Adapted from a piece I wrote when Sam Sniderman died in 2012. Where do I even begin? My earliest memories of coming downtown with my family always involved Sam the Record Man. That store in the late 60s, through the 70s and even into the early 90s was mecca to me. I made a vow when I was quite young that when I grew up I would move downtown, walking distance of the the flagship Sam's. I said it; I did it. While I waited, with only a couple of visits a year, I would head to Sam's meagre store at Cedar Heights Plaza in Scarborough every Friday to pick up the latest 1050 CHUM Chart. I'd then find out what the Saturday morning special ($1.99 or $2.99) was going to be and then return the next day to grab it. Once I was 14 and heading downtown regularly, I would spend hours, sometimes the bulk of the day, at Sam's getting a music education, not so much by listening but by looking at sleeves and reading liner notes. That's what we did before Wikipedia and YouTube and all that kids. I hung out on the bargain floor, perhaps the most musically rewarding part of the Yonge St. mecca, but learned much of what I know about classical music, 20th century new mu (minimalism, etc.), r&b/soul, hip hop, cajun, bluegrass, easy listening, blues, jazz, and rock and roll there.
