1,632: days of carltons past: bonus features

Before reading this post, check out the related Torontoist article.

 

 

This ad appeared in Toronto newspapers on September 8, 1948, the day before the Odeon Toronto's opening gala. I considered using it for the article, but none of the copies I found were in good shape. This version from the Globe and Mail was the least scruffy of the lot—the copy in the Star looked as if somebody had dropped a bottle of ink on it.

 

To modern eyes, the coverage of opening night makes the event feel as if it was "let's suck up to the British" time...except that the speeches that stressed the importance of Toronto's strong ties to Great Britain were the norm during the first half of the twentieth century. When Mayor Hiram McCallum told the audience that “the future of this country lies with the British community of nations,” he repeated a mantra uttered by numerous dignitaries before him. McCallum also mentioned it was fitting that ever-loyal Toronto received such a fine British-owned theatre, as if the city was a small child rewarded by its parent for obedience. This tone was far more evident in the Globe's coverage than the Star's—while reading the latter I sensed a cynical tone towards the evening (reports that those in formal dress wielding invites were able to skip the long lineup, and a comment that "it was what they call a ‘brilliant premiere.’ That is to say, a lot of people gathered in the lobby to exchange small talk.”).

 

***

 

Other recent Torontoist posts for your reading pleasure:

• The opening of Maple Leaf Gardens
• Why Owl Woman and Mule Man need Postum
  
• Pop 84 for Xmas 85

1,631: geometry of circles, with a dash of frazzle

Watching early episodes of Sesame Street with friends this weekend led to lazy Sunday surfing for classic Children's Television Workshop material. Two picks for your pleasure: the first likely my first exposure to Philip Glass, the second featuring the growly genius of Frazzle. - JB

1,630: drinking chocolate, spo-dee-o-dee...

After a hard day of working on the railroad, in the repair shop, or on the assembly line, isn't it nice to restimulate your nerves with a relaxing cup of cocoa?

I've been on a hot chocolate kick lately, or at least versions that aren’t just Swiss Miss in a cup. I foist the blame on Zingerman’s in Ann Arbor, where I fell for the lure of a cup of Vosges Aztec Elixir Couture Cocoa over Thanksgiving weekend. The Zingerman’s website describes it as:

Inspired by the recipes of the Aztecs. Dark chocolate, ancho and chipotle chilies, Mexican vanilla beans, cinnamon, and cornmeal to thicken. Steamed with our Calder Dairy milk and a splash of 1/2 and 1/2, this drink is silky and rich.

It packed a rich, peppery punch that felt soothing on a sunny fall weekend afternoon after gorging on the sandwich below.


#46 Stan's Canadian Hotfoot at Zingerman's. More details.

Locally, Soma Chocolatemaker in the Distillery District makes a mean Mayan hot chocolate. The main drawback is its richness—it’s hard to imagine drinking more than a small cup.

Just because the chocolate drink has “hot” in its name doesn’t mean it has to be warm. While waiting for Sarah to order a drink at a Montreal branch of Second Cup earlier this month, I glanced at a display of canned mixes near the window. Looking over the “Fffrozen hot chocolate" mix, I noticed that its ingredient list had fewer oils and multisyllabic chemicals than the other preparations. Sensing that I could use a cooling, dessert-like drink after having downed a smoked meat sandwich and fries at Schwartz’s (hmm, does my chocolate consumption coincide with ingestion of mass quantities of deli meat? Discuss.), I ordered a cup. Sarah figured I had discovered the coffee shop equivalent of my addiction to Slurpees. The first one may point in that direction (the lower count of artificial ingredients was detectable), though the slightly heavy feeling that sinks in once you've polished one off might mitigate the risk of developing a habit.

Source: The Mail and Empire, October 24, 1929

PS – For advice on how to control overstimulated nerves, check out today’s vintage ad column on Torontoist.

1,629: photo du jour

See the roosters, all in a row...which will be the first to be felled by a falling panettone?

Which reminds me of a holiday question: is panettone ever meant to be fresh? Anytime I've ever received a loaf in a gift box, it's been on the dry/stale/tasteless side.

Avenue Duluth, Montreal, November 7, 2009 - JB

1,628: shameless self-promotion department

Browse an excerpt from my contribution to The Edible City over on books.torontoist.

New on Torontoist: a pilot's wartime view of downtown Toronto. - JB

1,627: shameless self-promotion department

If you aren't up to braving the masses at the Santa Claus Parade this coming Sunday, you can head down to the Gladstone Hotel to check out the launch of the latest collection of essays about Toronto from Coach House Books, The Edible City.

I contributed one of the essays, parts of which may not come as a big surprise if you've read some of the pieces I've published on the web over the years. Hopefully readers won't find the piece to be half-baked. - JB

1,626: vintage atlantic ad of the day

With the Christmas shopping season underway, why not consider some literary picks from half-a-century ago for those on your gift list? This selection of books even fills CanCon rules, thanks to the selections from two Canuck literary titans.

While researching a recent Historicist column, I stumbled upon reviews for both of these books while browsing microfilms of The Telegram. It appears that portions of The Desperate People were serialized earlier that year in the paper, so those with long memories may have remembered Farley Mowat's look at Inuit life by the time Laurie McKechnie reviewed it:

Surely Farley Mowat’s book will stir the conscience, rouse the indignation of Canadians in much the same way the UNCLE TOM’S CABIN aroused America a century ago...Mowat’s book is NOT fiction. It is tragic truth. It is a magnificent documentary—the story of a race of primitive people carefully constructed by focusing upon the facts of one fragment of their society. And through it all, Mowat’s anger runs powerfully from his pen.

McKechnie was impressed by Mowat's efforts to demolish the myth of the average Inuit as “childishly simple roly-poly figure," even if it was noted later in the review that the author might have played loose with some facts in his earlier books (an issue that proved controversial forty years later). The critic's conclusion?

It may be that experts will find flaws in Farley Mowat’s facts; they may find chinks in his arguments. It may be that in his anger, Mowat has not always made allowances for human frailty. But, after reading this book, nothing can convince me that Farley Mowat speaks anything but the essence of truth…truth that makes me ashamed as a Canadian.

***

James Scott started off his review of The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz by comparing it to another rags-to-riches story about an ambitious young Jewish man, What Makes Sammy Run?, only Duddy is “a lot bigger stinker and a far more understandable human being than Sammy ever was.”

Have we a paradox here? Not at all. Human beings can be thoroughly horrible and yet attract our sympathy for them as human beings. A novelist can capitalize on this if he manages to do one of the most difficult things in fiction—that is make his horrible hero completely believable as a human being. This is what Mordecai Richler—in what is by far his best book to date—has accomplished.

And underneath this tale of a young man from the slums, driven to every extremity to prove himself and make money, lies both a deep understanding and a subtle satire of the Montreal ghetto and what has made the ghetto be there in the first place. Mordecai Richler has a sharp point to his pen which can bring the blood with a deft jab. He also is not inclined to be merciful. The result is a beautifully mature performance. I don’t think there is a false line, a blurred image or a contrived motivation in the whole book…This is a great book and when Mr. Richler has rubbed off the rough edges of his prose he is probably going to be the best writer in Canada.

Source: The Atlantic, December 1959. Additional material from the October 24, 1959 and October 31, 1959 editions of The Telegram.

PS: More vintage ads on Torontoist, featuring a "league of rations." - JB

1,625: the backstreets of toronto: broadway avenue (2)

Part one of this journey.

1 - Northern Secondary School
2 - Brennan Pontiac/Buick
3 - Esso station



Northern Secondary School marks Broadway's crossing of Mount Pleasant Road. There was considerable debate on what name to bestow upon what was then planned as a joint commercial/vocational school. Possible monikers were tossed around on the front page of the February 8, 1930 edition of the Toronto Star, along with fussy reasons for their unsuitability:

"North Toronto": Would conflict with North Toronto Collegiate a few blocks away.

"Eglinton": Would conflict with the public school of that name.

"Mount Pleasant": Would sound too much like the cemetery of that name.

"Roehampton": Name of one of the streets on which the school will stand, is deemed rather an awkward sort of name.

Opinion now seems to favor the name "Northern Vocational School" as expressing both the location and the scope of the school.

One further name emerged: Hudson Vocational School, in honour of the local phone exchange. The front-running name was victorious in a February 11 meeting.

1,624 spooky lady

One of the latest additions to Mom's collection of seasonal decorations is this charming pumpkin-headed lady. I wonder what name Dad would have bestowed upon her, as he did with many of the human-like figures found around our house during holiday seasons.

PS: A pile of posts this week on Torontoist, including the first edition of IFOA, 1960s beverage dispensers and a diabolical intersection in North York.

1,623: old timey games department: hallow-e'en

“A Merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance.”

The desire to play and frolic seems to be a heritage of mankind. In infancy and early childhood this joy and exuberance of spirit is given full sway. In youth, that effervescent stage of human existence, “joy is unconfined.” But in middle age and later life we are prone to stile this wholesome atmosphere of happiness, with care and worry and perhaps, when a vexed or worried feeling has been allowed to control us, even forbid the children to play at that time. Why not reverse things and drown care and strife in the well-spring of joy given and received by reviving the latent spark of childhood and youth; joining in their pleasures passively or actively and being one of them at heart. So presuming that “men are but children of a larger growth,” the games, pastimes and entertainments described herewith were collected, remembered and originated respectively with the view of pleasing all of the children, from the tiny tot to, and including, the “grown-up,” each according to their age and temperament.

So reads the preface to Mary E. Blain’s compendium of amusements, Games For All Occasions, which I recently found during a dive through the bins of a local thrift store. Published in 1909, this copy was once owned by Helen Barrow of 53 King Edward Avenue in Toronto—if any friends or relatives are reading this post and played any of the games in the book, let me know if Helen enjoyed any of them.

After a quick browse, I knew this book could be the foundation for many posts. Since Halloween is almost upon us, why not start with suggestions for ghoulish festivities from a century ago?

1,622: telling it like it is department

Photo taken in Ann Arbor, October 10, 2009 - JB

1,621: remaking st. lawrence market: bonus features

Before reading this post, check out the related installment of Historicist.

Mingling amidst meat. Photo by F. Ellis Wiley. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 124, File 12, Item 7.

The F. Ellis Wiley fond on the City of Toronto Archives website is a treasure trove of images that preserve changes in the city during the 1960s and 1970s in glorious colour. The site has preserved Wiley's organizational scheme, which allow for leisurely flips through sets of buildings (many downtown, many long gone), parks and tourist attractions. His set of pictures of St. Lawrence Market pictures from the early 1970s through late 1980s provided a springboard for a post on the changes the local landmark experienced during that timespan.

Warning! The pictures after the fold may not be suitable for those made squeamish by certain food items sold in the open. Reader discretion is advised...but you know you're going to look anyways. You survived the first picture, after all. Admit it. ADMIT IT!

1,620: rewind

While going back through older posts, I've discovered the side effects of the recent design changes to this site. It appears that deleting then restoring the site address caused any pictures loaded directly onto the FTP service Blogger used to vanish. I'm attempting to recover/recreate as many of these "lost" images as I can, but the process of reviewing old entries to see what's missing has also lead me to delete or revise a number of posts. A lot of posts going bye-bye are collections of links to sites that disappeared long ago or early apologies for not keeping up a regular writing schedule. Deleting these shouldn't cause anyone to cry.

Instead of leaving the space formerly occupied by these posts blank, I'm filling in the numerical gaps with new material, much of which could have been posted in the time these entries were "published." Scans of pictures from university have proved helpful, along with long-unused vintage ads and edited versions of posts from my defunct music blog. Since I'm also redesigning older entries match the current look of the site, the review process provides a good opportunity to update posts with fresh findings. Newly discovered information on the topics at hand, higher quality images, replacement of broken mp3 links with other forms of media—fixes are on.

Among the first batch of new/revised posts are:

• The fine collegiate sport of traybogganing!
• Uncle Dan and his emulsified cod liver oil!
• From Toledo, Ohio, it's Patches and Pockets!
• We're going to bring you the power!

Future significant updates will be mentioned as footnotes in upcoming posts.

Note: if there's anyone who had their picture posted on here before 2006 and doesn't want to see their visage return from limbo, email me and I'll make sure those images stay buried in the past. - JB

1,619: backstreets of toronto: croft street revisited

Readers of this site love Croft Street. Hits still come in for the series of posts I wrote four years ago about one of the city's most interesting streets. The graffiti, murals and other decorations that line the street are ever-evolving—several of the works I captured back in 2005 are long gone. A post-Nuit Blanche stroll through the neighbourhood provided an excuse to snap a few shots of the current crop of art along Croft Street's garage doors and walls.



A departing citizen wishes peace on Toronto before heading to the west coast.




Someone has to look out for the well-being of the neighbourhood.

1,618: vintage time ad of the day

This may be the first time I've ever seen a car referred to with that oh-so-1960s term of endearment, "pussycat". Expect to be decked or given a stern glare if you tested this line out on a current customer service rep at the National rental desk (National bought Tilden in the 1990s).

This also provides an excuse to play a clip from 1960s guilty pleasure What's New Pussycat?



Woody Allen and Romy Schneider demonstrate the proper technique for securing a library book you want from another reader. I haven't had to apply this technique at any of Toronto's library branches...yet.

Source: Time, February 10, 1967

PS: Over on Torontoist, manly ales. - JB

1,617: tape from seattle

The first few hours I spent in Seattle made me wish I had stayed longer in Portland—call it a combination of fatigue and bad luck. After whizzing up I-5 and dropping my belongings off at the hotel, I drove into the city in search of dinner. I hadn't looked at guidebooks beforehand, figuring I'd stumble upon a secret treasure. Not much caught my eye on the roads between Seatac Airport and downtown. I wound in Belltown, where parking was non-existant. Next try was Pioneer Square, where barely anything appeared to be open and a homeless guy dogged pursued me for spare change. Frustrated (and tired), I picked up some mediocre Mexican takeout on the way back to the hotel.



My disposition towards the city improved the next morning, thanks to time Pike Place Market.