Ontario Place is nostalgia. We all have vague or even not so vague memories of going down to Ontario Place with our families for a fun-filled day. But things are changing at the park.
Opened in 1971, the idea of Ontario Place came following the success of Expo 67 in Montreal. Ontario Place was a display in modernism — a showcase of the future. The 1960s and ’70s were a transformative time culturally and architecturally in Toronto. Buildings such as Toronto City Hall and the TD Centre ushered Toronto into a new era. Ontario Place was part of that optimism. Brightly coloured pavilions echoing Expo would scatter its grounds along with giant silos, but the signature structure was and still remains the iconic, space-aged Cinesphere, featuring new IMAX movie technology. The buildings were the unique designs of Eb Zeidler, a German born architect working in Canada.
Cinesphere under construction, circa 1970. Credit: Toronto Public Library.
Continuing Toronto’s century long obsession with shaping and reshaping its waterfront, the land to house Ontario Place was a new addition to the city’s geography. Two infill islands would be built south of Lake Shore Boulevard near the Exhibition Grounds, connecting to the mainland by bridges.
Ontario Place under construction, 1970. Credit: City of Toronto Archives.
The park would grow over the years. A central rink doubled in the summer as roller rink and as a skating rink in the winter months. The Ontario Place Forum offered musical entertainment from Teenage Head to Johnny Cash to Blue Rodeo to BB King to The Tragically Hip. The Toronto’s only waterpark — Froster Soak Park — would open in 1978 on the East Island. Wilderness Adventure Ride would excite log-riding ‘thrill seekers’ starting in 1986.
Ontario Place in 1980. Silos and Cinesphere as a backdrop. Credit: Toronto Public Library.B.B. King at the Ontario Place Forum, 1981. Credit: Toronto Public Library.Newly opened Wilderness Adventure Ride, 1986. Credit: Toronto Public Library.
Ontario Place closed in 2011. Although many of the park landmarks are still intact and Ontario Place Corporation is still active, the sites serve almost as urban relics. It’s an odd yet intriguing contrast walking there today: one thinks of the circumstances of its construction — the hope and intent for grandeur and futurism — and then its sad abandoned state — how that vision didn’t ultimately hold up. Maybe it was never meant last. Dwindling attendance put an end to it.
As mentioned, there were attractions added over the years, but perhaps Ontario Place never matched up as a ‘modern’ amusement park to its suburban counterpart Canada’s Wonderland. As the years grew, I certainly heard it mentioned less and less as a destination. Oddly, I actually encountered the grounds more as an adult than as a child; albeit this was because attending concerts finally became a reality and the Molson Amphitheatre — the successor to the Forum — was a great venue for it, so I was only passing through.
The good news: revitalization is in Ontario Place’s future. A long-term vision has the grounds becoming a destination once more through a lot of re-purposing. One part of this plan is already in effect: Trillium Park and William G. Davis Trail. This extraordinary space was carved out parking lots and offers some of the most spectacular skyline views of Toronto.
As a showing of the possibilities, Ontario Place held a Winter Lights Exhibition in the winter of 2018, transforming the grounds and showing them off in a different, well, light. A walk around the artist creations offered neat views of the abandoned park, instilling both a sadness and perhaps some optimism for the next stages. Maybe then Ontario Place will be the future once more.
Toronto was a brick-making town. Going through the city today, you would not realize it right away. This lost and remade industrial and natural geography is remarkable. Great clay refining enterprises from the Don Valley to Leslieville to Yorkville to North Toronto to the West Toronto Junction now carry transformed greenspaces or residential communities. The Evergreen Brick Works is one of those spaces.
Don Valley clay pits, part of Don Valley Brick Works (Toronto). James Blomfield. June 10, 1939. Credit: City of Ontario Archives.
The Don Valley Brick Works began operations in 1889 and lasted quite a long time, providing the literal building blocks for the city of Toronto until 1984 — not a long time ago. One can think of the Brick Works as the last bastion for smokestack-raising, pollution-spewing, heavy manufacturing in Toronto.
Don Valley Brick Works, Bayview Ave., w. side, s. of Chorley Park in Don Valley; looking s. from Chorley Park, 1952. Credit: Toronto Public Library.
Following its closure, much like a lot of discussions then and now in how to imagine the post-industrial metropolis, the Toronto and Region Conservation Authority and City of Toronto looked to expropriate former brickyard as public space. During this ‘transition’ time, the abandoned factory became a haven for urban explorers.
Don Valley Brickworks, 1986. Credit: Toronto Public Library.Brickworks, 1990. Credit: Toronto Public Library.
What came out of it was a rejuvenated community hub and parkland with a mandate for environmental sustainability and conservation, led through the efforts of Evergreen. Much of the complex still stands, showing off ovens and other former operations of the Don Valley Brick Works. Today, they make great event and exhibition space which house among other things a great farmer’s market. Only one of the four chimneys remain, though.
The Evergreen Brick Works is a locale full of discovery, starting with its artistic displays. A favourite of mine is “Watershed Consciousness”, which neatly showcases Toronto’s ravines as the sort of veins and life blood of the city. Fitting.
One quizzical installation is a giant pair of metal shoes. This is “Legacy (the mud beneath our feet)” by David Hind, an homage to geologist Arthur Philemon (A.P.) Coleman. Mr. Coleman got his boots dirty many times over at the Don Valley Brick Works, using the quarry’s north cliff to research Toronto’s Ice Ages. A nearby display, “A Rare Geological Study”, presents Coleman’s notes.
Map of Toronto and Vicinity To accompany part 1, Volume 22, Report of Bureau of Mines, 1913. Credit: University of Toronto Map and Data Library.The Pleistocene of the Toronto region Including the Toronto interglacial formation, 1932. Credit: University of Toronto Map and Data Library.
The allure of the Evergreen Brick Works is its physical landscape. Each step offers more discovery and new vantage points. Wandering deeper into the Weston Family Quarry Garden and its tall reconstructed wetland, the factory behind disappears, aside from the chimney.
Running between the handsome factory buildings is a channelized Mud Creek (which might be the best and worst name for a waterway in Toronto). There’s a more naturalized version of the stream as well, running under the great Governor’s Bridge as one moves out of the park.
Veering away from the marked trails, there is the abandoned Don Branch of the Canadian Pacific Railway, last operating in 2007. With the Belt Line Trail also nearby it’s the second ghost line of sorts at the Brick Works. Following the CPR tracks takes one to the Half-Mile Bridge, seen as one enters the Evergreen Brick Works.
Don Valley Brick Works, Bayview Ave., w. side, s. of Chorley Park in Don Valley; looking w. from Broadview & Mortimer Ayes. 1955. Source: Toronto Public Library.
Perhaps the most inspiring experience of the Brick Works is the view from above. Moving up the cliff one takes in the awe of the full expanse of the site, its winding trails and ponds below, and the houses of Rosedale overlooking the valley.
One can only take in this reclaimed natural landscape and think of its layered makeup. The intersection of industrial, geological, and environmental history make the Evergreen Brick Works make it a special place. A walk around it only proves that.
My welcome into Riverdale Farm comes with a new-ish, yet old-timey looking gate, however I bypass it to round around to the Winchester Street entrance.
The farm’s main building, the Victorian-style Simpson House, is home to the Cabbagetown Regent Park Museum, which is open for business today. It’s unique in that it’s the only museum in Toronto devoted to telling the story of a specific city neighbourhood. I have a soft spot for the museum for the time I volunteered there.
My time at the museum has taught me of the Riverdale Farm area’s long past: From the pristine valley the Aboriginals encountered (the Algonquian word for the Don itself was Wonscotonach, meaning ‘burnt back grounds’), to the land granted to John Scadding by Mr. John Graves Simcoe which was eventually purchased by the City for parkland, to the zoo Daniel Lamb (whose family is buried in the neighbouring Toronto Necropolis) established here in 1888, and finally, to the heritage farm we now know and have enjoyed since 1978. Walking through the farm, I get a sense of each layer.
My first stop is the Pig Barn to take in, among others, some turkeys and bunnies that would have existed in a farm around the turn of the 20th century.
From there, it’s off to see some goats and sheep, although the latter are sadly M.I.A.
Following the path all the way down, I come to the Residence. This is the first of a handful of remaining buildings that are original to the zoo. This one was, in fact, the keeper’s home. It was also a morgue and an animal hospital as well during its tenure.
My favourite feature and tidbit of the Residence is the use of clinker bricks in its construction, which incidentally was conducted by Don Jail inmates as a work project. I’ve heard stories of prisoners interacting with children, and how it was the happiest time for the inmates during their sentences because of it.
Backtracking, I do some wayfinding and try to determine whether north is actually north (it isn’t), before finding myself at the cows.
Above the cow paddock is the Donnybrook Ruin, a towering structure whose original purpose, as far as I know, is a mystery. I was delighted to spot some clinkers in its walls too.
I forge on down the Lower Road and come to the Riverdale Farm Ponds. These algae covered water bodies are important bird and wildlife sanctuaries, and serve as vibrant ecosystems. They also help in renaturalizing the Don River Valley and bring it back to a time before the river was channelized and rerouted.
Before meandering across a bridge, I note a barrier to the side which warns of the crossing’s occasionally flooding. Yuh oh. Although I can’t be sure, the bridge itself looks like a left-over from the zoo days.
The monkey cage is most definitely a relic, however. Much is made of the ethics of keeping animals in cages for viewing pleasure; even more is made of the state of early zoos and the sizes of the holding cells. The Riverdale Zoo closed and moved to Scarborough in part because its very inadequate facilities. (Also, a zoo next to a growing metropolis isn’t the best of ideas.)
Mustering the uphill climb back, I take a peek down the Middle Road, which doesn’t really lead to anything, but allots for a good view of the Meeting House.
My exit from the farm includes some horse-inspired art outside of the Simpson House. I quizzically study it for a second, eventually giving my due to the effort that must’ve went into its construction. Then, I’m off on my way, this time passing under the new-old sign I shunned before.
This isn’t the end of my Riverdale Farm themed encounters, however. This charming little Bell Box Mural located Parliament on Winchester boasts a great tribute to our barnyard friends.
The Royal Ontario Museum’s Pompeii: In the Shadow of the Volcano looks and sounds every bit like a ROM big-ticket exhibition. That’s because it is. The presentation and quality that have been trademarks for the museum for years are all there.
In its grand story-telling, it follows a logical enough progression. It starts with the ‘what, where, when, why, and how’ of Mount Vesuvius itself…
…then profiles some notable Pompeii-ans(?)…
…then talks about city life…
….and finally, almost coming full circle, deals with the human toll of the eruption.
This gets to you, no?
There’s nothing redefining about Pompeii as a blockbuster, and there didn’t need to be. There are a lot of artefacts, which exist primarily as static displays, and interpretive paneling and quotes on the wall.
A good summary of the Pompeii phenomenon.Ancient Oboe!Canine ArtPizza toppings…erm, olives.
The text was at a good reading level and there wasn’t too much of it. I like to be told about the things I’m looking at, but I also get bored very easy with large sections of writing. I didn’t need to do a lot of skimming or ignoring with Pompeii.
If I could change anything, though, I wanted more of the ‘We don’t know for sure…’ or ‘This is what we think this is or happened…’ element to the interpretation. There are issues in trying to piece together ancient cultures – sources are scarce and unreliable, as an example – and, maybe I’m wrong on this, but I get the impression that Pompeii is very much figured out. Perhaps, though, because everything was preserved under magma, there is that clearer picture.
There are sprinkles of audience involvement, particularly in the toga tying station, the gladiator station, the mosaic making station, and stereoscope viewer. I enjoyed the viewer especially for how basic it is. It shows flash and gimmicks don’t always rule the day. Pompeii also encourages sharing on social media, as highlighted by the clever hashtag #ROMpeii.
Moving through the exhibit, there is a bit of crowding near the start, but once I got out of the gladiator section and into the city section, things were more free-flowing.
Roman history, even though I have studied it, generally doesn’t intrigue me as much as other topics, but I could nonetheless find a lot of value in The ROM’s Pompeii: In the Shadow of the Volcano as a great museological experience. All in all, the look and feel and effort make it a worth-while endeavour.
100 in 1 Day is an initiative of citywide ‘interventions’, aimed at making the city a better place. There were many to choose from (far greater than 100 actually), but I chose to go the ‘Learnt Wisdom: Above and Beyond’ lecture.
There were a few reasons for attending this particular intervention. First, it would be held at the old Eastern Avenue bridge, which I’ve read about and seen pictures about, but I’ve never actually been to. Second, one of the hosts – Daniel “The Urban Geographer” Rostzain (I feel like I gave him a wrestling name) – is doing really great things with his library-philia, Jane’s Walking, and everything else. And third, it’s about storytelling – and who doesn’t love a good story?
The meetup point is at King and River Streets. While waiting, I chat with Daniel, who I have bounced tweets back and forth but never met in the flesh. I also meet Kyle Baptista of Park People. On top of that, I encounter fellow tweeter Sean Marshall at the bridge. It’s a wonderful meeting of the online community!
Also while waiting, I do a panorama of the interesting sites in the vicinity. To the south is the sleek black River City complex of condos, which, in the last time I wrote about Corktown, was not completed. To the east is the always intriguing convergence of King and Queen Streets. There’s a triangular island and undeveloped plot of land, which Kyle believes is supposed to be a park eventually. Makes sense. To the immediate north is the old Scotiabank and beyond that up River is the 1907 Queen City Vinegar Co. Lofts.
The walk to the Eastern Avenue Bridge travels down Lower River Street, which was absent from Toronto’s street grid up until a few years ago. We pass Underpass Park (great use of dead space), Lawren Harris Square (not to be confused with Lawren Harris Park), and come to the Corktown Common. Only, we don’t actually come to the Corktown Common because it’s been fenced off for the summer for the PanAm games. A shame because it’s a great recreational space which doubles as a natural flood plain.
It’s amazing to think of the reconfiguration the West Don Lands has gone through in the last little while and over the last hundred years. River and Bayview Streets have southern extensions. The railway lands that dominated the area are gone. All the industry that once prevailed on or near the banks of the Don are gone. It’s remarkable to think, in that regard, that the Corktown Common was once occupied by the William Davies Co. pig processing operation.
Corktown & West Don Lands. Source: Goads Atlas, 1924
We travel around the security zone and come the Lower Don Trail. My eye catches a couple of Heritage Toronto plaques highlighting the stories of the waterway. But more than that, the graffiti is disappointing to see. I don’t see a reason to mark up a plaque.
Far into the distance is the Unilever Plant, which is the subject of a lot of city building discussions including the Gardiner East debacledebate. Every week for the final year of the soap plant I saw the striking workers camped outside the factory. Then, they weren’t there and the plant succumbed.
A stroll up the trail (very well used on this sunny Saturday) and we’re at our destination. The Eastern Avenue Bridge is pretty much a bridge in only name because it doesn’t connect anything. It’s truly a bridge to nowhere. On one side is the trail with the meager security and on the other the Don Valley Parkway.
In a pre-DVP world, Eastern Avenue ran a straight course east and west of the Don. But with the construction of the highway in 1961, Eastern was rerouted to curve up from about Broadview Avenue to about Cherry Street before following its original course again.
The Eastern Avenue bridge, the third version of its kind at this crossing, is a big hunk of metal with cool zig-zaggy beams and locales where explorers have left their mark. It’s a dead space, but for our purposes makes a great performance venue – surprisingly so with the highway running beside us. As Natalie – the other creator/host of Learnt Wisdom – told me, their past venues have included underneath the Leaside Bridge, a pool, the Toronto Islands. Their next one is at a cemetery tucked in at a highway interchange.
The lecture starts and, one by one, four speakers come up and tell us their tales of going ‘above and beyond’. I won’t recount the stories themselves, but the messages behind them were great: how being lazy and doing nothing can actually be a good thing; and how small people can do big things & if you have an idea, for it.
If the goal of 100 in 1 Day was to inspire change that would make Toronto a better place, I think the Learnt Wisdom intervention achieved it with the messages of the story tellers.
On that note: If you, reader, have a story to tell on the theme of ‘Milestones’ or have an idea for am unusual venue, get in touch with them.
Following that, Kyle and I retrace our steps back to King Street, and get a good look at the city skyline from the development lands.
My streetcar isn’t going to arrive for another 10 minutes lamentably, so I get a coffee and walk down the street to pass the time. At St. Lawrence Street, a building catches my attention. At first I think it’s a church because of the northern part that juts out, but on further inspection, I better suspect that it’s a factory. Further research has produced that this was originally the Simpson Knitting Mill in the 1920s. Today, it’s work-live lofts.
A peer down Sumach and its almost completed Cherry ROW streetcar line to the Distillery District follows.
Finally, I check in with the great art pieces under the Richmond and Adelaide Street overpasses. The nautical exploration themed design catches my attention most. It’s about this time that, not a boat but, a rocket picks me to conclude this adventure.
The journey begins on Dupont street at the northern terminus of St. George Street. Across the way is the very yellow Pour House pub, which much like the rest of the structures on the street is a converted 18th century home. These businesses are all huddle together to make the Dupont By the Castle BIA. Fact: Toronto is the originator of the BIA.
This still, in many ways, is an industrial area. Manhole covers hiding the buried Toronto Hydro lines tell me that.
But it’s also a industrial area looking to be something else. The railway overpass on Davenport is a perfect example of that. It’s ugly and it’s grimy. But like our alleys, someone (or many someones) has taken this dead space and injected from life and creativity.
On the other side of the tracks (hmm, that sounds more menacing than I intended it be), Davenport meets Macpherson and Poplar Plains to make an odd intersection. It’s not very pedestrian friendly for someone trying to go from west to east, as I am now. Given that, OK, maybe the other side is a bit menacing.
Finally mustering it, I come to the massive Macpherson Avenue Substation. Completed in 1911, it was designed by city architect Robert McCallum who also did Yorkville Public Library and many early 20th century firehalls, among many other city owned buildings.
Across the way is warehouse looking thing. I don’t know what is or was, but I like it. Keystones!
Next, I follow Rathnelly up, a charming street which shares (or lends?) its name to the area’s moniker – The Republic of Rathnelly. How and when did a micro-neighbourhood become a state, you ask? I had to ask as well. The answer is it’s one big inside joke dating back to the 1960s when the areas residents ‘broke away’ from Canada.
Around the bend is High Level/Poplar Plains Pumping Station, another McCallum project from 1906 (with subsequent additions). Our Rathnellians (?) ‘occupied’ it while in ‘negotiations’ with the Canadian government.
It’s interestingly the second water plant on the site, replacing the old Yorkville Water Works. I make my way around and marvel the outside. There will never be another infrastructure building in this style again. And really, that’s for good reason, isn’t it? Things have to evolve and be of their period.
Leaving the water plant, I pass through the floating island park that is Boulton Parkette and continue up Davenport. I come across another power building, this time Bridgman Transformer Station, 1904. Now operated by Toronto Hydro & Hydro One, it was originally designed for the Electrical Development Company, of which Sir Henry Pellatt of Casa Loma fame (more in a moment on that) was the president. In April 2015, it looks like there’s more work to be done.
Moving past the transformer station (and another weird three-way intersection), I continue along Davenport. At Madison, an orange building catches my attention. It stumps me. Waldorf? What’s that? Well, turns out it’s the Waldorf Academy, a private school which uses an alternative educational approach – one that’s holistic and multidimensional. Hmm, the more you know?
Davenport hugs the escarpment left behind by the ancient Lake Iroquois. The way up the hill is the Baldwin Steps, which are located up the street from the Toronto Archives. It’s been a long while since I’ve navigated them. In fact, I have very vague childhood memories of making the climb. There are joggers working them as I ascend. I envy them. They attack it so effortless. Meanwhile I have to catch my breath and relieve the burning in my thighs.
The top of the hill and the entire area at large is marked by two neighbouring museums. The first is Spadina Museum House and Gardens. It’s the 1866 manor of the Austin family, now a City of Toronto Historic Site restored back to the 1920s. It’s after closing time, so I can only admire from behind the gates. Next time.
Next, I walk around to Pellatt’s Casa Loma, also a Lennox design (perhaps his most famous?), completed in 1914. The House on the Hill is a mishmash of styles and thus drives some architecture junkies nuts. Me, I’m mostly indifferent. As I scan it now, it’s definitely imposing, but doesn’t wow or horrify me. The one constant in its history has been it’s uncertain future – the idea of a civic museum inside its walls is one of them.
Peering into the fountain, I don’t see any pennies. De-circulation will do that I guess. I also have to smile at the warning sign behind it. The only reason to make a rule is if there have been past examples.
Facing the museum is Pellatt Lodge, 1905, the residence of the Pellatts while the castle was under construction.
Up the street, I can see another tower rise above the land, and I admittedly have a “Another castle?!” moment. Then I realize these must be the stables – which my childhood does not recall at all but my brain knows a bit about. There’s some reno-ing happening here too. The best tidbit about the stables: SONAR was being developed in its tunnels during World War II.
Next, I backtrack on to Austin Terrace and give the street a little promenade. It’s narrow, it’s quiet, it’s treelined – all the checkmarks of a residential street checked off. My stopping point before circling back to the castle is a neat cottage-y house at Austin Court.
From there, it’s down the hill on Walmer again where there are mansions overlooking the way. Hello Davenport, old friend. And hello, George Brown College. The school’s Casa Loma campus was founded here in the 70s and it definitely looks it. Or at least, the newer buildings do. Its older ones are repurposed industrial structures. I get a kick that there’s a Tim Horton’s neighbouring by. Students do need their caffeine after all!
Continuing on, I hit Tollkeeper’s Park. It houses the Tollkeeper’s Cottage, a lesser known museum which throws back to the days of toll roads and the stations that operated them. This one at Davenport and Bathurst was in service as early as 1850 and the building itself dates to the 1830s. It’s definitely a great opportunity to tell the story of early York and winding Davenport Road. As I sniff around the site there’s a couple also checking it out. They go right up to it, but I don’t think they get very far because it seems to only be open on Saturdays.
Moving south, the TTC’s Hillcrest facilty hugs the west side of Bathurst and has been on the site since the 1920s. The Inglis building on its southern end catches my attention specifically. Those long arched windows.
Finally, the day ends as it began at the tracks. Animated faces greet me at the Bathurst underpass. On the other side, I elect to give my feet a break and catch a streetcar.
Before I can start my stroll, I note the taste for coffee developing in my buds. I opt not for Starbucks and not for Timmies, which hang beside each other in competition, but for the Toronto Reference Library. Yes, it may be closed on this Easter Monday, but Balzac’s isn’t. The customer in front of me in line tries to pronounce the name of the brew she’s ordering; the barista has to correct her. Me, I don’t bother with the given name of my amber roast; I grab it and am on my way. Now I can start.
Yorkville is about as quintessential a Toronto neighbourhood as you can get. It also has a deeply layered past and an ever evolving future, some of which I am already aware of and eager to see the evidence of. While its borders have expanded and contracted over its long history, it’s my thought that the part east of Yonge doesn’t get a lot of consideration.
And so, that’s what I intend to do to start things off.
I don’t get very far on Asquith before I see my first discovery. Although I’m hugging (not literally) the Bell building on the opposite side of the street, my eyes spot a pathway beyond the library across the way. The street sign reads ‘Sherlock Holmes Walk’. Literary giants next to one another! Having read Mr. Conan Doyle’s biography years ago, I imagine he would approve of the tribute – he loved Toronto and Canada (and hated the States).
At the end of the way is Church Street, whose curvy route between Bloor and Yonge Streets is the result of a project to relieve traffic congestion in the 1920s. Even without this knowledge, the odd meeting of Church, Collier, and Park streets and the island it forms in the middle just looks unnatural. I look towards Davenport, spotting the famed Masonic Temple, 1917, but opt to head in the opposite direction.
Yorkville, east of Yonge Street. Source: Goads Atlas, 1884.
My next stop, situated beside a singular Victorian house (no doubt once part of a row), is Asquith Green, which sadly is more muggy brown than green. Still though, I remind myself of the parkette’s potential in the summer and give it points for the animal cutouts and accenting structure in the middle. I don’t know the source of what I think is a quote, but subsequent Googling has produced ‘We Rise Again’, an Eastern Canadian music classic. Here’s a moving version with the great Maritme songstresses, Anne Murray and the late Rita MacNeil.
Following Park Road up, I come to Rosedale Valley Road. This quiet throughway marks the border between Yorkville and its upscale residential sister, Rosedale.
It is also built on top of the now completely buried Castle Frank Brook. It is particularly important in shaping the modern geography of Yorkville, but also to its history – particularly in its brewing and brick making past. Located southwest of me near Sherbourne Street, for example, was Joseph Bloore’s brewery. Bloor Street, of course, is his namesake. (Mr. Bloore also holds the distinction of having the freakiest portrait of any figure in Toronto’s history.) Parkland marks the intersection, and trudge through it to arrive at Severn Street.
Joseph Bloor Brewery, 1865. Source: Toronto Public Library.
The tiny dead end street is anything but inconsequential. For one, it’s named after John Severn, another 19th century brewer. His establishment stood at Yonge and Church. Moreover, Castle Frank Brook’s alternate name is Severn/Brewery Creek.
Severn’s Brewery, 1870s. Source: Toronto Public Library.Severn’s Brewery, 1912. Source: Toronto Public Library.
Perhaps even more notable to the street is that one can find the Studio Building. On the way here, I passed through Lawren Harris Park; Mr. Harris lived and worked in the Studio Building, 1914, along with other members of the Group of Seven.
The Studio Building holds double distinction as a National Historic Site and a Toronto heritage property. The Toronto Historical Board plaque in particular informs me that the Harris in Lawren Harris is of the Massey-Harris industrial empire. Learn something everyday. The Studio Building was designed to be a secluded quiet spot where artists can work their creative process. As I move around the building I hear the periodic screeching of the Yonge subway and somehow I think that doesn’t completely hold true today (although the surrounding parkland does help a bit).
I continue on my way, this time following Aylmer up. I stop for a moment to watch the trains roll in and out of Rosedale Station and then cross Yonge. The street becomes Belmont and I’m liking the streetscape on either side of me. Other than admiring the charm, however, I do have another purpose for being here.
Belmont House is a retirement home and long term care centre built in the 60s. More interesting to its story is that it is built on the site of an Aged Men’s Home, Aged Women’s Home, and Magdalen Asylum & Industrial House of Refuge.
The latter establishment is most fascinating. On first glance at the name, it doesn’t sound like a particularly good place – asylums generally don’t provoke the best connotations and the Biblical character it’s named for isn’t always portrayed in the best light either. The ever trustworthy Wikipedia tells that Magdalen Asylums are not just a Toronto thing. Its history, however, promotes it as a place of care for homeless women and I suppose I will take it as such.
This detour completed, I circle back to Yonge Street and walk north. I turn onto Ramsden Park, the former site of 19th century brickyards. Castle Frank Brook ran through here too, the riverbed making for rich clay deposits. The park’s uneven, dug-in landscape is the only remnant of its industrial past. (And here I’ll shamelessly plug my Industrial Heritage Map). There’s also a few stubborn remnants of winter in a file snow piles that refuse to acknowledge the existence of spring.
Yorkville Brickyards. Source: Goad’s Atlas, 1884.Yorkville Brickyards, 1880s. Source: Toronto Public Library.
Pears Street, which runs adjacent, is named for one of the brick makers. A cat lounges on the sidewalk and soaks up the sun. He has the right idea. I eventually hit Avenue Road. Across the way is 174 Avenue, otherwise known as the Village Corner in the 1960s Yorkville folk scene. The Village Corner gave the first break to Ian & Silvia and a young Gordon Lightfoot in 1962. For more on Gordon Lightfoot’s Toronto, look here please.
With a skip down the street and a turn onto Hazelton Avenue, I’m onto more familiar settings when it comes to the neighbourhood of Yorkville. Hazelton is considered part of the heart of the Village and is pretty much an architecture lover’s dream. Bay and Gable, Gothic, Worker’s Cottage…it’s hard not to dream while being here. Alas, I stop myself from getting too ‘in the clouds’.
The southern end of the street has a more commercial character. It features Heliconian Hall, the second National Historic Site of the day (and, like the Studio Building, also holds dual heritage recognition). The Hall is the counterpart to a place like the Arts & Letters Club on Elm Street in that it was originally a professional association for women when they were excluded from Arts & Letter Clubs. Today it is an event space.
Across the way are a line of boutiques and neat little street art. I lament at the sight of one characters wearing a Leaf jerseys. Somehow the ‘maybe next year’ saying isn’t appropriate. They are also the lead in to Hazelton Lanes, the premiere mall of the Village.
Yorkville Avenue marks the end of the street. At the corner is the Hazelton Hotel, which represents everything Yorkville is today – fashionable, luxurious, and expensive. The Hotel replaced a series of rowhouses after the heyday of the bohemian village, one of which housed the Riverboat Coffee House. This was the most famous of all coffee houses and another venue Mr. Lightfoot got his ‘chops.’
I follow the street east, passing the first Mount Sinai Hospital (1922) and the Sheriff’s House (1837) on either side of the street. I peek down Bellair and inwardly judge the patio-ers. I know it’s a sunny day and there’s a certain desperation for more welcoming climates, but it is still very chilly and not quite patio weather. Moving on, the wideness of Bay Street to me breaks apart the neat, quiet street vibe. It’s no wonder that, like Church Street, it didn’t always run through Yorkville. Bay was extended north to Davenport in 1922.
In any case, I cross it and pass the shiny and blue Four Seasons Hotel (which might be my favourite tall towers in the city) and its adjoining parkette. Beside is Fire Hall #10, 1890, which displays the Yorkville Coat of Arms. The emblem was once located a stone’s throw away at the now lost Yorkville Town Hall on Yonge Street. Decked on the coat of arms are symbols of early industrialists that built the Village, including our friend Severn the brewer.
Beside the fire station is Yorkville Library, 1907. This Beaux-Arts gem is one of the famed Carnegie Libraries. Adjoined to it is Town Hall Square Park, which, and I know parks come in different forms and sizes, but isn’t too park-ish too me. Maybe users of the park, like the woman promenading around with her dog, disagree.
I leave the area and head down a laneway to Cumberland. Cumberland Terrace is to my left. It’s a bit of an oddity within its surroundings. It might have fit in well in 1970s when Yorkville was beginning its gentrification, but now it’s a bit of a tacky sour thumb.
Village of Yorkville Park (doesn’t really roll off the tongue, does it?) is a bit of an oddball park too. It’s meant to represent the diversity of Canadian landscapes from coast to coast. I wouldn’t have known this if I had not read it. The highlight for most people is the giant rock which represents the Canadian Shield (and actually the hunk of rock really did come from the Canadian Shield!). I take a seat on some nearby rest points, and, as the subway rumbles under me, I recognize that park does it’s job. It’s well used and a meeting point for people. It’s excellent for people watching, for example the people lining the other side of the street and sitting in the patio of Hemingway’s (more internal judgement).
Down Bellair I go and I’m at Bloor Street. Needing to cross the street, I head towards Bay. The Manulife Centre, 1974, presides over the intersection and its ill-fated scramble crossing. From mynew location, I get a good view of the ‘Mink Mile’ that is Bloor. A noted spotting is the Pottery Barn, whose facade alludes to its prior incarnation as the University Theatre.
I take a little detour down St. Thomas and catch a look at the sophisticated Windsor Arms Hotel, 1927. It actually reminds me of a fortress. This area wasn’t part of the original Village of Yorkville, but as mentioned earlier, borders have expanded and contracted, and somehow the area south of Bloor is lumped into Yorkville. The Windsor Arms fits in well with the swankiness of the neighbourhood anyways. As I’m admiring and snapping pictures, a UPS driver buzzes the door of the adjacent University Apartment. He doesn’t find who he’s looking for.
I have to let out an internal weep at what I see at the construction site on the opposing corner. There are Victorian facades fronting an empty pit, and I realize we’re about to get a facadist (ie, cop out) approach to preserving the heritage elements to whatever development is on the way. Shame.
Back on Bloor, I make a mental cue for Pink Floyd because I’m off to Yonge to end things where they began. It’s actually a sad note, because, like the site of Sultan and St. Thomas Streets, I note with a frown at the ‘progress’ on the Stollery’s site and how poorly the demolition unfolded. Across the way, One Bloor inches closer to completion.
My destination: Ricoh Coliseum. The event: the Toronto Marlies of the AHL battle the Iowa Wild. Beyond the great company and live hockey to be had, it’s also bobblehead giveaway day. Bonus. With a three o’clock game time, I plan on arriving by two in order to secure one. Before that though, I intend on exploring.
I arrive on the 511 streetcar, descending not at the Exhibition streetcar loop but at Strachan Avenue. I walk south on the street, my mind set on entering at the big arch.
I cross the street and then cross again. I get my first discovery of the day. To my left there’s a block-like yellow building. Although I don’t know it’s name or purpose specifically (and don’t venture close enough to find a sign), it looks like a displaced building from the R.C. Harris Water Plant – Art Deco in style, from the 30s, and industrial in nature.
My suspicions ring true. Upon later investigation, I find out this is Gore Park Pumping Station. Built in 1924, it’s not exactly the long lost child of the R.C. Harris Filtration Plant that I pinned to be. Rather, it predates it by eight years (seventeen if one counts when the water temple was finally completed).
Moving on, I come to Princes’ Gate. Despite this being Toronto’s (more impressive take on the) Arc de Triomphe or Washington Square Arch, I have no distinct memories of passing under it, nor do I know much about it. In fact, during a summer Toronto history trivia outing I found out who the names of the princes it’s honoured for.
I cross the street opposite Coronation Park and get a better look. There’s slush on the ground and snow blowing in the air and somehow I get the sense that there’s a different vibe when the Ex rolls around, but this works for me. The detailing and construction of this grand structure is impressive.
On the other side of the angels, there is a blue Ontario Heritage Trust sign. A truck with a man in the cabin loiters beside it. I wonder whether he’s looking at me while a snap a picture of the plaque, which is completely surrounded by snow. I take a moment to read the image on my phone screen. The Beaux-Arts monument was opened in 1927 by Princes Edward and George.
Past this, I come to the 1929 Automotive Building, now the Allstream Centre. As I walk the lamp-line sidewalk, my architectural eye once again detects more distinct Art Deco styling.
I make it to the main entrance and step back to marvel at it. High arches, fancy railings, intricate carvings, detailed windows…it’s a handsome building for sure.
On the opposing side of the street stands the slighty more modern (1996, to be exact) Direct Energy Centre. I cross the street to get a look, stopping in the middle of the empty way to gaze again at the Princes’ Gate.
By this point I just want to get around the venue to Ricoh Coliseum, but seeing how frigid day it is, passing through it sounds like a better option. Inside the ‘Toronto Sportman’s Show’ is taking place. I pass one of the exhibition halls which is dedicated to fishing. Not my cup of tea. Instead, I continue meandering through to the other side of the building while taking in the sight above me. There are words hanging above, but even as I make it outside again, I have no luck in making them out.
Hockey is near. I make it outside where BMO Field looms in the distance. Maple Leaf Sports and Entertainment is pumping in millions to renovate it – adding more seats, changing the field, among other improvements. There are big visions for it: as big as an NHL Winter Classic. After the amazing experience of following the hometown team out to Michigan last year, I’d be all for it. For now, I’ll settle for minor league hockey.
Ricoh Coliseum is another aged building, once known as simply the Coliseum before corporate hands got their hold on it. The Beaux-Arts sports venue dates back to 1922. It has hosted boxing matches, horse shows, and was a training ground during WWII. Today, it’s the home of the Toronto Marlies and hosts concerts, pro-wrestling, and boat shows. I have taken in many a Marlies game at Ricoh, but it’s also special to me in that I saw my first concert there.
After picking up my free bobblehead and before I can even attempt the game, I spent the next few extended moments looking for a Tim Horton’s to satisfy my caffeine urge (it’s an eternal struggle.) Only after some guidance I realize coffee in sold in the concession stands themselves. Hurrah for $2.75 goodness!
The game itself was actually largely lacklustre up until the final period when the hometeam turned on the firepower. Despite a ruined shutout, the good guys came out with a convincing win!
Then it’s out to the streetcar loop with the masses, getting a look at the building as I do. I’ll have to remind myself to capture the grand exterior facing the transit loop next time. I’ll also have to remind myself to take in other parts of the Exhibition Grounds – Scadding Cabin and Fort Rouille in particular.
And, of course, there’s the free bobblehead of Marlies alum and current Leaf Tyler Bozak! These figurines never look the person they are meant to honour, do they?
I’ve been to the City Archives a few times before to toil away in the research hall. But I’ve never made it a destination for any other reason. The Archives, however, does put on museum-eque exhibitions, and its latest – ‘Made in Toronto: Food & Drink Manufacturing in Our City’ – caught my eye. Toronto’s industrial legacy is becoming a big fascination, so this came at a great time.
As the exhibit poster explains, there are a great number of manufacturing enterprises in Toronto today (more than people realize), but before we even get to today, ‘Made in Toronto’ sets out to present the city’s pioneering industrial players – companies like Weston Foods, Willard’s Chocolates, and Gooderham and Warts (among others).
The display is divided thematically into baked goods, meat, milk pantry items, chocolate, and alcohol. There are photos of insides and outsides of factories, maps, posters, and memorabilia in display cases. All of it is very well and thoroughly researched and presented.
Toronto isn’t the manufacturing town it once was and for a number of reasons. Cities and economies change, and industry in the middle of cities just doesn’t make sense anymore. It’s good to back and visit how things were. ‘Made in Toronto’ does just that. It runs until August 2015.
Bonus: and of course, one can’t go to the city archives without taking its ‘Miles of Files”!
Deep in the heart of suburbia on Wynford Drive just off the DVP, one can find the newest addition to Toronto’s museum scene – the Aga Khan Museum. It’s a curious place for an arts & culture hub, even with the Ontario Science Centre just a hop away.
In addition to its non-downtown location, the arrival of the AGM was marked with curiousity and a bit of controversy. The opening was delayed, its thematic content is unlike any other museum or gallery in the city, and its construction came with the demolition of the Modernist-designed Bata Shoe Headquarters. Talk surrounding the Aga Khan Museum overwhelming features the question: “Was it worth it losing one unique building for another?”
As I walk up to the museum, I don’t have an answer because it is tough to justify that kind of loss. That said, I can admit that it is a very impressive structure and a fine addition to Toronto’s architectural scene. The entire site consists of the museum itself, the Ismaili Centre, and, between them, a garden and terrace. It’s all a marvel, but I can’t help but wonder how it all looks in the summer (see below).
The inside is as much a visual wonder. Geometric patterning is a big part of the aesthetic of the Aga Khan Museum. I made a venture out into the courtyard after dropping my belongings at the (complimentary) coat check, which proved to be ill-advised because it was quite chilly. Again, I imagine a different vibe in warmer temperatures.
The main floor exhibition space features the museum’s permanent collection, which is essentially a historical journey through Islam. For me, it’s a subject matter that I did not encounter during my time as an undergrad of history, so it was a nice treat. The layout, design, and use of the space was very well done (not to mention, it’s got a distinct ‘new museum’ smell!).
The upper level dons ‘The Lost Dhow’, a temporary exhibit on loan to the AKM which features the recovered objects from a sunken ship in Indonesia. So much of the details of its sinking is unknown, but the interpretation and presentation is very well done!
Also on the second floor is the ‘Garden of Ideas’, a more contemporary art exhibition that overlooks the permanent collection below (people watching, anyone?). Towards the end of the exhibition was a fun artistic piece featuring a picture books of individuals saying ‘I love you’. Clever!
The Aga Khan Museum is also unique in that it contains a performing arts centre! The theatre itself is modestly sized and has great acoustics. The white star-like ceiling is a sight. The angular staircase in the lobby is also of great note.
In all, between the entire collection and the space itself, the museum doesn’t feel too big, but it’s not underwhelming either. It also helps that the building in of itself makes the Aga Khan Museum a destination. I spent a little over two hours exploring and taking in everything and would gladly return in the spring or summer to take it in again.
Update: Aga Khan Museum Park and Ismaili Centre, Summer 2015
