there were 30 sponsors on board, the largest number yet. And in their four years, organizers haven't lost one.
Whether it's the smooth management of the logistics or the quality and diversity of the performers, there's no question Stanfest has quickly established itself as a first-class festival.
One testament to its success, beyond the growth, is Ariel Roger's continued enthusiasm. The woman who was not about to let her beloved husband's name be associated with any event unless she was sure it would be a credit to his legacy not only coordinates her vacation to be in Canso for the festival, she always makes herself available as a volunteer "to do whatever they need help with," and as well she helps keep alive the link to Stan by bringing her own considerable songwriting and performing talents to the Stanfest stage each year.
While the festival is on a roll, so too, is the town. Like Rogers' anthem to overcoming adversity, "Mary Ellen Carter," Canso is rising from the doldrums of the early '90s. The fish plant reopened a few years back, processing a variety of species and gradually increasing its workforce, which now, depending on the season, employs up to 400 local people. Adding to the diversity, there's a growing IT industry in the area, and there are other positive signs. As Greencorn says, "It looks like the '80s again." Stanfest, not just because of the economic side but also for what it has done for the collective attitude of the community, stands as a key ingredient of Canso's renaissance.
And the spin offs continue to grow, both economically and geographically. This year Sherbrooke Village, two hours down the highway toward Halifax, piggy-backed on the festival with "The Day After Stanfest." The village took advantage of having professional performers in the area, and booked half a dozen including Valdy, Lenny Gallant, and Stan's son Nathan Rogers for the following day and evening, a line-up the village could otherwise never afford. The $7,000 they raised will help build a new recreation facility. Sherbrooke Village spokesman George Brothers more or less guarantees that "The Day After Stanfest" will in itself become an annual institution.
Where to now? Stanfest is at a pivotal point. "With attendance now breaking 13,000," says Greencorn, "we are just about maxed out for this facility the way it is now. To grow beyond this, there are any number of significant logistical challenges. But even more important is the basic decision on whether growth is desirable."
Greencorn favors a slow growth strategy. "It doesn't have to grow much more. What is crucial is that we don't grow at a pace the community isn't comfortable with. That would be self-defeating. So we will be conscious of this at every step."
While always conscious of the festival's fit in the community, and its considerable economic contribution, Greencorn and his committee fully appreciate that after all is said and done, it comes down to the music. As Ariel Rogers, who continues to return to Canso every summer puts it, "they got a good thing here, a very good thing. They just have to maintain that high standard of talent and they will be fine."
They will. And that's something they can take to the bank.
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