Scenes From Eglinton Avenue West

Eglinton Avenue is Toronto’s east-west midpoint. It is the only street in the city (although took some doing in the 1950s and 60s to make it so) that traverses all six former municipalities. This attribute has made it perfect for a crosstown transit line. Although it was laid out in 1793 as the Third Concession from Lot (Queen) Street, I would argue that Eglinton’s form, at least from Yonge Street to Latimer Avenue, as we know it today does not begin to take shape until 130 years after it was laid out.

Might’s correct city directory map of Greater Toronto, ca. 1940. The extension across the Don River branches were completed by 1956. In 1967, Richview Sideroad in Etobicoke was absorbed into Eglinton Avenue when the two streets were joined via a bridge across the Humber River. Credit: Map and Data Library, University of Toronto.

This stretch of Eglinton Avenue west of Yonge Street and the surrounding area was historically part of the Village of North Toronto. Even though the village was absorbed into the City of Toronto in 1912, allowing it to reap the benefits of better service delivery, the street was still a sparsely populated dirt road. It wasn’t until the coming decades when Eglinton’s fields morphed into a mixed residential and commercial zone. By 1930, the road was paved and possibly widened.

Eglinton Ave, west from Yonge, October 19, 1922. Fonds 16, Series 71, Item 1637.
Credit: City of Toronto Archives

Eglinton Avenue west from Yonge Street, April 23, 1930. Fonds 1231, Item 1646. Credit: City of Toronto Archives.

At Duplex and Eglinton stands a power station. The yellow-bricked structure was built in 1920 at a time of rapid expansion in Toronto. With the Toronto Hydro-Electric System (now known as just Toronto Hydro) becoming the only distributor of power in Toronto at the tail end of the 1910s, Toronto was experiencing the pressures of an electrified transit network and a growing population.

The Eglinton sub-station was one of many built in this era to cope with this demand, specifically serving the surrounding residential community and “the Metropolitan radial line on north Yonge Street and subsequently to the TTC Yonge route and Eglinton Carhouse in the area.”

Eglinton Sub-station, August 10, 1925. Fonds 16, Series 71, Item 3975. Credit: City of Toronto Archives

Related, a short distance across from the station, there’s a row of mid-rise apartments. The positioning of these 1930s Art-Deco inspired buildings one after the other leads one to conclude that this was by design, although I wonder at their context considering the larger history the Toronto has with this kind of housing stock.

One historical narrative has been that whereas at the time the City of Toronto avoided this housing style, outlying communities like York and Forest Hill including them in their planning. For example, a more prominent row of these decorative lofts exists further west on Eglinton near Bathurst Street in the former Village of Forest Hill. These ones close to Yonge would have existed on land already annexed to the city, though. Curious.

Next, Eglinton Park has a neat past. As Lost Rivers explains, long before its colonial period, Huron peoples occupied its land and the nearby area – notably, the site of Allenby Public School – in the 15th century. In more recent history, the park was a brickyard! Capitalizing on the clay beds created by the now buried Mud Creek, James Pears ran his establishment here beginning in the 1880s.

The Eglinton Hunt Club (foreground) & Pears Brickyard (background), looking southeast,1920. The Pears home (now gone) can be seen at the top of the image at 214 Eglinton Avenue. A water tower stood on Roselawn Avenue near Avenue Road. A communications tower is in its place today. Credit: Toronto Public Libary

The modern geography within the park shows off the layers of time: the ‘dug-in’ escarpment leading up to Oriole Parkway, the hilly topography of Roselawn Avenue. Pears formerly worked out of today’s Ramsden Park in Yorkville before moving up Yonge Street, which has similar rolling features. These are the former lives of our parks.

Later, with North Toronto annexed, the City of Toronto attempted to purchase the yard from Pears before outright expropriating it in 1922 when he refused. The entire exercise came at a time in the 1920s and 30s when the City’s Parks Department was expanding, creating parkland and accompanying infrastructure such as shelters, gazebos, and bandshells. In fact, the Toronto Archives has a wonderful collection of ink & pencil drawings as a part of an Architectural Drawings Scrapbook prepared by the Department of Buildings for the Department of Parks and Recreation.

Eglinton Park (Roselawn Avenue) Shelter, August 12, 1930. Fonds 200, Series 372, Subseries 1, Item 934. Credit: City of Toronto Archives.

Pears’ legacy did live on for a while as the space was unofficially known as Pears Park for a time (and still might be?). Modern amenities have been added to the park since then of course, including a community centre, playground, and a Cretan maze via the Toronto City of Labyrinths Project!

A final sign of the street’s arrival was the eventual population of the street with commercial activity. The north side of Eglinton east of Avenue was one of the first retail blocks, coming to us around 1930.

CANATCO house index map of Toronto and environs, 1932. Credit: University of Toronto Map & Data Library.

Eglinton Ave. north side Avenue Rd. looking east, April 23, 1930. Fonds 200, Series 372, Subseries 58, Item 1223. Credit: City of Toronto Archives.

With the opening of the Eglinton Theatre in 1936 to serve the growing local community, another commercial dimension was added. Neighbourhood theatres were abundant in Toronto by World War II, but The Eglinton was a benchmark in grandeur.

Whereas other ‘nabes‘ were more low-key in aesthetic, the Kaplan and Sprachman-designed Art Deco movie house and its neon-lit tower announced itself on the commercial strip. It’s amazing considering this was also during the Great Depression. It was operational until 2002, remarkably late in the history of comparable theatres. Today it’s the Eglinton Grand.

Useful Links

City of Toronto Archives – “Turning on Toronto: Toronto Hydro-Electric System” Web Exhibit

City of Toronto Planning Department – “Eglinton Connects Planning Study July 2013 Draft”

Historic Toronto – “Memories of Toronto’s Eglinton Theatre” by Doug Taylor

Lost Rivers – “The Eglinton Park Hill”

Scenes From A City – “Scenes From Yorkville”

Silent Toronto

Spacing – “Toronto’s Art Deco district? Take a walk along Eglinton Avenue West” by Daniel Rotsztain

Torontoist – “Historicist: The ‘Manifest Destiny’ of North Toronto” by David Wencer

Scenes From Kennedy Road

Kennedy Road between Finch and Linwood Avenues is, at first glance, an inconsequential stretch of street. 1km of nothing. A bit of digging, however, and there’s a story. There’s always a story.

Beginning at the top, there’s the Hugh Clark House. A rural leftover nestled in behind a gas station. The Clark family once lined the north side of Finch with their farms. The first of the Clarks to plant his roots was Hugh‘s father, William, who settled two lots over at Birchmount Road in 1838. I wrote a little bit about the elder Clark while exploring his property at today’s L’Amoreaux Park.

Crossing the street, one comes to an innocent looking parkette. Today’s park, however, is yesterday’s street jog. Kennedy at one time jogged left at Finch, forcing a northbound traveler to turn left and then right before continuing north. At some point Kennedy was reconfigured to run seamlessly through the intersection. An orphaned section of the old route remained south of Finch, however. The old Kennedy bus used to turn around at the loop when the bus route terminated at Finch. The triangular jog was eliminated for good in 1979, leaving us Kennedy Road Parkette.

Next, Lynnwood Heights on Southlawn Drive has been around since 1956. The school’s TDSB webpage notes an original population of 400, a staggering far cry from the current enrollment of 160 pupils. The surrounding subdivision also dates from around 1956, making it one of the older post-war developments in northern Scarborough. One can imagine as the area continued to grow, more schools opened to relieve Lynnwood.

Huntingwood Drive is an east-west alternative to Sheppard and Finch (at least, between Victoria Park and McCowan), but its existence is a relatively recent thing – around 1967, more specifically. It’s odd in the way it snakes close to Sheppard in some parts and close in Finch in others.

Kennedy Road & Area, 1965. Source: City of Toronto Archives. The future Huntingwood Drive is pencilled in bottom left. Finch jog at top.

Bookending the kilometre stretch is another farmhouse, Elmridge. This was the Pat(t)erson family homestead. Or, at least, one of them. Like the Clarks, the Patersons were a pioneering Scarboro family who toiled the land on the east side of the street between Sheppard and Finch. Robert Bonis writes in A History of Scarborough that a Thomas Paterson arrived here in 1820 from Scotland, clearing the land with his son. His descendants continued his work at Elmridge, eventually making the Paterson name synonymous with Agincourt. This excellently researched WikiTree entry breaks down the life of Thomas Archibald Paterson, the great-grandson of the original Thomas Paterson.

Scenes From Gerrard East Back Alleys and Side Streets

I start by rounding around the front of the New Town Family Restaurant. The individual handing out free three-day GoodLife passes nearly startles me. I decline – wouldn’t know who to give them to. “No worries,” he tells me, as I note the good choice in location nonetheless. The diner hugging the corner boasts what seems to be its entire menu on its sign – all day breakfast among it. Even as a proponent of breakfast food at any hour of the day, I have yet to try it out.

I round the bend, finding myself on Gerrard Street East. It’s a street I have frequented quite a bit over the last year. It is of course home to the Gerrard India Bazaar BIA and one of the most impactful and distinctive streetscapes in the city. It is always a treat to gaze on the colourful facades of the clothing and jewellery shops, but it’s not my goal today. No, today I want to look behind the scenes.

On the way, I note a couple of scenes. The Glen Rhodes United Church, as imposing as it is on the street, at first glance is a bit of an anomaly amongst its South Asian surroundings. The church in its earliest form predates Little India by 60 years, however. I am impressed not only by its Gothic structure, but by its status as an affirmed church and a centre for the Pakistani community.

The next street over from Rhodes is Craven, locally known as Tiny Town for its DIY houses. I am tempted to cross the street and head south, but alas, I continue on. Less impressive is the amount of closed, empty shops. If you walk down the entire course of the Bazaar, you’ll notice quite a few of them. It’s a sad sight and speaks to perhaps the decline or at least the changing nature of the South Asian hub.

Ashdale Avenue is where I move off Gerrard. I snap a picture of the mural in front of the library before heading north. I enter the alley from behind the library. My first encounter is the Naaz Theatre complex. I didn’t have a chance to check it out from the front, but if it mimics the back, it still needs a lot of work. Actually, I can hear the grinding of a saw happening from inside. My other senses catch the tempting aromas from the street and the not so inticing wall designs.

Wooden fences and back decks populate the lane. I admittedly feel weird about being there. Like an arena dressing room to the public, it feels like a no go zone – the unpretty behind-the-scenes scene.

At Woodfield, I am thrown slightly off course by a couple of unplanned and planned distractions. First, the unexpected – a series of images making up a mural. I interpret the first to be a face with large eyes, a mustache, and tiny mouth – wearing a crown. Walking up to the street, I can’t resist but get another peek of my favourite building on the street.

My planned diversion is to head north. Woodfield has a bit of road maintenance going on. A passing jogger has to navigate around the holes in the sidewalk and through the muddy road. Canadian flags and a mismatch of adjacent housing have my attention. I also remember that a tunnelized stream runs under the street.

Ahead in the distance the street slopes up to an end. Before that, it’s bisected by another road. The row of houses leading up to southwest corner concludes a flat roofed brick building. This is Woodfield Grocery and puzzles me. I know of corner shops existing in Cabbagetown, so this is unexpected. I wonder how long it’s been here.

I head inside. I see no one at the counter but then hear a ‘hello’ from seemingly nowhere. A couple of steps forward produces a woman sitting in a hidden corner reading the paper and manning the security cameras. I head to the back of the shop and fetch myself a chocolate milk. While she rings it up, I mention my curiosities about its odd location. She makes no comment, so I go on to ask whether a lot of people come by. “Sometimes. More in the summer.” The language barrier between us has me sensing an awkward conversation coming, so I leave it at that and wish her a good day as I exit.

If I continue up Woodfield I’ll hit a path which trails under the CNR tracks toward Monarch Park. Alas, this is an adventure already travelled, so I hang a left.

My plan is to head down Highfield to rejoin the laneways. Before I do, I note the houses north of Walpole. They are a bit out of place compared to the rest of street. As my Greenwood Avenue exploits showed me, the residential neighbourhood in this area developed in pockets as the brickyards closed down and the land was converted.

The image of daisies on a black brick building welcomes me back to the lane. This is the Riverdale Hub, a former industrial building turned community centre. I had a chance to tour it during last year’s Doors Open. It is an interesting building with a wonderful mandate.

On Glenside I see perhaps the grandest design of the day. A woman from the residential complex behind me exits as I capture it. I often wonder if I’ll be asked what I’m doing when I am snapping photos. Alas, she continues on her business and I add the peacock to my Galaxy SIII’s gallery.

The alley hits an incline and I reach Redwood on the otherside. The Centre of Gravity Circus/Side Show Café is a fascinating structure. I know it’s an old theatre complex but looking up I see ‘Pool and Billiards Parlour’. Perhaps one of its incarnations after it ceased to be a theatre (whenever that was)?

I round back to check out the rest of building. More graffiti and a door leading to a death drop. That’s different.

Continuing on, I come to Greenwood. Across the street the alley continues. I contemplate it, but with a 14% phone battery, I nix it. Thwarted by technology.

I instead head to Gerrard to attack my bucket list. The first thing that catches my attention at the Brickyard Grounds is the coloured archival photo of the corner. It’s a long and narrow shop, but spacious nonetheless. I walk up to the counter and am amicably greeted by the barista. Not being one for lattes, I simply ask for drip. Behind me another barista alerts me she’s trying to pass through. Between the counter and the wall there is not tons of rooms. I apologize, joking that I tend to take up a lot of space. She tells me instead that they knew they’d regret putting shelving on the wall. We have a laugh about that.

I fit my coffee with milk and sugar and take a spot at the front of the store – right under the picture. I snap it for my collection and run through the rest of my photos from today while working on my coffee. I half-eavesdrop on the surrounding conversations including a police officer’s chats with the baristas and then a patron near me.

I bring my finished cup up to the counter and thank the barista that passed behind me earlier. I ask about what I had and she says it is an organic, fair trade roast and tells me about the differences it and dark roasts. Then I compliment her on the unbelievable job they have done with the place and the awesome tribute to the local history of the area. She mentions the photo, which she had touched up by a graphic designer, and points out they took the sign to the former occupants – the Native Canadian Arts & Crafts Gallery – and fitted it onto the counter. Didn’t even notice it ‘til then. From there, I pledge to come back – weekend brunch looks too enticing – and after exchanging names (thanks for the chat Sophie!), I leave.

My Transit Now Toronto app settles my dilemma between the bus and the streetcar. It’ll be the 31 today, and it comes five minutes to swoop me to the subway.

Scenes From Greenwood Avenue

Note: These travels were made in late November 2013. It was a pleasant day. No snow on the ground, and although it is now alive and serving the community, the Brickyard Grounds was not ready then.

Greenwood Avenue is a curious little throughway in Leslieville. OK, perhaps not so little – it runs from O’Connor to Queen Street, a distance of 3.6 kilometres. I, however, tackle the street from the Danforth southward – a fortunate choice because northbound Greenwood is built on an incline.

I deliberately walk on the west side of the street because my first sight/site of note will be the TTC’s Greenwood Subway Yard. Looking far into the distance , I can see the faint outline of the downtown skyline fitted inside the chain link, highlighted by the giant toothpick-like structure. Gazing down at my immediate surroundings, I see a massive facility devoted to housing and servicing subway cars. The Bloor-Danforth subway doesn’t come around until the 1960s, so it begs one of my favourite questions: what was this area before?

Of course, I already know the answer going in.

My interest in Greenwood Avenue arose while researching this east end neighbourhood for a walking tour of Little India for Heritage Toronto. One of my goals was to get an understanding of what Gerrard Street and the surrounding community was like prior to the creation and growth of the Gerrard India Bazaar in the 1970s and 1980s.

One of the most fascinating tidbits that came out of this was that Greenwood Avenue south of the Danforth was lined with claymines and brickyards once upon a time. This intrigued me because looking at the neighbourhood today, I would have never guessed this. It’s a quiet, unassuming residential street. It’s this hidden history that gets me. We think of the Don Valley Brickworks as the place that built Toronto, not where this residential neighbourhood now lies.

In some ways, it reminded me of my travels along Carlaw Avenue a few blocks to west. Both streets hold an industrial past. Both streets are now largely residential. The difference is the majority of the factories on Carlaw still remain, giving us at least an obvious glimpse into the past.

GreenwoodGoads19131 — Greenwood Avenue c. 1913. Note the now buried-creeks. Vital to any clay deposit.

Yes, the Greenwood Subway Yard was once a giant clay pit. As this Transit Toronto article tells us, the TTC purchased the 31.5 acre site, which, after the clay beds were depleted, was being used as a garbage dump.

The 1913 City of Toronto directories tell me of a few enterprises that were once on the site: Standard Brick Co. at 500 Greenwood, Isaac Price Brickyard at 420-430 Greenwood, Bell Bros & Co. at 386 Greenwood, and A H Wagstaff Brick Co. at 362-368 Greenwood. I have pinned them on my map of Toronto’s Industrial Heritage which you can see here (do check it out, it’s fun!).

GreenwoodAerial1953 — Aerial of Greenwood Subway Yard, c. 1953. Still a pit.

Across the street is a nicely coloured residential complex. I do not imagine them being in existence for a long time, however.

I was aware of the yards on the other side of Greenwood as well: just north of the tracks was the John Price Brickyard (335-405 Greenwood), further up from that and south of Felstead Avenue was the John Logan Brickyards (471 Greenwood). The latter of these is significant because John Logan’s enterprise later became the Toronto Brick Company, which was the last of the brickyards on the street.

Logan's Brickyards, c. 1912 — Logan’s Brickyards, c. 1912

Logan's Brickyards 2 — Logan’s Brickyards, c. 1917.

Toronto Brick Company Walpole and Felstead — Toronto Brick Company, south of Felstead, c. 1952. Right around the time of its closure.

There is a Torbrick Road! Not only that, but as I walk down Torbrick Road, I can see that houses are very modern. Toronto Brick Co. outlasted until the 1950s, which makes this all come together. New area, new houses. I wonder how the residents feel about living on what was a dirty pit.

Passing an apparent staircase to nowhere that’s actually a remnant entrance to the former brickyard, I elect to travel to Gerrard on the west side of the street. I go under the CNR tracks and pass by another marker.

Wagstaff Drive (2) — Mr. Wagstaff ran the yard near the GTR tracks.

In my previous visit to the southwest corner of Greenwood and Gerrard some months ago, the gallery housed in this building ceased operations. Now, I walk by it and I see that a “Brickyard Grounds Fine Coffee” is ready to take over its space! What a tribute to the local heritage!

I make a giant note of it and vow to return when it is up and running (which, since this exploration, has happened). If Gerrard Street East is undergoing a bit of an identity shift with art galleries and coffee houses springing up, The Brickyard Grounds fits right in there!

Series 372, Subseries 58 - Road and street condition photographs — SW corner Greenwood and Gerrard, c. 1934

On the wall of the Grounds is a spectacular public art piece. There are so many great ones in the city. Doing a little digging, this one is entitled “Bricks and Wagons: A Greenwood Allegory” and looks to be a ‘throwback’ to the days of old days in the community. My favourite part are the street signs with the names of all the former brickyards.

Then, of course, I encounter Greenwood Park – notable for its size, hills, and view of Toronto. It looks a bit ‘dug in’, and that’s because it was once the site of the Joseph Russell Brickyard. In 1920s it was opened as Greenwood Athletic Field, but as local historian Joanne Doucette’s Pigs, Flowers, and Bricks: A History of Leslieville to 192o tells me, the feeling to turn the abandoned clay pit into a park was not as obvious as one might expect. Some Councillors felt that creating a park would encourage the working class population in this blue collar area to loaf around. Interesting.

Greenwood Park 1922 — Baseball in Greenwood Park, c. 1922.

Greenwood Park Opening 2 — Greenwood Park Opening, 1920.

Greenwood Park has several baseball diamonds, a dog park, and recently added a skating rink.

The area south of the park is intriguing. Dundas Street is one of the most peculiar streets in Toronto because of the manner in which it snakes through the city. This is because it is an amalgamation of previously existing roads as well as the creation of new paths altogether. This portion of Dundas doesn’t come into existence until the 1950s.

GreenwoodGoads19132 — Greenwood south of Gerrard, c. 1913. Doel and Applegrove Avenues both eventually get absorbed into the new Dundas Avenue, with a new road constructed to connect them.

Curvy Dundas — Winding Dundas, south of Greenwood Park

Greenwood Avenue and Dundas Avenue East, looking southeast

On Dundas, I head east to Billings and then up to Athletic Avenue, noting the near century houses along the way. Before its creation, the site of Billings Avenue once housed Morley and Ashbridge’s Ashbridge Brick Co., addressed in the 1913 Directories at 119 Greenwood Avenue. Ashbridge of course is a famous name in the east end, and his partner also had a street named after him. We know it today as Woodfield Road.

Athletic Avenue, by the way, remains as a final tribute to the stadium which was torn down after WWII. At the end of the street, a set of stairs present themselves to me. Curious, I descend them and find myself on another residential street. This is post-war Hertle Avenue.

I tour through the street until I hit Highfield road. From there, I conclude my journey by walking up to Gerrard, where I catch the eastbound streetcar to Main Street Station.

Sam The Record Man Sign Belongs in a Yonge Street Museum

I have never stepped inside Sam the Record Man, and I shamefully admit my memories of walking by the famous neon signs at Yonge and Gould are vague at best. My experience is limited to exploring my father’s record collection which he purchased at the store in the 80s, and sifting through what would be become new favourites like Bowie’s Let’s Dance and the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. With this said, personal memory and collective memory are separate yet connected ideas, and while my own past does not directly intersect with the life and times of Sam the Record Man, I feel part of a collective whose past indeed does – even if those memories aren’t mine.

The issue to me is not losing the store itself. Business is a tricky endeavour, and recent high-profile examples unfortunately show that even the most profitable and high profile enterprises can fold. There are many that would like to see it in existence, and I am not diminishing those sentiments. But since it is gone, we are faced with a ‘now what?’ situation.

Well, the ‘now what?’ is what do we do with the giant neon signs. The signs are the most tangible remnants of that store, along with perhaps the records purchased from the record shop that still exist in the collections of its former patrons and the auctioned memorabilia distributed in the store’s final days. The issue is commemorating, through the signs, the importance of Sam’s and its owner Sam Sniderman in the narrative of our music and cultural history.

Many assign Ryerson University – a rapidly expanding institution and the current owners of the former site of the store – as the villains in this saga. Many lament the loss of the Yonge Street Entertainment Strip (located between Queen and Gerrard Streets), of which Sam’s was a big part of, and dismiss its current incarnation as a soulless commercial and educational strip filled with an upcoming Ryerson student buildings and a mix of big and small name shopping destinations.

Sam The Record Man, Steeles Tavern, A&A — A&A, Steeles Tavern, & Sam The Record Man ca. 1971
City of Toronto Archives Series 1465, File 312, Item 51

For me, times change and there should be no qualms about new epochs coming into fashion. That’s fine. The fascinating thing about Toronto is its layered history. Different occupants, one after another (or sometimes at the same time), move into an area, set up their establishments, and in doing so they transform the character of their locale. This is perhaps no better manifested than in Kensington Market.

As these transformational processes take place and time, the altered urban landscapes have the power to reveal and conceal the layered history of their use. From the 1960s to about the 1990s, The Yonge Street Strip was for the most part a music and entertainment epicentre in Toronto. The sites which have contributed to this characterization have largely disappeared. Some buildings currently employ different uses (like Friars Taven at Dundas), others have been demolished completely (like the Colonial Tavern at 203 Yonge St). The loss of Sam’s and the Empress Hotel (which has quite the history itself) were the latest in this episode. The only visible reminder is Zanzibar’s, although even that has shifted identities from a music club to a purely adult entertainment establishment. Take this further and one hundred years ago the history of the Yonge Street Strip comes a bit full circle with how we might see it today. In 1912, for example, Sam’s was Curtis-Wilson Furniture Co. and Byers Albert Jefferies, Ltd., furries. 349 Yonge – Steeles Tavern, which Sam Sniderman eventually took over – was Hele’s Ceramic Art. Co. A&A at 351 Yonge was owned by Walker Frank, a man in the clothing business. In other words, this was a retail strip in its own right.

Today, the site of Sam is occupied and owned by Ryerson Univeraity – a booming educational institution that has seen tremendous growth since its days as a polytechnic. One has to guess that growing levels of enrollment within existing programs and the addition of new programs has necessitated its spatial growth, so as much as we might curse the ‘takeover’, perhaps we cannot fault that from occurring.

So the question remains: where do the signs end up? They are doing no favours to anyone stored in a North Toronto trailer.

The original plan was to have them mounted within the new student centre as a part of the deal struck by the Ryerson-Sniderman deal. Much fuss has been made about a broken promise on Ryerson’s president who has said that signs would clash with the modernist style of the new building.

Recently renewed talk has called for the need of a Toronto Museum. Whether we have the site and leadership to finally execute such a needed endeavour is another story. It does remain, however, that the neon signs would be ideal artefacts within such as a space. This would help in telling the musical and cultural narrative of Toronto as well as the role of Yonge Street.

Ideally, I’d like to see them back a part of the street, which also was the proposal put forward by Councillor Wong-Tam and supported by Mayor Rob Ford. The signs are best preserved and presented in context. Sam’s was an important part of a certain era of Yonge Street, and its signs should be displayed at its historic intersection. In doing so, in the end, we are putting them in a museum – albeit one that lacks physical plant and invites the components of the urban landscape to be the artifacts themselves.

Urban landscapes as museums are not a new idea. The Textile Museum’s mobile app TXTile City turns the city of Toronto into a museum whose artifacts are the sites – the built forms and their related oral histories — themselves. A recent TedTalk promoted the idea of the built and natural forms of Indianapolis – the city itself – as a science museum. A Toronto Star column has outlined the importance of Yonge Street. This is our Saint Laurent Boulevard of Montreal fame. Like The Main, Yonge Street, our spine, bisects the city, connects neighbourhoods, serves as cultural and commercial epicentre, and has a very layered past. In other words, it is important in the historical, geographic, cultural, natural, economic, sociological development of Toronto.

Fortunately, we already have something like what I’ve been proposing already underway. Youryongestreet is an online crowdsourcing initiative, launched by the Toronto Public Library, aimed at celebrating the history of Yonge Street. The potential age range of participants (and backgrounds in general) allows for exactly what I’ve been talking about: the presentation of the diversity of Yonge Street. The exhibits collection features a range of images, videos, audio accounts, and written tales about Yonge Street.

Youryongestreet and the urban landscape museum I have presented are two parts in an grander museum that showcases Yonge Street’s past. No doubt the Sam the Record sign should be an artefect in that museum, too.

Scenes From Smythe Park

Located on the west side of Jane Street between St. Clair and Eglinton is Smythe Park. Somehow this park fits into Toronto’s sports heritage, industrial heritage, and natural heritage.

The naming of this park was intriguing to me. Any hockey fan will recognize the surname Smythe as synonymous with the National Hockey League and the Toronto Maple Leafs. Indeed, Mr. Conn Smythe was at one time the Leafs’ coach, general manager, and owner, and the man who built Maple Leaf Gardens.

Unknown to me was the fact that, along with running the Toronto Maple Leafs, Conn Smythe had several business operations in Toronto. Beginning in the 1920s, one of these was a sand and gravel enterprise on Jane Street – a very lucrative one at that. Smythe Park sits where that operation once was.

East Side of Jane Street, north of Alliance Avenue. Jane Plaza is located here today. Source: Toronto Public Library

Following a descent north of the creek, I follow the path – the aptly titled Black Creek Trail – into the park. To my right there is a baseball diamond. To my left, a bridge (the first of two in the park) across Black Creek is gated up and inaccessible.

The downpour from earlier in the day has left the path wet and puddled, but it is an otherwise a nice walk. The willow trees that hang adjacent to the creek make it somewhat scenic.

I come to a second bridge, which at first glance are marked with two randomly placed giant rocks at either end. At closer inspection and deliberation, they are tributes to the industrial heritage of the area – and a reminder of the remarkable transformation from a quarry to a park. I look through the bridge’s unexpectedly high railings and see the muggy, depleted, manipulated, flowing creek.

A look on the other side of the bridge produces a view of the park’s outdoor pool facility. I follow the path up a very windy climb back to Jane Street, stopping to look down into valley – no doubt dug in from the gravel quarry.

Scenes From Carlaw Avenue

Deep in Leslieville lies Carlaw Avenue, a historic manufacturing street in Toronto that fell victim to and adapted with changing times.

Perhaps the fitness studios and shiny condominiums might mislead otherwise, but Carlaw still has the remnants of a onetime working class neighbourhood. At one time factories lined the avenue from Queen to just north of Gerrard. During World War I and II, they were used to produced munitions (as a now defunct Carlaw bus route serving Sunday workers suggests).

But much like the situation with other areas in the city (The Waterfront and Liberty Village, as examples), companies began to fold their operations as it no longer became viable to run in the middle of an urban centre. The results were transformational for the street. With buildings stripped of their original use, they became anomalies in their increasingly residential surroundings. Their fates fell into one of two holes: re-purposing or demolition. Carlaw seems to have employed both.

Beginning just north of Queen on the east side is the former enterprise of Kent McLain. According to the 1910 City of Toronto Directories, Mr McLain was in the business of showcase manufacturing at 181-199 Carlaw Avenue.

Second tall building on the right side of the street — The McLain Building is the 2nd Building on the Right Side

Where the street intersects with Colgate is the site of the Colgate-Palmolive Plant, now demolished. Currently the frame of a new condo is going up.

Palmolive-Colgate Factory — Credit: Urban Toronto.

Across the street, there are two former factories that have been adapted. At 201 Carlaw is the long exterior of the Rolph Clark Stone Limited Building, built in 1913, now with a tower jutting up the middle of it . Up further on the east side of the street is the old Wrigleys Gum plant, placed at 235 Carlaw. Both establishments are now converted lofts, although old monikers still remain above the doors to remind us of their histories.

Wrigleys Factory Boston Entrance
On the west side of street is the former home of the Phillips Manufacturing Factory (address 258-326), now a long brown bricked strip of various new commercial endeavours including a kickboxing club and a yoga establishment.

At Carlaw and Dundas several recently completed and recently started condo projects as well as street signs enticing passerbyers to invest.

Just south of Gerrard is the grand Toronto Hydro Electric Station. At one time the rounded corner sported a store front, no doubt educating people about the wonder of electric powered appliances in the 20th century. Built in 1916, the station is a heritage property for the City of Toronto.

It is not an industrial site (although early factories relied on the railroad), but the cross-section at Carlaw and Gerrard is an interesting focal point as well. At one time, the large open section of Gerrard underneath the railroad did not exist, forcing the street to dip down and around at Carlaw before resuming a regular east-west route. The subway was constructed in the 1930s to straighten the street up. The former route still exists as a narrow residential branch of Gerrard running in northeast-southwest direction , although it stops just short of the main road.

Finally, situated at the northeast corner of the intersection is the Riverdale Shopping Centre, a No Frills-anchored strip mall caught in the shadow of its much larger Gerrard Square neighbour. The presence of this site hides that at one time a series of buildings belonging to the International Varnish Company made their home here.

What’s In A Street Name?

A city’s streets can tell a lot about that city and its residents: who we are, where we came from, and who and what we value. In other words, names are a huge part of understanding our heritage. At least, that’s what I’ve discovered when looking at Toronto’s roads.

In general, Toronto streets fall into one of three themes: (1) throwbacks to our British roots; (2) our city and community builders, and (3) literal descriptions (usually of the surrounding environment). If we really wanted to, we could also include a fourth category of streets that do not really have a rhyme or reason that we can tell, or their story has simply been lost.

First, some streets don their names after British royalty. Victoria Street and Queen Street are after Queen Victoria. The ‘King’ in King Street is King George (who might potentially also lend his name to George Street). Prince Frederick, Duke of York and Albany is honoured by, you guessed, Frederick and York Streets. These streets are the historical bigwigs across the pond.

In the second case, we have places like John and Simcoe Streets named after the city’s founder John Graves Simcoe, Cummer Avenue after Joseph Kummer of Willowdale, Leslie Street after arborist George Leslie of Leslieville, Bloor Street after brewer Joseph Bloore of Yorkville (and a seriously scary looking fellow), Denison Avenue after the George Denison the original owner of the land now known as Kensington Market (many other streets in area are named after his family as well), and Jarvis Street after the Jarvis family. Austin Terrace is named after the Austin Family who built and resided in the manor known today as Spadina House and Gardens Museum. At even a more local level, in early maps of Leslieville, we find streets that have now been redubbed, like Morley Avenue (now Woodfield), after men who were active in the community’s clay industry.

We don’t need to look any further than Old Toronto to see the last category play out. We find streets like The Esplanade. Sometimes near water, the esplanade (basically meaning road or waterway) nickname makes sense because at the time of its founding, the waterfront wasn’t as far out. Speaking of, Front Street was originally named because it followed the original coastline of Lake Ontario. Church Street one time housed many churches (leading to the Toronto ‘the Good’ moniker for the city) and at the foot of Parliament Street was Ontario’s first government buildings. River Street alludes to the adjacent Don River. Don Mills Road, which was once what we know today as Broadview Avenue (titled for the ‘broad view’ one sees of the city when passing over Riverdale Park East), refers to the early industrial mills situated on the Don River. Lot Street, a street we know today as Queen, referred to the parcels or ‘lots’ of land that ran to Bloor Street. Finally, Spruce, Elm, Oak are the names of roadways in the downtown area alone – presumably titled after the trees that lined them.

So what does this all say about us?

Our ancestors loved to pay tribute to the regime that founded the city as well as the Canadians that started the communities within the city’s confines…and that sometimes an unoriginal descriptor is perhaps the best name. This is all rightfully so. We should pay homage to our community founders and as much I support dumping the monarchy, they were instrumental in our history. And yes, it is fun and easy to be literalist.

What’s missing?

In Athens, I stayed on a street called 28 October Avenue – a date in which the Greek government said OXI in refusal to the Mussolini Fascists in 1940. Other cities employ the dates of revolutions from dictatorial or colonial rule (in the case of Latin countries, both). In other words, dates that resonate in the national and local consciousness of people. Do we have that in Canada and Toronto?

The 1st of July would be the most obvious choice. If anything most Canadians identify most with at least that day. I’d throw out a couple of other possibilities of a more local affiliation: 6 March Avenue and 27 April Street. The former reflects the day in 1834 when the Town of York was incorporated as the City of Toronto while the latter is in reference to the Battle of York in 1813 which marks the little known (and only) occasion when The Town of York was occupied by opposing American military forces.

Would these work in Toronto? Likely not. Although I sense that there is a growing connection between the population and its history, I somehow doubt most people could list off Toronto’s birthday or that a battle once took place on its land. Plus, not to discount their places in this city’s story, they do not have the “draw” that a revolution does. But it would be interesting to have anyways.

The other notable omissions are cultural icons within our streets. I can think of three: Mike Myers Drive in the Kennedy and Lawrence area, named after the famed Scarborough-born actor and comedian; Ed Mirvish Way, located beside the Royal Alexandra Theatre, is an homage to the great performing arts promoter; and the Martin Goodman Trail after the Toronto Star Editor-in-Chief. While the last of these is not a motor vehicle way, it is still a method people get around in the city and thus I have included it. I’d like to see more though. How about a Michael Snow Way? A Neil Young Boulevard? An E.J. Lennox Street? All three have made grand contributions to Toronto’s visual arts scene, music scene, and streetscapes respectively.

Lastly, I wonder about homages to the Aboriginal presence in the Toronto area. Yonge Street and Davenport Road were both originally Native trails, although their names do little to alert of that (although there is plenty of work done that tell those stories). Spadina comes from ishpadinaa meaning “be a high hill or sudden rise in the land” in Ojibwe. The High Park neighbourhood features several ‘Aboriginal’ and non-PC-named streets including Indian Trail, Indian Road Crescent, and Indian Road. The latter intersects with Algonquin Avenue, one of the Native groups of Ontario. In the Weston Road and Rogers Road area one can find Seneca and Cayuga Avenues. These are of course two tribes of the Iroquois Confederacy. The Iroquois connections continue with Hiawatha Road in Leslieville, as Hiawatha is the legendary leader who united the groups.

SenecaCayuga

I quite honestly expected a lot less representation than I discovered. This is of course only a start, however. Aside from Spadina, which is actually situated on a hill near Casa Loma, their situations within the city are questionable. Do the ‘Indian’ streets follow a historical Aboriginal trial? Cayuga, Seneca, and Hiawatha are all in historical working class, industrial areas, ironically near brick yards. I wonder if there were any reason for the selection of those names in those areas.

How do we name streets anyways?

Not surprising, the way we get our streets names goes through Toronto City Council. According to the City’s Honourific and Street Naming Policy, names should reflect the culture and heritage of the community they are located, have the support of that community, be positive, and not be made into any inappropriate nicknames or abbreviation. In terms of content, the document outlines more guidelines:

6.1.2

Streets should generally be named after people, places, events and things relatedto the City and citizens of Toronto. Proposed names should meet one of the following criteria:

1. to honour and commemorate noteworthy persons associated with the City of Toronto;

2. to commemorate local history, places, events or culture;

3. to strengthen neighbourhood identity; or

4. to recognize native wildlife, flora, fauna or natural features related to the community and the City of Toronto.

In other words, these are the same categories I have identified through my own observations while examining maps of the city. A proposal can be put forth by a councillor or members of the community at large. These proposals eventually reach a Community Council (consisting of the four former municipalities of Metro Toronto; Toronto and East York consisting of one). They might also reach City Council at large for a final say.

There are several things to note in terms of the points I raised already. First, the policy goes on to say in redubbed streets, names of living persons should be avoided. This makes my Neil Young suggestion perhaps a bit difficult, even though a commemoration of Mike Myers seemed to get through. Second, there is no explicit mention of the use of dates, but looking at section 6.1.2 (b), the argument could be made. Again, I do not think there will ever be a 6 March Boulevard. The connection to the city’s heritage does not seem to exist in that form.