Toronto Cemetery Sojourns: Mount Hope

As Halloween approaches, we are surrounded by images of death. Most focus on the ghoulish aspects, from bony skeletons to creepy tombstones with punny names for the deceased. But the mock graveyards decorating residential lawns bear little resemblance to Toronto’s real cemeteries. Instead of depressing, scary final resting places, these spaces are full of life.

During the Halloween seasons in 2011 and 2012, I wrote a series of articles for Torontoist on the city’s cemeteries. This year I’m mixing those pieces with updates and new stories. This piece was originally published on Torontoist on October 30, 2012

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From its small gate entrance along Bayview Avenue, Mount Hope Cemetery doesn’t leave as much of an impression as nearby institutions like the Canadian Institute for the Blind or Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre. But this Catholic graveyard has its fair share of interesting monuments. A walk through the grounds offers glimpses of the local ravine system and a great view of the changing skyline of Yonge and Eglinton.

History

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Before Mount Hope, the main Catholic cemetery in the city was St. Michael’s. As that burial site neared capacity during the 1880s, church officials sought a roomier place. The preferred location was somewhere along or near Yonge Street, north of the city.

The plan sat for a decade until Archbishop John Walsh asked his wealthiest advisers to buy land for a graveyard on behalf of the archdiocese.

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On July 16, 1897, former Toronto Street Railway owner Sir Frank Smith and brewer Eugene O’Keefe purchased property near present-day Bayview and Eglinton Avenues from a local merchant for $5,000. Almost exactly a year later, on July 9, 1898, Walsh consecrated the grounds and officially named it Mount Hope Cemetery. The ceremony turned into a farewell party for the ailing cleric, who died three weeks later. According to historian Michael Power, the event was also a wake for the influence of the dignitaries on hand, “the last generation of Irish grandees who would hold sway in the archdiocese of Toronto.”

After a year and a half of preparation, the cemetery was ready, and 79-year-old King Street resident Edmund Sullivan became the first person to be buried at Mount Hope. Since his interment on March 24, 1900, over 76,000 people have been buried there.

Grounds

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The main entrance is located at the eastern end of Erskine Avenue. Pedestrians can also enter through a gate on Bayview Avenue, north of Broadway Avenue. Like Mount Pleasant Cemetery, the gently rolling grounds attract many North Toronto joggers and walkers. The most scenic part is the north end, where the cemetery meets the trees of the Sherwood Park Ravine.

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Religious iconography is prominent on many of the tombstones, ranging from grand statues to small angels marking young children. Several sections are devoted to Catholic orders, whose members are commemorated by row upon row of small markers or metal rings.

Notable Names

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Mount Hope boasts a good cross-section of notables. Hockey fans will find 1930s Maple Leafs legends King Clancy (buried with a modest marker in an area the cemetery office referred to as “the flats”) and Red Horner. Laura Secord chocolates founder Frank O’Connor is here, as is Fran’s restaurateur Fran Deck. Political figures include longtime Toronto city councillor Joe Piccininni, and also Lady Annie Thompson, the widow of Canada’s first Catholic Prime Minister, Sir John Thompson. Representing the arts are writer Morley Callaghan and theatre impresario Jeremiah Shea. Notable sinners include 1930s bank robber Red Ryan, and two members of the Boyd Gang, Lennie Jackson (unmarked grave), and Steve Suchan (buried under his real name, Val Lesso).

Favourite Spots

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The monument for George J. Foy is one of the largest grave markers in the city. It’s a 40-foot-high cross crafted from a single slab of granite and anchored to the ground by large stones. It’s said to have taken a team of 24 horses to drag the monument to Mount Hope from Union Station.

Foy made his fortune wholesaling cigars and liquor. He died in October 1909 while out for a doctor-recommended after-dinner stroll along Queen Street in the Beaches. According to his Globe obituary, Foy approached a policeman and quaintly remarked, “Mr. Officer, I believe I have been seized with a slight attack of asthma” before fatally dropping to the sidewalk.

Sources: A History of Mount Hope Cemetery Toronto , Ontario 1898-1998 by Michael Power (Toronto: Catholic Cemeteries Archdiocese of Toronto, 1998) and the October 2, 1909 edition of the Globe.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

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The Erskine Avenue entrance.

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Catholic Register, November 10, 1904.

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The Globe, October 2, 1909. 

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Sifting through the photos I took for the original article, this monument to the Puccini family stood out. Abramo Puccini (1873-1952) emigrated from Italy to the United States in the late 1880s, made his way north, and became known as the “macaroni king of Canada” with business and properties in Toronto and St. Catharines.

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Funeral ceremony for Josephine Puccini, August 2, 1922. Photo used in the August 3, 1922 edition of The Globe. Toronto Public Library. Full-size version.

The monument to the Puccini family was present by the time Abramo’s wife Josephine passed away in 1922. A portion of this photo ran in the Globe under the headline “NOVEL SCENES AT LOCAL ITALIAN FUNERAL,” which indicates how the Italian community was still considered an exotic species in Toronto.

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Toronto Star, August 2, 1922. 

Ardwold and Ardwold Gate

This installment of my “Ghost City” column for The Grid was originally published on February 19, 2013.

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Ardwold, 1912. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1244, Item 3087.

Things were going well for John Craig Eaton as the first decade of the 20th century ended. He inherited ownership of the family department store following the death of his father, Timothy, in 1907. His wife, Flora, was developing a reputation as a cross-Atlantic socialite. With his elevated social status and growing family, Eaton decided to build a grand mansion.

In January 1909, he purchased an 11-acre estate on Spadina Road north of Davenport Road that possessed a great view of the city and lake. Wanting to keep the purchase price discreet, he delivered a valise filled with $100,000 worth of bills to the bank to close the deal. His new home joined a collection of neighbouring fine residences, including Rathnelly, Spadina, and the under-construction Casa Loma. Eaton hired A.F. Wickson to design a 50-room home inspired by English and Irish country homes of the early Stuart era. The residence was dubbed Ardwold, which was gaelic for “high green hill.”

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Entrance to Ardwold, Eaton family residence, Spadina Road, September 18, 1929. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1231, Item 2072.

Built between 1909 and 1911, Ardwold included 14 bathrooms, an elevator, Italian-inspired gardens, and an indoor swimming pool connected by a basement tunnel. The centrepiece was a two-storey great hall outfitted with a pipe organ that Eaton frequently played. When Eaton introduced the family to the completed home upon their return from a long European tour, his two-year-old son John David moped at the bottom of the grand staircase. “I don’t like this hotel,” he cried. “I want to go home.” Perhaps the boy reacted to what architectural historian William Dendy described as the home’s “air of empty pretentiousness.”

When the family fell ill, they used the on-site hospital room, which could be converted to an operating room during emergencies. Unfortunately, Eaton spent much of the last two months of his life there before dying from pneumonia in March 1922. His wife, by now Lady Eaton, spent little time at Ardwold afterwards, preferring to reside in Europe, Muskoka, or in Eaton Hall near King City.

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Wedding fashion parade at Ardwold, circa 1926. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1244, Item 1855.

By 1936, Lady Eaton thought it was “wasteful” to maintain the property. Telling the Star that it was “too large for the needs my family,” she demolished the house. Eaton family biographer Rod McQueen believed that “such a destructive approach can only be described as desecration, or at best, wildly eccentric.” Dynamite was required to bring down the thick walls. While some furnishings were moved to Eaton Hall, the rest were auctioned off. Only elements like a stone-and-wrought-iron fence survived.

After considering an apartment building, real-estate agent A.E. LePage subdivided the property along a new road, Ardwold Gate. “We plan to develop the whole 11-acre area with homes of Georgian design to harmonize, as is done in many of the finer residential sections of England,” LePage told the Star in 1938. The average cost of the new homes was $30,000, or just under $500,000 in today’s dollars when adjusted for inflation.

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Toronto Star, May 20, 1938.

The community became an exclusive residential enclave for well-heeled businessmen. Among them was George Beattie, an Eaton relative whose career with the department store ended over an expletive-filled argument. Nursing a grudge, Beattie watched gleefully when Ardwold was demolished. Soon after buying a home on Ardwold Gate in 1947, he peed on one of the remaining cornerstones of the old house.

Residents engaged in several battles to maintain their peace during the 1970s. After initially approving the nearby placement of the Spadina Expressway, they joined the opposition against the freeway. As construction began on the Spadina subway line in 1973, they feared their homes would be damaged by vibrations similar to those that inconvenienced home owners along the recent extension of the Yonge line north of Eglinton Avenue. (The problem was reputed to be thin tunnel shields.) In April 1977, residents pressured City Council to reject a proposal to build non-profit housing units for 14 families along Ardwold Gate on land that had been reserved for the freeway; those who feared that the project would ruin the neighbourhood jumped into full reactionary mode. One complaint the City received observed that such housing “contributes to the general weakening of our democratic system.” The proposal was defeated and, as a Globe and Mail editorial observed, residents could sleep easily without worrying about sharing the neighbourhood “with people who didn’t own even one Mercedes.”

The street remains a quiet residential cul-de-sac. Among its notable homes is the Brutalist concrete residence designed for Harvey’s founder Richard Mauran at 95 Ardwold Gate. The home was the final project of architect Taivo Kapsi, who was killed in an encounter with trespassers on a friend’s property near Lake Wilcox during the summer of 1967. Finished the following year, the heritage-designated site includes impressions left in the concrete by construction boards.

Additional material from Lost Toronto by William Dendy (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1993), The Eatons by Rod McQueen (Toronto: Stoddart, 1999), the April 14, 1977 and April 18, 1977 editions of the Globe and Mail, the June 2, 2012 edition of the National Post, the February 26, 1936, July 3, 1936, May 20, 1938, May 4, 1970, and February 10, 2001 editions of the Toronto Star, and the March 1999 edition of Toronto Life.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

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Ardwold, circa 1920. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1244, Item 3016.

Lady Eaton’s description of the area which surrounded Ardwold, from her book Memory’s Wall (Toronto: Clarke, Irwin & Company, 1956):

We had agreeable neighbours around us at Ardwold, and several of them became our good friends. Probably we came to know each other better because of the rather isolated community we formed. St. Clair Avenue was not paved, of course, and often vehicles sank down to their axles in the mud. A very rickety old bridge crossed the ravine on Spadina Road, which was the street giving main access to Ardwold, and the few other big houses on “the hill.”

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Toronto Star, April 14, 1977.

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Globe and Mail, April 18, 1977.

Two editorials on the failed subsidized housing proposal – an issue still playing out in neighbourhoods across the city.

“This The Day When the Ground Hog Comes Out”

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Toronto Star, February 2, 1912.

Posted above is the earliest front page story regarding Groundhog Day published by either the Globe or the Star.

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On that day’s editorial page, the Star published a piece about the occasion by syndicated poet Walt Mason (1862-1939).

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Toronto Star, February 7, 1908.

Here’s the earliest story from the Star about Groundhog Day, though it’s less about the day, more about farmers from southwest Ontario petitioning the provincial legislature for the right to shoot the critters.

The Canadian Encyclopedia has a lengthier look at the day’s origins, and its history in Canada.

A Gooderham Gallery

Originally published on Torontoist on October 13, 2011

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Gooderham Building, 1996. Photo by Boris Spremo. Toronto Star Photo Archive, Toronto Public Library.

An iconic image of Toronto: a photograph looking west from the intersection of Church, Front, and Wellington Streets, with the Gooderham Building (a.k.a. the Flatiron) as the focal point. The unusual skinny, triangular shape, which predated New York’s flatiron by a decade, was the result of the clash between Wellington Street’s adherence to Toronto’s square grid and Front Street’s looser paralleling of the 19th century shoreline. In the 120 years since George Gooderham first surveyed his business empire from his fifth floor office, the building that bears his family’s name has evolved into a Toronto landmark.

And it’s a landmark that theoretically could be yours. Current owner Woodcliffe started the bidding process this week to find the next custodian for the historical site, which provides an opportunity to look back at how it became one of Toronto’s most beloved buildings

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Coffin Block, Front and Wellington Streets, 1873. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1244, Item 7335.

Before the Gooderham Building was erected in 1891, another flatiron-shaped structure occupied the block. Consisting of three connected units, the structure was known as the Coffin Block due to its resemblance to the end of a funeral box. Among its tenants were a telegraph office, a stagecoach booking office, and additional guest rooms for the Wellington Hotel, whose main premises were located on the northwest corner of Church and Wellington.

Whoever archived this image determined that notes written on the side of the photo weren’t enough for future researchers.

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Gooderham Building, circa 1893. Toronto Illustrated 1893 (Toronto: Consolidated Printing, 1893).

Here’s a wealthy person the Occupy Wall Street movement might respect: when George Gooderham died in May 1905, he purposely left most of his fortune in the hands of the Ontario government. He decided against selling any of his stocks to anyone else due to his belief that it was unconscionable to evade provincial succession duties. The portion of Gooderham’s $25 million estate that the government received wiped out the provincial deficit.

Though Gooderham’s fortune was based on the Gooderham and Worts distillery, he built it through investments in banking, insurance, and railways. He was among the founders of Manufacturer’s Life (now Manulife), served as president of the Bank of Toronto (an ancestor of TD Canada Trust), and backed the construction of the King Edward Hotel. His philanthropic interests included key financial and managerial roles at Toronto General Hospital and the University of Toronto.

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Gooderham Building, 1890s. Photo by F.W. Micklethwaite. Library and Archives Canada, RD-000335, via Wikimedia Commons.

Architect David Roberts Jr. was no stranger to the Gooderham family when he was chosen to design the new building. Among his other commissions was Waveney, George Gooderham’s mansion at Bloor Street and St, George Street, which currently houses the York Club. To replace the demolished Coffin Block, Roberts designed a five-storey red brick office building trimmed with Credit Valley stone. Gooderham’s personal office was located at the top of the semi-circular tower in the front, where he could view of many of his business interests. Also included for Gooderham’s benefit was a tunnel under Wellington Street to the head office of the Bank of Toronto (now the site of Pizza Pizza).

The effect the building created was summed up by Patricia McHugh in her book Toronto Architecture: A City Guide (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1989), “With a richly textured facade and kingly chateauesque towered roof that still dominates this busy corner, the building stands as an apt symbol of the Gooderham family’s powerful position in the community.”

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Gooderham Building, between 1966 and 1972. Photo by Ellis Wiley. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 124, File 2, Item 65.

Gooderham and Worts maintained offices in the building through the early 1950s. By the 1960s, despite its growing status as a local landmark, its future seemed in doubt. As plans evolved for a Centennial-related series of arts complexes in the neighbourhood, the buildings that occupied the rest of the Gooderham’s little island were razed for a temporary parking lot. By 1966, the orphaned building was the temporary headquarters for the St. Lawrence Centre for the Arts rising to the west. As the 1960s, the Gooderham provided office space for arts organizations like the Mendelssohn Choir, the Shaw Festival, and the Folk Arts Council.

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Globe and Mail, September 19, 1973.

But the Gooderham Building managed to survive in an era when one aging downtown building after another fell to the wrecking ball. New ownership in the mid-1970s poured money into renovations. Instead of building arts schools or small concert halls beside it, the City of Toronto approved the public space that officially opened as Berczy Park in 1975. That same year, the Gooderham Building was declared a historic site.

Two attempts were made to dress up the west wall, which had actually belonged to a long-gone neighbouring building. A mural of clouds painted by Daniel Solomon during the early 1970s was eventually covered over—allegedly the wall was too poorly prepared to handle the piece. Attempt number two began with a suggestion from the city’s heritage agencies that any future artwork should incorporate the architectural stylings of the surrounding 19th century buildings. A combination of commercial donors and funds from the Wintario lottery provided artist Derek Besant with $80,000 to come up with a durable piece of art. The result: 49 panels of a polyethelene-based construction material called Alucobond that formed a trompe l’oeil special effect of a wall curling at its edges.

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Berczy Park looking east at the Gooderham Building, before and after landscaping. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 200, Series 1465, File 623, Item 5.

When Besant’s piece was unveiled on September 19, 1980, the Globe and Mail’s John Bentley Mays called it “an engineering masterpiece and an artistic triumph that will be flying high on the Flatiron Building for years.” Two restorations later, the piece is as much a Toronto landmark as the building itself.

The building’s landmark status has grown with time. As larger office towers filled the skyline to the west, it has provided photographers with an interesting contrast of past versus present. The site has consistently been one of the most popular attractions during Doors Open. Any new owner would risk a public outcry if they messed with the flatiron shape or the well-restored building’s other unique attributes.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

The building was purchased by Commercial Realty Group.

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Editorial on what would become Berczy Park, Toronto Star, August 8, 1972.

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Globe and Mail, September 19, 1980.

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.

Rosedale Field and the First Grey Cup

This is an expanded version of an article which first appeared as The Grid’s “Ghost City” column on November 20, 2012.

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Rosedale Field clubhouse, November 30, 1921. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1231, Item 615.

During World War II, Montreal-based Park Steamship Company decided to name additions to its war cargo fleet after neighbourhood parks across Canada. Among those chosen were Hillcrest and Rosedale. Assigned to write historical plaques about each park, poet P.K. Page contacted Toronto civic officials for background information. Parks commissioner Charles E. Chambers provided Page the info she required, but noted at the end of a March 27, 1944 letter that “neither park has any historical importance.”

Chambers forgot Rosedale Park’s key role in Canadian football history. This might be understandable, as the Grey Cup’s debut there on December 4, 1909 was an anti-climatic affair. Fans and media expended their energy during the semi-final at the park the previous week, when the heavily-favoured Ottawa Rough Riders were trounced by the University of Toronto Varsity Blues 31-7 in front of a crowd of 11,000 spectators forced to sit 15 deep around the field. Among those playing for U of T were future Ontario chief coroner Smirle Lawson and future Ontario Rugby Union head Billy Foulds.

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Toronto Star, December 6, 1909.

By comparison, only 3,807 spectators barely flowed out of the grandstand to watch U of T defeat the Parkdale Canoe Club 26-6. Though it was anticipated that the Parkdale squad would be steamrolled, a close score during the first quarter prompted headlines like the Star’s “Parkdale Gave Varsity an Interesting Argument.” The World observed that “the interest in the struggle was probably the least ever shown” in a football final. “Even the college contingent lacked spirit, and choruses led by the Highlanders’ band were half-hearted.”

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Toronto World, December 5, 1909.

There wasn’t even a trophy to hand to the victors; it took a series of frustrated letters from football officials to Grey’s staff to produce the $48 bowl made by Birks jewellers handed to the champs three months later.

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The News, December 6, 1909.

Rosedale Park’s association with athletics stretches back to May 24, 1892, when it officially opened as the Rosedale Lacrosse Grounds. “It is safe to say that the majority of those who attended the grounds yesterday for the first time expected to confront a bare open area, with a grandstand and high board fence as necessary adjuncts,” the Mail reported. “What they did see was a revelation. Five acres of beautifully levelled and sodded ground, broken only by an oval track of a third mile in circumference, by a picturesque club building, and by low division fences, was the scene immediately facing them.” The grandstand held 3,000 spectators, while another 2,000 people filled the grounds to watch Toronto fall to Montreal three games to two in the day’s lacrosse action.

Those disappointed by the home team’s loss during the debut lacrosse match found other distractions during the opening festivities. “The presence of a large number of Toronto’s most charming belles was a noticeable feature,” the Mail noted. “The galaxy of beauty which congregated on the grandstand was enough to turn the head of even the most experienced among the players.”

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Rosedale Park, July 1, 1921. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 200, Series 372, Subseries 52, Item 947.

The site was purchased by the city from the Toronto Lacrosse and Athletic Association in 1917. Following the First World War it considered as a site for a new municipal stadium, but the location was considered too isolated. Arguments over the site’s suitability led to tons of wasted newsprint on the editorial pages of the Star and the Telegram. The grandstand disappeared, leaving more space for sports like cricket, high school football, ice hockey, lawn bowling, and tennis. A few athletic organizations, like the Toronto Track and Field Club, wore out their welcome with neighbours and city parks officials. Despite being denied a permit to continue practicing running and pole jumping on the grounds in 1951, the “Red Devils” continued to use Rosedale Park. Living up to their nickname by hurling “ungentlemanly remarks” at park staff and hanging around the fieldhouse after closing time didn’t help the group’s appeals to Parks and Recreation. After arrangements were made to move the club to Varsity Stadium, the pole vaulting pit was quickly filled in lest they return.

Most complaints about the park during the 1940s and 1950s were directed at the aging fieldhouse. Clubs battled for precious dressing room space—by 1950, women had to use a small lobby to change after a cricket club took over their quarters. The city rejected a request from the Highland Tennis Club to build an addition from fear other users would request their own extensions. Neighbours complained about smoke from the coal-fired building due to a lower-grade rock introduced during World War II continued to be used. The building was eventually replaced by the current clubhouse, which includes changing facilities and offices for the Rosedale Tennis Club.

One of the most tragic events in Rosedale Park’s sporting history occurred on October 25, 1960. During a football game against Jarvis Collegiate, North Toronto Collegiate halfback John Ellwood received a hard hit to the head. After continuing for two more plays, he left the field complaining of a headache. When his coach told Ellwood to tilt his head back, he slumped forward with a brain hemorrhage. Five hours of surgery followed at Wellesley Hospital, but Ellwood never regained consciousness, remaining in a coma until his death in 1972.

The park remains a central part of North Rosedale’s leisure time. For decades it has hosted the Mayfair community celebration. Twenty-first century upgrades include new playground equipment and a revamped historical plaque honouring the first Grey Cup. If he had been on hand for the plaque’s unveiling, Charles Chambers would have eaten his words about the park’s lack of history.

Additional material from the October 20, 1959 and January 1, 1963 editions of the Globe and Mail; the May 25, 1892 edition of the Toronto Daily Mail; the December 6, 1909 edition of the Toronto Star; and the December 5, 1909 of the Toronto World.

Vintage Toronto Ads: Kipling Slept Here

Originally published on Torontoist on July 3, 2012.

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Maclean’s, September 1, 1986.

For its mid-1980s advertising campaign, the King Eddy highlighted its roster of esteemed guests. Whether Rudyard Kipling actually played with the title of one of his works to describe his stay is debatable, but he certainly received royal treatment elsewhere while visiting Toronto as part of a Canadian speaking tour in October 1907.

The British author began October 18, 1907 with an automobile tour of the city. Over three “most enjoyable” hours, Kipling wound through Rosedale, greeted students and faculty at Upper Canada College and the University of Toronto, and stopped at City Hall. Legend has it that he was supposed to make an appearance at the Woodbridge Fair, but cancelled at the last minute. Though there is no evident proof, it is suspected that the rural road running into Woodbridge was renamed Kipling Avenue soon after, despite his being a no-show.

That evening, he addressed nearly 800 members of the Canadian Club on imperial relations, where he suggested that Canada should draw closer to Britain’s other large possessions (Australia, New Zealand, South Africa). “Endowed with a voice which, though not robust, is clear and penetrating,” the Globe noted, “Mr. Kipling, who was received with unbounded enthusiasm, spoke with the incisiveness and force which distinguish his writings, and with an earnestness and conviction which showed how deeply he cherishes the true unity of the empire.”

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Sketches by C.W. Jefferys, Toronto Star, October 19, 1907.

Sketch artists found Kipling a trying subject, as he was fidgety throughout the evening. His physical appearance struck the artists and other observers as more modest than regal. “The most striking about his looks,” the Star reported, “are his heavy dark brown eyebrows and moustache, the latter pointed like a modest sergeant-major’s. Meet Rudyard Kipling on the street as a perfect stranger and you would guess him to be a hardworking schoolmaster.”

Additional material from Toronto Street Names by Leonard Wise and Allan Gould (Toronto: Firefly, 2000), the October 19, 1907 edition of the Globe, and the October 19, 1907 edition of the Toronto Star.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

globe 07-10-19 kipling address 1

The Globe, October 19, 1907.

Publishing long excerpts or the full text of speeches from visiting dignitaries was a common practice in Toronto newspapers of the Victorian and Edwardian eras. Here’s how the Globe presented Kipling’s talk:

globe 07-10-19 kipling address text 1

globe 07-10-19 kipling address 2

The Globe, October 19, 1907.