That the master showman's death would be announced on the same day as the Canadian men's figure-skating final, an event he won six times, was more than just sad coincidence – it was pure Toller Cranston.
Scene-stealer, trendsetter, a man who drew the spotlight like no other in his sport, Mr. Cranston's death from an apparent heart attack Saturday sent an emotional ripple through the 2015 Canadian championships in Kingston.
During his heyday in the 1970s, Mr. Cranston did all the jump elements in his routines, as required, but his short and long programs had more to do with interpretation, moving and gesturing to the music. He performed as if he were Rudolf Nureyev or Mikhail Baryshnikov, a dance star who described what he did as "theatre on ice." It was in keeping with his personality that his full name was Toller Shalitoe Montague Cranston.
"Toller Cranston was a stellar athlete and a trailblazer for sport in our country," Canadian Olympic Committee president Marcel Aubut said in a statement. "His creative performances and artistry on the ice helped revitalize the world of figure skating, and his contributions helped inspire future generations of Canadian skaters."
Being a trailblazer meant there was resistance and difficulties to overcome. Mr. Cranston felt constrained by coaches and judges who wanted him to skate as his competitors did – with more of an athletic presence. When Mr. Cranston began winning Canadian championships, he did so at the expense of Ron Shaver, who finished second behind Mr. Cranston three years in a row.
Mr. Shaver, who wore a mustache and was all about the jumping, understood that Mr. Cranston's style – the moves and showy costumes – had taken him a notch above the pack.
"Toller and I were always different skaters," Mr. Shaver said at the time. "There was no way I could hope to imitate him."
Along with the Canadian titles, Mr. Cranston won a bronze medal at the 1974 world championships and 1976 Olympic Winter Games. The results helped set a standard of success for other aspiring male figure skaters. After Mr. Cranston came the likes of Brian Orser, Kurt Browning, Elvis Stojko and Patrick Chan. Mr. Browning and Mr. Stojko unleashed the jumping side of their skating, routinely landing quadruples until the ultimate spin-o-rama became a must-have element to win a world or Olympic medal.
Mr. Orser, who earned a silver medal at the 1988 Calgary Olympics, told reporters at Saturday's national championships that Mr. Cranston "was one of a kind."
"Nobody will ever be like him. And such a great contribution to figure skating," Mr. Orser said, adding that he enjoyed Mr. Cranston's sense of humour. "[He] was somewhat of a rebel. Always spoke his mind – wasn't always so accurate, but he spoke his mind."
Mr. Cranston turned professional in 1976 and appeared in his very own ice show. When asked to comment on the younger Canadians who had succeeded him, Mr. Cranston wasn't always complimentary. He said Mr. Stojko was "a great competitor, one-dimensional," meaning Mr. Stojko could do the jumps but not the in-between moves. He liked Mr. Orser's style and Mr. Browning's "dramatic elements" and was especially wowed by Mr. Chan, who has won three world championships and a 2014 Olympic silver medal.
"I don't think I could watch him skate live," Mr. Cranston said jokingly of Mr. Chan in 2012. "I'd commit suicide out of depression at how good he is."
When he retired from skating, Mr. Cranston leaped into his other passions – writing and painting. It was as Skate Canada said in its statement: Mr. Cranston was "a skater with a painter's eye." Some of his work has been shown in galleries in Canada and abroad.
Mr. Cranston was justifiably praised for the influence he had on figure skating. He was inducted into the Canadian Olympic Hall of Fame, Canada's Sports Hall of Fame and was made an officer of the Order of Canada.
What most people will remember was the way he took hold of a crowd the moment he skated onto the ice. The jumps were perfunctory, the overall show memorable. Even when he didn't win, Mr. Cranston was the source of conversation. Typically, it would revolve around what he did and how he did it; the flair of it all.
On Saturday evening, after the men's free skate in Kingston, there was a moment of silence to honour the death of a showman. His likes we may never see again.
Mr. Cranston was 65.