Vintage Toronto Ads: By The Time I Get to See Glen Campbell

Originally published on Torontoist on August 30, 2011.

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Globe and Mail, August 8, 1969.

Among the musical acts at this year’s Canadian National Exhibition is one making a final Toronto appearance. After over 50 years in the music business, Glen Campbell announced his current tour is his last due to a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease. Tomorrow night’s show won’t be Campbell’s first at the Ex—back in 1969, he was one of the key attractions of that year’s fair.

Despite rainstorms, sold out crowds packed the CNE Grandstand on August 16–17, 1969, to hear Campbell sing hits like “Dreams of the Everyday Housewife” and “Galveston.” When his first show was delayed, Campbell, who strolled onstage in a tuxedo and cowboy boots, apologized to the audience. “Sorry this show is so late startin’,’” he said with an Arkansas twang, “but I dropped my watch in sheep dip and it killed all the ticks.”

Newspaper reviews focused on Campbell’s square image and audience, his corny patter, and how lousy the supporting act (the Four Freshmen) was. The Globe and Mail’s Ritchie Yorke noted that the crowd “was just plain folk, the sort who don’t mind last year’s or the year before’s fashions. Like his audience, Campbell was not particularly hip, and he seemed to be fighting any possibility of anyone getting the idea that he was.” The Star’s Marci MacDonald observed the crowd was “mainly female, over 30 or under 12—family folk lookin’ for a good clean country boy.”

The Telegram’s Peter Goddard found Campbell so inoffensive that “a bottle of milk seems somehow vulgar by comparison,” but also felt that the singer was far more talented that the stereotypes about his audience (lonely housewives, Midwestern Republicans) suggested.

Additional material from the August 18, 1969, editions of the Globe and Mail, Toronto Star, and Telegram.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

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The full review from the Telegram (click on image for larger version). Glen Campbell passed away in 2017.

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The Cheesiest Poet of All

Originally published as a “Historicist” column on Torontoist on April 2, 2011. Cheese poets don’t get enough credit in this world…but, seriously, this was a fun column to work on. If you catch me in a good mood, I’ll happily recite “Ode on the Mammoth Cheese.”

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Portrait of James McIntyre, Poems of James McIntyre (Ingersoll: Ingersoll Chronicle, 1889).

It’s a safe bet to declare that James McIntyre was the cheesiest poet of all time. And not just because his verse is, shall we say, not among the most spectacular examples of the poetic form written during the 19th century. No, McIntyre’s poetry was cheesy due to one of its frequent subjects: cheese. As the Ingersoll-based bard noted in the preface to the “Dairy and Cheese Odes” section of Poems of James McIntyre, “as cheese making first began in this county and it has already become the chief industry of many counties, it is no insignificant theme.” Of the verses he dedicated to cheese, perhaps the best known, or most mocked, is an ode to a seven thousand pound wheel of pressed curd that Torontonians observed with amused awe during the Provincial Exhibition of 1866.

We encourage you to indulge in your favourite fromage while reading “Ode on the Mammoth Cheese.” For added enjoyment, read the following lines aloud in your finest Scottish accent:

We have seen thee, queen of cheese,
Lying quietly at your ease,
Gently fanned by evening breeze,
Thy fair form no flies dare seize.
All gaily dressed soon you’ll go
To the great Provincial show,
To be admired by many a beau
In the city of Toronto.
Cows numerous as a swarm of bees,
Or as the leaves upon the trees,
It did require to make thee please.
And stand unrivalled, queen of cheese.
May you not receive a scar as
We have heard that Mr. Harris
Intends to to send you off as far as
The great world’s show at Paris.
Of the youth beware of these,
For some of them might rudely squeeze
And bite your cheek, then songs or glees
We could not sing, oh! queen of cheese.
We’rt thou suspended from balloon,
You’d cast a shade even at noon,
Folks would think it was the moon
About to fall and crush them soon.

We’re unaware of any reports of anyone physically crushed by the mammoth cheese while it was showcased on both sides of the Atlantic during 1866 and 1867, though there were rumours that several ports in England refused to accept it due to the crushing smell caused by lack of refrigeration.

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Mammoth Cheese made at Ingersoll, Canada West, 1866. Library and Archives Canada, R7244-0-0-E.

The genesis of the mammoth cheese was in Oxford County, where the dairy industry experienced rapid growth during the mid-19th century. By 1866, the county’s major cheese producers looked for new markets to sell their products and saw an opportunity when the aftermath of the Civil War in the United States hampered American exports of cheese to England. An attention-grabber to impress the English was required, so work began on a massive wheel of cheese at James Harris’s factory south of Ingersoll in June 1866. At least three factories provided the raw ingredients to produce a wheel that was approximately three feet thick, seven feet in diameter, and boasted a circumference of 21 feet. When the finished product arrived at the Great Western Railway station in Ingersoll to be shipped to its first destination on August 23, the town celebrated a public holiday. It was amid the speeches by local dignitaries that McIntyre publicly debuted “Ode on the Mammoth Cheese.”

The cheese’s first major showing was at the New York State Fair in Saratoga. Harris was offered $6,000 to part with the cheese, but refused. He also refused to accept $500 to show it as a separate attraction at the upcoming Provincial Exhibition (the forerunner of the Canadian National Exhibition) in Toronto. Rather than charge visitors an extra fee to see the monstrosity, Harris preferred to display it alongside other major attractions in the Crystal Palace or with entrants in the dairy competition. A team of four horses was required to haul the cheese into the Crystal Palace for setup on September 22. When the fair officially opened a few days later, the Globe observed that “no object in the Exhibition arrested more general attention than this. It is visited throughout the day by a crowd of interested spectators, by many of whom the most amusing opinions are expressed.” Harris and fellow mammoth cheese contributor Hiram Ranney left the fair with third place prizes in the “best factory cheese, not less than 50 lbs each” category. After Toronto, the cheese made its way across the Atlantic, where its use as a promotional stunt proved effective. The cheese met its final fate when the remnants were divided among Oxford County farmers who had contributed to its production.

Though not a farmer, James McIntyre deserved some of the leftovers due to his deep admiration for the work of dairy producers. He was born in Forres, Morayshire, Scotland in 1827, where his neighbours included future Canadian Pacific Railway last spike driver Donald Smith. McIntyre immigrated to Canada in his early teens and, after a long series of odd jobs, settled in Ingersoll and established a furniture/undertaking business. McIntyre’s other interests included serving as an official in the Liberal party and his duties as a Mason and Oddfellow. During his lifetime, McIntyre’s poetry was published in the Globe and, according to notes at the front of Poems of James McIntyre, received praise from the likes of Globe editor Sir John Willison (“the gem of the table”), Toronto Police Magistrate George Taylor Denison III (who “found many most interesting pieces on Canadian subjects”), historian Henry Scadding (who felt a poem about one pioneering cheese maker “had the ring of a fine old ballad about it”), and Ontario Premier Oliver Mowat (who was impressed with McIntyre’s patriotic spirit). One wonders if, in the case of fellow Liberals like Mowat, political allegiances shaped the praise.

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Man and woman fishing in the Credit River, July 1, 1902. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1231, Item 1430.

Occasionally McIntyre mentioned Toronto in his poems. “Credit Valley Trip” arose when McIntyre was among a delegation visiting Toronto on a train provided by the Credit Valley Railway Company. While McIntyre seems to have enjoyed the sights he saw out the train window, and makes reference to Toronto sporting legend Ned Hanlan (despite misspelling his name), in the end he and his companions agreed that while Toronto was a nice place to visit, they wouldn’t want to live here.

Whenever we take a tour abroad
We love to travel o’er new road,
When scenery to us is new
And landscape pleasing to the view,
When invited for to rally
And take a trip on the Credit Valley,
We resolved for to afford
A day with Council and School Board,
For to view the rural charms
Of hills and dales and fertile farms,
With joy we saw the sunbeams gleam
On Grand River beauteous stream,
And those perpendicular walls
Of rock, like old baronial halls,
We saw the great lake ebb and flow
And queen city of Ontario.
While some enjoyed the genial smile
Of Hanlon on his lake girt isle,
Returning home each one exclaims
“Happiest spot is banks of Thames.”

When McIntyre died in 1906, an editorial in the Star set the tone for future critical evaluation of his poetic skills:

Mr. James McIntyre, whose death is announced, had a harmless hobby, the turning of familiar topics into verse. His muse was not too proud to notice a big cheese, or to describe those methods of intensive farming by which Ontario has grown rich. It cannot be said that it was good poetry, and many of us must plead guilty to making it the theme of comment of a more or less humorous character. When the body of a young man was found in Toronto Bay, and was identified by the buttons on his clothing, Mr. McIntyre celebrated the event in verse, of which we recall the lines, “Buttons gave no clue he did desire, Showed suit was made by McIntyre.” There have been better poets whose hearts were not as sound or whose natures as kindly and gentle as McIntyre’s.

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Cover to the 1974 edition of The 4 Jameses. McIntyre is second from the right.

Much of McIntyre’s posthumous notoriety is due to William Arthur Deacon’s 1927 book The 4 Jameses, which playfully lumps in McIntyre’s verse with three other well-intentioned poets who happened to be named James (Gay, Gills, and MacRae). The book spun out of a series of articles Deacon (often regarded as Canada’s first full-time professional book reviewer) wrote about lousy Canadian poets for Saturday Night in the mid-1920s. Throughout The 4 Jameses, Deacon offers ironic commentary on the featured authors and works and blows their historical importance out of proportion—in the case of McIntyre, tying his Scottish hometown to Macbeth’s slaying of King Duncan and noting that both McIntyre and Donald Smith would “play significant parts in the upbuilding of the Dominion of Canada.” Deacon also noted that “McIntyre must have immersed himself in cream, and made cheese his chief mental diet, for years. To the new gospel of dairying, he was a convert so ardent that he barely missed becoming fanatical.” Though it was a poor seller upon its initial release, The 4 Jameses became, as George Fetherling noted in the forward of a 1974 reprint, “that rare thing in Canadian literature: an underground classic,” as it grew fans through word of mouth.

Despite the humour made at the expense of McIntyre’s work, Deacon ultimately found that the cheese poet and his brethren deserved respect for trying:

When the limitations of an old warrior like McIntyre are apparent, it is sanity and not sacrilege to smile at them; but it should be done kindly, remembering always their inescapable disadvantages, their valour and their chivalry…Their aspirations, their will to universal betterment, and their intuitive reach beyond the measure of their grasp is easily traceable through their writings, like the proverbial thread of gold. By these shall they be judged and not by flaws in the pattern. The more their work is pondered, the greater one’s affection for them, the greater his admiration for their honest efforts to noble expression and the greater his tolerance for mistakes growing out of inevitable limitations of opportunity, and creating the human, personal touches that first attract readers to them. Who sees not this, has lost the better, sweeter half of their message, and is himself to blame.

Additional material from The 4 Jameses by William Arthur Deacon, third edition (Toronto: Macmillan, 1974), Poems of James McIntyre by James McIntyre (Ingersoll: Ingersoll Chronicle, 1889), William Arthur Deacon: A Canadian Literary Life by Clara Thomas and John Lennox (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1982), and the following newspapers: The September 26, 1866 edition of the Globe; the September 24, 1866 edition of the Leader; and the April 3, 1906 edition of the Toronto Star.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

More context for poets like McIntyre, from Heather Menzies’s book By the Labour of Their Hands: The Story of Ontario Cheddar Cheese (Kingston: Quarry Press, 1994):

He wasn’t trying to write Great Poetry. He wanted to honour the achievements of people like himself, who had come to this country with little or nothing, hoping to make new lives for themselves in British North America. Parochial poetry, published in the local paper, was one of the most accessible local media for doing this.

This “folk poetry,” as it’s called, helped interpret the rural community to itself and bind it together in a shared world view and ethos. As such, McIntyre and others like him made important contributions to Canadian folk culture through their verses. For folklore historian Pauline Greenhill, folk poetry is not meant to be separated from the context of a particular local community. Also, it must be understood as process as well as product: a sort of ongoing dialogue between the poet and the community, in which the poet brings order out of the minutiae of everyday life through verses. By the title and content of the poems, the folk poet implicitly names what is “appropriate” and symbolically important to readers.

Menzies concludes that McIntyre viewed the mammoth cheese as “the ultimate symbol of progress, combining local hand labour and scientific technology in the modern pursuit of ‘industry.'”

Vintage Toronto Ads: Canada’s Most Exciting Automotive Spectacle!

Originally published on Torontoist on February 17, 2009.

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Globe and Mail, February 22, 1954.

The Canadian International Auto Show runs this week, drawing curious onlookers in the face of a slumping market. Before the show began in 1974 there were several attempts to create ongoing automotive events, from annual displays at the Canadian National Exhibition to attempts to run shows at other times of the year, such as the National Motor Show in 1954.

This was the second year for the National Motor Show, the first of which had been Toronto’s first major new show since the late 1930s. D.C. Gaskin, president of Studebaker’s Canadian division and head of the Canadian Automobile Chamber of Commerce, noted that “there was some question whether the event would retain public appeal after all those years. But when we found crowds lining up from the Automotive Building to the Princes’ Gates before they could get in, we weren’t quite prepared for such a demonstration of public interest.”

Over 150,000 visitors were expected to turn out for the show, which automakers hoped would stimulate buying during a slump in auto sales. Chrysler, Ford, General Motors, Nash, and Studebaker were among the vendors with full displays. For those less interested in the vehicles on display, diversions were provided by Royal York Hotel bandleader Moxie Whitney, the five singing DeMarco sisters, a fashion show with dresses crafted from car upholstery, and a 200-foot, 11-panel molded paper mural that chronicled the history of the wheel.

Additional material from the February 24, 1954 edition of the Globe and Mail.

Vintage Toronto Ads: CNE ’70

Originally published on Torontoist on August 12, 2008.

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Toronto Life, August 1970.

Optimism was in the air as the 1970 edition of the Canadian National Exhibition approached. The dawning of a new decade excited the fair’s promoters and ad designers, encouraging both to add a modern touch to the Ex’s 92nd edition.

One of the most controversial exhibits was “Man and his Drugs” at the Queen Elizabeth Building. Described by programmers as “an honest, fearless portrayal of the effects of drugs on today’s society,” the maze-like multimedia presentation confused visitors who were more interested in finding the exit than learning about the effects of illicit substances. As one 16-year-old visitor noted to The Toronto Star, “It’s so confusing. We were in for 15 minutes and got lost. You need at least a day to really take it all in and understand it.” Security guards noticed that many visitors, rather than make their way through the maze, snuck out via the emergency exits.

Less confusing were tours of a replica of the Nonsuch, a 17th-century fur trading vessel whose early voyages led to the foundation of the Hudson’s Bay Company. The ship, built for HBC’s 300th anniversary, had spent the past two years touring Europe and eastern Canada. Toronto would prove to be its final stop before being permanently moored at the Manitoba Museum.

1970 was the final Ex for Patty Conklin, who had supervised the midway since 1937. CBC profiled Conklin’s preparations for an episode of Telescope that aired shortly after his death in November.

Performers who graced the stage of the CNE Grandstand (later Exhibition Stadium) that year included Johnny Cash, the Fifth Dimension, teen idol Bobby Sherman, Ray Charles, Red Skelton, Chuck Berry, Brenda Lee, and the Temptations.

Additional quotes from the August 22, 1970 edition of the Toronto Star.

Forget Expo 67, It’s the ’67 Ex!

Part One: Advertising the ’67 Ex

Originally published on Torontoist as “Vintage Toronto Ads: Ex 67” on August 31, 2010.

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Globe and Mail, August 8, 1967.

The 1967 edition of the Canadian National Exhibition was not going to be an easy one to market to the public. How could it compete with the once-in-a-lifetime hoopla surrounding the year’s main celebration of Canada’s centennial, Expo 67? Would a trio of entertainers with Canadian roots help?

While the CNE rolled on with its traditional attractions in 1967, City officials who visited Montreal realized changes needed to be made for future editions of the CNE to make it feel less dowdy. Controller Fred Beavis proposed that beer and liquor sales should be allowed, while Mayor William Dennison pondered loosening restrictions that prevented the fair from opening on Sundays. In an editorial, the Star noted that these would be minor changes compared to what it felt the Ex really needed: a major freshening up and the creation of a greater sense of awe and wonder like that experienced at Expo 67 to bring it into the modern age.

It has settled into a rut, with no substantial change for generations. The visitor who goes through the gates each year knows in advance pretty much what he will see. There will be the same dull, unchanging buildings; the same masses of goods for sale—making some pavilions look like second-rate department stores; the same miles of booths with junky merchandise and dubious gambling games; the same bellowing pitchmen. There are, of course, better things than this at the “Ex” every year—but they are smothered in a sea of shoddy carnival gimmicks. This sort of thing may have been good enough 60 years ago, and indeed the CNE has a certain nostalgic charm for many people because it is so old-fashioned. But the CNE has no future as a big city country fair. That is not the way to attract younger people—especially when so many of them have seen “Expo” and know what a fair can be.

The paper recommended that older buildings be gradually replaced by modern structures that could be easily modified for different purposes, that the fair promote national artistic competitions, and do away with the “junk booths and ‘gyp’ shows” (conversely, a Globe and Mail editorial stated that, in a year where Charles DeGaulle gave fuel to separatist sentiments during his visit to Expo, “we should be thankful, in this shattering season, for something familiar and temperate”).

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Globe and Mail, August 14, 1967.

For the 1967 Grandstand spectacular, fair officials brought in three expats as headliners: Bonanza patriarch Lorne Greene, daytime variety show host Art Linkletter, and easy listening music maestro Percy Faith. This did not sit well with Globe and Mail columnist Dennis Braithwaite, who hoped any future reforms to the fair would eliminate “spurious Canadianism” as represented by importing talent that was more popular at the time south of the border. Braithwaite didn’t blame Grandstand programmer Jack Arthur, who had brought many popular performers from elsewhere in previous years despite being urged to use homegrown talent.

An invitation from Lorne Greene to visit the CNE in 1967. CNE Archives.

Greene, the one-time “voice of doom” for CBC, was recruited to help pitch the fair in a spot that is among the films placed onto YouTube by the CNE Archives.

Globe and Mail reviewer Blaik Kirby found Greene one of the highlights of a disjointed evening at the Grandstand. Despite one too many jokes about Bonanza, Greene proved to be “a first-class singer and an adept, relaxed comedian” who electrified the audience when he arrived onstage atop a white charger. As for the other headliners, Kirby felt Faith was engaging in his understated conducting of the CNE orchestra (even if the material was overly schmaltzy), while Linkletter was criticized for spewing “the worst of daytime audience participation TV fare onto the CNE stage.” To Kirby, the biggest mistake of the show was allowing the RCMP Musical Ride to be its finale, as the horses were kept too far away from the audience and showcased at too late an hour (after 11 p.m.).

Despite a sluggish start, attendance increased by 31,000 over 1966 to help break the three million visit mark for only the third time in the fair’s history.

Additional material from the July 31, 1967, August 14, 1967, August 21, 1967, September 5, 1967 editions of the Globe and Mail, and the August 2, 1967 edition of the Toronto Star.

Part Two: Moving, Grooving, and Redesigning the CNE

Originally published on Torontoist on August 19, 2011.

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Architect Harvey Cowan takes the CNE for a stroll. The Telegram, August 5, 1967.

Amid the lines starting today for doughnut cheeseburgers and deep-fried cola at this year’s Canadian National Exhibition, you might hear an eternal argument: is the CNE a charming anachronism that has provided generations of Torontonians a final taste of summer fun, or an outdated relic that has little reason to continue?

Back in 1967, compared to the stylish, imaginative concepts on display at Montreal’s Expo 67, the CNE seemed so old-fashioned that it prompted one local media outlet to survey Toronto-based architects, designers, and filmmakers involved with Expo: how would they revitalize the old fair two weeks before it opened?

Flipping through the articles about the CNE in the August 5, 1967, edition of the Telegram, it’s clear both writers and interviewees weren’t impressed with the current state of the fair. Nearly all felt the CNE was a tatty, lowbrow, Victorian-era embarrassment lacking a compelling vision for the future. As architect Robert Fairfield (who designed the Festival Theatre in Stratford) noted, the CNE “failed to enter the 20th century, by clinging to the idea that it’s an institution. Like a beloved friend, it has been allowed to grow old, sentimental, eccentric, and untidy.” One major problem was finding solid financing to allow for innovative and interactive exhibits, especially from large industrial sponsors. Another issue was how to better utilize the grounds during the other 50 weeks of the year, with ideas ranging from a longer summer schedule of concerts and events to year-long exhibits. Restaurant designer Chet Borst proposed turning the grounds into a year-round restaurant district with eateries at all price ranges offering menus that represented all regions of Canada and themed after different Ontario cities or time periods (a rough-and-tumble bar from Windsor, a stately government house from Ottawa, a futuristic cocktail lounge, etc.).

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Had several of those interviewed by the Telegram had their way, the Princes’ Gates would not be greeting visitors this year. Car 305, leaving CNE grounds via Princes’ Gates, at start of CNE’s first marathon car rally, 1965. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1257, Series 1057, Item 5802.

For designer/Marshall McLuhan associate Dr. Daniel Cappon, the CNE should have moved forward as a national fair like Expo, not a northern version of Coney Island. “Use the psychedelic stuff of Expo, the participating stuff, and not just be passive and visual,” noted Cappon. “Involve the public in half an hour of playing soccer. Involve them with sculpture, with music. Install IBM machines, ask the people a lot of questions, get them involved in the answers. Let them know we’re interested in how they react.” Other suggestions from the interviewees ranged from tearing down the viewed-as-a-boring-gateway Princes’ Gates (which we think is one of the site’s highlights) to building internal transportation systems like monorails. One of the few people to admit liking the CNE was industrial designer Morley Markson, who enjoyed the energy of the midway and its pitchmen and wished the displays captured that excitement.

The Telegram also asked architect Harvey Cowan to write a two-page spread on what was wrong with the CNE (which he compared to an old lady on its deathbed) and how he would fix it. High among the liabilities: dismal streetcar stops that should have been sold to the nearby Canada Packers plant. “It should be inherent to the design of an arrival station that the space says ‘Welcome,’” Cowan noted. “The CNE stations say ‘Go home, who needs it.’” Cowan also found the existing buildings an aesthetic mishmash, the displays dull, the central location of the midway a bottleneck, the entrances mundane, and the formal restaurants displaying “all the gaiety and excitement of open house at the City Morgue.”

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Map of architect Harvey Cowan’s vision for improving the CNE. The Telegram, August 5, 1967.

So how would have Cowan improved it? Via various methods that, had they come anywhere near reality, would have dramatically altered the western waterfront and made a few people unhappy. Cowan’s vision saw the demolition of all buildings at Exhibition Place except for the Grandstand. Their replacements would have included terraced, well-landscaped parking garages, a domed stadium, and a sports centre. Down by the water, an aquarium and Olympic pool would rise. Fort York would have been moved to the shore by the Western Gap, with a public marina beside it. Existing yacht clubs would have been relocated further west along the shoreline. Over on the Toronto Islands, Cowan envisioned the airport moved, with the help of infill, to what would have no longer been Algonquin and Ward’s Islands (at the time, Metro Toronto was determined to remove the remaining residents). The airport’s former location would become the main exhibition area, covered in a plastic, tent-like structure similar to the Ontario pavilion at Expo 67. The midway would have found a new home on Muggs Island. To handle visitors, the Yonge subway line would have extended along the railway lines to the new mainland sports facilities, with a stop at the foot of Bathurst that connected to a monorail service to the islands.

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A design proposal for the main exhibition space on the Toronto Islands. The Telegram, August 5, 1967.

Some suggestions in the Telegram articles may have lingered in the minds of CNE officials. A master plan approved in 1971 called for the demolition of 12 major buildings to make way for new facilities for trade shows and conventions, though only a few, like the Shell Tower, were torn down. While the same year saw Ontario Premier William Davis announce provincial funding for a monorail or other public transit link between Union Station and the CNE, a permanent link didn’t exist until the Harbourfront streetcar line reached the grounds in 2000. Design ideas from Expo 67 were utilized for an exhibition and entertainment space close to the CNE grounds but not part of it: Ontario Place.

Despite the criticisms aimed at the CNE during 1967, the fair broke the three million visit mark for only the third time in its history. Though attendance has dropped to an average of around 1.3 million visitors per year over the past decade, and the fair now relies on gimmicks like novelty caloric nightmares to draw customers, something wouldn’t be right if the CNE wasn’t around as a nostalgic link to Toronto’s past or to argue about the quality of over time.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

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The Telegram, August 5, 1967.

After presenting its articles speculating on the CNE’s future, the Telegram presented a traditional preview of that year’s fair.

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The Telegram, August 15, 1967.

The Telegram also offered its own attractions at the fair, including tie-ins to its popular “Action Line” service and “After Four” teen section.

Vintage Toronto Ads: Let’s Go to the (Pre- and Post-War) Ex

Part One: A Thousand Things to See for Everyone

Originally published on Torontoist on August 14, 2007.

2007_08_14cne30s.jpgSources: National Home Monthly, August 1937 (left), August 1939 (right).

The Canadian National Exhibition opens this week, bringing with it nearly 130 years of tradition, from its beginnings as an industrial showcase to its current role as a signal that summer is drawing to a close. Today’s pair of ads provide a glimpse of what the Ex was like on the cusp of World War II, before it was closed for wartime activities.

The “new amusement area” touted in 1937 proved significant, as it marked the beginning of the CNE’s long relationship with James “Patty” Conklin and the Conklin organization (now folded into the North American Midway Entertainment following several mergers in the carny world). The first year of the contract was not lucrative for Conklin or the CNE due to a polio epidemic that struck the city. Parents were urged to keep their children away from the fair to lower the risk of transmission. The effect was short-lived, as attendance bounced back by the turn of the decade.

That Toronto was still firmly tied to the British Empire is evident in both ads. George VI’s coronation in 1937 is duly noted, with that year’s nightly fireworks show dedicated to the onward march of Britannia. For 1939, note the placement of the pictures of the British exhibits and the promise of “two famous English bands.” No comment for the 48 groups from elsewhere.

The swing era was in full bloom by 1939, with a highly impressive slate of big bands that year. American saxophonist Glen Gray’s group earned its name, the Casa Loma Orchestra, after a residency at the Toronto landmark during its brief phase as a hotel in the late 1920s.

Several of these bands were signed to RCA Victor records, whose corporate parent showcased the future with its television display even though Toronto was 13 years away from its first station. Another RCA division, NBC, launched its TV broadcasting service in April at the continent’s largest exhibition of the year, the New York World’s Fair.

After the 1941 edition of the CNE, the grounds were turned over to the military for training purposes, with the fair put on hiatus until 1947.

Part Two: Welcome Back CNE

Originally published on Torontoist on August 21, 2007.

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Source: National Home Monthly, July 1947.

As mentioned in last week’s ad, the Canadian National Exhibition took a break during World War II. Once the war was over, the existing buildings were modernized to prepare for the Ex’s return. “From acting as a depot through which passed thousands of young Canadians to the theatres of war,” noted a Toronto Telegram editorial, “it now reverts to its role as the window through which the world may glimpse the peacetime strength and wealth of the country in all its amazing variety.”

The CNE was officially opened, after a concert by the United States Navy Band, by Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King on August 22. King emphasized that Canada’s postwar stability was linked to the recovery of Great Britain’s economy, which saw a series of austerity measures introduced the following week. As recounted that evening in the Telegram, King noted that “the Exhibition affords a vivid illustration of our Canadian way of life. More may be seen here in a day than might be learned from books in a month.” Over 103,000 people passed through the gates that day, the first a pair of children from Springhurst—the first adult, according to the Telegram—”was an annoyed CNE worker who had forgotten his pass.”

The next day saw 273,000 visitors, many on hand for “Warrior’s Day,” a salute to veterans.

The Globe and Mail pondered what would bring people to the fair in an editorial on opening day eve:

What actually drives the people to the Exhibition? Undoubtedly the advance notices on such things as rides, sideshows, marathon swims, speedboat races, baby contests, fireworks displays and so on are the primary eye-catchers. But we will wager that more people will want to see the new automobile with three front headlights than will rush over to the sword swallower’s tent. More will want to see in action the television set they would like for their own living room than the careening speedboat which they never will be able to afford.

One lasting memento of this edition was a short produced by the National Film BoardJohnny at the Fair. The film follows the adventures of “Johnny,” a four-year-old who wanders away from his parents and explores the grounds, meeting all of the celebrities on hand that year. Among those he encounters: Prime Minister King, boxing great Joe Louis, skater Barbara Ann Scott, and comedians Olsen and Johnson (best known for their anarchic revue Hellzapoppin’). “Johnny” was chosen from hundreds of children who auditioned. In a Globe and Mail interview, his mother believed that he won “because he was born with a pleasing personality…or maybe it’s because his father is a kibitzer—a prankster, I mean.”

Johnny at the Fair gained new life in the 1990s, when it was lovingly mocked by the crew of Mystery Science Theatre 3000. As for “Johnny,” he fared well in adulthood, growing up to be artist Charles Pachter. The film is being shown at this year’s CNE, along with a documentary reuniting Pachter and director Jack Olsen.

Additional material from the August 21, 1947 edition of the Globe and Mail, and the August 21, 1947 and August 22, 1947 editions of the Telegram.

 

Vintage Toronto Ads: Toronto or Vancouver?

Part One: A Full Day of Fun in Vancou..Toronto!

Originally published on Torontoist on July 24, 2007.

2007_07_24ontario.jpgSource: Toronto ’59: One Hundred and Twenty-Fifth Anniversary.

For years, Toronto tourism ads have gotten a bad rap. These attempts to bring visitors to our fair city have a knack of running off the rails—try finding the love for the Toronto Unlimited campaign.

Today’s ad proves this is not a recent trend, even when the provincial government is the culprit.

When you hear “Toronto,” are images of totem poles and children building castles on a sandy beach the first scenes that come to mind? One suspects these were not the prime attractions for 1950s travelers either (though the ROM would have been one of the few places in the region to publicly display aboriginal works at the time). Did the ad agency mix up the clip art intended for Toronto with that for Vancouver? Even the “Exhibition” could apply to both cities, since the drawing is so generic, the scene could be at the PNE as much as the CNE.

Our happy nuclear family may not have gotten to know Toronto in its 125th anniversary year. Father can only laugh at the travel bureau’s folly, especially when they failed to warn him that the city all but shut down on Sundays.

Part Two: The Wandering Welcome Wagon

Originally published on Torontoist on March 18, 2008.

2008_03_19welcomewagon.jpg
Source: Toronto Life, November 1969.

A family moves into one of Toronto’s more fashionable neighbourhoods. In the middle of deciding where Junior’s playpen will fit in the living room, there is a knock at the front door. Standing on the front step is the official neighbourhood greeter from Welcome Wagon.

The new residents are greeted with the finest publications our city has to offer: Toronto Life, the Vancouver Province, and an unidentified Vancouver Sunday paper (our city’s dailies respected Sunday day-of-rest traditions and didn’t launch a regular Sunday edition until the first Sunday Sun rolled off the press in 1973).

Junior is not impressed. Mother feigns interest. The greeter drops their gifts and moves on to the next set of new neighbours four doors down.

Originating in Memphis in 1928, Welcome Wagon doled out its first gifts to Canadians in Vancouver two years later. Perhaps our greeter had been with the organization since its early days and brought along leftovers to recycle when she moved to Toronto, or was confused by tourism ads placed by the Ontario government.

Just watch out if they hand you tickets for a Canucks home game.

BEHIND THE SCENES

Over the years, there were vintage ad columns with similar themes. In some cases, especially in these short early pieces, I’m going to group them together as a single post. These examples also illustrate how, especially if time was tight, I used my imagination to write scenarios for what was going on in each ad, a habit I’m tempted to revive when I start rolling out fresh material on this site.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

One historical note: there were earlier attempts to launch “Sunday” papers in Toronto, even if they weren’t necessarily published that day. To circumvent Toronto’s blue laws, the Toronto Sunday World was distributed late Saturday night beginning in 1891. A well-packaged paper, it outlasted the demise of the World in 1921, being published by the Mail and Empire until it was sold to Star Weekly in 1924 (good luck finding copies of those final three years, as major institutions don’t hold it on microfilm). The Telegram briefly experimented with a Sunday edition in the 1950s, but it didn’t last a year.