Introducing UTSC’s Environmental Science & Chemistry Building

Originally published on Torontoist on January 29, 2016.

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At first glance, the six silvery stacks that grace the plaza outside University of Toronto Scarborough (UTSC)’s Environmental Science & Chemistry Building look like a public art project, or perhaps a salute to Daleks. Whatever these stacks resemble in the minds of attendees at today’s ribbon-cutting ceremony, they act as the exterior face of concrete shafts known as “Earth Tubes,” which play a key role in the building’s innovative, energy-efficient design.

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Exterior view of Earth Tubes.

A glass pane in the building’s east entrance summarizes how the Earth Tubes work:

The latent heat of the earth and ultraviolet light contribute to the energy efficiency of the Environmental Science and Chemistry Building. Air travels through the “Earth Tubes” two metres underground, drawing warmth from the earth in winter and transferring warmth back to the earth in summer, while the exposure to ultraviolet light sanitizes it. In winter, air enters the building already warm; in summer the tubes return warmth back into the earth, cooling the air. This process reduces demands on the ventilation system all year round.

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The Earth Tubes emerge in the basement.

The tubes emerge via a basement corridor, resembling tunnels out of a science fiction movie. They are tucked behind the main mechanical room, where other geothermal pipes run deep underneath the basement instead of being placed beside the building. The purified, temperate air is then circulated around the building, eventually being vented out via the labs. Sustainable technology like Earth Tubes is aiding UTSC’s application for LEED Gold Standard status.

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Looking down from the fifth floor.

Instead of sticking researchers in the basement or other hidden areas, the labs are located on the south side of the building, facing the Highland Creek ravine. It is hoped that glimpsing nature will spark inspiration. Plans call for the entire building to be surrounded by a more pleasing environment, with an adjacent parking lot slated to become green space and the current alignment of Military Trail beside it to become a pedestrian zone. Outside, the lab side is covered in a series of metal fins which, depending on the angle, resemble waves and will offer a cool shadow during the summer.

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Looking across the ground floor teaching labs.

The labs also offer flexibility for the needs of each project or any future development within the building. Ceilings are unfinished, while lab equipment is not permanently attached to the floor. Each floor’s suite of labs is relatively open concept, to allow for fluctuations in project head counts and to foster collaborations between research teams. First-year courses are taught on ground level, with each “classroom” able to view labs across the floor, which may come in handy if assistance is needed during emergencies (these labs went into service earlier this month). On the higher floors, signs of researchers at work are everywhere, with molecular diagrams and the occasional joke written on whiteboards and glass meeting room walls. Among the projects being worked on is a machine to scan bodies for bacteria, disease, drugs, and other objects akin to Star Trek’s tricorders.

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The backup diesel generator.

The building even boasts a penthouse—a mechanical penthouse, where the main backup emergency diesel generator is stored. Given a history of brownouts from the city’s power grid, and the potential ruin that awaits research projects if the juice is off for seconds (as was the case during the 2013 ice storm), it was critical a strong backup power source was installed onsite. Under a worst-case scenario, the diesel generator could power the building for one to three days.

Designed by Diamond Schmitt Architects and built over two years, the Environmental Science & Chemistry Building is one of the first completed portions of the current UTSC master plan. Besides reconfiguring routes across campus, will include new academic buildings which whose architecture will serve as a contrast with its original brutalist style, a parking deck, and a hotel/conference centre near the Toronto Pan Am Sports Centre.

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Opening City Hall

Originally published on Torontoist on September 8, 2015.

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The Telegram, September 14, 1965.

When the new City Hall opened on September 13, 1965, that afternoon’s Toronto Star editorial echoed many initial thoughts about our new $31 million landmark:

Suddenly today every Torontonian is ten feet high. For the new City Hall is his. He is part of its greatness and shares its beauty. There in its mass and grace is his visible assurance that he is a citizen of no mean city. The building in Nathan Phillips Square is more than an impressive and proud architectural statement of civic status. It gives the metropolis a focus. It is the heart of Toronto’s future. It is the symbol of the new Toronto and we can rejoice in what it means.

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Toronto Star, September 11, 1965.

Seven years after Viljo Revell’s design was chosen in an open competition, four years after ground had broken, the controversial structure buzzed with activity while preparing for its debut. Forty-two workmen moved furniture, including the mayor’s desk, across Bay Street via overnight dolly runs. Shelves were filled at the new library branch. Workmen scrambled to finish installing desks and rugs, catching up after an eight-week carpenters’ strike. Metro Toronto’s coat of arms for the council chamber arrived late. Officials decided that the first two floors of the podium, the council chamber, and the basement cafeteria were the only areas ready for public scrutiny.

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Cartoon by Sid Barron, Toronto Star, September 13, 1965.

A military band from Petawawa launched the festivities at 1:30 p.m., which drew a crowd of 15,000. The civic guard of honour escorted city councillors and suburban mayors and reeves from old City Hall to the platform in front of the new building. At 2:15, a 100-member honour guard drawn from five regiments marched into the square. Accompanied by the first of several RCAF flyovers, Governor-General Georges Vanier’s motorcade arrived on time. He was followed by the Finnish ambassador to Canada, Torstein Tikanvaara, Prime Minister Lester Pearson, and Ontario Premier John Robarts.

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Toronto Star, September 14, 1965.

In his opening speech, Mayor Phil Givens observed that many were responsible for new City Hall, “from an architectural genius in far-off Finland, to the humblest labourer in Canada, and, above all, the support and patience of the citizens of this city.” To Givens, the building symbolized both Toronto’s transformation into a world-class city, and the audacity to build so unconventional a structure in a city steeped in tradition.

Pearson praised City Hall’s modernity, while lamenting the likely fate of its predecessor, which “must become a sacrifice to progress” (plans released later that week for an early version of the Eaton Centre would have demolished all but the clock tower of old City Hall). He was followed by Robarts, three religious leaders, and the presentation of a ceremonial gavel by Hamilton Mayor Vic Copps.

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The living former mayors on hand for the ceremony (Allan Lamport refused to come, while Hiram McCallum was out of town on business). The Telegram, September 14, 1965.

But the man of the hour was Nathan Phillips, whose championing of the new civic square led to his name being bestowed upon it. Givens and Vanier presented him with the Civic Award of Merit gold medallion. Phillips slipped comfortably back into his “mayor of all the people” mode all day, joking with fellow dignitaries. When he examined Givens’ new office, Phillips grinned and said “I didn’t know I was building this for you, Phil.” Noticing the press later on, he assumed a serious tone to state how this was one of the most important events in his life, and how grateful he was for the honour of having served as mayor. He smiled as he switched back to his normal speaking voice. “How was that, eh?”

While Phillips was visibly moved by the reception he received, one of his predecessors was a party pooper. Allan Lamport had backed more conventional designs during his mayoralty in the early 1950s, and believed taxpayer money was wasted on the project. Having campaigned to review the project during his failed 1960 mayoral bid, his bitterness was still evident. Lamport spent the day at his insurance office. “I have to work for a living and I haven’t got the time for parties these other fellows have,” he declared. He had no desire “to cheer something that is wrong and impractical for the taxpayers.”

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Globe and Mail, September 13, 1965.

After the presentation to Phillips, Givens paid tribute to Revell, who had died less than a year earlier. Revell’s widow Maire sat in the front row next to the Finnish ambassador. The Toronto Finnish Male Choir sang “Finlandia” to honour Revell, whose work was commemorated with a plaque by the front entrance. Mrs. Revell was given a gold pendant depicting her husband’s work. Despite her stern bearing during the ceremony, she later signed souvenir programs and indicated she had enjoyed the day even if it was difficult to express her feelings about the realization of her husband’s work. She admitted in a Globe and Mail interview that initially it wasn’t one of her favourite designs. “But when I first saw the drawings for it, I knew that it was going to be for the best,” she said. “I was really shocked at the design—shocked in the sense of liking it.” One of her laments was that Revell had visualized a sculpture by Henry Moore as part of the square, an element which appeared only after a battle royale among city politicians the following year.

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Mayor Phil Givens’s office. Canadian Architect, October 1965.

Among those sitting on the green benches reserved for dignitaries was 90-year-old Alfred Stagg. He had ventured downtown that day to buy a hearing aid battery for his wife. Noticing the crowd in the square, he asked a police officer what was going on. Stagg then shared stories about his childhood adventures on the site. “We used to play on the vacant lot there,” he told the Telegram. “And there used to be circus wagons there sometimes…and snake charmers and medicine men. I had a tooth pulled out by one of them.” The officer took Stagg by the arm and walked him past the VIP barricade. Asked his opinion of the new building, Stagg replied “I used to call it Phillips’ Folly. But now I like it.”

The ceremony ended with the official ribbon cutting. Watched by Givens and Metro Toronto Chairman William Allen, Vanier used a giant pair of scissors to cut the 132 foot long ribbon. Fireworks went off.

Confusion ensued when the dignitaries went on a post-ceremony tour. Robarts was accidentally barred from the mayor’s office. The building’s circular shape led confused guests into places they didn’t expect—trips to the cafeteria turned into expeditions through the chauffeurs’ garage. Limited elevator service created long waits for overcrowded cars to reach the council chamber. Pearson and others vainly searched for a staircase, only to discover that they were closed because they also led to the freshly asphalted front podium roof (workers were afraid high heels would leave holes). The PM joined everyone else in line.

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Toronto Star, September 10, 1965.

Press reaction was positive, steeped in civic pride and confidence in Toronto’s future. That feeling carried over into the Star’s man-on-the-street interviews, such as one with civic worker Jack Boustead:

You can have memories, but you can’t live in the past. The old City Hall, and I knew it for 54 years, served its purpose. The new City Hall is a symbol of Toronto’s progress and outlook on life. The City Hall should lead in new architecture.

Not everyone was pleased. Roofer John Fridz felt it lacked dignity, charm, and a clock tower. “This new thing is cold, grey, and not worth the cost,” he observed. “If it impressed any one—it won’t be from beauty.” At least one letter writer to the Star preferring that the hoopla be directed to building the Bloor-Danforth line into Etobicoke and Scarborough, proving you can work complaints about subway service in the east into any Toronto political development of the past half-century.

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Toronto Symphony Orchestra performing in Nathan Phillips Square. November 14, 1965. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 329, Series 1569, File 2531.

Opening day ended with the first of a week-long entertainment series in Nathan Phillips Square, a salute to Canada’s military history. The next evening, around 30,000 watched a bill featuring the Canadian Opera Company, National Ballet of Canada, and the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. The latter decided not to fire cannons during the 1812 Overture out of feat of shattering hard-to-replace glass—the replacement smudge pots proved a bust. “The entire event recalled something of a civilized ritual of a bygone era, the conversazione,” noted the Globe and Mail’s Ralph Hicklin. “There was music there—beautifully presented, well amplified—for those who wanted to hear it. There was room for the others, who had come to promenade, or to chat, or do a little courting. In Toronto, where we are reputed to take out pleasures sadly, it was wonderful to see so many people having a wonderful time, in surroundings as beautiful as any you could find in North America.”

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The Telegram, September 14, 1965.

Day two also saw the building open for public tours. Over 200,000 passed during the week, their enthusiasm keeping the tour guides perky. Some cranky visitors felt it was their right as taxpayers to visit private spaces. The most popular stops were the neighbouring offices of Allen and Givens.

Politicians testing the new facilities found flaws. The Board of Control found a committee room was too small to hold other officials and the press, while the Public Works committee met in the cafeteria. A policy to use the council chamber solely for full city and Metro council meetings was revisited. When Metro Council held its first full meeting on September 21, East York Reeve True Davidson, no fan of the building, insisted councillors didn’t need mics to be heard. She was later asked to remove her hand from her mic. After the session, she claimed she didn’t like how she sounded over the sound system.

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The Telegram, September 20, 1965.

The evening celebrations carried on, including events ranging from a multicultural night to square dancing. It climaxed on September 18 with “Toronto A Go Go,” a teen-centric concert featuring local rock acts and go-go dancers. Givens taped radio ads for the show, urging “all you cats and those who are young at heart” to come on down. The crowd of 60,000 whipped itself into a frenzy, causing officials to ask for calm several times. One of Givens’ requests turned into a duet featuring the mayor and Bobby Curtola singing “When the Saints Go Marching In.” Around 200 police officers were present in case the show went off the rails.

The climax came during the performance of the soul-influenced ensemble Jon and Lee and the Checkmates. During a cover of James Brown’s “Please Please Please,” singer Jon Finley’s gyrations “moved the girls in the front rows to new heights of endeavor,” reported the Globe and Mail, “as they screamed and tried to push through the police.” Givens and other officials had enough. According to Finley, the mayor tried to grab drummer Jeff Cutler’s cymbal, but was whacked across the knuckles as the band kept going. Finley was later helped off the stage, nearly unconscious—as another entertainer told the Star, “he doesn’t sing from his heart or that…he sings from his soul and it gets him emotionally.”

Givens ordered an early start to the evening’s fireworks.

Amid the mayhem, 19-year-old Brian Batt was stabbed, the result of an encounter with other youths described as wearing Beatles-style ensembles. The wound missed Batt’s coronary artery by a millimetre. Five men were later charged over the incident.

Despite the chaos, Givens was satisfied with how the go-go unfolded. “It was a great night and I’m glad we had it,” he told the Star. “There was a great spirit of enthusiasm, although I was worried a couple of times that someone might get hurt. But the police did a great job of controlling the crowds.”

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Cartoon by Al Beaton, the Telegram, September 13, 1965.

As politicians settled in and resumed their usual squabbling, the new City Hall remained a busy tourist attraction. To this day, the site retains its place as a symbol of our civic pride, and the heart of where we’d like Toronto’s future to unfold.

Additional material from Before the Gold Rush by Nicholas Jennings (Toronto: Penguin, 1997); the September 9, 1965, September 11, 1965, September 13, 1965, September 14, 1965, September 15, 1965, September 16, 1965, September 18, 1965, September 20, 1965, and September 22, 1965 editions of the Globe and Mail; the September 4, 1965, September 13, 1965, September 14, 1965, September 16, 1965, September 20, 1965, and September 22, 1965 editions of the Toronto Star; and the September 13, 1965, September 14, 1965, and September 20, 1965 editions of the Telegram.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

The final installment of  the second run of Vintage Toronto Ads, published on Torontoist on September 9, 2015, tied into this article.

When a major landmark opens, everyone (apart from skinflints complaining about cost) wants to join the party. It’s an opportunity to mark a major addition to your city, display optimism for the future, or find any means to hitch your wagon to the hoopla. Advertising in this vein ranges from simple congratulations to using the event as a springboard to brag about your latest milestone.

The opening of new City Hall in September 1965 was no different. The following ads mix historical perspectives, media coverage, building sketches, and corporations eager to embrace the future our new civic space symbolized.

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Toronto Star, September 11, 1965.

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Toronto Star, September 8, 1965.

Bosley Real Estate’s ad highlights how the process to build City Hall went back nearly two decades, and tips its hat to previous occupants of the site.

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Toronto Star, September 11, 1965.

Shell Canada operated its head office at 505 University Avenue from 1958 until moving to Calgary in 1984. Design firm Mariani and Morris was among the contenders to build City Hall in the early 1950s.

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Globe and Mail, September 11, 1965.

The Revell-inspired sand castles resemble those built by Nathan Phillips in an editorial cartoon five years earlier.

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Globe and Mail, September 11, 1965.

John B. Parkin Associates’s Simpson Tower opened in 1968.

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Globe and Mail, September 10, 1965.

Given the firm’s work on City Hall, employees of John B. Parkin Associates earned a well-deserved day off.

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Toronto Star, September 11, 1965.

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Toronto Star, September 11, 1965.

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Toronto Star, September 11, 1965.

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Toronto Star, September 11, 1965.

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The Telegram, September 10, 1965.

The Telegram’s supplement was the largest of the newspaper sections honouring City Hall.

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Toronto Star, September 11, 1965.

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Toronto Star, September 11, 1965.

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Toronto Star, September 11, 1965.

Contemplating Aga Khan Park

Originally published on Torontoist on May 26, 2015.

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“The garden has for many centuries served as a central element in Muslim culture,” the Aga Khan, spiritual leader of the Ismali community, noted at the official opening of his namesake park yesterday. “The holy Koran itself portrays the garden as a central symbol of a spiritual ideal—a place where human creativity and divine majesty are fused, where the ingenuity of humanity and the beauty of nature are productively connected. Gardens are a place where the ephemeral meets the eternal, and where the eternal meets the hand of man.”

Serving as the linking element between the Aga Khan Museum and Ismaili Centre buildings opened in September 2014 (and nominated as one of the year’s heroes by Torontoist), the Aga Khan Park is the ninth green space the religious leader’s cultural trust has built, joining parks in cities such as Cairo and Kabul.

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Lebanese landscape architect Vladimir Djurovic based the park’s design on traditional Islamic gardens he visited in India and Spain. The result is a 6.8-hectare site dominated by black reflecting pools that mirror the surrounding buildings. More than 20 species of plants have been incorporated into the garden or line its walkways.

Even with the buzz of heavy traffic on Eglinton Avenue and the Don Valley Parkway, the site has great potential to become a setting for the introspective. Beyond offering pause while visiting the grounds, we imagine it may provide weary commuters a chance to soothe their frayed nerves.

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During his speech at the opening ceremony, the Aga Khan touched upon the importance of green space in urban environments. “Too often in recent years,” he observed, “urban architecture—under pressure from urbanizing rural populations, greater human longevity, and shrinking budgets—has neglected the importance of open spaces in a healthy city landscape. We keep crowding more buildings into dense concentrations, while short-changing the enormous impact that well-designed open spaces—green spaces—can have on the quality of urban life.” His speech also touched on the importance of making cultural connections in a diverse city, and was laced with humour about the immigrant experience for Ismalis who settled in Canada.

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Also present was Premier Kathleen Wynne, who unveiled a ceremonial plaque with the Aga Khan. “The park brings its own unique style and its own atmosphere to this beautiful corner of the city,” she noted. “This is a true 21st-century space, one that’s steeped in history but that speaks to our modern vision of a global, inclusive, and peaceful society.”

Wynne announced the signing of an agreement where the Aga Khan’s agencies will collaborate with the Ontario government in establishing educational initiatives promoting diversity, pluralism, and tolerance. Proposed programs over a three-year period include seconding up to 10 teachers to Aga Khan Academies, granting post-secondary tuition waivers to 30 students from Kenya, India, and Mozambique, and running educational policy forums.

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Guided tours of the park will commence on June 2. Upcoming events include musical performances, film screenings, and, on July 5, a Pan Am Games torch relay stop.

Scarborough Civic Centre Gets a Library

Originally published on Torontoist on May 19, 2015.

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Many things strike you at once when you approach the new Scarborough Civic Centre library branch: the angles and curves designed to complement those on the surrounding 1970s civic buildings, designed by architect Raymond Moriyama; the extensive use of Quebec spruce for the beams; the scent of freshly baked cookies drifting in from the Mondelez factory to the northwest.

The finishing touches are still being applied as the Toronto Public Library’s 100th branch prepares for its public opening Wednesday, May 20 at 10 a.m. The building continues a tradition of library service in Scarborough stretching back to the dawn of the 19th century, when pioneers David and Mary Thomson loaned fellow settlers volumes from their private library.

While Moriyama and local officials envisioned a library branch as part of the Scarborough Civic Centre from the site’s construction during the 1970s, no funding was provided. A master plan developed by pre-amalgamation Scarborough in the early 1990s included a new central library, but it wasn’t until 2009 that city councillors approved the current site at 156 Borough Drive. At the time, library planning guidelines indicated that all residents should be within 1.6 kilometres of a library branch, but the closest to the civic centre, Bendale, was nearly 4 kilometres away. Public consultations were held throughout the first half of 2010, and construction began in April 2013.

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As designed by LGA Architectural Partners, the branch is filled with natural light. Sightlines allow users to see both across the library and outside to the park across the road. A series of roof planes create a series of swooping layers supporting a green roof. Future exterior landscaping will include a reading garden under a grove of trees to the east and an open civic space to the west.

The TPL’s third Digital Innovation Hub is housed at the library, offering access to programs and 3D printing equipment similar to the labs offered at Fort York branch and the Toronto Reference Library. Future expansion of the digital technology program includes hubs at Agincourt and Fairview branches, as well the development of pop-up hubs elsewhere in the system.

For children, the KidsStop Early Literacy Centre offers a series of interactive activities housed within three towers decorated with pennies and local dried herbs.

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Anne Bailey, the director of branch libraries for the TPL, feels that having 100 branches in the system is a wonderful achievement. “It speaks to Toronto as a city of neighbourhoods,” she notes, “and it speaks to Toronto as a city of readers who are interested in learning, in being engaged in the community, in moving into the 21st century.”

Don’t expect branch number 101 to appear anytime soon, though, as the TPL is focusing on maintaining its existing infrastructure and developing digital services. Moving branches is one option to improve facilities—St. Lawrence is slated to relocate to the first Parliament site and grow into a district branch, while plans are being developed with the Parks, Forestry & Recreation and Children’s Services to create a joint-use facility near Bessarion station to replace the Bayview branch.

The Rise and Fall of Stollerys

Originally published on Torontoist on January 21, 2015. Additional archival images have been included.

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A policeman in fur busby directs traffic at Bloor and Yonge in front of Stollery’s men’s and boys clothing, with Humphrey gas arc lamps extending from the windows, circa 1922. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1034, Item 816.

There’s a good chance Frank Stollery wouldn’t have been impressed by what happened to his building this past weekend.

During his 70-plus years in the garment trade, Stollery made it a point not to cut corners. As a young foreman cutter in Montreal, he questioned management’s insistence on using inferior materials when the cloth he required for a necktie order was unavailable. That experience helped motivate Stollery to launch his own menswear business in 1901. Over time, he developed a reputation for quality work, refusing to trust the advice of salesmen and carefully examining the cut and strength of cloth with a large magnifying glass.

But the cutting of corners, or at least the exploiting of existing laws, was on display at the southwest corner of Bloor and Yonge this past Saturday. Workmen armed with crowbars chipped away at the façade of Stollerys. Art Deco stone carvings dating from a 1920s expansion vanished from the streetscape. Work was completed so hastily that little to no sidewalk protection was erected.

The building’s swift demise—which occurred one day after Mizrahi Developments received its demolition permit from the City—raises a number of issues regarding Toronto’s handling of heritage preservation.

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Toronto Star, January 23, 1919.

Even if you have doubts about the building’s historical merits, it’s hard to deny that the undertaking involved a certain amount of arrogance. As Star architecture critic Christopher Hume observed, “To send in the wrecking crews on a weekend—before the hoardings are even up—is as succinct a way as possible to give the city the middle finger.”

“We don’t feel there is any heritage value to it and neither did anyone else for the last 100 years,” developer Sam Mizrahi told the Star over the weekend. Yet Stollerys was one of the first businesses to make a name for itself in Yorkville. When Stollerys opened its doors in what was then considered a semi-suburban area, pessimists believed its proprietor would starve to death within a year. But the business prospered, as did Stollery, who was active in the local business association and served a one-year term as a city councillor. After renting the property for years, Stollery purchased the site in 1928 for $400,000 and transformed his store into the building currently fading away.

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Globe and Mail, December 16, 1963.

The store was praised by Advertising Age magazine during the 1950s for its straightforward sales pitches. “The copy doesn’t do much of a job of whetting desire, but it does an excellent job of carrying conviction,” columnist Clyde Bedell observed. “The advertising is successful because it fully, sincerely, honestly, warmly, effectively served the public in connection with what it offers.”

Frank Stollery sold the business in 1968, but continued to work there full time until his death three years later at the age of 91. The ensuing years saw renovations, a third-floor addition, family feuds, and a growing sense that time was passing the store by. While it carried high-end English labels, the presentation grew tired. “The windows look a lot like those of Honest Ed’s,” Karen von Hahn wrote in the Star in 2014, “except that Honest Ed’s sells jackets for $14.99, not two-ply cashmeres for hundreds of dollars.”

Like Honest Ed’s, Stollerys sat on prime real estate. Mizrahi, who bought the property in October 2014, is promising to build a retail and residential complex—complete with underground TTC access—that will complement the intersection’s other towers. British architect Norman Foster (whose work includes U of T’s Leslie Dan Faculty of Pharmacy, Berlin’s Reichstag, and London’s City Hall) is reportedly attached to the project, currently called “The One.”

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Stollerys, between 1966 and 1972. Photo by Ellis Wiley. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 124, File 2, Item 109.

Details about Mizrahi’s plans have yet to be divulged, and a building application has yet to be submitted. This concerns Councillor Kristyn Wong-Tam (Ward 27, Toronto Centre – Rosedale), whose ward has already witnessed heritage demolition fiascos such as the one involving 81 Wellesley Street East. Wong-Tam made a motion for the building’s heritage designation at the January 13 session of the Toronto and East York Community Council, less than a week after Mizrahi applied for a demolition permit. While residential developers must submit replacement building plans before a permit is issued, commercial developers are under no such obligation. “One hundred and ten percent, I want to see that done for commercial properties,” Wong-Tam said Monday. “We want to prevent properties from being randomly demolished across the city.”

A key issue affecting Stollerys, and sites like it, is that the City’s building department is required to grant a demolition permit if all requirements have been met. Provincial stop orders can be issued to prevent hasty action when it comes to potential heritage sites, but that hasn’t happened since 2009, when 7 Austin Terrace was saved.

The fact that the process of identifying potential heritage buildings is such a slow one concerns advocates like Catherine Nasmith, president of the Toronto branch of the Architectural Conservancy of Ontario. “It takes the city ages to put any of this stuff into place,” she told the CBC. “Once [a building] is damaged and torn down, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Nasmith also observed that developers dislike heritage designations because of the limits they place on reshaping properties. This sentiment was echoed by the City’s chief planner, Jennifer Keesmaat, who tweeted earlier this week that Mizrahi had “acted rashly” because he worried the building would indeed be deemed to have heritage value.

So what could Toronto do to avoid more hasty demolitions such as the one that took down Stollerys? In general, it needs to put in place more people (paid or volunteer), who could improve the flow of designations by identifying potential heritage sites. Building a heritage impact assessment into the demolition permit process could also have a real impact—and encourage the City and developers to arrive at constructive solutions. Adding extra time to the process might also provide more opportunities to come up with imaginative ways to readapt heritage properties or to integrate them into new structures. And if it’s ultimately determined that a building can be demolished, it’s possible that elements deemed to be of historic merit could be archived, saved for future museum display, or even given to the descendants of those who worked on its construction.

It’s probably too late to salvage pieces of Stollery’s. Of concern now is whether the site will become a lingering eyesore. If Mizrahi’s construction plans end up being delayed, he could, of course, build goodwill by allowing temporary public use of the site via a park or plaza. “All we can hope for now,” Christopher Hume concludes, “is that city hall suddenly lurches back to life and does what it can to ensure that what replaces Stollerys isn’t as tacky as its builder’s behaviour.”

Additional material from the May 1, 1951, June 18, 1954, May 14, 1957, and January 4, 1971 editions of the Globe and Mail; and the July 21, 1928, January 4, 1971, January 5, 1971, April 23, 2014, January 18, 2015, and January 19, 2015 editions of the Toronto Star.

Camp 30 Fights On

Originally published on Torontoist on May 8, 2012.

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Entryway to triple barracks, used to house 300 POWs at Camp 30.

Seventy years ago, a provincial reform school for boys on the outskirts of Bowmanville was transformed into a POW camp for captured German officers during World War II. Today, the surviving structures of Camp 30 are fighting another war, against vandals and time. Victory appears to be a possibility.

Recently, Torontoist joined a tour of the complex organized by the Architectural Conservancy of Ontario’s Next Generation group. It will likely turn out to have been the last organized tour of Camp 30 for a while, because Kaitlin Homes, the property’s owner, still doesn’t know quite what to do with the site. Discussions regarding its future are ongoing.

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Tour guide and executive director of Clarington Museums and Archives Martha Rutherford Conrad praised Kaitlin’s decision to not demolish Camp 30 while long-term preservation efforts are underway. While Kaitlin is planning to build subdivisions on the north and south ends of the property, they have agreed to set aside the core 30 acres of Canada’s last surviving German POW camp.

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Front of Jury Hall, where POWs often posed for photos.

Opened in 1925 as a provincial training school for boys on land donated by local businessman John Jury, the site was chosen to hold POWs because it was easy to convert for those purposes. Several original school buildings, especially Jury Hall, show influences of the Prairie style of architecture as practised by the likes of Frank Lloyd Wright, including flat roofs, and upper rows of windows designed to maximize natural light. When Rutherford Conrad approached American architecture experts about the buildings, they found it odd that the province chose a style that was at a low ebb when the school opened.

The front of Jury Hall was a popular spot for prisoners to pose for photographs when the Red Cross delivered their medals from Germany. Officers brought to Camp 30 were generally treated well: they were allowed to garden, produce plays, run a newspaper, and attend lectures given by visiting professors from the University of Toronto. They were even given occasional offsite access to swim in Lake Ontario or ski.

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The cafeteria, one of the main sites of the “Battle of Bowmanville.”

Despite their relative comfort, the Germans were still prisoners and made regular escape attempts, many plotted in the triple barracks building. Some POWs made half-hearted efforts to flee; there were stories of prisoners who, having performed their escape duty, went to nearby farms and asked the farmers to drive them back to the camp. Other efforts were intended to return figures like U-boat commander Otto Kretschmer to battle, but his tunneling attempts failed. A move to shackle the POWs following similar German actions after the battle of Dieppe led to the “Battle of Bowmanville” in October 1942. Prisoners took over key buildings for several days and fashioned weapons from whatever was on hand, from china to ketchup bottles. The cafeteria, the oldest structure at the camp, was the last building to fall back into Canadian hands.

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Graffiti in the Generals House/hospital.

Camp 30 was quickly turned back into a reform school after the war, which it remained until 1979. Several private schools used the site over the next 30 years until Darul Uloom, an Islamic boarding school, departed the premises in fall 2008. Afterward, Camp 30 fell prey to vandalism that has accelerated over the past two years. The walls of the general’s house/hospital are spray-painted with the Joker’s catchphrases, while the theft of vinyl siding from the cafeteria exposed its wood to the elements. A nightlight Clarington Museums hoped to preserve vanished at some point within the past year. Fires played a role in demolition of the former administration building and left marks on other structures. While high schools have frequently shown interest in visits, potential liabilities from hazards like broken glass and open manhole covers have scared them off.

As for Camp 30’s future, a request for a National Historical Designation has been filed and will be determined in July. Discussions are also underway with Parks Canada to transform the site into an urban national park like the Rouge Valley will be if all its approvals come through. Work is underway to establish a stewardship foundation that would restore and operate the site. Rutherford Conrad hopes to have that up and running within six months. She is optimistic about Camp 30’s ability to attract visitors, based on high interest when it was part of Doors Open in 2009 (1,400 people passed through the gates, with 400 more turned away) and a “Spirits of Camp 30” tour last October that included historical re-enactments. Five buildings are being recommended for preservation, while other structures, such as the natatorium (a combination swimming pool and gymnasium), are regarded as less architecturally significant or unsuited for safe reuse.

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The natatorium.

If funding was available, Rutherford Conrad said she would love to brick up the buildings to ensure their survival before more interior damage can be done. A long-term plan would be developed, and ideas beyond museum use—such as community gardens and offering the cafeteria as a reception hall and restaurant space—would be explored. Anyone interested in helping the efforts to preserve Camp 30 can contact Clarington Museums and Archives.

UPDATE

An agreement was reached between Clarington and the developers in 2016 which transferred the buildings to the municipality. As of December 2017, efforts were underway to designate the site under the Ontario Heritage Act.

Vintage Toronto Ads: Happy Life Insurance Day!

Originally published on Torontoist on April 17, 2012.

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The Globe, January 22, 1930.

Did you remember to celebrate Life Insurance Day earlier this year? Were the benefits you derived from the prudent savings of others at the top of your mind the last time you checked your safety deposit box or investment status update? Have you thanked your lucky stars and your broker that somebody else’s thriftiness has made almost everything that’s good and just in your life possible—especially those outings on the golf course? You didn’t? Shame on you!

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The Globe, April 17, 1930.

Manufacturers Life was among the businesses that opened offices in the Canada Permanent Building at 320 Bay Street throughout late 1929 and early 1930. Architectural journalist Patricia McHugh had mixed feelings about the building in her book Toronto Architecture: A City Guide (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1989):

The architect said that he wanted to avoid ‘restless outlines,’ and by combining massive bulk with delicate ornament, that is exactly what he did. The two design impulses cancel one another and the Canada Permanent Building ends up with neither power nor grace—a stout matron in too-thin ingenue’s finery. Only the deeply vaulted entrance and its bold coffered ceiling speak with any vigour, pronouncing the solidity and weightiness that “The Permanent,” by its very name, undoubtedly hoped to evoke.

The interior lobby and banking halls are another matter—rich extravaganzas of satiny marble and burnished metal in the best Art Deco manner. Don’t miss the extraordinary bronze elevator doors whereon are portrayed kneeling antique figures, one holding out a model of the company’s medievally quaint former headquarters and another a replica of this skyscraper—self-congratulatory offers to the gods of commerce.

The building is currently one of the older towers in the financial district, with CIBC Mellon as its main tenant.