Bonifaces of the Old Days.
The Queen’s and the Rossin were the swagger hotels. The names of McGaw and Winnett are, and have been for years, intimately connected with the former, and the latter is now the Prince George. There were also the Albion, which John Holderness and James Crocker at different times managed; Lemon’s; Palmer’s; the American; the Walker; the Metropolitan, Revere and many others which were comfortable hostelries and also the Temperance Hotel on Bay street, which was not so comfortable nor so clean as those which had bars attached. Then there was the old Bay Horse and Cherry’s beyond the north end of the city—a popular road house.
Eddie Sullivan’s, Fred Mossop’s, the Merchants on Jordan street (first run by Jewell, then by Morgan and till its close by good old John Cochrane) were favorite places of public resort, not only for leading Torontonians, but for people from all parts of Canada. Eddie’s was at the corner of King street and Leader Lane, and has been demolished to be replaced by an annex to the King Edward. Fred’s was the Dog and Duck on Colborne street, and he afterwards ran the Mossop House on Yonge street, until the O.T.A. put him out of business. When these three disappeared it was a distinct loss to the eating public.
Then there was Carlisle & McConkey’s on King street with a huge terrapin shell on the sidewalk as an inviting sign. Other places were Eddie Clancy’s—he’s now running the Wellington Hotel at Guelph; Gus Thomas’ English Chop House; Sam Richardson’s at the corner of King and Spadina, diagonally opposite which was Joe Power’s Power House. When in Toronto in the early 90’s I used to go up to see Sam, and enjoy a good glass of ale, and it was there that a fine body of mechanics nightly gathered. They found pleasure in a glass of bitter, and didn’t argue or discuss revolutionary questions, as too many of them, deprived of their harmless tipple, do now. On Yonge street there were the Athletic, run by John Scholes, the champion boxer; the Trader by Douglas & Chambers; the St. Charles, which was managed by James O’Neil, until the O.T.A. came into force; and on King street was Headquarters run by the Purrse Bros. They all had their convivial patrons.
Of course, I do not pretend to remember all the places or all the changes that have taken place in the Queen City—no person could—but I have a vivid recollection of a ride on the upper deck of a horse-drawn street car; of the Great Western Railway Station at the foot of Yonge street, now converted into a fruit market; of the old St. Lawrence Market with its wonderful display of meats; of the lacrosse grounds, and of the Queen’s Park, where I first played lacrosse with the newly organized Whitby club against the old Ontarios in the early days of that great national game.
I also remember Capt. Kerr of the then wonderful steamboat, Maple Leaf, which was lost when going to New York during the civil war, having been purchased by the American Government, and I have not forgotten Capt. Bob Moodie, of the little Fire Fly, nor the old lake liners, Highlander, Banshee, and Passport, the fastest vessel on the lake, whose engines are still in active service.
In my frequent visits to Toronto nowadays I meet a lot of old friends, and many new ones, but I sadly miss Charlie Taylor, of the Globe; Bob Patterson, of Miller & Richard’s; Josh Johnston, of the Toronto Type Foundry; John Shields, the contractor; Davy Creighton, who was the first manager of the Empire, and Lou Kribbs, his right hand man; Charlie Ritchie, the lawyer, Moses Oates, who lived on Isabella street, and told me ghostly stories until my hair stood on end; ex-Ald. Crocker; Cliff Shears, of the Rossin; ex-Ald. Jack Leslie; Ned Clarke, Jack Ewan and Tom Gregg, the newspaper men; John Henry Beatty, who was a fast personal friend of Sir John Macdonald; Johnny Small, the collector of customs; John Maughan, father of Col. Walter Maughan of the C.P.R.; Lud Cameron, the King’s Printer; Ned Hanlan, Harry Hill, secretary of the Exhibition, Detective Murray and I really don’t know how many other princes of good fellows.
But I occasionally come across T. C. Irving of Bradstreet’s, who can tell two funny stories where there was only one before; Peter Ryan, who has retired into official life; Fred Nichols, then on the Globe, now a senator; Arthur Wallis, formerly of the Mail, now registrar of the Surrogate Court; the Blachfords, who played lacrosse in Winnipeg in the early days; M. J. Haney, the contractor, under whose direction the Crow’s-Nest Pass Ry. was built; Hartley Dewart, the leader of the Liberal party in the local legislature; the Bengoughs; Geo. H. Gooderham; Col. Noel Marshall; Acton Burrows; Col. Grasett, Chief of Police; Col. George T. Denison, the police magistrate, whose printed reminiscences make very interesting reading; Arthur Rutter, of Warwick Bros. & Rutter; William Littlejohn, the city clerk; and of course, His Worship Mayor Thomas Church, and a big bunch of other live and hospitable citizens.
No matter how large or how small, every city has something or other of which it is pardonably proud. Halifax has it harbor, its citadel and its Point Pleasant Park; St. John has its big fire, its high tides and Reversible Falls; Montreal, its splendid situation Mount Royal and its Royal Victoria Hospital; Ottawa, its Parliament Buildings and Chaudiere Falls; Vancouver, its Stanley Park; Quebec, its romantic history, its citadel, its Dufferin Terrace and its Chateau Frontenac; Moncton, its “bore”; Peterboro, its big Trent Canal lift lock—the biggest in the world; Kenora, its ten thousand islands; Lake Louise, in the Canadian Rockies, its enchanting beauty; Oshawa and Galt their manufactures; but Toronto’s great boast is that it possesses the biggest fair on the continent and the tallest building in the British Empire.