Back in the early 1970s my sister sent me to a small folk music store in Toronto to pick up a copy of Fogarty’s Cove. I’d never heard of Stan Rogers; I timidly asked the store clerk to help me find it, and when I brought it to the counter this burly, surly looking guy hanging around there bellows, “You’re not buying that, are you? That stuff is horse shit!” I stood there stunned, then he takes the album and says politely, “Would you like me to sign it for you?” To this day I am jealous of my sister for owning an autographed Stan Rogers album.

—H. Mowat, Winnipeg