A Quick History of Toronto’s Notorious Stanley Street

In the annals of Toronto history, Stanley Street is very possibly its most notorious street ever. It was so ill-reputed that its modern incarnation bears no resemblance in look, character, and name to the past. Indeed, Stanley was not even the first name of the thoroughfare, and it was not the last either; it started as March Street and ended as Lombard Street. Its route ran a very insignificant half kilometre between Victoria and Nelson (now Jarvis) Streets. It is this lack of distinction in geography married with its very important social dynamics and multiple name changes that comprise Stanley Street’s story.

The road that became Stanley Street has existed for roughly two centuries, and its infamy began early in its life. Kristine Morris, a leading historian of the street in all its versions and layers, noted that March Street’s ill reputation as a ‘red-light district’ was present as early as the 1820s and 1830s. Another great departing point for the poor state of the street was indicated in an 1849 “General Report of the Cholera in Toronto” by the Board of Health:

“March Street (as you are well aware) is for the most part, composed of low, undrained, ill-ventilated wooden building, chiefly occupied by the poorest classes of society to be found in this City, and taking into consideration the habits of many of its people, and the crowded and filthy state in which many of them live, it is a matter of no surprise that more than double the number fell victims to the Cholera there than in any other portion of the City.”

The Globe, October 20, 1849

There was also March Street’s very notable and negative association with Toronto’s Irish population. William Jenkins, a leading scholar of the Irish in Toronto, in describing the street’s demographic associations, wrote that the 1846 directory revealed that at least a quarter of the denizens of March Street were of Irish Catholic origin. This percentage would increase with time, reaching fifty percent and eighty percent. March was one of two major Irish Catholic enclaves along with Dummer (later named William and even later, St. Patrick Street). The Globe later recounted a myth it even labeled as ‘slander’ that the 1876 Police Station on nearby Court Street was so positioned because of the Irish on the street. Reports about the Irish Catholic contingent on the street were not particularly favourable in newspapers. As Jenkins has noted, The Globe “was ever vigilant in its crusade to improve the city by ridding it of immoral elements”. The bias against Irish Catholic Torontonians repeatedly came into focus on Stanley Street.

March to Stanley

It was this poor reputation that led to the renaming of March Street to Stanley Street by order of Former City of Toronto By-Law 153 on April 22, 1850. Its namesake was Lord Edward-Smith Stanley, the Colonial Minister and Prime Minister of Britain; his son also later lent his name to the Stanley Cup of hockey.

However, the prestige of the new name did not eliminate the stigma. It is a telling introduction to Stanley Street that in 1851, there were three taverns and twelve beer-houses on the street. It contained by far the most alcohol establishments in St. James’ Ward, tied only with busy Yonge Street. (A later report in The Globe in 1859 outlined a change to the licensing system which had taverns installed based on the recommendation of the area’s ratepayers; the writer suggested that Stanley Street would have a tavern in every other house in such a system.) The decade to come was filled with tales of drunkenness, death, assault, rows, robbery, fire, disease, murder, houses of bad repute, and more. And this was all contained in two city blocks.

The year 1854 was eventful with a range of interesting occurrences that demonstrated Stanley Street’s debauchery. In February, the body of Elizabeth Stanton was discovered in a stable behind the Forest Traveller’s Inn. Although an inquest was made, no wrongdoing was found. The death was ruled to have been “from the effects of cold and intemperance.” In another event in June, Police broke up “a general row” on Stanley Street while looking for four men, including “an idiot named Charley”:

“…The house was full of men and women in a beastly drunken state; the idiot, Charley had bitten a women’s leg and arm; the inmates were fighting upstairs, down stairs, in the beds, and in every place and corner they could find footing; blackened eyes were numerous and the unfortunate idiot’s face was covered with blood.”

The Globe, June 1^st, 1854

When Police arrived, the individuals who were not too inebriated scurried away while others hid under beds. The four prisoners were arrested, and they had trouble staying in the cart on the way to the gaol. In July, the Mayor and other city officials visited Stanley Street to find another shocking scene. There was a house containing many stolen goods: iron, brass, lead, pins, needles, coats, shawls, axes, and more. Next, in October, two women, Bridget Judge and Catherine Slattery, were taken in by police for disorderliness. Bridget’s eye was discoloured, and both girls “were well versed in Billingsgate oratory” – that is, vulgar language. Bridget was found drunk near a tavern at Church and Stanley Streets. She reportedly began to argue with herself and “pummeled a fence most lustily.” They later found her tearing another woman’s hair out. Finally, in November, a fire swept through a tavern on the north side of Stanley Street near Nelson (Jarvis) Street. It was terrifying sight; the fire could have ravaged the crowded quarters of the street if not for the quick action of firefighters.

There were further cases and examples of Stanley Street’s unfortunates in the coming years. In April 1855, a Duncan Fraser, 30 years old, was found in a garret “in a sad state of intoxication.” First, he was taken to the gaol, but as his health was suffering, he was taken to the General Hospital. There, he died. Anne McGrath, in December 1856, accused her neighbours and tenants, George and Mary Monk of assaulting her. The two women, Anne and Mary, got into an argument where each lady pulled the hair out of the other. The husbands were involved, and they too began to fight. It was such a bizarre situation that event the Police Magistrate of the Police Court, George Gurnett, found it difficult to sort through the facts that he dismissed the case outright. There was yet another quarrel the following month, this time between marital partners, in which Martin McGlenn struck his wife, Sarah, and then pursued her when she ran. She escaped into a neighbouring house, and in a fury, Martin threw a large stone in the window. He was fined for his angry outburst. Another family affair occurred in June when the Flynn family were all arrested for stealing goods. The children, Terence and Mary, 10 and 11 respectively, stole some boots and other items from John Bacon’s shop on Yonge Street. They were found in the family home on Stanley Street. The kids were committed to trial for larceny and the father for receiving stolen property.

The Orange Riot of 1857

A high – or more aptly, low – point of Stanley Street’s dysfunction came on July 12, 1857, when Irish Catholic and Protestant tensions led to a violent riot. A man named Devlin, an off-duty policeman, passed through the street at the corner of Church and Stanley. He was wearing an orange rosette – the emblem of the Orange Order (July 12 is Orangeman’s Day). Some observing Catholics took offense and ripped it off, spurring a crowd to gather and brawl to form between Catholics and Protestants. Police sped to the scene and broke up the riot, arresting eight or ten of them. They also stayed on scene to discourage another melee. However, after they left, another brawl broke out that night. Police returned and spent until four in the morning keeping the peace. For Devlin, the man who arguably started the provocation with his presence on the street, his arm was broken, and his face cut. Another constable, Ormsby, hurt his shoulder, helping Devlin. Six of the men that were arrested were let go with a large bail; the others went to jail to await trial.

At Police Court, the rioters were identified as William Corbett, William Kavanagh, Michael McMahon, Bartholomew Kearnes, James Kavanagh, Michael McMahon, Patrick Enwright, Michael Sullivan, Matthew Mahon, and Simon Cantwell and were brought on the charge of assaulting Constables Devlin and Ormsby. Constable Devlin did not appear in Court as he was seemingly tending to his injuries. A witness, Frederick Smith of James Street, deposed that he saw a crowd gathered on Stanley Street where they were bothering a Police Constable. Constable Ormsby then gave his deposition: he proceeded to the scene of the riot where he saw Constable Church with a prisoner. He took the prisoner and escorted him to City Hall and then returned to the street. There, he got into a brawl with Michael Kavanagh, who attacked him with a stone. Another witness, Orangeman William Mulholland, came in to help and heard some the Catholic men call out “to take hold of the d—d Orange b—r” and then tried to take his own Orange lily. He saw Constable Devlin emerge from a house bloodied. Another witness, John W. James identified Michael McMahon as “more violent than the rest”. McMahon lunged at another man and called “give me hold of the Orange “b—r”. He described a scene where stones were pelted at Police until the Constables got control of the scene and arrested the prisoners. With Devlin not able to be deposed, the prisoners were kept.

The next day, Police Court continued investigating the “disgraceful riot” by charging John Foley, who denied being involved. On the third day, the Mayor and Alderman O’Donoheo presided over the Court. More testimonies were heard, and a judgment was made. Michael Cavanagh, James Sulivan, Michael McMahon, Bartholemew Kearns, William Cavanagh, William Corbett, John Foley, and Michael Horan were committed to trial. The end to the violent July events were concluded at Recorder’s Court in November, when William and Michael Cavanagh, Michael McMahon, and Bartholomew Kearns were convicted of rioting.

Fighting and rioting was common on the street as in August of the year, several young men were brought up for the “desecration of the quiet and sacredness of a Sabbath morning” on the “already distinguished street”. Naturally, they were at a tavern acting disorderly. They were having a rowdy time; a fiddle was playing, and they were dancing, drinking, and making noise. Police arrived to cease the party, but they were ignored. A fight broke out, and arrests were made. It also so happened that the tavern owner, Carey, was not licensed. He was not happy with the charge and threatened to “smash” the constables. All the parties involved in the riot were fined 20s, and Carey for his threats was to give security to keep the peace for six months.

In November 1858, Michael and Anne Plunkett, brother- and sister-in-law, were charged with running a disorderly house. Brothels were common on the street. Anne adamantly denied the accusation. It was said “she took a drop of drink now and then, but she defied anyone present to say they had ever seen her act in a disorderly manner. Mr. Gurnett warned her, to a round of laughs, “Then you have been a much maligned woman, for I have hard quite a large number of persons swear you were a bad woman.” Michael Plunket was sentenced to find bail to keep the peace, and she was let go because the gaol was overly crowded.

The Brook’s Bush Gang on Stanley Street

Stanley Street was also frequented by members of the notorious Brook’s Bush Gang. The ill-reputed group had their headquarters in a wooded area east of the Don River, but they also had their haunts in the city. The disorderly group terrorized Toronto in the latter half of the 1850s and early 1860s, so their association with shady Stanley was fitting. One Brook’s Bush denizen who made his presence known on Stanley Street was John W. Clyde. He was often violent, drunken, and disorderly. In fact, Clyde’s first appearance in Toronto’s Police Court was in June 1856 when he was noted as “a notorious character”—a description that appeared in several reports of him—and was arrested in a ‘low house’ on Stanley Street. He was fined 25c and costs and sent to gaol in default of paying. To add, he was drunk and assaulted the officer when he was apprehended. In July, Clyde was involved in the murder of a young Black man, Isaiah Sewell, in the bush. He did not commit the awful deed himself – actually, none of the gang members were directly implicated and punished – but the affair shed a dark light onto Clyde and the group as whole. In November of the year, Clyde brutally assaulted an “old man” named John Douglas on Stanley. He was fined 50s and costs and, in default, was sent to break stones.

Beyond Clyde’s attendance, Stanley Street was familiar to other inhabitants of Brook’s Bush. In October 1858, Mary Ann Pickley was amongst “a depraved lot” of females who were found in a house on Stanley – known as “a notorious den of iniquity” in which an infant was previously smothered. They were committed to gaol for a month. In December 1859, Mary Sheppard of the gang was found by police frozen to death on Sayer Street, where she was attending a dance. Police figured she was going to Stanley Street, which was noted as one of the ‘haunts’ of the group. The same month, Maurice Malone and Cornelius Leary stole the watch of John Ault on Stanley. Leary again found himself in trouble on Stanley Street in August 1860, this time on the receiving end, when Anne Reordan assaulted him with a potato masher. In April 1861, Ellen McGillick — one of the primary characters in the late history of the group — was found in a house on Stanley Street by Detective Colgan. McGillick was present during the murder of politician and newspaper publisher of John Sheridan Hogan in December 1859. McGillick was solicited by the detective to inform on the group; her testimony as a witness would be key in the subsequent trials in the murder.

The decade of the 1860s served no better to ease opinions of Stanley Street. In April 1860, two well known “rowdies” got into a fight after consuming a lot of “bad whiskey” in a low tavern on Stanley Street. The melee spilled onto the street where a crowd gathered. A constable went to stop the fight, but he too was pummeled. Another officer in the vicinity went to help and carried the rowdy men to City Hall Station. In June 1865, “three blossoms of iniquity from Stanley Street were arrested for disturbing the peace and quiet of the street “to an inordinate extent. The Globe noted Sundays were generally light work for the police but this trio thought they would be causing no harm. In December of the same year, a man named Wellesly Coats, entering a store on Church Street near Stanley Street, left his horse and wagon in front of the place. He placed a rug on the horse. When he emerged from the shop, the covering was gone. The assailants were Elizabeth Cadwell and Ann Finelly, aged 12, “both denizens of the notorious Stanley Street.”

A Cesspool of Disease

In an episode akin to the cholera report some seventeen years prior, the middle of the decade very much brought out its poor state of health again. In the February 14, 1866 edition of The Globe, a full-page report was published entitled “Sanitary – Slums and Filth of the City – Public Health in Danger – Prompt Measures Required.” While the expose included many areas of Toronto, Stanley Street’s inadequate conditions featured heavily:

“Take that plague-spot of filth and misery, that cesspool of disease – Stanley street – and look at its back yards and closets, and you have but a sample of what can be seen in filthy other plague spots in the city.”

The Globe, February 14, 1866

The Globe took a tour of the street, highlighting first the rear areas of residences which were, in the newspaper’s observation, more fitting for animals than people. From Victoria to Nelson Street, there were at least 28 closets (ie. outdoor toilets) in a disgusting state “that it is hard to comprehend how any man, however low and degraded a social position, could eat, drink, and sleep within gun-shot of them.” The pig pens were also a health nuisance. Entering a house, the report noted how at least ten people were huddled in a room 12 x 14. The stove was red as the mid-day food was being prepared, a woman was cleaning linens, the walls were black, and the stench of the pig pen travelled into the home. In another home close to Nelson on the south side of Stanley street, the newspaper was in disbelief that another room used for all cooking, eating, and sleeping could be beside animals’ pens.

The Globe’s harsh depiction of Stanley Street was followed with a lighter take in March 1867. It reported that “Stanley Street has been exceedingly turbulent during the past few days.” Its tone was seemingly ironic in noting how “its prestige [was] on the wane” and labelling the street as a “happy spot.” The events included a row between females caused by a drunk man attempted to enter their homes, the sight of an ‘amazon’ welding a cleaver, a melee between two men and two women, and most interesting, a brawl between a ‘devoted wife’ and another woman who had captured the attention of the first woman’s husband.

The newspaper published yet another awful account of the street in December 1868 when a reporter documented his experiences on the street on Christmas Eve. It started with his interactions with a poor girl selling newspapers. Pitying her, he bought all of items and then accompanied her to her house on Stanley. There, he witnessed a domestic disturbance with the girl’s parents. The reporter continued to tour the street and its dwellings, painting a grim picture of its poor denizens:

“Over and over again we came across old women, who were rather comfortably situated, yet had no apparent means of making a livelihood of any kind. When questioned on this point some refused to give any reply; others prevaricated in the most transparent fashion; while others the reply was they kept lodgers who were all out.”

The Globe and Mail, “How Christmas was spent on Stanley Street”, December 18, 1867

The ‘Mayors’ of Stanley Street

If Stanley Street was a stage with these very dramatic performances, it fittingly had its own cast of characters. This was highlighted by its very own ‘mayor’: James Doyle. In the Robertson & Cook’s Toronto city directory for 1870, Doyle was listed as labourer living at 39 Stanley Street. In the 1871 Census, he was identified as an Irish Catholic. He had some colourful tales attached to his name. In March 1869, Doyle was accused of “once more” poking out the eye of Jerry Shehan, a labourer at 47 Stanley. In this latest occasion, the two men had a run-in while drinking at a bar. When Shehan left, the Mayor followed him and proceeded to assault him. Prior to this violent engagement, Sheehan and Doyle are also noted as assaulting each other in February 1865 and again November 1868, so they were very well known to each other. This opposition relationship was confirmed by Doyle in October 1870 when Sheehan was on trial for stealing a purse and Doyle deposed that he and Sheehan “were not on friendly terms.”

Doyle may have had enemies as another event in June had the Mayor’s home burglarized. Mrs. Doyle deposed that she woke to find a back window open, and her ‘bureau’ had been carried to the backyard, broken, and robbed of its contents. A gold chain, two silver watches, two shawls, a black jacket, two silk aprons, a pair of cuffs, and $34 in cash were gone. James Leary and Pat Kavannagh were arrested. In July 1870, Mayor Doyle was fined $20 or given one month in gaol for assaulting Frank Conlin on Church Street. Finally, Doyle was a witness in the trial of Robert Wagstaff for the murder of Margaret Chapman. Wagstaff belonged to the Brook’s Bush Gang. Wagstaff and Chapman were drinking at Doyle’s house on Stanley Street on the night Chapman drowned.

The ‘office’ of the Mayor of Stanley had a successor in Daniel Dwan. Like Doyle, Dwan had his own misadventures. In 1878, it is reported that Dwan had a rivalrous relationship with a shoemaker named Michael O’Connell. There was one runin on Jarvis Street with Dwan wielding a stone and O’Connell a knife. In another fight, the shoemaker apparently badly assaulted the mayor, but the charge was dropped based on little evidence. In 1878, Dwan is listed as a labourer living at 85 Lombard (along with John Maley and George Maley). Dwan also had a wife named Bridget. After Daniel’s death, in 1883, Mrs Dwan was taken by Police “as a vagrant, having been wandering about the street in a destitute condition.”

A Final Name Change

In 1876, a breaking point seemed to have been reached concerning Stanley Street’s seedy character. In March, Alderman Wright introduced a bill to the City Council to change the name. “[Wright] explained that many respectable people would settle on the street, were it not for its name, which was associated with everything odious.” Then, on November 27, 1876, by order of By-law 764 “To Change The Names of Certain Streets In The City of Toronto”, as it had 26 years prior, the street received a new moniker: Lombard Street. There was a prestigious street of the same name in the centre of London housing the city’s financial heart. Hopefully, the association could rub off on the Toronto street. The Globe, however, was skeptical that a new name would make a street “smell a good deal sweeter”:

“The same cure was tried once before in the case of Stanley-street when its name was changed from March Street, with what success we all know. Nor are the same tactics likely to prove any more effective now. It is plain to every observer that Stanley-street has already begun to amend, and the rapidity of its progress will depend, not on the change of name to Lombard-street, but on the speed of which its present tenants and their rickety tenements disappear, and a better class of each take their place.”

The Globe, “Street Nomenclature”, December 7, 1876.

Indeed, The Globe continued to report on Lombard Street’s vices and the pointlessness of the renaming. In 1882, it derisively mentioned that a more appropriate new name would have been “Whiskey Avenue.” It questioned the existence of the slummy street in the middle of “the Queen City of the West” and labeled its denizens “of the lowest classes in the community.” In 1888, the newspaper reported again on “The Horrors of a Lombard Street Tenement. ” Although the article was yet another gloomy portrayal of the street, it did contain a hint of positivity: parts of the street were improving! In the next year, The Globe wrote:

“The name of Lombard is not unknown in the Police Court either, but still the street is improving – not, it is feared, because the residents have improved but because the old rookeries are being pulled down and their place is being taken by good business buildings.”

The Globe, January 14, 1889

By the end of the century, Lombard Street had a distinct identity than Stanley Street. Its rowdy denizens were just about gone. The old, shoddy buildings were razed, and factories and warehouses took their place. As Kristine Morris wrote: “Progress took care of what street name changes could not.” A look about the street today is jarring as there is no indication of what was once Toronto’s most notorious street.

Cover image: Map of Toronto, 1855. Credit: Old Toronto Maps

Acknowledgments: This article builds upon the work of William Jenkins, Kristine Morris, and Katherine Taylor. Each has produced insightful histories of Stanley Street. Thank you also to Francesca Bouaoun of Toronto Archives for the aid in locating by-law 153.

Toronto’s ‘Skating Mania’: Ice Rinks in the 1860s

“The skating mania has reached Toronto, and the entire population have taken the disease in the most virulent forms.” This was The Globe’s declaration in the February 12, 1862 edition of the newspaper. It launched a flurry of activity and new ventures that thrilled Torontonians.

Torontonians were already engaging in the frozen activity in the decades prior to the newspaper’s affirmation. In 1835, John Howard produced watercolour paintings of people skating on Toronto Bay near the wharves. There were also ponds at the foot of Windsor Street, near the Northern Railway Station at Bay Street, and at the feet of Peter and John Streets. The Globe in early 1862 spoke of an “accidental” rink on The Esplanade. The pond had “a great advantage over many others for skating, as in the event of the ice breaking, the water is only a few inches deep.” It attracted many people, including a large number of young ladies, who went unfazed with laughter as they fell on the ice.

But the actual purpose of The Globe’s February 1862 article was to declare that a permanent and purpose-built skating rink was “A Public Necessity.” Toronto Bay was a “splendid skating ground,” but the ice was unreliable. Indeed, there were several past reports of drownings. As for The Esplanade, despite the less perilous ice, the area itself was too small. A dedicated locale was needed for the wintery pastime. The newspaper recommended a spacious place, not susceptible to the wind, and that could be supplied with water. It proposed the University Park on the banks of the creek running through it. Some days later, a reader from Lower Canada — Skates — chimed in in agreement of the University Creek scheme. Montreal already had a skating rink since 1859 with a $5 subscription model.

The issue resumed again in the autumn — with much progress. The Toronto Curling Club, its president John O. Howard, applied to Toronto City Council to build a structure that would be used for curling and skating in the winter months. In a City Council Meeting on October 21, 1862, the City Corporation approved this intention “to construct a large skating rink for the recreation of the citizens.”

On October 29, the newspaper reported that a 300 by 150 feet rink was under construction. Somewhat confusedly, this was not the rink referenced by the Toronto Curling Club. This was the Victoria Skating Rink according to an advertisement on the same day. The ice was to be eight inches thick — which The Globe oddly noted was sure enough to accommodate a “large man” — of which there were a few in Toronto. The rink was going to be located on the south side of Gerrard Street at Pembroke Street, opposite the entrance to the Horticultural Gardens. The Honourable George William Allan, M.L.C. — who also donated the land for the Gardens — provided the land. It was to be surrounded by a six foot fence and would be lit by gas and illuminated at night. A house with apartments was to be built too. The cost to build the rink was $800. Advertisements for the Victoria Skating Rink would soon go out, enticing would-be members to come to the office of Treasurer R.J. Kimball at 10 Toronto Street.

As for the Toronto Curling Club, it started on its venture on The Esplanade near the Customs House. The Toronto Skating Rink would have 300 square feet for a skating pond, be lit with gas (like the Victoria Rink), and have “comfortable dressing rooms, with attendance and every comfort for skaters.” Tickets would go on sale at the office of James Fraser at 5 King Street West. Single season tickets were $2 and Family tickets were $5. As it held its annual general meeting in early November, workers prepared the premises — leveling the ground and constructing fences.

To add to the mix, in the advertisements of The Globe on November 11, 1862, the Riley, May & Co. announced the construction of a third rink: The West End Skating Park. It was placed under an ad for the Toronto Skating Rink. It was to be located at King and John Streets. Subscribers could sign up at the Revere House.

The Victoria Skating Rink and The Toronto Skating Rink opened around the same time — possibly even a day apart. The Victoria Skating Rink, which served residents in the northeast part of the city, was operational by at least December 9. Ads noted in the last days of November that it would “be ready to use as soon as there was ice.” The entrance was off Sherbourne Street and there were heated rooms for men and women. There was no alcohol to be sold. The Toronto Skating Rink opened at a central locale in the city at the south side of Front between Yonge and Bay by at least December 10. The event was marked by a Grand Skating Carnival. It was a brilliant and picturesque scene with hundreds in attendance. There were many falls but none were hurt.

Meanwhile, Riley & May were working at readying the West End Skating Rink. It was being flooded with water by the Water Works Company and the owners “had fitted up everything comfortably for their subscribers.” They expected to put up a flag at the Revere House — a hotel also under their management — to signify that the ice was good. By December 23, the rink was operational and lit up for the first time “with fine effect.”

On February 28, 1863, the Victoria Skating Rink hosted a “Grand Skating Match”. The prize was a silver flower stand to the best lady skater. At least one thousand ladies and gentlemen attended. A band played at the entrance. Ice conditions were not good due to the sun. The first prize went to Miss Allie Worts. These skating carnivals would become a fixture of the rinks for the years that followed. The Toronto Skating Rink held at least five gatherings in early 1863, including one on March 19th. The band of the 10th Battalion provided music and the building was “magnificently decorated and brilliantly lighted with gas.”

Women had a noted presence and active participation on the rinks. Even before the advent of purpose-built rinks, they skated on ponds in great numbers. In one scene at The Esplanade pond in January 1862, there were 50 women of a total 200 participants. One letter to The Globe from “The School Girls” however noted that they may not have been always welcomed. Even though they had “pretty well mastered the art of skating,” women had been banned from the Peter Street pond. When the dedicated rinks were built, the pastime was a family affair. Moreover, in addition to competing in carnivals and competition, there were ladies rooms and, in the case of the Victoria Rink, a female attendant to wait on female skaters. And they were vocal in part in the operation of the rinks. In 1864, “A Lady Skater” wrote against smoking at the Toronto Skating Rink. (Another reader — “A Ticket Holder and A Foreigner” — wrote it was disgraceful that a female had to appeal to a newspaper to stop the disgusting act.)

In May 1863, Orrin Wardell, the proprietor of the Victoria Skating Rink, was honoured at the City Baths. It was perhaps the first time the venue’s owner was named. (In January, a subscriber to the rink complained of the smoking at the rink and noted he did not know who owned or operated the establishment.) Wardell was presented with a silver plate and tea set. Wardell’s story is an interesting one. Not only was he not listed in the initial communications about the Victoria Skating Rink, he was listed as a house mover in the 1862-1863 Hutchinson’s Toronto directory. He was living at 55 Centre Street. By the 1864 Directory, Wardell was listed as a house mover and proprietor of the Victoria Skating Rink and the City Baths at Maria Street (now Soho Street) and Phoebe Street. Wardell had relatives named Isaac and William that were also house movers. By the 1866 Directory, Wardell was listed as both a proprietor of the rink and a new career: auctioneer.

For the 1863-64 winter, there were exciting developments across the skating rink world. Hardware stores, which had regular ads in the newspaper promoting their goods, were “decked out with skates.” And there were improvements to the gear too: “…[Now], instead of some 15 or 20 minutes being wasted at the border of the ice in applying the skates, they can be put on in an instant, and removed in the same space of time.”

For the spaces themselves, Mr. Wardell had enlarged the Victoria Skating Rink to a size of “300 by 250 feet, thus giving ample room to the lovers of skating to glide around with comfort and easy.” Mr. Riley of the West End Skating Pond had improved on his rink, taking notes from visiting rinks in Montreal and in the Eastern United States. The ladies’ retiring room amongst other buildings had been enlarged. As for the Toronto Skating Rink, it too had undergone repairs and The Globe had never seen its ice in better condition. It was as “smooth as glass.” And finally, there was another rink: the Yorkville Skating Rink! The venture had begun the previous spring and was now by leased by Thomas Berney and George White, who had “enclosed a space of three hundred feet by two hundred and fifty feet, with a closed boarded-fence seven feet high. It was located off Yonge Street, opposite Isabella Street, to serve the people of Yorkville. With its addition, “citizens will have abundant opportunities to practice this exhilarating amusement during the present winter.”

In November 1864, a new rink — the fifth in the city — would come. The Royal Skating Rink would be located west of the 10th battalion drill-shed at 84 King Street between Bay and York Streets. Reid & Harris were the proprietors. It would contain two rinks — one covered and one opened.

At the start of the following year, it seems like at least some were growing weary with how the rinks were being operated. In fairness, there had been complaints about the conduct of patrons since 1862, including the mentioned complaints about smoking, but there were two noted unsatisfied guests in early 1865. In January, a reader wrote to The Globe to note the dangerous practice of little boys furiously chasing each other on the rink. The writer, his lady, and some friends had heavy falls because of such behaviour. He implored the managers to act and suggested quartering a portion of the rink for figure skating. In March, a Pater Familias wrote about the fun festivities of the rinks. Curiously, he declared that the “glory of the skating rinks had departed” because of festivals and competitions. The purity of the rinks had been corrupted. Earlier in the month, the Globe wrote about the Victoria Rink Masquerade. “Those who appeared in character played their parts well. Everybody, indeed, was delighted and came home satisfied.” Pater Familias implored the return of the rinks “to their healthy simplicity”.

Despite this, it seemed like the allure of the wintery activity was still strong. For the new campaign in December 1865, The Globe wrote: “skating, the most popular of out-door recreations, is now anticipated eagerly; preparations are making on all sides for a brilliant campaign.” It went on to outline the activities of main rinks — the Victoria, Toronto, and Royal Rinks — including their carnivals. Some bad news was offered, however: The West End Rink would not to be opening. (It would be “shut up” the following year too and there were no more references to it in The Globe.) In the following December, St. George’s Rink opened at Maria (Soho) and Phoebe Streets, near Wardell’s City Baths. It was later reported to be the “largest covered rink in the Dominion.”

Of course, makeshift ponds continued to be enjoyed. People glided between the wharfs and other areas of Toronto Bay as well the Don River. “The Don has already been bridged by a strong table of ice and skaters yesterday piled industriously over its frozen surface,” the newspaper declared on December 12, 1866.

For the start of the campaign in 1868, The Globe reported the opening of the St. George’s Rink and Toronto Skating Club was met with less enthusiasm as years prior. The Skating Club was hosting curling matches and one subscriber noted how rinks were made over the skating portion. The managers of the St. George’s Rink transformed the venue to accommodate a new pleasure: the bicycle. It opened the Velocipede Rink — a “MAMMOTH RINK” — in April 1869. The St. George’s Rink was planked and furnished with seats to host “the best and largest place for Velocipede exercise in the country.”

The last reference to the Victoria Skating Rink was in March 1868 advertising a Grand Masquerade at the Victoria Rink. The rink was not listed in the directory for that year. As for its proprietor, in the Robertson & Cook’s Toronto city directory for 1870, the following listing is given: “ORRIN WARDELL, Auction and Jobbing Mart, wholesale & retail dealer in general merchandize, watches, jewellery, corner of King Street East and East Market Square, house 32 Frederick Street.” In the listing for St. Lawrence Hall, one finds: “O. Wardell, wholesale jobber in glassware, fancy goods.” In an entry for his son, Fred Wardell, the Detroit Historical Society noted Orrin moved from Toronto to Detroit in 1874 to establish Wardell & Sons, auctioneers.

In the years that followed, Toronto would continue to skate — on new rinks, using new technologies, and even new pastimes like hockey that repurposed these winter spaces — but the frenzy of the early 1860s marked the true beginning of the city’s skating culture. What had once been a scattered activity on frozen ponds and along the Bay was, in a few short seasons, transformed into an organized, social, and commercial phenomenon that reshaped winter life in the city. The rinks of 1862 and beyond did more than provide recreation; they created a shared civic experience, one that blended leisure, innovation, and community. And while the glide of skates would carry Toronto forward into the decades ahead, it is here—in this moment of “skating mania”—that the city first found its footing on the ice.

When Toronto’s Coffee Went ‘Continental’

Note: This article first appeared in Spacing Magazine Issue 71. It has been reproduced here with permission.

When Toronto’s Coffee Went ‘Continental‘
By Bob Georgiou

Cover image: Jack & Jill Coffee Bar in ‘The Village’, Hayter Street and LaPlante Avenue, 1963. Source: City of Toronto Archives

In March 1955, The Globe and Mail reported a growing “Toronto Trend”: the coffee house. While the drink itself was already sold and consumed in Toronto in various establishments (one of which was created by the temperance movement in the last quarter of the 19^th century), in the middle of the 20^th century it adopted a European, Bohemian, and outdoor flair. The newspaper also identified the catalyst of the new craze as “an Italian device known as the ‘expresso machine’” that had already caused a resurgence in coffee consumption in Britain.

On April 22, 1955, the Concerto Coffee House opened at 89 Bloor Street West. It billed itself as “Toronto’s First Continental-style Coffee House.” It was launched by partners British Brigadier Claude Dewhurst and Hungarian Irving Bolgar.

That June, in her Globe and Mail column “Around The Town,” Mary Walpole wrote about the cafe’s success:

“…And now in Toronto, the Concerto Cafe has proved that what we wanted most was a place to relax with our coffee and our chatter where the atmosphere…the service and the food made you feel that silly it is to rush like mad and get nowhere. The only problem is that too many people want to relax at Concerto Cafe…they line up for lunch…they drop in by hundreds to talk over the theatre, the film and the concerts with one of the twelve famous brews of coffee…though it’s still the Espresso that most everyone orders…and to dally over the intriguing salads, the Danish smorgasbord and French hors d’oeuvres and those delicious ices and pastries.”

The Globe and Mail, June 15, 1955

Another article in The Globe and Mail described the cafe’s “unusual aspects” – specifically that it was located above street level and featured “long-legged stools at a serpentine counter” where patrons could people-watch. The restaurant displayed interesting design motifs by Hungarian-born ceramicist Maria Rahmer de Nagay and the artist Karl May. The cafe also had a second-floor space called the “Picture Room.”

The cafe’s coffee itself was a mix of South American, Central American, and South African beans. An assortment of cakes and pastries provided accompaniment. Main courses included Hungarian goulash, veal ragout, stuffed peppers, chicken Tetrazini, and lobster Meridon. Later reports suggested the Concerto increased its selection of coffees, with espresso notes as the highlight, from 12 to 25 types.

The cafe, which was self-described as “Continental Bohemian”, had a happening vibe, frequented by “stars and celebrities.” In May 1955, opera singer Zinka Milanov was hosted at a coffee party there by the Yugoslav Consult General. Another soprano, Licia Albanese, stopped by the cafe after her show at Massey Hall in December 1955. Folk singer Greg Curtis was brought in to perform at the club, and a ‘singing Troubadour’ was a regular showcase. The owners, seeing the early returns of the Concerto Cafe, soon opened a second restaurant, the Concertino, at 32 Avenue Road. It sought for a similar atmosphere, and Maria de Nagay also provided her work for this foray. The Concertino was sold by March 1956 and renamed La Coterie.

Despite its great impact on Toronto’s gastronomic scene, the Concerto had a relatively short life. On December 13, 1959, a devastating fire totaling $15,000 in damages forced the cafe to close forever. The ground floor partially collapsed, and two firemen were hurt. A cigarette butt in the basement was believed to be the cause.

Meanwhile, another cafe with European flavour was contributing to converting Toronto to the new coffee culture. In March 1956, the Gaggia House at 28 College Street opened with a lavish gala. The owner was Venetian-born Pino Riservato, who fashioned the restaurant with Italian artistic stylings and a wood-burning oven for ‘pizza pie.’

But the intrigue did not stop in the coffee house’s interior: Gaggia House was also to become a sidewalk cafe, one of the first — if not the first – of its kind in Toronto. The Gaggia House seems to have only lasted six months, according to the Toronto Daily Star. But the trend had been initiated. In July 1960, Mary Walpole reported on the new sidewalk cafe of the Chateau Briand at neighbouring 32 College Street. She described how the “Wondrous Italian, Viennese and French coffees taste just that much better in this [patio] setting.”

By the end of the 1950s, the coffee house trend had completely caught on in Toronto. The Toronto Daily Star declared an ‘espresso blitz’ was taking place. “The most tell-tale sign of espresso’s growing popularity is that it is now being drunk during the ubiquitous Canadian ‘coffee break.’” Since the middle of the decade, the “continental coffee habit” grew to thirty espresso-serving establishments in Toronto. Another that grew from Hungary’s famed café culture was the Domino Cafe at 255 College Street owned by Hungarian-born Louis (or Leslie) Fekete.

Further west on College, the Capriccio Restaurant and Billiard Hall at 580 College Street, run by brothers Dante, Claudio, and Vittorio Cocca, helped launch Toronto’s Little Italy neighbourhood as an epicentre of sidewalk cafes, with long-running establishments such as Café Diplomatico continuing the activity to this day.

In the 1960s, Toronto’s Bohemian, Continental, and accompanying coffee cultures settled into two other districts. The first was ‘The Village’, an area west of Bay along Gerrard, Elizabeth, and Hayter Streets. In March 1960, Estonian-born Peeter Seep opened a new coffee house at 23 Gerrard Street. The Jack and Jill Coffee Bar on Hayter Street, another Hungarian establishment, was a popular spot with a sidewalk cafe and “after-dark activity.” By the middle of the decade, the Village was known for its coffee houses, live music, and patios.

The second of these areas would become the most synonymous with coffee house culture in Toronto’s history. Interestingly, it was located in Yorkville, steps from the ill-fated Concerto Café. In 1963, the Star reported a sidewalk cafe “boom” in Toronto with sixteen patios in the city — many of them in the streets north of Bloor near Avenue Road. The newspaper described how, in 1960, the Half Beat on Cumberland Street was persuaded by a former sidewalk cafe restauranteur and espresso machine salesman to place some tables outside. Their clientele soon preferred to sit or stand in the open air to drink their coffee. More coffee houses followed, many of them European-owned and -operated: the Old York Lane Cafe, the Coffee Mill, the Roof at 137 Avenue Road, the Penny Farthing, the Das Uppenbrau, the Cumberland Cafe, and La Provencal. Yorkville’s coffee houses provided venues for folk, blues, and jazz artists – some who laid the groundwork for a Canadian popular music scene.

Redevelopment in the Village and Yorkville erased both districts as nexuses for coffee houses. Many of the former converted rowhouses that had hosted the cafes were demolished. Nonetheless, as of 2025 the location of the Concerto Cafe remains at 89 Bloor Street West. Although no physical marker exists yet, it’s a good reminder of where Toronto got its taste for coffee nearly 70 years ago.

I’ve started a Substack! It will plug my recent projects, including articles on this site, and what has interested me. I will also share favourite Toronto History resources and projects! Please follow here: https://bobgeorgiou.substack.com/

I’ve started a Substack!

I’ve decided to get into the newsletter game! It will serve as another outlet to explore and report on my curiosities in Toronto history and fill the space in between posts. I’ll have what’s interested me, what I’m up to, and sharing some favourite research resources. The articles on this site won’t stop, of course. In fact, I have a few coming down the pipeline in 2026!

Please venture over to Substack and subscribe if you feel inclined: https://bobgeorgiou.substack.com/

The Mystery on Danforth Avenue: Who Was G.W.L.?

A long brown brick building located at the southwest corner of Danforth Avenue and Gillard Avenue, featuring multiple storefronts and apartments above, with visible signage for local businesses. — Google Maps, 2018

A long brown building stands at the southwest corner of Danforth Avenue and Gillard Avenue in the East Danforth neighbourhood in Toronto. Its official street address is 1351-1367 Danforth Avenue. While the structure’s size, dark bricks, and subtle design touches are notable, the most intriguing detail is the marker high up on the east side of the block. This ornamental plaque reads “G.W.L. 1922” and it is the launching point for quite a history.

The year in this marker is easy to explain: the block is from 1922. However, it also comes with some extra supporting context. Neighbouring buildings at 1335-1337 Danforth have a 1918 placard and 1346-1350 Danforth have a 1919 placard. Much of the surrounding street is built within this time period — during and after World War I and after the opening of the Bloor Viaduct in 1918.

In 1922, The Globe reported that Danforth was experiencing a “historical” building boom. Rows of shops and apartments filled the main street along with an accompanying residential housing stock on surrounding side streets. The Goads Fire Insurance Maps show a sparsely populated 1913 and a very busy 1924, telling a very visual story of the district’s development. Other notable local landmarks from the era include The Riverdale Technical School (now Danforth Collegiate & Technical Institute) and the Canada Bread Company (now demolished).

The “G.W.L.” is harder to decode. While other historical commercial and residential blocks in Toronto have included a name along with a year of construction, 1351-1367 Danforth Avenue includes only three initials – perhaps of its builder or an original occupant. An initial theory by the author pointed to the Catholic Women’s League, which got its started in this period, but there was no evidence connecting the two.

The OnLand Property Records start to uncover the story. The building occupies Lots 118 to 122 of Plan 463E. In 1921, the plots were granted to George William Lucas by the Monarch Realty Company. The real estate firm – full name Monarchy Realty & Securities Co. – operated in Toronto’s east end and notably sold the City the land that would become Greenwood Park in 1919.

The story of the owner, George William Lucas, is one of ambition, hardship, family, and prosperity. Although several George Lucases are listed in the Toronto City Directories (and indeed Lucas was a very common family name – including rather confusedly a pair of builder brothers surnamed Lucas who also worked in the east end), he appeared to have had various listed professions within the construction field: contractor, builder, and carpenter. In the 1910s, he and his family lived at 51 Harcourt Avenue, among other addresses.

Mr. Lucas’ first appearance in the Canadian Census in 1921 listed him as a “Builder.” He was born around 1879, making him about 42. He immigrated to Canada from England in 1912. His religious affiliation was Methodist. He lived with his wife, Sarah Ann, 43 years old. They celebrated 25 years of marriage in 1922, according to a Globe article, making their marriage in about 1897. Their children were Norman, Rupert, Daisy, Stainton, George, and Hannah. A later census noted his parents were Welsh, and he could not read or write.

The site of the “George William Lucas Block” was likely a very deliberate and convenient choice for the builder. It was around the corner from the family home at 98 Monarch Park Avenue. It is a handsome Edwardian residence that still stands today. The lot was also part of Plan 463E, granted to Lucas in 1917, also by the Monarch Realty Co. According to the City Directory, the Lucases first occupied the home in 1919 at address 98 Bathgate Avenue (Bathgate became Monarch Park in 1921).

Despite its 1922 construction, 1351-1367 Danforth Avenue was oddly vacant for its first few years. In 1925, its first occupants appeared, albeit with more than half the building still empty. Curious events during the in-between years may explain the oddity. A story in the April 21, 1925 Daily Star explains that George William Lucas did not own the building for long and might have been going through some financial difficulties. “In November 1923, he transferred [the building consisting of five stores and fifteen apartments] to Isabella, Harry H. and Row W. Bailey in exchange for a 540-acre farm near Brantford.”

In another odd development, Lucas then transferred the farm to his son Norman “‘in consideration of natural love and affection, and the sum of one dollar.'” George Lucas declared bankruptcy in August 1924. Unfortunately, the elder Lucas passed his debts to the younger Lucas, and Norman was also forced by a court to pay his creditors $600. Norman Lucas was noted as a disabled World War I veteran who was tending to his injuries at Christie Street Hospital. He later gave vocal performances at the hospital. He married Alma Florence Finnie, a Canadian Expeditionary Force Nursing Sister in the Canadian Army Medical Corps.

It’s not clear if G.W. Lucas was responsible for any other buildings in Toronto. In a 1945 Globe and Mail article, it was reported that he retired as a builder “25 years ago,” and he later moved from Toronto. This places the timeframe around the time of the construction of the Lucas Block, meaning it may have been his last (and possibly only?) project. The 1931 Census (which nearly counted him twice) listed him as renting at 304 Hillsdale Avenue East with Sarah Ann, sons Stainton (25), and George (20). He was a self-employed carpenter.

Beyond his profession as a builder/contractor/carpenter, Lucas had a hobby: horses. He was visible at Woodbine, Dufferin, Fort Erie, and other racecourses. He also exhibited horses at the Canadian National Exhibition, the Royal Winter Fair, and New York. Some of the Lucas children appeared as “young drivers” in competitions in the 1920s. The Lucas children were successful in other pursuits, too. In a benefit tournament at St. Andrews Golf Club in 1933, Stainton took first place, and Rupert came in second.

George William Lucas died from pneumonia on January 14, 1945, at St. Michael’s Hospital. He was about 66. Sarah Ann passed four years earlier. He was survived by all his children. Rupert moved to New York and Norman to Winnipeg. Stainton was noted as a former baseball player for the Toronto Maple Leafs. George William Lucas is buried at Mount Pleasant Cemetery.

As for George Williams Lucas’ surviving built legacy, 1351-1367 Danforth Avenue has lived a long life that has, in some ways, represented the transformation on and of Danforth. Among the earliest tenants was the Kingsley Manufacturing Co., makers of piston rings. The business lasted from 1925 to the early 1940s. The Directories show that the 1920s to 1960s saw occupants of a largely WASP-background, and businesses such as the Yolles L furn & stoves, Toronto Mower Service (lawn mower reprs), East End Auto Glass, Bissett Brothers carpet cleaners, Toronto Washing Machine Co., Mervyn’s Furniture, Peel J H Conservatory of Music, Butterworth & Co. (Canada) Ltd publishers, and Holman Leather Goods. These were entreprises that reflected the everyday needs as well the latest technological and cultural developments. Beginning in the 1960s, the area’s changing demographics were present in the structure. Establishments like the Bari-Puglia billiard hall and Italian Social Club reflected an Italian presence, and a few names of Greek and Chinese origins lend to the multicultural factor, too.

In 2021, the Danforth Cultural Heritage Resource Assessment identified 1351-1367 Danforth Avenue as having potential heritage value. Toronto City Council declared the building as a listed property in 2022. The George William Lucas Block’s existence reflects not only the building boom of the area during its construction but the societal shifts over the next century. The intriguing stories of the ambitious builder and his intriguing family are forever tied to it.

Acknowledgements: Thank you to those who reached out to offer their assistance, especially to Mary Crandall and Jeff Stewart for decoding the identity of G.W.L. Without your invaluable helping hand, this rabbit hole of an article was not possible. Thank you also to ever resourceful and knowledgeable Robin on Bluesky who aided in the mystery of George W. Lucas’ “Cancelled” entry in the 1931 Census and offered some supplemental biographical details on the Lucas family.

Scenes From Windfields Park

Windfields Park is an 83-acre park in the former city of North York in Toronto. Its history includes being part-golf course and part-equestrian estate, and it is an important chapter in suburban Toronto.

A short distance from the southeast corner of Bayview Avenue and York Mills Road, the park begins by following the course of Wilket Creek. The narrow and shallow watercourse was historically known as Milne Creek, named after the Milne family, who built a mill on the creek further south and east near Lawrence Avenue. The creek seems to have later taken on the current and lasting name Wilket Creek, which itself comes after the Wilcotts of Willowdale where the waterway’s headwaters stood.

To the centre of the park, the topography opens up into rolling hills to the east and the Canadian Film Centre (CFC) grounds to the west. This is where the land’s history and geography get interesting.

Historically, the park is made of parts of Lots 8 to 10, Second Concession East of Yonge — the majority being the Bell property on Lot 9. By 1930, parts of Lots 8 and 9 were part of the Glen Mawr Golf Club with an address on Bayview Avenue.

In the 1940s, the International Business Machines (IBM) Ltd bought the course for exclusive use of its employees. Its address was on Leslie Street and extended to Wilket Creek. The company had their headquarters nearby at Don Mills Road and Eglinton Avenue.

In 1932, industrialist and financier Edward Plunket (E.P.) Taylor bought twenty acres of land on Bayview Avenue, also on lots 8 and 9. An estate house was commissioned and built in the colonial revival style. A gatehouse, stables, workers’ cottages, and gardens were added in the Fourties.

In addition to his business pursuits, in the Fifties, Taylor became big-time stock-breeder – a connoisseur for racing horses and cows. He amassed hundreds of acres of real estate as part of his Windfields Farm — a name conceived of by his wife Winnifred while feeling the breezy air while walking through the open land — and turned it into “a top centre for thoroughbred houses and cattle.” In 1959, The Globe profiled Windfields as “the type of farm that doesn’t really exist.” The farm consisted of parcels of land on Bayview Avenue and on both sides of York Mills Road west of Leslie Street. In 1964, the Taylors’ Northern Dancer won the Kentucky Derby, the first Canadian-bred horse to achieve the accolade.

In the Sixties, several transformative events impacted the two landholdings. With surrounding farmlands beginning to be redeveloped in the decade prior, IBM sold its 103-acre club to Morenish Land Developments. The last year for golf was 1967. By the mid-1970s, new streets and houses replaced the greens. The rolling topography of the western part of the property near the creek seems to have remained as parkland.

In 1968, Taylor agreed to sell 330 acres of its 390-acre Windfields Farm to Morenish Land Developments as well. The new subdivisions near York Mills and Leslie went up by the end of the Seventies. The neighbourhood now bears the Windfields name.

Windfield Farm & IBM Golf Course, 1965 & 1978
City of Toronto Archives,

Taylor set aside 50-acres to North York of his equestrian estate for parkland. It was named appropriately named Windfields Park. The family immediately retained 20 acres, including the house, to live on. These lands were to be deeded to North York upon the family’s wishes or deaths. In 1987, Charles Taylor officially transferred the remaining property to the city. The Canadian Centre for Advanced Film Studies, now the Canadian Film Centre, was founded in the building by Norman Jewison in the following year.

Today, Windfields Park and CFC grounds mark a picturesque landscape in North York, one with interesting historical layers.

When Leader Lane Led: A Quick History of One-Way Streets in Toronto

Map of Toronto in 1933 with traffic and parking prohibitions

What is the first street in downtown Toronto recorded as a one-way street? The answer is not obvious – perhaps because the street itself is not very consequential for most travelers today. It was the first chapter in the history of Toronto’s uniquely directed roads.

On July 2nd, 1901, By-Law No. 4108 prohibited “the conveyance of traffic on Leader Lane, from the south to the north.” The street ran, as it does today, between King Street and Wellington Street just west of Church Street. The reason for the ban against northbound traffic was that the lane was “too narrow for the passing of one vehicle by another.” Vehicles were defined in the law as horses, carriages, wagons, or other vehicles (other than a bicycle).

The issue came about when Mr. George R. R. Cockburn raised a complaint to the mayor:

“The fact that vehicles of every description are entitled to pass up and down Leader lane causes great inconvenience both to those using them and also to foot passengers, and it would be in the interests of the city that the traffic of carts and vehicles should be constrained to pass only from north to south through the lane. I may say that already two panes of glass have been broken by vehicles attempting to pass one another in so narrow a space.”

Toronto Daily Star, October 9, 1900

Cockburn was a Member of Parliament in Toronto and educator, who was Principal at Upper Canada College and a member of the Senate at the University of Toronto.

By the spring of 1901, legislation was passed to allow Toronto to make the by-law and the Works Committee recommended the prohibition. It was given its readings in Council before being passed into law on July 2.

Leader Lane was named for the Toronto Leader Newspaper, which operated between 1853 and 1878 and had its offices at 63 King Street East and 40 & 44 Colborne Street. It had the previous names of “Old Post Office Lane” and “Berczy Street.” In 1909, Leader Lane was named by the Daily Star as the narrowest way in Toronto to be properly called a street.

While it is natural to think of the regulation in modern terms, this prescription of vehicles implies that automobile traffic was not the by-law’s first intention. But soon, it would be.

The “horseless age” was about to begin in Toronto. In August 1897, The Globe wrote of the interest derived from the presence “of an automobile vehicle, or motocycle, or autocar, the name being as yet unfixed.” In June 1901, the Toronto Automobile Club had its first rendezvous — a cavalcade of eight cars starting at Queen’s Park and driving around Toronto. Its president was John Craig Eaton — then Vice-President (and soon-to-be President) of the T. Eaton Company.

The following decades saw a growth in cars on the streets of Toronto and it was transformational for daily life in Toronto. In 1913, there were 17,000 cars in Toronto; by 1923, the number grew to about 50,000 cars. With it, Toronto refined its rules of the road and its technologies to manage traffic flow. The first version of the modern traffic light arrived in 1925.

On August 5, 1920, By-Law 8485 “To Regulate Traffic on the Public Streets” was passed. It focused on parking allowances and prohibitions, turning and stopping, obeying signals, and even regulated pedestrians (including bicyclists).

It also transformed a number of streets into one-way streets. The list included Leader Lane and many of its surrounding streets and lanes in the financial district: Victoria Street, Colborne Street, and Jordan Street. Other additions included Queen’s Park and Spadina Crescents, which were separated into north- and south-bound streets on either side of their respective islands.

The changes must have spurred a larger discussion about traffic measures. In a traffic conference in June 1923, more one-way streets were urged, including Yonge Street during peak times when parking provisions on the street were also reformed to allow the change. It was the first of nearly a century of schemes and ideas to make Yonge Street one directional. In 1928, the former Chief of Police Samuel J. Dickson raised the idea of making all traffic on Yonge Street travel south between Front Street and St. Clair Avenue. Conversely, strictly northbound traffic would travel along Bay Street, Davenport, and Poplar Plains Road.

Proposals and studies for a one-way Yonge Street arose in nearly every decade in the 20th century. Some, such as in 1968 and 1984, actually came with the idea of reducing the lanes on Yonge and improving the pedestrian arena with wider sidewalks and even pedestrian-only areas. In 1988, it arguably came the closest to a reality: Toronto City Council voted to turn Yonge Street into a northbound road (with Bay Street handling southbound traffic) on a trial basis. However, downtown businesses challenged the plan in court and won. The plan was killed in another council vote in 1989. Most recently, in May 2012, City Councilor and Public Works Committee chair Denzil Minnan-Wong proposed a one-way Yonge, but there was no follow-through. Interestingly, the counter-argument from a fellow councillor was similar to that of businesses in 1988: it would have been disruptive to local commerce.

Other major streets were also targets for traffic regulation reform in the 20th century — to more success. In 1946, the Civic Works Committee recommended one-way traffic on Adelaide and Richmond Streets. The former would apply from York to Jarvis Streets; the latter from Jarvis to University Streets. Unfortunately, while a trial period was proposed, the idea was seemingly forgotten for more than a decade. On Sunday, May 4, 1958, the pilot on Adelaide and Richmond finally began; it was filled with confusion and wrong-way turns. But by Monday, the test was already declared a success by city officials, the Toronto Transit Commission, and Toronto Police. By-Law No. 20418, passed on September 2, 1958, included Richmond, Adelaide, and roughly three hundred entries (that is, also including lanes and parts of streets) under Schedule VIII for one-way streets. The success seemed to have spurred further proposals to create a network of one-way streets in Toronto, which was layered with the movement for expressways as a means of allowing better and safer traffic flow. Today, vehicles in the downtown core travel uniquely west on Richmond Street and east on Adelaide Street.

Today, Toronto’s main streets do not follow a strict network of one-way streets as other Canadian and American cities have adopted. As with many civic improvement projects in Toronto, the approach to the one-way regulation seems to have been a gentle one: beginning small with narrow streets around the financial district and increasing to large changes like Richmond and Adelaide Streets when political appetite allowed it. In that way, Leader Lane truly was a leader.

A special thank you to Francesca Bouaoun of the Toronto Archives and Tony Masucci of By-Law Support for their assistance in retrieving archival by-laws.

Sources

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“To Clear Taxis Off K.E. Stand.” The Globe, 10 July 1920, p. 6.

“The Horseless Age.” The Globe, Aug 28, 1897, p. 15.

“Toronto Motor Car Increase 305 Per Cent Since 1920.” The Globe, 16 Aug. 1938, p. 1.

“Traffic May Be One Way, Reverse on New Yonge St.” Globe and Mail, 14 May 1953, p. 29.

“Wagons in Leader Lane.” Toronto Daily Star, 9 Oct. 1900, p. 3.

“Watch One-Way Streets in City.” The Globe, 2 Oct. 1920, p. 20.

“When Toronto’s Mayor Planned to Make Yonge and Bay One-Way Streets | CBC.” CBCnews, CBC/Radio Canada, 17 May 2023, http://www.cbc.ca/archives/when-toronto-s-mayor-planned-to-make-yonge-and-bay-one-way-streets-1.5559508.

“‘One Way’ Streets Are Recommended.” The Globe, 27 Mar. 1920, p. 8.

Toronto’s Historic Clamour and The City’s “Anti-Noise” Doctor

Note: This article first appeared in Spacing Magazine, Issue 67. It has been reproduced here with permission.

When did Toronto become noisy? One indication might come from the reports of Toronto historic newspapers, which were commenting on the apparent noisiness of the city by the 1890s. The wording used by the Toronto Daily Star, the Globe, and the Toronto World was striking and uniform. They reported on “Anti-Noise Crusades” against “The Noise Nuisance.” And from an early stage, the matter was presented as being more than just an annoyance — it was an issue of public health. In 1894, the Toronto World complained about Toronto Railway Company streetcars, which “must have a serious effect on the nerves”.

In 1910, anti-noise proponents gained a new ally in the City’s Health Department. Dr. Charles Hastings, the new Medical Officer of Health, identified “the question of offensive noises” as being a matter of public health. It was the first time the connection between auditory pollution and wellbeing was made official in Toronto.

The Globe was elated, as now its “ineffective protests against unnecessary and hideous noises” would be heard. In early November, a Globe representative walked the streets of Toronto in the morning and observed several sources of commotion while interviewing citizens and businessmen. His findings identified factory sirens, railway nuisances, and streetcars as problems for Hastings to act on.

Another issue Hastings was asked to investigate: milk delivery in the morning. Dissenters to the status quo advocated for afternoon deliveries to avoid the rattle of the wagons during sleeping hours. But Dr. Hastings rejected the switch to midday milk, because he prioritised another health issue — clean milk. More than noise nuisances, pasteurised milk became an enduring part of Hastings’ legacy. It was personal to him, too – his young daughter had died from consuming contaminated milk nearly a decade prior. The lack of proper refrigeration made leaving milk sitting for several hours for afternoon deliveries a non-starter.

A City Dairy Milk Wagon circa 1900.
Credit: City of Toronto Archives

In his pursuit of noise reduction, Dr. Hastings instead began with another auditory irritant: the crowing of roosters in the morning. In 1912, Hastings proposed a by-law to banish the animal from the city, with the noted exception of breeders’ roosters. The Mail and Empire asked – perhaps derisively – how the top doctor prioritised bird noises over “whistles, bells, honking automobiles, and steam hammers.” Its cheeky answer? “The roosters make so much noise that the doctor can’t hear himself crow over the improvement in the public health since he took over the Health Department.”

The Globe noted the proposed ban would face opposition from citizens, “not only on the score of the danger to roosters, but because it contemplates charging a fee of a dollar for every domestic animal kept within city limits.” In 1919 and 1926, citizens still wrote to newspapers complaining about roosters in the city, indicating that the Health Department had not been very successful. A 1938 by-law finally prohibited noises by “any animal or bird,” such as a crowing rooster or barking dog, “which disturbs the peace, quiet, comfort or repose of any individual in the neighbourhood.”

In 1916, Hastings inaugurated an “anti-noise” campaign. The targets were motorists who wielded a heavy hand in sounding their horns, as well as anyone who made noises that “are not necessary for purposes of carrying on trade and commerce.” The doctor also professed that he could put an end to “unnecessary noises in the city” if he was given the power to do so. In response, Toronto Mayor Tommy Church brought in a resolution at the same meeting enabling proceedings against those who make noises. The Mayor’s resolution was endorsed by the Board of Health.

Dr. Hastings’ tenure in the Health Department often followed a theme of ambitious goals followed by unfortunately minimal results. A lively clash between the Officer of Health and Mayor Church in August 1918 pointed to a potential reason for inaction. The matter at hand was the noise emitted by the Gutta Percha and Rubber Co. factory in Parkdale and its impact on the denizens of West Lodge Avenue.

The mayor made “a rather scornful comment” about the department’s inability to deal with nuisances. After a protest from Hastings, the mayor doubled down, saying that Hastings had not “stopped a nuisance in the city yet.” Hastings argued he had to operate within the law – the Public Health Act – which the mayor conceded was a slow and cumbersome process. It was agreed the Criminal Code was a better tool. In January 1919, in the battle between Gutta Percha and Rubber Co. and West Lodge Avenue residents, Hastings admitted that the Ministry of Health was powerless to “abate necessary noises.” He would ask for reforms to the Public Health Act in 1920.

A machine inside the Gutta Percha and Rubber Co. factory.
Credit: City of Toronto Archives

In the 1920s, calls from the City officials and residents to lessen the noise of the city continued. In 1921, Hastings identified idling motorists outside houses who honked their horns, especially between the hours of 10PM and 7AM, as a particular nuisance. He also targeted door to door fruit peddlers, although he was not as hopeful on this matter since peddlers were licensed.

In 1926, an “anti-noise crusader,” Grenville Kleiser of France, wrote a letter to the Board of Control advocating an “anti-noise” day or week with a set of seven rules to adhere to during the period. The proposal had the support of Mayor Thomas Foster as well as Dr. Hastings, who stated the city needed 52 anti-noise weeks. Hastings acknowledged that the increasing demands of life were having an impact on “the nerves.” Just as he had done five years before, he identified idling and honking motorists as contributors. “The whole tendency of modern life is destructive to the nerves,” he summarised.

Dr. Hastings’ tenure as Toronto’s Medical Health Officer ended in 1929 with his retirement – two years before his death. Although his efforts in abating the “noise nuisances” in the city had mixed results, his legacy as a dedicated public servant who steered the city in a variety of other key issues remains. As for Toronto’s noise nuisances, they continued beyond his tenure with a combination of prior annoyances and new nuisances, accompanied by ever-present campaigns to regulate and quiet the noise.

Old Toronto Sounds Outlawed

Special thanks to Ariella Elema and the Toronto Archives for their assistance in accessing historical by-laws

No. 1514.

A BY-LAW To prevent certain noises calculated to disturb the inhabitants.
[Passed November 3rd, 1884.]

WHEREAS it is expedient and necessary to prevent the unnecessary use of steam whistles within the limits of the City of Toronto;

Therefore the Council of the Corporation of the City of Toronto enacts as follows:

I.No person shall blow or cause to be blown, sound or cause to be sounded, the steam whistle of any steamer while lying at any wharf in the City of Toronto or when approaching or leaving such wharf, except when absolutely necessary as a signal of danger, or in the cases and under the circumstances prescribed by the Laws and Statutes of the Dominion of Canada and the Orders-in-Council (if any) passed in pursuance thereof requiring the use of such whistles.

Commentary: Toronto early bylaws regulated the use of whistles from steamers and trains as they were common in Toronto 19^th– and earl- 20th century auditory environment. Later noise laws also included this prohibition.

No. 2452.

A By-law To prevent certain Noises calculated to disturb the Inhabitants.

PASSED 13th January, 1890.

THE Municipal Council of the Corporation of the City of Toronto enacts as follows :

1. No person shall advertise any sale of merchandize, furniture, or other article, or matter, by the ringing of a bell, blowing of a horn, crying, hallooing, or creating any other discordant noise, in the streets of the City, or on the step of a house or other premises open to the public street, whereby the public are liable to be subjected to inconvenience and annoyance: Provided always, that nothing contained in this section shall be construed to extend to any person duly appointed and authorized by the Council to follow the calling of Police Crier or City Bellman

Commentary: An amendment in 1892 excused milk dealers on weekdays from the ‘ringing of a bell’ clause.

No. 14913.

A BY-LAW Respecting Noises

[Passed March 14th, 1938.]

The Council of the Corporation of the City of Toronto enacts as follows:

II.

For the purpose of Section I, the following noises or sounds, among others, shall be deemed to be unnecessary noises which disturb the inhabitants:

(3) The sound or noise from or created by any radio or phonograph, or any musical or sound-producing instrument of whatsoever kind when such radio or phonograph or instrument is played or operated in such manner or with such volume as to annoy or disturb the peace, quiet, comfort or repose of any individual in any dwelling house, apartment house, hotel or other type of residence.

Commentary: This was part of Toronto’s most extensive noise law to date as the city wished to eliminate any ambiguity from older regulations regarding unnecessary noises. The provision on radio noise reflected the medium’s rise as a commercial sound machine. By-Law 14193, requiring approval from Queen’s Park, was initially rejected by the Province as being too “drastic”. The bill was reintroduced and passed in 1939 after persuasion from city officials. In a separate event, Toronto City Council also amended the law to exclude the Salvation Army from the law, to allow it to hold street corner meetings.

Even More “Old” Streets of Toronto

This is the third article in a series explaining the origins and histories of “Old”-named streets in Toronto. Here is Part I and Part II. You will find an interactive map of the title image here.

Old Kingston Road

Year rerouted: 1922

Kingston Road once followed a “tortuous” route into the Highland Creek valley, also called the ‘West Hill Hollow’. After it passed through the village of West Hill at Morningside Avenue, it took “a sharp, twisting drop down the bank of the valley.” It then followed the floor of the valley in a straight line and crossed over the creek on “a small, concrete bridge.” Up the eastern side, the hill was straight, but with its heavy level of traffic in the summer and its steepness and low visibility, it made for a dangerous drive.

In early 1922, tenders called for a high-level bridge. Construction began with the expectation that the road would be ready the next year. Fortunately, the project was completed quickly and was ready in November 1922. The new route, located south of the old one, added 6,000 feet of new road.

Today, the old route – Old Kingston Road – passes several heritage structures and offers a neat, rural drive. It is a reminder of old Scarborough.

Old Forest Hill Road

Year “rerouted”: 1927

The present Forest Hill Road and Old Forest Hill Road have convoluted histories and geography, which involve the absorption, deletion, and renaming of other roads. The story of Old Forest Hill Road is unlike any of the other “Old” Streets as its changing from old to new (or new to old) did not seem to correct an inconvenience in geography.

In short, a 19th-century largely diagonal road ran through the Baldwin Estate north of St. Clair Avenue to Eglinton Avenue. In the early 20th century, a second road, which may or may not have been part of the old road, grew concurrently with it. While these were both Forest Hill Roads, in the 1920s, the ‘ancient’ road was formalized Old Forest Hill Road.

The Baldwin footpath of the 1800s was originally called the “Trespass Road” (albeit likely not officially). Later, John Wickson (or someone else of the time) named this Baldwin road as ‘Forest Hill’ as it led to his 1860 summer home (or possibly one of Wickson’s pasture) of the same name.

South of Killbarry Road, this road either followed the present Dunvegan Road or a street to the east which aligns to the present Forest Hill Road — or possibly followed both at different times. Whichever is the case, another Forest Hill Road developed south and east (and later north and east) of the older Forest Hill Road beginning in the first or second decade of the 1900s. This meant that, at one time, there were two unconnected Forest Hill Roads. To ease (or complicate) matters more, the older road was sometimes referred to as Forest Hill Road North.

In the 1920s, the matter was cleared as the street grid filled out, and the neighbourhood gained a formal identity. In 1923, the area was organized into the Village of Forest Hill, borrowing its name from the old Wickson home. Old Forest Hill Road began to gain more use, and by 1927, it was the official name for the old road.

North of Eglinton Avenue, Old Forest Hill Road later absorbed part of Whitmore Avenue east of the present Allen Road (the highway bisected the street and its eastern section joined with Old Forest Hill Road). Whitmore was previously Second Avenue. This area is known as Forest Hill North and has the oldest house in the region as a whole: the William Moore House.

Today, Old Forest Hill Road is a beautiful street with some of the most exclusive addresses in Toronto and Canada.

Note: A HUGE Thank You to Kiki M and her amazing resourcefulness and knowledge of Forest Hill . Follow her Toronto History offerings on Instagram and TikTok.

Old Gerrard Street

Year rerouted: 1930

Gerrard Street once ran an awkward course where it crossed Carlaw Avenue. The Canadian National Railway curled northeast through the intersection and made for an indirect east-west path. An eastbound traveler needed to jog southeast onto Carlaw under a 19th century rail subway and then northeast again on Gerrard before continuing straight east towards Pape Avenue.

In 1929, the plan was to straighten Gerrard under the CNR bridge. It would cost $312,000. The idea was as old as the beginning of the decade. In 1930, a second subway was built on Gerrard Street, which finally eliminated the need to jog through the intersection. In 1931, the original subway was also reconstructed to match the new one, giving us the imposing infrastructure we see today.

When the intersection was reconfigured, the old diagonal stretch of Gerrard remained. On old maps, the old jog largely went unlabelled, and in city directories, there was no distinction between the two Gerrards as the street numbering did not have to change when the subway was built. Although it never formally became “Old Gerrard Street,” there were some references to it in name.

In 2002, its northern opening where the two Gerrards crossed was closed to through traffic. Today, the former jog creates navigational issues for motorists who turn too early onto Gerrard and end up in a residential neighbourhood instead of the “main” Gerrard Street.

Old Burnhamthorpe Road

Year rerouted: 1970

The old Concession II was the root of the present Burhamthorpe Road. According to the Etobicoke Historical Society:

“In 1846, it [Concession II] became the Etobicoke and Mono Sixth Line Plank Road, a toll road that began at Dundas Street where Burnhamthorpe Crescent is today, and ran west on Burnhamthorpe Road, then north on Mercer Road (now Elmcrest Road) and west on Base Line East (now Eglinton Avenue West.)”

Etobicoke Historical Society

Burhamthorpe ran northeast from the Etobicoke-Mississauga townline and then dropped southeast before continuing straight east to the Village of Islington at Dundas Street. The route possibly followed old property lines and roads.

By 1970, Burhamthorpe Road was realigned via a new road which offered more direct route between Etobicoke Creek and Renforth Road. The older section was renamed Old Burnhamthorpe Road.

Today, Old Burhamthorpe Road blends into the surrounding post-war neighborhood. The 1820 Mercer House stands at 72 Old Burhamthorpe as a reminder of the route’s former history.

A Quick History & Evolution of Scarboro’ Beach Park

Title Image: 1919 Scarboro Beach, Toronto, Ont., from an aeroplane. Credit: Toronto Public Library

From the late 19th century to the middle of the 20th century, almost half a dozen waterfront amusement parks entertained Torontonians, offering a lost layer of the city’s social life and geography. One of those fun resorts was Scarboro Beach Park, formerly located in the east end of Toronto, on the south side of Queen Street east of Woodbine Avenue. While the story of the park itself is interesting, the evolution of the property it sat on is a story in itself, consisting of at least three major redevelopments.

It started with 40 acres located on Lake Ontario in Lot 3 east of the Don River. In the 1860s and 70s, the property consisted of two equal plots to William Whitten and W. R. Graham. Thomas O’Connor came to own both plots, having an address of 2301 Queen Street East and operating the House of Providence Farm on the large plot.

Upon his death in 1895, the property passed to the Sisters of St. Joseph, of which O’Connor was a benefactor. In 1906, Harry and Mabel Dorsey purchased the waterfront property, earmarking it for a very different purchase.

The Dorseys formed the Toronto Park Company in late 1906. In March of the following year, the company ran a naming contest. The Toronto Park Co. was creating a ‘superb pleasure park’ and offered $100 to the individual who could offer the best name. G. Turner won the contest, in which thousands entered. The winning name was “Scarboro’ Beach.”

The name was an interesting choice. The property did indeed include a beach, but while the new park was located less than a kilometre from the town line, it was not actually in Scarborough itself. The Scarboro’ Historical and Old Boys’ Association raised its objection to the name to The Globe in April 1907, citing:

“In the first place, it forms no part of the beach in front of the township of that name, while near enough to be misleading as to location; also the derviation of the word Scarboro’ from scaur, a hill or cliff, as in Tennyson’s ‘Echo’:

‘Oh, sweet and far from hill and scaur,
Like horns from Elfland faintly blowing’-

and ‘borough’ a town, suggests no connection between the topography of the place and the name. Again it is misleading, as possible patrons might be led to suppose that the bold bluffs which form such an interesting feature of our lakefront, and from which our township derives its name, would be one of the attractions.”

The Globe, April 13, 1907

The park opened in June of that year. Lights, music, people, and ‘entertainment in abundance’ marked the event. There was also a vaudeville performance, daring bicycle riders riding in the inside of a lattice-work globe, and an exhibition on head balancing by a troupe.

The property itself consisted of a middle road from Queen Street through which led to large entrance gates. Beyond them were rides and games and a boardwalk by the water. Close to Queen Street, the property had two open spaces: Athletic Grounds for sports like lacrosse and another, which seemed to host the farmhouse.

While the first season was successful, the following two seasons proved ‘burdensome’ for the Toronto Park Company. By late 1909, a receiver was appointed, and the company’s assets were sold. The buyer was the Toronto Railway Company. The move made sense: the transit company operated the streetcar line on Queen Street that took riders to the park.

The new owners continued to entertain guests for the next decade, making improvements to property. In 1921, the company ended its thirty year franchise. While its successor, the newly formed Toronto Transit Commission, took over its transit lines, non-transit assets — including Scarboro Beach Park – were liquidated. The park’s final season was in 1925. The park’s fate was in the air, with some talk of the city buying it, if only for the waterfront lots.

In the end, the Provident Investment Company purchased the land to turn into a subdivision. Park equipment and building materials of all kinds were put up for sale. Among the attractions and property put up for sale were: the Circle Aerial Swing, Carousel, Cascade, Scenic Railway, Chutes, Joyland Fun House, Whirl of Pleasure Fun House, Rifle Range, Penny Arcades, arcade games, a Laughing Gallery, and 500 wooden park benches.

The first advertisements were released to attract prospective buyers in 1926, with the emerging vision for the area came from local builders, the Price Brothers. The family enterprise consisted of Joseph Price, President, and his sons, E. Stanley Price, Secretary-Treasurer, and Leslie Price, Vice-President. The elder Price had been erecting houses in the East End since about 1902.

The layout of the new $3,000,000 subdivision included the southern extension of Wineva Avenue, Hammersmith Avenue, and Glen Manor Drive, and new streets Avion Avenue, Bonfield Avenue, Selwood Avenue, and Hubbard Boulevard (named for Frederick Hubbard, the manager of the park and son of prominent politician William Peyton Hubbard). There was also a Scarboro Beach Boulevard, which although present in earlier fire insurance maps of park may not have been a formal road as much as it was a path to the park. The streets were laid out by 1926 and drainage was put in the following year.

The subdivision was populated with a mix of housing styles indicative of 1920s Toronto — with one special focal point: duplexes and double duplexes (ie. fourplexes). The distinct facades (dubbed ‘unusual’ and ‘attractive’ by The Globe) were made in the Spanish and Colonial Styles. The houses’ designer was Harry Stevens, a longtime figure with the Prices.

In the July 2, 1928 edition of The Globe, the Prices and the new subdivision were profiled. Among the notes of the new neighbourhood were:

“The beach is as clean and free from debris as if it were 100 miles from Toronto.

Some of the fine old tress that belonged to Scarboro’ Beach still stand in majestic beauty along the waterfront.

It will take over 100 carloads of coal to heat the buildings this winter.

Every single house has automatic heat control. This gives the tenant the heat he desires, even if he wants it at 90 degrees.

All the rooms except the kitchen and bathroom and all the halls are hardwood.

About 1,000,000,000 (one billion) nails are being used to construct the various duplexes and the apartments.”

The Globe, July 2, 1928

Other stunning figures reported to go into the development included 10,000,000 bricks, sixty-two miles of lumber, 6,600 doors, and 3,300,000 shingles.

Today, a stroll through the area and its unique duplexes may pique a curious mind on why such distinct structures exist in this area. A deeper look, of course, reveals the layers of geographic evolution which led to this point. While the road organization on a street level seems to blend in with the surrounding Beach area on a street level, a look from the sky yields distinct rooflines and division of the original O’Connor and Scarboro Beach’ Park property.

Scarboro Beach Park, 1924 and 2024
Credit: Toronto Historic Maps

Sources Consulted

“At Scarboro’ Beach Park.” The Globe, 4 June 1907, p. 14.

Barc, Agatha. “The History of the Scarboro Beach Amusement Park in Toronto.” blogTO, blogTO, 21 Sept. 2020, http://www.blogto.com/city/2011/05/nostalgia_tripping_scarboro_beach_park/.

Bateman, Chris. “The Lost Amusement Parks of Toronto.” blogTO, blogTO, 5 July 2014, http://www.blogto.com/city/2014/07/the_lost_amusement_parks_of_toronto/.

“The Beach and East Toronto Historical Societytbeths.” The Beach and East Toronto Historical Society (TBETHS), tbeths.com/sb-park.asp. Accessed 4 Nov. 2024.

“Building and Supplies.” The Toronto Daily Star, 27 Nov. 1926, p. 38.

“City General News.” The Globe, 9 Oct. 1895, p. 10.

“City Tore Up The Rails.” The Globe, 18 May 1907, p. 5.

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“Council Wrangles Over Money Spent in Vain Education.” The Globe, 24 Mar. 1925, p. 12.

“Executors’ Notice to Creditors.” The Globe, 2 Nov. 1895, p. 17.

“For Sale Amusement Park Devices and Equipment.” The Globe, 3 Sept. 1925, p. 12.

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“Happy Children Spend A Full Day’s Pleasure.” The Globe, 15 July 1925, p. 9.

“Kew Beach Presbyterians Issue Call to Rev. G.M. Dunn.” The Globe, 9 Oct. 1925, p. 39.

“Notice to Prospective Buyers.” The Toronto Daily Star, 16 Mar. 1926, p. 30.

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“Park To Disappear at Scarboro’ Beach.” The Globe, 24 Oct. 1925, p. 15.

The Price Family – Beach Builders, tbeths.com/pdf/Price-Family-May-1-20.pdf. Accessed 5 Nov. 2024.

“Receiver Appointed For Scarboro’ Beach.” The Globe, 23 Dec. 1909, p. 7.

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“Scarboro’ Beach Opens Its Gates.” The Globe, 17 May 1920, p. 8.

“Scarboro’ Beach Park Subdivision.” The Globe, 18 Mar. 1927, p. 19.

“Scarboro’ Beach to Reopen in May.” The Globe, 18 Mar. 1911, p. 8.

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“Scarboro’ Beach.” The Globe, 30 Mar. 1907, p. 13.

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“Scarboro’s Clever Help.” The Globe, 11 June 1912, p. 8.

Shackleton, Al. “Deja Views: Scarboro Beach Amusement Park Memories.” Beach Metro Community News, 3 Oct. 2024, beachmetro.com/2020/11/22/deja-views-scarboro-beach-amusement-park-memories/

“The Street Railway Muddle.” The Globe, 21 July 1921, p. 4.

Taylor, Katherine. “The Last Ghost of Scarboro Beach Park.” One Gal’s Toronto, 5 Sept. 2021, onegalstoronto.wordpress.com/2021/09/04/the-last-ghost-of-scarboro-beach-park/

“Tenders Wanted.” The Toronto Daily Star, 11 Oct. 1926, p. 31.

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“Topics of the Markets.” The Globe, 2 Apr. 1925, p. 6.

“The Toronto Railway Company (In Liquidation).” The Globe, 16 Feb. 1925, p. 14.

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Williams, Lorraine O’Donnell. Memories of the Beach: Reflections on a Toronto Childhood. Dundurn, 2012.

“You’ll Like These Homes and Location.” The Toronto Daily Star, 30 Sept. 1926, p. 20.