A tale of two Toronto city halls
As iconic landmark hits 50, its predecessor turns 116, with a no-less-colourful past
For architect Edward James Lennox, it may well have been the best and worst of times.
He had slaved for years to deliver what was undisputedly a magnificent city hall, an ornate sandstone edifice on Queen St. W. with a 103metre clock towering over Bay St.
But years later he was still fighting for tens of thousands owed for services rendered.
Let’s see, there were the three years of design work, 520 meetings at $10 a pop, photos for progress reports, supervision of “gangs of workmen,” and on and on, meticulously annotated in the final tally of $242,870.82.
Published on the front page of the Evening Star (later renamed the Toronto Daily Star) on Sept. 6, 1907, the statement was submitted eight years after the stout oak doors opened for business — a delay Lennox blamed on disputes with contractors.
Civic officials, who had already paid him $61,000, were “agog” at the outstanding amount, according to the Star. They refused to pay, Lennox sued and the case went to court. More than four years later, he abruptly accepted the city’s offer of $60,000. Tainted by acrimony and scandal, the birth of Toronto’s third City Hall was finally concluded.
It’s a timely tale as the landmark building turns 116 on Sept. 18. But its successor and neighbour one block over on Queen St. W. has a no-lesscolourful past. Celebrating its 50th birthday five days earlier, Toronto’s current city hall has had its share of highs and lows, architecturally and otherwise.
There was controversy over site, cost, concept and choice of a nonCanadian architect. Former mayor Nathan Phillips was laughed at when he suggested throwing the design challenge out to the world in 1955, but two years later, council agreed.
Viljo Revell, a Finn picked from more than 510 entries from 42 countries, produced the now-iconic futuristic curved towers embracing a dome-shaped council chamber.
“Some laughed at the design,” the Star wrote on opening day Sept. 13, 1965. “Now most are bragging.”
The weeklong celebration of the $31-million building was called the “biggest housewarming in the city’s history.” Governor General Georges Vanier used five-metre scissors to cut a 40-metre ribbon as fireworks exploded and fighter planes flew over 20,000 heads in the square, the site of a crowded slum a century ago but now spruced up and named in Phillips’ honour.
“Whoosh, bang — it’s open!” trumpeted the newspaper, devoting eight pages to the event.
The soul and spirit of the city was reflected in the architecture, Vanier told the crowd and long list of luminaries that included prime minister Lester Pearson, premier John Robarts and the widow of Revell, who had died the year before.
But no one was bursting with more pride than Phillips, the “mayor of all the people,” who had dreamed of creating “the most magnificent public building in the world.”
Inside, the soaring architecture echoed with “oohs and ahhs” from thousands of visitors getting their first look at the city’s new headquarters. The occasion wasn’t entirely glitch-free as overcrowded elevators stalled and confused guests wound up in the underground garage by mistake.
But the 94,000 square feet of imported plate glass didn’t shatter, thanks to the Toronto Symphony Orchestra’s last-minute decision to substitute fireworks for cannon fire in the performance of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture.
By all accounts the festivities were a resounding success, with everything from go-go dancers to opera singers entertaining the masses.
But if the fanfare was loud and long, it was a different story in 1899, when the opening of “old” city hall was a low-key affair.
The ceremony presided over by Lord Mayor John Shaw and 24 aldermen in frock coats was modest “with no pomp, pride or bunting,” the Evening Star reported.
“To the very large audience present the new civic palace appeared wonderfully beautiful. All that nature and art could do had contributed to the effect.” One alderman was so moved he was carried out weeping, the paper said, adding his emotional state could be attributed to the decade of council fights, plebiscites over rising costs, contractor scandals and construction problems.
The Star got in a dig at the $2.5million price tag that had ballooned from the original budget of $600,000: “The new City Hall is open at last, but not so wide as are the pocket books of the people who are paying for the elephant.” Lennox, who was inspired by American architect Henry Hobson Richardson’s Romanesque-Revival style, incorporated mosaic tiles, marble columns, a grand staircase and spectacular stained-glass window in the combination courthouse and municipal government offices.
Wardrobes, work tables, handrails and doorknobs were all blessed with Lennox’s exquisite detailing. But when the prolific and talented designer, who went on to build Casa Loma and the King Edward Hotel, told council he wanted a plaque bearing his name at city hall, he was refused.
Legend has it that he got even with argumentative aldermen by carving their caricatures in the stone grotesques over the arches. He added his own likeness and initials for good measure.
Decades later, when the outgrown building was replaced by new digs, it narrowly escaped demolition to make room for the Toronto Eaton Centre when public outcry saved it.
A comment published back in 1899 could very well apply to the unveiling of both old and new city halls: Citizens “must have felt that a new era in the city’s history had begun.” To quote Dickens, it was the spring of hope.