For the record

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 02/04/2005 (7487 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

‘WHAT sort of column is this for, exactly?” asks Irene Yaworski.

“We usually try to focus on one-of-a-kind spots in Winnipeg,” I explain.

“Oh, boy — you’ve sure hit the nail on the head today, then,” she says, rolling her eyes. “This joint has one-of-a-kind written all over it.”

With a wave of her arm, Irene welcomes me to Columbus Radio. When it comes to fixing vintage stereo equipment, Irene’s husband, Bill, is this city’s undisputed go-to guy. Those, like me, who wouldn’t know an MP3 from an MLA will be pleased to discover that there’s still one place on Earth where you can listen to your Leo Sayer 8-tracks without being laughed at.

Tube amplifiers, reel-to-reel decks, turntables — you name it, they’re all piled floor to ceiling in Yaworski’s tiny repair shop, creating an audiophile version of The Land That Time Forgot.

To say that the 71-year-old Yaworski has never been afraid of needles would be an understatement.

“Yeah — we probably have about 10,000 in stock. When the major dealers like The Bay and Eatons didn’t want their styluses anymore, we went out and bought them all.”

Yaworski admits the move was a fair-sized gamble, especially given that CDs were just beginning to take hold of the market when he stocked up.

“Sure, we took a chance but it seems to have worked out OK. We still sell lots and lots — the younger kids see their parents’ records and want to use them so their mom or dad have to bring their old turntables in here to get ’em going again.”

Yaworski started Columbus Radio, at 1151 Sanford St., in 1968. Since then, he hasn’t had to advertise much save for the yellow pages. “It’s pretty much word of mouth around here. Almost everyone who comes in tells me they went somewhere else first only to be told to come here.”

In truth, components in disrepair pour in from across the continent. If parts have to be custom-made, wait times can sometimes measure in the months. However, given the level of expertise in the room, you won’t hear too many complaints.

Frank Kotnik, one of Yaworski’s repairmen, tells me he’s been repairing stereos “since before you were born.” He shows off his current project, a 1935 Viking AM radio. Even though the piece looks to have gone through the rock ‘n’ roll ringer, Kotnik says the owner couldn’t bear to simply toss it away.

“I guess a lot of it has to do with nostalgia,” he says. “This one used to be battery run and I’m going to be converting it to AC. When I’m done it’ll be better than ever but it’ll probably cost around $250 to do.”

Does it matter much that the original price tag was around 10 bucks?

“Y’know, that sorta thing doesn’t bother folks. Back then you could get a cow for $30 but a cow wouldn’t sing for you, would it?”

Uh, Frank, you’re losing me.

“What I mean is, it’s all relative.”

When the question of retirement is put to Bill Yaworski, he simply shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. I still come in seven days a week a lot of the time. There’s always lots of work to do.”

At this point, Irene sticks her head into the room. “You tell him to retire — he sure doesn’t listen to me; maybe he’ll listen to you.”

Well, it’s not that I don’t believe in the power of the press, but in this case, I don’t think there’s much I could say that would prove persuasive. Plus, as a guy with 4,000 vinyl records of his own cluttering up the basement, I’m not so sure I’d want to, either.

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