Ben Kerr for Mayor

Ben Kerr has died.

I hated Elvis until I heard Ben Kerr sing Elvis. Actually, I still don’t like Elvis. I just like Ben Kerr.

I hated country music until I heard Ben Kerr sing country music. I still hate country music. I just like Ben Kerr.

Many years ago when I was living in the city and working downtown at St George and Bloor, it was quite normal for me to take an extra long walk to get on the subway at the Yonge station instead. Ben Kerr was always there. At that hectic time and corner where people are always rushing and walking quickly, he was one of the few who were still, unbusy and uncomplicated.

I remember once for whatever reason a couple of police officers came over to harass Ben Kerr while he was making music, playing his guitar and croaking into his microphone. Maybe he didn’t have a permit or licence to be a street musician – I don’t know. Everyone on the street hissed and hollered until the police gave up and let him play.

You don’t need a permit to make music. You need a soul.

Ben Kerr was neither a talented singer or guitar player. Yet everyone on the street who saw him would stop for a few seconds or minutes, to watch, to listen, or to see. Everyone allows Ben Kerr to interrupt their day. Everyone has time for Ben Kerr.

My favourite Saturday afternoon, repeated over and over again since I was thirteen or fourteen years old, is going downtown to see a movie at the Uptown Theatre at Yonge and Bloor, buying a sausage from a street vendor, sitting on the steps beside the Bay and listening to Ben Kerr play in the summer sunshine for tips.

The Uptown Theatre has been torn down. And Ben Kerr has died.