You want to build a statue of whom? - The Chaff with Scott Stephenson

By now, everyone has heard that The Chaff is, somewhere in the background, working on getting a statue of Betty White built. But maybe not everyone. Maybe some people have never watched The Golden Girls, never tuned into a daytime game show, or are too busy looking after hogs to notice. Maybe they scroll past TikTok videos or other distractions and have no idea that there was a woman who could make millions of people laugh simply by being herself.

 

For those people, a brief explanation is in order. Betty White was an actress, comedian and television pioneer whose career spanned more than eight decades. She worked in radio before television became standard, appeared in sitcoms, variety shows, game shows and specials, and somehow made every role feel effortless. She could be sweet without being naive, mischievous without cruelty and sharp without arrogance. She loved animals, spoke often about kindness and aged publicly without ever turning it into a spectacle.

 

The Chaff proposes, quietly and persistently, that this kind of career, lived with timing, warmth and generosity, deserves a physical counterpart. A presence in Wingham, anchored only by a grandmother named Margaret Hobbs. That is all the historical justification anyone needs, though it is also true that her life was extraordinary enough to fill the world with evidence that she mattered.

 

Betty White was one of the first women to appear regularly on television when it was still a novelty. She hosted shows at a time when hosting was considered a man’s job. She made audiences laugh, yes, but she also modeled a new kind of female authority that was approachable without being diminished and witty without being threatening.

 

She was a master of timing, not just comedic but cultural. Her return to prominence in the 2000s, winning Emmy awards, appearing in films and hosting Saturday Night Live at an age when many performers have already disappeared, was not mere nostalgia. It was recognition of a skillset honed over decades, a proof that presence, wit and patience could outlast trends and memes.

 

Her advocacy work, often overshadowed by her screen presence, was equally remarkable. She championed animal welfare long before it was fashionable, quietly influencing policies, supporting shelters and lending her name and attention to causes that might otherwise have gone unnoticed. 

 

It is precisely this mixture of cultural significance, public affection and understated authority that makes the notion of a statue compelling. Not because it captures a single performance or a single smile, but because it offers a physical acknowledgment of an influence that was cumulative, subtle and persistent. 

 

Situating such a statue in Wingham, rather than in Hollywood or New York, introduces an entirely different logic. The town becomes a site of intersection between local history and global culture. The statue would reference not only her achievements but the curious fact of lineage, a grandmother named Margaret Hobbs, and the ways in which ordinary roots can produce extraordinary ripples. In that sense, the statue would function less as a monument and more as a proposition that influence travels quietly, unpredictably and sometimes returns to where it all began.

 

Then there is the generational dimension. Teenagers scrolling on social media might not know who she is. Yet the statue presents a chance for cross-generational curiosity. It invites people to ask questions, to discover her work, to be reminded that a life of sustained craft, of skill, humour and quiet persistence, can be worthy of recognition even decades after the fact. 
In this way, the project is not trivial. It is an experiment in memory, attention and cultural translation, taking a woman whose life touched millions and translating her career into a presence in a small Canadian town.

 

By the end, Wingham may have one statue, or perhaps multiple statues of Betty White. She may sit quietly, observing those who pass by, or she may be entirely invisible until noticed in a single perfect moment. And whether anyone knows exactly who she is or only senses that she was remarkable, the project will exist somewhere between seriousness and play, reverence and attention.

 

So perhaps this project is less about recognition and more about interruption. A person scrolling might look up. A person passing through might stop. A person who has never heard the name Betty White might ask why a town like this chose her, of all people, and why now. That question matters more than the answer. It shifts attention away from spectacle and toward endurance, away from novelty and toward craft. It asks whether there is still room, in public space, for someone whose power came from kindness rather than dominance.