THE CHALLENGES OF HISTORIC MAIN STREET COMMERCE - AS COMPARED TO THE WAY IT WAS FROM, WELL, "THE BEGINNING"
ANOTHER EXAMPLE OF ECONOMICS TRUMPING HISTORICAL PRECEDENT
In my early years as a columnist, for the local press, I often disagreed with the direction the councillors of the Town of Bracebridge, were taking, to facilitate large scale development. I didn't like the idea that a small group of elected representatives, could change the historical character of our mutual hometown, based almost solely on the promise of economic prosperity. The magic beans scenario. I worried, with some foundation, that serious compromises were being made, without careful study, to how these developments were going to herald, by planning precedents, the very next generation of urban expansion. There were thousands of small towns, across North America, ravaged by decentralizing node development, where commercial alternatives other than the traditional main streets, were being opened and exploited, expecting this would lead the way for new economic investment and expansion. In some cases it did, and in others, it was a failed attempt to build a city, where a town had once been happily engaged. The 1970's saw the larger scale commencement of this new investment trend, as the urban area had increased, in part due to the new District amalgamation of towns, villages and hamlets, of the old ward structure, which in 1969, had merged into six larger, member municipalities, and it was gratefully received; and thought of as long overdue. I think it was the cavalier way councils were looking at expansion, without fear of consequence, that troubled me in the late 1980's. I knew that the downtown was being sacrificed, and told in no uncertain terms, that it was going to be a clear case of survival of the fittest, so get over it! I heard it many times, that these downtown merchants, "should stop bitching and make their businesses more competitive." Historically, however, there was no way of proceeding with urban expansion, aided with the construction of a major bridge, as a traffic alternative, to carry on without collateral damage. So these merchants had a right to defend their territory, without being scorned for narrow-mindedness. It was said that they had enjoyed a great deal of wiggle room getting ready for commercial node expansion, but I don't believe this was true. I'm sure some felt betrayed. They just didn't carry placards and burn effigies of local councillors, to show there disdain. It was generally a quiet protest. I think it still is.
When the decision was made to build the Wellington Street bridge, back in the early 1980's, the biggest concern of the population, or at least those who spoke up, was whether or not the restored passenger ship, RMS Segwun, operated by the Muskoka Steamship and Navigation Company, would be able to cruise into Bracebridge Bay. It was seen as an economic boon, in the fact it would bring visitors to town, just like the old days; who would then walk up from the wharf, to the main street, where conceivably they would spend lots of money.
So when the town, decided instead, that they could not justify the huge extra expense, of building a high level, or swing bridge, that would allow the steamship to pass beneath, there was a modest outcry, but certainly nothing that caused any serious consternation for council. I remember several off-hand remarks by some councillors, that it was too much of a risk, to build this bridge to accommodate one large boat, that might not remain operational for all that long. More than a few of us questioned how long the money would last, and about the ship's overall economic viability. We look pretty stupid now, right? The Navigation Company has enjoyed tremendous success and are still going strong with two cruise ships in active service. The offhand comments? I think we kept that part "off the record," and out of print, so as not to offend the fine folks, who had brought the steamship back to active service. And the company, afterall, was one of our major advertisers as well. If Council had to do it all again, knowing how a high level structure, over the Muskoka River, would have today, accommodated not one, but two Gravenhurst-based steamships? In my opinion, as the reporter working the council beat back then, I had to agree with Council at the time, based on all the pertinent information. Has Bracebridge lost out on tourism dollars that would have arrived via the big boats? You bet!
Not specifically, as related to the navigation realities of the river, then and now, but it's why I caution elected officials today, about making decisions based on out-of-area consultants only. Many who can't be expected to appreciate the full and huge scope, of social / cultural / economic fall-out, of their urban improvement strategies; that were and are still, for all intents and purposes, largely crafted in the city, by city dwellers, with city sensitivities; values then being imposed on a rural way of life, a small town, locked in a tourist based economy.
While there was a protest from the downtown business community, and certainly enough influence from main street investors, to delay construction of the bridge, because of its convenient but economically detrimental re-routing of traffic, if memory serves, it was not the kind or impact of protest, that kept the pages of the Herald-Gazette, or the Bracebridge Examiner plastered with headlines showing vehement opposition. There was business opposition, just to be clear, but not enough to stop the project from getting council approval. I do remember warnings from several councillors, back then, about the potential stresses on Wellington Street, in both increased traffic, and then the expected flood of applications from investors, to re-zone the north-south artery to full-commercial. The town was careful not to open another can of worms, by encouraging commercial development from the bridge up to, what was then known as Ontario Street, on the east side. The strip-plaza, constructed adjacent to both the high school playing fields, and the Monck Public School soccer field, was seen by some in the downtown business core, as the beginning of big trouble to come. Yet, other than home occupation, there has been only minor changes in this same zone; that was believed on the verge of commercial overhaul, the moment the bridge was approved.
It's expected all councillors, at that time, knew they were imposing a dramatic change on the residents of this area, of the valley of urban Bracebridge, known as "The Hollow;" and the downtown merchants, who would be disadvantaged because of lesser traffic. What they may not have anticipated, is the traffic increases on Ontario and Dill Streets, east and west, due to motorists taking short cuts, that weren't possible before the bridge was constructed. For those who scoff at this, Suzanne and I can both vouch for this as fact, of urban reconfiguration. We had just purchased an early 1900's house, that had been recently renovated, at the bottom of what was known as "Tanbark Hill," (because it was so steep, wagons with bark for the tanneries, flipped over); and the traffic increased down our road, to Wellington, and as a short cut to downtown, made a huge impact on local residents. They went from having a few cars in an hour, to having a hundred or more, and tie-ups at the intersection with Wellington. But to the best of my knowledge, the folks on Dill and Ontario Streets were never approached, and informed of the potential, a new and dangerous traffic issue was about to transform their neighborhood. For us, with one child, who ran before he walked, and another on the way, we couldn't remain in our house. There were accidents at the intersection of Ontario and Victoria Streets, and my mother Merle, Suzanne and Andrew were nearly run over, when a car driven by a teenager, went out of control trying to make the turn on Ontario Street. It turned out to be a high school student, who had purchased the Mustang, that Suzanne had just traded-in a month earlier. That's right. My family would have been run-over, and likely killed, by her former car. It wound up flying through the air sideways, and landed in the driveway of Bus Brazier's house almost across the road from us. The driver survived but was speechless for a long time after the accident. There were many more instances like this, and all were related to higher speeds, more traffic, and folks taking short cuts from one side of the town to the other. This change imposed by council had a serious impact on a lot of residents, some good, and some not so much.
Truthfully, the bridge was required, but the impacts should have been better understood before it was approved. I'm not satisfied the full range of spin-off stresses were appreciated, and I should have known this, as I was sitting in that council chamber, when the key decisions about its construction were made and approved. I was also covering council some time after this as well.
The traditional downtown? It took a hit, that's for sure! I'm not sure whether or not statistics were kept, to compare the before and after traffic counts, but it was obvious short cuts and convenience were going to influence use of the bridge, versus having to drive through the downtown at what was usually a slower, longer route. I know we began our own study at The Herald-Gazette, of the impact on downtown enterprise, as regarded the impetus to growth, caused by the bridge, in the former pastureland of the historic Ball's farm; at the intersection of Wellington Street, and Highway 118, (below what was once known as Cheese Factory Hill). I didn't keep a file of those issues, for the year following construction, but I do recall a lot of disenchantment from Manitoba Street businesses, more so, because of what was being established in Ball's Flats; which most definitely increased in economic investment, once the traffic was crossing the new bridge. It was most definitely a history making period, in the chronicle of what was still a very small town. But I seem to remember, that the mood of the general public, otherwise the constituents of the town, was tepid versus hot and enraged. They seemed to view the changes as positive, regardless of any complaints from the main street business community. The fact, however, that this commercial node was gaining momentum and popularity, and major department stores, definitely forced a reckoning with new business competition; and it would be fair to suggest, some of the less profitable downtown businesses, found it hard to continue through the decade of the 1980's. I don't have the statistics to prove whether the bridge and the node development, caused ten percent of store-front change-overs or thirty percent, but it was a contributing factor to closures. But at least this was a known factor, before the first span of iron-work was fastened across the river.
When I've written recently, about the more recent urban changes, such as the move of the high school and the recreation centre, town hall, and development of the newest commercial node, at Highway 11 and Taylor Line, it reminds me of those early days of the Wellington Street bridge, and what unexpected impacts resulted months, and even years after construction. I think Bracebridge is still adjusting to the changes of the Wellington Street bridge, believe it or not, all these years since. De-centralizing a small town, that is likely to stay at its present size for the coming decade, has of course, made a profound impact on the economic well being of some businesses, in certain areas of the town. I don't think there was any business, unaware what de-centralization was going to mean, but councillors and a band of supporters, made it a compelling case, to grab onto opportunity at all cost. But make no mistake, it was history-making, and significantly so, whether council chooses to believe it or not. Historians don't just study ancient history. We look at the impacts of change generally, as to how profoundly positive or negative it has occurred; and how the residents and business community has reacted. My critics will fire back, that change is inevitable, which presumably covers the decisions that have approved this urban area transformation. Of course, I'm only the historian, and not the one who voted for any of these changes listed above. They voted on developments that changed the course of history, for their town, and I'm just the one who reports on the aftermath. It was consensus, that businesses that felt threatened, needed to up their game, and become more competitive. I'm afraid it's a little more involved than this, in order to stave-off corporate commercial fire-power. It has been both good and bad depending on who you talk to, and the subject line of questioning. Regardless, there's no going back!
When it comes, however, to what changes have occurred along the historic main street corridor, as a result of much more intensive competition, from several significant and powerful nodes, there is potentially a way to benefit from all the history made on this picturesque corridor, from as far back as the late 1850's onward. The most significant changes that have occurred, since my own days haunting Manitoba Street, have been the obvious transitions, up and down the street, from the once familiar mom, pop and family businesses, including building ownership. In other words, those who ran the shops, owned their respective buildings, and some of them even lived, for significant periods, above the retail enterprises. Those who owned the buildings, and respective businesses, were powerful players in town politics, and were socially and culturally imbedded in what was evolving as community character. They were history makers. Some owner / retailers, were elected members of Bracebridge Town Council, and their names were common to the board of directors of fraternal organizations, and even the fledgling Red Cross Hospital Board. Even when I was a kid, this was a clear reality of small town life. And as I grew up here, I knew intimately, by constant interaction, that a large number of businesses were owned by family names that ran deep, deep, deep in the community well; pioneer-deep in fact. It's not the same today. The downtown isn't a gathering place, like it was during my first years of residency, from the late winter of 1966. On a Friday night, when most of the downtown core shops stayed open until nine, there were citizen gatherings at numerous locations, especially in and around businesses like Ecclestone's Hardware, and Bill Elliott's Five Cents to a Dollar store; mixing with rural residents quite happy to park their trucks, and watch the comings and goings of a busy Friday night on main street. I saw this with my own eyes, so it's not a fabrication. There was a buzz that attracted sight-seers; those from the rural area, who had initially come in to cash cheques at the banks, and who stayed on to have dinner, and partake in the informal downtown socials that always popped up. The coffee shops and restaurants were thriving, with the evening crowd, and up at Lorne's Marketeria, where the aisles were crowded with visiting grocery shoppers. My family was always in the middle of the mix, at about seven on Friday nights. Even the barber shops were bee hives of activity.
I was one of those young citizens, with free time, who hung out on the main street, because it was exciting. I don't know why I thought this, but I did. I was with chums, hunting the shops with toy inventories, for models, Dinky Toys, and comics, so there were other witnesses too, watching the hustle and bustle of once. Saturday mornings were just as interesting. We treated the main street as a recreational stretch of property. Generally the business owners welcomed our visits, and we did, over the decades, spend a lot of money with them. It's the least we could to, taking up so much of their shop space, browsing more than buying.
There has always been a sensitivity however, about businesses considered "tourist traps." I run one of those now, and did so in Bracebridge, in two locations, for about a decade. Even though we had lived in Bracebridge for seemingly enough years, to deflect suspicion, of opening a tourist-themed, tourist-only business, unfortunately, an antique shop was considered "for the tourists," even though that wasn't why we opened it; first in 1977, as Old Mill Antiques, in the former home of Dr. Peter McGibbon, and then further north on the street, in 1988, opening as Birch Hollow Antiques, in the former home and business location of W.W. Kinsey. We were still considered a frivolous business, established to satisfy the antique desires, of tourists and cottagers, not the locals. Generalizations work this way, but just try to dispel them. We have roughly the same issue today, as retailers on the main street of Gravenhurst. We are still seen as too tourist-friendly, to be truly local in sensitivity. We don't seem to be able to change the way the locals feel about businesses like ours. It comes from more than a century, of being a tourist area, and having tourism as our number one industry. I can so clearly remember, how these feelings were generated. It happened just before every Victoria Day holiday weekend. That's when local businesses, especially in general inventory and giftware, brought out their line of souvenirs and vacationing accessories, to welcome the summer season population. I'm sure it was more than just rumor, that some retailers elevated their prices, in time for the busy tourist season, but I'm unaware of any statistics kept, that can prove it was true. But what is assumed, and embellished over a hundred fifty years or so, is hard to disspell, being that firmly and deeply rooted. You still hear these rumors today, about "better buy it before the tourists get here, because you know what happens then."
Truthfully, in all my many years hanging around these alleged tourist trap businesses, my allowance money got the same amount of merchandise, that it did before the May 24th weekend; except that I spent it on the Muskoka souvenirs, instead of my normal interests of candy and pop. I never knew a single retailer, from the biggest shops to the corner stores up on Toronto Street, that sold so many souvenirs, to have rightfully earned the title, "tourist trap". Of course, my opinion wasn't requested. It's unfortunately even an issue, into this bright and promising new century, that some residents of our South Muskoka communities, still look at some retailers with suspicion, that their prices are based on the out of town clientele, who may or may not have more money to spend than "the locals." Hardware and grocery stores weren't considered tourist traps; and no one accused beauty salons and barber shops of hiking their rates just because of the summer season influx. I suppose there were businesses that did elevate their prices, because of the fear that the next winter season economy was going to be bleak. The "get your money when you can" philosophy, goes hand in hand with the tourism economy, and it's still a necessary budgetary consideration today. If you have a bad winter, God help you, going into the winter.
This week, I will reminisce, maybe even with a smidgeon of contemporary relevance, about what I remember of that nostalgic downtown core, that held me spellbound for a lot of years. As I spend a lot of time, sitting out front of Precision Music, these days, where my sons do a lot of their inventory shopping, (as fellow music industry retailers), I often jot down notes while I'm waiting for them, about what it was like back in the 1960's and 70's, and what, in opportunity, made this stretch so enticing and neat to visit. Back in those days, the current Precision Music building, was a neat hippy-friendly eatery, known as Irma's. It's where my dad used to take me on Sunday mornings, for thick toast and coffee, and where we'd meet up with fellow lumberman, Harry Rutherford. My dad worked at Building Trades Centre, and I think Harry worked at Northern Planning Mill, and both chaps were hockey fanatics. As I've written about many times before, there was a magic for me, especially, because it was also the home stretch of three active artists; (I am an art collector) Ross Smith painted landscapes, when not pumping gas, at his father, Ted Smith's Uptown Garage (beside the library, now the Old Station Restaurant), Pharmacist, Bob Everett, at Everett's Drug Store, and then Barber, Bill Anderson, painted when not cutting hair, in the corner shop of the former Patterson Hotel, where I used to have my hair cut every second week. Getting gas, we could watch a painting manifest; getting my hair cut, I watched Bill Anderson pick-up his brush, and dab some paint onto a panel, and I knew Bob Everett used to entertain himself, painting on the wooden lids removed from cigar boxes, at the downtown Drug Store. If you were a kid, easily fascinated by creative activities like this, Bracebridge was a cultural Mecca, without any fanfare or outward recognition whatsoever. But they all sold work based to some degree, on their retail exposure and popularity. I still remind my old friend Ross, living back in Bracebridge again, after a lengthy hiatus, about those days, when he painted and pumped; and sold art pieces right off the easel to happy motorists, locals and vacationers. Of course he's pretty modest about this, but it's now part of town history. He was the famous artist / gas jockey. He hates when I refer to him this way, but it was true.
Thanks for joining today's blog. I have re-printed another editorial piece, from my Bracebridge archive collection, based on some of the original columns, I wrote for the Muskoka Advance, back in the 1990's, that still have some minor relevance today.
FROM THE ARCHIVES
TRAINS, TRAIN STATIONS AND FREIGHT CARTS - THE DREAM ESCAPE FROM ORDINARY
I don’t know what it was about Bracebridge that made the train so much more intrusive in our daily lives. It must have been the Muskoka River valley and those wickedly cold winter nights, that made the train horn stab through the night air like a knife-blade. I lived up on what was, and is still called, Hunt’s Hill. The train station was located just to the north of the Hunts Hill bridge, and a stone’s throw from the old Albion Hotel......real old even by 1966. We used to get a kick out of sitting on an elevated parking border, adjacent to the tracks, and watching the drunks get tossed out the front door by the bouncer. It’s true what they say. The bouncer didn’t need to open the door with one arm, while tossing the patron out with the other. He wouldn’t use any arm to open the door because the unlucky boozer’s head would suffice. It was a two arm toss onto the cement at the doorway. I loved the view from there. One night I watched the same guy get tossed out three times. Each time, crashing head first into the door, with the warning, “And don’t come back ya bum!” That had to hurt. The head and the downtrodden’s feelings.
It was the 1960's. We had just arrived in town during the winter of 1966, in time to watch local lad, Roger Crozier, playing net for the Detroit Red Wings against Montreal, in that year’s Stanley Cup final. The Wings didn’t win but Roger was awarded the Conn Smythe Trophy as the playoff’s most valuable player. I liked the fact I was now from the same hometown as Roger Crozier. What a blessing it was then to one day actually work for Roger, as public relations director of the Muskoka Branch of the Crozier Foundation. I digress.
The hollow between two hillsides, along the river valley toward the Bracebridge Falls, did something to the sound of the train, such that for us, it seemed to be coming through the wall of our apartment. True enough there wasn’t much insulation in those walls. Outside, it was just crazy clear. Playing road hockey, on Alice Street, you’d half expect to see the locomotive light rising over the hill at the end of the street. The sound echoed and resonated all over the place and somehow joined back together as a stream of sound.....after all the respective vibrations must have bounced back off the architecture of Manitoba Street buildings. Even in the humid air of July nights, the arrival and departure of trains across three crossings, where the horn had to be sounded well in advance, became part of my life and times. I didn’t hate it. I was unsettled by it on occasion. Rather, it was kind of a respite for an over-active kid anyway, because I’d always pause to hear it cross the Toronto Street intersection with River Road. I always thought about where it was coming from, and where it might be was headed. It became an adventure in thought because in actuality we didn’t have much need for rail travel. We didn’t have any money for train trips either. Dreaming of a trip was cheap and I could still amble home in time for dinner. That kept my mother off my back. I was to be home from all my daydreams by five o’clock. No exceptions. A minute late and she suspected I’d been up to .....as she used to say....”NO GOOD!” I tried not to give her any excuse for an intervention. I was up to no good most of the time back then but we all were as mates. Fortunately the town clock tower was within my sight-line from the train station platform.
I have watched a number of television documentaries, and read many books, on the romance of trains and travel by rail.....one that particularly fascinated me was about an American photographer, who had opted to capture images of every remaining steam locomotive crossing the state. It was at the time when steam was being replaced by diesel engines.....and he felt it was critical to national heritage, to capture these remaining images of the old iron workhorses on their final runs. His originals are worth thousands of dollars each......but don’t expect to find many. They are fine art and nostalgia rolled up in one.
I missed the era of the steam engines by quite a margin. None the less I held a fascination about trains, partly because I believed they offered “the dreamer”......”.me,” the free right and privilege to board via imagination, and ride from one side of the country to the other...... having neither ticket nor timetable to return. Except being very aware when my mother Merle was bellowing about “Teddy it’s time to come home!” Or something like that but not so kindly. From so many different positions up on that Hunt’s Hill plateau, did I hear that train horn, and stop in my tracks to hear it pass. It seemed important, at the time, to do this. If you were a kid who daydreamed a lot, you will understand this. Even if I was on my bike, I’d stop for a moment, and judge whether it was possible or not, to make it to the edge of the hill in time, just to watch it cross the intersection. It was an picturesque scene as it passed by the multi-story backs of the Manitoba Street business community, and of course the old clock tower of the former federal building.
On lay-about Saturdays, the local Hunt’s Hill gang, of Rick Hillman, his brother Al, Don Clement and Jim Niven, would wind up at the train station, where we might......just possibly, engage the huge iron-wheeled freight cart that used to sit up on the elevated portion of the station. There was a wooden ramp with strips of wood across, which was supposed to slow the cart down when being pulled to track level by station staff. When we hung out there, I don’t think there was a full-time staff or station manager. We used to get into the lobby and just sit there, pretending we were passengers. I never remember seeing anybody tending the ticket counter. It was a sad and lonely place in those years. As for the freight cart, well, the cleats on the ramp only served to make the ride that much more exciting. We’d often jump aboard and the last one to park his behind on the top, had to get off and push us down the ramp. You want to talk about watching your life pass before you. I know it’s true. I didn’t hear that anecdote for years to come but when I did, (about an unrelated event), I thought about that freight cart. Jesus it almost killed us.
Most of the time we just found time to sit on the ramp, and wait for the arrival of the next train.....passenger or freight. While we thought about how neat it would be to jump on a boxcar for a trip north or south, each time we had the opportunity, we found a convenient excuse. “I’ll do it another day.....it’s almost dinner time.” If my mother even thought I’d been contemplating such a ridiculous adventure, she would have forbidden me to come anywhere near this old station. I couldn’t risk that. I had too much fun hanging out here to gamble on parental intervention.
I was a budding poet, even then, because while most of the kids my age, were looking at the mechanics of the belching, booming beast pulling the train, I was imagining adventures and thinking about all the places these incoming and outgoing trains had visited......and how much joy it would bring, to look out from those passenger car windows, and see the world as a blur.....yet feel as a traveller would, anticipating the final destination. It was a dreamer’s portal, that rickety station, and the day I found it had been torn down......was the day I lost faith in elected officials, to be the stewards of our heritage resources. The Bracebridge Train Station should have, and could have been saved, if there had been the slightest will, to allow the public the right to an opinion on the matter.
Even today, here at Birch Hollow, in Gravenhurst, I will stop on a walk down the lane on a bitter winter’s eve, to hear the crisp horn of a passing train. Curiously, only a short distance further away from our house, than it was up on Hunt’s Hill, during those halcyon days of adventure-seeking childhood. These days I’m not thinking about escape, or signing onto some great cross-country adventure. I’ve had my tours on the rails, and enjoyed each trip. Still, I feel a pang of sentiment and nostalgia when I think back to us lads, sitting on the rail platform, pondering how our lives would turn out in the future. The rail and train became symbolic for us, even though we wouldn’t have thought about it in those terms. I realize it now. It’s why I will still stop in my tracks, while walking the dog or raking the leaves, and sigh.....I suppose, about the good old days, when the train station was our second home, and the rails were the romance of adventure, and the freight cart......very nearly our undoing.
The day my mother died, I remember having to stop at that same rail crossing, adjacent to the Hunt’s Hill bridge, with a box of Merle’s belongings brought from The Pines nursing home, further up on Hunt’s Hill. How strangely poetic it was, as I thought back to all the times her voice resonated, like a train horn, to bring me home for supper. She had about a two block range. No kidding. For additional irony, on the last trip moving my father’s few remaining possessions, (after Ed’s death last year), from his apartment at Bass Rock (just below the tracks on River Road), I had to stop again for a passing freight train. When the train had passed, and waiting for the warning lights to stop, I could have sworn I saw him standing on the other side......winking at his kid one last time. He and I had stood at that intersection so many times, while walking home from grocery shopping at Lorne’s Marketeria. And we watched a lot of trains pass over the years.
Yup, the train and its rails have run through my life......and I’m good with that!
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