Vintage Toronto Ads: D-Day

As the reprints of older Vintage Toronto Ads columns wind down, this is the first in a new, occasional series. 

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Front page, Toronto Star, June 6, 1944.

As Canadians participated in the D-Day invasion, newspaper advertisers expressed their feelings, hopes, and prayers about its outcome. Here is a sampling of some of those ads, as published in the Globe and Mail and Toronto Star.

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Toronto Star, June 6, 1944.

Simpson’s department store suspended its normal sale ads for several days, starting on D-Day with a full-page prayer taken from Francis Drake’s attack against the Spanish at Cadiz in spring 1587.

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Toronto Star, June 6, 1944.

Near Simpson’s Queen Street flagship, the public gathered for a prayer meeting outside (Old) City Hall. Elsewhere in the city, schools held special assemblies, and all Anglican churches prepared for special services at 8 p.m. that evening. St. Michael’s Cathedral reported people streaming into the church as early as 7 a.m., many of whom were wives and children of soldiers serving in Europe. Special services were also scheduled at several war productions plants, including Massey Harris and, out in Malton, Victory Aircraft.

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Toronto Star, June 7, 1944.

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Globe and Mail, June 9, 1944.

Simpson’s followed up the prayer ad with two spotlighting leaders of the invasion. There was also an invasion-tinged full page spot marking King George VI’s official birthday celebration, even though his actual 49th birthday wasn’t until December.

By contrast, rival Eaton’s continued with their normal advertising, only adding an invitation published on June 6 from Mayor Frederick Conboy to attend a civic prayer service in front of City Hall two days later.

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Toronto Star, June 6, 1944.

For regular updates on the invasion, moviegoers could catch the latest at the Uptown and Loew’s (now the Elgin) theatres on Yonge Street.

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Toronto Star, June 7, 1944.

Radio listeners could follow CBC’s invasion coverage. CJBC, the flagship station of the CBC’s recently formed Dominion Network, swapped frequencies with CFRB in 1948 and moved to 860 AM.

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Globe and Mail, June 7, 1944.

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Globe and Mail, June 9, 1944.

Two examples of ads from the business community.

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Globe and Mail, June 7, 1944.

A listing of some of the Ontario residents who took part in the invasion.

Finally, a pair of editorials: one from the city, one from an outlying area.

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Toronto Star, June 6, 1944

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Orono Weekly Times, June 8, 1944.

The Death of Warren G. Harding

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Sample of an American front page noting the death of Warren G. Harding. Pittsburgh Press, August 3, 1923.

Warren G. Harding does not rank among the great American presidents. For years, he resided with the likes of James Buchanan, Andrew Johnson, and Franklin Pierce at the bottom of scholarly rankings. Much of what soiled Harding’s reputation emerged after his death—corruption galore, the Teapot Dome scandal, mistresses, etc. At least he was aware of his weaknesses (“I am a man of limited talents”).

But the murkiness of his presidency was not widely known when he died in office on this date 95 years ago. None of it was present in the respectful coverage found in Toronto’s newspapers.

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The Globe, August 3, 1923.

Given what we now know about Harding’s extracurricular love life, I wonder if the headline above the picture of the president and his wife was sincere or a winking joke. The Globe’s coverage also included a passage which summed up Harding’s strong desire to be liked:

A trait that endeared President Harding to millions of his fellow countrymen was a certain quality of homeliness. This was the quality that made him liked by his fellow townsmen, Democrats as well as Republicans, and the President knew no politics where his personal relations and neighbours were concerned.

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Editorial, The Globe, August 3, 1923.

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Toronto Star, August 3, 1923.

Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King issued an official statement.

Though Mr. Harding had been in office a little more than two years, during the course of which time the tragic memories of years immediately preceding continue to overshadow current events, he had come to be known to Canadian as a man essentially of goodwill and of unassuming, earnest and kindly purposes.

Flags were lowered to half mast at all federal buildings.

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Editorial, Toronto Star, August 3, 1923.

The province also sent its condolences:

The executive council on behalf of the government and people of the province of Ontario tender to the government and people of the United States of America a sincere expression of their sorrow and sympathy in the national loss that has befallen them through the death of their president whose wise and broad-minded attitude to other nations has done so much to promote international goodwill and co-operation.

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The Telegram, August 3, 1923.

The official reaction from mayor C.A. Maguire. Note the delay in lowering the flag in front of City Hall.

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Toronto Star, August 3, 1923.

Many Torontonians first learned about Harding’s death through the emerging medium of radio.

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The Telegram, August 3, 1923.

The Telegram was the only paper not to feature Harding’s death on its front page, as it was still locked into running classifieds and incomprehensible-without-deep-historical-knowledge editorial cartoons on page one. Readers had to flip to page 14 to find the details.

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Editorial, The Telegram, August 3, 1923.

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Cartoon by George Shields, The Telegram, August 10, 1923.

Not until a week after Harding died did the Tely move away from its cartoons on local political matters and note the president’s passing.

Shaping Toronto: The Old City Hall Cenotaph

Originally published on Torontoist on November 11, 2015.

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When this photo appeared in the November 12, 1925 edition of the Globe, the caption read: “The picture was taken by the Globe staff photographer shortly after the cenotaph had been unveiled by his Excellency, and before the hundreds of wreaths which now cover the base of the monument had been deposited in token of remembrance by the relatives and friends of the noble dead to whom the memorial is erected.” City of Toronto Archives, Globe and Mail fonds, Fonds 1266, Item 6584.

Noon, November 11, 1925: Governor-General Lord Byng of Vimy removes a Union Jack flag to reveal the city’s permanent memorial to the soldiers sacrificed during the First World War. As he unveils the granite monument outside Old City Hall, he looks, according to the Star, “not into a sea of faces but a sea of poppies. Miraculously in a few hours the restricted area that does duty as Toronto’s place d’armes had been carpeted with the fragile scarlet blossoms that are more imperishable than brass and marble associated with the glory and tragedy of the greatest of world conflicts.”

As the cenotaph marks its 90th anniversary this Remembrance Day, it’s worth reflecting on the role such monuments play, and, especially in light of current debates on appropriate memorials, what some people have considered to be desecrations.

When a city council special committee contemplated permanent sites for a monument in 1924, its members felt that erecting it in front of Old City Hall would render it inconspicuous due to space limitations and the height of surrounding buildings. While they preferred replacing an old bandstand in Queen’s Park, veterans felt it should remain at Old City Hall, where annual ceremonies had been held since 1920.

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Three of the potential designs for the cenotaph. Toronto Star, October 27, 1924.

A design competition attracted 50 entrants. The $2,500 prize went to architects/First World War veterans William Ferguson and Thomas Canfield Pomphrey (the latter would work on the R.C. Harris Water Treatment Plant). The cornerstone of the granite cenotaph was laid with a silver trowel by Field Marshal Earl Haig on July 24, 1925. As the unveiling neared, city council ordered a change to the front wording from “To those who served” to a phrase specifically geared to those who fell in battle, “To our glorious dead.”

When city officials arrived at the cenotaph at 6 a.m. on November 11, 1925, they found two memorial wreaths had been left overnight: an anonymous assembly of chrysanthemums and one in memory of Private William Bird from his children. During the ceremony, only wreaths presented by Haig (who, unable to attend, drafted Byng as his stand-in) and the city were allowed to rest on the monument. Dozens of others, representing everything from orphanages to Belgian soldiers in town for the Royal Winter Fair, were banked around Old City Hall’s steps.

“It is true that there is nothing we can do which will add to the honour in which their memory is held,” Mayor Thomas Foster observed during his speech. “But in performing the ceremony arranged for this occasion we follow immemorial usage, and we inaugurate a memorial to the lasting honour of the men of this city who left their homes and the pursuits of peace and gave up their lives for their country.”

One addition was made almost immediately. Members of the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve Officers’ Association were upset that none of the seven battle names inscribed on the sides involved the Navy. Their suggestion of Zeebrugge was added to the rear.

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Macedonian parade, scene at cenotaph, September 1, 1929. City of Toronto Archives, Globe and Mail fonds, Fonds 1266, Item 17805.

The cenotaph quickly became the site of memorials by numerous groups honouring their war dead. Mohawk singer Os-ke-non-ton laid a five foot long “arrow of memory” in December 1925 to commemorate First Nations soldiers. The monument was an official stop during the annual July 12 Orange Parade. Few days went by where there wasn’t a fresh wreath lain upon it.

By the late 1940s, as the dates to another world war were inscribed into the cenotaph, some quarters felt the public wasn’t respectful enough. Letters to newspapers complained about workers resting on it for lunch or smoke breaks, drunks sleeping on it, and the occasional dice game at its base. Police placed “keep off” signs on the cenotaph, while some city councillors wanted to erect spikes to prevent anyone from leaning too close. Some of these efforts to turn the monument into an untouchable shrine echo current arguments on how displaying Christmas decorations too early offends the sanctity of remembering dead soldiers, even if they fought for the freedom to do such things.

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Toronto Star, October 29, 1956.

There’s also the question of whether the cenotaph should just honour the dead from the two world wars, or victims of battle in general. During the Hungarian Revolution of 1956, a group representing 16 ethnicities laid a wreath during a 5,000 person march on October 27, 1956 to honour those killed during the uprising. The wreath was declared a desecration by the Civic Employees’ War Veterans’ Association (CEWVA), whose officials were angered that it represented citizens of a country which was our enemy during the world wars. CEWVA president Al Watson brought a letter to the Board of Control urging the city adopt stricter rules for who could use the cenotaph, preferably for the exclusive honour of Canadian and Allied troops. He didn’t face a receptive audience—controller Ford Brand noted that regardless of Hungary’s past allegiances, its citizens were currently fighting for democratic principles, then asked Watson “how can you distinguish just because of race?” Befitting his nickname of “Mayor of all the People,” Nathan Phillips declared that “the city hall is the centre of the city, a place where all citizens should be able to go express their sorrows.”

But this openness didn’t last long. Following a spat between Croatian and Yugoslavian groups over wreaths that may have honoured soldiers who died while allied to Nazi Germany, the Board of Control ruled in May 1957 that only dead Canadian military personnel would be officially commemorated at the memorial.

Who was considered appropriate to lead a Remembrance Day ceremony at the cenotaph service arose in 2013, when there were calls for Mayor Rob Ford to skip the ceremony a week after admitting to smoking crack cocaine. “That he thinks he has the moral authority to deliver a remembrance address,” observed the Globe and Mail’s Marcus Gee, “is simply staggering.” Deputy Mayor Norm Kelly observed that it was important for the officeholder to show up regardless of their personal problems. Ford was booed as he took the stage.

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Cenotaph, City Hall, decorated with wreaths, Remembrance Day, view from southeast , November 11, 1925. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 200, Series 372, Subseries 41, Item 549.

But booing figures like our former mayor should not be the point of attending a ceremony at the cenotaph. Standing in front of the site should rise above petty concerns like who can or can’t be honoured there. It provides an opportunity to think about military conflict in general, both in terms of the dead and the grey areas which are always present. Don’t restrict your moment of contemplative silence to November 11.

Additional material from the November 11, 1925 and November 16, 1925 editions of the Globe; the July 24, 1947, September 25, 1947, November 1, 1956, and November 11, 2013 editions of the Globe and Mail; and the May 27, 1924, October 27, 1924, November 3, 1925, November 11, 1925, November 16, 1925, December 4, 1925, October 29, 1956, Ocrober 30, 1956, and November 1, 1956 editions of the Toronto Star.

Shaping Toronto: Reusing an Old City Hall

Originally published on Torontoist on September 30, 2015.

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Crowd gathered at the opening ceremony of (Old) City Hall, 1899. Photo by Galbraith & Lewis. Toronto Public Library.

From Old City Hall to mall?” To some web denizens interested in heritage and urban affairs, headlines along those lines have likely induced fits of anger lately. On the surface, you’d suspect the denigration of a National Historic Site was upon us.

Take a moment to breathe.

The suggestion in the city staff report to the Government Management Committee to convert Old City Hall into a retail centre as a future source of rental income is tempered by other recommendations to replace the provincial and municipal courts when they vacate the premises. Based on analysis from real estate brokerage Avison Young, stores could be part of a multi-use facility incorporating food, event, and civic uses. Such a fate is not unusual for other cities across North America dealing with historic city halls, or even our past municipal battlegrounds.

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City Hall on Front Street, 1895. Picture by Frank William Micklethwaite. Toronto Public Library.

When the city’s second city hall opened at the southwest corner of Front and Jarvis in 1845, it was intended as a mixed-use complex to ease overcrowded, unsanitary conditions across the street at St. Lawrence Market. While Henry Bowyer Lane’s design included a clock tower that visitors recognized as they sailed into the harbour, it lacked the imagination of its successors. Architectural historian William Dendy assessed it as competent, but hamstrung by “providing for too many functions with too small a budget.” The building was outfitted with more retail space than planned, as City Council desired more rental income.

Their greed may have been hasty. Merchants felt their shops were too small. Structural faults emerged as the building settled into the ground. Lane soon left town, leading a contemporary observer to reflect that it was “a very strange building and it was unfortunate for the reputation of the architect that he had not left the province before he completed the building instead of afterward.” The city stepped in to improve the building’s structural integrity.

By the end of the 19th century, the site was too tiny to meet the needs of a growing municipal bureaucracy, and too old-fashioned to meet contemporary ideas about grand civic architecture. The city decided to integrate it into an enlarged south St. Lawrence Market. While its wings were demolished, the centre was encased within the new façade. After decades of disuse, the old council chamber was reborn during the 1970s as the Market Gallery.

Replacement proposals during the 1870s and 1880s faced Toronto’s deathly fear of spending one cent too many. When the city purchased the site that would become Old City Hall in 1884, it was intended as York County’s new courthouse. But a committee viewing of Buffalo’s combined courthouse/city hall prompted a public referendum to borrow $200,000 to build a similar duo here. Opponents such as the Board of Trade and the Globe raised the spectre of spiralling costs due to potential political corruption and argued that a new trunk sewer was more pressing. The vote failed. Years of wrangling ensued until the cornerstone for E.J. Lennox’s design was laid in 1891.

When it opened in 1899, Old City Hall joined a wave of Richardson Romanesque landmarks emerging within the city’s landscape. These included the parliamentary buildings at Queen’s Park, the Confederation Life Building at Yonge and Richmond, and Victoria College. It was also well-placed near the city’s early skyscrapers, such as the Temple Building a block south. “Its clock tower soaring above the vista from the lake,” historian J.M.S. Careless observed in his book Toronto to 1918: An Illustrated History, “this edifice was a testament in lavishly worked buff sandstone to the metropolitan dignity of the High Victorian city.”

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Before Eaton’s revealed models of its proposed Eaton Centre, local cartoonist drew their own visions based on early descriptions. Here’s Andy Donato’s from the September 10, 1965 edition of the Telegram.

Such dignity was less appreciated by the early 1960s. Once the current City Hall was approved, the future looked gloomy for its predecessor. In October 1965 a delegation from Eaton’s department store proposed to buy the building for $8 million from Metro Toronto, who had purchased it from the city four years earlier. Eaton’s, encouraged by city planners, intended to transform the mega-block of Bay, Dundas, Yonge, and Queen into the Eaton Centre a complex of office towers, a hotel, shopping mall, and new flagship store. Officials on the project claimed that Old City Hall was “an insuperable barrier” which, no matter how much they tried, was a square peg in the plan. Their solution was to demolish all but the clock tower, as well as getting rid of nearby Church of the Holy Trinity because of the march of progress.

While many politicians were dazzled by the plans—Swansea Reeve Lucien Kurata said it was “so gorgeous, it’s almost sexy”—public outcry arose. When revised plans called for the full demolition of Old City Hall to make room for the podium of the closest office tower, questions were raised. A lobby group, Friends of Old City Hall, formed, performing actions such as cleaning off a portion of soot to show the beauty of the original walls. Eaton’s suddenly cancelled the project in May 1967, blaming unreasonable municipal demands. John David Eaton, head of the retail empire, bitterly remarked to an associate “let’s walk across the street and tell [Mayor William] Dennison he can shove the Old City Hall up his ass.” The irony is that the building Eaton wanted to vanquish outlived his department store.

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Old City Hall, 1960s. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 220, Series 65, File 651, Item 18.

While our former City Hall carried on as a courthouse, other cities across North America found mixed uses for their former municipal sites, or are struggling with solutions. Boston’s 1865 Old City Hall houses tenants ranging from heritage agencies to law firms to a Ruth’s Chris Steak House. In Indianapolis, the old building housed the state historical museum for four decades, then served as a temporary home for the city’s central library. Vacant since 2007, the city recently entered a lease agreement with boutique hotel operator 21c Museum Hotels to restore the building as arts-related spaces and a museum, and provide a physical link to a new hotel being built in the neighbouring vacant parking lot.

Like Toronto, Tacoma, Washington nearly lost its Victorian-era city hall to demolition in the early 1970s. A remodelling with space for businesses and restaurants fell prey to the real estate market collapse. Falling into the disrepair, Tacoma bought the building from a private owner for $4 million earlier this yearafter a failure to meet repair deadlines. This week, the city is showing it off to potential investors, hoping to attract office use or a hotel.

Being a National Historic Site, it’d be a difficult, protracted process to radically overhaul the building, so anyone fearing a mini-Eaton Centre can probably relax. If such plans went ahead, public outcry would alter them (though the cleaning the soot stunt might not work a second time). What is required is a strong vision which, fingers crossed, can survive the inevitable petty political wrangling. Ideally, the building would house a long-needed city museum or other historical exhibition spaces accessible to the public. Retail tenants could integrate nods to our past a la the current occupants of Maple Leaf Gardens, and include businesses offering Toronto made or inspired products. The city report hints at possible trendy office uses such as a business or technology incubator. Given its long service to the city, whatever goes in the building should celebrate Toronto while continuing to respect Lennox’s enduring design as much as possible. It’s a site with plenty of potential that would be foolish to waste.

Additional material from Toronto to 1918: An Illustrated History by J.M.S. Careless (Toronto: James Lorimer & Company, 1984); Toronto Observed by William Dendy and William Kilbourn (Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1986); Lost Toronto by William Dendy (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1993); The Eatons by Rod McQueen (Toronto: Stoddart, 1999); and Unbuilt Toronto by Mark Osbaldeston (Toronto: Dundurn, 2008).

BEHIND THE SCENES

Shaping Toronto looks at the decisions, processes, and trends that form the city we know and love.”

Shaping Toronto was my last ongoing series for Torontoist. It was proposed by new EIC David Hains as a means of looking into the mechanics of Toronto history, how our present landscape was shaped, and what examples could we draw on from elsewhere.

While envisioned as being less labour-intensive than Historicist, my work habits prevented that. Ultimately, the series diverted too much time from better-paying gigs, and, likely in a state of burnout, I pulled the plug in March 2016. In retrospect, ending Shaping Toronto began my gradual withdrawal from the site, a process which took a year to complete.

It’s still a great concept, and maybe one of these days I’ll get around to doing something similar either on this site or elsewhere (send your pitches now!).

Projecting Toronto

Originally published on Torontoist on October 27, 2011.

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One of the great misconceptions about Toronto is that its past is boring. The city has seen its fair share of rebellions, grand celebrations, tragedies, ambitious plans, and unrealized dreams that in various ways intersect with our present. Teaching Toronto’s citizens about how the past and present connect is one of the goals of The Toronto Project, a new website that hopes, in the words of its introductory essay, to “explain who we are, and what we will become, by telling the stories of who we have already been.”

For years, community leaders and civic officials have envisioned a museum showcasing Toronto’s history. During David Miller’s administration there was a push to build one, known at different times as Humanitas or the Toronto Museum Project, in the old Canada Malting silos at the foot of Bathurst Street. The recession ended those plans, which evolved into a website that vows to weave “100 artifacts, 100 Torontonians, 100 stories, 100 exhibit ideas.” The Toronto Project organizers don’t see their effort as in competition with the Toronto Museum Project or other local heritage interests; organizers of The Toronto Project are reaching out to institutions and historical associations via public meetings. As the project’s executive director, veteran journalist David Macfarlane told us by email, “because we insist that we are in competition with nobody and link to everything, any territorial resistance quickly disappears.” Sponsors listed on the site, from cultural institutions like the AGO to legal firms, are providing editorial and financial assistance.

The idea for The Toronto Project grew out of conversations between Macfarlane and former Toronto mayor David Crombie. Macfarlane had just written the text for a coffee table book about the city’s past, while Crombie, who serves as the project’s chair, had long advocated a museum. Both concluded that the flexibility of the online world would allow them to, in Macfarlane’s words, “approach history in a more dynamic, interactive way.” During an interview with Matt Galloway on Metro Morning last week, Macfarlane indicated that he sees the Toronto Project site as an ideal gateway into Toronto’s history for schools and for those who aren’t normally drawn to discovering the city’s heritage.

With the assistance of the Toronto Star, the site’s current focus is collecting stories from Toronto’s diverse communities to build an interactive encyclopedia. “These are, in the main, stories of immigration and settlement,” says Macfarlane, “but by no means exclusively so.” We hope that the remembrances collected will include stories of the warts-and-all variety, which make history livelier and more relatable to contemporary day-to-day struggles than what Toronto Life once referred to as the “People Living in Harmony” school of museums.

Also underway is work on an exhibit highlighting Toronto’s waterfront. That public policy makers sometimes pay dangerously little attention to the area’s historical evolution was painfully evident when the Ford brothers unveiled their derided Ferris wheel and monorail proposals during the summer. The educational value of the Toronto Project’s efforts to contextualize areas of the city, like the waterfront, which have a long history of both good and bad development proposals, could be useful in urging public dialogue that may make voters think about what their elected representatives are really up to.

But will these kinds of discussions ever take place at a physical city museum? When asked where he might envision one being operated, Macfarlane says that “I’ve been spending so much time imagining the city as a museum of itself, it’s actually really hard for me to imagine any single location as a physical museum. That said, I hope there will be one.”

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

Little more emerged from The Toronto Project. The website no longer exists, though there is another site with the same name which apparently launched in 2005. The last time I heard about it was during the press conference for the Toronto Public Library’s acquisition of the Toronto Star’s photo archive.

A video remains on the project’s YouTube page, along with a few notes on Macfarlane’s website. At this point in time, it’s safe to file this one under failed “celebrate Toronto’s history” attempts.

The idea of some form of city museum carried on. I attended a workshop in 2014 for a “Museum of Toronto” which David Crombie was involved in – a post on Active History sums up how that session went. A year later, Myseum emerged, which has programmed many events and exhibitions under its decentralized model (Disclaimer: I’ve been involved in a few of them).

A city staff report released in January 2018 recommended using Old City Hall as a museum site after municipal and provincial courts move out in 2021. On February 1, council voted 35-3 to go ahead with planning. Not surprisingly, the loudest complaint came from a councillor whose family has long been intrenched in the never-thinks-of-wider-public-good/knows-the-cost-of-everything-and-value-of-nothing politics that always seems to entice voters from Etobicoke (a topic I’ll probably rage…erm…provide a thoughtful, well-considered approach to someday).

Recommended reading: for Spacing, John Lorinc suggests how a thoughtful approach would benefit creating the museum.

Buy Victory Bonds

Originally published on Torontoist on November 11, 2011.

War is costly. In addition to the horrifying human toll, conflicts rack up a financial bill that needs to be paid one way or another. As the First World War neared its end in the fall of 1918, Torontonians and fellow Canadians were urged to perform their patriotic duty during Canada’s second Victory Loan campaign (and fifth wartime fundraiser) to vanquish Kaiser Wilhelm II and his evil Huns and help smooth the transition to peacetime.

The local campaign was launched in Queen’s Park on October 27, 1918. The Sunday afternoon crowd, which was estimated at between 25,000 and 35,000, heard pitches delivered by Prime Minister Sir Robert Borden, Ontario Premier Sir William Hearst, and other officials. Out of the $500-million national fundraising target, Torontonians were given a goal of $80 million. According to federal President of the Privy Council Newton Rowell, “The Victory Loan affords the Canadian people an opportunity to show their appreciation of the great and unselfish service of our army during recent months, and their faith in the cause for which that army is so valiantly fighting; an opportunity to demonstrate to Germany and the world that Canada is in this war until Prussian military autocracy is completely overthrown and liberty and peace are assured to the freedom-loving people of the world.” To anyone having doubts about purchasing a bond, Borden reassured the crowd that they were “not asked to give. You are asked to lend, but to lend upon the security of your country and the world doesn’t offer any better today than the security which is given by this fair land of Canada.”

“Lend” was the buzzword of the campaign during its early days, and it was placed on banners adorning buildings, fire wagons, and streetcars. A sign placed in front of City Hall tracked Toronto’s progress in reaching its assigned goal. The city was divided into five districts to which 380 salesmen were dispatched to sell the bonds. As you will see in the gallery of Victory Bond advertisements, there was no soft-pedalling when it came to pushing the public to purchase—if you didn’t shell out for a bond, you shirked your duty to the British Empire and disrespected the bravery and sacrifice of Canadian soldiers. Daily updates in Toronto’s six daily newspapers urged readers to purchase more bonds not only to aid the cause but to beat Montreal in the race to win a flag awarded by the Governor-General to the city that sold the most.

The end of the war on November 11, 1918, gave the campaign a final boost. A Victory Loan parade scheduled for that afternoon turned into a mass celebration of the end of four years of conflict (and an event we will cover in tomorrow’s Historicist column). Images of the Kaiser disappeared from advertising as the focus switched to aiding soldiers who would soon be home and remembering those who wouldn’t return. When the numbers were tallied up after the last bond was sold on November 16, government officials smiled. Nearly $145 million worth of bonds were sold in Toronto, which beat Montreal by just over $1 million.

Additional material from the October 28, 1918 edition of the Globe.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

I’ve added to the gallery several ads that didn’t make the original final cut.

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Here’s what one of the Victory Loan flags looked like, as it was being placed on display prior to the opening of the Peel 150 exhibit at PAMA in Brampton in 2017. It is believed that this flag was awarded to Chinguacousy Township (present-day Brampton and a portion of Caledon).

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Brampton Conservator, November 14, 1918.

Among the discoveries I made while researching the Victory Loan drives in Peel County was a series of limericks published in the Brampton Conservator on November 7, 1918.

In Caledon lived a wise man.
For the future he mapped out this plan:
I’ll provide for old age–
I’ll save at this stage;
I’ll take all the bonds that I can.

A young lady who lives in the Gore
Was anxious in riches to soar.
She took all her funds
And put them in bonds,
Then borrowed to purchase some more.

There was a young man in Port Credit–
Saving with him was a habit–
Having gathered much coin
Which he wanted to loan,
He bought Victory Bonds to the limit.