Lord Simcoe’s Folly

Originally published as a Historicist column on Torontoist on August 20, 2011.

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The Telegram, May 14, 1957.

When the Lord Simcoe Hotel permanently closed its doors in October 1979, a carpenter on the crew hired to dismantle the building reflected on why it had failed after operating for just 22 years: “No one thought ahead for the future when it was built.” While its original owners prided themselves on going from sod-turning to ribbon-cutting within 17 months, they might have thought more carefully about how the business would survive in the long term. Mistakes like overpricing its luxurious eateries and not including amenities expected of modern hotels like central air, combined with increasing competition and land worth more than the building atop it, shortened the life of a hotel that promised to provide its first guests modern accommodations with old-world charm.

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Globe and Mail, September 23, 1955.

 

The inspiration to build a hotel at 150 King Street West came to future Lord Simcoe Vice-President W. Harry Weale during Mayor Nathan Phillips’ inaugural address in January 1955, when the city’s new chief executive noted that Toronto lacked the hotel space required to become competitive on the global convention circuit. A consortium of investors led by National Management was assembled and by that December Ontario Premier Leslie Frost turned the sod. The new hotel was named in honour of John Graves Simcoe, the first lieutenant governor of Upper Canada. Simcoe was never elevated to a peerage but management decided to bestow one upon him so that the hotel’s name would match those of their other lordly properties (the Lord Elgin in Ottawa and the Lord Beaverbrook in Fredericton). Simcoe was also honoured in the decision to use the colours of the Queen’s York Rangers, the military unit he commanded, as the decorating scheme for the Sentry Box lounge.

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One chef in the kitchen, one surveying the menu. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1653, Series 975, File 2439, Item 34565-1 (left), City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1653, Series 975, File 2439, Item 34565-2 (right).

 

The key entertainment space in the hotel was the Pump Room, which was inspired by both the 19th-century eatery in Bath, England, and the restaurant that the Lord Simcoe’s ownership group ran at the Ambassador Hotel in Chicago. An introductory ad boasted that “meals are prepared to meet the demanding taste of the gourmet: exotic meats, game and fish are served on flaming swords or by wagon.” Waiters were dressed in ostrich feather–topped turbans to “add to the old-world atmosphere” (other dining venues in the hotel forced staff to dress in naval costumes or other 18th century style clothing). As head porter Roy McIntosh later remembered, “All the posh weddings and bar mitzvahs were held there and I remember some weddings came down just to have their pictures taken, then leave. It was that kind of place, the best.”

20110820craneadGlobe and Mail, May 15, 1957.

When opening day arrived on May 15, 1957, half of the $10 million hotel’s 20 floors were ready for use. The press weren’t able to preview any of the Lord Simcoe’s 900 rooms, but as Telegram columnist Alex Barris noted, “It’s questionable whether any visitor is likely to get past the street floor, unless he’s just plain sleepy.” Had the media been able to check them out, they would have found rooms decorated in “three basic and interchangeable colours—gold, blue and sandalwood.” Among the in-room amenities were television sets and desks supplied by Eaton’s that included built-in radio controls. Management was upbeat about having booked every room in the hotel for the upcoming Grey Cup game in November.

But it wasn’t long before the hotel ran into financial trouble. The opening of the Westbury Hotel (now the Courtyard Marriott on Yonge Street) and a 400 room addition to the Royal York cut into business. As Star columnist Ron Haggart discovered in the spring of 1960, the Lord Simcoe had become Toronto’s most delinquent taxpayer. As of April 25 of that year, the hotel owed $424,000, which was 10 per cent of all overdue taxes the city awaited. What surprised Haggart was that unlike Toronto’s second-worst tax offender, commercial developer Principal Investments, a bailiff had not been sent after the hotel. The reason why soon became public: Mayor Phillips interceded on behalf of the Lord Simcoe’s investors to convince the city treasurer to defer the hotel’s tax bill until new financial arrangements were made. “They informed me they were arranging for new financing and merely asked the city not to embarrass them during a trying period. I did what I would do for any taxpayer,” Phillips told the Star. “I explained the situation to the city treasurer and, without loss to the city and any embarrassment to anyone, they made a satisfactory arrangement for the payment of arrears with interest.” On May 26, 1960, the city received a cheque for the entire amount owed.

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Toronto Star, January 28, 1963.

 

Once the tax troubles were cleared up, other business problems came to the fore. As losses mounted, there were many rumours about the building’s future. Conrad Hilton was said to be interested in the hotel, the site was to be converted into a hospital, and so on. Several founding members of the management team passed away. Dining and lounge facilities designed to cater to “Toronto’s palate in ultra-deluxe fashion” proved too expensive for local tastes. By the time Globe and Mail owner R. Howard Webster’s Imperial Trust gained primary control of the Lord Simcoe in 1963, three floors were available as office rentals. The swanky Pump Room became the less swanky Flaming Grill, which flamed out within two years.

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Parking lot, University Avenue, east side, at Adelaide Street West, with Lord Simcoe Hotel in the background, early 1960s. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1257, Series 1057, Item 5668.

 

By the end of the 1970s, the lack of both central air and a proper convention-sized meeting space made it difficult for the Lord Simcoe to compete with other downtown hotels. Webster and the other shareholders were ready to stop the never-ending losses and sold the property to National Trust in June 1979. The new owners immediately announced their intention to close the hotel, which saw its final guests (a group of Swedish tourists) check out on October 28, 1979. After their departure, the hotel’s assets were prepared for a liquidation sale that occurred in February 1980. Former head porter Roy McIntosh found himself back at the hotel working for demolition firm Teperman and Sons and felt sadness as the hotel disappeared one piece at a time. “I look at it now,” McIntosh told the Star, “and some guy’s ripping out something and I want to say, ‘Hey, don’t do that!’ But I’ve got to stop feeling personal about it.” Wrecker Marvin Teperman kept some mementos from the site—a red leather couch and chairs from the hotel’s lobby wound up in his office. Less sentimental was Star columnist Joey Slinger, who declared in his Leap Day column that the building was a grey architectural eyesore that couldn’t disappear fast enough. Slinger declared that “The Lord Simcoe was disposable… It was no more meant to endure than a used Styrofoam coffee cup.”

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The Lord Simcoe Hotel awaits demolition, circa 1980. Photo by Ellis Wiley. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 124, File 3, Item 74.

 

There was suspicion after the sale that National Trust stood in for another party, suspicion that was fuelled when the soil conditions were tested. It turned out a developer was assembling a valuable land parcel surrounding the Lord Simcoe for a new office tower that was ultimately filled by Sun Life. Teperman hoarding went up in 1980 and the northeast corner of King and University remained a construction site until the east tower of what is now the Sun Life Centre opened in 1984.
Additional material from the May 15, 1957, and October 29, 1979, editions of the Globe and Mail; the May 18, 1960, May 30, 1960, February 24, 1962, July 11, 1963, June 29, 1979, February 28, 1980, and February 29, 1980, editions of the Toronto Star; and the May 15, 1957, edition of the Telegram.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

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King Street West, looking west. Construction of the Lord Simcoe Hotel, is visible at northwest corner of York St & King St. W., Toronto, Ont. Photo by Ted Chirnside, 1956. Toronto Public Library, 2001-2-366.

A shot of the Lord Simcoe under construction. Note the old Globe and Mail building on the right.

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Globe and Mail, May 14, 1957.

To mark the hotel’s opening, the Globe and Mail published six pages of advertorials on May 15, 1957 highlighting the construction process, the companies involved in construction, decoration, and financing, and the artists who produced the decor. Hotel officials declared that the Lord Simcoe was “as Canadian as maple syrup.”

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Globe and Mail, May 15, 1957.

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Globe and Mail, May 15, 1957

Among the statistics noted in the Globe and Mail‘s preview:

  • Housekeeping tallied 4,664 pillows, 10,200 single bed sheets, 1,500 double bed sheets, 7,200 pillow slips, 2,650 blankets, 10,000 bath towels, and 3,000 bath mats
  • 5,000 tablecloths with the hotel crest were produced for the dining areas, which were also supplied with over 20,000 pieces of flatware and over 60,000 pieces of china
  • Artist Maxwell Moffett designed over 300 snowflakes for the a series of seven decorative panels
  • 850 bibles were handed over by the Gideon Society “in a simple but dedicated ceremony”

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“Mr. Ambassador for Metro’s Welcome a Visitor Week, Eddie James Grogan, doorman at the Lord Simcoe Hotel, is congratulated by James Auld, Ontario minister of tourism and information, who pinned a silver medal on his chest for the style he uses in making visitors feel right at home.” Photo by Jeff Goode, originally appeared in the June 16, 1970 edition of the Toronto Star. Toronto Public Library, Toronto Star Photo Archive, tspa_0127985f.

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Toronto Star, June 16, 1970.

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Photo by Boris Spremo. Toronto Star, February 28, 1980.

What stands out in several of the post-mortems of the Lord Simcoe was its shoddy construction. “The trouble with the Lord Simcoe wasn’t that you could hear the people in the next room. It was that you could hear people five rooms away,” recalled Gordon Pimm, whose father-in-law was one of the hotel’s main financial backers. When demolition began in 1980, vibrations from the wrecking equipment caused chunks of stone to fall from the building. Special overhangs were erected to prevent stone from falling onto King Street.

Trash Talk

Originally published as a “Historicist” column on Torontoist on June 27, 2009.

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Island garbage collection hand trucks, September 16, 1929. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 200, Series 372, Subseries 70, Item 315.

As the current municipal strike nears the end of its first week, garbage remains the talk of the town. As Torontonians break through the plastic wrap placed around bins and protest sites chosen as temporary trash depots, letter pages and website comment sections fill with gripes and suggestions on how to handle those responsible for ensuring our garbage is taken care of. Since the first container of local refuse was carted away, city residents have publicly aired in the press their praise and scorn for those collecting our trash.

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Horse-drawn garbage wagon, April 23, 1937. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 200, Series 372, Subseries 70, Item 518.

A letter from “Consulting Sanitary Engineer” Edwin Newsome that appeared in the April 25, 1928 edition of the Star provided suggestions on how to improve garbage pickup for residents and workers. We suspect that Mr. Newsome would burst with pride if he saw how some of his ideas came to fruition:

Our collection of garbage is about as filthy a method as could be humanly conceived. The filthy fluids, rotten vegetable matter, dirty paper is seen along our streets after the garbage man has been round is simply disgusting, as well as being the very reverse to healthful. A householder puts out cans of garbage well wrapped up. Cans with covers on. Dogs come round, upset the cans, and the garbage man does the best he can to clean up. But he has too much ground to cover. The wagons or carts used are a joke. They are no more fit for the purpose than is a kiddy’s car with a perforated bottom in it…What we in Toronto need is first a new garbage collection system including incineration, reclamation and by-production plants. We need standard garbage cans, these to be made by the city and delivered in numbers necessary to each householder’s requirement, each householder being charged the cost of cans left in the first place…I consider [garbage men] nothing less than public benefactors. It makes me ill when I think of those fellows lifting all kinds of receptacles up over shoulder height and dumping the filthy garbage into carts. What about a few ratepayers getting busy and starting something, not always leaving everything to our city fathers.

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CNE garbage collection, c. 1951. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 200, Series 372, Subseries 100, Item 563.

From the April 27, 1950 edition of the Star, praise for those hauling the loads away from the east end of the city:

Sir: After reading complaints about garbage men I would just like to give the men who pick up the garbage on Condor Ave. a well-merited word of praise. They are always pleasant and as I had occasion to put out the usual winter accumulation of cellar junk today I would just like to say I found all of it collected and my cans left neatly covered. I think perhaps if we take a little time to give credit when deserved the men might feel their efforts a little more worthwhile. HOUSEWIFE

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Garbage collection, 1945. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1257, Series 1057, Item 1359.

Any bets as to how many angry comments, shows of support or unfinished rants due to a rage-fuelled heart attack would be spurred nowadays by this letter from the December 17, 1954 “Voice of the People” page of the Star?

Sir: I hope you can find space to print this complaint and I am sure all garbage men will agree with me. To the public we are only classed as garbage men. But if it weren’t for us, what condition would our municipality get into? What would it look like? How many men are there that will handle garbage and work outside in every kind of weather—snow, slush, mud, wind, rain and all that goes with it. And what thanks do we get for it? We have to climb stairs and fight our way into the middle of lawns through snowbanks to get the garbage cans. Yet who is forgotten at Christmas? The garbage man, of course, the man that walks all day. If people would only realize that the garbage man is very important, then they would make things easier for us to work with. GARBAGE MAN

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Garbage cans, circa 1958. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 200, Series 72, Subseries 100, Item 705 (left), Item 704 (right).

“Garbage Man” provoked one response with a slight tinge of jealousy from a writer who also identified themself solely by their occupation, which was published on Christmas Eve:

Sir: I am answering the letter of Garbage Man, He complains of working in all kinds of weather and that his is a thankless job. Yet he works only 40 hours a week and is well paid for it. Just think of the poor gasoline service station attendant who works a lot more than 40 hours a week in mud, slush, rain and snow, and is not as well paid for it. His gratuities are less than those of garbage men. Well-to-do customers, and garbage men too, come in for $2 worth of gas and they want their oil, battery, radiator and tires checked free. On top of that they want their windshields wiped off. I don’t think the garbage man is so badly off. ATTENDANT

Further responses from the likes of short-order cooks, parking-lot cashiers, grocery baggers, and bowling-alley pin boys failed to materialize.

UPDATE

The strike ended on July 27. Leaving a deep well of resentment among the public, its impact would have made it difficult for David Miller to be re-elected had he not dropped out of the 2010 mayoral race. In 2011, garbage collection west of Yonge Street was contracted out to GFL. Talk of privatizing the remainder of the city’s pickups has been a recurring topic over the past decade.

That Sophomore Season

Originally posted as a Historicist column on Torontoist on June 14, 2008. Due to the low quality of images that were used in the original post, as well as relevant material I’ve gathered over the past decade, new ones have been substituted.

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’78 Toronto Blue Jays Scorebook Magazine, Volume 2, Number 4.

Stories about the early days of the Toronto Blue Jays tend to focus on their debut in 1977, highlighted by a snowy opening day. Despite a mixture of cast-offs, free agents, and untested rookies that landed the team in the basement, the Jays quickly generated a fan base and set an expansion record of 1.7 million attendees at Exhibition Stadium. The Toronto Star‘s Jim Proudfoot summed up their maiden voyage:

Nothing was allowed to spoil the blissful excitement of Toronto’s first season in the American League. Criticizing our beloved Blue Jays simply wasn’t permitted. Their laughable blunders and glaring deficiencies were forgiven as cute idiosyncracies, inevitable and easy to accept with an expansion team in its infancy. This was a genuine romance; those in love perceived no flaws in the object of their adoration. A first baseman would drop a routine toss from shortstop and the spectators would chuckle indulgently. They bought the Jays’ message totally, even after it began to sound like a cracked record: you can’t expect too much from us, so be patient.

But what about the Jays’ second act?

None of the local papers predicted great things for the Jays in 1978 as all of the papers envisioned another last place finish. Ken Becker of The Toronto Sun felt that “the bottom half of their batting order still looks anemic.” Allen Abel of The Globe and Mail was the most succinct: “Sigh.”

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More shots from spring training. ’78 Toronto Blue Jays Scorebook Magazine, Volume 2, Number 4.

Over the course of spring training, the team added home run power with the acquisition of designated hitter Rico Carty from the Cleveland Indians and first baseman John Mayberry from the Kansas City Royals. Another addition was a $2.5 million scoreboard, the most expensive to date in baseball. Requiring a crew of six to operate it, the 23-foot by 38-foot board was able to produce 16 shades of colour and display photos generated from 35mm slides and 16mm film. The cost was covered through 15-second ads, with the initial clients including Pepsi, Benson and Hedges, Hiram Walker and team investor Labatt’s Brewery.

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Don’t even think of drinking a stubby at the old ball game. ’78 Toronto Blue Jays Scorebook Magazine, Volume 2, Number 4.

The scoreboard was the only place fans could legally gaze at alcohol during games, as the team waged a battle with the provincial government over selling beer in the stadium. Tracking the issue over the season revealed much hesitancy from Queen’s Park, especially from Minister of Consumer and Commercial Affairs Larry Grossman, who was personally opposed to the matter and worried about the bad behaviour of rowdy fans. Hearings were held in April after a concessionaire proposed setting up a segregated area to serve alcohol. Opponents ranged from temperance groups to cab drivers, the latter worried about running into drunk drivers roaming the streets of Parkdale. The Star noted the testimony of cabbie Bill Zock, who felt that “Parkdale in general already has a drinking problem…there is an overabundance of licensed drinking establishments and an overabundance of people with chronic drinking problems.” A cabinet shuffle in October saw Frank Drea take over Grossman’s portfolio, with a firm vow that beer would never be sold at games. Not until July 1982 did Premier Bill Davis step in and allow beer sales, though Grossman (by then Minister of Health) still frettied about other fans vomiting on his children.

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’78 Toronto Blue Jays Scorebook Magazine, Volume 2, Number 4.

On the other hand, potentially tipsy fans (or the large number that smuggled in their liquid requirement) could have relied on public transit to head home. When ridership numbers from opening day were released, TTC Commissioner Michael Warren was proud that the target of 50% of fans arriving at the ballpark via TTC or GO was reached. A plan was devised for certain high attendance games so that 83 extra vehicles would be placed in service for fans, while police rerouted traffic in the vicinity of Exhibition Place, forbidding left turns off major routes like Bathurst Street.

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Toronto Star, April 10, 1978.

The season opener in Detroit was delayed by rain. This might have been an omen as the Jays lost to the Tigers, the first of 102 defeats. Starter Dave Lemanczyk, predicted to be the staff ace, lost his first seven decisions and wound up with a 4-14 record. The home opener was a happier affair, a 10-8 victory over Detroit on April 14. No snow was sighted in the stands.

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Pierre and Sacha Trudeau visit the umpires and (Blue Jays coach Bobby Doerr?), April 22, 1978. Photo by Dick Loek. Toronto Star Photo Archive, Toronto Public Library, tspa_0085644f.

Despite the team’s poor on-field performance, most of the booing from the stands was directed at political figures and anthem singers. When Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau, accompanied by his sons, threw the first pitch on April 22, he was greeted with jeers, perhaps an early sign the next federal election campaign would not go his way. Exactly a month later, singer Ruth Ann Wallace was loudly booed when she sang a bilingual rendition of “O Canada” two days in a row. The incident provoked much handwringing among editorial writers and politicians. Visiting Toronto the day after, Quebec Premier Rene Levesque said “I honestly think it’s too bad, but you have people on both sides you know that more or less represent the two solitudes.” Asked if he considered the booing crowd bigots, Levesque said “yeah, that would be a good word for it.” Trudeau feared the incident played into the hands of separatists, indicating that “this is a sad commentary but there’s nothing more I can do about it than to help people slowly attune their ears to the reality of two languages in Canada and two main linguistic groups.”

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’78 Toronto Blue Jays Scorebook Magazine, Volume 2, Number 4.

The year’s most controversial trade occurred on August 15 when fan-favourite Carty, who led the team in most offensive categories, was traded to the Oakland A’s for designated hitter Willie Horton and pitcher Phil Huffman. Horton had a short, star-crossed stay in Toronto, hitting .205 over the remainder of the season. One reason for his low productivity was an incident on September 4 when Horton, his wife and two children were charged with causing a public disturbance after a fight broke out with three bystanders in the stadium parking who, according to an interview with Horton in The Globe and Mail, “gave them dirty looks.” During the melee Horton was knocked out by riding crop of a police officer on horseback. The trade was effectively nullified in the off-season when Carty rejoined the Blue Jays, while Horton signed as a free agent with the Seattle Mariners.

(Carty was also the first native of the Dominican Republic city of San Pedro de Macoris to play for the Blue Jays, paving the way for the likes of George Bell and Tony Fernandez.)

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’78 Toronto Blue Jays Scorebook Magazine, Volume 2, Number 4.

The Horton incident one of many things that went wrong for the team during the final month of the season. Globe and Mail reporter Neil Campbell saw his press credentials revoked after he picked up sensitive team documents accidentally left in the press box by club president Peter Bavasi. A draw for a free car on September 22 ended with two cars being handed out to fans after the initial winning ticket holder showed up just as the holder of a second drawn ticket made their way to the field (the first ticket holder was walking out of the stadium when the draw was announced). The team tried to palm off free tickets as compensation to the second winner, but the threat of a lawsuit suddenly made a second car appear.

The team ended the season with an eight-game losing streak. These matches, all against the Boston Red Sox or New York Yankees, played a key role in shaping one of the most dramatic pennant races in baseball history and one of the most vivid examples of the “curse of the Bambino” that plagued the Red Sox for most of the 20th century (the Red Sox led the Yankees by 14-1/2 games in July, ended the season tied and lost in a special one-game playoff thanks to a home run by Yankee Bucky Dent.

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“Jim Clancy says he used the best slider he ever had to handcuff the Chicago White Sox as Blue Jays won 4-2 before 44,327 fans and Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau at Exhibition Stadium,” April 22, 1978. Photo by Dick Loek. Toronto Star Photo Archives, Toronto Public Library, tspa_0038299f. Originally published in the April 23, 1978 edition of the Toronto Star.

There were signs of optimism for the future. The team had won five more games than in 1977 (59 versus 54). Players who would take part in the team’s first championship drive in 1985 debuted in the low minors—the amateur draft netted Lloyd Moseby and Dave Stieb. Fans would sit through four more losing seasons before general manager Pat Gillick’s assembly skills paid dividends and the team’s early blunders were remembered with a certain charm.

More Power To Your East End Food Dollar

Originally published as a “Historicist” column on Torontoist on November 29, 2008.

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Power Supermarket, 1953. City of Toronto Archives, fonds 1257, series 1057, item 496.

November 12, 1953: shoppers descended on Danforth Avenue a few doors west of Woodbine to await the grand opening of the eighth store in the budget-conscious Power supermarket chain. Care to join the crowd and check out the offers in aisle three?

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Advertisement, Toronto Star, November 11, 1953.

The Power chain’s origins dated to 1904, when Samuel and Sarah Weinstein opened a grocery store named after themselves near present-day Bay and Dundas. The family’s first store under the low-cost Power banner opened at Coxwell and Danforth in 1933 with the slogan “Why Pay for Fixtures?” The same year that 2055 Danforth Avenue opened, Power was purchased by Loblaw Groceterias but maintained a distinct identity and independent marketing policies. Samuel and Sarah’s son Leon ran the company by this point and eventually served as president of Loblaws from 1968 to 1970.

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Power Supermarket, 1953. City of Toronto Archives, fonds 1257, series 1057, item 498.

The grand opening ad was posted by the front door. Staff and dignitaries were photographed as they pondered how to cut the ribbon before letting shoppers in. Scissors? Knife? A quick chop with the flower bouquet?

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Power Supermarket, 1953. City of Toronto Archives, fonds 1257, series 1057, item 499.

These bag boys were primed to start packing away purchases. Current city officials would be proud of the paper bags on display.

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Power Supermarket, 1953. City of Toronto Archives, fonds 1257, series 1057, item 500.

The Power name faded away during reorganizations of Loblaws store banners in the 1970s. The company still operates at least two of the locations listed in the grand opening ad as No Frills stores (Parliament Street and Eglinton Avenue West), while the Sunnybrook Plaza store now operates as a Pharma Plus. As for 2055 Danforth…

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…it sits vacant, surrounded by a fence bearing “no trespassing” signs.

Additional material from the June 18, 1968 edition of the Globe and Mail.

UPDATE

The site was eventually filled in and, as of winter 2019, is occupied at street level by a Firkin pub.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

star 1960-11-25 sam weinstein profile Toronto Star, November 25, 1960.

A profile of the Weinstein family. The date given for the launch of Loblaws is a little off – it was 1919, not 1921.

Beyond the grocery business, Leon Weinstein was urged to run for the Liberals as a Toronto mayoral candidate in 1969, as I recounted in this excerpt from a Historicist column on that campaign:

The Liberals were eager to enter the municipal ring, figuring that their dominance of the city’s federal seats could translate into votes at City Hall. The party’s efforts at securing a potential mayoral candidate were headed by Davey, who spent most of the year (unsuccessfully) on the prowl. Longstanding councillors with ties to the party resisted and vowed to remain independent candidates to earn as many votes as possible—as former controller and mayor Allan Lamport put it, “why should I put on a party label and alienate the other fellows?” Splits among federal and provincial party officials about the wisdom of entering municipal politics did not help the process. The process of choosing a mayoral candidate turned the party’s convention at St. Lawrence Hall on September 23 into a fiasco. Early in the evening, three people were nominated, including a thirty-one year-old political scientist named Stephen Clarkson. Among those in the crowd was Loblaws Groceterias president Leon Weinstein, who was whisked away into a separate room and urged to run. Through a series of misunderstandings, Weinstein agreed on the condition that he would be the only candidate to be nominated, which wasn’t the case. After much confusion, during which Weinstein’s was submitted for the ballot minutes before nominations closed and Davey attempted to convince Clarkson to drop out, Weinstein took the podium. He announced that he wasn’t interested in the job then left the room, reportedly in tears—Globe and Mail reporter Michael Enright summed up Weinstein’s night as “a walking study in political innocence.” Clarkson fell short of a majority by two votes on the first ballot, but his remaining challengers decided to throw in the towel and back him. Clarkson’s victory drew a tepid reaction and many of the attendees felt disillusioned with party brass.

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Globe and Mail, December 9, 1966, Click on image for larger version.

Can you find where Power fit in the giant flow chart of companies partly or fully by Loblaws and the Weston family in the mid-1960s?

Santa Claus is Coming to Town

Originally published as a “Historicist” column on Torontoist on November 15, 2008.

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Santa Claus Float, Eaton’s Santa Claus Parade, Toronto, 1930. Archives of Ontario Reference Code: F 229-308-0-814

From its beginnings as a short trek from Union Station sponsored by Eaton’s department store, the Santa Claus Parade has grown into a tradition for the five hundred thousand spectators on the route each year.

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Eaton’s Santa Claus Parade, 1918, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Wikimedia Commons.

The first parade was held on December 2, 1905, when Santa arrived from the North Pole at Union Station via train and was greeted by Timothy Eaton. Santa hopped into a horse-drawn truck and rode up to Eaton’s Queen Street store, tossing out candy, toys, and other gifts from his sack to children lined up along the way. For most of the parade’s first decade, Santa ended his journey at Massey Hall, where a court was built to hold youngsters eager to give their gift requests. Towards the end of World War I his destination moved to the store, though as Patricia Phenix described in her book Eatonians, his grand entrance at the end of the parade was not always so smooth:

Any employee who assumed the role of Santa had to face the daunting task of hoisting his padded belly up a fire ladder from the float to the store’s second floor Eaton’s Toyland window, located above Albert Street. More often than not, as “Santa” stumbled, frequently cursing, through the window he was resuscitated by swigs of “Seagram’s medicine,” provided by sympathetic store managers.

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Eaton’s advertisement, Toronto Star, November 14, 1930.

Several of the floats mentioned in this ad touting the 1930 parade would not pass muster today. This was also one of the first parades to feature licensed characters, including tributes to radio shows (Amos ‘n’ Andy) and comic strips (Toonerville Trolley).

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Mary Quite Contrary Float, Eaton’s Santa Claus Parade, Toronto, 1930. Archives of Ontario Reference Code: F 229-308-0-814.

Fairy tale characters were the usual focus of the floats, such as this one based on “Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary.” Floats and costumes were made in-house by Eaton’s, providing steady work year-round for carpenters and seamstresses. When company president Fredrik Eaton withdrew the store’s sponsorship in 1982 (citing reasons such as the recession and criticism from city officials on the parade’s timing), six full-time craftsmen were laid off after having completed eighty percent of the work on that year’s floats. The stunned workers, some of whom had worked on the parade for over thirty years, locked themselves in the workroom. One lamented to the a Star reporter on the other side of the door that “it would have been a beautiful parade.” He received his wish in December when the parade carried on, thanks to a non-profit group quickly organized by local business leaders and civic officials. At a press conference that announced the parade’s rescue, McDonald’s of Canada president George Cohon declared that, despite the view of the Eaton family, Santa Claus “is recession-proof.”

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The Globe and Mail, November 14, 1969.

Those playing Santa over the years have required varying levels of stamina depending on the parade route. The longest treks occurred between 1910 and 1912, when the parade was a two-day affair that headed downtown from Newmarket, with an overnight stop at York Mills. We suspect that Santa required a lot of “Seagram’s medicine” to survive the cold of those journeys. Yonge and Eglinton was the starting point for several years before the company settled on the Dupont and Dovercourt area, as seen in the 1969 route map above.

Additional material from the August 11, 1982 and August 20, 1982 editions of the Toronto Star.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

tl 1975-11 eatons santa claus parade

Toronto Life, November 1975.

For a couple of years, I handled Torontoist’s coverage of press day for the Santa Claus Parade. Here’s my story about the 2011 parade, originally published on November 3, 2011 – follow this link for images.

For drivers heading onto the Highway 400 ramp from the eastbound collector lanes of Highway 401, the warehouse on the right doesn’t stand out. Just another non-descript suburban light industrial building, one of the dozens that line the highways.

Except, this one serves as the secret headquarters of a jolly old elf.

Pass through the main doors into the warehouse and you’ve entered a space few children or adults would resist running around—past the racks of animal costumes and clown suits, below walls lined with blank stares from moulded masks, around shelves of white mini-cars, and right over to the nearly 30 floats waiting to dazzle spectators along the streets of downtown Toronto.

Amid tuxedoed candy mascots riding waves of a caramel ocean, and classic cartoon characters awaiting their final touch up, the organizers of the Santa Claus Parade announced their plans for the 107th edition of the holiday tradition at a press conference yesterday.

The biggest change spectators will notice on November 20 is a new route. While the parade will depart at 12:30 p.m. from its usual starting point at Christie Pits and head east along Bloor Street, Santa won’t be greeting youngsters along Yonge Street. Instead, the parade will turn right at the ROM and proceed south on University Avenue to Wellington Street, then make a left and continue to St. Lawrence Market. Organizers feel that University’s width will accommodate more spectators than the limited space on other downtown routes. Santa Claus himself has endorsed the new route, noting that “you don’t get as much wind coming down the tunnels of the other streets.”

Santa was also proud to introduce a permanent addition to the parade: his wife. For the first time in the event’s history, Mrs. Claus is headlining her own float, which will immediately precede her husband’s. After years of staying home to watch the parade on television with the elves, she feels it’s time to observe the festivities first-hand. Her float will be a replica of the rustic Claus manor.

Mrs. Claus discussed one of the festival’s tie-in activities, a downloadable colouring book that teaches kids about volunteerism. The book can be construed as a recruitment guide for future parade volunteers, which would please its officials. As co-chair Ron Barbaro described the costumed children on hand at the press conference, “this is probably the first time they’ve volunteered for anything. They’re going to be in the parade. They’re going to wave at people and they will get instant payback.” Barbaro hoped that as a result of their participation, “the children will go on to be sitting out there as sponsors and volunteers for everything in their community.”

Children who aren’t officially walking in the parade will see if Santa catches a glimpse of them as he rides by thanks to a “Santa Cam” attached to his float. The camera will snap still photos along the route, which will posted online for anyone to download and, as parade officials suggested, stick on their fridge. (We hope that any kids who go to the parade and fail to be photographed won’t be teased for being ignored by Santa.) Some children in the pictures will sport red noses sponsored by the Emery Village BIA that will be sold along the route to benefit the parade and the Air Cadets; kids wearing the noses will ride free on the TTC parade day.

Meanwhile, the assemblies of paint, Styrofoam, and wood will be given their final inspections over the next three weeks before they leave the warehouse and fulfill their annual role of kicking off Toronto’s holiday season.

tely 1926-11-20 santa claus parade main picture

Evening Telegram, November 20, 1926.

And here’s the following year’s story, originally published on November 5, 2012.

During a drive along the 401 to the Toronto branch of Santa’s Workshop on Friday, there was a sign that Santa Claus was bringing a touch of the holiday season with him for his preview of the 108th Toronto Santa Claus Parade: gentle snow flurries skated across our windshield.

At the workshop, Santa appeared fit and trim amid the floats-in-progress, presumably because of a strict diet and exercise regimen developed by Mrs. Claus and the elves. This should ensure an energetic appearance when he rides his float through downtown streets on November 18. His route, which parade president Peter Beresford described as “six and a half kilometres of smiles and fun,” will be the same as last year. The procession will begin at 12:30 p.m. at Christie Pits, then head east on Bloor Street, south on Queen’s Park/University Avenue, east on Wellington Street, and wrap up at St. Lawrence Market.

This year marks the 30th anniversary of the Santa Claus Parade’s existential crisis, in 1982. Then, the event was rescued by the downtown business community after its original organizer, Eaton’s department store, decided it was too costly to fund during a recession. Several speakers mentioned this during the preview. They praised all of the donors and volunteers who have kept this seasonal tradition alive.

The parade coincides with the start of the week-long festivities for the 100th edition of the Grey Cup. The game will be saluted with a float carrying a 14-foot replica of the cup, as well as a real-life Toronto Argonauts executive, Pinball Clemons.

Several blasts from the past will evoke nostalgic memories for parade veterans. McDonald’s is sponsoring a replica of a “Farmer in the Dell” float, which appeared in the 1951 procession. It’s intended to be the first in an annual series of throwback floats. The parade website offers a downloadable reprint of a 1952 Eaton’s colouring book, which introduces a new generation of kids to Punkinhead, the defunct department store’s one-time holiday mascot.

The website also offers a downloadable app, which will transform iPhones into jingle bells for onlookers to shake as the procession rolls by. Kids can enter an online draw for four seats on Mrs. Claus’s float. Also, three days after the parade, crowd photos taken from a “SantaCam” affixed to Santa’s float will be available for viewing—and for use in embarrassing anyone caught mugging for the camera.

Red noses are currently available at 30 Canadian Tire locations in the GTA for two dollars apiece. Proceeds will be split between Canadian Tire Jumpstart, which funds recreational sports for low-income children, and the parade. For a donation of $100 to the parade, the organizers will put a child’s name on a banner attached to the 12 Days of Christmas float. Organizers are also aiming to raise $150,000 in toy donations for remote Northern communities, part of the parade’s Toys for the North program.

tely 1926-11-20 santa claus parade look there's santy

Evening Telegram, November 20, 1926.

For some vintage coverage of the parade, here’s the Telegram’s account of the 1926 edition.

tely 1926-11-20 santa claus parade story

Evening Telegram, November 20, 1926.

Toronto’s Holiday Misdemeanours of 1909

Originally published as a “Historicist” column on Torontoist on December 26, 2009. The original artwork has been replaced with public domain illustrations from late 19th century books found at Old Book Illustrations.

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“Stealing.” Illustration by Louis Rhead. The life and death of Mr. Badman by John Bunyan (New York: R.H. Russell, 1900). Old Book Illustrations.

Crime knows no vacation. While many of us look to the holiday season for peace and good cheer, others find themselves on the wrong side of the law. For as long as inebriates have been hauled in for disturbing the peace or thieves have secured deeper-than-advertised discounts on Boxing Day specials, the police blotter has rarely rested during the closing weeks of the year. While the most sensational crimes garner headlines today, a century ago most of Toronto’s six battling daily newspapers published lengthy accounts of court proceedings no matter how small or unusual the charge. Fined a dollar for failing to secure your horse? Clumsy cab driving? Swearing in public? All of these misdemeanours earned you fifteen seconds of press infamy in 1909.

But we’re not interested in petty offenders. Give us illegal partridges, turkey liberationists, and cannibalistic ruffians.

A partridge in a pear tree—the ideal gift from your true love during the holiday season? Maybe, but anyone who intended to provide his or her sweetie with a full complement of gifts from “The Twelve Days of Christmas” in 1909 required black market birds. Clothing merchant Abraham Hadis learned all he ever wanted to know about partridge regulations when he was hauled into court for possessing the birds outside of their proper season. Trouble began when a provincial inspector caught his son with two cases containing sixty-four partridges, which father and son claimed were brought to their store at 155 Queen Street West by “a man from the country” who hoped to earn a commission on any sales. Hadis was brought up on twenty charges of violating game laws and made no attempt to evade responsibility. When lawyer J.W. Curry approached the bench and entered a guilty plea, the judge replied, “Well, I can’t do anything else than fine you on each charge; it will be ten dollars and costs, or five days in jail on each case.” Curry commented, “That’s a lot of time for a few partridges,” to which the judge replied, “Yes, but I still can’t help it.” Curry felt his client would rather go to jail than pay the fine, as “it seems like a case of the wealthy against the poor; this man is not well fixed.”

Hadis’ real problem may have been possessing too many birds. Overindulgence is a common side effect of the holidays, whether it’s downing one glass of booze-enriched eggnog too many or a sudden attack of gluttony at the dinner table. The Star guessed that the latter may have resulted in an embarrassing end to one Toronto resident’s Christmas:

A Christie Street citizen, whose name the police refuse to disclose, ate too much turkey and pudding on Christmas Day, and for half an hour after midnight he was found, clad only in his nightie, running along Van Horn Street [now Dupont Street], shouting for Shrubb to come and race him.

He was in a dream or trance or something of that sort, and ran all the way from Christie Street along Van Horn to Dovercourt Road before his cries attracted the attention of Acting Detective Mahony. The officer at first thought he was crazy, but when the man was wakened he seemed rational enough and thoroughly ashamed of himself.

Mahony helped him to secure some much needed clothing and then the citizen went home. He’ll dine more wisely next Christmas.

A far more painful walk was endured by milkman Albert Atwell, who fell into a hole in the front yard of William Cooper at 15 Avenue Road and cracked three ribs after landing on an iron pipe at the bottom of the pit. Atwell sued Cooper for sixty dollars and made his case at what proved to be a brief court hearing on December 23. Both the Star and the Telegram provided the play-by-play as Atwell and Judge Morson took centre stage:

Judge: Did you walk on the lawn?
Atwell: Yes.
Judge: Was there a sidewalk?
Atwell: Yes, your honour.
Judge (after brief conversation with Atwell’s lawyer): Non-suit, without costs.

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Drawing of a wild turkey by an unknown artist. Bilder-atlas zur Wissenschaftlich-populären Naturgeschichte der Vögel in ihren sämmtlichen Hauptformen by Leopold Joseph Franz Johann Fitzinger (Vienna: K.K. Hof- und Staatsdruckerei, 1864). Old Book Illustrations.

Not every case was dismissed so easily. Shoplifting a turkey might not merit more than a sentence or two in a modern newspaper, but back in 1909 such a crime allowed the imagination of the News’ court reporter to run wild. It wasn’t just a theft—it was an act of animal liberation:

Turkee Gobler, poor old chap, was condemned to hang on December 24, the place of execution being W.J. Nichol’s store at 252 Queen Street East. His heart burning with pity, Robert Bastine, of 108 Oak Street, swore to affect a rescue. As the shades of sunset crept over the street, he emerged from his hiding place, and while the careless crowd passed the scene of execution, stealthily advanced to the rescue. With a fell swoop he cut the halter and as Gobler came to earth, deftly caught him in his arms and bore him off. But the doughty knight lived not happily ever afterward, for the law cast him into a dungeon, and charged him with theft.

This act of holiday terrorism earned Bastine three days in the slammer.

While eating poor Mr. Gobler is an accepted holiday dining tradition, sampling a savoury bite of a neighbourhood cop is not. As a Star headline proclaimed on December 23, “Martin Donaghue Learns That It Is Unsafe to Feast on Police.” The trouble began the night before when Police Sergeant McDonald encountered an intoxicated, stumbling “Sykes” Donaghue walking along College Street near Clinton without a hat. The officer, who most accounts indicate wasn’t a popular figure in the neighbourhood, asked Donaghue where his headgear was. “Down the street someplace,” replied Donaghue. “The wind blew if off. I don’t care. I’ve got lots o’ money to buy twenty hats.”

When McDonald told Donaghue to go home and behave himself, the officer received a steady stream of obscenities. As the Star put it in more genteel terms, “Donaghue became indignant and owing to the befuddled condition of his brain didn’t use proper discretion in his selection of language.” Result: an arrest for disorderly conduct. By now, a crowd had gathered to witness the mounting tension between the two men, which exploded into a fight after Police Constable Joseph Baird arrived at the scene and Donaghue launched into another cursing fit. Witnesses were unable to determine who struck the first blow—the Mail and Empire claimed Donaghue kicked McDonald in the thigh, while the Star claimed that the officer hit his prisoner in the mouth and bloodied his nose while Baird repeatedly hit the prisoner’s arm with his baton. Donaghue asked for help from the crowd, which arrived in the form of “little fellow” Herbert “Red” Evans, who promptly slugged Baird in the jaw. In the midst of this new development, Donaghue sank his teeth into McDonald’s wrist, which caused the officer to later seek medical attention. Donaghue and Evans, both described as having poor reputations in the neighbourhood, were hauled into court the following morning. According to one lawyer, “I don’t know why he should want to eat one of our new patrol sergeants. He’s been here before for this kind of thing.” Described by the Telegram’s court reporter as “the man with the cannibal appetite,” Donaghue received six months hard labour for his snack, while Evans’ father paid a ten-dollar fine for his son’s actions.

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“Cheap Wine.” Illustration by George Du Maurier. Trilby by George Du Maurier (New York: Harper & Row, 1895). Old Book Illustrations.

Arrests of inebriates like Donaghue over the holiday season were fewer in 1909 than previous years. Christmas Day saw one hundred and thirty people taken into custody for public drunkenness. As the Mail and Empire noted, “Most of them were treated leniently on account of the season, and the inspectors allowed them to go as soon as they could find their way home…only in the aggravated cases were fines imposed, and the majority of the prisoners formed a procession out of the dock, and will be in line for the New Year’s celebration.”

Additional material from the December 23, 1909 and December 28, 1909 editions of the Mail and Empire; the December 24, 1909 and December 27, 1909 editions of the News; the December 23, 1909, December 24, 1909, and December 27, 1909 editions of the Toronto Star; and the December 23, 1909 and December 24, 1909 editions of the Telegram.

One Fine Holiday Season in 1887

Originally published as a “Historicist’ column on Torontoist on December 22, 2012.

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A Toronto-penned carol from 1887 you can play at home this season. The News, December 24, 1887.

In some ways, the holiday season that brought 1887 to a close was similar to today. People rushed around the city to pick up their Christmas gifts. Plenty of booze was downed. Discussions and editorial pages focused on the future of Toronto’s mayoralty. Digging beyond the surface, similarities via the city’s legion of newspapers shows a season that was equally celebratory and cringe-inducing.

Mail columnist H.H. Wiltshire (aka “The Flaneur”) provided the best-written observation of the state of Christmas:

Latterly the question has been often asked as to what is the meaning of the tendency everywhere during the last few years for a much more general observance of the Christmas festival. In some quarters it is attributed to increased reverence, in others to sentimentality, while we are also told that it is only seized upon as an excuse for idleness and gluttony, under the cover of hospitality. Without staying to consider how far any of these views are correct, may we not suppose that one very natural reason is the necessity we all feel for a little rest and enjoyment! Unquestionably there is more work done now in a shorter time than was ever the case before; this must cause a reaction in some form, and this season of the year has appeared most convenient because it is the nearest approach to a recognized universal holiday-time throughout the civilized world. A simple answer to the enquiry is given in the fact that that overworked humanity wants rest.

All of us with healthy minds in healthy bodies enjoy holidays and amusement, and custom, if nothing else, has made both seem especially appropriate to this time of the year. One of the best associations of Christmas undoubtedly is the increasing fondness for family and friendly re-union, when many feuds are healed and words and acts of temper are forgiven; also the inculcation and practice of the truth that there are none of us so poor in ability or in purse but that we can, by merely doing “the duty nearest hand,” make the load lighter and the day more bright for some among those whom sickness or sorrow, misfortune or folly, entitle not only to our kindness and sympathy, but also to be the unsoliciting recipients of practical and generous aid.

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The Globe, December 23, 1887.

The rest Wiltshire extolled wasn’t present on Christmas Eve 1887, as downtown streets filled with shoppers in a rush. Though shop windows were filled with joyful displays, those entering stores to purchase gifts were, according to the Globe, hardly in a celebratory mood. “Almost everybody one met seemed to have a parcel or to be in a hurry to get one,” the paper noted. “To judge by the expression of face and the words caught in passing, the getting of the parcels seemed rather to hinder than to help the feeling of joyousness.”

The papers were filled with holiday-inspired doggerel and Christmas stories which would not be published under any circumstances today. The worst offender was a lengthy illustrated tale published in the News on Christmas Eve whose anonymous author reminisced about the glorious celebrations enjoyed by plantation slaves in the southern United States prior to the Civil War. Every imaginable derogatory term was used in a story filled with pidgin English, stock stereotypes, dancing galore, and “the wild hilarity of a negro gathering.”

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Evening Telegram, December 20, 1887.

Because Christmas Day fell on a Sunday, good upstanding Torontonians were expected to observe the usual pieties that created Toronto’s reputation as a place not to have any fun on the Lord’s Day for decades to come. Not that the day was devoid of pleasure—when evening rolled around, carollers hit the streets, along with impromptu brass bands playing tunes on battered instruments.

There was a sad note Christmas morning when the body of Maria Green was found in a stable behind 40 Elizabeth Street. Rather than provide any sympathy for her death from exposure, the press went into full moralizing mode. The Globe depicted Green as “an elderly woman employed as cook in a house of ill-fame on Albert Street,” while the Mail described her as “a woman of about fifty years of age, and the greater part of her life had been spent in infamy. Christmas brought to her not peace but an excess of drunkenness and debauchery with her tragic death as a wind-up.”

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The News, December 24, 1887.

The delay of most public Christmas activities to December 26 appeared to create a pent-up thirst among Torontonians, as people went wild when the bars reopened that morning. “’Moral’ Toronto Spends a Very Liquid Christmas” screamed a headline above the World’s account of “the drunkenest day that Toronto has seen for years.” Sleighs overflowed with “more young men than is allowed by the law regarding cruelty to animals.” People who claimed to have never touched a drop of alcohol were among those found in packed saloons. Some establishments closed early to avoid a steady stream of barroom brawls and police visits. “The ordinary drinking public dropped into their usual haunts and were surprised and disgusted at what they saw,” the World reported. “By 6 o’clock there were so many places closed that a usual question was ‘well, where can we go to get a drink?’” Police handled the chaos by making arrests only when necessary. The Globe theorized that the drinking orgy was due to liquor vendors attempting to demonstrate that tougher temperance laws would increase the abusive effects of booze, especially a set of bylaws on the upcoming municipal election ballot.

Alcohol control played a key role in the mayoral campaign that holiday season. On November 3, 1887, Mayor William Holmes Howland announced he would not run for a third term. While Howland spoke to Christian and temperance groups in other cities to extol the effects of his campaigns to reduce the availability of alcohol, the question arose as to who would continue his moral crusade and efforts to curb corruption at City Hall. The favoured candidate among the reformer set was rookie alderman Elias Rogers, a Quaker pro-temperance activist who was one of Toronto’s largest coal merchants.

Two other candidates emerged. Edward Frederick Clarke was a rookie Conservative member at Queen’s Park who published the Orange Sentinel newspaper. Unlike many Orangemen of the era, Clarke was seen as a broadminded man due to actions like allowing Irish Catholic activists to speak at the organization’s hall. Because he wasn’t a fervent temperance advocate, he was depicted by opponents as a friend of the saloon. Daniel Defoe was a veteran alderman who touted his long council experience but was handicapped by his Catholic faith in a very Protestant city—the best he could hope for was a spoiler role. Whoever became mayor needed to be, according to a Globe editorial, “a level-headed, painstaking, conscientious man of marked business ability.”

The campaign was well underway when official nominations were made during a raucous meeting at City Hall (now incorporated into the south St. Lawrence Market) on December 26. The loudest members of the overflow crowd were Clarke supporters, who jeered the other candidates and their nominators. Rogers received most of the verbal abuse, some of it deserved. Female electors were still a new concept—Ontario had granted spinsters and widows the vote in municipal elections in 1884—so Rogers pointed out those in attendance and indicated they were on his side. When a heckler yelled “How do you know they are?,” the Telegram noted that Rogers “knew they were on his side because the ladies were always on the right side.”

More troubling for Rogers were reports that he was the head of a “coal ring.” A series of exposes in the News written by Clarke ally and York West MP Nathaniel Clarke Wallace portrayed Rogers as the leader of a cartel who artificially inflated the price of coal in Toronto, failed to pass savings onto consumers after the federal government removed tariffs on the heating fuel, and conspired to drive competitors out of business. Rogers painted himself as a victim via a complicated explanation involving American coal combines, merciless railway companies, and forming his own ring as a protective measure.

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Cartoon depicting Elias Rogers and Edward Clarke, The News, December 31, 1887.

Despite increasingly lengthy explanations about the coal ring which convinced few voters, city churches and most of the press endorsed Rogers. Endless ink was devoted to depicting him as the best man to uphold Howland’s policies and continue the moral crusade against corruption and liquor. Papers like the Telegram were smug in their certainty of a Rogers victory, declaring that the defeat “will simply be extraordinary.”

The extraordinary happened. As the votes were tallied on January 2, 1888, Howland waited for the results at Rogers’ HQ and kept the crowd pepped up. When the early results showed Clarke in the lead, Howland urged people not to leave. By 9 p.m. the race was over—Clarke defeated Rogers by nearly 1,000 votes. Clarke appeared at the window of the News’ newsroom and gave his victory speech, where he declared his win as “not a triumph of the saloon, but a triumph of the moderate over the intemperate party.”

Clarke captured two key groups that Rogers’ backers had looked upon with condescension: labour and women. He pointed out his participation in and arrest during the printer’s strike of 1872 and utilized female canvassers. There were also signs that Torontonians were tiring of heavy-handed, puritanical laws enacted by the Howland administration, such as preventing the hiring of horses on Sundays. In his recently launched paper Saturday Night, E.E. Sheppard observed that people were exasperated by the increasing self-righteousness of Howland’s allies and by “sumptuary laws more arbitrary and intolerant than those which already exist and have been found unworkable.”

Besides Rogers, voters rejected the temperance bylaws on the ballot. They also rejected a ballot proposal to fund construction of a trunk sewer to improve city sanitation, a vote which falls into the great Toronto tradition of balking at spending money on needed infrastructure projects.

Additional material from Mayor Howland The Citizens’ Candidate by Desmond Morton (Toronto: Hakkert, 1973), Mayors of Toronto Volume 1 1834-1899 by Victor Loring Russell (Erin: Boston Mills Press, 1982), and the following newspapers: the December 23, 1887, December 26, 1887, and December 29, 1887 editions of the Globe; the December 24, 1887, December 26, 1887, and January 3, 1888 editions of the Mail; the December 24, 1887 edition of the News; the December 10, 1887 edition of Saturday Night; the December 27, 1887 and December 29, 1887 editions of the Telegram; and the December 27, 1887 edition of the World.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

globe 87-12-21 santa on trial editorial

Editorial item, The Globe, December 21, 1887.

tely 87-12-24 editorials

The Evening Telegram also weighed in on what clergymen in Boston felt about Santa.

news 87-12-21 st nick poem ad

A poetic attempt to use jolly old St. Nick to sell some merchandise, as found in the December 21, 1887 edition of the News.