Saturday, 29 September 2018
oh dear
Someone left the lights on, didn't they?
It's that time of year again. I found her — I thinks it's a her — on the sidewalk in front of 333 Laurier West around noon today, well into rigor mortis and looking like a dried leaf as much as anything else.
The Parulidae go drab this time of year and identification gets tricky, which is why Peterson popularized the term "confusing fall warblers" though he didn't mean falling dead out of the sky. I think this is/was a female Common Yellowthroat but I could be way off base. I set her in a nearby planter to spare her the indignity of being trod upon. Such a tiny thing, she easily disappeared in the palm of my hand.
Wednesday, 26 September 2018
The Listening Post that Wasn't
May 30 1950, Ottawa Journal |
Consider the above article, which appeared in late spring of 1950. We know that the RCMP never moved into the old Isolation Hospital (since demolished). But what if they had? What would the south end of Strathcona Park look like today? Probably a lot more built-up than it is now. Fenced off more than likely. The tantalizing question (for those of us in this time-line) is... what did the RCMP want with that hospital?
Goad Insurance Map, detail. The hospital was eventually replaced by the Sandringham Apartments. |
It's not entirely clear why the RCMP deal didn't go through, but somewhere in that 1950-1954 time-span, a "Plan B was already sprouting legs.
* * *
Justice Building / "D Block", 294 Wellington Street |
From day one, the RCMP were front-and-center in the investigation, rounding up and interrogating suspected communist agents and otherwise liaising with the American FBI and the British MI6, which would have set them, suddenly, on a rather lofty footing. Headquartered in "D Block", now the Justice Building on Wellington (James Bond dropped by in For Your Eyes Only), the RCMP maintained several offices across the city, including the "Rockcliffe" facility at the north end of St. Laurent Boulevard (now the stables) where Gouzenko was debriefed and where suspected spies were held and questioned.
The RCMP's "D Block" is in there, somewhere. |
Which they didn't. Instead, their particular sprawl would soon be sited on the NE side of the Hurdman Queensway Bridge, which see...
Looking east from above the Rideau River, note the dark grey "seminary" complex toward the top of the image. |
Consider this brutally short timeline...
April 1950 — Episcopal Corporation of Ottawa is building a seminary north of Tremblay Road, overlooking the Rideau River.
May 1950 — RCMP puts out feelers re moving into that not-quite 50 year-old hospital.
January 1953 — An Ottawa Journal headline reads "RCMP Moving Entire Offices to Tremblay Road Seminary"
Wait what?
The article which follows this pronouncement begins thus...
That's right. The RCMP moved into a newly completed but never occupied seminary campus. In fact, the RCMP were overseeing modifications to the buildings' designs even before they had been completed. "Five year lease" notwithstanding, I can only guess that the Feds made the Episcopals "an offer they couldn't refuse".
But this only begs the question — why didn't the federal government just build the RCMP a state-of-the-art, made-to-order HQ complex in Alta Vista, or out on Prince of Wales Drive or wherever... something like the Sir Charles Tupper Building or the Sir John Carling Building, or that snazzy, tribrachial Edward Drake thingy out on Riverside, like they did for the CBC?
* * *
Why indeed? What was the deal with the Mounties and their Rideau River fetish?
Since 1945, the Cold War had been the RCMP's prestige dossier. And who were we "at war" with? Well, "commies" in general of course, but your friendly neighborhood Russians in particular — those Bolshie baddies in their brooding bastion overlooking the north end of Strathcona Park. From an eavesdropping standpoint, the old hospital at the south end would have been almost too good to be true — a air-gap of only 600 metres from building to building, with a killer sight-line served up on a silver platter. Scroll back up to the Goad plan and imagine the hospital's north with crammed with whatever listening equipment the NRC was dreaming up back in the 1950s.
In the end however, they chose a (much) newer building on a larger, flatter lot. Granted, "The Seminary" was further removed from the Reds at a distance of 1.5K (not quite a mile), but still close enough, with its own espionage-worthy sight-line. At least the Russians seemed to think so —they've had a dish antenna pointed horizontally in the general direction of The Seminary for decades now.
To sum up, the RCMP were trying to install a listening post as close to the Russian Embassy as they possibly could.
The yellow line shows the e-surveillance sight-line the RCMP would have enjoyed if they'd moved into the hospital. The Russians, of course, would have had fun with it too — ваше преимущество - мое преимущество, comrade! All of "Hospital Hill" would be fenced off by now, barbed wire, trees cut down, Alsatians snarling...
* * *
While "Plan B" was sprouting legs, "The Seminary was sprouting wings. |
This parcel of land would have originally been deemed part of the historic Hurdman Bridge settlement, although it was hardly ever built upon. Aerial photos from both 1933 and 1945 reveal a soggy field overlain by a grid of roadbeds (but no ditches, ditches would have been nice) flood-prone and well soaked through in so many spots. The land sits between old Overbrook to the north and former Bannermount** to the south. So yes, given its proximity to the Hurdman Bridge it would have been considered quite ripe for subdivision, and yet, somehow, no homes were ever built on it's lots. Of course WWII put everything on hold between '33 and '45. After the war, I assume the Episcopalians (Catholics, whatever) bought it for a song. I'd love to know what the Feds paid them for it...
*Actually, the Grand Trunk ran across Ottawa east-to-west and was replaced by the Queensway.
** "High and dry" as Alex Bannerman might have described it.
Tuesday, 25 September 2018
Great House of Siding
...Avenue L, Eastway Gardens off Tremblay Road. The area was originally subdivided by the colourful (dare I say notorious?) Alex Bannerman as “Bannermount” despite its flatness.
Bannermount was (sensibly, I think) conceived as a community for rail workers but it never quite got off the ground — the section west of Belfast Road eventually/ironically became the site of the current Ottawa Train Station as well as the Dustbane industrial park (the latter including the above house) while the eastern half was turned into Eastway Gardens (”Alphabet Park”) by the late Bill Teron, one of his earliest developments in this city.
The first time I saw this house I figured it for some kind of biker club house, armoured to the tatas and such, but apparently it is, or at least was the office of a siding company, clad in squares of sample product. Sweet job guys ;-)
a demonstration of scale
photo March 31 2018 |
“NAGLE HOUSEYou can read more about Mr. Nagle and his house here.
Thought to be the oldest house in Centretown, this house was built for Richard Nagle, a successful dealer in timber limits[*].”
*He bought and sold the rights to fell timber on Crown Lands. It’s a Canadian thing.
Monday, 24 September 2018
508 Lisgar
...the house with the "Scharf Grocery" ghost sign — shot after dark by street illumination, iPhone 8.
Sunday, 16 September 2018
Peggy darling...
advertisment, November 24 1923 |
This post has even less to do with the building of Ottawa than the last, but when one finds such a gem of advertising, sharing is mandatory. Like the previous, it appeared in Ottawa Citizen without any mention of a local retailer. Both ads would have been produced and placed directly by the manufacturers.
The name "Campana's Italian Balm" caught my eye because my mother bought little glass bottles of the stuff back in the 1960s. Light to the touch, semi-opaque and off-white (like pearl jam, if you'll excuse the term) with a delicate floral scent (rosewater?), Italian Balm was a strikingly effective moisturizer. The catch-phrase "Use only a drop — spreads widely" comes to mind, though I'm not sure if that was in fact Campana's.
The precious tone of the ad may be contrived, but it works for me. Having personally dropped a lemon meringue pie a floor, I can attest to having said "fuck" loudly, after which I stormed about, giving everyone "thundercloud looks".
Marie's odd turn of phrase "I feel like about a million marks" may refer to hyperinflation in the Weimar Republic (which see) and could be translated as "I feel as worthless as a sack of turds" — a timely and clever subversion of "I feel like a million bucks!" The date of the ad lines up nicely with the German financial crisis of the 1920s.
This short, uncredited piece appeared in the Citizen some two months before Campana's advertisment...
We should remind ourselves that this article predates Hitler's appointment to Germany's chancellorship by nearly a decade. And their name notwithstanding, the Nazis were not socialists in any current, kumbaya sense of the word. As to the shopworn quip that "at least Hitler made the trains run on time", I'd be curious to know what role the above-described, pre-existing bureaucratic bloat did or didn't play in the matter.
German boys are seen putting devalued marks to good use. |
There is a curious historical link between Italian Balm and Amelia Earhart. If you're interested in forensic chemistry and how cosmetics degrade over time (separate, go rancid, oxidize, turn a funny colour), check out this document... "Were materials from the 1934 bottle of Campana Italian Balm a spectral match to white, sticky residue removed from the artifact found on Nikumaroro in 2007 (Artifact 2-8-s2a)?" (link to pdf) or just Google "amelia earhart italian balm". When you run into Alex Jones, you've gone far enough.
Italian Balm was developed in Canada. American marketing by the by "The Campana Company" of Batavia Illinois began circa 1926...
a 1941 Campana/RKO cross-promotion |
Saturday, 15 September 2018
When is a Chesterfield a Davenport?
The Ottawa Citizen, November 3 1923 |
Friday, 7 September 2018
311 Bank Street
Pudgyboy's, coming soon. And no, I did not pose this — it just happened. |
Younger locals will remember #311 as the late "King's Pizza & Greek", "Meat in the Middle" sandwiches before that, and the "#1 Quiznos in Canada" once upon a time...
The address served as a grocery store from the latter 1800s through the 19-aughts ("Usher's Dairy"), then variously as a barbershop (see below), a drug store ("Olivers") in the '20s, a Canadian Bank of Commerce in the '40s and '50s, and the "House of Carpet & Tiles" and "S&S Surplus" (Landlubber Jeans, GWG Scrubbies) through the 1970s.
1913-6-19, note the reference to fires, one block to the north |
Some of us will recall the Blue Moon Café from the 1990s, a chic-but-unpretentious lunch spot with Pat Nagel prints on the wall. This was my favourite place to dawdle over a Caesar salad, sip a glass of wine or two and watch the world go by.
"Her name is Rio..." art by Pat Nagel |
Roger was the Blue Moon's ever-solicitous day-waiter and Jolyn the palm-reader would set up her consulting table there at least once a week.
By the latter '90s, the Blue Moon was hosting jazz nights and the "Goodfella's Comedy Club". I remember dropping in for lunch one day to find the north wall of the cafe dominated by a portrait of this character...
The God of Zaniness had landed. |
From what little I've seen, Pudgyboy's Diner is a local endeavour, a food-truck offshoot aiming to serve some version of a burger-and-fries-centric menu. I look forward to seeing whether and how they'll be keeping things real in one of Ottawa's funkier neighbourhoods.
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