Toronto Sketches 9. Mike Filey
funny how our values change with the passage of time. Attitudes towards the preservation of historic structures are a case in point. I can recall that during the initial discussions back in 1965 about something called the Eaton Centre many people believed that this futuristic $260-million project was just too important to Toronto, and to the future of its downtown, to allow anything, anything, to jeopardize its completion. And since the original version of the Centre was to occupy the entire Queen, Bay, Dundas, Yonge parcel of land, the demolition of virtually every building standing on that property was pretty much a foregone conclusion regardless of any historic significance any of those structures might have had.
For sure, all the shops on the west side of Yonge from Dundas to Queen would go except for the old Woolworth store at the Yonge and Queen corner. That wasn’t because of any specific historical significance. No, it was because the site was owned by McMaster University as a result of an ancient will drawn up by a member of the Bilton family who didn’t like Timothy Eaton very much. As a result, the site was off-limits to anyone connected with the Eatons. I wonder if that will is still in force.
The future of several other buildings in what was being referred to as the “superblock,” including the Salvation Army headquarters, the historic 1847 Holy Trinity Anglican Church, and a couple of the church’s neighbouring buildings, also appeared to be in jeopardy. But there was one structure on the site that many Torontonians regarded as untouchable. That was Toronto’s “Old” City Hall, a building that had stood at the northeast corner of Queen and Bay since 1899 (although back then the stretch of Bay north of Queen was still called Terauley).
“Old” City Hall was once regarded as one of the finest municipal buildings on the continent, and the decision by City Council not to turn it over to the developers was one of the main reasons for the failure of that first Eaton Centre proposal. In fact, recognizing how important the old building was to the outcome of the discussions, the developers even went as far as to suggest they would keep the 300-foot-high clock tower and the Cenotaph as gestures of goodwill. But, nope, it was the preservation of the entire building or the deal was off. Sentiment and fiscal conflicts won the day, and on May 18, 1967, Eaton Centre Number 1 was officially declared dead.
Some of the original carved sandstone gargoyles near the top of the tower are visible in this circa 1910 photo of today’s “Old” City Hall.
In early 1971, plans for a revised version of the Eaton Centre were presented to city officials. With the old expression “once bitten, twice shy” in mind, this time the modified design didn’t come anywhere near “Old” City Hall. But this proposal was also to face intensive scrutiny before the first building permits were issued. Finally, after more than 12 years of discussions, Phase 1A, consisting of 150 shops and a new main store for Eaton’s, Toronto’s new (and revised) Eaton Centre opened on February 10, 1977. The rest of the project, referred to as Phase 1B, opened on August 8, 1979. Since then the Centre has had several “facelifts” as it continues to be one of Toronto’s top attractions.
Now, here’s the most interesting part of the long, long Eaton Centre saga. When the original scheme for the Centre was proposed in 1965, it looked as if “Old” City Hall was doomed. But the rally cry went out, and for a variety of reasons, including those of financial and sentimental merit, the ancient landmark was spared. Not only spared, but the city’s change in attitude towards its few remaining historic treasures has resulted in a long-term, multimillion-dollar plan being initiated to ensure that “Old” City Hall remains a part of the city landscape well into the future.
By the time this postcard view was published, the gargoyles had been removed.
Under the direction of City of Toronto officials, Ventin Group (Toronto), Inc., is in the process of supervising the restoration of much of the badly weathered brick and stones (and related masonry work). Included in the project is the installation of new copper roofing and something that most people had forgotten about — the re-appearance of the four gargoyles near the top of the clock tower. These unusual features, which were originally carved out of sandstone, had been removed years ago as a safety measure. However, the present restoration program is so meticulous that the scary foursome are back in place though now cast in bronze.
February 16, 2003
Wind in Their Sails
There’s a myriad of attractions to be seen at the century-plus-old Canadian National Exhibition, but one exhibit has year-round appeal combining, as it does, the age-old concept of using wind to do work and the more recent theory of having that same wind generate electricity.
And that’s exactly what the 308-foot-high windmill (technically, its called a wind turbine) at the west end of Exhibition Grounds is doing as its trio of 95-foot-long blades spin at a maximum 21 revolutions per minute. In fact, the electrical output of this one turbine is sufficient to supply the needs of approximately 250 households. Actually, that statement is rather simplistic. What really happens is that the power generated by the Windshare wind turbine is fed into the city’s electrical grid where it helps decrease the total amount of power needed to serve the community. As a result, the more turbines, the fewer kilowatts of power required from other sources. For more details about this interesting project, see the www.trec.on.ca/windshare website.
While the windmill (aka, wind turbine) down at Exhibition Grounds is certainly a newer feature on Toronto’s skyline, it isn’t the city’s first such structure. The honour for that goes to the windmill erected in the fall of 1832 at the edge of Toronto Bay just east of the foot of Parliament Street. That one was made of brick (105,000 of them to be exact), was 70 feet high, and was an important component of new arrival James Worts’s new business enterprise.
Worts had immigrated to York (Toronto) in 1831 from Suffolk, England, in search of a new home for his family as well as for his brother-in-law William Gooderham and offspring. James selected the tiny town of little more than 3,000 souls nestled on the shore of a small bay protected from the often raging waters of Lake Ontario by the curving arm of a peninsula (that, following a fierce storm on April 13, 1858, was transformed into what we now refer to as Toronto Island).
James was familiar with wind-powered gristmills, having operated one back in Suffolk where winds off the North Sea provided the power to turn the sails to grind the grain. Worts was sure that winds off Lake Ontario, caught by fabric sails, would provide the power to turn grinding stones. So he went ahead and built his new wind-powered gristmill on the shoreline at the southeast corner of the town site.
The Windshare wind turbine at Exhibition Place. The 1930 Shriners’ Peace Monument is in the foreground.
With a successful wheat-grinding business now virtually assured, James contacted William back in England and suggested that he and the rest of the Wortses and Gooderhams come to live in York. William agreed, and when the brood arrived in the summer of 1832, the contingent that consisted of family members, servants, and 11 orphans increased the population of little York by a total of 54.
Tragically, just two years after the families had nicely settled in York, James Worts, despondent over his wife’s death during childbirth, ended it all by throwing himself down the company’s well. It was then that William Gooderham brought a nephew into the business, and from then on what had been Worts and Gooderham became Gooderham and Worts.
While the milling business always made money for the young enterprise, by 1837 a better income was being realized from the distilling of surplus and second-grade grain into whiskey. With the sources of most drinking water suspect, whiskey (and beer) were the beverages of choice, both having received some form of sterilization in their manufacture. In short order Gooderham and Worts became the largest distilling operation (and the largest taxpayer) in the entire