Looking Forward
On the moonless evening of October 9, 1915, 22-year-old Lieutenant Edwin Albert Baker, a member of the 6th Field Company, Royal Canadian Engineers, peered into the darkness in an attempt to get his bearings. He knew he was somewhere near the small Belgian village of Kemmel. He also knew he wasn’t far from the enemy’s front line. Suddenly, a star shell roared into the inky black sky, illuminating the surrounding landscape with a ghostly white light. A split second later a single shot rang out.
Baker heard a hissing sound, then felt a sharp pain that burned across the top of his face. Instinctively, he raised his hands in a delayed protective reaction only to discover that an enemy bullet had struck him in the left eye, crashing through the upper part of his nose to exit near his right eye. Now it wasn’t just the darkness of that cold October night that obscured his vision. The young lieutenant had been blinded, something that by war’s end would befall more than 300 other Canadians fighting in what was described as “the war to end all wars.”
For Lieutenant Eddy Baker his war was over. After initial treatment at the forward base hospital in Camiers, France, he was transferred to the Second General Hospital, the prewar St. Mark’s Ladies’ College on the Thames Embankment in south London. Then it was on to St. Dunstan’s Hostel, a facility for the blind that had been established by Arthur Pearson, a successful newspaper man whose collection of papers would grow to include several of Great Britain’s most prestigious publications, including the Daily Express and Evening Standard.
There was no doubt that the future had changed totally for the young man who, until that fateful night in October at least, had his eyes set on a career in engineering. Remarkably, Baker’s physical loss was to result in an immeasurable gain for the thousands who either were or would become sightless or sight-impaired.
When Baker returned home, he was appalled at the provisions, or lack thereof, that had been made for the sightless Canadian veterans of the Great War. Baker’s tenacity to right this wrong ultimately led to the establishment of the Canadian National Institute for the Blind, an organization that was patterned largely on St. Dunstan’s, with which he had a great affinity, and Britain’s National Institute for the Blind. Officially, the CNIB came into existence on March 30, 1918, with Eddie Baker appointed vice-president. A year later the organization moved into its new headquarters, an ancient house that earlier had been the residence of the Honourable George Brown, a Father of Confederation and founder of the Globe newspaper. The historic house on St. George Street is now held in trust for the citizens of Ontario by the Ontario Heritage Foundation.
Edwin Albert Baker taps the cornerstone of the new CNIB Headquarters on Bayview Avenue into place on November 11, 1954.
The CNIB remained at Pearson Hall (so named in honour of Baker’s long-time friend and mentor) for many years, and even though several structural additions were made to the old building and space was rented in six other Toronto-area buildings, it soon became obvious that what had evolved over the years into a busy organization with nationwide responsibilities now needed to consolidate its activities, hopefully in a modern new headquarters.
A 15-acre site, part of the former “Divadale” estate of the mysterious Colonel Flanagan (it’s reported that Diva was his wife’s first name) and located just south of the new Sunnybrook Military Hospital on north Bayview Avenue, was selected, despite its remoteness from the city, which caused some initial concern.
As for the funds to build the CNIB’s new headquarters, Baker sought out his old friend Lewis Miller Wood, a successful financier who had always been there in the past when the CNIB ran into money problems. Together the two were able to convince D.W. Ambridge, president of Abitibi Power and Paper Company, to head up a fund-raising team that quickly amassed over $3 million for the new facility.
The cornerstone of what would be called Bakerwood (in honour of the indefatigable Eddie Baker and his pal Lew) was tapped into place by Lieutenant Colonel Edwin A. Baker, OBE, MC, Croix-de-Guerre, on Remembrance Day 1954. The new building was officially opened on April 16, 1956, by Vincent Massey, the governor general of the day.
The wrecker’s hoarding surrounds Bakerwood as demolition of the old CNIB building is about to begin in March 2003.
Incidentally, the location of this sparkling new headquarters high above what had become, in the short span of time since the site was originally selected, a busy traffic artery would certainly present a problem for its many visually challenged visitors. The answer was either traffic lights or an overhead pedestrian bridge. As far as the Toronto and York Roads Commission was concerned, traffic lights were out of the question. That left the bridge. But there was no money to build it. This time it was the Atkinson Foundation to the rescue, with $60,000 for the bridge (of special design, fixed at one end, and movable at the other to allow for expansion and contraction) plus a similar amount to furnish the new building’s library and auditorium.
April 13, 2003
* Pearson Hall on St. George Street served the CNIB well for 37 years, Bakerwood for another 47. Nevertheless, demolition of the 1956 headquarters was completed in 2003, and a newer building, funded primarily through the sale of 12 acres of the original CNIB property, officially opened on Bayview Avenue in June 2005. It’s barrier-free in its design and serves as the CNIB’s national and Ontario divisions and Toronto District Office. There’s also been an expansion of one of the organization’s most popular features — its library.
The Big, Big Smoke
On April 20, 1904, thousands of disbelieving Torontonians, having heard rumours that the very heart of their beloved city of 226,365 souls had been destroyed by fire, quietly made their way downtown, fearful of what they would find. In an era well before the advent of radio, television, or Internet reporting, citizens had to rely on the local newspaper (and most of those stories were hours or days old), word of mouth from neighbours, or stories relayed over the telephone for updates on events unfolding around them. Without confirmation through one of these methods, no sane person could ever believe that such a conflagration had destroyed the city’s commercial heart. They had to see it for themselves.
Approaching the business area south of King and west of Yonge streets, Torontonians encountered a view that was truly unbelievable. Virtually every building on Bay, Wellington, and Front streets, right down to the warehouses and docks at the water’s edge, had been visited by the “fire fiend,” with most succumbing to the roaring flames. The once-busy streets and sidewalks were littered with fallen brick, while thick acrid smoke and the smell of charred wood filled the air. This wasn’t Toronto; it was Hell.
Subsequent insurance company and fire department investigations placed the number of destroyed or severely damaged buildings at almost 125, with monetary losses in excess of $10 million. Worse still, 6,000 people were out of work. Could Toronto survive this setback? Many believed it wouldn’t be long before Toronto’s rival at the head of the lake, Hamilton, would assume the role of new commercial heart of the province.
Bay Street looking north from Wellington towards City Hall, 1904.
Front Street looking west across Yonge, Bank of Montreal (now the Hockey Hall of Fame) on the right, 1904.
Those same investigations traced the source of the fire to the Currie Neckwear Company factory on the north side of Wellington Street a few doors west of the Bay Street corner. Up on the top floor a hot iron had been left too close to a pile of rags. Soon after the City Hall clock had chimed 8:00 p.m. that cold, blustery April 19 evening, flames erupted and quickly blew out nearby