A Quick History of Sayer (Chestnut) Street, Toronto

In the annals of Lost Toronto, Sayer Street is a very colourful chapter. It is an interesting case if one only starts from the fact that the name only existed for about thirty years and no longer lives on in any capacity. It gets even more intriguing when we consider that the current version of the street is about a third in length of its older self at its longest in history. Finally, it is most fascinating when we learn that its modern geography contains very few remnants of its historic character.

Beginnings

Sayer Street’s history ultimately begins in the the first half of the 19th century. John Beverley Robinson was the Attorney General of Upper Canada, and owner of approximately 50 relatively empty acres extending east from today’s University Avenue between Queen Street and College Street. In 1828, Robinson donated 6 acres on its south end for the Law Society Society of Upper Canada, a landmark we know today as Osgoode Hall.

Robinson continued to develop and sell off parcels of land north of Osgoode Hall in the 1840s. One of these developments included a street that straddled the lot line. Robinson named this street ‘Sayer Street’ — a variation of his mother’s — Esther — maiden name — Sayre. In 1842, Sayer Street ran from Queen Street to just north of today’s Dundas Street and had several buildings dotted on it. East of Osgoode Hall towards Yonge Street was Macaulay Town, a neighbourhood which came from the holdings of James Macaulay centred around todays Albert, James, Bay, and Elizabeth Streets. The new residential areas that grew out of the Robinson and Macaulay lands — including Sayer Street — came to be part the administrative district of the St. John’s Ward — which was commonly shortened to The Ward.

Life on Sayer Street

Although it is difficult to paint a full picture of life on Sayer Street, a few details emerge about its layout and landmarks. Structures were of modest constructions, usually one-storey and wooden. In 1853, 682 yards of sewer were laid under the street from Queen to Elm along with 14 culverts and “200 rods of eight-feet wide sidewalk” on Sayer’s east side to the College Avenue. In 1855, a petition from R.W. Abbott and others to the Standing Committee on Fire, Water, and Gas recommended a street lamp on the street between Queen and Albert. A year later, the Committee authorized the Gas Company to add three lamps. Some more street improvements were added in 1857 in the form of a bridge and culvert at Christopher Street (the purpose of these were unclear).

Sayer Street School was located on the northeast corner of Sayer and Albert Streets. The schoolmaster was a Samuel Coyne. There are not many details known about this school. In January 1855, its attendance was reported at 105. In May 1854, five churches, including the Primitive Methodist Congregation, applied to use the school as a part of their Sabbath observances.

The 1856 Directory provides names of residents of Sayer Street and their professions. Some repeat jobs include boot and shoe makers, watch makers, labourers, carpenters, grocers, bricklayers, and whitewashers. There were a number of widows listed as well. Some notable names are John Andrews, keeper at Asylum, Edward Stacey, city constable, Jeremiah Taylor, Methodist Minister, and Charles H. Pearce, minister of colored.

Listed at the head of the street was “Aston, John, Burton Ale Brewery”. There was an odd occurrence in March 1859 in which the mentioned tavern keeper John Aston was brought up with a charge of cruelty to animals in an apparently gambling game. There seemed to be “a machine” in which a cat and a dog were tied to it and the dog was made to chase the feline. Another dog was then made to “intercept” the cat. The cat fought off the dogs valiantly and scratched them badly. This did not seem to please Ashton and others, who then placed a dead rat with the cat “with the double expectation that the dog when he saw two of his enemies in the field would renew his assault”. This did not happen. The visiting police officer did not see any bets but noted that “heavy sums occasionally changed hands on the contest.” In his defense, Aston replied, in a very impertinent tone: “I have done it and intend to do it again. it is just for my amusement. You may fine me if you like, but if you do, I shall go home, get my dinner, and just do the same thing again.” The judge fined him $5 and advised he will have the police sharply watching him.

Related, a 1869 Globe article of Toronto’s saloons and taverns lists at least four registered establishments at 118, 135, 206, and 228 Sayer Street.

The Sayer Street Chapel & Toronto’s Early Black Community

In 1845, from land bought from John Beverley Robinson, some community members opened what would become the British Methodist Episcopal Church at 94 Sayer Street — a small wood frame place of worship that would house its congregation. It was a humble structure that would match the character of the street. The church would come to play a big role in the neighbourhood and in the history of the Black community in Toronto.

The gatherings of the community were well documented and start to tell a lively story of life on Sayer Street. In September 1858, two hundred and fifty coloured electors met in Aston’s tavern at the head of Sayer Street to elect a candidate. All but seven votes went to a Mr. Romain.

And there were, of course, happenings at the church, too. The Globe reported in 1852 of an assembly at the church — referred to as the Sayer street Chapel — on Monday August 2 for “their celebration”. The event was, of course, Emancipation Day and included prayers, speeches, and a procession through downtown with stops at Holy Trinity Church, City Hall, St. Lawrence Hall, and back again. Around the time of the 1854 Emancipation Day, prominent activist and newspaper editor Mary Ann Shad attended the church to form the Provincial Union, an alliance of community members with “the common purposes of self-help, racial uplift” and abolition. In the 1858 iteration of the event, the congregation and others marched with music to St. James Cathedral, the University for lunch, and then down Queen and Church Streets to the wharf. There was an excursion to the island and then a final soiree at St. Lawrence Hall (some also ended up at a tavern on Adelaide Street). In 1860, the procession went down Sayer Street to Queen to Bay to King to St. James Cathedral and St. Lawrence Hall. The afternoon continued at the University Park with speeches calling for the end of slavery in the United States before returning to the Sayer street Chapel and ending at St. Lawrence Hall for a soiree. This celebration of the abolition of slavery in the British empire and the denouncing of the continued existence in the United States falls with the renaming of the church to fall in line with support of Britain.

On April 19th, 1865, a crowd filled the Sayer Street Church to mourn the death of Abraham Lincoln. The Globe reported:

“The people assembled appeared much distreesed by the calamity which has caused their meeting, and as the various speakers alluded, in touching terms, to the untimely fate which had overtaken Mr. Lincoln in his efforts on behalf of their enslaved race, there was not a dry eye in the congregation.”
The Globe, April 20, 1865

The congregation and the Black residents of the street were not without unfortunate incidents. In 1854, during a Sabbath day worship, a “band of rowdies” disrupted the congregation. The Globe described it as “Disgraceful Conduct.” Fortunately, some of assailants were caught by Police. In December 1862, a “coloured man,” Washington Carey, was accused of disturbing the congregation. In 1851, a “coloured woman” was found dead in an unoccupied house. While no marks of violence were found on her, the death was mysterious. Her husband had died nine months before, and she was described as “not above reproach.” In 1856, a William Knowles appeared in court while charged with robbing Taswell Robinson, a Black man, of $55.

A Dangerous History of Sayer Street

In its history, Sayer Street had several and somewhat frequent dangerous and criminal episodes. Crimes have included trespassing, larceny, assault, robberies of houses and persons, and generally being a nuisance (such as one tale of disposing one’s litter outside their house). It is unclear if Sayer Street was any more perilous than any other street of the time, but there are notable events.

In an odd episode in February 1856, a Mr. Wiggins was robbed of £200 in the house of a Mary Anne Fawcett (sometimes spelled ‘Faucett’). The woman appears several times in the records, but on this first occasion, she is listed as employing a young man ‘Power’ and other ‘maids.’ Fawcett denied Wiggins was in her house. In September of that year, Fawcett was charged with the robbery. She had some cabmen aid her in the act. At this point, she was described as having a “house of ill fame” and Wiggins ended up in their after having a few drinks. From here, the story diverges of whether she knew he was there, if she had divided up the money with the cabmen, and even if Wiggins was even robbed at all. In the end, Fawcett was discharged. As an odd side story, while detained, Fawcett apparently overheard the escape plans of unrelated criminals. Fawcett was charged again in December 1859 for running a disorderly house; several men and two women who were in the house were arrested. The case was dismissed. Fawcett, immediately after being let go, advised that she had been assaulted by two of the men who were arrested. The group were brought to the bar again, and two of them were fined.

It was not the only brothel in the street’s history and the crime of ‘keeping a disorderly’ arose several times. In February 1863, a William Fraser was charged with running a disorderly house; others were found in the house at the time officers arrived. Later that year, Jane Mathers, a ‘dissolute character’ who kept a ‘den’ (which was possibly a disorderly house’ was arrested for being drunk and disorderly.

There were also references unfortunate references to death, such as a coloured woman Mary Ann Blinden found dead in an occupied house in 1851. She apparently was widowed with no home. She had no markings on her body and the verdict was “a rather undefined one”. In December 1859, a woman, Mary Sheppard, froze to death on the street. She was part of the Brooke’s Bush Gang. The woman had spent the day drinking and was ready to set off to one of the gang’s haunts on Stanley (Lombard) Street when “she got benumbed by the cold” and laid down on the street. She was found and brought to a police station where she breathed her last breath.

In 1870, Mary Lewis, of 112 1/2 Sayer Street, was found to have made “three very determined attempts to destroy herself.” She tried to throw herself in an used well. She was said to have “chronic suicidal mania” after three weeks ago trying to throw herself out a window. Later that year, a Black woman was stopped from throwing herself into the lake at Bay Street. She was married to Richard Lewis, a Black man, who “abused her so much lately.” She was under the influence of alcohol. The individual may have been the same woman — Mary Lewis — in both stories as the surname, suicide attempts, presence of alcohol, and lack of marital cohesion run through both tales.

The Sayer Street Outrage

In the early morning of December 13 1858, two women — Ellen Rogers and Mary Hunt — were assaulted and raped by a gang of twelve men in Rogers’ home on Sayer Street between Osgoode and Agnes Streets. Several men went to the door and demanded entry. When Rogers objected and told them she had no girls there, they burst down the door. Hunt stated that two men held her down while five violated her. The Globe stated that Hunt herself was “not of good character” and the house was of “bad repute”, but both those facts did not “lessen the crime.” Hunt was staying with Rogers, who was violated at the same time in another room. The women fought them off valiantly but the men searched the house before scattering; Rogers had also escaped. A passing officer entered the house following the events.

Four men — Robert Gregg, William Ross, Alexander Diog, and John Hellem — were charged with “committing an atrocious outrage” and subsequently held at the bar in Police Court and tried the Winter Assizes. Testimony was provided by Rogers, Hunt, the prisoners, and witnesses. Gregg was the lead man, indicted for the rape of Rogers. Mr. Eccles, representing the prisoners, argued that the womens’ reputation meant they could not be relied on and “how easy it was for women to seduce misguided young man and then turn upon them and charge them with one of the most repulsive crimes known to the law.” Mr Cameron, representing the crown, iterated there was sufficient evidence, but should the jury not believe it, the charge of assault was adequate. Gregg and the others as accessories were found not guilty; there was cheering in the room. There was an unsucceful attempt to prov breaking and entering and buglary. In being called as a witness, an angry and crying Ellen stated she did not see the point if “she was not worthy of belief”

Ellen Rogers and Mary Hunt were interesting characters. In May 1858, Rogers was charged with running a disorderly house on York Street. She seemingly later moved to Sayer Street were she ran another brothel. Only month after the trial above, a man reported a robbery at the house of Rogers; her, Hunt and other “women of bad repute” were arrested. The next year, Rogers and Hunt were charged with defrauding a man, farmer Obadiah Rogers, of $100. The complainant accompanied Hunt to the house and his pockets were rifled through during the night. Hunt pleaded guilty to theft and Rogers was found guilty of receiving. Rogers was sentenced to four months in prison and Hunt to 3 months and two weeks; the complainant received $65 back. In 1860, Rogers — listed as a woman of abandoned character – was charged with bigamy, after marrying John Irwin, while her first husband, David Rogers, was alive and in Kingston Penitentiary. The first marriage was in Kingston in November 1856 while the second in January 1860. It must be noted that it unclear if this is the same Ellen Rogers from the Sayer Street Outrage as Rogers is listed as having a companion named Irwin — but this is a George Irwin. Also, her husband a year prior to the outrage left her. Nonetheless, she is listed as not of the greatest character in both. An Ellen Rogers appears in 1861 Census as living on Parliament Street and is listed as 38 years, married, and Roman Catholic.

The Murder and Arson on Sayer Street & The Greenwood Trial

On the morning of April 15, 1863, the body of Catherine Walsh was found in her home at 156 Sayer Street. She was strangled to death. A novel, “The English Country Gentlemen” was found in the house with the name “William Greenwood.” An inquest was conducted at Mr. James Ramsay’s tavern and the man was brought in but denied his involvement. Another dead body – the child of Walsh – was found in a cupboard.

William Greenwood was 26 years old, a gardener, and worked for George Leslie’s Nurseries in modern day Leslieville. He was then employed as gardener of J.H. Cameron. Greenwood knew Walsh when she was servant and nurse for the Camerons. Walsh, 32 years old, came from Ireland to Canada about 10 years ago. Following the Camerons, she left to work for Mrs. Shanly and others on Sayer Street.

Greenwood knew Walsh and co-habited with her, but stated he did not kill her. He found her dead in her house. He moved her body to the bed and accidently knocked a candle under the bed, which started the fire.

Greenwood was found not guilty of killing Walsh but was culpable on the arson and received jail time of seven years. But in the midst of the murder proceedings, it was revealed that Green committed infanticide. This was the child of Agnes Marshall, who was working for Cameron and was intimate with Greenwood. Marshall seemed to have an illegitimate child and Greenwood help her hide it. He hid it in a water closet where it died and then wrapped it in one of Marshall’s aprons and threw it an apron.

He was sentenced to hang for it. In a twist, Greenwood ended his own life by hanging himself in his cell with a towel and cell bars.

Sayer Street Transformed

In 1870, Sayer Street was made into Chestnut Street. The reasons for the renaming is unclear, although other renamings have occurred to alter the public perception of a street. And it appears the renaming was somewhat controversial.

Someone writing to The Globe after the announcement complained of the change:

“Is it possible that the Corporation is not aware that Sayer street was so called by the late Chief Justice Robinson who wished to perpetuate a beloved mother’s maiden name in connexion with a property he owned, and many acres of which he presented to the city in the shape of the streets — reserving to himself and trifling and necessary privilege of naming them? It is not unseemly to wipe out from our city map the name of that mother who gave to Canada one of her most distinguished sons — of her who resided in Toronto from its earliest settlement and who has within it now upwards of fifty descendants?”
The Globe, April 12, 1870

Famed Toronto historians Henry Scadding and John Ross Robertson echoed this lament:

“But the modern Chestnut Street has nothing about it in the past or present associated with chestnuts of any kind. The name “Sayer” should have been respected.

It is unfortunate when persons, apparently without serious retrospective thought, have a momentary chance to make chances in local names. Chancery might well be invoked to undo in some instances what has been done, and to prohibit like inconsiderate proceedings in the future. Equity would surely say that a citizen’s private right should be sustained, so long as it worked no harm to the community; and that perplexity in the registration and description of property should not needless be created.”
Henry Scadding, Toronto of Old, 1878

“Chestnut Street was originally Sayer street, and there was no call for the change as it never had any association with chestnut trees.”
John Ross Robertson, Landmarks of Toronto, 1894

Today, nothing remains of the old Sayer Street. Its southern end was absorbed and removed by the new city hall and civic square and its northern end by the hospital district. The remaining street with its residences eventually gave way to parking lots, hotels, condos, office blocks, and new businesses.

At the current foot of the street, however, the new provincial courthouse stands over the former locale of the Sayer Street Chapel. In the excavations to the prepare for the building, artifacts were found related to the site and The Ward, including a former inscription stone to the church. On Google Maps, as of this writing, an entry appears for the British Methodist Episcopal Church on its former site.

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The ‘Commercial Slum’ That Once Stood Across Toronto City Hall

Note: This article is the first piece in a two-part series. The second article can be found here.

When Toronto’s New City Hall and Square opened in 1965, there was a problem. While Ontario’s Capital was looking to move into a new era, the commercial strip across the new civic centre did not fit into those plans for modernization.

“Redevelopment Area” or “Commercial Slum”?

In 1958, Toronto was in the midst of an international design competition to construct a new city hall and square. The winning entry had not yet been chosen, but the jury — a panel of architects and town planners — had a particular recommendation. For the new landmark to be better situated, Toronto needed to redevelop the downtown area all around the site to better complement it, including the street directly opposing the civic centre. They proposed:

“City action to replace the unworthy buildings on Queen St., between Bay and York Sts., with a continuous facade, not over 90 feet high, with an open arcade under the building for the whole length.”
The Globe and Mail, May 15, 1958

The Globe and Mail agreed with the report of the jurors, citing “it would be a disgrace to leave a stick of it standing as a backdrop to the expensive – and, we hope, beautiful – Civic Square.”

In September, Toronto Planning Board was instructed by the Board of Control to make proposals on the Queen St. frontage. The board recommended the city buy the site and then sell or lease it to a developer. The Globe and Mail also called the south side “a hodge-podge of small, old buildings in various states of repair” and the shops “remain as reminders of that former area, bearing little relation to present surroundings.” The land was divided into separately owned lots and it was estimated $7,000,000 would be needed to buy them.

On October 27, 1958, the city passed a bylaw formally calling the strip a ‘redevelopment area’ and “giving the city expropriation powers over all but one of the properties.” The Toronto Daily Star was blunter in its characterization and advocacy of the fate of Queen Street West:

“Nearly everyone agrees that our handsome new city hall – when and if it is built – should not have to tolerate a commercial slum in front of it. And Queen St. between York and Bay is a tawdry hodge-podge”
Toronto Daily Star, October 31, 1958

The Daily Star and its editorial page in particular were very aggressive in their advocacy. It quite frequently enployed the phrase ‘commercial slum’ in the 1960s when reporting about the state of the site, including a December 1962 ‘Special Report’ boldly entitled “Our New City Hall Will Face a SLUM”:

“The rising towers of the new city hall look across Queen St. W. to a shabby vista of beer parlors, pawnshops, second-hand stores, a closed-down burlesque house.”
Toronto Daily Star, December 29, 1962

Still, the conservative outlet was interestingly weary of using public power to transfer property from private hands to private hands, i.e. the government moving shops from smaller, independent owners to larger, independent developers.

Whether the Queen Street row was euphemized as a ‘redevelopment area’ or disparaged as a ‘commercial slum’, urban renewal and slum clearance were certainly in the psyches and goals of governments of all levels in Canada and the United States of America for several decades in the 20th century. For Toronto, several lower-class neighbourhoods with ‘uneconomic uses’ were identified as requiring clearance and renewal. Regent Park became the first social housing project in Canada in 1947. The southern half of The Ward itself was voted to be expropriated in 1946 for the new city hall and square project, an area centred around Elizabeth Street once known as the first Chinatown in Toronto; the dense “slum” as a whole had calls to be rebuilt going back to the 1910s.

At work was the need to also rejuvenate Toronto’s historic downtown retail districts. Historian Daniel Ross wrote the city created its “pro-development Plan for Downtown Toronto” in 1963 with Yonge Street as a central part. After World War II, the rise of the automobile and urban sprawl impacted the central core, “emptying out” of its historical commercial districts as the suburbs developed their own retail and residential nexuses. A large part of the downtown plan was the Timothy Eaton Company’s Project Viking. First conceived in 1958, it was an endeavour which would reimagine the commercial empire’s ageing downtown holdings of mainly early 20th century warehouses as a post-war shopping centre. The project would become The Eaton Centre.

The Queen Street West Strip in History

In the early 20th century, the near three hundred-metre stretch of Queen between Bay and York Streets was characterized by hotels, restaurants, second-hand goods shops, barbers, butchers, jewelers, pawnbrokers, billiard shops, grocers, and fruit shops. Located on the southern edge of The Ward, a working-class immigrant enclave in the heart of Toronto, it also had East European Jewish and East Asian owned and ran-enterprises, such as restaurants, shops, and clubs.

First, the 1920 Toronto City Directory offers an interesting snapshot of the prominence and variety of Chinese businesses and organizations on the street. In this small zone, there were six Chinese restaurants (sadly all un-named as per the style of the directories in this period) and two tea-related businesses. Two organizations were on the street: The Chinese National League and The Chinese Reform Association. There was also a gentleman’s furnishings shop and possibly a photography shop. Yet Chong Lung Co. is referenced at 117 Queen, although it is unclear what type of dealings it entailed.

105 Queen Street West was a curious address in 1926. The city directory for the year divides the building into 105 — Tighe Lee, billiards — and 105 1/2 — Chinese National League. A picture from the year shows a sign above the door possibly reading “Pool Room”. The sign above that is written in Chinese with an illegible English caption underneath, roughly translating to “Kuomintang Office” or “Republic of Taiwan Political Party”. The smaller third sign on the third floor roughly translated to “World Mirror”, an arts society set up by the Kuomintang.

*105 Queen Street West, 1926.*
*Source: City of Toronto Archives*

113 Queen Street West was an intriguing case in that at different points it hosted a Chinese restaurant, the Jewish Daily Eagle, and the Union Ticket Office. In the 1910s, the address was listed in the city directories as hosting a Louis Gurofsky, Joseph Gurofsky, and Samuel Gurofsky at differing times. They were also characterized as ‘insurance agents’. By the 1920s, it was listed as The Union Ticket Office — a steamship ticket business.

Steamship ticket agents were common professions for Jewish-Torontonians and there were several competing businesses in The Ward. The enterprises played a role in the immigration process for Jews abroad. Historian Jack Lipinsky wrote “steamship agents, as their name indicates, originally concentrated on issuing boat and train ticks, mostly to immigrants.” Agents were landsmanschaften and “remittance agents” who worked with the Jewish Immigration Aid Services to bring Jews to Toronto. Lipinski notes that some agents were “dishonest” and defrauded prospective immigrants, including a David Gurofsky. It is unclear if this is the same or related Gurofsky(s) who operated at 113 Queen Street, but the damage done to the industry by him was enormous. The director of Canada’s Immigration Branch, Frederick Charles Blair, was “permanently suspicious” of the Jewish community because of Gurofsky’s dealings, a development which would later impact fleeing European Jews in the 1930s and 1940s.

The Gurofsky office seemed to play roles in the First World War. In 1916, the steamship office was responsible for enlisting “Hebrews”. The Globe reported it expected “at least fifty men” in Toronto to sign up for the great war and that over 1,100 had already joined across Canada. In 1917, Louis Gurofsky, at the delegation of the Russian consul, was tasked with “rounding up” prominent Russian Torontonians to return to their home country at the request of the new Russian Provisional Government who were “honeycombing” for “former friends — revolutionists and socialists” who had left Russia. Finally, The Daily Star reported in July 1917, a Mischa Bedler of 113 Queen Street West, a 24-year-old Jewish inventor handed over “a very valuable discovery in wireless telegraphy” to the Canadian government and was promoted to a lieutenant and instructor in the Royal Flying Corps.

Some of the businesses were mainstays on Queen Street for much of the 20th century. Simon Simonsky (occasionally spelt ‘Simonski’), a pawnbroker, was in business since at least the 1890s, settling at 121 Queen and then 107 Queen, where he would stay for at least sixty years. Historian Ellen Scheinberg wrote the family may have been peddlers originally: wandering street salesmen pushing carts of goods. A common professional trajectory of peddlers was to raise enough capital to open a shop, which Simonsky seemed to accomplish. According to a 1954 obituary for Mrs Annie Simonsky, the Simonskys were a “family long active in Jewish communal circles in Toronto”. By 1964, with forced closure looming, the shop moved to 115 York Street.

Harry Stein, a Russian watchmaker, landed on the Queen Street strip in 1932 at a shop at 63 Queen named Henry & Co (in the city directories, it was originally listed as ‘Harry Stein, jeweler’; the business also started as a watch repair shop on Yonge Street in 1909). In 1945, the jewelry business moved to 113 Queen — the former site of Gurofsky’s steamship ticket office. It later added other products and electronics to its offerings, most notably cameras, making it the first Henry’s, as we know it today. Henry’s later resurfaced at other locations, including 119 Church Street near Queen Street East in the 1970s. Henry’s announced in 2022 it would be leaving this location and a condominium is proposed to take its place.

Palaces of Sin

Two cinemas also were huge presences on the Queen Street row. The Broadway Theatre at 75 Queen Street West was on the strip since 1919, opening as the Globe Theatre. Historian Doug Taylor wrote the theatre started playing “‘Girlie Shows’ as well as vaudeville and B-movies”. In the 1930s, it was briefly the Roxy and changed to its final name in 1937. In 1935, the manager of Broadway was found murdered in his office; the killing was never solved.

The Casino Theatre at 87 Queen Street West was an “infamous” burlesque house built in 1936, according to Taylor. He pointedly described the movie house: “Throughout the theatre history of Toronto, other than perhaps the Victory Theatre on Spadina, there is no entertainment venue that has elicited as much praise, raunchy stories, condemnation and newspaper coverage as the infamous Casino Theatre.”

The theatre had reputable architects, Kaplan and Sprachman, who were famed for many of Toronto’s beautiful art deco theatres. The owners of The Casino partnered with the owner of the neighbouring Broadway to open the venture. But a foul reputation followed the Casino itself, which “was famous for its raunchy comedians and risqué burlesque” and “decent citizens” called a “sin palace”. In 1961, the Casino was renamed ‘the Festival Theatre’ as a failed attempt to clean up its image. In the final year of its existence, the theatre was playing a Russian Film Festival, perhaps as a means to that end.

Two hotels — the bar beer parlours referenced by the Star – were (in)famous on the south side of Queen. The Municipal Hotel stood at 67 Queen Street West since at least the late 1890s. The Municipal seemed to have a rowdy reputation throughout its history with fights, arrests, and fires plaguing its life. In 1946, Toronto Police prepared a report on hotels to send to the Ontario Liquor Board and had this to say about the hotel:

“Municipal Hotel, 67 Queen St. W.:

‘The chief complaint against this hotel is thefts from drunks who are permitted to become inebriated on the premises. It is also a rendezvous for prostitutes, and a number of girls have been removed from the premises by the police. This hotel is poorly managed and there is much room for improvement.'”
The Globe and Mail, February 4, 1946

Several doors down, at 71 Queen Street West, there were several versions of a hotel at this location since the early 1900s: the Aberdeen Hotel, Lennon’s Hotel, the White’s Hotel, and finally the Union Hotel/House. The Union had a similar seedy reputation to the Municipal. The 1946 report wrote:

“Union Hotel, 71 Queen St. W.:

‘This place appears nothing more than a pickup place for prostitutes, and it is amazing to find how many girls in the downtown area will give their address as the Union Hotel. Plainclothesmen have removed many girls from the premises, and only recently they arrested two teen-agers who had stayed at this hotel three nights with different men each night. A number of girls arrested in this hotel were found to have venereal disease. Improvement by the management in regard to the conduct of this hotel is long overdue.'”
The Globe and Mail, February 4, 1946

Interestingly, The Union and Municipal played notable roles in the history of Toronto’s gay community after World War II. Of the 1950s and 1960s, historian Christine Sismondo wrote the bar rooms of both hotels became places where the gay and lesbian communities were patrons, so much that the area around Queen and Bay was known to the groups for “cruising” as “The Corners” or “Queer Street”. The Municipal in particular was “known for its cheap beer by the glass and transient clientele” in this period and “received far more surveillance” than other establishments along higher class lines. It was known to be a “rough” bar, patronized by hustlers and ex-convicts.

Given this overall history and characterization, it is easily conceivable why the Queen Street frontage held such little value for Toronto decision-makers. Fire, assault, murder, sex, and more all found homes on the street. The shops and professions themselves were of inconsequential business value, the two theatres were ‘sinful’, and the hotels were cheap establishments with questionable management and clientele. Even including the impressively designed Broadway Theatre, the built form of the street was not of any notable architectural significance. Taken together, the row was simply expendable for a city looking for “progress”.

Two Amazing Rooftop Views of Toronto’s The Ward

In the early 1900s, St. John’s Ward or familiarly just ‘The Ward’ was a dense, immigrant enclave in the central core of the City of Toronto. The neighbourhood was roughly bound by Queen Street, College Street, Yonge Street, and University Avenue, and housed some of the city’s first Black, Jewish, Chinese, Irish, and Italian colonies. Two early 20th-century rooftop photos provide interesting overhead views of the physical makeup of the district.

The first rooftop view was taken in 1920 by iconic Toronto photographer William James from the top of the Alexandra Palace Apartments, formerly located at 184 University Avenue opposite the terminus of Gerrard Street West on the edge of The Ward.

The southeasterly scene below and far beyond the Alexandra Palace Apartments is fascinating. In the foreground is a great visualization of University Avenue’s history as two separate streets. Among the recognizable landmarks are Old City Hall and the T. Eaton Co. factory complex in the background (more on this further down), the Hester How School at centre-left, the Presto-O-Lite factory and the Toronto House of Industry at centre, and the African Methodist Episcopal Church, First Baptist Church, and Maclean Publishing Co factories at centre-right. Interspersed is a dense grid of low-rise housing and other structures which ultimately came to define The Ward.

There was another photograph also taken by James from the Alexandra Apartments, this one dated to “circa 1920”. Although generally quite similar, noticeable differences exist between this and the 1920 photo, most visibly that the latter is a much broader view of the same general area of The Ward.

While the date of the zoomed-in image is approximate, it almost certainly precedes 1920. The main differences between this and the 1920 photo is the lack of the Prest-O-Lite Factory (built 1917) and the northernmost Eaton’s factories (also built 1917). The most important detail, however, is the Eaton’s Annex building, which appears under construction. The store opened in 1913, which likely dates the image to 1912 or 1913.

The Alexandra Palace Apartments (also simply called the ‘Alexandra Apartments’, ‘The Alexandra Palace’, or ‘The Palace’) was a 7-storey, luxury apartment building constructed in 1904 during Toronto’s first apartment building boom, meaning it was one of the first of its kind in the city. The architect was the prolific George W. Gouinlock, who also designed the Temple Building. Famous residents included tycoon E.P. Taylor and Ontario Hydro founder Sir Adam Beck (the old Ontario Hydro Headquarters was directly north of the apartment). It is said that residents moved into the Palace to retire.

In the 1920s, the Palace went from apartment house to apartment hotel with a dining room already in its offerings. In the 1940s, the building was slated to become a nurses’ residence for Sick Children’s Hospital. By the 1950s, the building ceased to be a residence and was heavily remodelled to be a modern office building, losing much of its original exterior features. In 1968, the Alexandra Apartments building was demolished.

Postcard of The Alexandra, Queen’s Park Avenue, Toronto, Canada’s Finest Apartment House, 1910. Source: Toronto Public Library.

Postcard views of the Alexandra Palace, 1910s. Credit: Chuckman’s Photos.

The second rooftop photograph comes from the top of an Eaton’s factory tower once located adjacent to the Church of the Holy Trinity. Like the Alexandra Apartments picture, it was taken by William James. It is dated “circa 1910.”

The view is looking northwesterly over The Ward and has several common landmarks with the 1920 Alexandra Apartments image, such as Toronto House of Industry, the Hester How School, and the Grace Church. In the foreground along Bay Street (at the time called Terauley Street) and Dundas Street (Agnes Street) are the Terauley Street Synagogue, the Lyric Yiddish Theatre, and Police Station #2 (which appears to have officers in its yard). As with The Palace image, there are also the tightly packed streets of tiny residences, many undoubtedly housing men and women who were employed by Eaton’s. Finally, the distinctive rooflines of Queen’s Park and Toronto General Hospital loom far in the distance (with the Alexandra Apartments somewhere nearby).

The Eaton’s factory itself where James captured the image was a 12-storey structure located adjacent to the Church of The Holy Trinity. It was built around 1910 in a period when the Eaton’s footprint in the area expanded from a single store at 190 Yonge Street in 1883 to encompass at least half the block between Yonge, Bay, Queen and Dundas Streets by 1920. The factory was demolished in the 1970s when other Eaton’s factories and warehouses were razed in part to make way for the Eaton Centre (The Eaton’s Annex store referenced earlier was destroyed by fire in 1977).

The Eaton’s image is dated “circa 1910”, which is likely accurate as it is very comparable to the “circa 1920, but likely 1912-3” Alexandra Apartments photo. The Prest-O-Lite factory does not appear in the image, thus 1910-1917 is a fair timeframe.

Today, if the two William James rooftop photos were recreated, they would be taken from Mount Sanai Hospital and the Bell Trinity Square office building, respectively. Ironically, the Alexandra Apartments and the Eaton’s factory were both constructed and demolished in similar periods: the 1900s to 1910s and 1960s to 1970s. The dwellings, houses of worship, and businesses of The Ward also largely disappeared by the 1950s as lands were expropriated for various projects. The district continued to change since then until the present-day, making these century-old views a far cry to today’s world.