Hardscrabble and hanging on, bumpy and battered, it is an undulating underdog, a threadbare borough trying to make the best of things… It is my neighbourhood. It is the former City of York.
York is Toronto’s working-class borough, a forgotten prize-fighter living in the shadows of its smarter, richer, fresh-scrubbed sibblings to the north and west, namely: North York and Etobicoke. It is a place with no pretense. A place that was once home to Ernest Hemingway in the early 20’s when he was working for The Toronto Star.
Rough-round-the-edges, with cauliflower ears and clogged arteries, those rough edges run roughly west from Bathurst, bounded by St. Clair and Eglinton, for the most part, stretching out to the Humber River and bumping against Weston, with odd municipal bits branching off like skin tags in various ‘higgeldy piggeldy’ directions.
Even though Toronto amalgamated into a megacity in 1998, if you looked up Walt’s address you’d find that 423 Silverthorn Ave. is located smack in the borough of York within the City of Toronto. York is the second smallest of the six former municipalities, yet one of the most ethnically diverse.
The area we live in used to be known as the neighbourhood of Silverthorn by all who lived here. It was named after Aaron Silverthorn, one of York’s original founding settlers. But, despite this fact, and the fact that most people who live here wanted to maintain that name for this area, the City of Toronto, in its infinite wisdom, decided that they would have us become officially known as Keelesdale-Eglinton West.
In my opinion, this is somewhat of an affront to both the folks who live here and to the Silverthorn name itself.
place I call home and it’s a horrible marvellous mess that somehow seems to work in
spite of itself.