“Are you going to eat while 
I smoke?”

Hadn’t heard that one until I heard Linda Burns say it over pizza at the end of my first week at the Star. The heart of the paper was the buzzing production room. Us reporters hammered away next door in the newsroom, in silent, anxious concentration, interrupted by the static of editor Massey Padgham’s police radio. Becky Striegler covered the courts, Chuck Tobin sports and Jim Butler the legislature.

I floated and reported on whatever was left over.

I’d never been to Whitehorse before I moved here the winter of 1986, knowing hardly anyone. And walking up the stairs to the Star intimidated he hell out of me. This was my first – and only – newspaper job.

I felt like a total fraud, pecking out a story on a cross country ski meet, keeping an eye on deadline when the thunder hit. Production manager Linda Burns did not agree with the whatever headline we were going with that day. She stood by my desk and hollered across at Massey. And he listened – we all listened. Because Linda knew the town, the territory and the people, from the ball diamond to Teslin to the Taku. She was a force and she terrified me.

“You’re gonna get five bonies in the snot locker!”

So at the end of that first week, it took some nerve to wander back to production, following the smell of pizza. Linda held court – Paul Erlam was there. So was Maryanne Campbell and Peter Johns and Jackie Pierce. They would all become like family to me – and Linda was the sister I never had. But at that moment I couldn’t know that. I opened a Kokanee, had a slice and tried to fit in.

“Who has more fun than we do? Nobody! That’s who!”

After pizza we swept along to the press club at the Taku. Place was packed and not only with news people – lawyers, politicians, even coroners. Someone told me the cook there had once stabbed a guy for complaining about the food. I saw another man outside with his hunting rifle broken over his shoulder.

Trucks idled in the cold while their owners drank inside.

And there was Linda, in the middle of it all, holding court again.

“Another graduate from the Linda Burns School of Charm!”

I didn’t last long at the Star, but I was here long enough for it to change my life. Linda, me, and our various cohorts went on lots of adventures – Haines, Skagway, Dawson for the music festival, Kusawa for the camping. And most summer weekends at Paul Erlam’s cabin in Carcross. Bennett Beach was better than Waikiki.

Even after I went over to NNBY (Northern Native Broadcasting Yukon) I still wrote some concert reviews for the Star just because it was fun. There was freedom to write what you wanted – if you had an idea, Massey was all ears. Then Linda would take it and make it beautiful.

When I decided to leave in ’88 I bought a big old Ford from Peter Johns (he’d left the Star, too) and planned to drive back to Ontario. Linda came with me, as far as Vancouver. When we said goodbye, a huge chapter closed. I carried on east, Linda went back to the Star, where Jim was now editor.

All in all, Linda was there 17 years. I always liked that Star logo – the gold panner who looked like Chuck Tobin. But sometimes I thought they should change it, make it into Linda, because to me she was that place. Hell – she was the Yukon.

Now we’re all gathering to say goodbye to the paper. Newsrooms aren’t like the way they used to be – loud with debates and opinion, a push and a pull, everyone doing multiple jobs, to put out a paper that the town would be talking about a few hours later.

And then the daily post-mortems at the Taku or Joe’s.

You wouldn’t want to ask for much more than that.

Who had more fun than us? Nobody. That’s who.

By ANDREW GREGG