Thursday, August 29, 2013

Dream 06 "The Murderer & His Landlord" (John Boyd, 1908)

John Boyd slept poorly. In a few hours, he would wake, have a small breakfast, spend some time in prayer, and be hanged.

He dreamed that he had escaped from the Don Jail, and was rushing home to his apartment. But just as he slid his key into the lock, his landlord opened the door. "I'm sorry," the old man said, blocking his way. "But you can’t come in."

Boyd tried to shoulder his way by, but the landlord wouldn’t budge. "There’s nothing I can do," he insisted. "They hanged you. Can’t you see? Your lips are blue. Your skin is peeling. There’s an odour. I can’t rent an apartment to a dead man."

Boyd pleaded with him, begged him and threatened him, but the landlord led him out of the building and down the front steps. He took him out into the street and left him there, letting the door lock behind him as he returned up the stairs.

Boyd just stood there, defeated, and waited for the flies.

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John Boyd was executed at the Don Jail in 1908 for the murder of a love rival at a restaurant on York Street. You can learn more about his crime, his execution and his executioner from the Toronto Star here. The Globe writes about his remains — now lying in an unmarked grave at St. James Cemetery along with those of 14 other condemned men — here.

Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Thursday, August 15, 2013

Turning The Great Lakes' Biggest Wetland Into The Port Lands



Mostly I'm posting this because Wikipedia has an entire category of photos called "Dredges In Toronto" which I happened to stumble upon. Dredges are the crane-like things people use to dig up the bottoms of bodies of water. Wikipedia has 15 photos of them in Toronto and this is the oldest: from the 1890s. Up until that point, the land that's now the Port Lands at the mouth of the Don River was a big marsh. I'll write a full post about it someday — the Ashbridge's Marsh was the biggest wetland on the Great Lakes and plays a pretty interesting role in the history of Toronto — but for now I'll just mention that by the end of the 1800s, it was polluted as fuck. The nearby Gooderham & Worts Distillery flooded it with waste — including as much as 80,000 gallons of liquid manure a day. The City tried to ignore the problem for years, but eventually the threat of cholera and looming court cases forced them into action. One of the ways they tried to deal with it was by creating the Keating Channel, re-directing the Don into the harbour to the west and Ashbridge's Bay to the east so that the waste would be dispersed more quickly. That's what they're doing with the dredge in this photo: making "the Keating cut".

Eventually, the City decided to fill the marsh in entirely — and with it most of Ashbridge's Bay. Today, the Keating Channel is still there, regularly dredged by the Toronto and Region Conservation Authority to keep it clear. It's far from picturesque, though, and not exactly an ideal habit for wildlife — the sides are lined with concrete. The new plans for the development of the Port Lands will renaturalize the mouth of the river and keep the Channel. The idea is to build a "sustainable mixed-use neighbourhood" around it, so that it "will be dramatically transform[ed] into an upbeat, unique canal destination. It will be lined with public space and traversed by a series of four new bridges for vehicles, transit, cyclists, and pedestrians... It will feature parks and promenades along its edge, water access for boats, plus it will have amenities such as shops and canal-side cafés."

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You can learn more about the development plans from Waterfront Toronto here. And more about the old-timey dredging of the Ashbridge's Marsh from the Toronto Public Library website here

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Simcoe's Vision for Toronto: A City So Awesome It Would Undo the American Revolution

1791. Just ten years earlier, John Graves Simcoe had been fighting on the British side of the American Revolution. He made a name for himself in that bloody war: the unit he commanded never lost a battle, he survived months in an American prison, and he even had a chance to kill George Washington, but ordered his men to stand down rather than shoot the future President as he fled. He had his dark moments too — he was an ardent supporter of the death penalty for desertion and he once ordered the massacre of American rebels in their sleep — but it seems he had a reputation for being "brave, humane and honest." By the time the war was over, Simcoe had established himself as one of the rising stars of the British military.

So when the British decided to create a new province in Canada, they chose John Graves Simcoe to be the first Lieutenant Governor. 

The province of Upper Canada was created in what we now call southern Ontario. While Québec and the Martime provinces were already well-established colonies, the British saw the land to the west as an untamed wilderness. Dismissing the First Nations who already lived here, they figured it would make a perfect new home for those who stayed loyal to the Empire during the war. Many of the Loyalists had been driven from their homes by the American revolutionaries, their lives threatened, their property burned to the ground, forced to flee north to safety. Some of them had been born in the States to families who had lived there for generations. Some had arrived from Europe more recently — about 40% of the earliest Upper Canadians were German. Some were former slaves, promised their freedom in return for fighting against the American rebels. Others were still slaves when they got here.

As Governor, Simcoe would have tremendous power over this new province. He could veto laws, dissolve parliament and hand-pick public servants and an Executive Council. He had ambitious plans to use that power. He didn't just want Upper Canada to be a successful new colony with a thriving new capital: he wanted Upper Canada to undo the American Revolution by the sheer force of its own awesomeness.

He got to work on his plan as soon as he was named Lieutenant Governor in 1791, while he was still back home in England. One of the very first things he did was to write a letter addressed to one of the most famous men in Britain: Sir Joseph Banks.

Banks was a scientist: a renowned and respected naturalist. Twenty years earlier, he had explored the South Pacific with the legendary Captain James Cook, becoming one of the very first Europeans to see Australia and New Zealand. It was Banks who first told Europe about kangaroos, and eucalyptus and acacia trees, along with thousands of other species of plants and animals. After that, he was named President of the Royal Society — a post once held by Sir Isaac Newton — and he was hailed as a national hero.

Simcoe (whose own father had also served with Cook) wanted to bounce his ideas off Banks before setting sail for Canada. So, in his letter, he laid out his vision for the new province and the new city he would build as its capital.

He called this hypothetical future metropolis "Georgina" — in honour of King George III (who had recently recovered from his first bout of mental illness). The city would be built, he hoped, on the banks of the La Tranche River (Simcoe later renamed it the Thames) on the spot where London is now. But that's not what happened. Instead, the new capital would end up being built here, on the northern shore of Lake Ontario. In the end, Simcoe didn't name the city "Georgina" after the King, but "York" after the King's son, the Duke of York. Decades later, it would be renamed according to an old Indigenous name for this place: Toronto.

His plan, in short, was to make our city and our province so undeniably amazing that Americans couldn't help but realize how terrible America was by comparison. They would voluntarily give up their silly notions of independence and beg to be let back into the Empire.

"I would die by more than Indian torture to restore my King and his family to their just inheritance," Simcoe wrote to Banks. "Though a soldier, it is not by arms that I hope for this result... the method I propose is by establishing a free, honourable British Government, and a pure administration of its laws, which shall hold out to the solitary emigrant, and to the several states, advantages that the present form of Government doth not and cannot permit them to enjoy."

As far as Simcoe was concerned, modern democracy was a dangerous idea. He had already personally witnessed the horrors of the American Revolution committed in its name, and now those ideas had spread to France, where an even bloodier and more horrifying revolution was underway. The U.S. seemed destined for more chaos and war. "I mean to prepare for whatever convulsions may happen in the United States," he told Banks. He might be able to lure them back into the fold, or at the very least provide an attractive destination for those Americans who became disillusioned with their own government. The key would be building a peaceful Canadian province with a glorious new capital home to an enviable culture of arts, science, learning and good government.

"[T]his colony," he continued, "(which I mean to show forth with all the advantages of British protection as a better Government than the United States can possibly obtain) should in its very foundations provide for every assistance that can possibly be procured for the arts and sciences, and for every embellishment that hereafter may decorate and attract notice, and may point it out to the neighbouring States as a superior, more happy, and more polished form of Government. I would not in its infancy have a hut, nor in its maturity, a palace built without this design."

He already had some concrete ideas about how to establish this British utopia. His letter to Banks mentions a publicly-funded library "to be composed of such books as might be useful to the colony." Extracts from encyclopedias could be published in newspapers to further public education. The school-system would be an important institution and "a college of a higher class would be eminently useful." There would be an emphasis on scientific learning, too: "I should be glad," he wrote, "to lay the foundation stone of some society that I trust might hereafter conduce to the extension of science."

But he also wanted to restrict what he once called "tyrannical democracy" in favour of a powerful, British aristocracy. "There are inherent defects in the congressional form of Government, the absolute prohibition of any order of nobility is a glaring one," he wrote. "I hope to have a hereditary council with some mark of nobility." There would also be an official state church: the Church of England.

Those, unsurprisingly, would prove to be among the most problematic parts of Simcoe's vision. Our province was supposed to be a British province, our city a British city. And while Simcoe never did establish an official nobility, he did leave behind the Family Compact: a ruling class of Tory Protestants determined to uphold his ideal of a monolithic Anglican state. Those from other cultures who helped to build the colony faced discrimination, intimidation and violence. So did advocates for real democracy. During our city's first 40 years, Anglican priests were the only priests legally allowed to perform marriage ceremonies. Anti-Catholic riots would eventually become a familiar sight on our streets. The Anglican Orange Order would dominate Toronto for more than a century, well into the 1900s.

Still, many of the positive institutions Simcoe imagined in his letter to Banks have played a vital role in the building of our city. The Toronto Public Library has the highest per-capita use of any public library system in the world. King's College was founded in 1827 and later became the University of Toronto. We do have an enviable culture of arts and science. And in the few years he was here, Simcoe laid the foundation for our court system and established trail-by-jury. We still travel along roads he first imagined.

Simcoe never did manage to undo the American Revolution. But even that dream wasn't a complete failure. Upper Canada did attract many American settlers with the promise of a better life. And Toronto has long provided a new home for immigrants from south of the border — whether they're looking for a clean, peaceful city, a stronger social safety net, or the chance to avoid fighting in American wars.

Simcoe's greatest legacy, however, is something he didn't mention in his letter to Banks. One of the first laws he passed in Upper Canada was legislation he championed himself: the abolition of slavery. He wanted to ban it entirely; slave-owners in the Legislative Assembly forced a compromise that saw it phased out instead. Even so, it was the first law to abolish slavery anywhere in the British Empire. Simcoe's new capital would eventually become a terminal on the Underground Railroad, welcoming former slaves to freedom. He might not have been able to convince every American to rejoin the British Empire, but Simcoe did ensure his new province would be a safe haven for the Americans who needed it most.

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Image: Oil painting of the foot of Bathurst Street ca. 1796 by Elizabeth Simcoe (via the Toronto Public Library) and a portrait of John Graves Simcoe by John Wycliffe Lowes Forster (via Library and Archives Canada). 

Thursday, August 1, 2013

A Junkyard Flying Saucer, 1964

We're in a junkyard in Downsview in 1964. It's the Golden Age of science fiction. Flying saucers are all the rage. In fact, just a few years before this photo was taken, AVRO was building and testing their own flying saucer at a facility not that far away, in Malton. The Avrocar was funded first by the Canadian government and then by the U.S. Air Force before the money was finally pulled in 1961. But flying saucers, of course, lived on in pop culture — and in homemade toys like the one this kids are playing with.

Someday, I suppose I should probably write a full post about the Avrocar. For now, I'll leave you with some footage of the saucer hovering around Malton:



The photo comes via York University's Clara Thomas Archives & Special Collections here.

Thursday, July 18, 2013

A National Guerrilla Register of Historic Places in Brooklyn

National Register of Historic Places, 2013 Additions
An article from Hyperallergic alerted me to a neat guerrilla history project in Brooklyn. In some ways, it's kinda like a much better version of my sticky plaque project, so I thought I'd share. An artist by the name of Anna Robinson-Sweet has silk-screened plaques made to look just like the official ones from the National Register of Historic Places. She puts them in NYC in spots that haven't been added to the official register, which she picked at random off a fire insurance map, but have all revealed interesting stories as part of the history of the neighbourhood. Her first round of plaques highlighted ten different locations: an old baseball field, a roller rink, a bath house, factories...

Robinson-Sweet has more information, photos and a map of the locations on her blog, which you can check out here.

An excerpt of some of my favourite bits:

"New York City’s history is shaped by what has survived constant destruction and remaking. Collective memories are often lost along with the alteration or destruction of buildings. National Register seeks to bring ten places back into the visual history of our city, in a borough that finds itself the new playground of developers and speculators... The contrast between these vanished buildings and what now stands in their place is often stark: where the bath house once stood is a glazed condominium tower; a self-storage complex now occupies the footprint of the rink where roller disco was born. This contrast between our contemporary urban environment and that of the past can be more informative than the physical remnants of the past that still remain...

"As the title suggests, National Register adopts the official language and plaque format used by the National Park Service (NPS), which sets supposedly stringent guidelines for what may be deemed nationally significant. Yet official historic designation is often arbitrary, subjective and corrupt. The NPS’s self-written history tells the story: “like any government program it has not been immune to extraneous influences. Such influences are manifest in landmarks illustrative less of American history than of the force behind their designation...

"Taken as a whole the ten plaques suggest that every lot on any block can reveal historical understanding of place; the historical narrative told by the structures that survive the ravages of time or are intentionally preserved is only one of many."

Monday, July 8, 2013

A Bird's-Eye Tour of Toronto in the Early 1930s

The late 1920s and early 1930s were an important time in the building of Toronto. Many of the city's most beautiful landmarks opened in those few years: everything from Maple Leaf Gardens to Union Station to what was, at the time, the tallest skyscraper in the British Empire. Many of them were planned during the boom years of the 1920s, those carefree days of flappers and jazz, just before the Great Depression hit and priorities changed. As other major construction projects were cancelled or put on hold, the buildings built in this period would dominate Toronto's skyline for decades to come.

You can see many of them in this aerial photograph. It was taken sometime in the early 1930s by William James, one of the city's most important and prolific early photographers. There are thousands of his photos in the Toronto Archives — they call him "the first press photographer in Canada." And since this particular photograph gives such an interesting overview of our city at a formative moment in its history, I thought I'd give a brief "tour" of a few of the landmarks it contains.

First, you'll probably want to open a bigger version of the image so you can see it in better detail. Click here.

01 Maple Leaf Gardens
When this photo was taken, our city's most storied sports stadium was brand spanking new. Maple Leaf Gardens opened in 1931. The Leafs would win their very first Stanley Cup in their very first year in the new building. It was the beginning of their Golden Age. They were loaded with superstars. Seven players on that team would be inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame, including King Clancy, Charlie Conacher and Hap Day. Conn Smythe was the owner and manager. They'd win ten more Stanley Cups in that building by the end of 1967. And not a single one since, of course.  

02 Eaton's College Street
Just down the street from Maple Leaf Gardens — on the south-west corner of Yonge & College — is another beautiful Art Deco building designed by the very same architects: the Montreal firm of Ross & Macdonald (they also did Union Station and the Royal York Hotel). Today, we call it College Park, but when it first opened it was known as Eaton's College Street. The original plan was to move the Queen Street Eaton's a few blocks north, but in the end the retail giant decided to keep them both. It was also new when this photo was taken. It opened in 1930.

03 Queen's Park
The Ontario Legislative Building is just above the number 03, its dark brick blending in a bit with the surrounding trees. It was nearly 40 years old at the time this photo was taken. And in the early 1930s, the Conservatives were in power. George Howard Ferguson had been Premier since the early '20s. His government was most famous for ending prohibition and creating the LCBO. They were also anti-immigrant, anti-labour and anti-French. Once the Great Depression hit, Ferguson resigned, leaving George Stewart Henry to take over in 1930. Henry created work camps to help the unemployed — and to get them and their radical left-wing politics out of the city. The work programs vastly expanded Ontario's new highway system, including the building of the QEW. Still, when he finally called an election, Henry lost to the Liberals. He'd retire a few years after that.

04 The Canada Life Building & University Avenue
Just down the street from Queen's Park, the Canada Life Building was another brand new landmark at the time this photo was taken. It opened in 1931 and it's still there today — on the west side of University Avenue just north of Queen. It was built as the headquarters for Canada's biggest and oldest insurance company: Canada Life. (They still own the building, though they were recently swallowed up by Great-West Life.) It was supposed to be the first in a series of buildings along University, but the Depression forced them to cancel those plans. Its coolest feature — the weather beacon at the top (lights run up or down according to the changing temperature, flash red or white for rain or snow, steady red for clouds and green for clear skies) — didn't get added until the '50s.

Just to the south of the building, you can see a brand new stretch of University Avenue. The road originally ended at Queen. But just before this photo was taken, the provincial government gave the municipal government the power to expropriate the land; they wanted to extend University down to Union Station in order to ease traffic congestion. It became the main issue in the 1929 Toronto election — and the supporter of the scheme, Mayor Sam McBride, won. His government then unveiled an elaborate plan, including a magnificent roundabout called Vimy Circle and grand avenues named after battles from the First World War. But there was another election the very next year — and by then the stock market had crashed. With the Great Depression now just beginning, voters rejected the ambitious plan and kicked McBride out of office. In the end, University got a simple extension straight down to Front, which is what you can see in this photo.

05 Old City Hall & The Ward
The dark building just above the number 05 is Old City Hall — or as it was known back then: just plain old City Hall. It had already been around for 30 years before Mayor McBride won and lost his elections, designed by one of Toronto's most important early architects: E.J. Lennox, the same guy who did Casa Loma, the King Edward Hotel and the west wing of Queen's Park. Until the Royal York Hotel was built in the 1920s, nothing in Toronto reached higher than the tip of this clock tower.

Just to the left of Old City Hall, you can see the neighbourhood that was called The Ward back then. It was Toronto's most infamous slum. Since the mid-1800s, it had been home to one wave of new immigrants after another, a place where slumlords crammed people into tiny, rundown, poorly insulated shacks. By the time this photo was taken, The Ward was home to the city's first Chinatown. Those were days of severe anti-Chinese racism; the federal government had just banned Chinese immigration. And the Great Depression meant things would get even worse. In the 1920s, developers had already started to buy up parts of the neighbourhood to build office towers and hotels. Finally, in the late-'50s, the City expropriated the land, forced all the residents to move, and demolished the buildings to make way for Nathan Phillips Square and our new City Hall.

06 The Bank of Commerce Building
In the early 1930s, the tallest building in Toronto was also the tallest building in the British Empire: the Bank of Commerce Building. It was another new addition to the skyline, rising higher than the clock tower of Old City Hall and higher than the Royal York Hotel. On the 32nd floor, it had the best observation deck in the city, decorated with four enormous, bearded heads. It's still there today — we call it Commerce Court North now. It was designed by the firm of Darling & Pearson, who also did many of Toronto's other landmarks and early skyscrapers, including the white one you can see just to the top-right of the number 06 in this photo (that's One King West, which has a big fin-like hotel and condo on top of it now) and also the white one to the right of that (the Canadian Pacific Building, now home to the Shoppers Drug Mart on the south-east corner of Yonge & King).

The Bank of Commerce Building would remain the tallest building in Toronto for the next three decades, until Ludwig Mies van der Rohe built the sleek black modernist towers of the Toronto-Dominion Centre in 1967.

07 The Royal York Hotel
The spot on Front Street across from Union Station has been home to a hotel since before there was a Union Station — since before we even had a railroad. The first hotel was built there in the 1840s. But the most recent, of course, is the most grand: the Royal York. It opened in 1929 — yet another brand new landmark when this photo was taken — and was on the cutting edge of hospitality. It had ten elevators, the biggest pipe organ in the country, a shower and a bath and a radio in every single one of its 1000+ rooms, and a telephone system so extensive they needed about three dozen operators to run it. In fact, it's so fancy that the Queen stays there when she comes to town. When it first opened, not only was it the biggest hotel in the British Empire, it was also briefly the tallest building in Toronto — until the Bank of Commerce Building opened the very next year.

The hotel was designed by the firm of Ross & Macdonald with the help of Henry Sproatt, the same architect who designed the Canada Life Building and helped them with Eaton's College Street. In the late-1800s, he had also been partners with Darling & Pearson. Between them, those three firms were responsible for many of our city's most striking new landmarks in this period. 

08 Union Station
The biggest train station in Canada was also a brand new addition to the city when this photo was taken — and was also designed by Ross & Macdonald. The official opening ceremony in the summer of 1927 was a major event: the Prince of Wales showed up to the cut the ribbon with a pair of gold scissors. (In a few years, he would briefly become King Edward VIII and then abdicate in the name of love.) He was joined by his younger brother George, Prime Minister Mackenzie King, Premier Ferguson, the Lieutenant Governor, the British Prime Minister and lots of other government officials. Union Station became the grandest stop on the Trans-Canada railway, straddling those nation-building rails that snake out across the continent all the way west to Vancouver. Still, Union Station almost didn't make it to the 21st century. Just 50 years after it opened, developers announced plans to demolish it. It was, thankfully, saved. Today, it's undergoing renovations — which will include replacing the green copper roof so that it shines again like it did when this photo was taken. Nearly 100 years after it opened, Union Station is still the busiest transportation hub in the country.

To the right of Union Station, you can see the gleaming white Dominion Public Building. It was originally built by the government as a giant customs clearing house. It's still there today: the huge, imposing, columned building that curves along the south side of Front Street for an entire block between Bay and Yonge. In this photo, the construction was only half-finished: the whole western wing has yet to be built.  

09 The Roundhouse
The John Street Roundhouse might not be a towering skyline icon, but it too was an important new addition to the city in the early 1930s. It was built for the Canadian Pacific Railway, featuring the biggest turntable ever used by the CPR, allowing them to service 32 locomotives at a time. It opened in 1931 and was used until the '80s. Now, it's home to the Steam Whistle Brewery, a Leon's Furniture store and the Toronto Railway Museum (though the museum is currently under threat). The city has grown up around it: the CN Tower and the SkyDome are right across the street and those few blocks of empty railway lands you can see to the north of the Roundhouse have become home to the Convention Centre, the CBC Building, Metro Hall and Roy Thomson Hall. You can also see, along the northern edge of the railway lands, the warehouses that Frank Gehry and David Mirvish are hoping to demolish in order to make way for their three new towers.

10 The Toronto Harbour Commission Building
Up until about ten years before this photo was taken, this spot was in Lake Ontario. When the Toronto Harbour Commission Building first opened in 1917, it was right on the water, at the end of a small pier. But the Harbour Commission changed all that. One of the first projects they took on after moving into these new headquarters was to create more land. Beginning in the early 1920s, they filled in the lake, moving the shore a few blocks south. Today, the building is still there — but it's more than half a kilometer from the water. It's now home to the Toronto Port Authority, the agency that succeeded the Harbour Commission.

It was designed by Chapman & Oxley — the other big Toronto architectural firm building landmarks along the lake shore at this time. Most of their most famous buildings had recently opened to the west of this photo: Palais Royal, the Sunnyside Bathing Pavilion, the Prince's Gates at the CNE, the Maple Leaf baseball stadium at Bathurst & Front. They'd also just finished the old Toronto Star Building, which was at the foot of Yonge, just off to the south-east of the Harbour Commission Building. Four of the downtown skyscrapers you can see in this photo were also Chapman & Oxley designs.

11 St. James Cathedral
In the days before the Bank of Commerce Building and the Royal York Hotel and Old City Hall, the highest peak in Toronto belonged to the Cathedral Church of St. James. It has the tallest church spire in Canada, higher even than our city's early skyscrapers. It's a bit hard to see in this photo, but it rises up just to the left of the number 11. The original church was one of the very first buildings ever built in our city — it went up on this spot at the corner of Church & King in the late 1700s. (The cathedral was built in the 1850s.) It's with this neighbourhoood that Toronto began — growing at an astonishing rate over the next 140 years to become the urban metropolis we can see in this photo.

12 The Bloor Viaduct
It wasn't just buildings: many of Toronto's biggest and most beautiful bridges were built around this time. The most famous of them all, of course, is the one officially known as the Prince Edward Viaduct (named after the same Edward who cut the ribbon on Union Station). You can see the bridge just to the left of the number 12, spanning the Don Valley. It was finished about 12 years before this photo was taken, the most famous project by Toronto's visionary Commissioner of Public Works: R.C. Harris. It united the western and eastern halves of the city, opening up the Danforth for development, and included a level for a subway that wouldn't be built for another 50 years. A century after it opened, the Viaduct is about to get another new addition: council recently approved funding to illuminate the bridge with LEDs, turning the modern suicide barrier into a truly luminous veil.

13 The Leaside Bridge
The Bloor Viaduct wasn't the only big new addition to the Don Valley. It was followed by the Leaside Bridge, which takes Millwood Road across the gap. You can see it just below the number 13. It was built a couple of years before this photo was taken as a way of attracting people to the new town of Leaside. The neighbourhood was only a couple of decades old at this point, planned as a model town by the Canadian Northern Railway. The bridge — which connected Leaside (to the left) to east Toronto (to the right) — was constructed in a record-breaking 10 months and was originally called the Confederation Bridge since it opened in Canada's 60th year. It was also widened in the 1960s to allow six lanes of traffic and has a mosaic handrail, which has recently been restored.

14 The Don Valley Brickworks
You can see the white cliffs of the Don Valley Brickworks just below the number 14. At the time this photo was taken, the spot was still being quarried for clay to make the bricks that built much of our city: Old City Hall, Queen's Park, Casa Loma, Hart House, Massey Hall... The quarry had been founded a few decades earlier and still, at this point, had a few decades left to go. Just to the right of the cliffs, you can also see the "half-mile bridge" of the Canadian Pacific Railway. It was the first line to lead directly into downtown Toronto. Before that, trains coming from the east had to head all the way west to the Junction and then literally back their way into the city. The bridge was new: it had just been rebuilt in 1928 — and, amazingly, they rebuilt it without shutting down the tracks, quickly slipping in new sections during the gaps between passing trains.

Maybe most amazing of all, though, is what was found in those white cliffs: a geological and fossil record stretching back tens of thousands of years. During the 1920s, A.P. Coleman, Toronto's most important early geologist, was using them to trace the advance and retreat of the last Ice Age. They were a new addition to our understanding of this place. They were a reminder of a time long before this city was built — before skyscrapers and train stations and sports stadiums, before even the villages of the First Nations, before the first human beings had ever set foot on this land — when Toronto was home to bison and deer, giant prehistoric beavers and enormous stag-moose, the days when mammoths and mastodons roamed this land.

Thursday, July 4, 2013

A Stamp for Toronto from 1967


1967. A very big year for Canada. The Centennial Year, celebrating a century since Confederation. Expo in Montreal. Toronto's first modernist skyscrapers rising above the city. Yorkville in the Summer of Love. And also, much less famously, the year the post office made a stamp to commemorate the 100th anniversary of our city becoming the capital of Ontario. It's a mix of new and old. A pair of Torontonian Victorians stand by an early streetlamp and look out at the city of the future. Old City Hall. New City Hall. The Royal York Hotel. The Bank of Commerce Building. And towering above them all: one of those brand new sleek black modernist bank towers Ludwig Mies Van Der Rohe had just designed for the Toronto-Dominion Centre.

I like this black and white version best, but there's also one in red and green. It was designed by a fellow by the name of Henry Thomas Prosser and engraved by Yves Baril (a Montrealer who spent 40 years as the head engraver at the Canadian Bank Note Company and was apparently involved in making more Canadian stamps — 144 — than any other artist ever).

The Postal History Corner has compiled some of Prossser's drafts, which kinda give you a neat look at his process. (They've got lots more information in their post here.)