Tag: <span>Toronto Gone</span>

Phone Booths, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

Phone booths used to be everywhere in Toronto, but around 15 years or so ago, when cell phones took over, they began to disappear. Rennee Reizman writes in The Atlantic, “At a time when 95 percent of Americans own a mobile phone, the phone booth seems quaint and outdated. People have waxed nostalgic over the loss of this technology in eulogies, public art installations, and documentaries. Since a peak of 2.6 million public pay phones in the mid-1990s, this ubiquitous infrastructure has been on the decline. After the devices stopped turning a profit, AT&T officially announced its exit from the pay phone market in 2007. Verizon followed suit in 2011.”

In the U.S., phone booths were thought to be linked to criminal activity, and were removed. The efforts led to fewer pay phones in impoverished areas, making them inaccessible to their most-likely users. A post on five9.com states “In addition to technological advancements, phone booths have a separate inferiority: they are frequently vandalized. It is not uncommon to see explicit writing in pen or spray paint and the windows practically beg for hooligans to throw rocks. People leaving bars, intoxicated in the middle of the night, are known to use them as restrooms. Even sober pedestrians use them as garbage cans.”

You may remember having to put a dime in the slot and using the rotary dial to dial the number. Later, in the 1980s, as in these photos, the rotary phones were replaced with push button ones. And at some time, the fee went from 10 cents to 25 cents. It was a place to get out of the wind on a winter night, or a place to have a private conversation. I remember getting my first answering machine is the early 1980s and the messages could be accessed remotely from a pay phone with a little beeper. So high tech!

I miss phone booths, but it is good to know that they are being repurposed in certain places. According to five9, “Despite their imminent extinction, telephone booths have proven useful for other purposes. The city of Shanghai, China, has converted 500 former telephone booths into WiFi hotspots. On one hand, this is a positive change because the booth is being used. On the other hand it is somewhat ironic because its new purpose is powering a successor technology. Phone booths are also still useful for advertisers. Just because people no longer enter the booth to make calls, they do pass by. In fact, New York City earns three times as much using its phone booths as ad space than they do using them for their phone services.”

On a recent trip to Japan, I noticed as many phone booths as ever. It means they are still being used, even if just as a space for advertising.

(The title of this post is of course a reference to Pete Seeger’s 1962 folk classic Where Have All the Flowers Gone? – a circular song, that ends where it started, and summarizes the consequences of war.)

The series “Toronto Gone” puts a focus on things that have disappeared–buildings, businesses, parking lots, cars, people that used to be a part of the city in the 1980s and 1990s prior to the condo boom, and before the widespread use of computers and cell phones.

Pears Avenue, Ramsden Park, Toronto, 1984 – © Avard Woolaver

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Cherry Street, Toronto, 1982 – © Avard Woolaver

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Yonge Street, Toronto, 1981 – © Avard Woolaver

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Wallace Avenue, Toronto, 1981 – © Avard Woolaver

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Parliament Street, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

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Gerrard and Jarvis, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

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Jarvis Street, Toronto, 1980 – © Avard Woolaver

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Yonge and King (looking west), Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

Photography Toronto

Dundas West and Mavety, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

These are photos taken in a neighborhood of Toronto called, The Junction. I lived in this neighborhood from 1982-1986. For part of that time I was attending Ryerson in the downtown core, and did most of my street photography there. But I also took the time to walk around the Junction with my camera recording everyday scenes. It may have been a little gritty and down-trodden, but the area had a lot of character, a lot of soul.

Today, The Junction is totally revitalized with lots of cafes and bars and a vibrant night life. Back in the 1980s it was a dry area (no alcohol was sold) and it meant a long trek to the liquor on public transit. I miss those carefree days days of my youth.

View of New Image Gallery, Toronto, 1982 – © Avard Woolaver

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Dundas West and Mavety, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

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Mavety at Dundas West, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

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Baird Park, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

Blogging Film Photography Photography Toronto

Dundas West and Mavety, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

During the years 1980-1986, I did a lot of street photography in Toronto. For the past four years I have been scanning an archive of this material, and posting it online. Toronto Gone represents the final photos, the ones that have been recently scanned or have not been published in my Toronto books.

My memories of living in The Junction have faded. That’s why I’m so glad I have the photos to help me remember my time there (1982-1986). They bring back the feeling of living there and, for me, the colour photos seem to carry a more emotional and psychological component than the black and white ones. It also reminds me the importance and value of the documentary photograph.

Looking at a photo many years later, you may not know exactly why you took it but still be glad you did. Among other things, photography has been a visual diary for me. It helps me remember the places I’ve been and things I’ve seen. Photos can also become valuable documents of things and places that no longer exist.

We never know the full significance of the photos we take. They’re a picture of a moment, and that moment is gone as soon as you’ve taken the picture. That place–or that person, or cloud, or animal–is already changing before you’ve even walked away. We don’t know until much later whether those changes will accrue quickly or gradually. We don’t know if we’ll ever be there again, ever talk with that person again. The relentlessness of change is masked by its ordinariness.

This has been so evident to me in hearing people’s responses to my Toronto series. Taken in the 1980s, they show a city that many feel no longer exists.

Dundas West and Mavety, Toronto, 1984 – © Avard Woolaver

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Dundas West and Keele, Toronto, 1984 – © Avard Woolaver

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Dundas West and Medland, Toronto, 1984 – © Avard Woolaver

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Keele Street, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

Photography Toronto

Dundas West and Mavety, Toronto, 1984 – © Avard Woolaver

The Junction is a neighborhood in west Toronto with the main intersection being Dundas and Keele. When I lived there in the 1980s, it was gritty and somewhat run down. It was still a dry area then–no alcohol could be sold or served. That meant there were no good restaurants, no bars, and practically no night life. It didn’t seem dangerous, though; just a working class neighborhood with lots of small Mom&Pop shops. It was known as Little Malta because of the large Maltese-Canadian community.

I used to walk around the neighborhood sometimes with my camera. It had a lot of character, a lot of tarnished charm. Living there for four years gave me the opportunity to feel at home, and relaxed. I remember the characters who hung out at Crazy Joe’s Flea Market and Poor Boy Restaurant, the tasty toasted western sandwiches at Mimmo’s Place, Vesuvio’s Pizzeria, the pungent smell from the stockyards when the wind blew the wrong way, and numerous parties and gallery openings at our studio. All of these are gone now.

The Junction has been completely revitalized. It’s no longer down at the heels. The elimination of prohibition in 2001 has been a positive change; there are now lots of cool bars and pubs along Dundas Street West. The Stock Yards is now a huge area of box stores. And the electric lines have all been buried, giving the streets a neater, cleaner look.

It’s been almost forty years since I lived there; time has a way of smoothing out the bad times and magnifying the good ones in a tide of nostalgia. And memories are notoriously fickle. The photos, however, do not change. They are documents, and tell a story of what it was like to live there.

Dundas West and Keele, Toronto, 1982 – © Avard Woolaver

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Dundas West and Medland, Toronto, 1985 – © Avard Woolaver

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Mimmo’s Place Restaurant, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

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Crazy Joe’s Flea Market, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

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Dundas Street West, Toronto, 1982 – © Avard Woolaver

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Ralph’s Barbershop, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

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View from New Image Gallery, Dundas St. West, Toronto, 1982 – © Avard Woolaver

Film Photography Photography Social Landscape Toronto

Near Nathan Phillips Square, Toronto, 1982 – © Avard Woolaver

In 1980s Toronto men still wore dapper hats, or “business hats.” I always assumed that it was to hide balding heads, or to protect them from the elements. But it seems, in history, hats were a thing for other reasons. According to Deborah Henderson, a costume designer and the author of four books about men’s headwear, “Throughout history, people wore hats to indicate their social position in the world. Any trade—postman, engineer, pilot—had its own cap. Even lawyers, in the ’50s, all wore fedoras.”

Why did men stop wearing dapper hats? An article from Esquire magazine suggests that nobody has pinpointed one sole reason why men stopped wearing hats. One reason could be the rise in automobile use. “With low roofs meaning you couldn’t wear a hat while driving and generally had no need to cover your head anyway, personal transport often negated the need for headwear.”

Another reason could be the stigma associated with WWII. “Another theory posited suggests that the hat suffered a serious decline after the end of World War II because it was an unwelcome reminder of the time people had spent in uniform. Men who fought did not want to wear hats with civilian clothes after the war.”

Benjamin Leszcz writes in Canadian Business, “A potent social signifier, hats identified a man’s role in society. (Hence the idiom of “putting one’s [insert profession] hat on.”) Little surprise, then, that the individualism of the ’60s and ’70s rejected the rule-bound world of hats, embracing anti-establishment afros, flowing locks and blow-dryer-enabled atrocities. By the late ’80s, the hat stigma faded, and every couple of years since, fashion journalists proclaim the hat’s comeback. Today, hats are runway stalwarts, and classic brands—like Borsalino, Stetson and Biltmore, which until recently was based in Guelph, Ont.—are holding steady. But hats will never entirely come back. The shift is decisive: historically, men wore hats to fit in; today, men wear hats to stand out.”

These days when I visit Toronto the people I see wearing dapper hats are thirty-something hipsters going for that vintage look.

Photos from the series: Toronto Gone – highlighting the buildings, businesses, parking lots, and people that used to be a part of the city in the 1980s, that have disappeared, and been replaced by others. It’s part of the inevitable cycle of death and rebirth, of disappearance and reappearance.

Yonge and College, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

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Queen and Bathurst, Toronto, 1984 – © Avard Woolaver

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Queen and Bathurst, Toronto, 1984 – © Avard Woolaver

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Queen and Bathurst, Toronto, 1984 – © Avard Woolaver

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Allan Gardens, Toronto, 1982 – © Avard Woolaver

Photography Social Landscape Toronto