The Legend of St. Michael

 

 

(c) 2005, Dominique Millette

 

The horn blared out ceremoniously. Hello and welcome to the first ever Historical Toronto Treasure Hunt, declared the terminally perky presenter, her cascade of black ringlets bobbing up and down, then side to side with enthusiasm. A throng of several dozen cheered in response to the opening speech, refusing to be put out by the light drizzle falling on the city. Ginny studied the pamphlet the event handlers proffered. The prizes were alluring: $2,500, $1,250 and $750, respectively, along with passes to museums and special exhibits throughout the year. The money had attracted many who had never heard of Toronto’s heritage and otherwise didn’t care, willing to sacrifice their Thanksgiving Sunday afternoon just this once. One such group lolled about next to Ginny, composed of very loud engineering students who appeared to think it was all a matter of logical deduction and knowledge or love of history be damned. She hoped they would fall by the wayside quickly.

 

Ginny glanced at her teammates, who happened to be her coworkers at Watzitz Publishers Ltd. Synthia was telling a joke in Icelandic with near-simultaneous translation, blushing as Ahmed smiled indulgently. He was easily the most handsome man in the office as well as the most magnanimous and easygoing, which belied his precision and methodical problem-solving. Synthia-with-an-S was newly graduated with honours from the best university in the country. She was out to win this hunt and take no prisoners. Meanwhile, Peter stared owlishly at the presenter. He was an insatiable fact collector with a zest for the unusual who was happily ensconced in his role as a Cop Number Two of the Ontario literati, never rising high enough to attract too much attention but enough to enjoy a few perks. Ginny herself, a consummate organizer, had taken a liking to the history of Toronto for the past several years, and the hundreds of dollars’ worth of prizes certainly sweetened the pot. She felt they had a good chance.

 

Various groups were clustered around the departure point. It was the site of Montgomery’s Tavern, now a post office at Yonge just north of Eglinton. Where once dreams of rebellion and grandiose schemes had hatched in the minds of William Lyon Mackenzie and his Upper Canada followers, a modest plaque announced the beginning and abrupt end of it all in a few terse sentences. Perhaps, if he had succeeded, thought Ginny, the plaque would have been larger. Or the post office might have been the Rebellion Post Office, instead of Postal Station K. There might have even been a commemorative William Lyon Mackenzie stamp. This being Canada, and especially, Toronto, one could hardly expect a museum or any sort of historic edifice in the area, she mused. No doubt real estate prices would make it terribly difficult. Potholes were more far important than libraries, culture and History. Except when there were prizes of $2,500.

 

Has everyone got a pamphlet? Please go to a handler and ask for a pamphlet if you haven’t got one. You’ll need the instructions to find your treasure map and your first clue! The announcement rang out over the crowd like a fire drill.

 

Ginny looked at her pamphlet. The map encircled the Bloor and Yonge area then pointed east, with the clue “A Lord Simcoe summer.” Ginny exclaimed “I know this one! She leant towards her teammates and gestured in a conspiratorial manner, whispering so that only they could hear: “It’s Castle Frank. The original Castle Frank was built in 1793-1794 and was the summer home of Lieutenant-Governor Simcoe. They named it after their son Francis. Lord and Lady Simcoe left Canada in 1796 and Castle Frank as such is long gone, but there’s always the subway station, right across the road. The next clue must be in the station.”

 

A whistle was blown, some drums beaten, a few more rules read and the hunt was declared on. By car, by subway, bus, bicyle, foot, skateboard and rollerblade, the groups scattered towards their goal. Ginny, Peter, Synthia and Ahmed piled into Ginny’s weatherbeaten Toyota and sped towards Castle Frank subway station.

 

“What are we looking for, exactly?” asked Ahmed as he scanned the red white and brown lines of the station. Ginny frowned, perusing the pamphlet along with Synthia, while Peter appeared transfixed by the design of the walls around him. “I’m not sure,” Ginny admitted. “They’re making it challenging of course, so it’s not going to be too obvious, not like the first clue was – but we’re looking for something that doesn’t belong to this environment, anyway. And it has to have meaning.”

 

She looked about. At least no other group had followed yet. Just at that point, Peter drew closer to a wall, to something that looked like graffiti. Three letters stood out: Pr and E. Ginny smiled and pointed at them: “Of course! That Pr and that E are much too elegant to be graffiti. They’re calligraphy! They don’t belong on that wall. And the Pr and E stand for Prince Edward – The Prince Edward Viaduct is the official name for the Bloor Street Viaduct!”

 

Edmund Burke designed the Bloor Street Viaduct, completed in 1918. It was notorious as the site of over 400 suicides. Hence, there was a barrier there called the Luminous Veil designed by architect Derek Revington in 2003, composed of 9,000 steel rods.

 

The group was swiftly on the site of the barriers in question. The question remained: which end of the barrier would prove to yield the next clue? After all, il was 490 meters long and 40 meters high. Ginny almost despaired. However, Ahmed being the rational one chimed in with his logic: “The organisers would surely have thought of that and would think of a way to get our attention. We have to think in terms of a general vantage point.”

 

Synthia shook her head “I agree and disagree. That is to say, it would have to be an entry point, and there are four of them – one of the four pillars at the entrance of the viaduct. We take our time and examine these and there should be something in one of them.”

 

Peter looked up and interjected : “but the graffiti was on a south-facing wall and the points of the P and the r were quite pronounced – why not start at the south end ?” To which Ginny replied: “Perfect – Let’s!”

 

Sure enough, at the sound end of the Viaduct was range of years etched into the stone quite recently in charcoal, covered in plastic against the rain, and circled: 1889-1899.

 

“Aha!” said Ginny. “Those are the years during which the architect E.J.Lennox built Old City Hall, down on Queen Street. It cost $2.5 million and when it was finished, it was the largest building in town and the largest municipal building in North America. Apparently he wasn’t too happy with some of the municipal councillors of the time and they say he turned their faces into carvings. You can still see them at the front of the building today. There are dozens of gargoyles and grotesques in stone and cast iron as well as lots of stained glass windows. Today the building is used as a courthouse so it still has a public vocation. Let’s go.”

 

Suddenly, a familiar bombastic voice blared out:

 

“Hey, thanks for the tip! We can take it from here now!”

 

Somehow, the engineering students had caught up with them. Ginny cursed under her breath, but turned to her teammates: “Let them go: They’re getting drunker by the minute, it looks like. They should be getting to the point where they can’t find their own two feet soon.”

 

Synthia was spitting fire: “All our work for nothing, just so those idiots can walk right in? No way is that going to happen!”

 

Ginny crossed her arms in resignation: “How are we going to stop them, exactly? I don’t have a lot of experience dealing with drunken frat boys. Do you?”

 

Ahmed stepped forward, a twinkle in his eye: “Wait. I have a idea. These guys obviously can’t find anything without our help. Let’s go to Old City Hall, and get a wonderful clue for our new friends – the kind that will keep them very occupied for the rest of the race so they don’t bother us.”

 

Ginny smiled broadly, as did the others. They all followed Ahmed.

 

Old City Hall loomed into view, its massively thick walls designed by E.J. Lennox to withstand the test of time. The team’s boisterous rivals could be heard several blocks away, singing Nirvana off-key at the top of their lungs. Ginny, Peter, Synthia and Ahmed set to work, making sure to be seen and heard as they spoke about their important “clue” while nearing their target.

 

“The gargoyle on the east side of the building had a stick?” Ahmed asked. “Yes, the stick was pointing to the hospital – St. Michael’s hospital. It had to be, since that gargoyle is associated with the legend of St. Michael,” Peter replied “Oh, yes, that legend,” added Ginny, “I remember it from the archives.”

 

The singing had faltered and faded. Whispering had taken its place The students were paying attention. The scuffling of feet indicated they were exiting the premisses. Ginny, Peter, Synthia and Ahmed tiptoed towards the sounds of departure and confirmed the fact. The coast was clear – time to get to work.

 

Synthia spoke first: “Because the years were the clue, maybe that’s where we should start looking?” 

 

“The cornerstone – good idea,” said Ginny. They all went to see. However, the search yielded nothing. The gargoyles were the next point of interest but the main grotesques held no clues. Smaller carvings offered none either. Ginny was beginning to wonder if perhaps she’d been mistaken in assuming Old City Hall could be the only place of historical interest involving the dates 1889-1899.

 

At this point, Peter ventured: “Maybe what we’re looking at is the broader notion of time passing by. In that case, the clock tower would be the place to go.”

 

Ginny whooped in enthusiasm. “Pete, you’re a genius! That’s got to be it.” The foursome hurried to the base of the clock tower and scrutinized it carefully, one craggy crevice at a time. Meanwhile, the shuffling sounds of many feet and the echoes of other voices signaled the arrival of rival groups into the fray. Luckily they were not too close.

 

There it was, under a window casing, found by Ahmed’s agile fingers: a cement cross with the painted words “free the pews.” Ginny babbled excitedly: “I know what this means! It’s from Holy Trinity Church just across the street. The church was founded in 1847 on money from an anonymous donor on condition that the pews be free to anyone, so that the poor would have a place to go. That flew in the face of the tradition of the time, because churches made their money by renting their pews.”

 

Off the group went to the church. At the entrance was a memorial to the homeless who died on the streets of Toronto, reaffirming the church’s ties to the urban poor. The entrance was closed since there was no mass. Therefore, any clue would have to come from the outside. Where to begin was another matter – since pews were most definitely on the inside. Benches, perhaps? True, part of the church was now a café and the buildings housed office space but none of these had to do with pews.The group wandered aimlessly about in frustration, trying to think of a connection to the clue.

 

Just off on the side, in the courtyard, a puppet show was playing. Ginny and her teammates paused to look. A queen was walking in the park. Queen, park... Synthia yelled out: “Queen’s Park! That’s the clue!” The puppeteer gave her a conspiratorial wink which sealed the deal and the group was off to the legislature.

 

On the way there, Peter looked skeptical. “That place is huge. How are we ever going to find our next clue – or whatever it is we’re supposed to find?” Ahmed looked at him in merriment. “Oh ye of little faith!” he said. “Look how far we’ve come already!” Synthia nodded vigorously in agreement. “Well, we’ve done alright so far, haven’t we,” conceded Ginny.

 

By the time they arrived, however, it was pouring rain and the group’s spirits were beginning to sink. Parking was also a problem, as usual, around the Queen’s Park oval. After going around twice, finally, street parking was found off to the side at some distance and the four team members traipsed toward their objective, dejection etched into their features as they scanned their surroundings and muttered their bewilderment at the lack of enlightenment they felt coming on.

 

After brainstorming furiously, at last Ginny let out a Eureka: “Queen’s Park was named in 1860 in honour of Queen Victoria, so the location of her statue is probably the safest place to start!” Aha, agreed all and sundry.

 

By the time they got to the statue, indeed, the Holy Grail was attained: there was the perky presenter! “We have a winning team!” she said. “Congratulations!” Sweet victory, thought Ginny; and well-deserved by all. Peter, Ahmed and Synthia nudged Ginny to step up to the makeshift podium. “Go on,” whispered Synthia. “You’re the ringleader and the reason we got here.”

 

Moderately far away, in the University of Toronto buildings along Queen’s Park circle, Ginny could have sworn we heard drunken exclamations of dismay and vows of vengeance from the thwarted engineering students left at Old City Hall. The perky presenter turned to her with her microphone.: “And what are your thoughts on winning the Grand Prize in the First Ever Historical Toronto Treasure Hunt?” Ginny grinned from ear to ear and answered with relish: “I owe a lot of it to the legend of St. Michael...”

 

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