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VOL.36 > N o 1 > 2011

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Cover | Couverture
Workers' housing and landscaping on rue Vaudreuil
at the corner of rue Burma looking northeast, south Arvida
(photo: Gabor Szilasi, 1995 (Centre Canadien d’Architecture PH1995:0081)).
JournAL edItor | rédACteur du JournAL
Luc noppen
Chaire de recherche du Canada en patrimoine urbain
Université du Québec à Montréal
C.P. 8888, succ. centre-ville
Montréal, QC H3C 3P8
t : 514 987-3000 x 2562 / f : 514 987-6881
e : noppen.luc@uqam.ca
ASSIStAnt edItor | AdJoInt à LA rédACtIon
mArTin drouin
e : drouin.martin@uqam.ca
ASSIStAnt edItor | AdJoInt à LA rédACtIon
peTer coffmAn
e : petercoffman@dal.ca
AdMInIStrAtIve ASSIStAnt | ASSIStAnte AdMInIStrAtIve
heATher mcArThur
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edItIng, ProoFreAdIng, trAnSLAtIon | révISIon
LInguIStIque, trAduCtIon
micheLine giroux-AuBin
grAPhIC deSIgn | ConCePtIon grAPhIque
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B grAphiSTeS
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PreSIdent | PréSIdent
peTer coffmAn
School for Studies in Art and Culture
Carleton University
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vICe-PreSIdentS | vICe-PréSIdent(e)S
Lucie K. moriSSeT
Département d'études urbaines et touristiques
Université du Québec à Montréal
C.P. 8888, succ. centre-ville
Montréal, QC H3C 3P8
t : 514 987-3000 x 4585 / f : 514 987-6881
e : morisset.lucie@uqam.ca
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Institut du patrimoine
Université du Québec à Montréal
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STeven mAnneLL
Director, College of Sustainability
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a n a lY s e s | a n a lY s e s
e s s aY s | e s s a i s
> Lucie K. Morisset
Non-Fiction Utopia
Arvida, Cité Industrielle Made Real
> Lyne Bernier
La conversion des églises à Montréal
État de la question
> nichoLas Lynch
“Converting” Space in Toronto
The Adaptive Reuse of the Former Centennial
Japanese United Church to the “Church Lofts”
> Martin Bressani
et Marc GriGnon
Le patrimoine et les plaisirs de la fiction
> roBert shipLey and
nicoLe McKernan
A Shocking Degree of Ignorance Threatens
Canada’s Architectural Heritage
The Case for Better Education To Stem the Tide
of Destruction
> steven ManneLL
The Dream (and Lie) of Progress
Modern Heritage, Regionalism,
and Folk Traditions in Atlantic Canada
> howard shuBert
The Montreal Forum
The Hockey Arena at the Nexus of Sport, Religion,
and Cultural Politics
contents | table des matières
3
41
65
77
83
93
107
VOL.36 > N o 1 > 2011

Architectural and urban historian LuCie K.
MOriSSet is a professor in the Department of
urban and tourism studies at université du Québec
à Montréal. She is a member of the university's
institut du patrimoine, associate to the Canada
research Chair on urban Heritage and a researcher
with Centre interuniversitaire d'études sur les
lettres, les arts et les traditions. Following on
her work on the hermeneutics of built landscape
and urban representations, her current research
focuses on Quebec's patrimonial memory and the
history of the province's heritage. She is currently
finishing up a new monograph on Arvida for Presses
de l'université du Québec.
fig. 1. One Of the Oldest streets in ArvidA, in the heArt Of “the city built in 135 dAys,” bOulevArd tAschereAu,
nOw knOwn As du sAguenAy. | PhOtOgrAPh by guillAume st-JeAn.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011 > 3-40
analYsis | analYse
NoN-FictioN Utopia
arvida, cité industrielle Made Real 1
> Lucie K. Morisset
Une cité industrielle, that milestone
in Western architectural and urban
history, was conceived by Tony Garnier
in the first decades of the 20 th century.
The book was first published in
1917 and went on to enjoy a phenomenal
critical reception (fig. 3). Pevsner
(Pioneers in the Modern Movement),
Banham (Theory and Design in the
First Machine Age), Giedion (Space,
Time and Architecture), and Alexander
(A City is Not a Tree) have enshrined it
as a classic in the evolution of urban
planning: “Projet de cité idéale le plus
complet depuis les Salines de Chaux”
[the Saltworks of Chaux, published in
L’architecture considérée sous le rap‑
port de l’art, des mœurs et de la législa‑
tion] de Ledoux, (1804) 2 Cité Industrielle
“practically provided a blueprint for a
new type of urban centre designed
around the possibilities of contemporary
technology, new construction methods
and efficient transportation.” 3 In
the years immediately following its publication
and before a series of reprints
later in the century, cité was noted in
1919 by Le Corbusier, 4 but seems to have
been most carefully considered in a
1926 article in La construction moderne,
in which Pierre Bourgeix noted its philosophy
of urban design. 5 However, it is
as an archetypal precursor to integrated
planning, 6 an approach that took hold
in the wake of the Athens Charter (published
in 1941), that Garnier’s influence
has most readily been acknowledged.
European researchers, having noted a
citation of Garnier by Lewis Mumford,
concluded that the Cité Industrielle
must have served as a model for the
development of the Hiwassee Valley by
3

4
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 2. OrthOgrAPhic view Of Present-dAy ArvidA (nOw PArt Of the city Of sAguenAy) As built between 1925
And 1950, centred On its Aluminuum smelter. the fOrmer mOdel city is currently the site Of A mAJOr
mOdernizAtiOn initiAtive led by riO tintO AlcAn, successOr cOmPAny tO AlcAn, which succeeded AlcOA
As mAnAger Of the smelter. | terrA metrics/gOOgle.
the Tennessee Valley Authority between
1936 and 1940. As Mumford had collaborated
on this project, it was thought
that he must have used Une cité indus‑
trielle, borrowing its “innovative”
notion of regional planning (although
regional planning was already part of
the vocabulary at the national city planning
conferences in the United States,
the first of which was held in 19097 ).
But, as we shall see, another “cité
neuve,” (“new city”) to use Garnier’s
vocabulary, was contemporary with
the Cité Industrielle and seems to share
many of the features that in Garnier
have been seen as revolutionary. It was
hailed both for its planning and overall
design and recognized in the interwar
period as “[an] example of significant
advances actually executed throughout
the world,” “[an] entirely new city
established in the wilderness.” 8 It made
headlines at the time and appeared in
textbooks on both sides of the Atlantic.
No fewer than three university theses,
two monographs, an essay, and even a
novel took it as a subject, in addition
to some fifty specialized architecture,
engineering, economics, and sociology
articles (Figs. 1, 2, 4, 5). Late in the century,
the Robert II encyclopedia featured
the following entry:
ArViDA. V. industrielle du Canada (Québec)
sur le Saguenay, proche de Chicoutimi.
14 500 hab. – usine d’aluminium traitant
la bauxite […], grâce à l’hydroélectricité.
(Arvida: industrial city in Quebec, Canada,
on the Saguenay river near Chicoutimi.
Population: 14,500. Aluminum smelter processing
bauxite […] using hydroelectricity.)
Insofar as French Canadian clerical
nationalist censorship in the twenties and
Arvida’s critical role in the Second World
War (akin to that of the Secret City—Oak
Ridge, Tennessee) kept the Aluminum
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 3. bird’s eye view Of cité industrielle drAwn by tOny gArnier,
first Published in 1917. the city stAnds On A rOcky PlAteAu
next tO A vAlley with An imPOsing dAm. | tOny gArnier, une cité industrielle, 1917.
fig. 5. AeriAl view Of ArvidA frOm the sOuth lOOking nOrth,
shOrtly After the secOnd wOrld wAr. | riO tintO AlcAn (mOntreAl).
City off the world’s critical radar, the
history of its contribution to urban
design has also remained incomplete.
With recent works like The Company
Towns, Company Towns in the Americas,
Fordlandia and Duluth, U.S. Steel, and
the Forging of a Company Town 9 from
John S. Garner, John W. Reps, Margaret
Crawford, and Jean-Pierre Frey10 arriving
to enrich the critical corpus made up of
such 20 th century classics as The City in
History (1961) and The Making of Urban
America (1965), it seems like a good
time to revisit the adventure in architecture
and urban planning that was
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
Arvida, 11 the city created from scratch in
the Canadian backcountry in 1925 and
named from its founder’s names: ARthur
VIning DAvis, president of the Aluminum
Company of America and one of the last
of the industrial utopians.
Af ter Rober t Owen’s New L anark
(Scotland, c. 1800), which was added
to the UNESCO World Heritage List in
2001 for having seen “the construction
not only of well designed and equipped
workers’ housing but also public buildings
designed to [address] their spiritual
as well as their physical needs,” 12 the
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 4. the Oldest street in ArvidA, OriginAlly cAlled rue rAdin, nOw knOwn
As lA trAverse, where the city’s first hOuses were built in 1926,
seen ArOund 1930. | ville de sAguenAy.
fig. 6. residentiAl district Of cité industrielle. | tOny gArnier, une cité industrielle, 1917.
industrial era gave new impetus to the
age-old quest for living environments
conducive to human fulfilment. As such,
Tony Garnier belongs to a long line of
thinkers stretching back to Hippodamos
of Milet and Thomas More. This is the
context in which our article intends to
situate both the “cité neuve” of Arvida
and Garnier’s Cité Industrielle—mirror
images in the history of urban planning.
Indeed, the utopia given modern graphic
form by Cité Industrielle seems to have
developed and taken root in a unique
(and tangible) way in Arvida, which in
turn can only be properly understood in
5

6
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 7. “AeriAl PlAn Of the cité industrielle PrOJect As Presented At the exhibitiOns
in rOme And PAris in 1901 And 1904.” | tOny gArnier, une cité industrielle, 1917.
fig. 9. yOrkshiP villAge (cAmden), new Jersey, wAs nAmed using
An AnAgrAm Of the nAme Of new yOrk shiPbuilding
cOrPOrAtiOn. | electus dArwin lichtfield, Architect And tOwn PlAnner, 1914-1917.
light of the history of ideas and ideals
that inspired Garnier. The comparison
exercise we propose here aims to better
measure a contribution to a history
of city planning that the literature has
heretofore attributed more exclusively
to Garnier’s Cité Industrielle, while at
the same time placing both model cities
in a broader context. It also seeks
to define the conditions of possibility
that other industrial cities lacked and
Arvida possessed. After the experiences
of Badin, North Carolina, and Alcoa,
Tennessee, that put the Aluminum
Company of American at the forefront
of developments in urban planning, it
was particular industrial preconditions,
like those Garnier himself imagined
for his hydro-powered metallurgical
city, that brought Arvida into being.
For the first and undoubtedly the last
time in the history of cities, a particular
conjunction of idealism, expertise,
and exceptional geography allowed
what remained only a dream in Europe
to come to fruition in Arvida, the town
where reality went beyond fiction.
Utopias with historY
As I noted, Garnier’s impact has generally
been assessed according to the
episteme of those who saw his work
as a reflection of their own thinking,
fig. 8. PrOmOtiOnAl Picture And mAP Of PullmAn, illinOis. | PrivAte cOllectiOn.
fig. 10. fOrd’s PrOJect At muscle shOAls, AlAbAmA, As Published in scientific AmericAn
in 1922.
with a resulting tendency to focus on
certain relatively peripheral aspects.
Concrete buildings conjured link s
between Garnier and Perret, and the
open block design used by reconstruction
designers were traced back to the
Lyonnais architect’s urban ideas to
produce a particular analytic framework
(fig. 6). As we have mentioned,
Garnier was also associated, following
Bourdeix, with the origin of modern
city planning principles according to
which “strict segregation into separate
zones for industry, residential and
civic functions provided the formula for
towns that would be both humane and
economically productive” (fig. 7).
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

The European, and especially French,
framework in which Cité industrielle
has habitually been placed has it that
its contribution to the history of urban
planning lies in its use of public space to
promote residents’ wellbeing. In addition,
Cité industrielle is noted for the
fact that its urban and architectural plan
is entirely diagrammed out, an aspect
the 19th century utopias lack, even the
renowned Garden City of Ebenezer
Howard (1898). Urban historiography
has further seen Cité Industrielle’s
intersection with 20 th century modernity
as personified in the conjunction of
metallurgy and hydroelectricity that
calls it into being. Scholars pondered
the astonishing realism of the project
before eventually tagging it as an “ideal
realism” more typical of utopianism than
urban design, 13 at least in its predominant
1930s and 40s forms, and situating
it in the lineage of Fourier’s phalansterian
theories. 14 After extensive research,
fuelled by the project’s very realism,
failed to turn up the intended site of
the Cité Industrielle, many concluded
that Garnier had meant only to propose
an archetype rather than provide a
specific solution—to illustrate the philosophical
or architectural productions of
its time. At best, this would make Cité
Industrielle one of the last of the great
dreams: “Tony Garnier,” it was said, “was
the initiator of an entirely independent
science of town planning and architecture,
which ended with him as well.” 15
Thus apart from finding traces of the
Lyonnais architect’s ideas in his successors
or in functionalist urban design, or
seeking the “real” Cité industrielle in
the southeastern France where Garnier
exegetes following his own indications,
went looking for it, scholars have paid
little attention to the relationship
between this utopia and its materialization
in the real context of contemporary
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
planning. More specifically, as the
above examples show, the relationships
between Cité industrielle and
town planning in its familiar Frontier
Town America form—where we know
Garnier for a time considered moving16
—have scarcely been considered. In
the United States and Canada, ubiquitous
post-World War I housing problems
engendered a lively field of research
and practice—that of the town planner,
precursor to the urban designer and
heir to the Beaux-Arts architects who
created the City Beautiful. At the same
time as Garnier was publishing his Une
cité industrielle, the guiding principles
of what was then called comprehensive
city planning—“from street pattern up”
as the expression went—were being laid
out in textbooks such as City Planning:
The Essential Elements of a City Plan,
Industrial Housing and Rural Planning
and Development, in the pages of
Landscape Architecture, Architectural
Record, American Institute of Architects
Journal, Journal of the Town Planning
Institute of Canada, Town Planning
Review, Construction, and Architectural
Forum, and in the works of urban
designers such as Thomas Adams, Morris
Knowles, and John Nolen.
Although we find relatively few contemporary
European examples of comprehensive
and detailed city plans—with
buildings, functions, and institutions
all laid out and everything from the
general plan to the shape of dwellings
included—what in Garnier was
an innovation was already relatively
common in North American by the
1910s. While specialized periodicals
of the time maintained, at least until
the war, a certain number of more fictional
than objective theoretical propositions,
hands-on examples of real
North American know-how were multiplying.
One pioneering experiment was
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
Pullman City, Illinois, where, in 1880,
George Pullman commissioned architect
Solon S. Beman and landscape architect
Nathan F. Barrett to produce an overall
plan for the town where his workers—
his “children” as he apparently called
them—would build rail cars (fig. 8).
Their work attracted attention as far
away as Garnier’s Europe: discovered
by the crowds during the 1893 Chicago
Columbian Exhibition nearby, Pullman
City, which contained businesses, parks,
and a church, as well as row housing for
the prosperous industrialist’s “children,”
was dubbed “The World’s Most Perfect
Town” at an 1896 exhibition in Prague.
It is important to recall that—its historic
cities aside—most North American
towns and cities were founded in the late
19th century and especially in the early
decades of the 20 th , and that, in order
to play the role they did in opening up
new Canadian and American territory,
they needed to be planned carefully and
holistically. They are called “planned
industrial towns,” “company towns,”
and sometimes “resource towns,” since
they were generally built around the
natural resources being exploited by
companies penetrating ever deeper
into the hinterland—hence the need for
worker housing. “Most new towns built
from now on,” wrote Garnier, “will focus
on industry.” 17 The prediction certainly
held true for North America, where
examples proliferate to negate any claim
Garnier might have had to inventing,
say, segregated urban functions: after
Pullman City, the plans for Vandergrift,
Pennsylvania (Frederick Law Olmsted
and J.C. Olmsted, 1895), and Yorkship,
New Jersey (Electus D. Lichtfield, 1914),
to name but two, both segregate industrial,
residential, and civic functions
rationally within the urban setting,
with circulation meticulously mapped
out between them (fig. 9).
7

8
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 11. riverside Avenue in fOrdlAndiA. the henry fOrd museum, Published
in greg grAndin, fOrdlAndiA…, P. 274.
fig. 13. One Of the ecliPse PArk (belOit, wiscOnsin)
hOuse mOdels As Published in 1918 by
lAwrence veiller in A series Of Articles
in the ArchitecturAl recOrd, entitled
“industriAl hOusing develOPments in
AmericA.”
With industrial development, the concept
of model city became, in North America,
an instrument of territorial conquest,
with vast expanses of undeveloped land
fuelling dreams of all kinds. From Robert
Owen, who after New Lanark went on to
found New Harmony in Indiana, to Frank
Lloyd Wright with his mythic Broadacre
City, the geographic potential of the territory
excited the imaginations of those
who credited agrarian settings (“nature”)
with hygienic and even character-building
virtues. We thus see not only the sudden
appearance of agrarian utopias, but also
of urban creations, which, despite charges
of paternalism levelled at them by certain
historians, still shared many of the
social aims of Garnier’s Cité Industrielle.
To take two less familiar examples: Baie-
Comeau, Quebec, was first conceived
in the 1920s by industrialist Robert R.
McCormick and built in the 1930s as a
pulp and paper town of some 2,000 residents,
while Hershey Town, Pennsylvania
(1924) was the chocolate-producing town
created by industrialist Milton Hershey. It
became a popular tourist attraction and
billed as “the sweetest place on earth […],
where the streets are lined with Hershey’s
Kisses-shaped street lights,” as well as a
“model town [built] for employees and
their families so they have an attractive
place to live, work, and play.” 18 Starting
at the beginning of the century, there is a
concrete paradigm shift in North America
fig. 12. eugene hAberer, bird’s eye view bAsed On the PrOPOsed shAwinigAn
tOwnsite PlAn, 1901. | cité de l’énergie, shAwinigAn.
that, above and beyond the focus on
detailed planning, also reflects Garnier’s
Cité Industrielle in the idea of the industrial
town as an integrated organism that,
rather than ignoring or fleeing industry,
uses it, as well as its modern corollaries
(transportation, habitat, and economy) as
a lever for individual development and
fulfilment. Town planning and industrial
philanthropy join forces.
This idea of a new, modern industrial
Arcadia did not survive the fragmentation
of urban design and the Athens Charter’s
functionalism, but did find expression
in a certain number of communities
founded before the end of the Great
War: Kistler, Pennsylvania (1918), Morgan
Park, Minnesota (1917), Kohler, Wisconsin
(1913), and Fairfield, Alabama (1910) are
some of the best known U.S. examples of
company towns that inherited, through
urban planning, this combination of
industry and a supportive environment. 19
That this idea should inspire the great
industrialists of the period is hardly surprising.
We find Henry Ford promoting his
“seventy-five-mile-long-city” at Muscle
Shoals, Alabama, next to a hydroelectric
development, that would free up “one
million workers” from local trusts, make
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 14. street in ArvidA tOdAy. | PhOtOgrAPh by lucie k. mOrisset. fig. 15. street in ArvidA tOdAy. | PhOtOgrAPh by guillAume st-JeAn.
them rich, and in Ford’s words, provide
an opportunity “to eliminate war from
the world.” 20 Frank Lloyd Wright himself
would say in 1922 of the seventy-fivemile-long
city that it was “one of the best
things” 21 he had ever heard of (fig. 10).
Ford’s Alabama project would founder on
Congress’s refusal to concede Tennessee
River exploitation and development
rights to the company. 22 His next utopian
project, Fordlandia, was actually built on
a two million hectare parcel of land that
Ford acquired in Brazil. The would-be
rubber-producing megalopolis also illustrates
a few gaps in Ford’s grasp of the
reality of urban design, as well as perhaps
a certain as yet unresolved discrepancy
between theory and practice. Historians
tend to attribute Ford’s failure in the forests
of the Amazon to the geographic,
social, and cultural disconnect between
Ford’s American world view and the
tropical wilderness environment, where
his “typically American-as-apple-pie”
wooden houses produced, it is said, a
most singular impression (fig. 11). 23
Although their numbers multiplied in
North America, many of these town
plans had only a marginal real-life impact,
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
leaving the landscape littered with, as
one commentator harshly put it, “centres
without cities” and “cities without centres.”
Beyond the urban utopias that had
marked the preceding centuries and left
historical if not material traces, the first
years of the American 20th century seem
to have been characterized by a phenomenon
of such proportions that a name had
to be created for it: the “paper city.” This
was the work of an illustrator or town
planner commissioned by a company or
group of industrialists to produce a plan,
not so much to provide workers with better
conditions or found a town, but simply
to entice investors with an impressive layout.
Shawinigan, Quebec, home of companies
such as the Pittsburgh Reduction
Company (later Aluminum Company of
America), Shawinigan Water and Power
Company, and Belgo Canadian Pulp
Company, remained for the most part just
such a paper city: the plans ordered by the
Shawinigan Water and Power Company
and magnificently represented in a bird’seye
view to impress the electricity-using
industry never to that extent saw the light
of day (fig. 12). Other comparable projects
ran up against changed material circumstances
with the rising prices of the First
World War: the plans for Allwood, New
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
Jersey, (1917) where industrialist and philanthropist
William Lyall promised an ideal
city in which both unskilled and skilled
workers would have access to homes,
parks, and community services designed
by the most prominent town planners
of the period (notably John Nolen,
Morris Knowles, William Somerville, and
George B. Post), was thus famously abandoned
after the construction of only a few
houses, funds having been exhausted. 24
Similarly, plans for Eclipse Park in Beloit,
announced in 1917 by the Fairbanks
Morse Company as a new city of 40,000,
styled as the “Typically American Garden
Village” and noted by critic Lawrence
Veiller for its forty different models of
luxurious houses (fig. 13), was reduced
before construction began to a neighbourhood
of about 300 houses reserved
for white employees only. Only 80 were
eventually built. 25
The situation of Cité Industrielle, which
Garnier himself qualified as “imagination
sans réalité” (“not real”), is thus hardly
unique, at least in its status as paper city—
insofar as the term can even be applied.
By expanding the frame of reference
beyond the heritage of European architectural
design through which Garnier’s
9

10
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 16. street in AlcOA, tennessee, circA 1920. | blOunt cOunty geneAlOgicAl And histOricAl sOciety.
fig. 17. lAyOut fOr ArvidA fActOries As built in 1929. the first fOur POtrOOms
brOught On streAm cAn be seen beside the electrOde fActOry tO the
sOuth. the slAg Ore PlAnt is At the lOwer right. within 15 yeArs, the
smelter, cOnscriPted fOr the wAr effOrt, exPAnded tO OccuPy All the
sPAce set Aside fOr it here. the slAg Ore (dry PrOcess) PlAnt hAd by then
been cOnverted tO A bAyer refinery. it wAs designed AccOrding tO PlAns
by Architect JAmes curzey meAdOwcrOft And equiPPed with söderbergh
POtrOOms, the mOst mOdern tyPe Of their time. | riO tintO AlcAn (mOntreAl).
vision has traditionally been interpreted,
we see it clearly as a creature of its time: a
one-off encounter between social utopia,
urban planning, and modern industry. It is
true that as late as 1918, one of the “fathers”
of industrial urban design, Thomas
Adams, known from the national city
planning conferences where he served
as the first secretary of the Garden City
Association before emigrating from
Great Britain to found the Town Planning
Institute of Canada, wrote that “We have
not failed to build wholesome industrial
communities; we have not tried to build
them.” 26 Was this an implicit response to
Garnier’s proposal? An indirect acknowledgment
that Cité Industrielle was yet
to come? Let us continue our explorations
on either side of the Atlantic and
outside the admittedly dated modernist
historiography. Only a few years later,
this “not real” city was nothing of the
sort. It took form as what the French
urban design historian Pierre Lavedan
would describe in 1956 as “the aluminum
city,” a full-fledged example of a “factory
city,” with the layout “of the freest possible
design.” 27 This is the Canadian city
of Arvida, long recognized in the United
States as the “most outstanding social
achievement” 28 of one of the richest and
most active industrialists in 20th century
America: Arthur Vining Davis, president of
the Aluminum Company of America from
1910 to 1957, who also provided the anagram
for its name out of the first two letters
of his three names. This “Washington
of the North” and “Jewel of the North
Canada Steppe” was already a model city
from its beginnings and quickly became
“famous as an example of community
housing” 29 (figs. 14-15). The promise made
fig. 18. drAwing by JOhn richArd rOwe Of the shiPshAw POwer stAtiOn, nOw
knOwn As chute-à-cArOn, Published in the mAgAzine Pencil POints
in August 1929. it wAs the first POwer PlAnt built by the Aluminum
cOmPAny Of cAnAdA. the PlAns were by the Pittsburgh Architects bennO
JAnssen And williAm yOrk cOcken. it wAs inAugurAted in 1931.
in announcing its creation, expressed in
the Journal of the Town Planning Institute
of Canada as “an opportunity to create a
town which will meet the ideal of perfection
which all town planners cherish,” was
for once kept.
Thus even as Ford was abandoning his
seventy-five-mile-long-city for wont of
hydroelectricity to power his industrial
utopia, Davis was acquiring “1,340,000
horsepower [100 000 kW] of probably
the cheapest hydro-electric power on the
North American continent” 30 on Quebec’s
Saguenay River. Fresh from his experience
in Alcoa, Tennessee, where the Aluminum
Company of America had, beginning in
1919, built 700 houses in three years
and, as earlier in Badin, North Carolina,
where he caused a sensation by including
housing for black workers (fig. 16),
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 19. isle-mAligne POwer PlAnt As seen in 1938. PlAns by engineer w.s. lee.
it wAs the Aluminum cOmPAny Of AmericA’s first in the sAguenAy–lAcsAint-JeAn
AreA. | librAry And Archives cAnAdA.
Davis wanted to break new ground, taking
to new and even greater heights the
company he had built into an enormous
multinational and world’s largest producer
of aluminum. Arvida was to be the
company’s first aluminum plant in virgin
territory, 31 a “longed-for opportunity
to begin at the beginning,” 32 as the
planning journal described it. As such, it
was provided with an unusual array of
services: together with the school system
and cultural, social, and sports activities
extensively cited by commentators, it
employed from the beginning a convincing
reformist discourse and an egalitarian
vision that disavowed the social
and racial segregation typical of company
towns. The Aluminum Company of
America president’s attachment to Arvida
has been well documented by historians
and is attested by a number of contemporary
sources: Edwin S. Fickes, the
company’s chief engineer, sent to the
Saguenay to oversee the city’s construction,
recalled Davis’s unflinching desire
to “make it a desirable place in which
to live at reasonable cost. Mr. Davis […]
properly insisted that no pains should be
spared to this end.” 33 Davis also said he
wanted to build a tower from which he
could look out over his model city. This is
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
hardly surprising: around the integrated
smelter, where incidentally he aimed not
only to reduce aluminum in some forty
potrooms, but also to employ a new
and experimental process to extract and
refine local bauxite (fig. 17), he had laid
out a “new city” without precedent on
North American soil, where everything,
from streetlights to worker housing, had
been planned out and elegantly diagrammed
to the last detail (fig. 18). The
scale of this industrial utopia invariably
evokes another: Garnier’s, and not merely
in their shared hydroelectric plant, transoceanic
port, and metallurgical production
facility to refine local ore.
“a city built in 135 days, without
ever having known the slums and
ugliness of haphazard growth,
and where the construction
required no tearing down” 34
– Harold Wake, arvida construction
superintendent
Located just upstream from the hydroelectric
station that prefigured its creation,
the most powerful in the world
at the time (fig. 19), and nestled around
its smelter, Arvida was typical of North
America company towns in that it was
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 20. birdseye view Of the “quArtier des AnglAis” in kénOgAmi,
ArOund 1920. | bibliOthèque et Archives nAtiOnAles du québec.
designed to house workers for an industrial
operation. In the immediate region,
Arvida is a successor to Val-Jalbert (1899),
Kénogami (1912), Port-Alfred (1915),
Riverbend (1923), and Dolbeau (1927)
(fig. 20). But just as Cité Industrielle stands
apart from the utopias that preceded it,
Arvida’s resemblance to ordinary company
towns ends there. It differs in its planning
and resulting urban forms as well as in its
layout and landscaping and in the way it
came into being as a construction project
unprecedented in method and scale to
produce a genuine model city providing
workers with an incomparable habitat—
one of the high points of architectural
history. The town also stands out for its
marvellous state of preservation. It was
meticulously protected by its parent company,
the Aluminum Company of America
and its subsidiary the Aluminum Company
of Canada, later Alcan, well beyond the
1940s and 50s, when Arvida, world aluminum
capital, would join the pantheon
of industrial cities, just as it became one
of the most closely guarded secrets of
the British Commonwealth and one of
Canada’s best protected sites, producing
the very “flying vehicles” imagined by
Garner and crucial to the outcome of the
Second World War.
11

12
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 21. Attributed tO hJAlmAr e. skOugOr, cOlOur lithOgrAPh Of the ArvidA PlAn, 1925-1926. | ville de sAguenAy.
fig. 22. scAle mOdel Of ArvidA, 1925-1926: this mOdel is like A three-dimensiOnAl trAnsPOsitiOn Of cité
industrielle, with its residentiAl AreA, dOwntOwn, smelter, hydrOelectric fAcilities, And river.
the “Old tOwn” (the industriAl tOwn Of kénOgAmi) is seen tO the left neAr the OutflOw Of A smAll
industriAl building PrObAbly rePresenting A PulP mill. | sOciété histOrique du sAguenAy, PhOtOgrAPh by PAul lAliberté.
Arvida was essentially built in three
broad phases: 1925 to 1935, 1936 to 1942,
and the period up to 1950. Carved out
of the natural surroundings it absorbed,
it shares more than a few similarities
with Garnier’s Cité Industrielle: the two
projects are both “total cities,” from
the street layout and functional zoning
all the way down to the design of
each house. Garnier and the Aluminum
Company of America both conjured
an urban centre glittering with lavish
buildings and imposing avenues, yet
dedicated to the efficient operation of a
prosperous metallurgical industry fuelled
by massive hydroelectric development.
Like Garnier’s “not real” creation,
Arvida’s legacy includes an outstanding
documentary record preserving not just
the plans for, but also the construction
of the city. Arvida’s records are in fact
far more extensive. They include some
2,000 sheets of plans; high-quality drawing;
hundreds of films, photographs, brochures,
newspaper and journal article;
meeting records; a number of theses
and historical research papers; a variety
of contemporaneous reports; and a
relatively abundant correspondence, all
housed in a dozen or more archival collections
in Canada and the United States.
It is these records, along with the city
as it exists today, that have served as
our guides through this epic of urban
planning, of which this article maps out
some of the high points. In addition to
a lithographed and published overall
plan in black and white and in colour
(fig. 21), there is a model illustrating
the scale of the project. It depicts a city
harnessing the river torrents and spreading
out across the benchlands above the
river, not far from the older settlements
of Jonquière and Kénogami (fig. 22).
Arvida, again like Cité Industrielle, would
be connected to these settlements as
well as to raw material production and
distribution networks by a railway running
along the plain, linking the gigantic
smelter to transoceanic port and lavish
city, running like clockwork and lovely
as a work of art.
Is there any connection other than mere
providence linking Cité industrielle to
Arvida? What did Arvida’s creators know
of their imaginary predecessor’s author?
the French connection
While Lyon in the 1910s was a hub for city
planning ideas, 35 the flow and exchange
of information between North America,
Europe, and France was increasing in the
days of Cité Industrielle and Arvida, particularly
in the specialized and relatively
circumscribed field of town and city
planning. One of the first to publish the
lithographed plan for Arvida was in fact a
German city planner, Werner Hegemann,
who immigrated to New York City in 1933
and whose transatlantic travels were the
subject of an important essay. 36 Also
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 23. AeriAl view Of bAdin, nOrth cArOlinA, POst-1920, On the site PreviOusly
identified by the french cOmPAny And its subsidiAry, the sOuthern
Aluminum cOmPAny, fOr An Aluminum smelter Of unPrecedented size.
see the “quAdrAPlexes”, As they Are nAmed there, designed fOr the
french cOmPAny, POssibly by new yOrk’s engineers PiersOn And gOOdrich.
they becAme tyPicAl lOcAlly desPite being mOre chArActeristic Of the
semidetAched hOusing Of eurOPeAn industriAl tOwns. the Aluminum
cOmPAny Of AmericA described them As “nOt gOOd As hOuses, nOr the
tyPe thAt the cOmPAny wished tO PrOvide fOr its emPlOyees.” | AlcOA Archives,
histOricAl sOciety Of western PennsylvAniA Archives, librAry And Archives divisiOn, heinz histOry
center, Pittsburgh (PA).
fig. 24. OrthOgrAPhic view Of the mAriA elenA mine And tOwn, built in chile by
the guggenheim brOthers AccOrding tO PlAns by hArry b. brAinerd And
hJAlmAr e. skOugOr, 1926. | digitAl glObe/gOOgle.
notable was the path followed by Thomas
Adams 37 —the manager of Letchworth,
the “first” Garden City—who, in addition
to founding the Town Planning
Institute of Canada (1914) and managing
the New York Regional plan (1923-1930),
also designed several new towns before
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
returning to Great Britain to found the
Institute of Landscape Architects (1937).
The travels of French architect Jacques
Gréber are similarly familiar: known
mainly in his own country as the master
architect of the 1937 Paris International
Exhibition, Gréber crisscrossed the
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 25. reduced PlAn fOr ecliPse PArk (belOit, wi), geOrge b. POst And sOns, As
Published in 1918 by lAwrence veiller in the mAgAzine ArchitecturAl
recOrd. the cOntOur street system, which wAs beginning tO sPreAd At the
time, wAs used here. the PArt Of the PlAn tO the left Of the mOnumentAl
centrAl Axis wAs never built: A shOPPing centre And PArking lOt ended
uP OccuPying thAt AreA.
fig. 26. “AirPOrt-dOcks fOr new yOrk,” hArry b. brAinerd, Architect: A PrOPOsAl fOr
An intermOdAl POrt next tO the city tO fAcilitAte Access tO intercity trAns-
POrtAtiOn, PArticulArly the new AirPlAnes. | science And mechAnics, nOvember 1931.
northeastern United States from 1910
on. 38 He was a ubiquitous vector of contamination,
turning his observations into
a monumental work, published in 1920
under the title “Architecture in the United
States, with the curious subtitle “Evidence
of the expansion capability of the French
13

14
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 27. Attributed tO hArry beArdslee brAinerd, “PersPective Of business district, tOwn Of ArvidA PrOvince
Of quebec, cAnAdA, 1926.” As in gArnier’s cité industrielle, the “mOst imPOrtAnt street OriginAtes At
the trAin stAtiOn” And “the neighbOurhOOd ArOund the trAin stAtiOn is reserved PrimArily fOr […]
hOtels, dePArtment stOres, etc., sO thAt the rest Of the tOwn cAn be free Of tAll buildings.” | riO tintO
AlcAn (sAguenAy).
genius.” 39 Although we find scarcely any
signs of French urban design projects
migrating to American soil, the chapter
“Community Housing: Garden Cities,
Worker Cities” 40 discusses the “methodical
organization” 41 of planning with respect
to certain aspects that, as we shall see,
are particularly significant to our story:
thanks to powerful means of production
in the service of flawless methods of
organization, Americans have, in recent
years, made enormous strides in the construction
of economical housing for large
groups. they have mass-produced not the
houses themselves, but the materials for
constructing them, making it possible to
standardize rationally without monotony. 42
We note incidentally that Gréber,
Adams, and Edward Bennett, coauthor
of the 1909 Plan of Chicago (in which
many have pointed out French influences
43 ), Noulan Cauchon, who would
give a notable talk in Arvida itself, 44 and
Frederick G. Todd, student of Frederick
Law Olmsted and inaugural chair of the
Arvida Planning Committee, with which
he completed a number of landscape
architecture projects in the 1940s, had, if
not necessarily become fast friends, certainly
met around the drafting table at
Canada’s Federal District Commission, 45
where they worked together planning
the City of Ottawa.
Could the idea found in Une cité indus‑
trielle, either prior or subsequent to
Garnier’s publication, have followed such
channels?
In the relatively globalized sphere of
resource industries, and especially aluminum—that
“magic metal of the 20th century”
whose lightness and conductivity
held such immense promise if only the
tremendous amounts of energy required
for reducing the metal through electrolysis
could be secured—American
and French interests had crossed paths
more than once. In 1915, the Aluminum
Company of America took over facilities
in North Carolina built from 1911 under
the stewardship of Adrien Badin, director
of Compagnie des produits chimiques
d’Alais et de la Camargue (later known
as Pechiney). Badin had also been mayor
of the first aluminum-producing town
of Salindres, where Pechiney was established,
some 250 kilometres downstream
from Lyon, at the same time that Garnier’s
patron, Édouard Herriot, was mayor there,
and also headed Aluminium Français, the
cartel he had launched to bring together
France’s five aluminum companies, and its
subsidiary Southern Aluminum Company,
established in the United Stated in 1912. 46
The North Carolina town was named
Badinville or Badin, and its similarities
to Garnier’s Cité Industrielle are striking,
including, considering the change
the project underwent, 47 the location of
its dam, hydroelectric station, aluminum
smelter, and residential district (fig. 23).
Noteworthy aspects include the townsite’s
location on a plateau, its position
above the smelter, its relationship to the
nearby older settlement of Palmerville
echoing Cité industrielle’s “ville ancienne”
(“old town”) represented by Garnier
and the granite mines acquired by the
Southern Aluminum Company near the
townsite. 48 (“There are also mines in the
region,” 49 Garnier had written). A number
of particularities still found in Badin also
belong more to Cité Industrielle and its
European context than to town planning
in the United States: amongst them, the
quadraplexes built by the French company
to house its employees, usual in Europe, 50
but very uncommon in America, and
pathways through lots, between houses,
or, as Garnier wrote:
[…] the built area must always be less
than half the total surface area, the rest
of the lot becoming a public garden for pedestrians;
that is, each building must leave
on the unbuilt part of its lot an unimpeded
passage from the street to the building
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

situated at the back. this arrangement
allows circulation through town in any directions
independent of the streets which
one no longer needs follow; the land of the
town as a whole is like a large park, with no
enclosing walls to limit the ground. 51
Was Garnier familiar with the Aluminium
Français undertaking together with
France’s leading industrial companies,
which promised, specifically through this
Yadkin River settlement, to make France
the world’s leading aluminum producer,
52 and has been described as “probably
the largest, and most ambitious,
French Investment in pre-World War I
America” 53 ? Given that the Aluminum
Company of America itself undertook
to build in Badin a model city remarkable
in many regards, and that Arthur
Vining Davis and Adrien Badin communicated
with each other, 54 is it possible
to conjecture that the ideals of
Cité Industrielle circulated on the North
American frontier—and made their way
from Aluminium Français to Arvida?
In addition to the likely intersection
of the spheres of influence of Adrien
Badin, with his plans to relaunch the
aluminum industry through a spectacular
undertaking, and Paul Héroult, the
well-known French inventor of the electrolytic
reduction process, who went to
stay in Whitney to supervise the building
of Badinville, and Garnier, who imagined
the renewal of the planned city under
the aegis of metallurgical industry and
hydroelectricity, the similarities, scale,
and contemporaneity of Cité Industrielle
and its North Carolina cousin constitute
convincing circumstantial evidence.
It is likewise unlikely that Garnier was
unaware of North American resource
towns in general. Could the creators
of Arvida, following as they did in the
footsteps of the Aluminum Company of
America’s settlement built on Badin’s
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
French foundations, likewise have had
contact with Cité Industrielle?
In addition to being built under the
supervision of engineering superintendent
Harold R. Wake, who until then had
been managed the company’s real estate
services in Badin, Victor J. Hultquist, who
had performed with distinction during
the construction of Alcoa, Tennessee, 55
and Edwin Stanton Fickes, who is credited
of a contribution to the town plan
of Alcoa and who from 1901 did about
everything for the company, from building
plants to rethinking the aluminum
production process, Arvida was in 1925-
1926 the work of two main planners.
One, Harry Beardslee Brainerd (1887-
1977), was a New York-based architect,
theorist, and town planner, known at
the time for having drafted the plans
for the Chilean industrial town of María
Elena (fig. 24), and noted for his work
developing and testing theories of the
nascent discipline of city planning in a
number of thoroughfares plans, reports,
and other zoning primers and city plans,
notably for Cleveland, Ohio. 56 During his
town planning apprenticeship with the
firm of Murphy and Dana, he probably
took part in the residential development
of Elizabeth, New Jersey, where he
became a consulting architect with the
City Planning Commission in 1927. While
at the New York firm of George B. Post
and Sons, he undoubtedly helped design
the paper city of Eclipse Park (Beloit,
Wisconsin) with its forty model dwellings
and its urban layout combining a vast,
solemn mall in the City Beautiful style
and picturesque residential streets gracefully
winding along the topographic contours
(fig. 25), and was noted in 1931 for
proposing an ingenious system of airport
docks for New York City (fig. 26). He had
completed his architectural education at
New York’s Columbia University where
the library catalogue shows a copy of
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 28. “ArvidA – business district”: PlAn by hArry
beArdslee brAinerd estAblishing the
dOwntOwn AreA between twO rAvines And
setting Out building dimensiOns And the
ArrAngement Of rOAdwAys, including the
“viAduct tO cAthedrAl.” | university Of OregOn
librAry, cOllectiOn richArd hAvilAnd smythe.
fig. 29. PlAn Of chicAgO, PrOPOsed bOulevArd. Jules
guérin fOr dAniel hudsOn burnhAm et Al.,
cOmmerciAl club Of chicAgO, 1909.
Garnier’s Une cité industrielle, first edition,
to which he would have had access.
He studied at Columbia under Harvey
Wiley Corbett (1873-1954), who had
graduated from École des beaux-arts de
Paris in 1900 and was thus a former colleague
of Garnier, who had received the
Prix de Rome there in 1901.
15

16
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 30. “PersPectives: tOwnsite hOuses,” c2 And c3, Aluminum cOmPAny Of cAnAdA, 1927. | ville de sAguenAy.
The other, Hjalmar Ejnar Skougor,
Brainerd’s partner, is credited with the
lithographed plan of Arvida as well as the
original design for most of the houses.
He seems to have been known for his
expertise in house design. 57 Skougor had
previously attracted attention from his
compatriots by proposing moving sidewalks
for New York City, inspired, he said,
by the examples seen at the 1900 Paris
International Exhibition. 58
Two other architects can be added to
the list of Arvida’s inventors: New Yorker
Richard Haviland Smythe (1899-1965),
known for having designed a number of
real estate development projects, 59 had
collaborated with Brainerd and Skougor
previously, and the collection of his work
at University of Oregon has plans for
“workmen’s houses” of what was called
the “Sycamore type,” identical to the
staff houses built in Arvida for city and
smelter construction workers, as well as
a plan for the Arvida business district
signed by Brainerd in the latter’s own
hand. Smythe had also graduated from
Columbia and subsequently completed
a fellowship at the American Academy
in Rome. 60 Other possible participants
in the Arvida plan, according to recently
uncovered documents, 61 are civil engineer
D.L. Turner, 62 and most importantly architect
James Gamble Rogers II (1901-1990),
who designed the elevations of 24 Arvida
house models. He was the son of architect
John Arthur Rogers (1870-1934) and
worked with his father in the 1920s in
Daytona, Florida, going on to design the
residential architecture of Winter Park, a
Florida resort for industrialists on the east
coast of the United States, where he set
up an office in 1928, and where Arthur
Vining Davis may have met him. Although
there are no other documents attesting
to Rogers’ contribution to Arvida, at
least one of the house types there bears
a strong resemblance to a Winter Park
building, of which we have a signed plan.
At the very least, it attests to a certain
similarity between his style and that of
Arvida’s designers. 63 Rogers does not seem
to have any significant French, Parisian, or
Lyonnais connections, with the exception
of his uncle, the architect James Gamble
Rogers (1867-1946), who was also a contemporary
of Tony Garnier at École des
beaux-arts de Paris, graduating in 1898.
Nothing in all this militates against a
possible connection between Arvida and
Cité Industrielle. Indeed, Garnier’s thinking
is all over the Arvida project, with its
classical notions of beauty and its utilitarian
concern for traffic flows, hygiene,
and economy. The lithographed Arvida
plan of course in no way neglects urban
functionality, yet, curiously, it is oriented
with the south at the top rather than on
the bottom, favouring pictorial composition
over conventional usage. The colour
design thus circumscribes and apportions
residential, commercial, institutional, and
industrial functions, finely divides the
plan of lots, and creates a hierarchy of
transportation corridors cut into the lush
natural landscape in a highly characteristic
style confirmed in its quasi-Vetruvian
windrose design, legend, and title block.
If this beaux-arts aesthetic seems in 1925
somewhat dated, it at least explains the
drawings’ expressive quality and refinement,
also incidentally shared with the
plates of Une cité industrielle: alongside
the meticulous drawing seen in the aluminum
city’s lithographed plan and the
perspectives of its seventeen house types
(fig. 30), we find the plan views favoured
by Garnier echoed in the spectacular perspectives
used to trace out Arvida’s business
district (figs. 27-28).
This evocation of Versailles, as well as
the monumental flourishes common to
both the Arvida plan’s diagonal layout
and the depictions of Cité Industrielle,
can also be seen in, to take the bestknown
examples, Walter Burleigh
Griffin’s plan for Canberra, Australia
(1912-1918) and above all in the plan of
Chicago (1909) drafted by Jules Guérin
for Burnam and Bennett (fig. 29). Garnier
could scarcely have been unaware of
these two projects. In this same City
Beautiful lineage elaborated at Chicago’s
Columbian Exhibition, both Arvida
and Cité Industrielle have ties to a still
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

more celebrated project begun in 1901,
the reworking of the original French
plans for Washington, D.C. (1791). The
authorities at Aluminum Company of
America specifically referred to Major
Pierre-Charles L’Enfant’s “paper city”
in outlining the relationship between
Arvida and “Washington, today one of
the world’s most beautiful cities, tomorrow
the most beautiful.” 64
Other contemporaneous written descriptions
of Arvida refer instead to Ebenezer
Howard, promising “The First Garden
City of Canada.” This is hardly surprising,
given the influence Thomas Adams
had at the time over the Journal of the
Town Planning Institute of Canada where
this pledge appeared. Still more specifically,
the Garden City model is echoed
in the very act that constitutes Arvida’s
birth: the acquisition by the Aluminum
Company of America in August 1925
of specifically 6,000 acres (2,400 ha)
of land—precisely what Howard had
prescribed for his Garden Cities of
To‑Morrow (1902). Although Letchworth
(the first Garden City built on Howard’s
principles) was designed for 32,000 residents
(the similarity to Garnier’s city for
“35,000 inhabitants” has been noted),
Arvida was initially intended for 50,000,
closer to Welwyn Garden City, founded
more recently. This population figure,
however, taken from an article entitled
“Our capital aids Canadian industry” in
the New York Times of September 27,
1926, is not agreed upon by everyone.
Amidst ads for share, bond, and sinking
fund issues, the editor of Canadian
Machinery and Manufacturing News,
returning from a visit to the Arvida site
in August 1926, speaks of a city of 25,000
to 30,000 residents; the Ottawa Citizen
mentions 40,000 in the summer of 1925;
and the July 1928 Financial Post gives a
figure between 30,000 et 50,000. Harold
Wake, the engineer superintendent of
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
construction and probably the most credible
source, writes in the November 1926
issue of the Engineering Journal of a city
of between 30,000 and 40,000 residents.
What conclusions can we draw from
these convergences and divergences?
First, it is undeniable that, without specifically
referring to each other, Arvida
and Garnier’s Cité Industrielle share the
same ambitions and certain frames of
reference. Second, and this is confirmed
by the flurry of superlatives deployed
throughout North America in announcing
the creation of this “world centre
of aluminum production,” 65 the city
planned by the Aluminum Company of
America in the Canadian hinterland is
an object of representation first and
foremost. It is therefore more likely
that the proposal for 50,000 residents,
at a time when most of the world’s cities
numbered closer to half that, was meant
to associate the power bonds issued by
Davis’s company with the success of Gary,
Indiana, with its population of 50,000,
than to reflect Arvida’s actual aims. The
average of 35,000, an oft-cited figure, is
likely closer to what the planners really
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 31. the Aluminum cOmPAny Of AmericA’s Pittsburgh Archives Preserve numerOus winter And summer
imAges frOm PhOtO essAys On ArvidA shOwing the city, hOuses, the smelter And refinery buildings
inside And Out, As well As A few street scenes like this One. | AlcOA Archives, histOricAl sOciety Of western
PennsylvAniA Archives, librAry And Archives divisiOn, heinz histOry center, Pittsburgh (PA).
intended, thus bringing Arvida more
in line both with Howard’s ideal and
Garnier’s model, which was more contemporary
and realistic, at least in its
urban design aspects. In any case, this
drive for publicity and concern for quantification
demonstrates the necessity for
Arvida to differentiate itself from competing
capital projects of the day, and
a fortiori from the paper cities that had
disappointed so many investors. It was
no accident that the New York Times
went so far as to announce, in 1926,
an inspection of the Aluminum Town
by “American and Canadian corporation
presidents and financial and industrial
executives” to attest to the town’s
growth, or that the Aluminum Company
of America produced a series of photo
essays providing further evidence to the
work’s truly being underway (fig. 31).
It is this background of capitalist ferment
which probably explains the multiple
virtues attributed to Arvida: Wake
noted Davis’s obsession with advertising
on a number of occasions. We note
that although Arvida’s developers rarely
pass up the opportunity to buttress their
17

18
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
project with an impressive reference,
their failure to mention Garnier’s Cité
Industrielle is not necessarily significant.
None of the American or Canadian
articles we have examined do so either,
which not only tends to corroborate the
views of Garnier exegetes regarding the
tepid critical response to Garnier’s project
in the first years after its publication,
but renders the presence of a first
edition copy of Garnier’s book in the
Columbia University library all the more
significant. Although the developments
and connections between Garnier’s Cité
Industrielle and its forebears and successors
clearly remain to be explored in the
North American context, the economic
situation in which we find no references
to that project in the discourse around
Arvida do not disprove a link between
these two “industrial cities.” In fact, the
economic circumstances explain why
Arvida does not equal, but rather manifests
Cité Industrielle to which the North
American project gave reality. “Imitation
of a model,” wrote researcher André
Corboz, “occurs selectively.” 66
It is time to consider the “organisation
systématique” noted by Gréber, in search
of conditions of fulfilment that Garnier’s
“not real” city leaves unmet.
arvida, cité indUstrielle
If the American paper cities—and the
various social and urban utopias that
marked earlier centuries—were largely
left on the drawing table, it may be
because there were few companies like
the Aluminum Company of America. At
the beginning of the 1920s, the youthful,
dynamic multinational had assets of
close to $200 million and controlled over
30 companies busily involved in mining
bauxite and electrolyzing, transforming,
transporting, and selling aluminum in
every corner of the world. 67 It had other
calling cards too: in Badin, as we have
seen, the company set forth a storm of
commentary with its unorthodox egalitarian
attitude, as we have seen, toward
“coloured people.”
This is the company that in 1925
announced plans to build on the
Saguenay River the third largest city in
Quebec—behind Montreal (618,506 residents
in 1921) and Quebec City (95,193)
but far ahead of Sherbrooke (23,515) and
Trois-Rivières (22,267). 68 It is hardly surprising
that the project made headlines:
while the premier of the province was
announcing that the company would
be paying “$15,000 in wages per day
to its employees” and establishing “the
world’s biggest aluminum plant,” 69 local
and national newspapers were trumpeting
the investment of $75 million.
An ideal site, unprecedented energy
potential, a new and prosperous industry,
and 35,000 residents: on this the
industrial city was founded. Still it was
necessary, “450 miles north of Boston”
as the Aluminum Company of America
directors put it, to attract workers and
staff—and to retain them once part of
the local labour pool with other company
towns already springing up. It
was not enough to charm investors,
workers needed charming too. So the
company wasted no time getting to
work on this “real” city, as attested by
the exceptional measures of the March
1926 Arvida charter, adopted to make
sure the company controlled the urban
landscape.
We will now, using Tony Garnier’s
words, look at how this “real” city in
the Saguenay brought his “not real” city
to tangible life. The next sections of this
article will outline the principal motifs of
the project alongside the themes Garnier
used in describing his “not real” idea.
“in our case, the determining
factor is a rushing stream that
supplies energy” 70
– tony Garnier, Une cité industrielle
What then would draw the Aluminum
Company of America to a place “450 miles
North of Boston”? There is of course the
industry’s hunger for hydroelectricity—
the “low cost power at tide water” whose
abundance lifted the reason in what
the period called the “power towns.”
Not long before Aluminum Company
of America, the American industrialist
James Buchanan Duke—tobacco magnate
and pioneer of hydroelectricity in North
Carolina (in 1904 he started operating
a power station on the Catawba River
some fifty kilometres from Badin)—had
found and spectacularly developed these
hydroelectric resources at Isle-Maligne,
where the enormous reservoir of Lac-
Saint-Jean drains into the river. Henry
Ford was probably another industrialist
drawn to the hydroelectric potential
Duke had developed. Even as he was
attempting to obtain exploitation rights
to the Tennessee River and take control
of aluminum production for his cars, he
could have been manoeuvring through a
vague partnership with Baush Machine
Tool Company, which in 1924 had contracted
for Isle-Maligne electricity. 71
What would Ford’s industrial utopias have
become on Canadian soil, one wonders.
But it was Arthur Vining Davis and the
Aluminum Company of America that got
the exploitation and development rights,
following two years of negotiations and
the eventual intervention of Andrew W.
Mellon, 72 U.S. treasury secretary from 1921
to 1932 and a major aluminum shareholder.
The company bought participation
in what was at the time called the “Upper
Development” (fig. 32), by opposition to
the “Lower Development” downstream.
Then, after obtaining its first megawatts
from the “Upper Development” at
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 32. PlAn view, circA 1925, Of the lAc sAint-JeAn OutflOw with the isle-mAligne
POwer PlAnt And hydrOelectric fAcilities designed by hydrAulic engineer
williAm s. lee. | AlcOA Archives, histOricAl sOciety Of western PennsylvAniA Archives, librAry And
Archives divisiOn, heinz histOry center, Pittsburgh (PA).
Isle-Maligne, the Aluminum Company of
America went on to build the most powerful
station in the world for its own use
at the “Lower Development” of Chuteà-Caron,
with “1,340,000 horsepower
of probably the cheapest hydroelectric
power on the North American continent
[…].” This station was designed by engineer
James W. Rickey who, it should be
noted, was previously stationed in Badin
where, apparently building on the French
idea to combine several stations (at least
two downstream the Yadkin River from
the Whitney dam), he proposed an hydroelectric
scheme very close to the one
that would take place in Arvida, where
the gravity dam of Chute-à-Caron in fact
echoes the one previously completed by
the Aluminium Company of America at
the Narrows, near Badin. The hydroelectric
station there was also, as would be
Chute-à-Caron, the most powerful of its
time. However, the building of Chute-à-
Caron was orchestrated in a feat “[taking
its] place with the notable pieces of recent
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
years, if not of all times.” 73 To dam the
30 metre wide river, a “precast concrete
dam” was built on the shore and toppled
with dynamite into the river. It weighed
close to 10,000 tons and was 28 metres
high (figs. 33-34).
Although the company’s decision to set
up shop in the Canadian hinterland is
partly explained by the impossibility of
transporting electricity over long distances,
the location had much to commend
it. For Garnier, “the determining reason
for the establishment of a similar city
could be the proximity of raw materials,
the existence of a natural energy source
easily harnessed for industry, or the convenience
of modes of transportation.” 74
Aluminum Company of America and
Alcan chroniclers have stressed certain
legal requirements requiring the company
to establish a bauxite refinery on British
territory before 1929 in exchange for a
1916 operating lease in British Guyana
conceded to its subsidiary Demerara
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 33. the sAguenAy river hydrOelectric fAcilities ArOund 1952. PlAns dAte
bAck tO 1925 frOm the Aluminum cOmPAny Of AmericA And were
cOmPleted by the Aluminum cOmPAny Of cAnAdA with the inAugurAtiOn
Of the shiPshAw ii POwer PlAnt And dAm (fOregrOund) in 1942. the
first Of the twO PlAnts, chute-à-cArOn, with its grAvity dAm, Put
intO OPerAtiOn in 1931, is seen in the bAckgrOund uPstreAm. the
twO sPectAculAr PrOJects successively creAted the mOst POwerful
generAting stAtiOn in their resPective dAys. | librAry And Archives cAnAdA.
Bauxite. 75 However, this only partially
explains the choice of the Saguenay
location, as the company already had an
operation in Shawinigan. Although aluminum
production requires electricity, its
ore, bauxite, must undergo two successive
processes: alumina must be refined
or extracted, then be reduced in solution
with cryolite and calcium fluoride through
electrolysis in a smelter. Because the high
cost of refining bauxite, a single refinery
can be used to feed a large number of
smelters. At the beginning of the 1920s,
the Aluminum Company of America—
after dropping the French project to build
both an alumina plant and a smelter in
Badin76 —mainly depended on a refinery
built before the war in East Saint Louis,
Illinois, to supply alumina to its smelters
in Niagara Falls and Massena, New York;
Shawinigan, Quebec; Alcoa, Tennessee;
and Badin, North Carolina. This may
explain why by the mid-1920s the company
had still not satisfied its obligations
under the Guyanese lease.
19

20
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 34. this PrOdigiOus sAguenAy river hydrOelectric develOPment PlAn, frOm isle-mAligne (uPPer left) tO shiPshAw ii (lOwer right), disPlAys the AreA’s POtentiAl in A
luxuriAnt PersPective thAt highlights the glittering smelter. | AlcOA Archives, histOricAl sOciety Of western PennsylvAniA Archives, librAry And Archives divisiOn, heinz histOry center, Pittsburgh (PA).
However, in grappling with constant
bauxite supply problems in the days when
aluminum production was still generally
based on experimental techniques,
the innovative Aluminum Company of
America—“born on research,” 77 as it
was said—had since the 19 th century
ceaselessly improved the processes for
extracting alumina from various grades
(i.e., bauxite with higher or lower
silica or iron content), and concentrations
(i.e., aluminum content) of bauxite.
Charles Martin Hall, the American
inventor of the electrolytic reduction
process (at the same time Paul Héroult
invented it in France) and cofounder of
the Aluminum Company of America,
had tested a dry process for separating
out the alumina from other metals and
impurities in bauxite. 78 Compared to the
Bayer process developed for European
bauxite and based on heating a liquid
bauxite-based solution under pressure,
the dry process seemed more promising
for more siliceous low-grade American
ores, like those of the Arkansas mines
that had allowed Aluminum Company
of America to break free of German and
other outsourced alumina. However, the
uncertain success of the dry process and
developments in the 1910s motivated the
company to switch its focus to adapting
the Bayer process to American bauxite,
and most of the experimental dry process
refineries were abandoned or, in the case
of the East Saint Louis refinery, converted
to the Bayer process.
So while to comply with the terms of the
British Guyanese lease, the Aluminum
Company of America could have built a
refinery somewhere within the British
Empire, it turned instead, in Arvida, to
construction of a refinery using the dry,
or slag ore, process. This was because
the company intended to refine, besides
American bauxite, which was at the time
declining in alumina content, anorthosite,
an abundant substance in the Saguenay
area subsoil. The slag ore plant, which
contemporary postcards show as featuring
decorative columns (fig. 35) ordered
by Davis, was in fact probably needed
to supply the large number of potrooms
planned for—and built—in Arvida. The
plans for this plant show us that that
“450 miles north of Boston,” the advantages
of the site countered its remoteness
to back up the promise to establish
“the world’s biggest aluminum industry.”
In the final analysis, it was self-evident
that, around this autarkic refinery, a
city on a similar scale deserved to be
built. And while the world’s previous
model cities often amounted to collections
of residences—the most original
examples, such as Margaretenhöhe in
Essen, Germany, 1909-1938, built on the
initiative of Margarethe Krupp, or those
that followed Arvida, such as the celebrated
Radburn, New Jersey, 1929—this
city, like Cité Industrielle, was fully integrated
from the word go, with residences
and of course the smelter, as well as a
downtown, hospital, schools and other
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

institutions and in every neighbourhood
a neighbourhood centre.
Already in 1911, Julien-Édouard-Alfred
Dubuc, a well-known local industrialist,
had sought to promote the site’s advantages
specifically to attract U.S. promoters,
including possibly the Aluminum
Company of America, to found a city
he called Saguenayville. A painting by
Hiram Harold Green he commissioned in
1911 shows these advantages (fig. 36).
“A major railroad passes between the
factory and the town,” 79 wrote Garnier:
all around the Arvida site, a well-established
transportation network connected
it via the Ha! Ha! Bay Railway and the
Quebec and Lake St. John Railway to the
deep-water anchorage of Baie des Ha!
Ha!, where ocean vessels could deliver
raw materials and products could be
exported around the world. Engineer
Edwin S. Fickes, who oversaw the birth
of the Aluminum Company of America’s
settlements in Shawinigan, Massena,
Badin and Alcoa, could not say enough
about the site:
For making aluminum, the Saguenay power
is one of the most desirable on the Atlantic
seaboard of North America; it can be
developed at low cost, and Lake St. John
and its tributaries can be used as reservoirs
to regulate the flow of the river so as to produce
almost one hundred percent of primary
power; abundant labour and railway transportation
are at hand and, last but not least,
it is close to tidewater so that the bulky raw
materials required, and much of the metal
made, can be transported by water. 80
As we have seen, other industrial cities,
such as Port-Alfred (established by Dubuc)
and Kénogami, were also quick to set up
shop this part of the country. In August
1925, just beside William Price’s Kénogami
and not far from the older town of
Jonquière (like Garnier’s “old town next
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
to the waterfall” 81 ); at the very point
where the railway lines meet and where
the clay-covered rock provides a solid
foundation for a factory, the Aluminum
Company of America acquired from some
sixty farmers the location for its planned
city at a cost of $1 million. “It includes,”
in Garnier’s words, “both mountains and
a plain, the latter crossed by a river,” 82
the Saguenay.
The plan delivered by town planners
Brainerd and Skougor takes advantage
of this specific topography crisscrossed by
ravines and “coulées,” as they are called
locally, 83 allowing the city to be permeated
with its natural surroundings. Here Morris
Knowles’s contour system is adroitly
appropriated and applied, systematically,
on an entirely different scale that what is
seen in, for example, Eclipse Park. It provides
a permanent contact between the
city and its natural surroundings, more
realistically of course than Ford’s linear
city would, but even more effectively
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 35. the ArvidA bAuxite refinery, Or slAg Ore PlAnt, wAs PrOmOted On POstcArds frOm its inAugurAtiOn in 1927.
in light Of unsAtisfActOry results frOm the initiAl dry PrOcess, A bAyer PrOcess refinery wAs brOught On
line tO rePlAce it in 1935, with PlAns by Architect J.c. meAdOwcrOft. | bibliOthèque et Archives nAtiOnAles du québec.
than would Garnier’s segregation of park
and city. The typically furrowed terrain
of the site was carefully surveyed in situ
by the Aluminum Company of America’s
engineers and designers and used to
create a true system of parks, like that
of Olmsted, crisscrossing and separating
the various parts of the city, dotting it
with green space even among houses and
streets built on flat land. The Arvida plan
integrates and draws on all the urban
planning expertise of its time, as much
in adapting to its site (it incorporates for
example the old Chemin Radin leading
to its version of Garnier’s “old town”) as
in laying out streets according to that
adaptation, providing for future development,
and creating a traffic hierarchy. In
addition to the thoroughfares common
to Brainerd’s work—in Arvida 106 feet
(31.8 metre) wide—roads are divided
according to whether they connect city
sectors, i.e., the factory, downtown, and
residential sectors, or run between blocks,
neighbourhood centres, or internally
21

22
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 36. hirAm hArOld green’s 1911 PlAn view Of the sAguenAy river And AreA frOm JOnquière tO the bAie des hA! hA! this AreA wAs served by the hA! hA! bAy rAilwAy,
which rAn frOm the POrt AreA (the site Of POrt-Alfred) tO the sAint-mAthiAs rAnge rOAd (the future ArvidA site) And intersected with the quebec And lAke
st. JOhn rAilwAy. | bibliOthèque et Archives nAtiOnAles du québec, sOciété d’Archives sAgAmie.
fig. 37. ArvidA wOrks’ “PlAn shOwing tOPOgrAPhy in business sectiOn,” OctOber 30,
1926. this, like mOst ArvidA PlAns, is stAmPed “mAde in cAnAdA,” which,
Often beside A “Pittsburgh drAwing number,” indicAtes thAt it likely
crOssed the u.s. bOrder, unlike brAinerd, skOugAr, rOgers And smythe,
whO PrObAbly never set fOOt in ArvidA. the Aluminum cOmPAny Of AmericA
wAs A multinAtiOnAl tO the cOre And fAmiliAr with cAnAdiAn regulAtiOns.
As edwin s. fickes rePOrted in 1899, the cOmPAny’s niAgArA fAlls, OntAriO,
smelter PlAns were PrePAred At the Office Of the niAgArA fAlls municiPAl
engineer “sO thAt they wOuld nOt hAve tO be imPOrted frOm the united
stAtes And be subJect tO cAnAdiAn custOms duty.” | ville de sAguenAy.
inside a block. They can be compared to
the 20, 19, and 13 metre wide streets of
Cité Industrielle (thought these are closer
yet to the 58, 50, and 40 foot streets of
Badin), and are 80, 60, or 50 feet (24, 28,
or 15 metre) wide in order to accommodate
cars, another corollary of the aluminum
century’s modernity. The winding
of the roads was probably not however
designed to slow down vehicle traffic, as
in American suburbs of the 1950s, but
to create and enhance the picturesque
character of each artfully selected site.
Only the downtown area, called “business
district,” received large-scale levelling of
uneven terrain, in order to accommodate
the monumentality of the planned
whole (fig. 37).
Work on all this, as well as the construction
of the city and factory, was begun in
the summer of 1925. Arvida Works, the
subsidiary the company established for
the purpose, built temporary work camps
in the future new city for the project
(fig. 38). These were duly photographed,
like every other step of the worksite and
city, and recorded in a “General Layout of
Camp Buildings” to display the meticulous
planning and prove that work was really
fig. 38. the engineers, techniciAns, And Other designers At ArvidA wOrks,
resPOnsible fOr PlAnning And Overseeing the cOnstructiOn Of the city
And smelter. | cOllectiOn chArles bOivin.
going forward. It shows an office, dining
hall, staff quarters, labourers’ quarters,
family residences, a bank, post office,
dispensary, boiler house, and garage, all
linked to waterworks and sewers (fig. 39).
Based on the general city plan, which
spelled out each step of future developments
or the residential, commercial,
and industrial zones, the Arvida engineers
subdivided the land into sections
(designated by letters) and subsections
(roman numerals) which were further
subdivided into blocks (numbered), each
of which three to five times as long as it
was wide. Their detailed plans show the
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 39. ArvidA wOrks, “generAl lAyOut Of cAmP buildings: sewers
And wAter lines.” | ville de sAguenAy.
single-family detached houses typical of
the Arvida design, each set in the centre
of a 50 by 100 foot (15 by 30 metre)
lot, backing on the others and facing the
street (figs. 40-42). The new city was taking
shape.
In the history of urban design, Arvida
stands out not just for the integration
of its “machine city” and the refinement
of its plan. The Aluminum Company of
America’s industrial city stood on the cutting
edge of North American research,
standing out for its worker accommodations,
urban facilities, and the aesthetic
value of its landscape and monuments.
“in order to arrive at a design
that completely fulfills the moral
and material needs of the
individual” 84
– tony Garnier, Une cité industrielle
In July 1926, the smelter produced its first
ingot. A month later, with 800 workers
still hard at work on construction, the
first Arvida residents moved into their
homes. Engineer Harold Wake, who
ruled the worksite with an iron hand,
declared victory: less than three years
after the first plans had been laid: Arvida
was now a real community, with houses,
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
banks, a movie theatre, a grocery store,
and a hospital (fig. 43). The assembly hall
imagined by Garnier is echoed in 1920s
Quebec by a Catholic church seating 1,000
and a Protestant one as well, both paid
for by the Aluminum Company of Canada
(Aluminum Company of America’s subsidiary
for Arvida) as was of course everything
else (figs. 44-45). The model city,
which stood out on the Canadian scene
for the excellence of its general, technical,
and vocational schools even had its
own newspaper, The Arvidian, a cousin
of Alcoa, Tennessee’s Aluminum Bulletin
(fig. 46). And although there was no
museum of local identity like the one in
Cité Industrielle (also recommended by
Patrick Geddes), Arvida boasted baseball
and football fields, tennis courts,
and a skating oval, as well as a town
hall, hotel, arena, and had a library on
the way (fig. 47). Geddes-style regionalism
had here found more effective forms
of expression.
Beyond paper drawings and plans, Arvida,
a worthy heir of the Beaux-Arts tradition,
had to marry beauty and functionality.
No façade or sight-line could be left to
chance. Reports of Davis demanding the
repainting of a gas station or the demolition
and reconstruction of a factory
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 40. drAwing by O. hJerthOlm, ArvidA wOrks. “generAl PlAn shOwing sectiOns A And b
ArvidA tOwnsite.” | ville de sAguenAy.
building for aesthetic reasons testify to
his idea of the city’s function as a promotional
tool, whatever its role in ensuring
workers’ well-being (and productivity).
Like Garnier who planned out even the
street lamps of Cité Industrielle, the
Aluminum Company of Canada carefully
planned down to the last detail, including
the urban furniture, garbage cans, tourist
plaques, and (aluminum) street signs
(fig. 48). It planted hundreds of trees,
developed parks and playgrounds, and
awarded prizes each year for the most
beautiful yards. Although fully electrified,
Arvida had no more need for power
poles and overhead lines than did Cité
Industrielle, where, wrote Garnier, “the
Administration takes care of wastewater
and waste disposal, and also oversees
regulation of the dam and the provision
of energy, light, and heat to the factories
and individuals.” In Arvida, it was said,
every modern improvement has been
provided: running water, sewers, and
electricity. the power lines will run along
underground passageways throughout the
city—not a single pole will be seen in the
streets except for street lamps. every
street will be paved and residential houses,
for workers and upper-level company officials
alike, will be detached. 85
23

24
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 41. ArvidA wOrks, “lAyOut Of hOuses And lOts, blOck nO. 7, sectiOn b.,” June 1926. | ville de sAguenAy.
fig. 42. view frOm the rOOf Of the cArbOn-bAking building (electrOde mAnufActuring PlAnt) in 1927, shOwing the first fOur POtrOOms And the new residentiAl
AreA with its single-fAmily detAched hOuses. At left, the AluminA stOrAge building is visible, As well As the hOsPitAl in the bAckgrOund tO the left,
neAr hOmes. | librAry And Archives cAnAdA.
fig. 43. POstcArd Of the ArvidA hOsPitAl frOm 1927. | bibliOthèque et Archives
nAtiOnAles du québec.
fig. 44. cOPy Of PlAn fOr the sAinte-thérèse church And rectOry, Alfred lAmOntAgne,
APril 1927. | bibliOthèque et Archives nAtiOnAles du québec.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

Garnier’s “large public bath […] with
many dressing rooms and baths [and]
showers” was however not reproduced
in Arvida, as every house had its own
sanitary facilities—in accordance with
standard North American usage. Jacques
Gréber had expressed astonishment, as
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
we have seen, at this particularity of
North American housing.
The first part of Arvida to be built, called
Section A, was of course the part closest
to the smelter (fig. 49). But the first residents
found many more benefits there
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 45. ArvidA’s first united church, circA 1930. | sOciété histOrique du sAguenAy. fig. 46. July 31, 1929, Of the ArvidiAn: the sAguenAy vAlley
demOcrAt. | PrivAte cOllectiOn.
fig. 47. the eArliest ArvidA residents still vividly remember the rOle thAt
cOmPAny-PrOvided sPOrts fAcilities And recreAtiOnAl Activities PlAyed
in life in the mOdel city. hOckey gAme circA 1940. | PrivAte cOllectiOn.
fig. 48. ArvidA wOrks, “street sign POst,” 1928. | ville de sAguenAy.
than that of living close to their place of
work. To grasp the novelty of this city,
we need to picture ourselves in Tony
Garnier’s world, a world in which houses
where each bedroom had “at least one
window” could seem like a dream. It
was no small challenge, as the company
25

26
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 49. AeriAl view Of ArvidA’s “sectiOn A” clOse tO the smelter, ArOund 1927. | mccOrd museum Of cAnAdiAn histOry.
had decided, as it had done in Badin, to
house all workers, skilled and unskilled, in
single-family detached houses and create
a place where “not a single house was
built,” as the Wake put it, “that resembles
its neighbour.”
Le Corbusier was said to be particularly
impressed by the variety of dwellings
proposed by Garnier in Une cité industri‑
elle. 86 Given the contemporary tendency
to uniformity, this is hardly surprising.
Although the Werkbund and other Berlin,
Stuttgart, Vienna, and Prague architectural
exhibitions showcased neighbourhoods
planned with a variety of houses
“from street pattern up,” most developments
at the time more closely resembled
Thomás Bat’a’s Zlín in what is today the
Czech Republic, based essentially on a
single model reproduced hundreds of
times. Even in North America, the idea of
varied housing—much less its actual construction—was
the exception rather than
the rule. A particular North American
innovation, the Sears Modern Home,
allowed buyers to order a prefabricated
house in their choice from a variety of
house designs via mail order catalogue,
though they were more expensive than
the houses in Arvida. Other prefabricated
models, like those from Canadian
Aladdin, a few of which were built by
Shawinigan Water and Power, were so
primitive that they became object of scorn
among architects; in Arvida they were
banned. And, while the forty house types
developed for the paper city of Eclipse
Park impressed the critic Lawrence Veiller,
few were ever built. At best, as Veiller
also noted, an attractive landscape might
be created through winding streets lined
with duplexes, quadraplexes, and quintuplexes,
as seen in Elizabeth, New Jersey.
Arvida Works, however, championed
the single-family detached house from
the start. Drawing, undoubtedly on the
abilities of Wake’s assistant L.S. Grandy,
who had previously supervised the construction
of 700 houses of a half-dozen
types in Alcoa, the company developed
65 distinct housing models for the first
phase of construction alone. To attain
this degree of variety, the company put
together a remarkable organization, running
a construction site of unprecedented
proportions: by 1926 the first 270 houses
had been built in twenty-nine models,
most offered in left and right versions,
the mirror-image of each other.
“the monotony of today’s typical
street alignment is completely
avoided” 87
– tony Garnier, Une cité industrielle
Forty years after Pullman, the orthogonal
plan—considered “the world’s most perfect,”
and greatly favoured by Garnier—
was no longer sufficient to ensure the
fortunes of a company town as ambitious
as the one the Aluminum Company of
America was planning. Arvida used curvilinear
patterns carefully modeled on the
contours of the land, and overcame the
“monotony of alignments” feared by
Garnier through a meticulous arrangement
of residential architecture—the
prime matter of the urban landscape. The
decision in Arvida to build single-family
detached houses on fence-free lots, as
in Alcoa and previously Badin, reflects
Cité Industrielle’s vision of a spacious
parkland free of barriers and demarcations
between lots. Arvida, like Garnier’s
proposed city—which incidentally is
much closer to American than European
models—marks a clear departure from
the rowhouse tradition of the English
company town typical of Saltaire, U.K.;
Pullman, Illinois; and the “corons” of
Belgian and French mining villages. The
party wall, still present in symbolic form
at least in the fences separating houses
in Eclipse Park (fig. 13), is completely
forgotten here in favour of a pastoral
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

monumentalization of the home that will
later in the century characterize suburbs
throughout North America (fig. 50, 51).
Although traditions of multi-family housing
were better established in Europe
than in North America, the choice of varied
single-family detached houses reflects
not just American practices but also the
ideal of many utopians, Fourierists of
course excepted. Many company towns,
moreover, still provided such housing
only to managers and qualified employees—Quebec’s
notorious “quartiers des
Anglais”—while the most paternalistic
of them generally opted for a less
costly option building like row housing—semidetached
and the more French
quadraplexes of Badin being a step up.
Arvida houses, on the other hand, are
designed specifically to foster a sense of
ownership and belonging on the part of
both labourers and qualified employees.
This was accomplished first and foremost
by promising Arvida families a level of
comfort absolutely unattainable in the
major centres: “The principal objection
to our houses,” as Wake put it, “comes
from the fact that they are of a better
quality than is necessary for […] the
ordinary workman.” 88 The second lure
being that despite being anchored in a
very American capitalist spirit, the residential
landscape of Arvida manifests
an identity-forming egalitarianism that
echoes Cité Industrielle’s regionalism and
credited socialism.
Thus, instead of establishing distinct communities
of workers, specialized employees,
and managers—more “quartiers des
Anglais”—the company opted in Arvida
for the mixed neighbourhoods proscribed
by American racial segregation.
The company had eventually been forced
to prohibit black workers from owning
property in Alcoa’s white districts, but
in Arvida the city charter declares that
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
“the city shall comprise but one ward.”
The distribution of house types confirms
that the usual segregation found
in industrial towns was no more. Houses
for various classes of worker were built
side by side. Only after planning was
long complete did the reality of Arvida’s
incarnation on Quebec (and Catholic)
soil succeed in splitting the community
in two. Planners Brainerd and Skougor
had not anticipated the complexity of
harbouring Catholic and Protestant religious
traditions in the same city. Thus
in place of a single neighbourhood
centre and church, Arvida’s Section A
ended up with two: the area planned
around Sainte-Thérèse Church drew
Catholics, while the corner of Moissan
and La Traverse, where the Protestant
church was to rise, drew its own practitioners,
who represented, at least in
Arvida’s early years, more than a quarter
of the city’s population. 89 Specialized
employees, often American engineers
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 50. eArly POstcArd shOwing ArvidA hOuses like elements Of A PArk. | sOciété histOrique du sAguenAy.
fig. 51. An ArvidA street ArOund 1930, with its hOuses On unfenced lOts, As if sPrung uP in A PArk. All trAce Of
the PArtitiOned sPAce cOrOllAry Of rOw hOusing inherited frOm eurOPeAn industriAl cities hAs given
wAy tO the semiOtic Of the single-fAmily detAched hOme. | sOciété histOrique du sAguenAy.
or English or Scottish Canadians, were
often Protestant. Labourers seem mainly
to have been Catholic (or Orthodox),
although Catholic French Canadians only
made up half the population at the time.
Arvida was thus quick to develop two
distinct districts, although, as historian
José Igartua noted, “white and blue collar
workers mixed in both.” 90
For all that, the homes of the seventyodd
staff and two hundred labourers
were essentially indistinguishable. As in
the community of Margarethöhe, known
at the time for its egalitarian housing in
which outside features indicated nothing
about the social standing of the
occupants, none of the first 270 houses
in Arvida had any adornment or special
character showing the class of worker
living inside. The most imposing houses
might be home to French Canadians,
Russians, Czechs, or Poles, while smaller
houses might belong to American or
27

28
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 52. twO Of the hOuse mOdels listed by ArvidA wOrks in the cAtAlOgue ArvidA: tOwnsite hOuses. One is A tyPe
b-2, with sePArAte kitchen And dining rOOm, built fOr $5225 (1926); the Other is tyPe A-4 bAsed On “the usuAl
tyPe Of hOuse in the PrOvince” with “sAlle fAmiliAle,” built At A cOst Of $5022 (1926). | riO tintO AlcAn (sAguenAy).
English Canadian engineers. Telling them
apart meant looking for the closets, central
heating systems, and hardwood floors
more common in the second group than
the first. Differentiation was through the
total comfort of manager and specialized
staff houses, with luxury features rather
than size accounting for different production
costs. These ranged from $4,200 (in
1929 dollars) for the four type A-3 houses,
to $14,223.50 for the two type J-1 and
J-2 houses. In Arvida, you really couldn’t
judge a book by its cover (figs. 52-53).
This is confirmed by another particularity
of the Arvida habitat, where according to
Wake, “one hundred of the original […]
houses [of] the Quebec design” 91 could
be found. Mainly clustered around the
Catholic church, some of these houses
featured a single salle de famille—not
a family room—in place of separate living
room, dining room, and kitchen. This
relatively archaic space shows the way
Arvida’s habitat was designed to foster
identity: the salle de famille was typical of
the traditional French Canadian dwelling,
settler houses, while Arvida’s Americans
were more likely to expect a separate
kitchen and dining room. Wake proudly
told of rejecting most of the house plans
designed for Arvida in the United States,
accepting only the elevations, in order to
model Arvida house designs on “a typical
ordinary house common in the province
of Quebec,” 92 which would help make
workers feel more at home.
Architectural regionalism was at the
time certainly winning converts, at least
in theory: in addition to the California
houses of Irving J. Gill or the “Mexican”
houses of Bertram Goodhue’s Tyrone,
New Mexico, there was also the industrial
town of Norrbyskär in the late
19th century, which borrowed typically
Swedish architectural features. 93 The
usual approach of the Arvida designers,
Richard Haviland Smythe, James Gamble
Rogers II, and Brainerd and Skougor, was
reflective of this Zeitgeist, as seen in the
Latin American style of the María Elena,
Chile, plans delivered at the same time
(fig. 54), and probably reflect the express
intention of the Aluminum Company of
America as well. But at a time when
the Province of Quebec Association of
Architects had just called for a return
to “the tasteful architecture of yesteryear,”
94 the decision to opt for “typical”
local styles was significant. Wake’s effort
was in fact one of the first attempts to
codify Quebec’s vernacular architecture.
All of Arvida, not only its residents, would
thereby gain an identity: Arvida would
constitute one of the first repertories of
fig. 53. hOuse mOdel tyPe c-5, built fOr $9103 eAch
(1926). | riO tintO AlcAn (sAguenAy).
regionalist, neo-French Canadian architecture,
made up of modern interpretations
of the local heritage (figs. 55-57).
It was certainly the first case of this repertory
actually being built. No wonder
the local paper, Le Progrès du Saguenay,
lauded this “company that shows such
concern for us.” 95 These first houses,
together with those to come in the 1930s
and 40s from some of Canada’s most
important architects, were, and continue
to be, warmly received. Initially rented at
preferential rates (for company workers)
ranging from 5.6% to 7.6% of the cost
of their construction 96 (thus as a rule at
lower rates of return than what industrial
housing professionals recommended at
the time97 ), they were after 1927 sold via
lease at no real profit at all through an
innovative process locally known as the
“partial payment plan.” 98 After the mixed
success of house sales in Alcoa (fig. 58),
the company in Arvida committed even
more to its decision to encourage worker
home ownership, calculating monthly
payments according to the worker-purchaser’s
income rather than according
to preset terms (in Alcoa this had been
ten years if the purchaser was unable to
pay upfront99 ). Two years later, 88 Arvida
houses had been snapped up under the
special terms provided by the company,
which went so far as to reduce payments
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

from worker-owners in financial difficulties.
In its own way, the Arvida system,
to which we will return, recycled the
advantages of the collective ownership
system championed by Ebenezer Howard,
and probably by Garnier. Could the company’s
decision to sell off lots and buildings
downtown without measures to
retain control while going out of its way
to help workers lease and acquire their
own homes be considered a translation
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
of Cité Industrielle’s collectivist principles
into the materialist language of
North America? On October 1, 1929,
Wake reported that $68,607 had been
received through the lease and the sale
of building lots in the residential sector
and downtown. Most telling is the pride
with which he adds that “quite a number
of our people have been paying for a sufficient
length of time that they now have
a real interest in the property.”
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 54. street in mAriA elenA, chile. | PAtriciO cAbezAs. fig. 55. the sAguenAy inn is An ArvidA lAndmArk And One Of the mOst imPressive mOnuments
Of quebec regiOnAlism. it wAs built in 1939 frOm PlAns by Architect hArOld leA
fetherstOnhAugh, PArtner Of AlexAnder tillOch gAlt durnfOrd, whO PrObAbly influenced
this mAgisteriAl tAke On french cAnAdiAn vernAculAr Architecture, AccOrding tO rObert
hill’s AnAlysis (biOgrAPhicAl dictiOnAry Of cAnAdiAn Architects). | PhOtOgrAPh by guillAume st-JeAn.
fig. 56. the regiOnAlist figurAtiOn Of this hOuse, built in ArvidA in 1942, eArned
it And mAny Of its ArvidA siblings A PlAce in inventAire des œuvres
d’Art du québec, under the heAding “mOdern residence in the french
cAnAdiAn style.” | sylviO brAssArd, inventAire des œuvres d’Art du québec, 1944,
bibliOthèque et Archives nAtiOnAles du québec.
fig. 57. One Of the hOuses built in the 1930s frOm Architect léOnce desgAgné’s
PlAns fOr ArvidA hOuse tyPe d-5 And insPired by the bellcAst eAves
Of french cAnAdiAn hOuses in the bAs-du-fleuve regiOn. | PhOtOgrAPh by
mArc ellefsen. sOciété histOrique du sAguenAy.
Times had changed since the days when
paternalistic companies held workers
virtually captive in a web of company
housing, company stores, and company
jobs. Most theorists and critics at the time
agreed it was in the company interest
not to hold on to any residences it might
build, some even arguing for instalment
plans, since this would provide the advantage
of freeing the company from control
of its worker residences in the long term
29

30
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
while allowing it to safeguard the town’s
architectural quality in the short term. It
might even provide the company with a
way to raise funds through the government
housing grants that first appeared
at the end of the 1910s. By the 1920s,
town planners and no doubt many industrialists
themselves had in any case grown
more cautious about the real benefits of
company towns after their experiences in
the Great War, which had seen a proliferation
of single-industry towns planned
around factories to supply the war
effort. While acknowledging the expertise
acquired through the United States
Housing Corporation and the Emergency
Fleet Corporation’s housing division,
which between them built close to 30,000
housing units in over 150 new towns during
the war, Morris Knowles, author of
the textbook Industrial Housing, wrote
in 1920 that “at its best the duty of managing
an industrial town is an onerous
one; it complicates rather than simplifies
plant administration […]. It is perhaps the
very reason why so many industries have
held aloof from the whole question of
industrial towns […]. Isolated sites should
be chosen only as matter of necessity.” 100
Even so, the sale of housing stock in company
towns remained for a long time
the exception. A Central Mortgage and
Housing Corporation report from 1953
even declared “company ownership of
family dwellings the universal hallmark
of the single-enterprise community.” 101 It
may then appear that the commitment to
a social ideal outweighed straightforward
financial concerns for the Aluminum
Company of America and the Aluminum
Company of Canada. They defied ordinary
recommended practices with a property
management system bringing no
returns on in situ worker housing, and
followed instead a utopian course toward
a spectacular model city combining the
new industry with a new aesthetic unity.
Nonetheless, whatever the benefits in
enhanced worker stability and loyalty to
be gained by treating Arvida residents
better than they would be elsewhere, the
bottom line remained the bottom line,
following the dictates of the capitalism
Davis manipulated so adroitly. Capital
dictated the concretization of Garnier’s
“not real” city. Money was at the bottom
of the “systematic organization”
that Jacques Gréber described in North
America. It is also the key to the feat of
building the first 270 Arvida houses in
135 days.
“the building materials used are
indigenous to this region.” 102
– tony Garnier, Une cité industrielle
Obviously Arvida as it was manifested
did not share the socialism of Cité
Industrielle. 103 Historians are divided as to
the reason for the absence of churches
in Garnier’s project. Unlike the relatively
anticlerical atmosphere of a France that
had recently legislated the separation of
Church and State, the church-dominated
society of North America could probably
not imagined Arvida without them. In
any case, we can see that the Garnier’s
“progress in the social order” 104 is translated
in the Aluminum Company of
America as a certain (and unusual) egalitarianism
combined with a benevolent
paternalism regarding its workers’ needs
and futures. Describing the garden contests
organized to get people involved
in beautifying their homes, Wake complained
that “the people occupying the
Quebec type house (renting at a lower
rent) have made little or no effort to
improve the appearance of their yards,
due […] more than anything else to
the fact that they have always lived in
unimproved surroundings” but straight
away pledged “to overcome [this attitude]
eventually by education of the children in
the schools to an appreciation of what
flowers, shrubbery and neat surroundings
mean.” 105 The general reforming
spirit—as in most company towns the
sale of alcohol was prohibited—was what
enabled the development of the Quebec
house, the lease purchase system and
which, handed on and exercised by local
Aluminum Company of America authorities,
brought to workers an environment
they otherwise could only dream of. So
it was that when Davis expressed a wish
to consolidate the promotional image of
Arvida in a new “staff house” to impress
visitors, Wake, who had looked at several
architectural options to make houses even
more affordable, replied as follows:
i do not think such a building is necessary
for the benefit of our employees for the next
few years at least, because they have practically
all of the benefits which such a clubhouse
would provide right in their present
locations, and, in some ways, i think the
separate houses much more suitable than
one big building, and i do not think they cost
much more to operate. 106
It is clear however that Arvida’s system
of land tenure, however idealistic it may
appear in the North America of company
towns, could be opposed, in its underlying
ideology at least, to the “free reign over
the disposition of land” Garnier referred
to. 107 Private property remained, after
all, an article of faith for the overwhelming
majority of 20th century government
urban planning and housing programs.
The individual single-family houses that
are its corollary are different from the
typical residences in Une cité industri‑
elle, both in their detached design and
in their architectural diversity. Perhaps
however it is precisely by diverging from
Garnier’s prescription that Arvida managed
to pass the reality test that left so
many paper cities hanging in the air. It
held to Garnier’s “simplicity of means,” in
which “our structure stays simple, without
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 58. Advertisement frOm the AlcOA Aluminum
bulletin Of 1919, PrOmOting hOme OwnershiP
in the Aluminum cOmPAny Of AmericA’s
tennessee tOwn viA A vAriety Of schemes.
ornament,” 108 allowing it to deliver what
the most innovative projects of the time,
even the collective housing of Bruno
Taut’s Hufeisensiedlung in Berlin were
unable to: lost-cost housing in a landscape
designed to foster identity.
To build 270 houses in twenty-nine architectural
configurations in 135 days, the
Aluminum Company of America drew on
its extensive industrial experience and
know-how. It thus provided concrete
foundations for every house—a virtual
necessity in the Canadian winter, though
often treated as a luxury reserved for
paper cities like Eclipse Park—using only
four sizes beneath the great variety of
house-types. Each model was planned
in detail: beside the attractive drawings,
charming for investors but otherwise
perfectly pointless, a set of elevations,
plans, cuts, and details were used to
apply the American ready-cut system
on an unprecedented scale (figs. 59-61).
Construction would not be individual; it
was the overall vision that would provide
the intended variety. Possible variations
in trim (corniches, doors, windows, and
frames) were listed and standardized,
both to increase the number of permutations
available and of course to
allow for mass production, speeding up
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
construction in situ (fig. 62). Arvida’s contribution
to the history of worker housing
rests for that matter on its use of wood,
which, unlike the cast concrete sections
advocated by Garnier and widely used
in Europe, allowed for both standardization
and diversity. Framing components
could therefore be cut in advance and
used on different houses interchangeably.
This was because traditional wood
frame construction was as widespread in
North America as Garnier’s concrete and
cement was in the southeast of France.
In any case Garnier was fully aware that
“other systems of construction, other
materials would lead, no doubt, to other
forms that would also be interesting to
study.” 109 Arvida and Cité Industrielle here
share a spirit, not unrelated to the regionalism
of Geddes, of being rooted in their
local area and thus perfectly adapted
to the geography—even, in the case of
Arvida, to the local culture. Although the
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 59. ArvidA wOrks, “wOrkmen’s hOuses 1926: full size detAils Of interiOr And exteriOr finish And dOOrs
And windOws.” | ville de sAguenAy.
consideration of Lyon residents’ expectations
regarding collective or singlefamily
housing falls outside the scope of
this article, we must note that Garnier’s
typological catalogue of housing designs
is typically French, while the single-family
detached house has deep roots in North
American culture.
But this is not the sole key to this Canadian
incarnation of Cité industrielle. A number
of North American companies seeking to
diversify their activities and investment
potential built resource towns, establishing
subsidiaries to do the building: Price
Brothers created Kenogami Land and
Kenogami Loan (1912); Julien-Édouard-
Alfred Dubuc established Compagnie
immobilière de Port-Alfred, Société
de construction ouvrière, and the Ha !
Ha ! Bay Land and Building Company
(1915); the Shawinigan Water and Power
Company created the Shawinigan Falls
31

32
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 60. ArvidA wOrks, “tyPicAl sAshes.” | ville de sAguenAy.
fig. 61. ArvidA wOrks, set Of PlAns fOr the mOdel b-4, 1927. | ville de sAguenAy.
fig. 62. ArvidA wOrks, “stud[d]ing fOr A, b, c, d, e dOOrs
fOr wOrkmen’s hOuses.” 1926. | ville de sAguenAy.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 63. cOnstructiOn site Of the “city built in 135 dAys.” A rAilcAr distributes
Precut ArchitecturAl cOmPOnents frOm lOt tO lOt. | sOciété histOrique du sAguenAy.
Hotel Company (1900) and Shawinigan
Falls Arena Company (1910) to develop
part of Shawinigan. South of the border
in Beloit, Wisconsin, the Fairbanks Morse
Company, before significantly scaling
back on the scope of their project, created
Eclipse Home-Makers110 to carry out it out.
Yet if none of these projects came close
to rivalling Arvida’s 270 houses in so
many models in 135 days, it was because
the Aluminum Company of America and
the Aluminum Company of Canada had
successfully and profitably pushed the
economic system to its limits, making a
bundle by doing it with an implacably
“systematic organization.” The Arvida
construction site, designed as much to
attract purchasers and workers as investors,
gigantic in scale due to the diversity
of models and the number of houses
all going up at the same time, required
an unprecedented degree of planning.
House models were first distributed on
“House Designation Charts.” with the
resulting diversity carefully mapped out
in the blocks of the first phase. Excavation
of sites began on June 15, 1926, followed
by assembly of formwork for the concrete
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
foundations, reused from house to house.
Precut framing components (from a sawmill
set up near the site), duly identified
according to sets of detailed plans referring
to the house model in question, were
delivered on railcars running along tracks
following the future streets from lot to
lot. The houses could then be assembled
with a hammer and nails. “They fitted
so nicely,” it was said, “that house after
house was put up without a saw being
used on the framing” (fig. 63). It was
like the Alcoa, Tennessee site before it
but even more efficient, and was the
talk of the town. “Houses are being built
[in Arvida] in much the same fashion as
Henry Ford builds automobiles, with the
exception that the carpenters go to the
work instead of having the work come
to them.” All that was left was to watch
and monitor its growth, in detail, using
plumbing, interior painting, and other
“progress charts” (fig. 64). The assembly
line that was Arvida churned out a new
house every five hours.
It is hardly surprising that, like the colour
plan and house images, the city construction
site itself became an “object of
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 64. ArvidA wOrks, “PrOgress chArt: ArvidA hOuses 1926-27,”
July 24, 1926. | ville de sAguenAy.
representation,” a key part of the company
brand. The Aluminum Company
of America photographed it from every
angle and invited distinguished visitors
such as the prime minister and presidents
of the Engineering Institute of Canada
and the Mellon National Bank, who could
in 1926 attest Arvida’s manifestation as
much more than a paper city. The “huge
investment in Canada” 111 announced in
April 1926 was also reported breathlessly
in September’s New York Times:
“In three months, 300 houses have been
erected and two churches are being
built” 112 (fig. 65).
Thus it was as Garnier foresaw: the industrial
conditions that conjured Arvida in
the first place were what allowed it to
become real.
epilogUe
After the completion of this initial phase,
the city continued to spread across the
surrounding countryside until the 1960s.
A fitting object of representation for a
multinational in constant expansion,
it could take pride in its catalogue of
33

34
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 65. the AreA ArOund sAinte-thérèse church, ArvidA, in 1928. | cOllectiOn chArles bOivin.
distinctive buildings and its array of
houses, schools, churches, businesses,
and parks, designed by such notable
figures as Frederick Gage Todd, Ernest
Isbel Barrott, Léonce Desgagné, Harold
Lea Fetherstonhaugh, Alexander Tilloch
Galt Durnford, some of the best-known
Canadian architects and landscape
designers of the period (figs. 66-68).
During the Second World War, when the
smelter, with its fully integrated production
process, attained the jaw-dropping
capacity the 1925 plans had aspired to
and catapulted the city to the status of
world aluminum capital, a new power
plant (James Curzey Meadowcroft) was
built on Arvida’s north side, Shipshaw
II, of course one of the world’s most
powerful generating stations, received
the Canadian government’s highest
architectural award and created a sensation
rivalling that of the world’s first
aluminum bridge, which the company,
now Alcan, would build just upstream
a few years later. Arvida was born as an
industrial utopia and forged in a tradition
of excellence that its residents still
enjoy the benefits of. The commitment
of the aluminum companies of America
and Canada and Alcan to this model city
never flagged with continued growth:
despite a seven-fold increase in population
between 1939 and 1950, the new
neighbourhoods that sprang up were as
charming as the old (fig. 69). After the
meticulously documented boom mapped
out in complex charts now held in the
municipal archives, 113 the city could boast
property valued at over $45 million on
an initial investment of a little under
$700,000 (1948) and a full documentary
record in the tradition of the original,
ambitious plans. A new hospital with its
aluminum ornamentation was built in
the 1950s, confirming the city’s regionalist
vocabulary: It was also located “on
a mountain north of the centre of town,”
to quote Garnier, and to this day “curtains
of greenery frame [it] to the east
and west.” 114
Thus, if Arvida’s downtown had not yet
attained the monumentality seen in the
1926 City Beautiful plan, this was no
doubt because immediate completion
was less important to Arthur Vining
Davis’s social utopia than was its living
environment. The construction of
the first two commercial blocks, which
resembled those of Badin and Alcoa,
took place under very tight company
supervision to ensure architectural
quality. “It has taken constant supervision
and endless patience to get the
buildings constructed according to
the plans,” 115 complained Wake as he
struggled with the whims and financial
reversals of businesses that had
acquired lots in the business district.
A subsequent slowdown in Arvida’s
development has been attributed to
the splitting up of the company in
1928. Suspected of monopoly, the company
hived off its Canadian operations
and formed the new, autonomous
Aluminum Company of Canada. Arthur
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 66. this elegAnt tAke On french cAnAdiAn vernAculAr Architecture, One
Of the new mOdels Of hOuse built in ArvidA during And After the secOnd
wOrld wAr, wAs designed by the firm fetherstOnhAugh And durnfOrd,
sPecificAlly (it beArs his initiAls) by AlexAnder tillOch gAlt durnfOrd
befOre he left tO serve in the rOyAl cAnAdiAn nAvy. it wAs submitted
by hArOld leA fetherstOnhAugh while fetherstOnhAugh wAs serving
On the ArvidA PlAnning cOmmissiOn. | mcgill university Archives.
fig. 67. lAndscAPer And Architect frederick gAge tOdd wAs the first President
Of the ArvidA PlAnning cOmmissiOn, estAblished in 1942 by the Aluminum
cOmPAny Of cAnAdA. this 1946 PlAn Of Oerstedt PArk wAs One Of A number
PrOJects he designed fOr the mOdel city. | ville de sAguenAy.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 68. in 1936, Architect ernest isbel bArrOtt, knOwn At the time fOr his
wOrk On A number Of hOusing develOPments (including severAl
hOuses fOr the tOwn Of irOquOis fAlls fOr Abitibi lAnds And fOrests)
delivered PlAns fOr 17 new ArvidA hOuse mOdels As well As this set Of
wAtercOlOurs illustrAting the vAriety Of lAndscAPes AvAilAble with
the PrOPOsed mOdels. | cOllectiOn Pierre thibAult.
fig. 69. like mAny views Of ArvidA, this imAge wAs AlsO PrOduced As A
POstcArd. it shOws One Of the new neighbOurhOOds built during
the secOnd wOrld wAr, And demOnstrAting the sAme AttentiOn tO
Aesthetic AsPects As PreviOus develOPments. | cOllectiOn chArles bOivin.
35

36
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 70. Armed guArd by the shiPshAw dAm. the POwer stAtiOn wAs built in bArely 18 mOnths in 1942, still AccOrding
tO the 1925 hydrOelectric develOPment PlAns. the dAm, smelter, refineries, And city Of ArvidA tOOk
On strAtegic imPOrtAnce tO the cOmmOnweAlth during the secOnd wOrld wAr, And excePtiOnAl meAsures
were tAken tO PrOtect them, including cOnstructiOn Of AntiAircrAft bAtteries And the estAblishment
Of the bAgOtville militAry bAse. | librAry And Archives cAnAdA.
Vining Davis’s appointment of his
brother Edward K. Davis as president
of the new multinational operating
Arvida Works seems however to indicate
an underlying desire not to lose
sight of his great project. In any case it
seems more likely that the slowdown in
Arvida’s commercial development was
not a result of what some have seen
as a brutal rupture in the founding
of the future Alcan, but rather of the
Great Crash of 1929. Wake noted that
year that “all of these stores are for
sale and I believe we will be able to
get rid of them when the town grows
a little more.” 116 The social appropriation
characteristic of the model city
worked to Arvida’s advantage here.
While in Alcoa, Tennessee, the last vestiges
of the unfinished downtown were
demolished, Arvida’s downtown saved
the industrial city from becoming just
another bedroom community. Today, as
the smelter is itself at the center of a
redevelopment project, Arvida’s downtown
awaits only completion.
As we see in the buildings completed
between 1930 and 1960, the innovative
Arvida Planning Committee the
company established in 1942, and the
Arvida of today, the model city and
world aluminum capital has managed
to preserve and even amplify that
image-creating impulse that originally
carved it out of nature “450 miles
north of Boston.” Arthur Vining Davis’s
vision aside, Arvida began its existence
as just another Aluminum Company of
America asset, but went on to become
the birthplace, centrepiece, and flagship
of its Canadian successor, as that
company rose to the forefront of world
aluminum producers and its homeland
took its place as a world aluminum
power (fig. 70). Taking over from its
forerunners Badin and Alcoa, Arvida,
by the mid-20 th century, had fulfilled
the utopian dream it sprang from. And
Cité Industrielle?
In the end, it serves little purpose to
draw firm conclusions as to the ignorance
or awareness of one or the other
model in this case. All the same, in
winding up our observations, there
is no doubt that Cité Industrielle was
more anchored in its time—less “not
real”—than some of Garnier’s successors
acknowledged. Beyond any
importance Arvida might have to the
history of urban planning in the West,
the transfers of knowledge across the
Atlantic that we have tried to trace
here perhaps reveal unrecognized connections
between Garnier’s project and
his horizons and between the two cities
and their times, while shedding light on
an unexplored network of relationships
between the Cité Industrielle ideal,
set forth with great realism in Europe
within that continent’s long utopian
tradition, and the unique—and typically
North American—conditions of
fulfilment that gave rise to Arvida.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

notes
1. A great number of people were critical to
the documentary research underpinning this
article. To name but a few of them: Gilles
Bertrand, Line Lafontaine, Martin Lanthier,
and Suzanne Lemaire (Library and Archives
Canada), Anne Buteau and Nicol Guay
(Rio Tinto Alcan Saguenay), Paul Chénier
(Canadian Centre for Architecture), Becky
Darrell (Blount County Genealogical and
Historical Society), David Duggan (City of
Alcoa, Tennessee), Gaston Gagnon (Ministère
de la Culture, des Communications et de
la Condition féminine du Québec), Davis
Summerlin, Jim and Jane Harrison, Martha
Garber, Larry Drye (and all the other board
members of the Badin Historic Museum who
welcomed me), Nancy Hadley (American
Institute of Architects), Nicole Hébert (Rio
Tinto Alcan Montreal), Paul K. Kerr (Beloit
Historical Society), Roger Lavoie (Ville de
Saguenay), Claire Leymonerie, Patricia
Helle, and Jenny Piquet (Institut pour l’histoire
de l’aluminium), Art Louderback (and
other staff at the Senator John Heinz History
Center of Pittsburgh), Jacques Morin,
Colombe Dallaire, and Céline Villeneuve
(Bibliothèque et Archives nationales du
Québec), Barbara R. Stewart (Alcoa), Bruce
Tabb and Tanya Parlet (University of Oregon
Libraries), Jonathan A. Underwood (Stanly
County Historic Preservation Commission
and Museum).
I also wish to acknowledge the excellent
work of Ken Howe, translator at Anglocom,
for giving this article its English form.
2. Eaton, Ruth, 2001, Cités idéales. L’utopisme
et l’environnement (non) bâti, Anvers, Fonds
Mercator, p. 199.
3. Mariani, Ricardo, 1990, Tony Garnier. Une
cité industrielle, New York and Milan,
Rizzoli, p. 38. See also on this interpretation,
among others, Siderakis, Kriti, 1996,
“Introduction,” Tony Garnier. Une cité
industrielle, Princeton Architectural Press.
4. Le Corbusier’s letter to Tony Garnier on finding
Garnier’s work in a bookstore in 1919
has been reproduced a number of times. See
the reprint of Princeton Architectural Press,
1989.
5. Cited and analyzed in Mariani, op. cit.
6. Mariani, id.
7. On this topic, see Hodge, Gerald and Ira M.
Robinson, 2002, Planning Canadian Regions,
Vancouver, UBC Press.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
8. Hegemann, Werner, 1938, City Planning and
Housing, vol. III, A Graphic Review of Civic
Art 1922‑1937, New York, Architectural Book
Publishing Company, cover and p. 6.
9. Green, Hardy, 2011, The Company Town:
The Industrial Edens and Satanic Mills
that Shaped the American Economy,
Philadelphia, Basic Books, 2010; Dinius,
Oliver J. and Angela Vergara (ed.), Company
Towns in the Americas: Landscape, Power,
and Working‑class Communities, Athens
(GA), University of Georgia Press; Grandin,
Greg, 2009, Fordlandia: The Rise and Fall of
Henry Ford’s Forgotten Jungle City, New
York, Picador; Alanen, Arnold R., 2007,
Morgan Park: Duluth, U.S. Steel, and the
Forging of a Company Town, Minneapolis,
University of Minnesota Press.
10. To take these well-known examples :
Garner, John S. (ed.), 1992, The Company
Town: Architecture and Society in the Early
Industrial Age, Oxford, Oxford University
Press; Crawford, Margaret, 1995, Building
the Workingman’s Paradise: The Design of
American Company Towns, New York, Verso;
Frey, Jean-Pierre, 1986, La ville industrielle
et ses urbanités. La distinction ouvriers/
employés. Le Creusot 1870‑1930, Brussels,
Mardaga; Reps, John W., 1965, “The Towns
the Companies Built,” The Making of
Urban America. A History of City Planning
in the United States, Princeton, Princeton
University Press, p. 414-439.
11. We have published a number of writings on
Arvida in the last fifteen years. Alongside
our Arvida, cité industrielle. Une épopée
urbaine en Amérique (Québec, Septentrion,
1998), there are: (Morisset, L.K.), 2006,
“Arvida, ville du patrimoine mondial ?”
Saguenayensia, vol. 48, no. 2, p. 9-27;
(Morisset, L.K. and Luc Noppen), 1996,
“La ville de l’aluminium,” Les villes indus‑
trielles planifiées au Québec, Montreal,
Centre Canadien d’Architecture / Boréal,
p. 167-227 and 259-270; (Morisset, L.K. and
Luc Noppen), 1995, “Arvida, ville de l’aluminium,”
Cahiers de l’Institut d’histoire de
l’aluminium [Paris], no. 16, p. 39-59. We will
not repeat the references cited in those
publications as they can be found in those
works. The sources for this article come from
new research.
We thank Jean-Michel Leniaud and Philippe
Dufieux for the opportunity to give an initial
presentation on this topic at a symposium
on Garnier’s cité industrielle in Lyon,
an initiative of Rhône’s Conseil d’architecture,
d’urbanisme et de l’environnement.
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
This paper led to a publication: Morisset,
Lucie K., 2009, “Ville nouvelle pour pays
neuf,” In Philippe Dufieux (ed.), Tony
Garnier, la Cité industrielle et l’Europe, Lyon,
CAUE du Rhône Éditions, p. 105-130.
12. UNESCO World Heritage Commit tee,
Twenty‑Fifth Session Report, Helsinki, 2001,
429REV.
13. Wiebenson, Dora, 1960, “Utopian Aspects
of Tony Garnier’s Cité industrielle,” Journal
of the Society of Architectural Historians,
vol. 19, no. 1, p. 16-24.
14. Even to the point of proclaiming it a “Vision
of a Mediterranean Socialist Arcadia,” as did
Kenneth Frampton in Modern Architecture:
A Critical History (1980, New York, Oxford
University Press, p. 103).
15. Mariani : 38.
16. According to Mariani : 12.
17. “C’est à des raisons industrielles que la
plupart des villes neuves que l’on fondera
désormais vaudront leur fondation.” (Ellis,
translator, in Mariani’s edition of Une cité
industrielle, op. cit.)
18. Commercial promotion of Hershey, now a
resort town, from [http://www.hersheypa.
com], accessed on February 7, 2011.
19. These examples are taken from Reps : 414-
438; see also Alanen, op. cit.
20. Ford’s adventures in Muscle Shoals are
recounted in Grandin : 66s.
21. Cited in Grandin : 67.
22. Carr, Charles C., 1952, Alcoa: An American
Enterprise, New York, Rinehart, p. 174-176.
23. Grandin, op. cit.
24. The case is recounted in Crawford : 164.
25. Veiller, Lawrence, 1918, “Industrial Housing
Developments in America,” Architectural
Record, no. 43, March, p. 231-256; Beloit
Historical Society, Historic Preservation
Division, undated typescript, Eclipse Park,
Thematic Study no. 15, p. 208-253; National
Park Service, 2003, Park Lane Apartments,
Jackson County, Missouri, United States
Depar tment of the Interior, National
Register of Historic Places, p. 21.
26. Adams, T h o m a s , 1918 , “C o m m u nit y
Development in Wartime,” Landscape
Architecture, no. 8, April, p. 109-124.
27. Lavedan, Pierre, 1956, Histoire de l’urba‑
nisme, vol. III, Paris, Laurens, p. 224. [Our
translation.]
37

38
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
28. [Arthur Vining Davis obituary], New York
Times, November 18, 1962.
29. Ibid.
30. “Montreal Star Lauds Arvida District,” The
Arvidian, Arvida, September 19, 1927, p. 1.
31. Under its former name, the Pittsburgh
Re d u c tion C o m p a ny, the A luminum
Company of America acquired the settlement
of Bauxite, Arkansas, previously developed
by the General Bauxite Company, to
turn it into one of its “company towns” and
build houses and facilities for its workers.
More so than for Alcoa, Badin or Massena
where the Aluminum Company of America’s
developments were built onto preexisting
settlements, it is the case of Bauxite, and
of course particularly of Arvida, that led
the engineer Edwin S. Fickes, one of the
Arvida project heads, to attribute to the
company a “policy of always providing, in
backward or isolated communities, excellent
schools and medical care, supplemented
by hospital facilities, for the benefit of its
employees.” (Cited in Smith, George David,
2003, From Monopoly to Competition:
The Transformation of Alcoa, 1888‑1986,
Cambridge, Cambridge University Press,
p. 118.)
32. “A Garden City for Canada,” Journal of the
Town Planning Institute of Canada, vol. IV,
no. 4, 1925.
33. Fickes, Edwin S., 1938, History of the
Growth and Developments of the Aluminum
Company of America, unpublished typescript;
Alcoa Archives, Library and Archives
Division, Heinz History Center, Pittsburgh
(PA).
34. “Une ville construite en 135 jours, qui ne
connut ni les taudis, ni les laideurs à la va‑
comme‑je‑te‑pousse, où l’on n’eut pas à
débâtir pour construire.” [Our translation.]
35. Saunier, Pierre-Yves, 1999, “Changing the
City: Urban International Information and
the Lyon Municipality, 1900-1940,” Planning
Perspectives, no. 14, p. 19-48.
36. Casemann Collins, Christiane, 2005, Werner
Hegemann and the Search for Universal
Urbanism, W.W. Norton & Co.
37. See, for example, the article by Simpson,
Michael, 1982, “Thomas Adams in Canada
1914-1930,” Urban History Review / Revue
d’histoire urbaine, vol. 11, no. 2, p. 1-16.
38. On Jacques Gréber’s Nor th American
experience, see Gournay, Isabelle, 2001,
“Revisiting Jacques Greber’s L’architecture
aux États-Unis: from City Beautiful to Cité-
Jardin,” Urban History Review, vol. 29, no. 2.
39. Our translation.
40. “L’habitation collective. Cités‑jardins – villes
ouvrières.” [Our translation.]
41. “L’o r g a n i s at i o n m é t h o d i q u e .” [ O u r
translation.]
42. Gréber, Jacques, 1920, L’architecture aux
États‑Unis. Preuve de la force d’expan‑
sion du génie français, Paris, Payot et cie,
p. 101-126.
43. See notably Draper, John E., 1989, “Parissur-le-Lac
: les sources du “Plan of Chicago,”
in John Zukowski (ed.), Chicago : naissance
d’une métropole 1872‑1922, Paris, Éditions
de la Réunion des musées nationaux, p. 106-
129, as well as, in the same volume, Loyette,
Henri, “Chicago, une image française,”
p. 120-135.
44. “L’exposé d’une théorie urbaniste,” The
Arvidian, November 16, 1928, p. 3.
45. It would become the National Capital
Commission in 1959.
46. S e e H a c h e z - L e r o y, F l o r e n c e , 19 9 9 ,
L’aluminium français. L’invention d’un mar‑
ché 1911‑1983, Paris, CNRS Éditions. See also
Gignoux, Claude J., 1955, Histoire d’une
entreprise française, Paris, Hachette.
47. When controlled by the Northern Aluminum
Company, future Southern Aluminum
Company created by Aluminium in 1911,
the Badinville project was at first planned
upstream, near a dam built by the Whitney
Compay some ten years earlier. The engineers
working for the Southern Aluminum
Company later proposed to establish dams
at the sites called the Narrows and the Falls,
where they finally were built, which resulted
in the change of the townsite from Whitney
to the actual Badin. (Lugeon, Maurice, prof
Lausanne, 1913, Rapport géologique sur le
projet de barrage de la rivière Yadkin aux
environs de Whitney (Car. du Nord, EUA),
21 janvier, Institut pour l’histoire de l’aluminium,
collection Pechiney.)
48. Rapport des administrateurs soumis à la
première assemblée annuelle des actionnaires,
tenue à New York, le lundi 9 juin
1913. Institut pour l’histoire de l’aluminium,
collection Pechiney.
49. Andrew Ellis, translator, in Mariani’s edition
of Une cité industrielle, op. cit.
50. In Zollverein, Le Creusot, Montceau-les-
Mines for example. The quadraplexes, or
combination of four dwellings, seem to
come from the row housing and “corons”
common in early mining towns.
51. “[…] la surface construite devrait toujours
être inférieure à la moitié de la surface
totale, le reste du lot formant jardin public
et étant utilisable aux piétons : nous voulons
dire que chaque construction doit laisser sur
la partie non construite de son lot un pas‑
sage libre, allant de la rue à la construction
située en arrière. Cette disposition permet
la traversée de la ville en n’importe quel
sens ; indépendamment des rues qu’on n’a
plus besoin de suivre ; et le sol de la ville,
pris d’ensemble, est comme un grand parc,
sans aucun mur de clôture pour limiter les
terrains.” (Ellis, translator, in Mariani’s edition
of Une cité industrielle, op. cit.)
It must be noted that although similar
arrangements can be found in later planned
towns, Garnier’s proposal, in 1917, describes
an arrangement very unusual at that time.
To find it in Badin, built before the publication
of Une cité industrielle, is thus even
more surprising.
52. T his information o n the g row th of
Aluminium Français is from the article by
Smith, Michael S., 1998, “Putting France
in the Chandlerian Framework: France’s
100 Largest Industrial Firms in 1913,” The
Business History Review, vol. 72, no. 1,
p. 46-85.
53. Wilkins, Mira, 1993, “French Multinationals
in the U nite d St a te s . A n His to rical
Perspective,” Entreprises et histoires, no. 3,
mai, p. 18.
54. Archives at the Institut d’histoire de l’aluminium
keep several traces of a cordial relationship
between Davis and Badin.
55. This information has newly come to light
in recently uncovered documents. (Fickes,
op. cit.)
56. American Architects Directory, R.R. Bowker,
1956, p. 59.
57. Fickes : 258.
58. “Large Areas in Need of Transit,” New York
Times, February 23, 1919; and “Sees Shuttle
Cure in Moving Sidewalks,” New York Times,
November 29, 1918.
59. American Architects Directory, R.R. Bowker,
1956, p. 522.
60. According to his 1946 responses to the
Questionnaire for Architect’s Roasters, held
by the American Institute of Architects (NY).
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

61. Aluminum Company of Canada Limited,
1929, Analysis of Procedure at Arvida in
Connection with City Development, Arvida,
October 1. Typescript, Archives de Ville de
Saguenay; and Fickes, op. cit.
62. Fickes : 258.
63. This is Arvida type K3. Some of the houses
built during Arvida’s second and third
phases and signed only by the Arvida Work’s
designers may also be related to some of
Rogers’s work. On his Winter Park houses,
see McClane, Patrick W. and Debra A.
McClane, 2004, The Architecture of James
Gamble Rogers II in Winter Park, Florida,
Gainesville, University Press of Florida.
64. “Washington, aujourd’hui l’une des plus
belles villes du monde, demain la plus belle.”
[Our translation.]
65. New York Times, May 17, 1927.
66. “L’imitation du modèle advient sélective‑
ment.” [Our translation.]
67. Campbell, Duncan C., 1985, Mission mon‑
diale ; Histoire d’Alcan. Vol. 1 Jusqu’à 1950,
Toronto, Ontario Publishing Company
Limited. Translation by Geneviève Heuet-
Fauteux of Global Mission: The Story of
Alcan, vols. 1 to 1950.
68. This population information is from Linteau,
Paul-André, André Durocher and Jean-
Claude Robert, 1989, Histoire du Québec
contemporain. Vol. 1, De la Confédération
à la crise, Montréal, Boréal, passim.
69. Louis-Alexandre Taschereau, from Le Devoir,
December 9, 1927.
70. “Ici, c’est la force du torrent qui est à l’ori‑
gine.” (Ellis, translator, in Mariani’s edition
of Une cité industrielle, op. cit.)
71. Smith, G.D. : 142-143; Carr : 174-178, 211-216.
72. Smith, G.D. : 143.
73. Dunn, C.P., 1930, “Blasting a Precast Dam
into Place. Monolithic Structure Erected
Vertically and Toppled into Place in Swift
Saguenay Current,” Civil Engineering, vol. 1,
no. 30, p. 159.
74. “La raison déterminante d’une pareille cité
peut être la proximité de matières premières
à trouver ou bien l’existence d’une force
naturelle susceptible d’être utilisée par le
travail, ou encore la commodité des moyens
de transport.” (Ellis, translator, in Mariani’s
edition of Une cité industrielle, op. cit.)
75. Smith, G.D. : 142; Campbell : 32.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
76. To my knowledge, that would have been,
at the time, the only integrated—alumina
and aluminum plants—production site in
America before a similar, but much larger
project, was put up in Arvida. The French
project is known to us from the Pechiney
archives kept at the Institut de l’histoire de
l’aluminium. Hyppolyte Bouchayer, in 1938,
recalls that the Badin refinery was completed
in 1914, but was finally bought back by
the Compagnie d’Alais, Froges et Camargue
from the Aluminum Company of America,
then dismantled and rebuilt in Saint-
Auban (France) in 1916-1917. (Bouchayer,
Hyppolyte, 1938, Note sur la Southern
Aluminium Co, October, Institut d’histoire
de l’aluminium, collection Pechiney.)
77. Carr : 135.
78. The dry process set up in Arvida is similar
to the process known in France as the
Deville process (after its inventor, Henri
Sainte-Claire Deville). It involves calcinating
a mixture of crushed bauxite, lime, and
coke. The resulting sinter is then leached to
obtain an aluminate solution, which is filtered
to remove impurities. When the water is
removed, the resulting aluminum hydroxide
precipitate is used to produce alumina. The
Bayer process involves heating a mixture of
ground bauxite and sodium hydroxide under
pressure, which is decanted and filtered to
separate the aluminum hydroxide from the
other bauxite constituents, which are removed
as “red mud.” The aluminum hydroxide
is precipitated by cooling, then calcined to
produce alumina and water vapour.
79. “Une voie ferrée de grande communication
passe entre l’usine et la ville.” (Ellis, translator,
in Mariani’s edition of Une cité indu‑
strielle, op. cit.)
80. Fickes : 252.
81. “ancienne ville au bord du torrent.” (Ellis,
translator, in Mariani’s edition of Une cité
industrielle, op. cit.)
82. “à la fois, des parties de montagne et une
plaine, celle‑ci traversée par un fleuve.”
(Ellis, id.)
83. This is probably a borrowing back of the
English word “coulee,” which was originally
borrowed from the French word for “flow.”
84. “En cherchant les dispositions qui donnent
le mieux satisfaction aux besoins matériels
et moraux de l’individu…” (Ellis, translator,
in Mariani’s edition of Une cité industrielle,
op. cit.)
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
85. “Toutes les améliorations modernes ont été
prévues : approvisionnement d’eau, égouts,
électricité. Le courant électrique est amené
dans les conduits souterrains par toute la
ville et il n’y aura pas un seul poteau dans
les rues, excepté les lampadaires. Toutes
les rues seront pavées et les maisons rési‑
dentielles, pour les ouvriers comme pour
les officiers supérieurs de la compagnie,
seront toutes détachées les unes des autres.”
(“Arvida, ville-champignon : M.H.R. Wake
décrit la construction d’Arvida en 135 jours,”
Le Devoir, Montreal, October 8, 1926, p. 8.)
[Our translation.]
86. Siderakis, op. cit., passim.
87. “Il n’y a pas lieu de craindre la monotonie de
nos alignements actuels.” (Ellis, translator,
in Mariani’s edition of Une cité industrielle,
op. cit.)
88. Attributed to Wake, Harold, 1929, “Analysis
of Procedure at Arvida in Connection with
City Development,” Arvida, October 1.
Typescript, Archives de Ville de Saguenay.
[Our translation.]
89. According to Igartua, José, 1996, Arvida au
Saguenay. Naissance d’une ville industrielle,
Montreal and Kingston, McGill-Queen’s
University Press, p. 42. [Our translation.]
90. Igartua : 121.
91. Attributed to Wake, op. cit. [Our translation.]
92. Id.
93. According to Ahlund, M., “The Company
Town in Scandinavia,” in Garner, Company
Town: Architecture and Society…, op. cit.
94. “L’architecture de bon goût d’autrefois.”
[Our translation.]
95. “La compagnie [qui] fait preuve d’excellen‑
tes dispositions à l’égard des nôtres.” [Our
translation.]
96. José Igartua calculated that the annual rent
for a labourer’s house remained excessive
at $350, equal to 40% of a day-labourer’s
salary and 26% of a pot-man’s. (Theorists
at the time recommended that 20% of a
worker’s salary be devoted to housing.)
(Igartua : 116-117.)
97. In 1920, Morris Knowles (Industrial Housing,
New York, McGraw-Hill, p. 23) recommended
rents providing a minimum return of 10% on
investment, including capitalization, maintenance,
and depreciation. It seems that
the company’s original plan in Arvida was
to rent houses for between 8% (types A and
D) and 10% of construction costs, estimating
39

40
Lucie K. Morisset > aNalysis | aNalyse
3% for maintenance, 0.66% for taxes, 0.34%
for insurance, and 4% for interest. Workers
and employees however proved unable to
pay more than 5.63% to 7.6%. (Wake : 10.)
98. The Arvidian, June 5, 1928.
99. “We find out the maximum monthly payment
which the purchaser indicates he is
able to pay and if that shows a reasonable
margin over the rent charged we make the
contract. The sales price of the property is
the cost of the building, plus the sale price
placed on the lot, plus cost of any sidewalk
and extraordinary improvements that have
been made on the property. We take this
sale price and add interest on the unpaid
balance at 4%, plus taxes and insurance,
and divide the total thus obtained by the
monthly payments, which gives us the
number of months the contract has to run.
Naturally our contracts will be very long.”
(Wake : 11.)
100. Knowles, Morris, op. cit., p. 43.
101. Walker, Henry W., 1953, Single‑enterprise
C o m m u n i t i e s i n C a n a d a : A R e p o r t
t o C e n t r a l M o r t g a g e a n d H o u s i n g
Corporation, Kingston, The Institute of Local
Government / Queen’s University, p. 3.
102. “Ce sont les matériaux en usage dans cette
région qui seront employés par nous comme
moyens de construction.” (Ellis, translator,
in Mariani’s edition of Une cité industrielle,
op. cit.)
103. Although socialist ideals attributed to
Garnier could be understood in another
way if placed in the American context. Une
cité industrielle probably would gain from
a new reading in that way.
104. “Progrès d’ordre social.” (Ellis, translator,
in Mariani’s edition of Une cité industrielle,
op. cit.)
105. Id.
106. Id.
107. “La Société a désormais la libre disposition
du sol.” (Marguerite E. McGoldrick, translator,
in Siderakis’s edition of Une cité indus‑
trielle, op. cit.) It is not clear, however, which
meaning Garnier gives to “La Société” and
whether he is really referring to a socialist
tenure, as it has been written, or if he is
only describing a mode of governance,
especially since he continues: “Society then
would have free reign over the distribution
of land as well as water, bread, meat, milk,
and medicine, since these products are
responsible for its members’ well-being.”
The French writing of Garnier might tell
more in that way: “La Société a désormais
la libre disposition du sol, et que c’est à elle
de s’occuper de l’alimentation en eau, pain,
viande, médicaments, en raison des soins
multiples que réclament ces produits.”
108. “Notre structure reste simple, sans orne‑
ment.” (McGoldrick, op. cit.)
109. “D’autres systèmes de construction, d’autres
matériaux conduiront, sans doute, à d’autres
formes qu’il sera aussi intéressant de recher‑
cher.” (McGoldrick, id.)
110. Beloit Historical Society : 247.
111. New York Times, April 28, 1926.
112. New York Times, September 27, 1926.
113. Lemieux, R.A., n.d., Growth of the city of
Arvida Since its Incorporation, curve chart,
E-976, Ville de Saguenay.
114. “Sur la montagne au nord du centre de la
ville […] des rideaux de verdure [l’encadrent]
à l’est et à l’ouest.” (McGoldrick, op. cit.)
115. Id.
116. Id.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

LyNe BerNier est doctorante à l’institut de
géoarchitecture de l’université de Bretagne
occidentale à Brest et chercheure associée à la
Chaire de recherche du Canada en patrimoine
urbain, École des sciences de la gestion de
l’université du Québec à Montréal. Sous la
direction de Daniel Le Couédic, sa thèse portera
sur le rôle de Mgr Bourget, deuxième évêque
de Montréal, dans la planification urbaine de
Montréal au XiXe siècle. Cet article se fonde sur
des recherches menées en vue de la publication,
avec Luc Noppen, d’un ouvrage sur la conversion
des églises du Québec.
ill. 1. église nOtre-dAme-des-sePt-dOuleurs à verdun.
cOnstruite de 1911 à 1914 d’APrès les PlAns
de JOsePh venne et lOuis lAbelle. | cPrq, 2003.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011 > 41-64
analYsis | analYse
la coNveRsioN des éGlises à MoNtRéal
état de la question
> Lyne Bernier 1
La fermeture et la vente d’églises
font couler beaucoup d’encre depuis
quelques années au Québec. En effet,
plusieurs articles, ouvrages et colloques2 ont été consacrés à la question, et une
bonne couverture médiatique témoigne
d’un attachement certain à cet héritage,
profondément ancré dans la culture des
Québécois. Dès lors, le devenir de ces
églises est un enjeu majeur, tant pour les
collectivités locales concernées que pour
l’ensemble de la société civile.
Contrairement à ce que plusieurs en
pensent, le phénomène n’est pas nouveau
au Québec. En effet, depuis plus
d’un siècle, près de 850 lieux de culte
ont été fermés et vendus, certains pour
être démolis, d’autres pour accueillir
de nouveaux usages. Toutefois, malgré
que certaines de ces conversions puissent
être qualifiées d’exemplaires, une question
lancinante surgit aujourd’hui : que
faire de ces milliers d’églises qui ferment
ou qui fermeront ?
À cet égard, l’île de Montréal se distingue
des autres régions du Québec par
sa diversité tant culturelle et cultuelle
qu’architecturale – à laquelle correspond
une profusion de sites et de bâtiments
qui devront tôt ou tard être réaménagés
afin d’héberger de nouvelles fonctions.
Ce statut particulier de la métropole
y singularise la conversion des églises,
notamment parce qu’il pèse sur les
stratégies déployées dans ce « marché »
de la vente d’églises qui oscille entre
valorisation immobilière et mobilité
des populations, phénomène qui induit
une multiplication de lieux de culte de
nouvelles traditions religieuses.
41

Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
ill. 2. dAte de cOnstructiOn des lieux de culte de mOntréAl. | cPrq, 2003.
ill. 3. église très-sAint-rédemPteur du quArtier
mAisOnneuve. cOnstruite en 1927-1928
d’APrès les PlAns de dOnAt-Arthur gAscOn
et lOuis PArent. | cPrq, 2003.
Sans s’étendre sur les causes connues de
la situation précaire des églises historiques
de Montréal (catholiques, anglicanes,
protestantes) – d’ailleurs les mêmes
dans le Québec tout entier –, notamment
la désaffectation du culte, les difficultés
financières des paroisses et le manque
de personnel religieux, cet article tracera
plutôt le portrait statistique actuel
ill. 4. église sAint-mArc dAns le quArtier rOsemOnt.
cOnstruite en 1931-1932 d’APrès les PlAns
de dOnAt-Arthur gAscOn
et lOuis PArent. | luc nOPPen, 2005.
et particulier de la conversion des églises
de Montréal en regard des données
obtenues dans le cadre d’une recherche
plus vaste sur la conversion des églises au
Québec, menée à l’Université du Québec
à Montréal (UQAM) depuis deux ans.
Précisons d’abord que l’Inventaire des
lieux de culte du Québec, réalisé par le
Conseil du patrimoine religieux du Québec
(CPRQ) en 20033 , recensait 471 lieux de
culte construits avant 1975 dans la ville et
dans les municipalités autonomes de l’île
de Montréal4 . La moitié de ces lieux, dont
une majorité de confession catholique,
ont été construits au cours des 60 dernières
années ; 128 lieux de culte furent
érigés au cours de la décennie 1950 et
106 durant les années 1960, témoignant
de toute évidence de l’expansion rapide
de la banlieue montréalaise 5 . En contrepartie,
à peine 2 % des lieux de culte
de Montréal ont été construits au cours
de la première moitié du XIXe siècle, et
un peu moins de 10 % entre les années
1850 et 1900. De même, près de 30 %
d’entre eux furent érigés au cours de
la période comprise entre 1900 et 1930
– dont un peu moins de 7 % au cours de
la période immédiate d’avant-guerre –,
tandis que près de 7 % le furent au cours
des années 1940. Toutefois, dans moins
de 1 % des cas, la date de construction
demeure inconnue, dans l’état actuel de
nos recherches (ill. 2).
En définitive, « la ville aux cent clochers
6 », ou si l’on préfère « la Rome de
l’Amérique », présente un corpus d’églises
relativement récent. Mise à part la cinquantaine
de lieux de culte catholiques
édifiés au cours des décennies 1910, 1920
et 1930, dont un grand nombre adopte
une figure architecturale « montréaliste7 »
(ill. 1, 3-4), la construction de lieux de
culte de Montréal fut à son apogée au
cours des décennies 1950 et 1960.
catégorisation des lieUx
de cUlte montréalais
L’inventaire des lieux de culte du Québec
de 2003 recensait 471 lieux de culte
construits avant 1975, tel que mentionné
précédemment. En séparant ces lieux en
deux catégories typologiques distinctes,
les chapelles conventuelles et les églises,
42 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

on dénombre alors 425 églises et 46 cha-
pelles réparties sur l’île de Montréal. Par
ailleurs, les recherches menées en 2009 8
et en 20109 par la Chaire de recherche du
Canada (CRC) en patrimoine urbain ont
permis d’inventorier les églises et les chapelles
vendues – qui ont connu un changement
de propriétaire – depuis le début
du XX e siècle à Montréal : 240 églises
vendues ont été recensées, dont 70 sont
aujourd’hui démolies ; en outre, 35 chapelles
accueillant désormais un nouvel
usage ont été identifiées (ill. 5).
Or, 138 de ces églises ne figuraient pas
à l’Inventaire des lieux de culte parce
qu’elles avaient été converties ou démolies
avant 2003. De même, 102 églises
comprises dans l’Inventaire du CPRQ ont
été reprises par un nouveau propriétaire
depuis10 . En ce qui concerne les chapelles,
nos recherches ont permis de découvrir
que 35 d’entre elles avaient effectivement
changé d’usage : 11 depuis la réalisation
de l’Inventaire du CPRQ et 24 avant (ill. 6).
Ces quelques chiffres révèlent que la
conversion des lieux de culte, des églises
et des chapelles n’est pas un phénomène
nouveau à Montréal, bien que l’on
puisse percevoir une accélération certaine
de cette tendance depuis le début du
XXIe siècle.
Il importe de préciser quelques définitions
ici. Alors que le CPRQ utilise le vocable
« lieux de culte », parce qu’il traite des
bâtiments ouverts au culte, nous utilisons
les vocables propres à une typologie
architecturale reconnue – églises et
chapelles –, puisque ces figures ecclésiales
sont au cœur de la caractérisation patrimoniale
: une église convertie demeure
une église, même si elle n’est plus utilisée
pour le culte.
La suite de cet article traitera exclusivement
des bâtiments « églises » et fera
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
ill. 5. cAtégOrie des lieux de culte de mOntréAl. | cPrq, 2003.
ill. 6. PériOde de cOnversiOn/démOlitiOn des lieux de culte de mOntréAl.
abstraction des chapelles, dont le destin
est étroitement associé – il en est souvent
même indissociable – aux couvents qui les
contiennent ou les jouxtent.
QUelQUes statistiQUes
aUtoUr de la vente d’églises
à montréal
C’est peu après 1925 que la première
vague de ventes d’églises eut lieu au
Canada, alors que faute de fidèles et
de ressources s’opéra un regroupement
de plusieurs congrégations protestantes
au sein de l’Église unie du Canada. Ce
regroupement eut un impact considérable
au Québec ; plusieurs communautés
Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
anglophones ont migré vers l’ouest, provoquant
ainsi un surplus d’immeubles.
Puis, au cours des années 1970, plusieurs
églises ont été sacrifiées lors d’opérations
de rénovation urbaine, particulièrement
au centre-ville de Montréal. Enfin,
la fermeture et la vente d’églises sont
en nette progression depuis le début du
XXI e siècle. La majorité des transactions
touchant les 240 églises qui ont changé
de propriétaire depuis 1900 sont en effet
récentes : 62 ont été enregistrées entre
2005 et 2010 et 39 entre 2000 et 2004.
Ensemble, sur 10 ans, ces chiffres représentent
42 % du total des transactions
immobilières qui ont eu cours concernant
les églises11 (ill. 7).
43

Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
ill. 7. chrOnOlOgie des ventes d’églises sur l’île de mOntréAl.
ill. 8. dAte de cOnstructiOn des églises vendues à mOntréAl.
Les églises construites au cours des
années 1950 – le groupe le plus significatif
de la production d’églises sur l’île de
Montréal – figurent en tête de liste des
ventes. Ce sont ainsi 39 églises érigées au
cours de cette période qui ont été vendues
depuis les 40 dernières années12 . Ce
chiffre supporte l’assertion qu’il s’agit là
de bâtiments plus propices à une conversion
architecturale. Ce sont des églises
plus modestes que les modèles « montréalistes
» d’avant-guerre ; elles ont été
érigées avec des structures homogènes
(béton, acier), recyclables selon les codes
en vigueur aujourd’hui et dotées d’un
volume intérieur restreint et donc plus
facile à mettre en valeur économiquement.
Mais, surtout, leur implantation
pavillonnaire sur des sites amples offre un
grand potentiel de développement, avec
de nouvelles constructions. Autrement
dit, on peut faire beaucoup autour de
l’église et ce que l’on fait au dedans ne
représente qu’une portion du projet de
conversion ; dès lors, il peut s’agir d’un
projet de site plus que de bâtiment.
La deuxième catégorie en termes de
ventes depuis 1900 est constituée par les
33 églises construites au cours des années
1920 qui ont fait l’objet d’une transaction
immobilière ; suivent de près celles érigées
durant la seconde moitié du XIX e siècle13
. De toute évidence, le nombre des
églises vendues depuis 1900 est indexé
au volume des bâtiments construits par
périodes du corpus (ill. 8).
En comparaison, ailleurs au Québec ce
sont les églises construites au cours de la
deuxième moitié du XIXe siècle qui figurent
en tête de liste des ventes14 , suivies
de près par celles construites durant les
années 1950.
À Montréal, les acheteurs d’églises sont le
plus souvent d’autres traditions religieuses
qui perpétuent (ou renouvellent) la
fonction de lieu de culte. Cette catégorie
d’acheteurs domine le marché de la vente
d’églises à Montréal, puisqu’elle représente
44 % des nouveaux acquéreurs (ill. 9).
Cette polarisation sur une catégorie
d’acheteurs témoigne de la particularité
toute montréalaise dans le tableau des
régions du Québec où la reprise par une
autre tradition religieuse ne représente
que 10 % des dossiers de vente d’églises.
En tout, 64 % des acheteurs d’églises issus
de diverses autres traditions religieuses
se concentrent sur l’île de Montréal, loin
devant la Montérégie, deuxième région
prisée par cette catégorie d’acheteurs, qui
en compte environ 14 %.
Le cas montréalais s’explique par l’émergence
de nouvelles religions ou sectes,
généralement dérivées du christianisme,
qui s’ancrent dans plusieurs quartiers
de la métropole, mais aussi par l’action
grandissante de fidèles affiliés à une tradition
religieuse historique originaire de
l’Asie ou du Moyen-Orient, notamment le
bouddhisme, l’hindouisme et l’islam. Si les
44 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

premiers réutilisent volontiers une église
chrétienne désaffectée, sans pour autant
accorder d’attention à une pérennité
patrimoniale du monument, les seconds
préfèrent plutôt ériger à grands frais des
lieux de culte dont la figure archétypale
sert d’ancrage identitaire. Pour ceux-là le
remploi d’un lieu chrétien désaffecté est
une solution intérimaire qui leur donne
l’occasion d’intégrer le marché immobilier
en vue de se doter d’une équité qui
permettra la réalisation du grand projet.
Précisons cependant que les autorités
catholiques n’encouragent pas la
vente de leurs biens immobiliers à des
religions autres que chrétiennes, alors
que les congrégations protestantes et
anglicanes ne semblent pas éprouver de
tels scrupules.
Le secteur privé représente 16 % des acheteurs
d’églises, alors que les organismes
à but non lucratif (OBNL) se sont porté
acquéreurs d’un tel bâtiment dans 11 %
des cas. À Montréal, la position du secteur
public demeure assez marginale dans
le marché des églises : il ne représente
que 6 % des acheteurs. Par comparaison,
cette proportion atteint cependant près
de 20 % dans les 16 autres régions administratives
du Québec. Contrairement à
ce qui se passe à Montréal, dans plusieurs
villes et villages du Québec la Municipalité
constitue bien souvent le seul acheteur
probable. En effet, celle-ci apparaît très
tôt comme le seul acheteur en mesure de
reprendre le bâtiment, compte tenu d’un
marché immobilier peu actif ou inexistant,
des coûts d’entretien élevés, mais aussi
du fait de la forte charge symbolique des
églises et de l’affection patrimoniale dont
elles jouissent dans leur communauté. La
panoplie de services que la Municipalité
doit rendre à ses citoyens a alors tôt fait
de dessiner un usage compatible qui, de
surcroît ou de préférence, rencontre les
critères d’un programme de subventions.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
ill. 9. cAtégOries d’Acheteurs d’églises, mOntréAl.
ill. 10. trAditiOns religieuses des églises vendues, mOntréAl.
Dans ce panorama des acheteurs, on note
enfin que 8 % des églises fermées au culte
demeurent la propriété de la fabrique ou
de son propriétaire d’origine. Certains de
ces bâtiments sont loués à divers organismes,
partagent l’espace entre le culte et
un autre usage ou encore sont en attente
d’un nouvel acheteur15 .
Compte tenu de leur statut d’Église établie
ayant généré le plus grand nombre
de lieux de culte, les catholiques sont
aussi ceux qui ont vendu le plus grand
Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
nombre d’églises ; ils possédaient 36 %
des 240 églises vendues à Montréal
depuis 1900. Ensuite, les quatre autres
traditions historiques du Québec se sont
départies de leurs biens immobiliers
dans une proportion similaire à celle des
catholiques, mais, individuellement, la
part des presbytériens s’élève à 14 % et
celle de l’Église unie est identique à celle
des anglicans avec une représentativité
de 11 %. Les synagogues de Montréal ont
quant à elles été converties ou démolies
dans une proportion de 5 %. La portion
45

Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
ill. 11. éPOque de disPAritiOn des églises à mOntréAl.
ill. 12. trAditiOns religieuses des églises disPArues à mOntréAl.
résiduelle, c’est-à-dire plus du quart (29%)
des transactions immobilières recensées,
est partagée par les différentes traditions
religieuses qui ont possédé des églises en
sol montréalais depuis 1900 (ill. 10).
conversion et démolition
Près du tiers des 240 églises vendues
depuis le début du XXe siècle à Montréal
ont malheureusement disparu. En d’autres
mots, 70 bâtiments ont connu un destin
tragique : la démolition16 . De ce nombre,
34 %, soit 24 églises, étaient de tradition
catholique ; 13 de ces bâtiments ont été
rasés au cours des années 1970 et 11 entre
les années 2000 et 200417 (ill. 11). Ce sont
les églises construites durant la deuxième
moitié du XIXe siècle qui ont particulièrement
été victimes de démolition. En
effet, 23 % des temples disparus avaient
été érigés au cours de cette période effervescente
– marquée, entre autres, par l’arrivée
massive d’immigrants en provenance
des îles britanniques et par le démembrement
de l’unique paroisse catholique –
dans l’histoire de Montréal. Soulignons
qu’il s’agit, pour la majorité d’entre elles,
d’églises de confessions protestante et
anglicane (ill. 12). Heureusement, peu
d’églises ont subi ce triste sort au cours
des 5 dernières années ; la tendance semble
s’être renversée alors qu’il devient
évident que la conversion de ces repères
urbains constitue une meilleure alternative18
que la démolition.
Au total, 71 % des églises ayant changé
de propriétaire depuis 1900 à Montréal
ont été converties et accueillent désormais
un nouvel usage. Un peu plus du
tiers de ces 240 églises (58) ont été vendues
et converties au cours des 5 dernières
années et 28 l’ont été entre les
années 2000 et 2004. Dans le reste du
Québec, plus de 52 % des églises désaffectées
ont été converties au cours des
10 dernières années19 .
À Montréal, la pratique de la conversion
d’églises est apparue dans les années 1970,
alors que 18 églises ont vu leur fonction
initiale être supplantée par une nouvelle.
Puis, le mouvement s’est accéléré au cours
des années 1980 et 25 églises ont changé
de fonction. La période suivante a affiché
un léger fléchissement ; 19 églises seulement
ont changé de vocation au cours de
la dernière décennie du XXe siècle (ill. 13).
Retenons toutefois que la vente d’églises
menant à une conversion s’accélère inévitablement
depuis l’arrivée du XXIe siècle.
Compte tenu de la présence d’un nombre
important d’églises dans le paysage
montréalais et québécois, cette tendance
connaîtra certainement une forte croissance
dans un proche avenir.
Notre analyse confirme, encore une fois,
que les églises construites au cours des
années 1950 constituent la cohorte la
plus importante d’églises converties,
puisqu’elles sont également les plus fréquentes
à Montréal. En effet, 36 églises
bâties durant les années 1950 ont été
vendues, puis converties, suivies par celles
46 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

construites au cours des années 1920,
puisque 32 bâtiments érigés à cette époque
ont, depuis 1900, changé de propriétaire
et renouvelé leur vocation (ill. 14).
Les prix pratiqués lors de ces transactions
varient considérablement. Plusieurs facteurs
semblent jouer lors de la négociation
du prix de vente : la destination
future du bâtiment, son état physique, le
type d’acheteur, etc. Le principal constat
qui se dégage est que 35 églises ont
été vendues à un prix fluctuant entre
250 000 $ et 500 000 $ ; c’est l’intervalle
de prix rencontré le plus fréquemment
lors des transactions réalisées à Montréal.
Par ailleurs, 28 églises ont été vendues à
un prix variant de 100 000 $ à 249 999 $
et 21 transactions ont été conclues entre
500 000 $ et 749 999 $ (ill. 15). Finalement,
8 % des acquéreurs ont bénéficié d’un
prix de vente nul ou ont obtenu une
église pour la somme symbolique de 1 $ ;
il s’agit de quelques groupes religieux
favorisés par les vendeurs et des OBNL.
Dans le cas des OBNL, il semble que ce
soit principalement l’adhésion du vendeur
à la destination future de l’église qui ait
joué. Les vendeurs privilégiant le maintien
de la vocation communautaire du bâtiment
sont en effet plus enclins à céder
leur immeuble à un prix symbolique ; ces
transactions comportent cependant une
clause contraignant l’acheteur à respecter
un usage communautaire ou public.
L’analyse des transactions immobilières
a aussi permis de découvrir que ce sont
généralement les nouvelles traditions
religieuses qui ont payé les prix les plus
élevés pour acquérir une église. Leur prix
d’achat est net ; elles n’ont pas à investir
massivement pour convertir l’église. Mais
on trouve aussi à Montréal des acheteurs
du secteur privé qui ont déboursé des
sommes au-delà du million de dollars
pour des immeubles pouvant générer une
plus-value non négligeable.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
ill. 13. chrOnOlOgie de lA vente des églises cOnverties, mOntréAl.
ill. 14. dAte de cOnstructiOn des églises cOnverties, mOntréAl.
ill. 15. intervAlle des Prix de vente des églises cOnverties, mOntréAl.
Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
47

Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
ill. 16. nOuveAux usAges des églises vendues, mOntréAl.
ill. 17. nOuveAux usAges des églises vendues, Autres régiOns du québec.
Précisons que le marché des églises
demeure embryonnaire et que les municipalités
seront appelées à jouer un rôle
plus important sur le plan de l’évaluation
foncière. À ce jour, cet outil de régulation
n’a eu que peu d’impact. En fait, pour
faire image, disons que la valeur marchande
d’un site d’église est constituée
de la valeur de son lot, diminuée du coût
de la démolition du bâtiment église. Mais
il faut prendre en compte que la valeur
marchande optimale du lot d’une église
est grevée par deux facteurs négatifs :
l’intensité patrimoniale du site/de l’église
et l’encadrement réglementaire municipal,
surtout le zonage. De plus, le bâtiment
que l’acquéreur est souvent requis
de conserver offre surtout des mètres
cubes, alors qu’il cherche à valoriser le site
en optimisant le nombre de mètres carrés.
Puisque les lieux de culte échappent à la
fiscalité municipale, leur valeur foncière
a souvent été établie de façon aléatoire,
sans offrir un portrait réaliste du marché.
Les municipalités sont les premières victimes
de cette situation : elles peuvent
difficilement acquérir une église en deçà
d’une évaluation qu’elles ont elles-mêmes
établie… Mais, en dehors de ce cas d’espèce
peu courant à Montréal, le marché
des églises est plutôt un marché d’acheteurs
: s’y aventurent ceux qui ont besoin
d’un lieu de culte ou ceux qui savent comment
mettre en valeur les mètres cubes
en obtenant un allègement réglementaire
ou en négociant l’intensité patrimoniale
du lieu.
les noUveaUx Usages
Comme nous l’avons déjà mentionné,
29 % des 240 églises ayant changé de propriétaire
depuis 1900 ont été démolies,
tandis que 42 % ont plutôt été acquises
par une tradition religieuse autre que
celle d’origine 20 . La portion restante,
c’est-à-dire 29 %, a connu une transformation
de la vocation d’origine, tandis
que cette proportion s’élève à 72 % dans
les autres régions du Québec, soulignant
dès lors que très peu d’églises montréalaises
accueillent un usage différent de
celui pour lequel elles ont été conçues.
Les analyses permettent de présenter un
visage fort varié de ces nouvelles fonctions,
mais les conversions les plus couramment
observées sont celles où l’église
abrite un nouvel usage communautaire,
et ce, dans une proportion de 6 % 21 .
Sur l’île de Montréal, seulement 7 %
des églises inventoriées sont désormais
affectées à un usage résidentiel ; un peu
plus de 3 % d’entre elles ont été transformées
en copropriétés divises, 2 % ont
48 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

ill. 18. Ancienne église OutremOnt mOunt-rOyAl PresbyteriAn / sAlle
du cOnseil d’OutremOnt dePuis 1963. cOnstruite en 1910 d’APrès
les PlAns de JAmes e. AdAmsOn. | guillAume sAint-JeAn, 2011.
été converties en logements multiples
destinés à une clientèle variée et 2 % en
résidence privée (unifamiliale) (ill. 16). En
comparaison, dans le reste du Québec,
15 % des églises vendues ont été converties
en habitation, mais toujours à peine
2 % en copropriétés divises et 3 % en
logements multiples et en résidences
destinées aux personnes âgées. Les 10 %
qui ont été transformées en résidences
privées (unifamiliales) sont en majorité
des petites églises protestantes dont
plusieurs ont été converties depuis fort
longtemps (ill. 17).
Même si dans l’imaginaire collectif « nos
églises deviennent des condos », la réalité
est beaucoup plus nuancée. C’est que la
typologie ecclésiale ne se prête guère au
déploiement domiciliaire multi-résidentiel
22 . Les prix résidentiels pratiqués à
Montréal ne permettent pas encore de
justifier les coûts exorbitants de conversions
comme celles qui ont cours au centre-ville
de Toronto.
Un deuxième groupe formé de 22 bâtiments,
à peine 9 % des églises vendues
de Montréal, accueille un usage autre
que résidentiel ou communautaire. Ces
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
bâtiments sont désormais destinés à
une vocation culturelle, institutionnelle,
multifonctionnelle ou commerciale. Il
y a également quelques exemples de
conversions en bibliothèque (2 %) et en
plateau sportif (1 %). Un certain nombre
d’églises actuellement à vendre ou encore
sans fonction apparente complètent le
tableau. En comparaison, dans le reste du
Québec, près de 30 % des églises 23 vendues
servent désormais un usage autre
que résidentiel ou communautaire.
Pour davantage de précision on peut
aussi resserrer les nombres. Ainsi, si l’on
exclut des églises vendues (240) celles qui
ont été démolies (70) depuis le début du
XXe siècle sur l’île de Montréal, le compte
exact des églises converties s’élève à 170.
Et ce sont ainsi près de 60 % des églises
(101 sur 170) qui ont été cédées à de nouvelles
traditions religieuses. La représentativité
des autres usages s’accroît aussi
légèrement : la proportion des églises
converties en habitation s’élève alors à
10 %, dont 5 % en copropriétés divises ;
celle des églises occupées par un usage
communautaire représente 9 % ; alors que
4 % des 170 églises converties l’ont été à
des fins commerciales. Dans le lot, une
Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
ill. 19. le cOllège frAnçAis OccuPe, dePuis 1965, l’Ancienne synAgOgue
b’nAi JAcOb (cOnstruite en 1918) de lA rue fAirmOunt sur le PlAteAu
mOnt-rOyAl. | luc nOPPen, 2005.
seule église a été occupée par des bureaux
municipaux, la Outremont Mount-Royal
Presbyterian Church24 (ill. 18).
De même, deux églises converties classées
dans la catégorie institutionnelle
font dorénavant office d’institution
d’enseignement privé ; l’une de ces
écoles est située à Westmount et l’autre
dans l’arrondissement du Plateau-Mont-
Royal (ill. 19). Précisons que la catégorie
multifonctionnelle s’applique aux bâtiments
logeant divers usages, c’est-à-dire
que les espaces disponibles à l’intérieur
de l’église sont, par exemple, partagés
entre les usages communautaire et
culturel (tableau 1).
La comparaison avec la situation qui prévaut
ailleurs au Québec est instructive. En
retranchant là aussi la centaine de bâtiments
démolis ou laissés à l’abandon,
477 églises ont reçu une nouvelle vocation.
À la différence de Montréal, seulement
une église sur 10 a été vendue à
une autre tradition religieuse que celle
d’origine. La proportion des immeubles
convertis en habitation (18 %) est supérieure
à celle observée à Montréal, mais
cette fois ce sont les églises converties
49

Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
tableaU 1. NoUveaUx UsaGes des éGlises coNveRties, MoNtRéal
catégorie d’usage Quantité %
À vendre 12 7,1
Autres traditions religieuses 101 59,4
Bibliothèque 3 1,8
Bureaux municipaux 1 0,6
Commercial 6 3,5
Communautaire 15 8,8
Culturel 4 2,3
Inconnu 2 1,2
Institutionnel 2 1,2
Multifonctionnel 4 2,3
Plateau sportif
Résidentiel
1 0,6
• condos 8
• logements multiples 2
17 10,0
• logements personnes âgées 2
• individuel 5
Sans fonction 1 0,6
Soins palliatifs (projet) 1 0,6
tableaU 2. NoUveaUx UsaGes des éGlises coNveRties,
aUtRes RéGioNs dU QUébec
catégorie d’usage Quantité %
À vendre 50 10,5
Autres traditions religieuses 60 12,6
Bibliothèque 8 1,7
Bureaux municipaux 3 0,6
Commercial 29 6,1
Communautaire 63 13,2
Culturel 66 13,8
Inconnu 32 6,7
Institutionnel 9 1,9
Multifonctionnel 36 7,5
Plateau sportif
Résidentiel
9 1,9
• condos 9
• logements multiples 10
86 18,1
• logements personnes âgées 8
• individuel 59
Sans fonction 25 5,2
Soins palliatifs (projet) 1 0,2
en résidences individuelles qui dominent
; elles représentent près de 11 %
des conversions recensées. Pour sa part,
l’usage communautaire a investi plus
de 13 % des églises converties dans les
autres régions du Québec, alors que 6 %
d’entre elles l’ont été à des fins commerciales
(tableau 2). Encore une fois, les
proportions d’usages recensés dans les
autres régions du Québec dévoilent certaines
particularités inhérentes à l’île de
Montréal : plus de transferts à d’autres
traditions (60% à Montréal et 12% pour
le reste du Québec), moins d’usages résidentiels
(10% à Montréal et 18 % pour le
reste du Québec) et moins d’usages communautaires
(9% à Montréal et 13% pour
le reste du Québec).
L’analyse de l’affectation d’églises à
de nouveaux usages, mais cette fois au
départ de la tradition religieuse d’origine,
a permis d’établir quelques comparaisons
qui aident à dégager quelques pratiques
communes et à en singulariser certaines.
En effet, à Montréal, 28 % des églises
catholiques et 30 % des églises d’autres
confessions ont été démolies depuis le
début du XXe siècle. De même, les catholiques
ont vendu leurs biens immobiliers
à d’autres traditions religieuses dans une
proportion de 37 %, tandis que cette part
s’élève à 45 % chez les autres confessions
de Montréal. On dénote cependant qu’un
plus grand contingent d’églises ayant
appartenu aux anglicans et aux traditions
protestantes, soit 11 %, a été converti en
usage résidentiel, dont 3 % en résidence
individuelle. Cette proportion chute nettement
chez les catholiques, avec une
part totalisant 3 % ; elle est cependant
formée d’églises converties en immeubles
de copropriétés divises et en résidences à
logements multiples (ill. 20-21).
Montréal a donc connu peu de cas de
conversion d’église en habitation, mais il
50 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

y a eu de grandes églises qui ont été ainsi
transformées. Dès lors, on peut présumer
que les « églises-condos » de Montréal
auraient exercé une certaine influence en
région, ce dont témoignent des projets
plus récents au Saguenay–Lac-Saint-Jean,
à Val-d’Or, à Lévis et à Longueuil. Mais,
tant à Montréal qu’en région, les exemples
connus de conversion en condominium
n’ont pas connu le succès espéré25 ;
les promoteurs ont rencontré maintes
embûches, annulant les profits, et les
acheteurs n’ont pas obtenu la qualité
annoncée. Tous ceux qui s’y sont frottés
une fois se promettent bien de ne pas
recommencer. Et les questions restées en
suspens sont nombreuses ; comment par
exemple un syndicat de copropriétaires
pourra-t-il, à long terme, maintenir en
bon état une toiture revêtue de cuivre ?
Refaire des murs de pierre artificielle érodée
? Ou encore, comment et pourquoi
conserver un clocher d’église lorsque
l’église n’est plus ?
La conversion à des fins communautaires
semble une option envisagée plus fréquemment
par les autorités catholiques.
En effet, 9 % des églises catholiques
cédées affichent désormais un usage
communautaire, comparativement à 5 %
chez les autres traditions. Finalement,
11 % des églises catholiques montréalaises
incluses à l’inventaire 2010 de la CRC en
patrimoine urbain sont présentement à
vendre, tandis que cette proportion chute
à 1 % chez les anglicans, les protestants
et les autres traditions religieuses. Sur
ce point, nos données sont cependant
fragmentaires, aucune Église ne révélant
spontanément sa stratégie de délaissement
de ses actifs.
À cet égard, les 19 diocèses catholiques
romains du Québec n’adoptent pas tous
la même stratégie lorsqu’il est question
de se départir de leurs biens immobiliers.
Dans le cas de Montréal, quatre
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
ill. 20. nOuveAux usAges – églises cAthOliques.
ill. 21. nOuveAux usAges – Autres trAditiOns d’Origine.
catégories d’acheteurs sont ainsi privilégiées
avant que l’église ne soit tout
simplement mise en vente sur le marché,
ce qui survient généralement en dernier
recours. Premièrement, on favorisera la
vente d’une église à une congrégation
catholique, la plupart du temps issue
de l’immigration ; en deuxième lieu, la
Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
faveur ira à des groupes religieux chrétiens
; suivront les OBNL et les groupes
communautaires ayant préalablement
proposé un projet viable seront avantagés
par rapport aux projets d’habitation
à caractère social et communautaire pouvant
être réalisés sur le site de l’église ou
aménagés dans l’église.
51

Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
tableaU 3. tRaNsactioNs avec HypotHèQUe coNseNtie paR le veNdeUR
catholique anglicane
presbytérienne
et Unie
autre total
Ventes avec hypothèque 22 6 12 15 55
Ventes totales par tradition 64 18 48 40 170
Ventes avec hypothèque par tradition (%) 34,4 33,3 25,0 37,5 32,4
Ventes totales (%) 12,9 3,5 7,1 8,8 32,4
Prix moyen des ventes avec hypothèque ($) 441 227 $ 418 588 $ 428 607 $ 449 959 $ 432 569 $
Valeur moyenne de l’hypothèque ($) 211 106 $ 205 827 $ 208 169 $ 202 207 $ 203 938 $
% de l’hypothèque octroyée 47,8 49,2 48,6 44,9 47,1
ill. 22. cAtégOrie d’Acheteurs des ventes Avec hyPOthèque.
ill. 23. intervAlle de Prix des ventes Avec hyPOthèque.
hYpothèQUe consentie
par le vendeUr
À Montréal, lors de la vente d’église,
une transaction sur trois a été complétée
grâce à un prêt concédé par la paroisse, le
diocèse ou la congrégation propriétaire.
L’examen des transactions immobilières
révèle que 55 acheteurs (sur 170) ont
contracté une telle créance hypothécaire
auprès du vendeur. Par comparaison, il
n’y a que 34 créances hypothécaires de
ce type dans le reste du Québec ; elles ne
concernent que 7 % des ventes d’églises
converties. À cet égard, l’île de Montréal
se distingue sans conteste des 16 autres
régions administratives du Québec. À première
vue on peut en déduire qu’il est
moins aisé de financer l’achat d’une église
à Montréal qu’ailleurs au Québec.
Sur l’île de Montréal, les prix moyens
de ces ventes sous créance hypothécaire
s’avèrent comparables pour la plupart
des traditions et atteignent un peu plus
de 432 500 $. La valeur moyenne de
l’hypothèque consentie s’élève à près
de 204 000 $, c’est-à-dire qu’elle représente,
en moyenne, 47 % du prix de vente.
Malgré que les catholiques aient vendu
un nombre plus élevé d’églises depuis le
début du XXe siècle à Montréal, les prix
52 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

de vente pratiqués et les hypothèques
consenties sont sensiblement analogues
à ceux accordés par les autres traditions
religieuses en pareil cas (tableau 3).
Plusieurs de ces ventes ont été réalisées
au cours des décennies 1970 et 1980,
mais déjà, dans les années 1960, on peut
recenser quelques transactions de cette
nature. Cependant, cette pratique semble
en progression depuis le début du XXI e
siècle. On dénombre ainsi 12 transactions
immobilières comportant une hypothèque
consentie par le vendeur entre les
années 2000 et 2004, et 13 depuis les
5 dernières années.
Les prix moyens des ventes affectées
par une telle créance fluctuent entre
250 000 $ et 500 000 $, soit le prix
médian pratiqué. Cela nous permet de
dire que cet avantage consenti par le
vendeur n’a pas réellement d’impact sur
le prix de vente.
Fait intéressant à noter, la grande majorité
de ces hypothèques ont été accordées
à des acheteurs de diverses traditions religieuses,
dans une proportion de 71 % 26 .
Les OBNL et les acheteurs du secteur privé
ont bénéficié de ces prêts dans une proportion
de 15 % et de 14 % respectivement
(ill. 22-23). Dans un cas précis observé à
Montréal, l’acheteur a même obtenu un
prêt hypothécaire de 40 000 $ du vendeur,
malgré un prix de vente nominal de
1 $. Cette singularité ne constitue pas la
norme, mais elle illustre la difficulté d’obtenir
des fonds de sources traditionnelles ;
les banques et les institutions financières
refusent en effet systématiquement d’appuyer
de telles transactions, jugeant nulle
la valeur marchande d’un site occupé par
une église.
Il est cependant utile d’observer que,
lorsque le vendeur consent une créance
hypothécaire à l’acheteur, pour faciliter
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
la transaction il conserve un droit de
propriété sur l’église. En ce sens, il est
fort probable qu’à défaut de paiement
le vendeur doive, pour recouvrer son dû,
reprendre l’église. Il se retrouve alors
devant un dilemme : reprendre un immeuble
en mauvais état – en tout cas en moins
bon état que lorsqu’il a été vendu –, donc
encore plus difficile à vendre, ou abandonner
sa créance. D’où l’importance de
trouver un bon acheteur…
des transactions diFFiciles
Comme on peut s’en douter, la vente
d’une église est une transaction qui peut
s’avérer difficile. L’analyse des transactions
enregistrées au Registre foncier du
Québec donne des informations précieuses
à cet égard. Les exemples que nous
avons retenus pour cet article permettent
de voir combien la question du patrimoine
devient (très) secondaire dès que
des intérêts privés reprennent des lieux
jusque-là dédiés au « communautaire ».
Le premier des deux exemples dont nous
traiterons ici est celui de l’ancienne l’église
Sainte-Élisabeth-du-Portugal, située dans
Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
ill. 24. Ancienne église sAinte-élizAbeth-du-POrtugAl, quArtier sAint-henri. cOnstruite en 1958
d’APrès les PlAns de gilbert mOreAu, Architecte, et démOlie en 2008. | guillAume sAint-JeAn, 2010.
le quartier Saint-Henri. En 2003, la fabrique
cède le bâtiment au Fonds d’entraide
de l’archevêque pour les paroisses de l’archidiocèse
de Montréal après la fusion
de la paroisse et de celle de Saint-Irénée,
survenue en 2001. Un an plus tard, un
hebdomadaire local annonce un projet
immobilier sur le site de l’église. Ce projet
sera mené par Solim, bras immobilier
du Fonds de solidarité des travailleurs du
Québec (FTQ), qui prévoit construire sur
le site 1000 logements abordables. Selon
le Registre foncier du Québec, l’église
est finalement vendue en 2005 pour la
somme de 775 000 $ à une société dont le
principal commanditaire est lié au Fonds
de solidarité des travailleurs du Québec.
Par la suite, un avis du Conseil du patrimoine
de la Ville de Montréal, émis en
2006, recommande de ne pas autoriser
la démolition de l’église, mais d’encourager
plutôt sa réutilisation à des fins communautaires.
Mais, en 2007, un incendie
endommage le toit de l’église (ill. 24).
Un an plus tard (en 2008), La Voix
populaire souligne l’inquiétude et la
consternation du voisinage à la suite
de l’effondrement partiel de l’église,
53

Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
ill. 25. « lA tAnnerie – cOndOs véritAbles » OccuPe désOrmAis le site de l’Ancienne église sAinteélizAbeth-du-POrtugAl.
| guillAume sAint-JeAn, 2011.
en cours de démolition. Finalement,
en 2010, une société anonyme, dont
l’ac tionnaire majoritaire n’est nul
autre que Louisbourg Construction,
propriété de l’homme d’affaires bien
connu Anthony Accurso, acquiert le
site au coût de 2 100 000 $ 27 . Le site de
l’ancienne église accueille désormais
« La Tannerie – condos véritables », un
immeuble de 143 unités d’habitation
réparties sur 8 étages 28 (ill. 25). Comme
quoi tout devient possible lorsque le
site est libéré de la présence de l’église ;
plusieurs prennent le temps nécessaire
pour y arriver puisque le profit est au
rendez-vous.
ill. 26. église sAint-vincent-de-PAul / centre PArOle de vie dAns le
quArtier centre-sud. cOnstruite en 1925 d’APrès les PlAns
de ludger lemieux, Architecte. | guillAume sAint-JeAn, 2010.
ill. 27. centre PArOle de vie, « Presbytère » de beAcOnsfield [sic !]. | lyne bernier, 2011. ill. 28. Presbytère de l’Ancienne église sAint-vincent-de-PAul / centre PArOle de
vie, rue sAinte-cAtherine est. | guillAume st-JeAn, 2011.
Le second exemple retenu concerne la
vente, en 2006, de l’église Saint-Vincentde-Paul
– bien connue grâce à la série
télévisée Les Bougon – au Centre Parole
de Vie (World Life Centre), pour la
somme de 800 000 $ (ill. 26). L’acquéreur
verse alors 300 000 $ en acompte, le
solde étant payable en 2007 et en 2009
54 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

à la paroisse Saint-Eusèbe-de-Verceil,
propriétaire de l’église 29 . En 2008, une
hypothèque de second rang 30 grève
l’église pour laquelle un immeuble situé
à Beaconsfield 31 – désigné « presbytère »
au rôle d’évaluation émis par la Ville de
Montréal, bénéficiant ainsi d’une exemption
partielle de taxe foncière – a été
déposé en garantie (ill. 27). Puis, en 2009,
un préavis d’exercice pour prise de paiement
est enregistré au Registre foncier, à
la demande de la paroisse Saint-Eusèbede-Verceil,
pour la somme correspondant
au solde impayé de l’église32 . Finalement,
en 2010, le Centre Parole de Vie met en
vente le presbytère de la rue Sainte-
Catherine (ill. 28) pour la somme de
900 000 $, mais aucun acquéreur ne
s’est manifesté jusqu’ici. Il semblerait
que les locaux de ce presbytère soient
loués ; cette information n’est toutefois
pas confirmée, car le lot correspondant
à l’église et au presbytère n’a pas encore
fait l’objet d’une subdivision cadastrale
par la Ville de Montréal33 .
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
Il faut comprendre de tout cela que les
propriétaires actuels de l’église Saint-
Vincent-de-Paul peinent à rencontrer
leurs obligations. Dans un tel contexte,
l’état de conservation de l’église et la
question du patrimoine ne sont plus à
l’ordre du jour. Une solution se dessine :
diviser le lot pour vendre le presbytère
et ne plus entretenir l’église. Le terrain
de l’église pourra être valorisé lorsque
celle-ci sera démolie et c’est la Ville qui
aura la tâche désagréable d’informer le
propriétaire du sort qui attend ce bâtiment
devenu dangereux. Le propriétaire
peut conserver le bien hors du champ
de la taxe foncière d’ici là et revêtir ses
habits de promoteur immobilier au lendemain
de la démolition.
Ces exemples démontrent bien la complexité
des transactions liées à certaines
ventes d’églises. Bien entendu, les transferts
de propriété ne sont pas tous de
cette nature, mais beaucoup traduisent
la vulnérabilité du vendeur lorsqu’il y
Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
ill. 29-30. Ancienne église sAinte-cunégOnde / église sAints-mArtyrs-cOréens, située dAns l’ArrOndissement du sud-Ouest. érigée en 1905 d’APrès les PlAns de J. Omer
mArchAnd, Architecte. | cPrq, 2003.
a cession de bien à de nouvelles traditions
religieuses, ainsi que la fragilité
des recommandations favorisant la
sauvegarde du patrimoine. Si la vente
d’une église à une nouvelle ou une autre
tradition religieuse permet en principe
de perpétuer la vocation cultuelle initiale
du bâtiment, rien ne garantit la
pérennité patrimoniale des églises en
cause. C’est que, ne l’oublions pas, ce ne
sont pas toutes les Églises ou les sectes
religieuses qui valorisent le patrimoine
ecclésial du Canada français.
QUelQUes exemples
de conversion à montréal
Comme nous l’avons souligné, l’étude
des cas de conversion d’églises sur le
territoire québécois met en lumière la
complexité des transactions qui entourent
ces ventes et l’on comprend dès
lors que la reprise de ce patrimoine
religieux ne se fera pas en un jour,
tant s’en faut. À cet égard, Montréal
55

Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
ill. 31. Ancienne église sAint-frAnçOis-sOlAnO / église Adventiste
beer-shebA dAns le quArtier rOsemOnt. cOnstruite en
1924-1925 d’APrès les PlAns de J.A. kArch. | guillAume st-JeAn, 2011.
présente un visage assez différent de
celui offert par la plupart des régions
québécoises, comme nous avons tenté
de le démontrer à l’aide de données statistiques.
L’abondante quantité d’églises
recensées dans la métropole laisse
présager que, tôt ou tard, la collectivité
devra s’interroger sur la survie de ces
bâtiments ou, mieux, sur leur destination
future.
d’une église à l’autre
Comme nous l’avons vu, la quasi-majorité
des églises montréalaises excédentaires
ont, jusqu’ici, été acquises par une tradition
religieuse autre que celle d’origine,
comme si cela allait de soi. De même,
plusieurs églises prolongent leur vocation
cultuelle, non pas pour leur clientèle traditionnelle
« de souche », mais bien pour
des groupes de fidèles de même confession
issus de l’immigration. Deux cas ont
retenu notre attention.
ill. 32. Ancienne église rOsemOunt centrAl, beer-shebA Adventist, dAns le quArtier rOsemOnt.
dePuis 2007, immeuble de 3 unités d’hAbitAtiOn en cOPrOPriété. cOnstruite d’APrès
les PlAns de A.d. thAcker en 1924. | guillAume st-JeAn, 2010.
Dans le premier cas, il s’agit de l’ancienne
église catholique Sainte-Cunégonde,
située dans l’arrondissement du Sud-
Ouest. Après avoir été épargnée de la
démolition, l’église ferme en 1971 et la
paroisse se joint à celle de Saint-Irénée
en 2001. L’église est ensuite cédée au
Fonds d’entraide de l’archevêque pour
les paroisses de l’archidiocèse de Montréal
pour la somme symbolique de 1 $ 34 .
L’église – cotée « exceptionnelle » par le
CPRQ – a joui de subventions octroyées
dans le cadre du Programme de soutien
à la restauration du patrimoine religieux35 et elle héberge, depuis 2002, une communauté
catholique coréenne 36 . Érigée
en 1905 selon les plans de l’architecte
Jean-Omer Marchand, cette église patrimoniale
porte dorénavant le vocable de
« Saints-Martyrs-Coréens » (ill. 29-30).
Dans le cas de Sainte-Cunégonde, le titre
de propriété est demeuré au diocèse de
Montréal. Restaurée à grands frais, le
monument jouit en quelque sorte d’une
situation privilégiée, les fidèles coréens
qui le fréquentent étant en quelque sorte
subventionnés par l’Église de Montréal,
consciente de la haute valeur patrimoniale
du lieu. Combien de temps le diocèse
pourra-t-il supporter cette situation ?
Le deuxième exemple est celui de l’ancienne
église catholique Saint-François-
Solano, située sur la rue Dandurand dans
l’arrondissement Rosemont–La Petite-
Patrie, vendue à l’église Adventiste du
7e jour Beer-Sheba en 2007 pour la somme
de 502 000 $, bien en deçà de l’évaluation
municipale qui s’élevait alors à
2 490 400 $ 37 . Classée « D » (moyenne) 38 à
l’évaluation patrimoniale du CPRQ, cette
église a été conçue selon les plans de l’architecte
J.A. Karch en 1924 (ill. 31). Érigée
à peu de frais en pierre artificielle – des
blocs de béton moulés –, l’église a très
tôt connu des problèmes d’infiltration
d’eau et de dégradation de la pierre. Dès
56 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

ill. 33. Ancienne église sAint JOhn the divine, fAith christiAn center / cOndOs esPAces divins
de verdun. cOnstruite en 1937-1939 d’APrès les PlAns des Architectes rOss
et mAcdOnAld. | guillAume sAint-JeAn, 2010.
les années 1980, le diocèse de Montréal
n’avait pas autorisé la paroisse à investir
massivement pour sauver le bâtiment.
La congrégation qui l’a acquis s’est donc
retrouvée devant un chantier majeur et
a dû contracter des emprunts importants
pour garantir la mise hors d’eau de son
nouveau lieu de culte.
Ces deux cas, Sainte-Cunégonde et Saint-
François-Solano, sont exemplaires ; ils
illustrent que la prise en charge par un
nouveau groupe religieux issu de l’immigration
peut donner lieu à une réelle
valorisation et pérennisation du patrimoine
religieux.
Mais, dans l’ensemble, l’analyse de la
reprise des églises par divers groupes religieux
n’a pas toujours un effet positif sur
la sauvegarde de ce patrimoine. Pour plusieurs
groupes, l’achat d’un lieu de culte
désaffecté semble plutôt constituer un
levier immobilier. Déjà, la congrégation
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
Adventiste du 7e jour Beer-Sheba, propriétaire
de l’église Saint-François-
Solano, avait acquis en 1973 l’ancienne
église Rosemount Central, située sur la
4e Avenue dans le quartier Rosemont,
pour 37 000 $. C’est probablement la
vente en 2005 de cette église, au prix de
315 000 $, qui a permis à la congrégation
de déménager son lieu de culte sur la rue
Dandurand.
la conversion en immeubles
d’appartements
Comme nous l’avons déjà souligné, peu
d’églises ont été converties en copropriétés
à Montréal. Cependant, pour
comprendre les enjeux, deux cas récents
méritent notre attention. Le premier
concerne précisément l’ancienne église
Rosemount Central dont il a été question
plus haut. Conçue en 1924 selon les plans
de l’architecte A.D. Thacker, l’église est
cédée une première fois à une nouvelle
Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
ill. 34. first PresbyteriAn church située sur le PlAteAu mOnt-rOyAl
et érigée en 1910. trAnsfOrmée en immeuble de 24 unités
d’hAbitAtiOn « cOndOs les JArdins de l’église » d’APrès les
PlAns de l’Architecte uwe Peetz en 1985. | guillAume sAint-JeAn, 2010.
congrégation issue de la fusion de diverses
congrégations protestantes au sein de
l’Église unie du Canada. La Trinity United
Church demeure propriétaire de l’église
jusqu’en 1973, alors qu’elle est vendue à
l’église Adventiste du 7e jour Beer-Sheba.
En 2005, cette dernière revend l’immeuble
à un promoteur, Gestion Immobilière
LLQ, pour la somme de 315 000 $. Depuis,
l’église a été transformée en trois unités
d’habitation, mais une seule semble
avoir trouvé preneur depuis la transformation
de l’immeuble ; depuis 2007,
deux unités demeurent invendues ; l’une
affiche aujourd’hui un prix de vente de
650 000 $ 39 (ill. 32).
Le second cas est celui de l’ancienne
église Saint John the Divine, rue Moffat
à Verdun, érigée en 1937-1939 d’après les
plans des architectes Ross et MacDonald.
En 1997, la congrégation anglicane
vend l’église au Faith Christian Center,
au prix de 250 000 $ 40 . Ce nouveau
57

Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
ill. 35. Ancienne église sAint-JeAn-de-lA-crOix Au cœur de lA « Petite itAlie,
dAns le quArtier rOsemOnt. cOnstruite en 1926 d’APrès les PlAns de zOtique
trudel. trAnsfOrmée en 58 unités d’hAbitAtiOn dePuis 2004. beïque, legAult
et thuOt, Architectes. | luc nOPPen, 2005.
propriétaire revend l’immeuble à Howard
Rossdeutscher en 2006, pour 425 000 $.
Depuis, l’église a été convertie en 17 unités
d’habitation en copropriétés divises.
Ces transformations majeures relèvent
parfois de l’exploit, tant au point de vue
architectural que financier. En effet, les
risques encourus sont élevés par rapport
aux avantages qui semblent assez faibles
pour les entrepreneurs 41 . Ici, plusieurs
reventes rapides indiquent sans doute
que « vivre en église » ne comble pas
toujours les attentes et peut dénoter une
certaine insatisfaction 42 de la part d’acheteurs
désenchantés (ill. 33).
Nous ne pouvons passer sous silence les
deux conversions en copropriété qui ont
suscité le plus d’émoi dans l’opinion publique
montréalaise.
L’exemple précurseur au Québec a été la
transformation de la First Presbyterian
Church, située à l’angle des rues Jeanne-
Mance et Prince -Ar thur, en 1984.
Construite en 1910, l’église est vendue
à Les Développements Crédo, au prix
de 150 000 $, pour être transformée
en 24 unités d’habitation, d’après les
plans de l’architecte Uwe Peetz (ill. 34).
Cette conversion a été très critiquée
puisqu’elle ne faisait que peu de cas de
l’église – deux façades ont été conservées
et enveloppent un immeuble d’appartements
avec terrasses en paliers.
L’organisme Sauvons Montréal lui a
accordé son prix citron en 1985 et il a
fallu des années avant que les logements
du projet diffamé acquièrent une réelle
plus-value sur le marché immobilier.
Mais le cas qui a fait image est celui de
l’église Saint-Jean-de-la-Croix. Située au
cœur de la Petite Italie dans l’arrondissement
de Rosemont, elle a été vendue
en 200143 au coût de 600 000 $ 44 à Alex
et Rafaëlle Construction. Construite en
1926 d’après les plans de l’architecte
Zotique Trudel, l’église a fait l’objet
d’une transformation majeure en 2003,
alors qu’elle fut presque entièrement
reconstruite pour abriter 58 unités d’habitation
sur 7 étages, d’après les plans de
la firme Beïque, Legault, Thuot, architectes
(ill. 35). Ce cas est sûrement celui qui
a suscité le plus grand tollé à Montréal.
Plusieurs ont décrié l’essence même de
ce projet, dénué de toute logique architecturale
qui prétendrait à un effet d’ensemble,
et participant sans doute à une
ill. 38. Ancienne église sAint-dAmAse / centre cOmmunAutAire « lA Perle
retrOuvée » du quArtier sAint-michel. cOnstruite en 1955 d’APrès
les PlAns de rOlAnd dumAis, Architecte. | guillAume st-JeAn, 2010.
dérive qui pourrait conduire à la banalisation
de l’architecture religieuse 45 . Quoi
qu’il en soit, les architectes, les promoteurs
et une majorité d’acheteurs avouent
aujourd’hui qu’on ne les y reprendrait pas
à convertir une église en logements ou à
acquérir une propriété dans un tel projet.
Dans l’opinion publique, une telle conversion
d’église apparaît comme la forme
extrême de la privatisation d’un bien
qui, dans l’imaginaire collectif, demeure
de propriété collective.
des conversions bien accueillies
À l’opposé, lorsqu’une église est convertie
à des fins communautaires, la réception
du projet dans le public est plutôt favorable.
Très souvent d’ailleurs, le projet naît
dans la paroisse ou de l’initiative locale et
tant les porteurs du projet que les acteurs
du patrimoine sont prêts à des compromis
– à négocier l’intensité patrimoniale des
lieux, par exemple – pour accommoder le
nouvel usage.
L’église Saint-Eugène, située rue Beaubien
dans l’arrondissement Rosemont–
La Petite-Patrie, est un bel exemple d’une
telle conversion ; elle a été érigée en 1954
58 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

d’après les plans de l’architecte Bernard
Dépatie, puis convertie en 2006 pour
accueillir sur son site un usage résidentiel
de type communautaire. Elle avait été
acquise à cette fin en 2005 par l’Office
municipal d’habitation de Montréal pour
la somme de 926 300 $, cinq ans après sa
fermeture. Le site de l’ancienne église a
été densifié par l’ajout de trois corps de
logis qui ceinturent l’église, ainsi placée
dans une cour d’honneur. L’ensemble
comprend 152 unités d’habitation destinées
à une clientèle de personnes âgées
autonomes et en légère perte d’autonomie
(ill. 36-37). Le projet de 14 millions $,
exprimant la volonté de conserver la
mémoire collective du quartier, a été
réalisé d’après les plans de l’agence ABCP
architecture + urbanisme. Cette disposition
assure le dialogue entre les nouveaux
bâtiments et l’église – réaménagée en de
nouvelles fonctions communautaires et
de rassemblement – et permet de conserver
sa vocation première, c’est-à-dire celle
d’unir la communauté 46 .
Également destinée à un usage communautaire,
l’ancienne église Saint-Damase,
située dans le quartier Saint-Michel, érigée
en 1955 d’après les plans de Roland
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
Dumais, a été acquise par l’association
culturelle et communautaire haïtienne
« La Perle retrouvée » en février 2003 47
(ill. 38) pour la somme de 700 000 $, dont
500 000 $ consentis en hypothèque par le
Fonds d’entraide de l’archevêque pour les
paroisses de l’archidiocèse de Montréal48 .
L’association, très sollicitée par les malheurs
qui affectent Haïti, a de la difficulté
à se maintenir à flot ; la créance hypothécaire
n’a toujours pas été radiée.
L’histoire à succès d’une reconversion
d’église à des fins communautaires est
sans contredit le célèbre Chic Resto Pop
installé dans l’ancienne église Saint-
Barnabé-Apôtre, située rue Adam dans
le quartier Hochelaga-Maisonneuve.
Érigée en 1958, elle a été vendue pour la
somme de 300 000 $ en 2002 et convertie
d’après les plans de l’architecte Ron
Rayside, figure de proue de la conversion
d’églises et de couvents à des fins communautaires
à Montréal. Une salle à manger
de 300 places est maintenant aménagée
dans la nef de l’ancienne église – par
ailleurs peu modifiée –, tandis qu’une
cuisine commerciale a été installée au
sous-sol afin de pourvoir aux besoins de
cet OBNL qui, depuis plus de 25 ans, offre
Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
ill. 36-37. Ancienne église sAint-eugène (d’APrès les PlAns de bernArd déPAtie, 1954) / hAbitAtiOn cOmmunAutAire du quArtier rOsemOnt dePuis 2006,
d’APrès les PlAns de AbcP Architecture + urbAnisme. | guillAume st-JeAn, 2010, 2011.
des repas à prix modique. En février 2011,
un restaurant traditionnel a été inauguré
dans le jubé, grâce à l’insertion d’un
ascenseur dans la tour du clocher (ill. 39).
Le projet de conversion ayant vu à l’essentiel,
le Chic Resto Pop manque cruellement
de ressources pour mener à bien
des travaux qui n’ont pas pu être menés
au départ. Ainsi, le fenêtrage original
de l’église, dont la performance thermique
est très faible, pèse lourdement sur
les coûts de chauffage. Si le succès de la
conversion des églises est souvent évalué
selon la qualité du projet initial, un suivi
des bâtiments repris montre que l’adaptation
à une nouvelle fonction ne règle pas
tous les problèmes, pour toujours.
des lieux de culture
Lorsqu’une église est désaffectée, le
premier reflexe consiste à y imaginer un
usage culturel : musée, bibliothèque,
salle de concert, etc., réflexe normal
mais qui ne tient pas compte du coût de
telles conversions et, surtout, du coût
récurrent de fonctionnement de telles
institutions. Montréal recèle quelques
beaux – mais trop rares – exemples de
59

Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
ill. 39. Ancienne église sAint-mAthiAs APôtre / le chic restO POP. cOnstruite
en 1958 d’APrès les PlAns des Architectes rOux et mOrin, cette église
de hOchelAgA-mAisOnneuve A été cOnvertie en 2003 PAr rOn rAyside,
Architecte. | chAntAl lefebvre, 2005.
conversion d’église à des fins culturelles.
Celui qui a ouvert la marche est le Musée
des maîtres et artisans du Québec, logé
depuis 1979 dans l’ancienne église
Saint Andrew and Saint Paul. Le monument,
situé à l’origine boulevard René-
Lévesque (autrefois Dorchester) dans le
centre-ville de Montréal, a été sauvé de
la démolition en 1931 alors qu’il a été
déménagé, pierre par pierre – après son
acquisition par les clercs de Sainte-Croix
pour la somme symbolique de 1 $ –,
pour servir de chapelle au collège Saint-
Laurent (ill. 40).
À l’autre bout du spectre temporel,
l’ancienne église Erskine and American,
désignée « lieu historique national », a
été acquise par le Musée des beaux-arts
de Montréal pour la somme de 4,7 millions
$ 49 en 2008. Située au cœur du
Golden Square Mile, cette église de style
richardsonien, construite en 1893-1894,
est l’œuvre de l’architecte Alexander
Cowper Hutchison et recèle d’uniques
vitraux de l’étasunien Louis Comfort
Tiffany. L’église, agrandie par un nouveau
pavillon à l’arrière, deviendra sous
peu un site d’exposition consacré à
l’art canadien ; la nef proprement dite,
conservée en l’état, sera utilisée comme
salle de concert 50 (ill. 41-42).
Entre ces deux cas, il y a plusieurs exemples
réussis, dont la conversion de l’ancienne
église The Ascension en bibliothèque du
quartier du Mile End, en 1990, ou encore
la conversion de l’ancienne église Saint-
Robert-Bellarmin en studio de danse, projet
mené d’après les plans de l’architecte
Pierre Thibault en 1994.
l’église au service des corps sains
Compte tenu du caractère sacré des églises,
surtout chez les catholiques et les
anglicans, il était difficile d’imaginer, il
y a à peine quelques années encore, que
ces bâtiments accueilleraient des activités
sportives et récréatives mixtes, où les
utilisateurs seraient légèrement vêtus,
transpireraient puis iraient aux douches
ensemble. Pourtant, ce tabou est tombé
et, à travers le Québec, de plus en plus
d’églises sont converties en plateaux
sportifs (terrains de basketball, planchodrome,
murs d’escalade, halls de gymnastique,
clubs de mise en forme). Déjà bien
ill. 40. Ancienne sAint Andrew And sAint PAul / musée des mAîtres et ArtisAns
du québec dePuis 1979. | luc nOPPen, 2005.
dotée d’installations de ce type, Montréal
a néanmoins emboîté le pas.
L’ancienne église Saint-Bernard, située
rue Notre-Dame dans l’arrondissement
Mercier–Hochelaga-Maisonneuve, a été
le premier exemple de conversion d’une
église en centre sportif (ill. 43). Cette
église, construite en 1964 d’après les plans
des architectes Paul G. Goyer et Claude
Gagnier, et son presbytère ont été vendus
en 2004 au collège Mont-Royal, institution
d’enseignement privé, au prix de
720 000 51 $. Le tiers de la nef loge trois
terrains de basketball, d’après les plans
des architectes Cardin Ramirez ; une
chapelle de 150 places occupe le chœur
de l’ancienne église afin de desservir la
communauté chrétienne de Saint-Bernard
jusqu’en 2014, après quoi le collège
reprendra tout l’espace.
L’exemple le plus récent est celui de
l’ancienne église West Island Baptist
Church de la rue Brookhaven, à Dorval.
Construite en 1957, elle a été cédée en
2003 au Centre jeunesse sportif et artistique
Terra Nova pour la somme symbolique
de 1 $. Convertie à peu de frais
60 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

un an plus tard, elle accueille depuis un
centre sportif et artistique dédié à la
jeunesse 52 (ill. 44).
conclUsion
La désaffection des lieux de culte est
un mouvement qui prend de l’ampleur.
Avant « l’invention du patrimoine » dans
les années 1970, on a allègrement démoli
les bâtiments excédentaires et ceux qui
faisaient obstruction aux projets de
renouveau urbain. Depuis, le « recyclage
architectural » des bâtiments anciens s’est
imposé comme solution pour maintenir
leur présence urbaine tout en assurant la
valorisation économique de leur site. La
figure ecclésiale bien affirmée des lieux
de culte, les espaces symboliques qu’ils
recèlent et, surtout, le poids culturel de
ces monuments ne permettent pas de
simplement les recycler, c’est-à-dire d’en
retraiter l’enveloppe et la matière dans
un deuxième cycle de vie. Une « conversion
» plus respectueuse des qualités
urbaines, formelles et symboliques s’impose
si l’on œuvre dans le but d’assurer
une pérennité patrimoniale au bâtiment
et à son site.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
En tant qu’institutions, les Églises ont
jusqu’ici veillé à leur patrimoine. Dès lors
qu’elles n’en ont plus les moyens, ni l’intention,
les églises abandonnées doivent
trouver un autre propriétaire ; celui-ci doit
imaginer un nouvel usage qui puisse, économiquement
ou symboliquement – avec
l’appui de fonds publics dans le deuxième
cas –, valoriser les lieux.
La recette semble simple. Pourtant, on l’a
vu à l’analyse des chiffres et des exemples
produits dans cet article, la conversion
des églises, surtout à Montréal, ne se
fait pas sans heurts et l’objectif sociétal
– la pérennisation de ce patrimoine dans
le paysage culturel de la métropole – est
loin d’être atteint.
Montréal préfère de loin que la reprise
des lieux de culte se fasse sans changement
d’usage, mais entre les mains de
nouveaux propriétaires. La solution qui
consiste à transférer la charge de ce
patrimoine à d’autres traditions religieuses
peut convenir aux Églises en cause,
mais évacue malheureusement souvent
la question du patrimoine et donc celle
de l’intérêt public. Il semble en effet que
Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
ill. 41-42. Ancienne église erskine And AmericAn / musée des beAux-Arts de mOntréAl. elle deviendrA bientôt le PAvillOn des Arts cAnAdiens et une sAlle de cOncert
serA AménAgée dAns lA nef. cette église du centre-ville A été cOnstruite entre les Années 1893 et 1894 d’APrès les PlAns de l’Architecte AlexAnder cOwPer
hutchisOn. | guillAume st-JeAn, 2009 et 2010.
la plupart des églises ainsi transférées
seront abandonnées une autre fois, une
troisième fois et ainsi de suite, jusqu’à ce
que mort s’ensuive. Très naturellement,
la pression immobilière atteindra alors le
site qui sera développé in abstentio de
l’église. Observons aussi que la presque
totalité des églises cédées à de nouvelles
traditions ont été mal classées par
le CPRQ 53 et ne sont donc pas admissibles
au Programme de restauration du
patrimoine religieux. Tout se passe alors
comme si les propriétaires d’églises – les
traditions chrétiennes historiques –,
réunis au sein du CPRQ, avaient décidé
qu’ils se réservaient cette enveloppe en
donnant une cote meilleure aux lieux de
culte qu’ils souhaitaient conserver.
Mais attention, cela ne veut pas dire
que sur l’île de Montréal le nombre des
lieux de culte ira décroissant. Les nouvelles
traditions religieuses reprennent des
églises désaffectées, bien sûr, mais elles
projettent surtout de bâtir de nouveaux
lieux qui, sur le plan identitaire, leur ressemblent.
L’apparent désintérêt du patrimoine
des églises chrétiennes historiques
va de pair avec un réel attachement à
61

Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
ill. 43. église sAint-bernArd / centre sPOrtif du cOllège mOnt-rOyAl
de l’ArrOndissement mercier–hOchelAgA-mAisOnneuve. cOnstruite en
1964 d’APrès les PlAns des Architectes PAul g. gOyer et clAude gAgnier.
cOnvertie en 2004 en centre sPOrtif PAr cArdin rAmirez, Architectes.
un esPAce dédié Au culte A été cOnservé. | luc nOPPen, 2005.
des figures historiques extra occidentales
pour certains, pour des lieux de rassemblement
de plus en plus vastes – de véritables
arènes de prosélytisme – pour les
autres. Au nom d’un patrimoine culturel
collectif, métissé et mondialisé, ces
lieux-là aussi émargeront à notre cahier
de charges patrimonial futur.
Cela dit, les nombreux cas de conversions
inventoriés et analysés à Montréal permettent
de cerner certaines constantes.
Par exemple, que les projets d’initiative
privée sont des échecs relatifs ; non seulement
ces cas mettent-ils en évidence
que plusieurs églises auraient été « mal »
vendues, mais, lorsque les projets ont été
réalisés, personne ne veut les poser en
modèle d’action ailleurs.
En revanche, de nombreux projets communautaires
et culturels constituent de
belles réussites, fort appréciées par les
nouveaux utilisateurs, en plus de prolonger
et de maintenir un usage qui
se veut public. Ce sont autant de lieux
de socialisation qui échappent à la
marchandisation de notre société. Mais
attention ! Si les lieux de culte ont longtemps
semblé éternels, rien de tel n’adviendra
avec les usages auxquels sont
affectées les églises converties. Il faut
donc prendre soin d’imaginer que, après
avoir été une bibliothèque, une église
sera un amphithéâtre, puis autre chose…
Comment alors s’assurer du maintien des
caractères essentiels d’une église pour
que sa valeur patrimoniale survive ? De
toute évidence, les projets menés à ce
jour à Montréal l’ont été de courte vue.
Le tsunami qui nous menace touchera
aussi les monuments les plus vénérables.
Que fera-t-on des quelque vingt églises
historiques de Montréal que l’opinion
publique souhaite garder inchangées,
celles qui jouissent déjà d’un statut de
protection juridique ? D’intensité patrimoniale
moindre lorsque considérées
une par une, que deviendront ces vastes
églises « montréalistes » du début du
XXe siècle ? Ensemble, elles sont uniques
et précieuses au paysage identitaire des
quartiers de la métropole du Canada
ill. 44. Ancienne west islAnd bAPtist church / centre Jeunesse sPOrtif
et Artistique terrA nOvA de dOrvAl. | guillAume st-JeAn, 2011.
français et méritent qu’on s’attarde à
leur devenir.
Partout au Québec des initiatives intéressantes
émergent en vue d’assurer la
reprise des églises par la société civile. À
Montréal, où le problème se pose avec
le plus d’acuité, les autorités traînent les
pieds, comme si la solution était encore
aux mains des Églises ; chez les activistes
du patrimoine, le mot d’ordre semble
être « chacun pour soi, à chacun son
église ». Dans ce contexte, les promoteurs
ont beau jeu.
bibliographie
complémentaire
Conseil du patrimoine religieux du Québec, [www.
patrimoine-religieux.qc.ca].
Montpetit, Caroline, 2010, « L’entrevue – Vouloir
sauver des églises sans se faire d’illusions »,
Le Devoir, 28 juin « Actualités culturelles ».
Morisset, Lucie K. et Luc Noppen, 2005, « Quelques
précisions sur la ‘nationalisation’ des églises.
Des propriétés privées riches de l’investissement
public », Le Devoir, 28 septembre, p. A-5
et A-6.
62 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

Noppen, Luc, 2011, « La bibliothèque en l’église »,
Argus, la revue québécoise des profession‑
nels de l’information documentaire, [http://
revueargus.qc.ca/index.php].
Noppen, Luc et Lucie K. Morisset, 2005, « La
conversion des églises au Québec : un siècle
d’expérience(s) », ARQ Architecture‑Québec,
n o 131, mai.
Noppen, Luc, Lucie K. Morisset et Robert Caron
(dir.), 1997, La conservation des églises dans
les villes‑centres, Actes du Premier colloque
international sur l’Avenir des biens d’Église,
Québec, Septentrion.
Parcs Canada, [www.pc.gc.ca].
Peritz, Ingrid, 2010, « As Churches Crumble,
Communities Fear Loss of Heritage », The
Globe and Mail.
Thibault, Pierre, 2005, « Des projets remarquables
», ARQ Architecture‑Québec, n o 131,
mai, p. 31-36.
Ville de Montréal, Rôle d’évaluation et Inventaire
des immeubles municipaux, [www.ville.montreal.qc.ca].
notes
1. L’auteure tient à remercier Luc Noppen de son
appui et de la confiance exprimée à son égard,
ainsi que Guillaume St-Jean, collègue à la CRC
en patrimoine urbain, de sa contribution à la
qualité de l’illustration.
2. Depuis une quinzaine d’années, Luc Noppen
et Lucie K. Morisset (historiens d’architecture
et professeurs à l’ESG de l’UQAM) ont publié
quantité d’articles et quelques livres traitant
de cette question. Le plus percutant est sans
doute Les églises du Québec : un patrimoine à
réinventer, paru aux Presses de l’Université du
Québec en 2005. Ils ont également organisé
de nombreux colloques et séminaires consacrés
au devenir du patrimoine religieux, parmi
lesquels le colloque international « Quel avenir
pour quelles églises – What Future for Which
Churches », en juin 2005. (Morisset, Lucie K.,
Luc Noppen et Thomas Coomans (dir.), 2006,
Quel avenir pour quelles églises ? What Future
for Which Churches?, Québec, Presses de l’Université
du Québec.)
3. [http://www.lieuxdeculte.qc.ca/index.htm].
4. L’inventaire recensait 2751 lieux de culte
construits avant 1975 à travers le Québec.
L’île de Montréal compte alors un peu plus de
17 % des lieux de culte érigés en sol québécois,
toutes traditions religieuses confondues.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
5. L’Église catholique romaine, appuyée sans
doute par l’influence du cardinal Paul-Émile
Léger, archevêque de Montréal de 1950 à
1967, a forcément suivi ce mouvement d’étalement
urbain.
6. On attribue souvent cette expression au
célèbre écrivain du XIX e siècle, Mark Twain,
qui aurait déclaré lors d’un séjour à l’hôtel
Windsor de Montréal en 1881 : « C’est
bien la première fois que je m’arrête dans
une ville où l’on ne peut lancer une pierre
sans risquer de briser un carreau d’église. »
(Hanna, David, 2002, dans Colette Godin (dir.),
Montréal, la ville aux cent clochers. Regards
des Montréalais sur leurs lieux de culte,
Montréal, Édition Fides.) On comprend alors
que cette expression n’est plus d’actualité, la
plupart desdits clochers – protestants – ayant
disparu. En effet, au fil des ans, les déplacements
successifs du centre-ville et son changement
de vocation ont suscité la démolition
de plusieurs immeubles religieux du centre,
d’ailleurs déserté par les fidèles préférant
s’installer en banlieue où leur congrégation
a établi de nouvelles églises.
7. L’expression est de Luc Noppen. Elle qualifie
ces grands monuments érigés entre 1906
(Sainte-Cunégonde, par exemple) et le krach
de 1930, sous l’influence de l’architecture
beaux-arts, et qui tentent d’ancrer une identité
franco-catholique dans le paysage montréalais.
Ce sont des monuments uniques à
Montréal.
8. Inventaire (non exhaustif) des chapelles
converties à Montréal réalisé par Guillaume
St-Jean en 2009 à l’occasion d’un stage en
urbanisme au Conseil du patrimoine religieux
de Québec, sous la supervision de Jocelyn
Groulx.
9. Cet inventaire, en cours de réalisation, a été
mené en vue de la publication d’un guide sur
la conversion des églises au Québec.
10. Autrement dit, 57 % des conversions (ou
démolitions) ont été réalisées avant l’année
2003, tandis que 43 % ont eu lieu après l’année
2003. En ce qui concerne les chapelles,
69 % ont été converties avant 2003 et 31 %
après.
11. Précisons qu’environ 10 % des transactions
n’ont pas encore été datées ; il s’agit pour la
plupart de bâtiments aujourd’hui disparus.
Les recherches pour obtenir les informations
cadastrales n’ont pas été poursuivies jusqu’à
maintenant.
Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
12. En fait, 13 églises construites au cours des
années 1950 ont été vendues entre 1970 et
1999 et 26 entre 2000 et 2010.
13. Encore une fois, la date de construction de
35 églises vendues demeure, à ce jour, inconnue
; il s’agit pour l’essentiel de bâtiments
disparus depuis longtemps.
14. Il s’agit, pour plusieurs d’entre elles, de petites
églises de confession anglicane ou protestante
érigées hors des centres urbains et converties
généralement en résidences unifamiliales.
15. Dans 15 % des cas, l’information reste à
recueillir ; encore une fois, il s’agit pour l’essentiel
d’églises ayant été démolies.
16. En comparaison, selon les résultats préliminaires
de nos recherches, on recense dans
le reste du Québec quelque 90 églises ayant
connu ce même destin malheureux.
17. À ce jour, 19 de ces églises restent cependant
à documenter ; la plupart toutefois ont disparu
depuis un certain temps.
18. En effet, une reprise qui assure de perpétuer la
vocation sociale et communautaire des églises
constitue sans doute la meilleure solution. De
même, dans un optique de développement
durable, la conservation de ces bâtiments
semble la solution la plus efficace, du point
de vue environnemental ; on évite ainsi que
les sites d’enfouissement débordent d’églises
qui ne servent plus…
19. Ainsi, 40 % des églises vendues et converties
dans le reste du Québec l’ont été entre
les années 2005 et 2011, et 13 % entre 2000
et 2004. En conséquence, la vente d’églises
semble avoir pris une plus grande ampleur
dans certaines régions du Québec au cours
des 5 dernières années.
20. Outre les 90 églises démolies recensées dans
les autres régions québécoises depuis le
début du XX e siècle, représentant 16 % des
577 églises comprises dans l’inventaire de la
CRC en patrimoine urbain, 10 % ont été achetées
par une tradition religieuse autre que
celle d’origine.
21. Dans le reste du Québec, cette proportion
s’élève à 11 %.
22. Sur l’île de Montréal, aucune église de confession
catholique romaine n’a été convertie en
résidence individuelle, à l’inverse de nombreuses
églises de confession anglicane ou
protestante ; elles sont en général beaucoup
trop imposantes pour encourager une telle
conversion. Cela n’est pas le cas dans certaines
régions du Québec où quelques églises
63

Lyne Bernier > aNalysis | aNalyse
catholiques servent dorénavant d’habitation
individuelle.
23. C’est-à-dire que 161 églises, en faisant abstraction
de celles dont nous ignorons toujours
l’usage, situées dans les autres régions du
Québec, ont été converties et affichent désormais
différentes fonctions : salle de spectacle,
bibliothèque, plateau sportif, etc., et ce, dans
une proportion variant entre moins de 1 % à
près de 12 %.
24. Cette ancienne église héberge depuis 1963
la salle du conseil de l’arrondissement
Outremont, ancienne municipalité autonome
qui fait partie de la ville de Montréal depuis
la fusion de 2002.
25. Par exemple, un promoteur abitibien omet
de préciser dans sa promotion que ses unités
de condominium logent dans une ancienne
église…
26. Cette proportion chute à 26 % dans les autres
régions du Québec où des transactions de
cette nature ont été recensées.
27. Quelques mois plus tard, une hypothèque de
23 millions $, portant intérêt au taux annuel
de 20 %, est octroyée par la Banque Nationale
du Canada sur la base d’un contrat signé en
2009 entre l’acquéreur et la Société d’habitation
et de développement de Montréal
(SHDM) et d’un second contrat conclu en
2010, mais cette fois avec l’Office municipal
d’habitation de Montréal (OHM), selon les
documents consultés au Registre foncier du
Québec.
28. Selon le site Internet du promoteur de ce projet,
les unités d’habitation, admissibles au programme
Accès-condos de la SHDM, seraient
toutes réservées.
29. En 2008 et 2009, une série d’hypothèques
légales ont été enregistrées au Registre foncier
par différents fournisseurs de services et
par le ministère du Revenu du Québec, mais
ces inscriptions ont toutes été radiées depuis.
30. Cette dernière créance, d’une valeur de
100 000 $ à un taux d’intérêt de 15 %, a été
enregistrée à la faveur d’un particulier.
31. Cette maison unifamiliale appartient à deux
des trois administrateurs du Centre Parole de
Vie.
32. En février 2011, l’église était toujours la propriété
du Centre Parole de Vie ; toutefois
nous ignorons si le solde dû à la paroisse
Saint-Eusèbe-de-Verseil a été acquitté, car
une erreur dans la transcription du numéro
du cadastre a été relevée dans l’avis de prise
de paiement préalablement enregistré au
Registre foncier. Dossier à suivre.
33. Autrement dit, l’intégralité du lot appartient
toujours au Centre Parole de Vie, selon le rôle
d’évaluation émis par la Ville de Montréal, et
aucun compte de taxe foncière ne semble
ainsi avoir été produit, à moins que ces locataires
ne détiennent un certificat émis par la
Commission municipale qui leur reconnaîtrait
une mission justifiant une exemption de taxe
foncière.
34. En 2004, la Ville de Montréal évaluait cet
immeuble à 984 400 $, puis, en 2007, l’évaluation
révisée affiche une valeur totale de
1 345 000 $, soit une augmentation de 37 %
en trois ans.
35. Depuis 2006, le propriétaire de l’église a bénéficié
de cinq subventions totalisant plus de
476 000 $ pour procéder à la consolidation du
plafond de la nef, à la restauration de la fenestration,
à la restauration de la maçonnerie de
la corniche de la façade et à la restauration
des vitraux. Cette somme représente environ
70 % du coût des travaux.
36. Nous ignorons cependant les clauses de cette
entente, l’église étant toujours la propriété
du Fonds d’entraide de l’archevêque pour les
paroisses de l’archidiocèse de Montréal. Les
nouveaux occupants ne sont pas constitués en
paroisse mais en mission.
37. C’est-à-dire 1 630 500 $ pour le terrain et
859 900 $ pour le bâtiment. Voilà un bel
exemple d’église dont la valeur du terrain est
de loin supérieure à celle du bâtiment ; dans
ce cas particulier, la valeur du bâtiment est de
50 % de celle du terrain.
38. Cet te cote « D » l’exclut d’emblée du
Programme de soutien à la restauration du
patrimoine religieux du CPRQ.
39. Le prix de vente affiché par l’agent immobilier
ReMax.
40. Le propriétaire consent une hypothèque de
240 000 $ pour un terme de 7 ans.
41. Lors de la transformation de cette église,
plusieurs hypothèques conventionnelles
d’entrepreneurs en construction exerçant différents
corps de métiers ont été enregistrées
au Registre foncier, mais elles ont toutes été
radiées depuis peu.
42. Cette insatisfaction a pu également être
engendrée par de multiples retards avant que
les travaux ne soient terminés, causant ainsi
des délais dans la livraison des unités.
43. Après la fusion de la paroisse et de celle de
Saint-Édouard.
44. Dont 250 000 $ ont été consentis en hypothèque
par le vendeur.
45. Cha, Jonathan, 2005, « Territoire(s) de conversions.
Esquisse d’un avenir pour les églises et
les chapelles de Rosemont–La Petite-Patrie »,
ARQ Architecture‑Québec, n o 131, mai,
p. 20-23, à la p. 20.
46. Site Internet des concepteurs [www.abcponline.com].
47. Un an après la fusion de la paroisse et de celle
de Sainte-Bernadette-Soubirous.
48. Immeuble évalué à plus de 1,2 million $ par la
Ville de Montréal.
49. Ce prix de vente constitue sans l’ombre d’un
doute le plus élevé payé à ce jour pour l’achat
d’une église au Québec.
50. Ce projet, évalué à 32 millions $, bénéficiera
d’une contribution de 425 000 $ de Parcs
Canada.
51. L’acheteur a bénéficié d’un remboursement de
20 000 $ après la découverte d’amiante dans
le plafond de la sacristie et de la chapelle.
52. [http://montrealyouthunlimited.org/centres/
terranova/].
53. En effet, seulement 5 églises sur les 101 vendues
à d’autres traditions religieuses ont été
classées « C » par le CPRQ et peuvent ainsi
bénéficier d’une aide financière dans le cadre
du Programme de soutien à la restauration du
patrimoine religieux.
64 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

NiCHOLAS LyNCH is a PhD candidate in the
Geography Department at the university of
British Columbia. His thesis research explores
the connections between adapted reuse,
gentrification, and sociocultural change in toronto
(Ontario), and London (united Kingdom).
fig. 1. mAP Of west-centrAl tOrOntO. | AdAPted frOm murdie, rObert And cArlOs teixeirA, 2010 “the imPAct Of gentrificAtiOn On ethnic
neighbOurhOOds in tOrOntO: A cAse study Of little POrtugAl.” urbAn studies, June 8; dOi:10.1177/0042098009360227.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011 > 65-75
analYsis | analYse
“coNveRtiNG” space iN toRoNto
the adaptive Reuse of the Former centennial
Japanese United church to the “church lofts” 1
> nichoLas Lynch
On January 8, 2006, the Centennial
Japanese United Church (CJUC),
in West-Central Toronto, held its final
service. 2 After almost one hundred and
fifty years of ministry, the church was
forced to amalgamate with another
nearby congregation and sell its aging
and expensive property. Notes from the
church’s newsletters suggest that this
fate was of no surprise. 3 In the years
leading up to the closure, the congregation
closely monitored a significant
decline in numbers. Indeed, as many of
its older members began to leave the
area for Toronto’s suburbs, a number of
its younger generation began to choose
new life paths. Larger demographic and
economic shifts in the neighbourhood
began to play a part in the process as
well. Over the years, the increasing presence
of Italian and Portuguese migrants
and, more recently, a surge of property
reinvestment and redevelopment have
significantly altered the sociocultural and
physical characteristics of the community.
Unable to continue supporting its building
amidst the changes, the CJUC chose
to sell the church and move on. However,
a heritage designation established in
2004 by the City of Toronto limited resale
options. In a short time the building was
sold to Dovenco Corporation, a real
estate development company headed
by local architect Bernard Watt, for conversion
to upscale residential lofts. The
nature of this turnover was not out of
the ordinary. For some time now, many
redundant churches in Toronto have been
bought by niche developers seeking to
convert historic properties into lucrative
condominiums and lofts (table 1). In several
older residential neighbourhoods
65

nichoLas Lynch > aNalysis | aNalyse
table 1. RedevelopiNG toRoNto’s ReliGioUs laNdscape — select cHURcH coNveRsioNs acRoss tHe iNNeR city
Former church loft project address project status
Summerhill Baptist Macpherson Church Lofts 12 Macpherson Ave. Completed, 1990
Dovercourt-St. Paul’s Presbyterian Church Hepbourne Hall 110 Hepbourne St. Completed, 1992
Eglinton United Church St. Georges on Sheldrake 65 Sheldrake Blvd. Completed, 2001
Riverdale Presbyterian Church The Glebe Lofts 660 Pape Rd. Completed, 2004
Howard Park United Church/Howard Park
Pentecostal Church
that skirt Toronto’s inner city, churches
like the CJUC have been similarly repurposed:
in Greektown the former Riverdale
Presbyterian Church is now the “Glebe
Lofts”; in High Park the former Howard
Park Methodist Church is now the “Abbey
Lofts”; in the Junction the former Victoria
Presbyterian Church is now the “Victoria
Lofts”; and so on. No longer sustainable
as spaces of worship, these and other
redundant church structures have found
a new value in the private real estate
market, creating a relatively new terrain
for what some urbanists have called
“loft-living.” 4 In a slight divergence from
its original manifestation as the reuse of
abandoned industrial buildings, churchstyle
“loft-living” connects deeply with
the lifestyles, urban aesthetic, and progressive
politics of the nation’s growing
urban elite. Instead of warehouses and
factories, the renovated church offers a
unique alternative for many of Toronto’s
inner-city sophisticates. Local heritage,
historic architecture, and an “old story”
are all functional aspects of the revalorization
of these converted places.
The Abbey 384 Sunnyside Ave. Completed, 2007
Victoria Presbyterian Church Victoria Lofts 152 Annette St. Completed, 2010
The Centennial Japanese United Church The Church Lofts 701 Dovercourt Rd. Completed, 2010
St. Mary the Virgin/St. Cyprian Anglican Church The Westmoreland Lofts 40 Westmoreland Ave. In process
Seventh-Day Adventist Portuguese Church Private Development 512 College St. In process
Swanwick United Church The Swanwick 21 Swanwick Ave. In process
This essay traces the adaptive reuse
of the former C JUC to the Church
Lofts—a transformation that has taken
this building from a religious place of
worship to a set of upscale residential
lofts. My aim is to illuminate some of
the specific architectural processes and
socialcultural conditions that have made
the Church Lofts possible. Following a
description of the history and original
construction of the building, I explore
it s contemporar y renovation into
upscale loft properties. As this case
study shows, I argue that along with
the material transformation of the built
structure the adaptive reuse of redundant
churches often requires a concomitant
adaptation of symbolic elements.
That is, the creation of the Church Lofts
partly involves the reproduction and
promotion of “authenticity” through
a recognizable yet unique loft-living
brand, a marketable identity which is
constructed in the commodification of
the building’s preestablished material
heritage and by the adaptation of a diffused
religious heritage.
a liFe beFore loFts:
the origins and designs
oF the Former centennial
Japanese United chUrch
The origins of the former CJUC are found
in Toronto’s late-nineteenth-century
economic and immigrant boom. By the
1880s, much of the vacant lands on the
western periphery of the city were under
development to make way for the exploding
populations of industrial workers and
their families. 5 In what is now considered
West-Central Toronto (fig. 1), new housing
subdivisions helped to create the
region’s emerging suburbs, areas that
were further consolidated by the continuous
expansion of commuter railway
and streetcar lines radiating from the
downtown core. A large number of the
new residents in the area were principally
immigrants from England, Scotland, and
Ireland, many of whom were also members
of various Protestant denominations.
6 By 1891, responding to increasing
demand, a small but flourishing congregation
of like-minded Methodists built
66 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 2. cmc, exteriOr, c1906. | united church Archives. fig. 3. cJuc, schemAtic, 1906. | benJAmin wAtt-meyer, 2009.
a permanent worship space on the east
side of Dovercourt Road, naming it the
Centennial Methodist Church (CMC) to
commemorate the one hundredth anniversary
of the death of Reverend John
Wesley. At a cost of about ten thousand
dollars, this modest church sat some
four hundred congregants and was a
solid brick structure with a stone base,
a pitched wooden roof, and two chimneys
(fig. 2). 7 In a short time, the church
became a central landmark in the rapidly
developing neighbourhood, attracting
new congregants from outlying areas and
new ministers to its pulpit—by 1904 the
church was lead by its seventh minister,
the Reverend Edwin A. Pearson (1904-
1906), father of the late Honourable
Lester B. Pearson, former prime minister
of Canada. 8
Although the rising popularity of the CMC
after the turn of the century was certainly
embraced by the ministry, the expanding
membership (over double its intended
capacity) placed considerable pressure
on available space for both worship and
Sunday school activities. As a result, by
the beginning of Reverend Pearson’s tenure
a new structure was commissioned to
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
meet the future needs. Designed by local
architect William Briggs, the new church
was placed directly in front of the original
structure, making use of the old sanctuary
space as a Sunday school. At that time,
the original church was almost entirely
conserved and the front porch was the
only feature removed in an effort to
maximize the footprint of the new building.
Restricted by the reuse of the original
church, however, the new design was a
relatively unique wide square plan that, by
necessity, utilized almost three city lots. 9
Briggs’s design celebrated CMC’s success
with a neo-Gothic exterior complete
with front double towers, pointed arch
entrances, extended stone courses, and
elaborate Tudor-arched stained-glass
windows (fig. 3). Likewise, the interior
spaces continued the motif. With seating
up to one thousand two hundred persons,
a Tiffany stained-glass skylight, full
choir seating with organ, the main sanctuary
space was a central focus for the
new development. It is important to note
here that the heritage designation by the
City of Toronto only classified the main
components of the exterior structure
and includes the northern, southern, and
nichoLas Lynch > aNalysis | aNalyse
western walls (the western wall fronting
on Dovercourt Road), and the roof of the
1906 building. 10
With the merger of Canada’s mainline
Protestant denominations in 1925
and the creation of the United Church
of Canada, many landmark Protestant
churches in Toronto, including the CMC,
received a large number of congregants
in response to amalgamation efforts. 11
Once again, in an attempt to keep up
with expanding demands and a recordhigh
membership (over 1700 congregants
by 1930), the church, then dubbed the
Centennial United Church (CUC), redeveloped
the original rear worship space in
its entirety. 12 In 1927, a large two-storey
rear annex was built to accommodate
multiple uses, including providing larger
Sunday school space and new capacity
for both administrative and community
functions (offices, change rooms,
and even a basement basketball court)
(fig. 4). 13 Remarkably, the original front
wall of the 1891 church survived the rear
annex development. Squashed between
the front annex wall and the rear 1906
church wall, remnants of the 1891 church,
including brick elements such as original
67

nichoLas Lynch > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 4. cJuc, schemAtic, 1927. | benJAmin wAtt-meyer, 2009. fig. 5. cJuc, schemAtic, 1958. | benJAmin wAtt-meyer, 2009.
window openings, remained intact and
are currently restored features in the
present loft conversion. 14
The postwar period marked a turning
point for the CUC. By the 1950s, a
considerable drop in membership and
support placed new pressures on the
ministry and on the viability of the congregation.
As was common in this period
of decline, the CUC decided to share their
worship space with the nearby Toronto
Japanese United Church. 15 In 1958, a
new chapel space was constructed for
the Japanese Nisei congregation in
the rear annex. Designed by Canadian
architect Raymond Moriyama, the chapel
provided the primarily English-speaking
congregation a formal worship space of
their own. Moreover, the chapel was a
unique architectural feature and, being
one of Moriyama’s early projects, it was
an important piece which reflected the
fusion of modern aesthetic with traditional
ecclesiastical designs. In particular,
while the chapel was adorned with
curved ceilings and doorways, an elaborate
stained-glass skylight, and sat one
hundred and eighty people on premium
ash pews, it was further contextualized,
according to designer Benjamin Watt-
Meyer, with catacomb-like spaces that
were inspired by the 1950s “spacecraft”
aesthetic 16 (fig. 5).
From the 1960s onward, the sustainability
of the CUC was increasingly difficult
to manage. Replacing the aging
congregations and financing the church
property was a losing battle. With its
“golden years” behind, the CUC made
what was to become a last amalgamation
effort. In 1986, an official merger
was made between the CUC and the
Toronto Japanese United Church—Nisei
congregation. The newly amalgamated
Centennial Japanese United Church
(CJUC) then spent the next twenty years
managing the slowly shrinking but still
dedicated parish. Significant changes in
the character of the local communities,
specifically the villages known officially
as “Little Italy” and “Little Portugal,”
continually challenged the church’s
future. By the late 1960s, prominent
Italian and Portuguese diasporas had
been firmly established in West-Central
Toronto and the diversifying social,
cultural, and material needs of the community
were increasingly reflected in the
urban landscape. 17
Over time, the CJUC became dependent
on farther-flung congregants, often as
far as the Mississauga suburbs, and by
necessity transformed into a commuter
church—an often precarious position
for relatively smaller worship places. By
the turn of the millennium, the physical
distance between the church and its
congregants and the cultural distance
between the church and the local community
were increasingly difficult conditions
to manage. As geographers Robert
Murdie and Carlos Teixeira explain, a set
of countervailing trends accelerated the
sociocultural nature of much of West-
Central Toronto. 18 In particular, a marked
out-migration of established Portuguese
residents for the northwestern suburbs
has been partly replaced by a relatively
large group of immigrants and refugees
from eastern and southern Asia, Latin
America, and Africa. Furthermore, they
also point out that in the last decade an
increasing number of middle-class professionals,
the classic gentrifiers, have also
68 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 6. sOuthern elevAtiOn Of the fOrmer dOvercOurt–st. PAul’s PresbyteriAn
church (c1884), nOw the “hePbOurne hAll lOfts.” | nichOlAs lynch, 2009.
targeted the area in search of relatively
low-cost housing with renovation potential
in close proximity to the downtown
core. Although originally attracted to
the older Victorian houses in the eastern
half of the region, over the years a steady
progression of renovation, revitalization,
and, ultimately, gentrification has slowly
migrated westward. Partly responding
to that trend, a variety of reuse projects
have converted differing building types
for upscale residential purposes, including
the adaptive reuse of former Dovercourt–
St Paul’s Presbyterian Church (circa 1884),
a project not one block from the CJUC
(fig. 6). Additionally, patterns of commercial
change have also been noted as
a significant part of the transformations
in the area. 19 In particular, the process
of retail gentrification has expanded in
recent years as numerous restaurants and
boutiques catering to more affluent consumers
have been slowly displacing older
establishments that traditionally provided
more affordable products and services to
low-income residents. In Little Italy and
Little Portugal, for instance, an upscaling
of ethnic restaurants and boutiques,
which were partly influenced by the
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
activities of local business improvement
associations (BIAs), has dramatically transformed
both the commercial and social
culture of the area, enticing higher-order
consumption and patterns of gentrification
now common in other ethnic strips
in the city. 20
In face of these difficult transitions,
the church held its last service at 701
Dovercourt Road in early 2006. Instead
of continuing on, the congregation finally
opted to sell the building to architect
and developer Bernard Watt of Dovenco
Corporation and amalgamate with the
Lansing United Church in North Toronto.
loFt-living: bUilding and
branding the “chUrch loFts”
The remaking of the former CJUC to the
“Church Lofts” is firmly rooted in the phenomena
now commonly known as “loftliving.”
Although the building’s new name
certainly points to that fact, the successful
transformation of this redundant church
to an upscale residential product actually
belies a careful connection to an urban
form more than forty years in the making.
nichoLas Lynch > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 7. the church lOfts under cOnstructiOn. | nichOlAs lynch, 2009.
In particular, loft-living was first attributed
to the revitalization of New York’s
SoHo (South of Houston) district in the
1970s, and later used to describe similar
transformations in other former industrial
zones in many North-American, Western
European, and Australian cities. 21 In New
York, London, Toronto, and other urban
centres, the steady loss of manufacturing
and production sectors, and the substantial
growth of service-based industries, a
process referred to as “post-industrialization,”
caused dramatic shifts in the function
of economies, societies, and their
various land-use formations. Although
certainly not an even process across all
urban contexts, commentators like Hank
Savitch explain that post-industrialization
has some widespread consequences:
[P]ost-industrialism […] entail[s] social
upheaval: factories are dismantled, wharves
and warehouses are abandoned, and
working-class neighbourhoods disappear.
Sometimes there is replacement of one
physical form by another—the growth of
office towers and luxury high rises or the
refurbishing of old waterfronts. Cafes and
boutiques arise to feed and clothe the new
69

nichoLas Lynch > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 8. the church lOfts, crOss sectiOn west/eAst lOOking nOrth. | bernArd wAtt, Architect, 2009.
classes. At other times the transformation
is truncated and nothing but an empty shell
is left behind. 22
In many cases, these empty shells were
eventually re-colonized as demand and
property prices rose in the core areas of
central cities. Replacing the industrial
workers in the abandoned factories and
warehouses was a sizable group of artists
seeking large and cheap spaces that
would accommodate not only work but
also housing. In a short time, savvy urbanites
looking for unique places to live in the
city followed the artists’ path, displacing
many of them in their wake. 23 By appropriating
the gritty industrial aesthetic and
renovating the spaces to suit more middle-class
comforts, a popularized loft-living
lifestyle was quick to take off. Indeed,
it became increasingly clear that the
economic opportunities of reusing abandoned
factory sites as residential spaces
dovetailed with a cultural revalorization
of urbanity in general: an emergent preoccupation
by elite groups with an industrial
architecture and heritage aesthetic;
a new focus on renewing central urban
spaces for accessible consumption, leisure,
and sociability; and a search for
new and unique platforms for producing
and displaying contemporary lifestyles. In
Montreal and Toronto, for instance, the
construction of loft landscapes and markets
has been instrumental in creating distinct
cultural enclaves and tourist-historic
precincts that foster diverse city spaces
that attract tourist dollars, add a “sense
of place” to the urban fabric, and entice
a growing class of creative professionals
to urban centres. 24 These landscapes have
not only helped to shape the postindustrial
city, but they have also made possible
an emergent and expeditionary culture
of adaptive reuse that now includes
buildings of a post-institutional nature.
Redundant schools, churches, municipal
buildings, and movie theatres top the
list as “hot-spots” for new loft development.
As municipalities, civil corporations,
and religious groups, to name a few, are
forced to off-load costly post-institutional
buildings and recuperate financial losses
in the face of economic restructuring and
sociocultural changes like the decline of
participation in mainline religions, the
private real estate market has become
an increasingly viable option for resale.
Moreover, as many inner-city industrial
zones are exhausted through popular
redevelopment initiatives and as waning
interest in what some call the ubiquitous
“cookie-cutter condos” continues, the
“loft-living” aesthetic increasingly shifts
to this new terrain.
Redundant churches, perhaps more than
any other property type, represent a
built form loaded with commodifiable
historic and symbolic values. Together,
ornate architectural designs, historic connections
with the local community, and
wider cultural connections to a religious
past offer discerning consumers a housing
commodity entirely different from others.
The Church Lofts, like similar projects of
its kind, are made marketable not only
by connecting these unique elements
with the recognizable postindustrial loft
aesthetic, but also through the construction
of a novel identity or brand linked
to a repackaged narrative of heritage,
iconography, and neighbourhood. Thus
developers, in concert with architects,
public relations firms, and marketing
and real estate agents, repolish churches
with a contemporary patina to restore
and emphasize not merely the economic
capital of the building but also its new
cultural capital.
material transformations
A significant number of physical alterations
were necessary to properly convert
the CJUC into an upscale residential
property (fig. 7). As with most similar
projects, the conversion process involved
a considerable amount of demolition,
restoration, and creative reconfiguration.
From the outset, the design of the
project necessarily took its lead from the
70 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 9. the church lOfts, crOss sectiOn nOrth/sOuth
lOOking west. | bernArd wAtt, Architect, 2009.
existing heritage designated envelope.
As opposed to other conversions that
need to consider more complex architectural
styles (e.g. cruciform), the square
form of William Briggs’s 1906 structure
offered some design simplicity. The general
layout of the twenty-eight individual
and unique loft units follows the original
square plan, cutting the building into
three main floors with the basement as an
underground parking facility (including
three interior parking spaces with direct
private access to individual units) and a
multi-level atrium in the centre (fig. 8).
Well before construction, however, a
large amount of the church interior
that was left behind was necessarily disassembled
and removed. Pews both from
the main sanctuary and the Moriyama
Chapel, numerous stained-glass windows,
hanging lamps, and organ pipes,
among other items, were either sent to
storage, sold to collectors, or incorporated
into the conversion process. 25 Many
of the remaining elements in the main
sanctuary and rear annex, however, were
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
destroyed to make way for new interior
structures. Large interior features such
as the main sanctuary floor, balcony and
stage, and the rear annex roof were eventually
demolished, leaving the building’s
heritage designated “shell”—main walls,
front towers, and steel truss roof—intact.
A lengthy and delicate process of restoring
many of the building’s original heritage
features followed the building’s
demolition. As with most church conversions,
the costly off-site repair of numerous
original stained-glass windows
was required. The large Tudor-arched
windows, in particular, represented an
important part of this restoration process
as these features not only help to reestablish
the building’s imposing presence on
the streetscape, but are also integral to
the interior design of several of the loft
units (fig. 9). Furthermore, several windows
along the front double towers were
repositioned and on the primary walls the
restoration of various brickwork elements
was needed. Aged and damaged brick
tuck pointing was replaced while exposed
nichoLas Lynch > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 10. the church lOfts, schemAtic, 2009. | benJAmin wAtt-meyer, 2009.
brickwork was sandblasted. And, across
the entire structure, the roof membrane
and shingles were replaced. 26
As would be expected, the renovation of
the interior structure was substantial in
order to create a functional residential
building. In the main sanctuary, large
steel columns, many of which were salvaged
and repurposed from the demolition
process, were used for constructing
new floors and walls. On the front of the
building, several smaller balconies were
tied into the front facing suites and third
floor units were also given roof access.
Renovations to the rear annex were also
significant. In particular, two setback
floors above the annex roof were constructed
to elevate the third floor and create
an additional fourth level for several
two-storey features (fig. 10).
One of the main design elements of the
Church Lofts is the large atrium fashioned
from the former sanctuary space.
Spanning the three main floors and
topped by the restored Tiffany skylight,
71

nichoLas Lynch > aNalysis | aNalyse
fig. 11. the church lOfts, centrAl Atrium
(unfinished). | benJAmin wAtt-meyer, 2009.
the atrium offers a functional and aesthetic
backbone to the building’s interior
(fig. 11). This open plan connects the various
public spaces and corridors, projects
visual access to the multiple layers of the
building, and offers cascading natural
light into the centre space. In general,
the atrium elicits a link with the historic
envelope by connecting the heritage
details visible on the exterior with a sense
of communal space in the interior, a public
space apart from the private spaces of
the loft units.
The lofts themselves radiate outward
from the central atria. All of the twentyeight
units are of a unique design.
Ranging both in one and two storeys and
in size from approximately six hundred to
one thousand five hundred square feet,
each unit accommodates and incorporates
the built envelope and the public
spaces of the structure. 27 Their interior
elements include a combination of heritage
or antique-style finishes with contemporary
features (fig. 12). Exposed textures
fig. 12. the church lOfts, finished interiOrs. | benJAmin wAtt-meyer, 2009.
like wood beams, original steel trusses,
and brickwork, as well as reused pews (as
windowsill caps, stairs, and treads) and
period light fixtures make up part of the
historic aesthetic. For the modern finish
the units offer, for instance, top-of-theline
stainless steel products, Italianate
kitchens, and contemporary customdesigned
bathroom fixtures.
symbolic transformations
Integral to the transformation of the
CJUC to the Church Lofts is an adaptive
reuse of the symbolic economy of
the building and its religious heritage.
Accompanying the material renovations
of the building, therefore, is a set of
complex aesthetic discourses that are
necessarily reworked not only to sell the
building as a upscale residential property
in a competitive real estate market, but
also, interlinked, as a means to build a
wider social acceptance for its new function—from
a space of worship to a space
of modern domesticity.
This process is most conspicuously
developed in the branding strategies
designed by the developer in concert with
a media and public relations consultant
(The Walsh Group) and real estate broker
(Brad J. Lamb Reality Inc.). Branding is a
pervasive marketing practice that involves
not just advertising in the classic sense,
but also includes the production of a new,
often coherent, “identity” of a product
or place—a complex process that uses
slogans, icons, architecture, and design
as a means to both promote and legitimize
a new or “renewed” commodity. In
this way, the adaptive reuse of the Church
Lofts involves several strategic branding
processes, three of which are important
here: the repackaging of an architectural
iconography; the “renaming” of both the
building and the individual loft units; and
the “re-narrativization” of the building in
the contemporary urban landscape.
A large part of the popularity of urban
lofts, whether of a postindustrial or postinstitutional
nature, concerns the quality
72 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

of their unique heritage aesthetic, the
representation of a merged space and
time. Along these lines, central to the restoration
of the exterior and the design of
the twenty-eight “premium” units in the
Church Lofts, is an attempt to reconstruct
a sense of “authenticity” and to create
domestic spaces that are accented with
hints of a “meaningful” historic past.
This is made possible primarily through
the production of a material antinomy, a
strategic juxtaposition of the old (or the
seemingly old) with the new, throughout
the building. The raw and exposed
elements associated with the church’s
past, the interior stone walls and stainedglass
windows, and the reused interior
features, like period lighting and repurposed
pews, are all unique architectural
iconography that the developer has
integrated in order to weave an historic
narrative in which owners can participate,
a “stage” that displays a level of
authentic sophistication that is simply not
possible in many new residential spaces.
Indeed, the repackaging of the church’s
iconography distances the conversion
both from the ubiquity of the “box in
the sky” constructions in the adjacent
downtown core and the “new” (read:
homogenous) communities in the city’s
suburbs. This aesthetic differentiation
highlights an architectural individuality
that creates a “sense of place” instead
of space, making possible a transfer of
cultural capital from the building to the
owner. 28 In addition, in much the same
way that exposed industrial piping and
preformed concrete walls and floors are
restaged in renovated industrial lofts, the
Church Lofts strip back and repackage
“original” features to act as an aesthetic
frame for the global menu of modern
domestic products on offer in the interior
spaces. That is, importantly, an attempt
to satisfy consumers’ multiple, simultaneous,
and rather paradoxical desires
for the old and the new, the traditional
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
and the technological, the primitive and
the progressive.
The symbolic and iconographic adaptation
of the Church Lofts is also made possible
by the practice of renaming. To be
sure, the renaming of this building is not
new. As illustrated above, the building
was given several different names during
its time as a space of worship, names
that were intended to communicate and
identify its specific position within the
religious and local urban communities.
Rather than a trivial detail, therefore,
naming is riddled with meaning and is
pivotal in constructing identity—not only
to signify the expected use of a building
but also to act as a marker for the building’s
expected users. 29 The adaptive reuse
of a church represents a specific need
for renaming since the restoration of the
exterior architectural envelope conserves
the building’s original iconography—suggesting
that this is, still, a church. In this
case, renaming becomes part and parcel
of efforts to broadcast its new use for
new users. Originally, the developer and
marketing team named the project simply
“The Church”—a direct effort at creating
a sense of cache by clearly linking to its
historic use. 30 However, such an explicit
linkage did not differentiate the project
as a residential building and perhaps,
obviously, early feedback from consumers
was decidedly negative as many were
confused about its supposed use. The
“loft” prefix was added sometime later
to more clearly identify the project as a
loft-type residential space and to help
it fit within the context of the housing
market. The naming process, however,
does not end there. Indeed, intended as
a coherent discourse, all of the loft units
are given specific distinguishing names
based upon the townships of prominent
churches found throughout areas
of England—from the Scottish border
to the English Channel. Thus, unit 109 is
nichoLas Lynch > aNalysis | aNalyse
named “The Dover” in reference to the
Church of St. Mary-in-Castro; unit 206 is
named “The Ovingham” in reference to
the St. Mary the Virgin’s Church; unit 301
is named “The Clapham” in reference to
the Church of St. Thomas of Canterbury;
and so on. These place names link a diffused
religious affiliation to the project as
they commodify a distant religious past
and connect to a religious architectural
history, a heritage of seemingly quality
craftsmanship. Moreover, the choice to
reference the building’s older Anglo-
Saxon heritage, as opposed to a more
recent Japanese Canadian heritage, is
telling: an authorized and romanticized
image of England—its countryside, its
heritage, its built form—is marketable.
That is, this repackaged heritage reflects
more closely the aesthetic sensibilities of
the common upscale housing buyers—
those of the predominantly affluent
upper- and-middle class Anglo groups.
Unlike renaming, the branding strategy
of “re-narrativizing” focuses less
on highlighting the aesthetic and iconic
qualities of the building and more on
promoting its accessibility to central
“consumptionscapes” in the area. As
mentioned above, the pace of commercial
change in West-Central Toronto has
been relatively rapid in the last decade
as it has followed closely with the trends
in gentrification. The gentrifying villages
of Little Italy and Little Portugal,
but also Roncesvalles, Queen West,
and Bloordale, all contain expanding
retail districts, many of which are now
implicated in the process referred to as
“boutiquification” that has been characteristic
of postindustrial inner-cities. 31
As part of the brochure promotions for
the Church Lofts, for instance, the marketing
narratives make explicit linkages
to the new retail and food landscapes
that have been increasingly established
in these changing neighbourhoods:
73

nichoLas Lynch > aNalysis | aNalyse
the Church [sic] is surrounded by a rich tap-
estry of culture, fashion, style and design
[…] College Street and Little italy offer a
great selection of diverse restaurants, bistros,
and trendy spots to enjoy […] Stroll
down Bloor West and experience a diverse
collection of places sprinkled onto an urban
landscape of modern ideas and creative
energy—the downtown core is just minutes
away. 32
Across many of Toronto’s new and
renewed communities, this similar “lifestyle”
pitch circulates around the notions
of accessibility and centrality. The calculated
deployment of “the centre” as a
key theme pervades marketing materials
and development slogans and is perennially
portrayed as a “hub” of quality
urban life; shopping, viewing, playing,
and living is all attainable, for some, by
being in or close to the centre. Thus at
the same time as the Church Lofts sell a
reserved religious heritage in the making
of a residential space, they also connect to
an accessible vibrancy and diversity that
many consumers seek in a modern city.
But access to the “centre” is not all
that is offered here. The promotional
website, for example, used highlighted
fig. 13. the church lOfts, internet mArketing. | dOvencO inc.
neighbourhood maps and illustrated
descriptions of cosmopolitan boutiques
and restaurants to not only help new
owners navigate the neighbourhood, but
also to renarrate the area as a space of
legitimate cultural and economic revitalization
(fig. 13). 33 Importantly, connecting
to this milieu of upscale shopping and cuisine,
essential to maintaining a modern
urban lifestyle, adds an additional layer
of distinction and value to the Church
Lofts as it represents a stylized and convivial
public space close to the “authentic”
and “private” spaces of the lofts units.
Moreover, the Church Loft brand is constructed
with a specific local identity that
incorporates and sells an urban liveability—a
lifestyle imprinted with affluence,
cosmopolitanism, and most importantly
a history of a bygone culture.
74 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
***
The transformation of the former CJUC
to the Church Lofts is now complete. By
the winter of 2009-2010, the doors to 701
Dovercourt Road were reopened—not to
a crowd of returning parishioners but to a
group of new homeowners. Selling rather
quickly, even amidst a remarkably difficult
recession, the Church Lofts have been
hailed by many as a resounding success.
Their popularity is likely attributable, in
part, to the seemingly unstoppable real
estate demands in Toronto—a city often
proclaimed as among North-America’s
largest condo markets. 34 This loft conversion,
however, also speaks to a consistent
appetite in the consumer housing market
for something altogether new or, we
should say, “old but new.” Indeed, similar
to postindustrial factories that have been
recycled to meet the demands of affluent
urbanites in search of cool and unique
places to live, repurposed churches like
the former CJUC forward architectural
and cultural heritage as intrinsic and
unique amenities in the loft product.
But post-institutional projects like these
diverge from the common factory-loft
landscapes that dot countless urban centres;
instead of reusing the built legacies
of past economies and industries, churchlofts
reflect specific ecclesial architectural
styles and commodified elements of religious
heritage. In this way, converting the
former CJUC to lofts presented enormous
challenges ranging from the structural to
the symbolic. Indeed, along with the careful
renovation and preservation of the
building’s physical envelope, the conversion
has involved the repackaging of religious
history as a suitable and marketable
storyline for new discerning users.
Importantly, this case study demonstrates
that material renovations to historic postinstitutional
properties like churches are
but one element in the reuse process.
As more redundant churches are becoming
loft spaces in the city of Toronto,
developers and architects are increasingly
involved in reconstructing urban
heritage not only through repolishing
the character-defining elements of the
built form, but also through producing
specific narratives of place and space
that help to legitimize and sell a unique
and interesting domesticity.

notes
1. This article presents work from my current
doctoral research entitled: Altared Places: The
Reuse of Redundant Churches as “Loft‑Living”
in the Post‑Industrial City, at the University
of British Columbia. This paper would not
have been possible without the unwavering
guidance of my thesis committee comprised
of professors David Ley, Elvin Wyly, Thomas
Hutton, and Deborah Leslie. I would like to
especially thank architect Bernard Watt and
Benjamin Watt-Meyer for sharing their expertise,
experiences, and knowledge of the history
of the CMC, the CJUC, and the production
of the Church Lofts.
2. The former CJUC building, now Church Lofts,
is located at 701 Dovercourt Road, south of
Bloor Street in Toronto, Ontario.
3. Livey, Margaret, 1986, “The Centennial United
Church History – 1891-1986,” unpublished
booklet prepared for the Centennial Japanese
United Church, available online: [http://www.
cjuc.org/history/index.html], last accessed
August 31, 2010.
4. Zukin, Sharon, 1982, Loft Living: Culture and
Capital in Urban Change, New Brunswick
(NJ), Rutgers University Press; Podmore, Julie,
1998, “(Re)Reading the Loft Living Habitus in
Montreal’s Inner City,” International Journal
of Urban and Regional Research, vol. 22,
p. 283-302.
5. Hayes, Derek, 2008, Historical Atlas of Toronto,
Toronto and Vancouver, Douglas & McIntyre.
6. In the prewar period, Toronto was seen by
some as a “mere extension of Great Britain.”
By 1911, 87% of the city’s population was
of British descent, a figure that remained
buoyant until the Second World War. (Harney,
Robert (ed.), 1985, Gathering Place: Peoples
and Neighborhoods of Toronto, 1834‑1945,
Toronto, Multicultural History Society of
Ontario.)
7. Livey, op. cit.
8. Id.
9. Personal interview with Benjamin Watt-Meyer,
August 2009.
10. Id.
11. In 1925, approximately 560 members of the
former Dovercourt Presbyterian Church amalgamated
with the CMC. (Livey, op. cit.)
12. Livey, op. cit.
13. The rear annex was never classified in the 2004
heritage designation by the City of Toronto.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
14. Personal interview with Benjamin Watt-Meyer,
August 2009.
15. The Toronto Japanese United Church was composed
of two congregations: the Issei (firstgeneration
immigrant-born) formed in 1946
and the Nisei (second-generation Canadianborn)
formed in 1954.
16. Personal interview with Benjamin Watt-Meyer,
August 2009.
17. Scardellato, Gabriele, 2009, “A Century and
More of Italians in Toronto: An Overview of
Settlement,” Quaderni D’Italianistica, vol. 28,
no. 1, p. 7-31; Murdie, Robert and Carlos
Teixeira, 2010, “The Impact of Gentrification
on Ethnic Neighbourhoods in Toronto: A
Case Study of Little Portugal,” Urban Studies,
June 8; doi:10.1177/0042098009360227.
18. Murdie and Teixeira, op. cit.
19. Rankin, Katharine, 2008, “Commercial Change
in Toronto’s West-Central Neighbourhoods,”
Research Paper 214, Cities Centre: University
of Toronto, vol. 214, p. 1-80.
20. Hackworth, Jason and Josephine Rekers,
2005, “Ethnic Packaging and Gentrification:
The Case of Four Neighborhoods in Toronto,”
Urban Affairs Review, vol. 41, no. 2, p. 211-236.
21. Zukin, Sharon, 1982, op. cit.; Zukin, Sharon,
1991, Landscapes of Power: From Detroit
to Disney World, Berkeley and Los Angeles.
University of California Press; Podmore :
283-302; Shaw, Wendy, 2006, “Sydney’s
SoHo Syndrome? Loft-Living in the Urbane
City,” Cultural Geographies, vol. 13, p. 182-
206; Hamnett, Chris and Drew Whitelegg,
2007, “Loft Conversion and Gentrification in
London: From Industrial to Postindustrial Land
Use,” Environment and Planning A, vol. 39,
p. 106-124; Mian, Nadia, 2008, “Prophetsfor-Profits:
Redevelopment and the Altering
Urban Religious Landscape,” Urban Studies,
vol. 45, no. 10, p. 2143-2161.
22. Savitch, Hank V., 1988, The Post Industrial City:
Politics and Planning in New York, Paris and
London, Princeton (NJ), Princeton University
Press.
23. Ley, David, 2003, “Artists, Aestheticisation
and the Field of Gentrification,” Urban
Studies, vol. 40, no. 12, p. 2527-2544; Zukin,
Sharon, 2009, Naked City: The Death and Life
of Authentic Urban Places, New York, Oxford
University Press.
24. For more on this topic, see Lynch, Nicholas and
David Ley, 2010, “The Changing Meaning of
Urban Places,” In Trudy Bunting, Pierre Filion,
and Ryan Walker (eds.), Canadian Cities in
nichoLas Lynch > aNalysis | aNalyse
Transition: New Directions in the Twenty‑first
Century (4 th ed.), Toronto, Oxford University
Press, p. 325-341.
25. Personal interview with Benjamin Watt-Meyer,
August 2009.
26. Id.
27. This range includes interior space only. The
vast majority of the units also include outdoor
spaces ranging from 8 to almost 500 square
feet. At the time of presale, prices ranged
from approximately $210,000 to $700,000.
28. Zukin, 1982 : 60.
29. For more on this point see: Rofe, Matthew and
Gertrude Szili, 2009, “Name Games 1: Place
Names as Rhetorical Devices,” Landscape
Research, vol. 34, no. 3, p. 361-370; and Berg,
Lawrence and Jani Vuolteenaho (eds.), 2009,
Critical Toponymies: The Contested Politics of
Place Naming, Burlington (VA) Ashgate.
30. Personal interview with Bernard Watt, July
2009.
31. Zukin, Sharon, Valerie Trujillo, Peter Frase,
Danielle Jack son, Tim Recumber, and
Abraham Walker, 2009, “New Retail Capital
and Neighborhood Change: Boutiques and
Gentrification in New York City,” City &
Community, vol. 8, no. 1, p. 47-64.
32. Dovenco Inc., The Church: Sales Brochure,
2009.
33. Website: [www.thechurchlofts.com], last
accessed October 2010, but not available in
March 2011.
34. Estimates for new condominium built by 2009
in the Greater Toronto Area were approximately
16,000 units. This estimate would place
the GTA as the largest condo market in North
America ahead of cities like Montreal, New
York, Vancouver, Houston, and Los Angeles.
(Thorpe, Jacqueline, 2008, “Toronto’s Condo
Kings: Is their Boom Sustainable?” Financial
Post, June 2, [http://www.financialpost.com/
story.html?id=552055].
75

MArtiN BreSSANi est professeur à l’École
d’architecture de l’université McGill et MArC
GriGNON est professeur au Département
d’histoire de l’université Laval. Ce dernier est
aussi membre du Centre interuniversitaire
d’études sur les lettres, les arts et les traditions
(CeLAt). Depuis 2004, les auteurs travaillent
à des recherches conjointes sur le thème de
l’architecture et la fiction. Ces recherches
abordent autant l’architecture française que
l’architecture canadienne au dix-neuvième siècle
et elles ont donné lieu à des articles publiés,
entre autres, dans Art History et dans les
Annales d’histoire de l’art canadien. Le présent
article s’inscrit dans le cadre d’un programme
de recherche subventionné par le Conseil de
recherches en sciences humaines (CrSH) intitulé
« immersion into Atmosphere: History and the
Fictional Dimension of Architectural experience
(1770-1890) ». La contribution des deux auteurs
est égale.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011 > 77-82
essaY | essai
le patRiMoiNe et les plaisiRs de la FictioN
ill. 1. frAnçOis et thOmAs bAillAirgé, intérieur de l’église sAint-JOAchim, sAint-JOAchim-de-mOntmOrency,
québec, 1816-1830, vue d’ensemble. | mArc grignOn.
> Martin Bressani
et Marc GriGnon
Dans l’introduction de sa grande
œuvre d’archéologie classique, le
Jupiter Olympien (1815), Quatremère
de Quincy exprime son appétit insatiable
pour le passé. Plonger dans l’histoire
soulage, explique-t-il, car « ce vide
immense, que le temps et la destruction
ont laissé entre les anciens et nous, […]
nous redonne l’illusion de l’infini dont
notre âme a besoin. De là cette ambition
toujours excitée et jamais satisfaite ; de là
cette convoitise, cette envie1 ». Son appel
n’est rien de moins qu’un cri du cœur en
faveur de la fiction historique que constitue
la restauration des monuments :
Nous voulons restaurer toutes les ruines,
réparer toutes les pertes, nous appelons
l’érudition au secours de l’art ; nous invoquons
les puissances de l’imagination, pour
ressaisir au moins quelque idée de ce que
nous désespérons de revoir […] et lorsque
nous sommes arrivés à ces régions [de
l’histoire] où une nuit épaisse nous dérobe
la vue des objets, nous aimons encore mieux
y placer des fictions ou des fantômes, que
de les laisser désertes 2 .
Cette histoire « peuplée de fantômes »
nous paraît encore une image tout à
fait appropriée pour renouveler les
réflexions sur le patrimoine, même dans
le Québec d’aujourd’hui, pourtant bien
loin des guerres et des révolutions européennes.
Fondamentalement, l’attrait
du patrimoine est fondé sur la fascination
du passé, et cet attrait tient moins
au passé en lui-même qu’à sa mise
en scène au présent, dans ce que l’on
nomme « les monuments historiques »,
dont il faut se rappeler que « c’est nous,
sujets modernes, qui leur attribuons [une
77

Martin Bressani et Marc GriGnon > essay | essai
signification] » 3 . Notre attraction pour
ces monuments du passé tient au pouvoir
d’un effet : le charme immense de
vivre, le temps d’une visite, au milieu de
fantômes. Que ces fantômes évoquent
des événements historiques, d’anciennes
façons de vivre ou simplement des décors
d’autrefois ne change rien à la nature de
l’expérience, pas plus que leur caractère
privé ou public, individuel ou national,
artistique, politique ou religieux. Il s’agit
du bonheur de franchir une frontière
entre le monde de tous les jours et un
autre monde, construit d’une substance
imaginaire, légèrement élastique et réfléchissante,
parfois éblouissante. Le temps
d’un regard, le visiteur de nos vieilles
églises a pour ainsi dire la capacité de se
dédoubler : il se trouve bien ici dans le
Québec d’aujourd’hui, mais aussi dans
un ailleurs aux contours plus vagues, un
autre temps à la fois étrange et familier.
Plutôt que d’aborder le patrimoine
à partir des questions d’authenticité et
de fidélité, nous aimerions fonder notre
réflexion sur la nature du plaisir à la base
du « désir » patrimonial.
Afin de bien comprendre la nature de cet
attrait, nous proposons de l’analyser selon
le modèle de l’expérience fictionnelle.
Quatremère de Quincy évoquait la nécessité
du recours à la fiction pour étoffer
les restitutions historiques. L’expression
n’était pas aléatoire. Ce grand théoricien
de l’art classique plaçait déjà l’expérience
fictionnelle au cœur de sa théorie idéaliste
de l’art. Les plaisirs que l’on retire de
l’imitation artistique, selon lui, procèdent
justement du jeu des subterfuges fictionnels.
Voici comment il décrit l’expérience
artistique, née de la distance qui sépare
la représentation artistique et l’objet
qu’elle imite : « c’est précisément ce qu’il
y a de fictif et d’incomplet dans chaque
art, qui le constitue art […] le mérite et le
plaisir de l’imitation [artistique], c’est de
ressembler, nonobstant la dissemblance,
c’est de donner l’effet du réel et de l’objet,
malgré ce qui lui manque pour être
l’objet réel » 4 .
Il est plus que probable que, pour
Quatremère, grand apôtre du classicisme,
le plaisir de franchir la distance entre
l’imitation et l’objet imité se trouve considérablement
enrichi quand il se double
d’un saut historique. L’archéologue restituant
le passé à l’aide de subterfuges
fictionnels accomplit, somme toute, un
travail semblable à celui de l’artiste qui
cherche le moyen de réaliser un effet de
réel par lequel l’imitation peut temporairement
remplacer le monde représenté.
Et les touristes qui se baladent dans nos
vieilles églises ne se laissent-t-ils pas pénétrer
d’une atmosphère historique par un
semblable « effet de réel » ?
architectUre et Fiction :
les « strUctUres dUelles »
Pour mieux comprendre ce phénomène
déjà si bien décrit par Quatremère de
Quincy, nous pouvons recourir à un petit
ensemble de théories littéraires qui abordent
la fiction comme la capacité d’un
texte à évoquer un monde imaginaire
– théories assez différentes de celles
qui sont centrées sur la narration et le
récit en tant que tels. En effet, il s’agit
de comprendre comment peut se former,
dans l’esprit du lecteur, un univers qui,
bien qu’imaginaire, possède sa logique
interne, avec des lois physiques généralement
prévisibles et des comportements
humains relativement familiers. On trouve
dans ces théories une conception descriptive,
quasiment spatiale, de l’œuvre littéraire,
une conception qui fait leur intérêt
dans le domaine de l’architecture et, tout
particulièrement, dans le champ si complexe
du patrimoine.
Chez Umberto Eco, Kendall Walton,
Thomas Pavel et quelques autres,
l’expérience fictionnelle est décrite de
manière assez percutante comme « un
jeu de faire-semblant » grâce auquel un
monde alternatif et secondaire vient se
juxtaposer au monde réel. Cette superposition
de deux univers, cette « structure
duelle 5 », est, selon eux, l’élément
constitutif de la fiction. Autrement dit,
la structure fondamentale de l’expérience
fictionnelle est d’habiter deux
mondes à la fois. Quand nous sommes
au cinéma, par exemple, nous sommes
à la fois confortablement assis dans des
fauteuils au sein d’une salle climatisée et
dans l’espace du film visionné et auquel
nous participons activement. S’il s’agit
d’un film d’horreur, nous serons probablement
sujets à des sueurs froides, des
tremblements, des agitations. Cependant,
même les plus sensibles d’entre nous resteront
généralement assis sur leur siège et
ne s’enfuiront pas ou n’iront pas appeler
des secours. Si le cas se présentait, nous
dirions que le spectateur a été victime
d’une « hallucination », qu’il a confondu
la réalité et la fiction. Mais l’expérience
fictionnelle n’est pas une hallucination,
elle est plutôt une juxtaposition de
deux mondes qui coexistent : le monde
réel, que Thomas Pavel préfère nommer
« monde de référence », et l’univers fictionnel
lui-même. Tout le plaisir tient
à cette juxtaposition, à cette position
qui se trouve exactement en équilibre
entre deux univers. L’hallucination, par
contraste, est une expérience beaucoup
plus perturbatrice, car nos repères dans
le réel sont temporairement perdus. Dans
une expérience fictionnelle, au contraire,
nous pénétrons ou descendons dans un
univers alternatif, tout en restant bien
conscients de notre ancrage dans ce que
nous considérons comme le monde réel,
qui sert toujours de point de référence.
Selon nous, ce n’est pas une coïncidence
si la critique littéraire même la plus courante
a souvent recours à des métaphores
78 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

spatiales et architecturales pour décrire
l’expérience fictionnelle : les lecteurs ne
contemplent pas les mondes imaginaires
d’un point de vue extérieur, mais ils se
voient à l’intérieur de ceux-ci et pénètrent
dans ces univers alternatifs qu’ils tiennent
pour « vrais », tout en restant conscients du
fait qu’ils se prêtent à un jeu. S’enfoncer
dans la lecture d’un roman captivant
ou pénétrer dans les profondeurs d’un
bâtiment puissamment ordonné et organisé
sont des expériences analogues.
Bien entendu, une architecture, si forte
soit-elle, ne procure pas, en elle-même,
des péripéties fantastiques telles que
celles vécues par Hercule Poirot ou par
Jonathan Harker, victime des manipulations
du comte Dracula. Mais un bâtiment
au décor bien orchestré peut être conçu
comme la création d’un univers alternatif
qui s’offre comme cadre « fictionnel »
pour l’institution qu’il abrite. À l’époque
de sa première construction, l’étonnante
villa Savoye de Le Corbusier se superposait
au monde réel de 1929, fait de multiples
tensions et contradictions, comme un
monde possible et alternatif, permettant
de vivre pleinement l’ère machiniste. Et
le parcours conçu par l’architecte – bien
mesuré et progressif, jusqu’aux curieux
abris circulaires sur le toit-terrasse de sa
villa – est, sur plus d’un point, analogue
au cheminement que l’on suit à travers
l’intrigue d’un roman.
Entre les univers romanesques décrits par
Kendall Walton, Umberto Eco et Thomas
Pavel et les mondes possibles de l’architecture,
il y a aussi une ressemblance de
« juxtaposition ». C’est Walton qui décrit
la fiction comme un jeu de faire-semblant
dans lequel le lecteur accepte de participer6
. En parlant d’univers « saillant », Pavel
précise que les mondes romanesques sont
construits et perçus à partir du « monde
réel », qui reste nécessaire à leur appréhension
7 . Dans le même sens, Eco parle
de « collaboration textuelle » : les univers
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
romanesques, dont la description est
nécessairement incomplète, ont besoin de
la participation du lecteur pour prendre
forme8 . Ce dernier doit en effet remplir
les nombreux vides laissés par le texte en
se basant sur son univers de référence :
si rien n’est dit au sujet du ciel dans le
texte du roman, par exemple, le lecteur
va spontanément présumer qu’il est de
couleur bleue.
Cette continuité entre le monde de
référence du lecteur et l’univers saillant
dans lequel il est invité – et dans lequel
il peut pénétrer s’il accepte de jouer le
jeu du faire-semblant – est visiblement
un élément fondamental pour parler d’architecture,
où la continuité est d’autant
plus forte que l’univers de référence et
l’univers saillant créé par l’architecte partagent
le même espace réel. Mais, de la
même manière, s’il porte attention aux
caractéristiques du décor qu’il perçoit
et s’il accepte de jouer le jeu qui lui est
proposé, l’usager-observateur peut voir
le bâtiment comme un univers particulier,
où les choses qui l’entourent prennent un
sens différent de ce à quoi il est habitué :
l’ambiance formelle ou décontractée d’un
bureau, l’aspect rituel ou convivial d’une
salle à dîner, etc., ne peuvent mieux s’analyser
qu’à travers la notion de fiction.
Dans l’histoire de l’architecture, il y a bien
sûr un type de bâtiment qui a toujours
eu comme but principal la création d’un
univers alternatif conçu comme interruption
du monde réel : il s’agit des lieux de
culte (ill. 1). L’église, pour parler de ceux
les plus courants au Québec, est le point
de la manifestation du sacré chrétien
dans le monde. Pour l’homme religieux,
nous dit Mircea Eliade, l’univers n’est pas
homogène : il y a une partie profane et
une partie sacrée9 . Franchir le seuil d’une
église, c’est traverser la ligne qui sépare
ces deux mondes, ontologiquement
distincts. Le parallèle avec l’expérience
Martin Bressani et Marc GriGnon > essay | essai
fictionnelle telle que décrite plus haut
est évident : deux mondes se superposent
sans que l’un ne soit aboli par la
présence de l’autre. Dans l’expérience
religieuse typique, le monde sacré a par
contre une priorité écrasante : le sacré est
en quelque sorte plus réel que le monde
profane. Ce type d’expérience dépasse
ainsi la structure fictionnelle des univers
romanesques et peut aller jusqu’à la renverser
: le monde déployé dans l’œuvre
littéraire a toujours un statut inférieur
par rapport au réel, même si ce monde
littéraire peut souvent sembler bien préférable
à notre pauvre environnement
quotidien. Thomas Pavel lui-même distingue
les deux types d’expérience en disant
que « [l]e culte et la fiction ne diffèrent
que selon la force de l’univers secondaire
» 10 . Sur la base de cette comparaison,
on conçoit que dans l’expérience du
sacré la dimension de « faire-semblant »
disparaît, mais le principe général de la
« structure duelle » demeure.
Cette vision du sacré reste cependant abstraite,
tendant vers l’absolu. Pour décrire
l’expérience religieuse telle qu’elle était
vécue historiquement, une distinction
aussi nette entre le monde sacré et l’univers
fictionnel est insatisfaisante. Eliade
peut être critiqué pour la façon anhistorique
dont il décrit l’expérience religieuse,
à partir d’un homo religiosus abstrait. Il
ne semble pas considérer le potentiel
d’épanchement du monde profane dans
l’enceinte sacrée. Pourtant l’église québécoise,
bien que délimitant un espace
distinct par rapport au monde de tous
les jours, était aussi une arène culturelle,
un lieu de représentation sociale, donc
un lieu où la mise en scène du sacré ellemême
se déployait avec des références au
monde bien réel de tous les jours. Pensons
à la manière d’attribuer les bancs dans
l’espace de la nef, ou à la socialisation rendue
possible traditionnellement lors de la
messe dominicale. Il n’y a qu’à relire les
79

Martin Bressani et Marc GriGnon > essay | essai
ill. 2. frAnçOis et thOmAs bAillAirgé, intérieur de l’église sAint-JOAchim, sAint-JOAchim-de-mOntmOrency,
québec, 1816-1830, vue du retAble. | mArc grignOn.
trois premières pages d’un roman de Louis
Hémon, Maria Chapdelaine 11 , pour bien
saisir cette interpénétration complexe et
malléable entre le sacré et le profane dans
la vraie vie d’une église.
l’église saint-Joachim
et son décor
Pour illustrer ce point, nous reviendrons
sur un cas que nous avons récemment
étudié : l’église Saint-Joachim, située sur
la côte de Beaupré près de Québec, une
œuvre majeure bâtie entre les années
1771 et 1830 avec, notamment, la création
d’un décor exceptionnel par François
Baillairgé et son fils Thomas, sous la direction
de l’abbé Jérôme Demers, tour à
tour procureur du Séminaire de Québec,
supérieur de la même institution et vicaire
général du diocèse12 . Bien que les historiens
d’art aient correctement insisté sur
l’unité exceptionnelle et véritablement
nouvelle de l’ensemble décoratif à Saint-
Joachim – unité qui semblerait après tout
un élément essentiel à la manifestation
du sacré tel que défini par Eliade –, nous
devons aussi prendre en considération
les irrégularités qui se sont insinuées au
cœur de l’ensemble. Et ces irrégularités
s’avèrent extrêmement significatives pour
bien comprendre les enjeux culturels qui
traversaient l’église catholique au Québec
au moment de la conception de l’église
Saint-Joachim.
Pour abréger une histoire plutôt complexe,
soulignons simplement le hiatus
évident entre le portrait de saint Joachim,
installé dans l’église dès sa construction
en 1779, et le magnifique retable dédié
aux quatre évangélistes, créé par les
Baillairgé sous la gouverne de Jérôme
Demers à partir de 1816 (ill. 2). Il n’y a
aucun lien iconographique clair qui
puisse être établi entre les évangélistes
et saint Joachim, père de la Vierge. En
effet, comme le souligne Louis Réau, « Les
évangiles canoniques ne nous disent rien
de la naissance ni des années d’enfance
de la Vierge Marie antérieurement à
l’annonciation qui, seule, les intéresse ;
ils ne connaissent même pas les noms de
ses parents13 . » Il est donc étonnant que
l’abbé Demers, reconnu pour favoriser
l’unité avant toute chose dans le décor
des églises, ait choisi un tel programme
iconographique. Il lui aurait été très facile
de créer un ensemble unifié autour de
saint Joachim en optant pour une iconographie
traditionnelle centrée sur la
sainte Famille. Ce choix des évangélistes
nous paraît donc étonnant, d’autant plus
qu’il est souligné à grand renfort architectural
par quatre colonnes triomphales,
métaphore évidente de l’importance qui
doit leur être accordée.
La raison de ce manque de considération
pour le saint patron paroissial est vite
révélée quand on se tourne vers l’histoire
culturelle de l’époque. Sous l’épiscopat
de Mgr Joseph-Octave Plessis, une véritable
guerre contre les fêtes patronales
dans les paroisses avait été lancée par
l’évêché, comme l’a bien démontré l’historien
Ollivier Hubert14 . Celles-ci étaient
perçues comme des manifestations trop
évidentes des superstitions populaires,
donnant lieu à des conduites bruyantes,
irrévérencieuses et même licencieuses,
qui se poursuivaient jusqu’à l’intérieur
des églises elles-mêmes. Il fallait agir. La
paroisse Saint-Joachim, qui en 1811 recevait
de son défunt curé un important
legs destiné à compléter son décor intérieur,
devenait ainsi une occasion rêvée
de tenter de corriger les choses. La nouvelle
unité d’ensemble projetée par les
Baillairgé et l’abbé Demers représente
une stratégie évidente pour rehausser
le décorum général de l’église et ainsi
encourager les paroissiens à davantage
de respect dans l’enceinte sacrée. Mais
nous pouvons aussi comprendre la raison
de ce hiatus entre le tableau du maîtreautel,
représentant le saint patron de la
paroisse, et le reste du retable, consacré
80 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

aux évangiles canoniques et à la vie du
Christ. Demers conçoit le décor dans l’esprit
du raffermissement de la religion
que souhaitait le haut clergé du diocèse
et il se tourne donc vers les valeurs les
plus sûres et les plus fondamentales du
catholicisme, plutôt que vers les textes
apocryphes où il est question de saint
Joachim. Les quatre évangélistes, comme
autant de sentinelles, « encadrent » saint
Joachim par la religion officielle, celle
privilégiée à l’évêché, et dans laquelle
les dévotions quasi superstitieuses à des
saints particuliers, et tout particulièrement
celles aux patrons paroissiaux, sont
graduellement éliminées15 .
Le sentiment d’inquiétude que les paroissiens
ont peut-être ressenti devant ces
quatre évangélistes, gardiens de la vraie
foi, relève-t-il de la fiction ou du sacré ?
Une chose est sûre, il y avait à Saint-
Joachim un dialogue étroit entre l’espace
sacré et l’organisation du monde profane,
sans que la frontière entre ces deux mondes
ne soit très nettement établie.
le patrimoine
et son potentiel Fictionnel
L’exemple de Saint-Joachim souligne ainsi
que le sacré, en tant que réalité historique,
s’établit par l’entremise d’une mise
en scène, donc d’un subterfuge fictionnel.
Est-ce possible que l’expérience de
l’histoire par l’entremise du patrimoine
architectural, qui aussi passe par une
importante mise en scène, puisse s’arroger
un effet de sacré ? C’est ce que
Quatremère de Quincy suggérait quand il
écrivait que le « vide immense » du temps
« nous redonne l’illusion de l’infini » 16 . La
profondeur des âges remplace les divines
hiérarchies. C’est comme la petite
madeleine de Marcel Proust, dont la
saveur cause un tressaillement et amorce
le plaisir particulier qui projette le narrateur
d’À la recherche du temps perdu
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
ill. 3. vue de l’AbbAye de Jumièges, lithOgrAPhie tirée
de : nOdier, chArles, isidOre-Justin-séverin tAylOr
et Achille-AlexAndre-AlPhOnse de cAilleux, 1820,
vOyAges PittOresques et rOmAntiques dAns
l’Ancienne frAnce, PAris, didOt l’Aîné, vOl. 1. | rAre
bOOks divisiOn, mcgill university librAries.
comme malgré lui au pays obscur et au
labyrinthique des souvenirs17 . Pendant le
court laps de temps de cette expérience
– qualifions-là de nostalgique, de sentimentale
ou de spirituelle, peu importe –,
le sujet se trouve libéré, comme l’a si bien
décrit Proust, de l’oppression du réel et
de la contingence du monde. Précisons
aussi que ce n’est pas la seule vue de la
petite madeleine qui déclenche l’avalanche
des souvenirs – trop semblable
à toute autre madeleine –, mais bien
son goût une fois trempée dans le thé,
comme si la conjonction des sens était
nécessaire pour retrouver la singularité
du moment. Ce qui est critique dans l’expérience
décrite par Proust, malgré son
caractère subjectif, est que l’affluence
des souvenirs enlève aux choses leur stabilité
et fait vaciller l’identité du monde.
Une des plus grandes ironies des affaires
patrimoniales est que ce qui doit servir
de solides « fondations » pour conserver
notre histoire et notre identité procède
en fait par impression, effet et mirage.
Martin Bressani et Marc GriGnon > essay | essai
ill. 4. lA sAinte-chAPelle, PAris, restAurée de 1836
à 1857 PAr félix dubAn, JeAn-bAPtiste lAssus
et eugène-emmAnuel viOllet-le-duc, vue
intérieure. | JeAn bernArd/leemAge.
Si, comme nous le proposons, l’intérêt du
patrimoine architectural tient avant tout
à son potentiel fictionnel, c’est l’atmosphère
ou l’ambiance qui en constitue la
principale richesse. Cela explique qu’une
ruine a toujours eu un pouvoir d’évocation
beaucoup plus grand qu’un bâtiment
« réactualisé » ou « réanimé » par de nouveaux
usages (ill. 3). On se souvient que
John Ruskin préférait être témoin du lent
dépérissement d’un monument à le voir
subir une restauration, quelle qu’elle
soit. Il n’a malheureusement pas tort, si
l’on s’appuie sur les pratiques courantes
de la restauration. Et ici, ce n’est pas la
question de la fidélité de tel ou tel détail
d’architecture qui est en jeu, mais plutôt
le potentiel fictionnel de l’ensemble, la
capacité du monument à absorber le visiteur
dans un univers particulier.
En effet, le dépassement du caractère
matériel du monument et la plongée
dans la dimension beaucoup plus évanescente
de l’ambiance et de l’atmosphère
81

Martin Bressani et Marc GriGnon > essay | essai
n’impliquent pas un dictat absolu de nonintervention.
La Sainte-Chapelle à Paris
(ill. 4), un monument dont chaque centimètre
carré a été entièrement restauré,
peaufiné et même complété – disons-le,
par les trois plus grands restaurateurs
du dix-neuvième siècle en France : Félix
Duban, Jean-Baptiste Lassus et Eugène-
Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc –, reste sans
doute l’exemple le plus achevé du pouvoir
fictionnel que recèlent les monuments
historiques. Vues sous cet angle fictionnel,
les attitudes face au patrimoine de
Ruskin et de Viollet-le-Duc convergent :
laisser le monument à la patine du temps
ou le restaurer complètement sont deux
stratégies possibles dont le résultat est
la création d’un effet immersif puissant.
Il ne s’agit pas de remettre en question
la dimension scientifique du travail de
restauration qui s’est affirmée depuis le
début du mouvement patrimonial : nous
souhaitons plutôt attirer l’attention sur
la nécessité culturelle que le monument
historique conservé, restauré, recyclé
ou réhabilité devienne le support d’une
structure duelle nouvelle et propre à lui.
Ou, pour être plus exact, il nous apparaît
nécessaire de prendre en compte cette
dimension fictionnelle dans tout geste
de restauration – tout en approfondissant
la connaissance scientifique du bâtiment,
cette dimension étant souvent oubliée
quand les moyens scientifiques prennent
le dessus sur les objectifs architecturaux
et historiques –, alors même que les sciences
dites « exactes » reconnaissent le statut
hypothétique de leurs constructions
les plus savantes.
Ainsi, pour conclure, il est tout à fait possible,
selon nous, d’expliquer au moins
partiellement la désaffectation de nombreuses
églises au Québec par l’appauvrissement
de l’expérience fictionnelle
qu’elles proposent. Combien de fidèles
ont délaissé la messe dominicale quand
l’orgue Casavant de leur église a été mis
de côté et la chorale abolie ? Combien
de paroissiens ont cessé d’aller à la traditionnelle
messe de minuit quand le
Minuit chrétien n’y a plus été entendu ?
Nos églises doivent conserver leur distinction
– leur noblesse ou leur extravagance,
selon le cas – et préserver ainsi
leur pouvoir « fictionnel », c’est-à-dire leur
capacité à susciter cette expérience d’un
monde « saillant », somme toute analogue
au sacré. L’église québécoise a traditionnellement
vécu non seulement grâce à
une foi religieuse comprise comme absolue,
mais aussi grâce au plaisir qu’avaient
les fidèles de simplement « figurer » dans
une mise en scène festive faite de dorure,
de musique, de belles toilettes et de rencontres
mondaines. C’est dans cet incroyable
mélange de sacré et de profane que
le décor de l’église s’animait pour devenir
fiction architecturale. Et ce n’est donc pas
en séparant les deux que nous réussirons
aujourd’hui à sauver ce qui devrait l’être.
notes
1. Antoine Chr ysostome Quatremère, dit
Quatremère de Quincy, 1815, Le Jupiter olym‑
pien ou l’Art de la sculpture antique considéré
sous un nouveau point de vue, Paris, de Bure
frères, p. iii-iv. [Nous soulignons.]
2. Id. : iv.
3. Riegl, Alois, 1984 [1903], Le culte moderne des
monuments, Paris, Seuil, p. 43.
4. Quatremère de Quincy, 1980 [1823], Essai sur
la nature, le but et les moyens de l’imitation
dans les beaux‑arts, Paris, Archives d’architecture
moderne, p. 103, 108.
5. L’expression est de Pavel, Thomas, 1988,
Univers de la fiction, Paris, Seuil, p. 73 ss.
6. Walto n , Ke n dall , 19 9 0 , M imesis and
Make‑Believe. On the Foundations of the
Representational Arts, Cambridge (MA),
Harvard University Press.
7. Pavel : 76-81.
8. Eco, Umberto, 1985, Lector in Fabula, Paris,
Grasset, p. 167-173.
9. Eliade, Mircea, 1957, Le sacré et le profane,
Paris, Gallimard.
10. Pavel : 80.
11. Hémon, Louis, 1916, Maria Chapdelaine : récit
du canada français, Montréal, Lefebvre.
12. Bressani, Martin et Marc Grignon, 2008,
« Une protection spéciale du ciel. Le décor de
l’église de Saint-Joachim et les tribulations de
l’Église catholique québécoise au début du
XIX e siècle », Annales d’histoire de l’art cana‑
dien, vol. 29, p. 8-49.
13. Réau, Louis, 1957, Iconographie de l’art chré‑
tien, tome 2, vol. 2, Paris, Presses universitaires
de France, p. 155.
14. Hubert, Ollivier, 1994, « La disparition des fêtes
d’obligation au Québec, XVII e -XIX e siècles »,
Sciences religieuses, vol. 23, n o 4, p. 404-412.
15. Outre les travaux d’Ollivier Hubert sur la
question, voir Rousseau, Louis et Frank W.
Remiggi, 1998, Atlas historique des pra‑
tiques religieuses. Le Sud‑Ouest du Québec
au XIX e siècle, Ottawa, Presses de l’Université
d’Ottawa, p. 171.
16. Quatremère de Quincy, 1815, op. cit.
17. Rappelons ce passage célèbre : « Et du coup le
souvenir m’est apparu. Ce goût c’était celui du
petit morceau de madeleine que le dimanche
matin à Combray (parce que ce jour-là je ne
sortais pas avant l’heure de la messe), quand
j’allais lui dire bonjour dans sa chambre, ma
tante Léonie m’offrait après l’avoir trempé
dans son infusion de thé ou de tilleul. La vue
de la petite madeleine ne m’avait rien rappelé
avant que j’y eusse goûté : peut-être parce
que, en ayant souvent aperçu depuis, sans en
manger, sur les tablettes des pâtissiers, leur
image avait quitté ces jours de Combray pour
se lier à d’autres plus récents ; peut-être parce
que de ces souvenirs abandonnés si longtemps
hors de la mémoire, rien ne survivait, tout
s’était désagrégé [...] ». (Proust, Marcel, 1914,
À la Recherche du temps perdu [I] : Du côté de
chez Swann, Paris, Grasset, p. 57. Consulté en
ligne : BNF, Gallica, bibliothèque numérique,
[http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k80736j/
f2], le 30 mars 2011.)
82 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

OBert SHiPLey is an associate professor
in the School of Planning at the university
of Waterloo and director of the Heritage
resources Centre. His work on heritage issues
is recognized internationally, especially in the
evaluation of economic and social benefits
of cultural conservation. As well as being a
registered professional planner he is a founding
member of the Canadian Association of Heritage
Professionals.
NiCOLe McKerNAN is a graduate of the School
of Planning at the university of Waterloo. She is
a candidate in the masters program in historic
conservation at Carlton university in Ottawa.
She is an active member of Carlton Student
Conference’s organizing committee and hopes to
pursue a career related to historic conservation.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011 > 83-91
essaY | essai
a sHockiNG deGRee oF iGNoRaNce tHReateNs
caNada’s aRcHitectURal HeRitaGe
the case for better education to stem the tide of destruction
fig. 1. AlmA cOllege in st. thOmAs, OntAriO, wAs destrOyed by fire in 2008 After A lOng struggle Over lAnd
use issues And the fAilure Of the PrOvince tO intervene. | [httP://www.eyefetch.cOm/imAge.AsPx?id=1163910].
> roBert shipLey and
nicoLe McKernan
In Canada we continue to lose both our
irreplaceable architectural treasures,
such as Alma College in St. Thomas,
Ontario, destroyed by fire in May 2008, 1
and the vernacular buildings that constitute
our communities and define our
sense of place. Stories of the latter appear
almost weekly in newspapers and blogs
across the country, but the potential
demise of the Sambro Lighthouse in Nova
Scotia is typical. 2 Some systematic investigations
of heritage building losses have
shown that the perception of destruction
is real. A 1999 study of properties listed in
the Canadian inventory of historic building
found that since the list was compiled
in the 1960s and 1970s, as many as twenty
percent had disappeared. 3 An Ontario
study completed in 2003 concluded that
over four hundred designated and listed
heritage structures in that province had
been demolished over the previous fifteen-year
period. 4
While fire, demolition by neglect, and
development pressure are the usual suspects
in the search for the reasons why
older buildings are lost, these are usually
just the mechanisms or final blows. Too
often the loss of heritage structures is
actually the result of planning processes
in a system that appears to favour what
passes for economic development, modernization,
and so-called progress over
societal values of what should be preserved.
Marc Denhez, in his great book
The Canadian Home, traces the genesis
of these attitudes to a very specific time
and an altogether deliberate policy. 5 In
1943, W. Clifford Clark, the economic
advisor to Prime Minister W. Mackenzie
King, denounced existing Canadian
83

oBert shipLey and nicoLe McKernan > essay | essai
urbanization, saying that it was pre-industrial
revolution and should be updated
and modeled on “that rugged young
interloper, the automobile industry.” 6
He then went on to draft the Income Tax
Act that ignored repairs, presumed that
buildings depreciate at breakneck speed,
and reserved the best tax treatment for
demolition—better than donating a
building to charity. The government of
the day intended to follow a program of
planned obsolescence, which would see
the bulk of the country’s building stock
replaced every generation to stimulate
economic activity.
The fact is that current sustainability principles,
our new appreciation of energy
conservation, the desire for smart growth
and culture-led creative cities, all point to
the errors of planned obsolescence and
the wisdom in adaptive reuse of buildings.
7 Nevertheless, bad planning decisions
continue to be made, resulting in
the erosion of our stock of historic built
assets. A central problem in this regard
lies in the education system. It is perhaps
most evident at the top of the decisionmaking
pyramid. A frustrating reality is
that while the importance of architectural
and built heritage conservation is reasonably
well understood by those who study
the field of urban change and development,
there is still a shocking degree of
ignorance on the part of many decisionmakers
involved in the planning process.
That is a strong, bordering on libellous,
statement to make about public officials
and we can only wish that it were not
so. Unfortunately, the degree of ignorance
both of the law and the principles of
sustainability are all too evident among
people who should know better. Some
illustrations will demonstrate the point.
Recently in Ontario a meeting of lawyers
involved in municipal practice was being
organized. The topic of the meeting was
heritage and how to deal with it. A couple
of heritage architects were invited to participate
in the discussion panel. The issue
they were asked to address was whether
the Heritage Act had any relation to the
Planning Act or were they stand-alone
statutes. That practicing lawyers dealing
with municipal matters would ask
such a question is almost unbelievable. It
would be like asking if the Criminal Code
has anything to do with the Prisons and
Reformatories Act. Ontario, as is in the
case in other provinces, has clear laws
related to the identification and conservation
of heritage resources. These laws
dating from the 1970s were intended to
align Canada with most other countries
who are signatories to the World Heritage
Convention and other United Nations
Educational Scientific and Cultural
Organization (UNESCO) declarations and
conventions that place heritage conservation
unequivocally in the land use
planning system where decisions about
the disposition of historic assets that are
of cultural value to the community are
integral components of good planning.
In another case in Kitchener, Ontario,
in February 2010 a city councillor commenting
on adding properties to the
Heritage Register said: “It is the people
who own these properties, private people
who pay taxes on their property, and who
are a group of volunteers to tell them
what they have to do with their properties?”
The “group of volunteers” she was
dismissing is the city’s Municipal Heritage
Committee, duly appointed under the
provisions of a provincial statute, and the
issue was listing buildings that clearly met
a set of objective guidelines under the
Heritage Act. 8
As if the incidents described above were
not enough, on Tuesday, September 8,
2009, the Chair of the Ontario Municipal
Board ( OMB ) appeare d b efore a
Parliamentary Committee to answer
questions about the function and operation
of the Board. 9 The OMB is an
appointed, quasi-judicial body, which
among other duties adjudicates disputes
relating to land use issues in the province.
It has immense power. It is the appeal
mechanism for matters under both the
Planning Act and the Heritage Act. Asked
by a member of the Provincial Parliament
if the members of the OMB who sat in
judgement on issues relating to heritage
had the necessary expertise, the Chair
replied: “Our members understand heritage.
They do […] We have on our Board
Marc Denhez, who is known across Canada
and the United States. He’s a heritage
buff. He knows the business; he knows
the act.” A heritage buff? The degree of
condescension implied in that statement
is troubling to say the least. While the
Chair of the OMB tacitly admitted that
only one member of the Board was qualified
to adjudicate heritage issues and
“knows the act,” presumably the Ontario
Heritage Act, it was clear in the testimony
before the members of Parliament
that the Chair did not know the act.
Constituted under the Heritage Act there
is a panel called the Conservation Review
Board (CRB). The OMB Chair testified that,
“The Conservation Review Board are [sic]
advocates; they’re not adjudicators.” This
was said in spite of the fact that under
the Heritage Act CRB members can be
brought into hearings as co-adjudicators
with OMB members.
With this level of ignorance about the law
and a lack of understanding about built
heritage and architectural conservation
issues, it is not surprising that the OMB
has often made decisions that defy logic
and credibility. In early 2009, a Board
member ruled that a seventeen-storey
tower could be built in the middle of the
heritage conservation district in the city
of St. Catharines. The case was of course
complicated but the ruling was based not
84 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

on the clear intent of the Planning and
Heritage acts but on obscure technical-
ities. While the St. Catharines City Council
had designated the area as a conservation
district, they had not passed a specific
by-law adopting the formal plan for the
area. There are other cases, too numerous
to mention, but the impression one is
left with is that in the land use planning
system in Ontario, heritage is considered
by many decision-makers as inconsequential
and expendable in spite of the clearly
stated laws intended to conserve the valuable
elements of the built environment.
Almost alone among laws, the Heritage
Act is routinely ignored.
Why, might we ask, is there not more
of a public outcry and protest over such
poor planning exacerbated by ignorance.
The unfortunate conclusion is that both
the decision-makers and the general
public are so inadequately educated and
informed about heritage conservation
issues that they are unaware of what
they are losing. This is very like the situation
years ago with regard to the natural
environment, waterways, and air quality.
Ordinary people did not realize that
chemical plants were dumping toxins in
holes all over our communities. Citizens
had not been educated to understand
that health problems and species extinctions
were being caused by the very
industries where many of them worked.
Once these facts became widely known,
there was a groundswell of reaction
against such practices and while the fight
to clean up the environment is not over,
it is a battle that people understand and
such understanding began with broadbased
education.
Decision-makers such as city councillors
and members of the Ontario Municipal
Board ought to have a better understanding
of built heritage assets and architectural
conservation, but the average
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
citizens may be uninformed through
no fault of their own. This study has set
out to examine a number of things. The
first was to determine whether anything
about the built environment is being
taught in our schools. In particular we
have examined the primary curriculum
in Ontario. If as a community we decide
that we should be teaching more to our
children about the form and richness of
the neighbourhoods in which they live,
where might we look for inspiration and
models? This study draws on our findings
to make some recommendations to
those groups, agencies, and organizations
that care deeply about architectural conservation
and the importance of the built
environment to our identity and quality
of life. What should they be aware of and
what can they do?
oUr approach
The information used in this study was collected
from recent government publications
investigating the state of curriculum
in Canada, the United Kingdom, and the
United States. These documents summarize
the goals, strategies, and tools used to
teach children about subjects related to
the environment they live in. Specifically,
we narrowed our investigation to include
the subjects of social studies, history,
and geography in the elementary school
system. In addition, a general search of
recent research was completed for articles
in peer-reviewed journals relating to the
topics of heritage, history, local neighbourhoods,
and urban design within the
field of education. Articles were found
in the International Journal of Heritage
Studies, Cultural Resource Management,
the Journal of Heritage Stewardship, the
Bulletin of the Association of Preservation
Technology, and Art Education. It was
revealed that while research was limited
within the academic field, information
was abundant from public sector
roBert shipLey and nicoLe McKernan > essay | essai
sources. A broad Internet search using
the same keywords brought numerous
public agencies to light within the three
geographic areas: Canada, the United
Kingdom, and the United States. Finally,
professionals within the heritage community
across Canada were contacted
to supply their opinion on the methods
being used by the ministries of Education
and Training, as well as their own public
agencies, to teach children about local
heritage. They were also asked for suggestions
on possible solutions that might
generate an enhanced perception of the
significant elements of local heritage currently
being lost because of inappropriate
development.
redeFining “environment”
In recent years, the natural environment
has become the primary focus of environmental
education in schools. This is demonstrated
through the Ontario Ministry
of Education and Training’s commitment
to publish and update teaching manuals
and curricula in order to encourage
sustainable responsiveness and environmental
thought. In 2007, the Ministry
commissioned the Working Group on
Environmental Education to produce a
document entitled Shaping Our Schools,
Shaping Our Future to define environmental
education, recommend changes
to the existing curriculum, and mandate
the involvement of school boards and
schools to apply sustainable practices
in their operations. The guide offers a
definition of the environment to be considered
when teaching about the subject
in social studies, history/geography, and
science classes. The definition’s focus is
clearly reflective of the interest in natural
systems and the detrimental effects that
human development can have on these
systems. 10 As a result of the 2007 document,
the Ministry has also published a
resource guide for educators to teach
85

oBert shipLey and nicoLe McKernan > essay | essai
students environmental responsibility and
stewardship. Both guides fail to recognize
that while the natural system is vital to
our lives, most students live in cities and
towns, not in forests or in the wilderness.
Young people are not taught about the
environment in which they actually live,
the built environment. It appears they
are taught little or nothing about either
existing buildings or the planning system
that decides what will happen to their
immediate environment.
Today, one of the primary focuses of
urban planning is on establishing a sense
of place and creating community identity.
Within the urban framework, this means
creating adaptive communities and renovating
existing neighbourhoods. While a
strong focus on intensifying and revitalizing
downtown areas exists, 11 the demolition
of existing structures will cause the
loss of significant portions of history.
Built heritage acts to link citizens with
the past and generate an understanding
of how our society evolved to where
we are today. 12 Similarly, we find that
when considering green development,
the greenest buildings are those that are
already standing. This concept is called
embodied energy and recognizes that as
long as a structure is standing and being
used, all the energy that went into its
creation, the firing of bricks, transportation
of wood, and smelting of steel, is
captured. 13 Intensification comes with the
opportunity for adaptive reuse of buildings
that still have strong structural elements.
14 It has also been suggested that
the adaptive reuse of existing buildings
can be beneficial as the materials and
craftsmanship are of superior quality. 15
Yet, in February 2010, the City Council in
Brantford, Ontario, was urging the demolition
of forty-one historic buildings, the
entire side of a major downtown street,
with no plan or concept of what would
replace these structures. 16
Furthermore, the education of young
people about planning can have a substantial
effect on their understanding of
the local community. Students could be
educated about the integration of political,
social, aesthetic, and environmental
issues within the community. It would
allow students to sculpt the environment
to meet the needs of the community’s
populace. As one theorist puts it:
[t]hrough an understanding of the urban
framework students can: gather a firm
understanding of the issues and needs
of individuals and community members
to produce relevant developments; build
an understanding of the effect the built
environment has on people and vice-versa;
and finally they would be sensitized to the
power of political and economic interests
and the deprivation of social, physical and
economic traits. 17
The Ontario Ministry of Education states
that the goal of the social studies program
is to teach students “to relate and
apply the knowledge that they acquire
through social studies and the study of
history and geography to the world outside
the classroom.” 18 Most of the real
world outside those classrooms, however,
is being overlooked as the natural
environment takes precedence.
Finally, a push to make an impression on
young people’s understanding of the built
environment would encourage a sense of
social responsibility and promote social
cohesion and community commitment in
the future. Young people are more likely
to be influenced by their teachers to get
involved with issues within the community
if they are taught the stewardship
principles from a young age. 19 Elementary
education has been used to promote
new attitudes in the past; for example,
the introduction of recycling as a household
waste solution and the awareness
created about the health risks of smoking.
Children can have a substantial
impact on their parent’s level of knowledge
and commitment. 20 A push from a
younger generation toward community
stewardship could completely transform
the way in which residents examine the
built environment and the significance of
local heritage.
room For improvement
When we look at the Ontario elementary
curriculum, we see a focus on environmental
education highly devoted to the
understanding of natural systems and
very little about the built form. That
being said, there are opportunities within
the existing social studies framework to
incorporate a local heritage component
into lesson plans. Currently the topics
taught in grades three, four and six social
studies embody elements of heritage and
citizenship. The goal of this subject is to
“help students develop an understanding
of connections between the past and
the present, of interactions between
various cultural groups in Canada, and
of the rights and responsibilities of citizens.”
21 The second strand of social studies
deals with Canadian government and
world connections. Fundamentally this
topic is intended to teach students about
their local communities before diversifying
into regional, provincial, national,
and international perspectives. It teaches
students the similarities and differences
about urban and rural environments
and how communities interact with each
other. These lessons represent the fundamental
integrated knowledge modules
that students will require to be active
and informed about the changes to the
built environment.
In the history and geography curriculum
for grades seven and eight, teachers focus
on the development of Canada from the
86 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

seventeenth century to the beginning
of the 1900s. Students gather an understanding
of the political, social, and economic
variations within the development
of the country and the effect these changes
had on the settlement and expansion
of the nation. As a result, these concepts
are applied to the study of Canadian
geography and the effect physical patterns
have on human activity and lifestyles.
Within the specific expectations of
students in these classes, the Ministry suggests
that students formulate questions
on environmental issues, for example:
“What role does an environmentalist
play in the planning of an urban environment?”
22 Once again, while the Ministry
demonstrates their commitment to create
sustainable environmental awareness,
this awareness is seldom focused on the
urban environment where most students
live. Potentially the classes could easily
pull elements of history and geography
together to enhance an understanding
of neighbourhood heritage. While there
is presently little interest in applying
these changes at the school board level,
in 2003 the Ministry of Education modified
its curriculum development process
to allow cyclical review on a yearly basis. 23
The Ontario Ministry has opened doors to
create changes to the state of heritage
education and we assume that there are
similar opportunities in other provinces.
This is the first step toward taking the
initiative to create changes. External to
the efforts of the education sector, the
opportunities for partnerships with the
heritage community are vast.
The Ontario Heritage Trust facilitates an
annual Heritage Week celebration to recognize
the impact that built heritage has
on the community and citizens. During
the Heritage Week, local historical societies
organize events and promote awareness
within local districts. The London
Heritage Council, for example, created
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
especially youth-oriented events such
as concerts, games, and festivities. 24 By
involving teens there is the opportunity
to encourage their active participation
through volunteering. When the Ministry
of Education and Training established
the Ontario Mandatory High School
Community Service Program, the goal
was to create “awareness and understanding
of civic responsibility and of
the role they can play in supporting and
strengthening their communities.” 25 To
date the program has led a majority of
students to develop a strong and consistent
commitment to volunteering if their
experience is positive and if a prolonged
volunteer commitment to one organization
is established. 26 Young people also
have the opportunity to be recognized
for their commitment to the field of heritage.
Both the Architecture Conservancy
of Ontario and the Ontario Heritage Trust
offer reward programs to acknowledge
the commitment youths have made in the
field of heritage conservation.
While steps have been taken to target
teens outside the classroom, local
organizations have not taken actions to
collaborate with schools and teachers
to include heritage activities as part of
the curriculum. In the past, the Heritage
Canada Foundation (HCF) has produced
teaching resources for school boards
across the country; however, it was felt
that these books were too costly and
took up too much staff time to produce
and the initiative was discontinued. 27
While they recognize that a program that
would allow children to think about the
built environment would be extremely
powerful, the lack of revenue potential
has prevented them from renewing
the process. Finally, due to the national
nature of the HCF, there are reservations
about how much they can change provincial
curricula while maintaining consistency
across the country. 28
roBert shipLey and nicoLe McKernan > essay | essai
fig. 2. the institute Of PlAnners’ guide cOuld be
imPrOved with the inclusiOn Of mOre mAteriAl
On heritAge And cOmmunity develOPment.
learning From the leaders
Both within and beyond the Canadian
context, it was discovered that many
school boards, non-governmental organizations,
and community organizations
have taken initiatives to promote heritage
conservation appreciation amongst students.
At present there are many smallscale
initiatives within regions to teach
students about individual heritage sites.
These efforts often generate most of
the visitor population to these sites from
school boards and their primary purpose
is to educate students. Examples within
the Southern Ontario context include
Fanshawe Pioneer Village in London,
Joseph Snider Haus in Kitchener, Fort
George in Niagara-on-the-Lake, and
Black Creek in Toronto. These sites focus
on early settler history which, while
important, is a very minimal selection of
Canadian heritage. Furthermore they only
examine case-by-case examples and not
the larger heritage context. Some are in
fact constructed sites, not actual evolved
87

oBert shipLey and nicoLe McKernan > essay | essai
fig. 3. iOwA stAte histOricAl sOciety website bAnner fOr the PrAirie vOices heritAge educAtiOn Online teAching
resOurce kit. | [httP://www.iOwAhistOry.Org/educAtiOn/index.html].
neighbourhoods. They are essentially
“heritage petting zoos.” Students need
to be able to investigate the neighbourhood
scale and the places in which they
live and spend most of their lives.
a Kid’s gUide to bUilding
great commUnities
There are opportunities to learn about
one’s own neighbourhood in other forms.
The Canadian Institute of Planners (CIP)
released A Kid’s Guide to Building Great
Communities: A Manual for Planners and
Educators to provide lesson plans that fit
within existing curricula in order to efficiently
teach students about community
development and planning in general
terms. 29 The manual was created in collaboration
with CIP accredited planners
from across the country; however, Ontario
planners were not included. While providing
evidence of how the lesson plans
would fit in classroom activities, there
was no effort to identify the diversity of
communities across the country. Instead,
communities were described in general
terms and lacked the understanding of
the sense of place created by spatial contexts.
Very few of the activities provided
within the guide made any reference to
heritage preservation, and those that did
generated only a vague understanding of
how communities began and how they
evolved over time. There were question
about the marketing approach of this
guide and whether or not teachers have
found it to be useful in teaching students
about planning if even only in the most
general sense. The manual was a good
idea and perhaps subsequent versions can
address some of these shortcomings.
Examples found in both the United States
and the United Kingdom have the potential
to be used as models for heritage education
in Canada.
the high school
For the preservation arts
In New Jersey, a study was undertaken
within the local conservation and architecture
sector to determine if there was a
need for skilled trade’s people. The results
quickly showed that the developing field
needed educated and interested people
to contribute to projects. The High School
for the Preservation Arts was founded in
2000 to give students an opportunity to
view traditional subjects with a significant
focus on historic preservation to study creation,
preservation, and interpretation of
artefacts. 30 While this school’s particular
focus does not relate directly to planning
and heritage, the same principles could
be applied to employment opportunities
in renovation and adaptive reuse of the
built form. More than half of the value
of construction in Canada is presently
devoted to renovation as distinct from
new building. The average age of a skilled
bricklayer in Canada is fifty-eight. Why
are we not training young people for
these lucrative jobs?
the national trUst
In the United Kingdom the National
Trust offers a range of site excursions
and school events, which it publicizes to
schools and the public alike. The Trust
offers a diversity of topics related to history
to discover, including genealogy,
natural preserved areas and ecosystems,
and recognized buildings, parks and landscapes
significant to the nation’s development.
The focus of these programs is to
promote out-of-classroom experiences in
the places that are discussed in the school.
In partnership with an organization called
Learning Outside the Classroom, the
National Trust suggests that these experiences
can assist in motivating students to
learn. 31 The focus of the National Trust
within the UK is on facilitating field trips
and learning in the environment; however,
similar to the Canadian experience,
the National Trust has focused on the
natural environment. While providing
opportunities to visit heritage properties,
it offers greater opportunities for the
natural environment than opportunities
to explore the greater urban framework.
national trUst For historic
preservation
Like the UK program, the United States
National Trust for Historic Preservation
(NTHP) relies on the advantages of
learning outside the classroom to teach
students about the environment. What
it does differently is combine the outof-the-classroom
approach with lesson
plans, activities, and in-class resources
related to the existing curriculum framework
to teach students about heritage.
88 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

These resources are all available online
with free access for students, teachers,
and the public alike. The NTHP believes
that by motivating students to explore
their community, talk to people, and look
at the landscape, a better understanding
of how and why the built environment
developed can be generated. The
Trust provides resources for teachers and
updates these lessons frequently to offer
diversity in case studies. One example
posted in the month of November 2009
suggested that students write a history of
local buildings and changes that a community
has seen over time by examining
secondary sources. 32
Furthermore, the Trust has found that
teachers are feeling the pressure to align
activities to state standards. The NTHP
suggests that “preservation activities can
be tied to almost any aspect of the history
or language arts curriculum […] and
is a great way to teach civic engagement
through participation.” 33 These resources
allow teachers to spend less time preparing
detailed lesson plans and supply
guidance on how the lessons can be most
efficiently conducted. Finally, one of the
most unconventional resources the NTHP
offers is a free self-operating blog service
called the “Preservation Blackboard.” This
service allows teachers to share ideas with
fellow educators within their school district
and across the country alike. One of
the only resources of its kind, this service
is affordable and offers an easily accessible
and adaptable solution for teachers
to consult.
prairie voices
In America, at a state level, Iowa has
demonstrated that heritage can be
implemented on its own. Prairie Voices
was published in 1995 to describe the content
of historical and cultural heritage in
the state and it acts as a users guide for
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
fig. 4. elements frOm the uk nAtiOnAl trust website fOr “leArning Outside
the clAssrOOm.” | [httP://www.lOtc.Org.uk/].
educators. When crafting the guide, the
state felt that there were three principles
that justify the teaching of local heritage.
Firstly, students can follow the “livinglearning”
approach and study a portion
of history close at hand and easily accessible.
Secondly, students typically find local
history more interesting due to the direct
effect on their lives and the places in
which they spend their time. Finally, in
teaching the fundamentals of local heritage,
an understanding of history can be
applied more easily to the wider content
of social studies. 34
The general concept of the guide was to
produce three umbrella topics to teach
segments of heritage to varying age
groups. Each “generalization group”
was enhanced with lesson plans and procedures
for teachers to use. Of most significance
to the built environment were
Generalization I: Buildings and artefacts
as resources in explaining the history
of a community and Generalization III:
Documents as resources in explaining
community history. The former was subdivided
into sections such as architectural
styles, skilled handcraftsmanship, and
roBert shipLey and nicoLe McKernan > essay | essai
transportation trends, and the effect they
have on community changes.
The guide also highlights specific elements
of history and local heritage that
should be taught in order to give students
a thorough appreciation of heritage conservation.
An exploration and analysis of
housing is encouraged in grades three to
eight to create an understanding of how
types of shelter, construction, design,
and styles are selected based on the
local climate, topography, available building
materials, and resources. Students
develop an understanding of how the
complexity of houses changes and architecture
evolves to reflect the social and
economic patterns of a time period.
Simultaneously, students examine the
development of their communities, from
the time of aboriginal occupation, the
founding of frontier towns, to the current
economic state. An exercise entitled
Discover Your Neighbourhood allows
students to familiarize themselves with
the primary features and land use patterns
that occurred within early communities
and the required information that
89

oBert shipLey and nicoLe McKernan > essay | essai
planners utilize, based on the characteristics
of buildings and neighbourhoods. 35
On a smaller scale, students are also
encouraged to explore single historical
sites. Prairie Voices recommends a local
site that demonstrates not only a classical
Victorian residence but also teaches
students about the roles of personalities
from the past. Most communities in
Canada have access to similar historic sites
but much can be learned from ordinary
neighbourhoods.
At a larger scale, students in elementary
schools can investigate how their towns,
villages, and cities were prepared and
planned by settlers. The original severing,
surveying, and land claims can still be
noticed in growth patterns and development
within urban areas. Similarly, trends
such as large lots, mature vegetation,
location of main streets to transportation
routes, and key interaction centres such as
churches, schools, and municipal buildings
can all be explored to create awareness
and understanding of significant heritage
elements of a neighbourhood.
conclUsion
and recommendations
Good decision-making concerning the
planning, management, and conservation
of our built environment depends
on adequate and accurate knowledge. It
is lamentable that a reasonable level of
understanding does not appear to exist
in many of those currently charged with
such decisions: members of planning tribunals
such as Ontario’s Municipal Board
and many local councillors. While it may
be too late for those people, architectural
conservationists should be looking to the
future and focusing more on good public
education to instil an enhanced appreciation
of the built environment in the decision-makers
and citizens of the future.
Heritage is, after all, a long-term affair.
One effort that will be worthwhile is to
ensure that built heritage environment
awareness is part of the common school
curriculum. While the Ontario Ministry
of Education and Training, and hopefully
other provincial education departments,
have laid the foundation for teaching
students about the built environment,
drastic improvements are needed. With
the opportunity to revise and make
changes to the curriculum regularly, the
heritage sector would be well advised to
make common cause with school boards
and teachers to push for specific architectural
heritage principles to be taught.
There is a home for such material in the
Ontario social studies and history/geography
curricula. There are many good
models for what these study modules
might look like, some of which have been
explored above.
Collaboration between school boards,
neighbourhood associations, planning
departments, and local, provincial, and
national heritage organizations can act
as catalysts to heritage resources for a
new curriculum. At present there is very
little interaction between stakeholders
as regards the segments of heritage that
need to be taught to young people. If
this closed-circuit operation continues, an
additional generation will lose the opportunity
to understand the importance of
heritage and preservation tactics that can
be implemented.
It is unfortunate that the Heritage Canada
Foundation abandoned the production
of school-targeted education materials
and resources largely because it was too
expensive. The National Trust for Historic
Preservation in the US, the UK National
Trust, and even the Iowa State Historical
Society have demonstrated that publishing
and operating costs can be greatly
reduced with new online technologies.
While Heritage Canada also cited
provincial curricula differences as a constraint,
coordinated programs would be
possible using the model of the Heritage
Places Initiative, a Parks Canada program
that negotiated a common approach to
historic site documentation among all the
provinces and territories and set national
guidelines for conservation. 36
There are always huge challenges facing
the advocates of heritage and architectural
conservation. There are sitespecific
crises almost weekly, battles to
be fought to save national historic sites
from destruction by our own government,
regionally significant buildings
demolished by municipal governments,
and local properties threatened by
unsympathetic owners and developers.
But if ignorance of the importance of
heritage value is the main underlying
cause of grief, then education is finally
the only remedy. If current decision-makers
are the problem, then teaching future
decision-makers is the solution. 37
notes
1. Wingrove, Josh, 2008, “Alma Disaster:
Hopes of Saving Landmark Go up in
Smoke,” Globe and Mail, May 30.
2. Howe, Rich, 2008, “Sambro Lighthouse
Faces Demolition by Neglect,” Halifax News
Net, August 28.
3. Carter, Margaret, 1999 CIHB Revisited 1999,
Ottawa, Heritage Resource Associates Inc.
4. Shipley, Robert and Karen Reyburn, 2003,
“Lost Heritage: A Study of Historic Building
Demolitions in Ontario, Canada,” The
International Journal of Heritage Studies,
vol. 9, no. 2, p. 151-168.
5. Denhez, Marc, 1994, The Canadian Home
from Cave to Electronic Cocoon, Toronto,
Dundurn Press.
6. Id. : 81.
7. Rypkema, Donevan, 20 0 8 , His toric
Preservation and Sustainable Development,
Address to the Landmarks not Landfill
Heritage Conser vation Conference,
Collingwood, Ontario, May.
90 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

8. Should this be: The Record, Kitchener
Waterloo, Sunday, February 14, 2010.
9. Hansard, Legislative Assembly of Ontario,
Standing Committee on Government
Agencies Tuesday, September 8, 2009.
10. Wo rking G roup o n Environmental
Education, Shaping Our Schools, Shaping
our Future: Environmental Education in
Ontario Schools, Ontario, June 2007.
11. O n t a r i o M i n i s t r y o f E n e r g y a n d
Infrastructure, 2009, Places to Grow Act
2005, Last amendment, c. 12, sched. L, s. 18.
12. Moe, Richard, 2009, “Preserving Our
Nation’s His toric N eighbourhoods,
Buildings, Homes and Sites,” Save Our
History Educator’s Manual. US National
Trust for Historic Preservation.
13. Jackson, Mike, 2005, “Embodied Energy
and Historic Preservation: A Needed
Reassessment,” APT Bulletin, vol. 36, no. 4,
p. 47-52.
14. R o b e r t s , Tr i s t a n , 2 0 0 7, “ H i s t o r i c
Preservation and Green Building : A
Lasting Relationship,” Environmental
Building News. National Trust for Historic
Preservation, January.
15. Kibert, Charles J., Abdol R. Chini, Jennifer
L. Languell, and M.E. Rinker, 2000,
Implementing Deconstruction in the
United States, Florida, University of Florida,
p. 181-239.
16. The Expositor, “All Buildings Are Going to
Come Down, Downtown Expropriation:
Scaffolding Going up Today,” Brantford,
February 10, 2010.
17. Avery, Hinda, 1989, “The Potential Role of
the Art Teacher, the Urban Planning, and
Community Groups in Built Environment
Education,” Art Education, vol. 42, no. 5.
18. Ontario Ministr y of Education and
Training, 2004, The Ontario Curriculum:
Social Studies, Grades 1 to 6; History and
Geography, Grades 7 and 8, p. 3.
19. J o n e s , F r a n k , 2 0 0 0 , “C o m m u n i t y
Involvement: The Influence of Early
Experience,” Canadian Social Trends –
Statistics Canada – Catalogue No. 11‑008,
Summer.
20. Richards, Greg, 2007, “Using Tourism
Resources for Creating Awareness of
Heritage,” Cultural Tourism: Global and
Local Perspectives, New York, Haworth
Press, January.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
21. Ontario Ministry of Education and Training,
2004 : 20.
22. Id. : 66.
23. Ontario Ministry of Education and Training,
Curriculum Review Process, 2008, [http://
curriculumreview.ca/process.html], last
accessed on December 7, 2009.
24. Sawchuck, Michael, phone interview by
author, Waterloo (ON), November 2009.
25. Ontario Ministry of Education and Training,
1999, Ontario Secondary Schools, Grades
9‑12: Program and Diploma Requirements,
p. 9.
26. Brown, Steven D., S. Mark Pancer,
Alisa Henderson, and Kimberly Ellis-
Hale, 2007, The Impact of High School
Mandatory Community Service Programs
on Subsequent Volunteering and Civic
Engagement, Submitted to the Knowledge
Development Centre, Imagine Canada.
Laurier Institute for the Study of Public
Opinion and Policy, Wilfred Laurier
University, January.
27. Bull, Natalie, phone interview by author,
Waterloo (ON), November 2009.
28. Id.
29. Canadian Institute of Planners, n.d., A
Kid’s Guide to Building Great Communities:
A Manual for Planners and Educators,
Ottawa.
30. Art Preservation Technology’s Training
and Education Committee, n.d., Designing
a High School for the Preservation Arts,
Newark (NJ), New Jersey Institute of
Technology.
31. Learning Outside the Classroom, 2006,
Learning Outside the Classroom Manifesto,
London (UK), November.
32. LaRue, Paul, 2009. “Preservation on a
Shoestring,” Teaching Preservation –
Classroom Resources, Washington (DC),
National Trust for Historic Preservation.
33. Id. : 2.
34. Wessel, Linda and Jean Florman, 1995,
Prairie Voices: An Iowa Heritage Curriculum,
Iowa City, Iowa State Historical Society;
Des Moines, Iowa State Department of
Education.
35. Id. : 319.
36. In the case of the National Standards and
Guidelines for conservation, the federal
government worked with each of the
roBert shipLey and nicoLe McKernan > essay | essai
provinces and territories to establish a uniform
approach that all agreed to. A similar
process could establish a country-wide
standard for school curricula that was not
imposed by the federal government, who
does not have responsibility for education,
but that would be agreed to by the territories
and provinces.
37. Since this research was conducted ICOMOS
Canada has produced an excellent new
teaching guide focused on industrial heritage.
This provides a great example of
material that can be promoted to Schools,
School Boards and Ministries of Education.
Student kit
http://canada.icomos.org /documents /
ICOMOS%20April%2018%20KIT%20students%20ENrev.pdf
http://canada.icomos.org /documents /
ICOMOS%2018avril%20TROUSSE%20enseignant%20FR.pdf
Teacher's kit
http://canada.icomos.org /documents /
ICOMOS%20April%2018%20KIT%20teachers%20ENrev.pdf
http://canada.icomos.org /documents /
ICOMOS%2018avril%20TROUSSE%20enseignant%20FR.pdf
91

SteVeN MANNeLL, NSAA, MrAiC, is a professor
in the School of Architecture and director of the
College of Sustainability at Dalhousie university,
principal of Steven Mannell Architect in Halifax,
and founding chair of Docomomo Canada –
Atlantic. His research and publications include
studies of regional modern heritage in Canada;
spatial improvisation in lightweight construction
techniques; and the architecture and engineering
of twentieth-century public works.
fig. 1. cAnAdA PermAnent building, 1961-1962, hAlifAx, ns. ArchitecturAl firm: c.A. fOwler And cOmPAny,
engineers And Architects, hAlifAx, ns. design Architects: chArles A. fOwler, JAmie mAcdOnAld.
view frOm sOutheAst, mAy 2001. | chAd JAmiesOn.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011 > 93-105
essaY | essai
tHe dReaM (aNd lie) oF pRoGRess
Modern Heritage, Regionalism,
and Folk traditions in atlantic canada 1
> steven ManneLL
In the second half of the twentieth century,
modern buildings were a key symbol
of progress across Canada, embodying
society’s aspirations for economic, social,
and technological progress. Modernist
forms, shared internationally through
improved communications and travel,
and paid for by global industrialization,
engendered a strong tendency to internationalism,
perceptions of equivalency
between diverse places, and the establishment
of universal “type” solutions to
common problems and concerns.
colonialism
and critical regionalism
Often the coming of modernity to the
regions worked as a kind of colonialism.
Advanced techniques were received with
wonder and gratitude by local populations
anxious to be “in step” with the
world outside. Hence the breathless
prose of the Halifax newspapers in 1961,
describing the new Canada Permanent
Trust offices (fig. 1): 2
A tower of Glass and Steel […] the City’s
First Completed Curtain Wall Structure […]
7000 Square Feet of Glass, 2 Miles of Wire,
2000 tons of Structural Steel. 3
Construction work in its first phases has
attracted hundreds of “sidewalk superintendents”
in the last few weeks to the site at the
corner of Barrington and Sackville streets. 4
Seldom are transfers of advanced form
and technique unadulterated by local
conditions. In the Canada Permanent
Building, the transferred techniques of
steel structure and aluminium curtain wall
93

steven ManneLL > essay | essai
fig. 2. cAnAdA PermAnent building, “nOw OPen!”
Advertisement frOm the hAlifAx mAil stAr,
wednesdAy, August 22, 1962. | hAlifAx regiOnAl librAry.
are tempered by a studied appreciation
of the topography and block structure of
the Halifax peninsula (fig. 2). Charles A.
Fowler’s Halifax-based office had completed
a number of projects for Canada
Permanent Trust when a fire burned its
Halifax headquarters. The Trust’s desire
for another solid masonry building was illsuited
to the long, thin end block site, and
Fowler convinced them that seven storeys
of lightweight steel and thin curtain wall
would result in more workable spaces.
A lattice of silver aluminium mullions
with light and dark grey enamel panels
and glass infill runs along all three street
faces, creating a unique “end cap” to the
block. Built tight to the street lines and
party walls, the prism of the upper floors
reinforces the eighteenth-century block
structure, while the slope of the site is
exploited to create ground-level entrances
at two different floors, connected by a
sculptural terrazzo stair and pentagonal
atrium. The Canada Permanent Building
embodies what Kenneth Frampton defines
fig. 3. dAlhOusie Arts centre, dAlhOusie university, 1969-1971, hAlifAx, ns. ArchitecturAl firm: c.A. fOwler
bAuld And mitchell ltd., hAlifAx, ns. design Architects: chArles A. fOwler, Andrew lynch, JunJi mikAwA.
detAil Of PrecAst cOncrete clAdding And cOncrete structure, mAy 2001. | chAd JAmiesOn.
as Critical Regionalism, where universalizing
paradigms are leavened by attention
to local climate, topography, settlement
patterns, and building types. 5
Notions of “regional architecture” risk
nostalgia and sentimentality, seeing only
traces of some imagined, usually traditional
or local, authenticity within buildings.
A related risk is that of a patronizing
reading of regional works as derivative,
“behind the times” imitations of the
important works of the metropolitan
avant-garde. As the Canada Permanent
Building example suggests, the actual
workings of cultural exchange in modernity
are more subtle and reciprocal
than those suggested by the “march of
history” of most textbooks. Modernity in
the regions saw the creation of new territories
of the imagination instigated by
the increased mobility of individuals and
ideas, while regional work led to inflection
and enrichment of the ideas received
from the centre.
During the late 1960s, Dalhousie University
in Halifax, Nova Scotia, began an ambitious
modernizing project, transforming
its academic programs and offerings
from those of a small regional college to
embrace aspirations of a comprehensive
university operating on a national stage.
In parallel the university undertook a
major building program, with prominent
use of modern forms and spatial ideas
and extensive use of concrete, under
the leadership of university architect
Jim Sykes, a former employee of John
Andrews. Dalhousie’s academic and campus
modernization project was a reflection
of the contemporary modernizing
and democratizing of universities across
Canada. By far the most radical of the
new buildings is the Dalhousie Arts Centre
(fig. 3). 6 A phantasmagoric composition,
both a giant-scale insect carapace and a
fragment of a Japanese Metabolist cityscape,
the Dalhousie Arts Centre takes
its place in the parade of “big facades”
along University Avenue, undermining
94 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 4. dAlhOusie Arts centre. diAgrAm shOwing PrOPOsed bridge cOnnectiOns tO cAmPus buildings, And AeriAl PersPective PresentAtiOn drAwing
frOm brOchure “the Arts centre,” dAlhOusie university, hAlifAx, ns, n.d. [1967]. | JunJi mikAwA cOllectiOn.
the stuffy proprieties of neighbouring
buildings while conforming to the general
typology of a formal frontage. Stubs
of concrete bridges animate the facades,
and suggest the potential of connections
across University Avenue and over
the flanking streets to connect to future
neighbours (fig. 4). An elevated terrace at
the rear begins an exterior route up to the
secret theatre space of the roof terrace, a
space which now lies dormant, awaiting
the imagination of the Dalhousie community.
The obsessive connection-making
of the exterior carries forward in the main
lobby, a wonderfully fluid multi-storey
landscape of stairs and balconies rendered
in concrete and glass (fig. 5).
The Arts Centre is perhaps Canada’s only
authentic Metabolist building, the product
of a curious collaboration between
an established Halifax firm and a young
avant-garde Japanese architect on a work
exchange. Junji Mikawa was responsible
for the overall form and planning of the
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
fig. 5. dAlhOusie Arts centre. entry lObby
And sculPture gAllery, design PresentAtiOn
drAwing frOm brOchure “the Arts centre,”
dAlhOusie university, hAlifAx, ns,
n.d. [1967]. | JunJi mikAwA cOllectiOn.
Arts Centre, and the result of his brief stay
in Canada is a building of international
significance, and a locus for ongoing cultural
exchange. Mikawa came to Canada
steven ManneLL > essay | essai
fig. 6. dAlhOusie Arts centre. “level 3” PlAn,
PresentAtiOn drAwing, n.d. ink And tOne
On mylAr. | fOwer, bAuld & mitchell cOllectiOn.
after working on Kunio Mayekawa’s
Tokyo Metropolitan Hall, and brought
Metabolist ideas to Halifax where they
were given room for expression (fig. 6). 7
95

steven ManneLL > essay | essai
fig. 7. hOly redeemer church. exteriOr view tOwArds entry And tOwer,
APril 2001. | chAd JAmiesOn.
Mikawa returned to take up a teaching
post in Japan; for years afterward Japanese
architecture students turned up in Halifax,
looking to visit sensei’s masterwork.
To early twenty-first-century eyes,
Holy Redeemer Catholic Church in
Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island,
appears to be a very typical Roman
Catholic church, with its fan-shaped plan
enclosed by low perimeter walls, covered
by a prominent roof supporting an expressive
spire (fig. 7). 8 A masterful play of light
and darkness animates the interior. Radial
lines of shadow in the folded plate beams
lead to a blast of tinted light beneath the
central lantern (fig. 8). The rich, coarse textures
of the brick interior walls and stone
floor ripple in the light, while the ragged
geometries of plan and section provide
additional pools of darkness.
An examination of the timelines shows
that Holy Redeemer is in fact a prototype
of what became a widespread latetwentieth-century
church form. The first
session of the Second Vatican Council
convened in October 1962, while Holy
Redeemer Church was in the design phase,
and according to its Charlottetown-born
architect Alfred Hennessey, “changes were
made to the drawings as Vatican II was
unfolding.” 9 The bishop of Charlottetown
was an advocate of progress, and as the
Council progressed, the bishop telegraphed
the implications from Rome
back to Hennessey in Charlottetown. The
church reflects the liturgical reforms: the
celebrant priest is behind the altar, facing
the congregation in pews arranged for
optimal view and participation in the mass,
which is now in the vernacular rather than
in Latin (fig. 9). These formal and liturgical
innovations, product of an international
push for modernity, have since become a
commonplace of church architecture. Holy
Redeemer Church, a small parish in a small
city on an island province, stands as a very
pure (and very early) architectural expression
of liturgical progress.
French philosopher Paul Ricoeur marks
the distinction in modernity between
culture (a local, particular phenomenon)
and civilization (a dominant, universal
phenomenon). 10 More crucially, Kenneth
Frampton notes that Ricoeur calls for the
cross-fertilization of culture and civilization
fig. 8. hOly redeemer rOmAn cAthOlic church, 1962-1964,
chArlOttetOwn, Pe. ArchitecturAl firm: Alfred J. hennessey
Architect, chArlOttetOwn, Pe. design Architect: Alfred hennessey.
view Of the AltAr, APril 2001. | chAd JAmiesOn.
to create a hybrid “world culture” drawing
upon “the capacity of regional culture
to recreate a rooted tradition while
approaching foreign influences at the level
of both culture and civilization.” 11 The
enriching transnational cultural exchanges
embodied in both the Arts Centre and the
Holy Redeemer Church are the result of
individual mobility, media transmission
of ideas and forms, and the local resonance
of international cultural movements.
These exchanges produced local buildings
of international significance, embodiments
of this resistant “world culture.”
the dream
and lie oF progress
Modernity has always existed in uneasy
relationship to local vernaculars, especially
in the many regions of Canada outside the
major population centres. Here modernity
is a work in progress, imperfectly achieved
or perhaps never truly begun. Federal
government-funded industrialization and
regional development strategies create
massive disruptions of traditional cultures
defined largely by resource extraction and
traditional harvest economies. Each wave
96 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 9. hOly redeemer church. “church PlAn” design PresentAtiOn drAwing, december 1962. delineAtOr: chm
[clAude mAurice]. blAck ink, sePiA ink, And Pencil On vellum. | Alfred hennessey cOllectiOn.
of economic development proves no less
capricious than the traditional harvest
economies, while the “modernization”
of farming, forestry, and fishing results
in increased overhead and indebtedness,
destroying traditional subsistence economics.
With no substantial, lasting industrialization,
these societies have jumped directly
from premodern resource extraction to
postmodern service economies. Young
people are left with a choice between lowpaying
jobs in call centres and restaurants,
or “goin’ down the road” to Toronto or
Fort MacMurray, the Canadian version of
the internal migrant worker exile common
around the world.
toUrism, anti-modernism,
and the QUest oF the FolK
Mass tourism is the late twentieth century’s
answer to the failure of industrialization
and the loss of subsistence. Official
and popular reception of modern architecture
in Atlantic Canada is poised on
an uneasy edge between the desire to
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
be “up-to-date” and progressive and the
need to serve the folksy image marketed
by the tourism industry. Beginning in the
1930s, the rise of the tourist industry in the
Maritime Provinces and Newfoundland has
been accompanied by the development of
the notion of an Atlantic Canadian “folk.”
The region’s tourist image is a carefully
constructed amalgam of unspoiled nature
and premodern buildings and settlements.
Ethnographic fieldwork since the 1930s
has built a body of folk songs and stories,
and of traditional crafts and folkways.
This documentary evidence has been supplemented
by a series of invented “folk”
elements, including heraldry, handicraft
patterns, and myths of origin, intended
to create a seamless image of tradition
and simplicity for consumption by visitors
“from away” (fig. 10). Evangeline, Anne
of Green Gables, Gaelic New Scotland,
the all-pervasive Nova Scotia tartan, the
hooked mat, all have been invented or
perfected since the 1930s, supported by
schools devoted to bagpipes, weaving,
and step dance. According to Ian McKay,
steven ManneLL > essay | essai
fig. 10. nOvA scOtiA tOurism mAgAzine Advertisement,
2005. A cleArly AntimOdern imAge Of PlAce,
Presented tO elicit tOuristic desire. | nOvA scOtiA
dePArtment Of tOurism And culture.
who has studied the development of the
folk image in Nova Scotia:
Between 1935 and 1964 the government of
Nova Scotia pursued a consistent policy of
developing historical resources to promote
tourism and respond to a public hungry for
a reassuring “presence of the past.” the
revival of a golden age, with its restored
fortresses and tall ships, was an applied
romantic antimodernism. 12
The romance of the distant past has little
place for the dreams of modernity and
progress of the more recent past. Tourism
marketers in Nova Scotia (quickly imitated
in the rest of the Atlantic region)
developed a storyline emphasizing that
“[t]he province was essentially innocent of
the complication and anxieties of twentieth-century
modernity.” 13 Preservation of
pre-Confederation buildings and precincts
was a key element of the development
of the tourist industry in the 1970s, while
the desire to express the comforts of the
distant past (when there were still cod to
97

steven ManneLL > essay | essai
fig. 11. bOwring brOthers stOre, 1950s, st. JOhn’s, nl.
ArchitecturAl firm: cummings And cAmPbell,
Architects And engineers, st. JOhn’s, nl. design
Architect: Angus cAmPbell. view Of the PArking
rAmP And stAir tOwer At the bAck Of the building
fAcing the hArbOur, 2001. | steven mAnnell.
fish) has kept postmodern historicism alive
as the expression of choice for many new
buildings in the region. Buildings with
modern expression spoil the illusion, and
as a result many have been “historicized”
to keep to the tourism storyline—for
example, the pseudo-traditional brick
wallpaper applied to the street frontage
of Angus Campbell’s Bowring building in
St. John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador. 14
The wonderful modern composition
of stair tower, ramp, and deck, out of
sight facing the harbour, remains intact
(fig. 11), while inch-thick veneer of a past
that never was now replaces the former
breathtaking concrete canopy and plate
glass window that negotiated the bend
in the street (figs. 12-13). Robert Bevan,
discussing the selective destruction and
neglect of certain modes of architecture,
notes that “the erasure of the memories,
history and identity attached to architecture
and place—enforced forgetting—is
the goal itself.” 15
fig. 12. bOwring brOthers stOre. view Of the OriginAl
stOrefrOnt fAcing wAter street, with
cOntinuOus PlAte glAss disPlAy windOws
And cAntilevered cAnOPy, 1970s. | st. JOhn’s city
Archive, 26-01-025.
Some early buildings serving the region’s
tourism industry aspired to a critical framing
of regional characteristics. Alexander
Tzonis and Liane Lefaivre describe this as
“defamiliarization”—the use of placedefining
elements in a way that resists
sentimentality. 16 The Interpretive Centre
at Port aux Basques, Newfoundland
and Labrador, originally greeted travellers
debarking the ferry from mainland
Canada with an abstract white geometry
of forms, capable of evoking alternately
the sense of an iceberg on the ocean, rock
formations of the local fjords and cliffs,
schooner sails returning from the banks,
or a traditional fishing shed or “lean” on
an outport shore (fig. 14). 17 Recent tourism
marketing campaigns have repainted
the centre and its companions across the
province, covering the white superstructure
with primary colours taken from fishing
sheds, “re-familiarizing” the abstract
forms by closing down the alternate readings
in favour of the ruling folk narrative.
Le Pays de la Sagouine in Bouctouche,
New Brunswick, is a more insidious manifestation
of the folk imperative (fig. 15). 18
In the absence of any actual premodern
artefacts in the area, an ersatz Acadian
village was constructed of whole cloth,
a physical embodiment of a fictional
fig. 13. bOwring brOthers stOre. view Of wAter
street frOntAge After the APPlicAtiOn Of
A histOricist veneer Of brick And Punched
windOws in the 1990s, 2001. | steven mAnnell.
place formerly existing only in Antonine
Maillet’s popular tales of the Acadian
charwoman “La Sagouine.” While the
settlement pattern borrows more from
theme parks and shopping malls than any
study of traditional villages, the architectural
expression employs the elements and
forms of a generalized “pastness” drawn
from postmodern historicism, enhanced
with selected recognizably Acadian motifs
and details. This use of “familiarization”
evokes a very quick, soothing nostalgia
in the visitor, creating an emotional connection
to a literally fictive past. Kenneth
Frampton notes that such populist expression
“seeks to evoke not a critical perception
of reality, but rather the sublimation
of a desire for direct experience through
the provision of information. Its tactical
aim is to attain, as economically as possible,
a preconceived level of gratification.”
19 As a place that allows real tourists
to visit fictional locales in person, the
Pays de la Sagouine stands in the tradition
of “Green Gables,” on Prince Edward
Island’s north shore, and “Evangeline,” at
Grand-Pré, Nova Scotia. This tradition also
includes the many simplified and romanticized
interpretations of past peoples,
traditions, and events that populate the
touristic interpretations of actual historic
sites throughout Atlantic Canada.
98 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 14. POrt Aux bAsques interPretive centre, 1976-1978, POrt Aux bAsques, nl. ArchitecturAl firm:
beAtOn shePPArd ltd., st. JOhn’s, nl. design Architect: beAtOn shePPArd. view AcrOss the drivewAy,
n.d. [1978]. | beAtOn shePPArd cOllectiOn.
The all-pervasive character of the tourist
milieu has turned this outward image
back upon the place and its people, with
“quaint” and “folk” increasingly coming
to define the self-image of Atlantic
Canadians as well. According to Ian McKay,
the mechanism was both external and
internal: “From the 1920s on, the state systematically
created a complex network of
words and things to make the ‘outsiders’
experience of Innocence the ‘insiders’
lived life experience. The ‘inside’ and the
‘outside’ were brought together.” 20 And
further: “For outsiders who wanted to be
insiders, for Nova Scotians torn between
leaving and staying, the folk offered a
way of conceptualizing identity and dealing
with the painful uncertainties of modernity.”
21 A clear and distinctive image of
“the simple life” back home is especially
important to Atlantic Canadian exiles,
such as migrant construction workers from
Cape Breton bunked up a dozen to a house
working the Alberta oil sands. “Farewell to
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
Nova Scotia” is now the provincial anthem,
and regret for a life we were told we once
lived replaces our true memories of the
place we left.
What does not fit this ruling narrative is
dealt with rather ruthlessly. Cases in point
are two projects that gave expression to
an optimistic and progressive vision of
the future of the region; now that these
visions run counter to the myth of folk
innocence, the buildings themselves are
destroyed or abandoned to the elements.
Conceived in the early 1970s by the New
Alchemy Institute, a Boston-based group
devoted to a renewed integration of science
and the humanities, the PEI Ark, Spry
Point, Prince Edward Island, was powered
by sun and wind, grew its own food on the
grounds and in its greenhouse, and treated
its own water and wastes (figs. 16-17). 22
Like a traditional Prince Edward Island
homestead, the Ark was intended to be
steven ManneLL > essay | essai
fig. 15. le PAys de lA sAgOuine, 1991 And 1999,
bOuctOuche And île-Aux-Puces, new brunswick.
ArchitecturAl firm: Architects fOur ltd.,
mOnctOn, nb. PrinciPAl Architects: elide Albert
And diAne vAndOmmelen. design Architect: Jeff
vAndOmmelen. the bOArdwAlk lOOking tOwArd
île-Aux-Puces, n.d. | Architects fOur cOllectiOn.
fully self-sufficient on its rural site. The
technologies are in the spirit of the Whole
Earth Catalog: an urban and sciencebased
rediscovery of traditional country
ways and means, deployed in resistance
to the growth paradigms and input-output
mentality of industrial modernism. 23
Architectural expression was self-described
as “conservative modern.” 24 Abstract pitchroof
masses evoke local barns, while the
site planning learns lessons in wind and
solar advantage from vernacular examples.
Traditional Island values are echoed in the
Ark’s publicity, with an emphasis on “prudence—skill
and good judgement in the
use of resources” as the guiding principle
of design and operation. 25 Here Island folkways
are “defamiliarized” through a hippy
reading and representation.
Pierre Elliott Trudeau, prime minister of
Canada and paragon of social progress,
offered these remarks at the Ark’s
opening in 1976: “This Island […] is now
99

steven ManneLL > essay | essai
fig. 16. the Pei Ark, 1975-1976, sPry POint, little POnd, Pe (demOlished).
ArchitecturAl firm: sOlseArch Architecture, chArlOttetOwn, Pe, And
cAmbridge, mA. design Architects: dAvid bergmArk And Ole hAmmArlund.
dAvid bergmArk And Ole hAmmArlund in frOnt Of the sOuth wAll And
sOlAr cOllectOr PAnels, n.d. | bergmArk hAmmArlund JOnes cOllectiOn.
fig. 18. newfOundlAnd hOuse. | PAinting by reginAld shePherd, 1964.
Oil On cAnvAs. williAm smAllwOOd cOllectiOn.
providing hospitality to a new commitment,
a commitment that the environmentalists
refer to as ‘living lightly on
the earth.’” 26 The Ark was conceived at a
time of enormous optimism and appetite
for the future in Canada. But the remote
site and the emphasis on self-sufficiency
suggest a retreat from organized society.
In fact, “The Ark” was so-called because
the project was designed to survive the
coming economic holocaust expected by
its promoters. Other young “new pioneers”
moved to the rural Maritimes in
the 1970’s based on their estimation of
the fallout patterns from a nuclear strike
on the United States eastern seaboard.
In this contradiction, the Ark reflects the
fig. 17. “the Pei Ark: the new Alchemists” POster,
n.d. [1978]. | bergmArk hAmmArlund JOnes cOllectiOn.
unresolved motives of the back to the
land movement, attempting to build an
Arcadian, and Acadian, utopia while at the
same time securing an escape from a coming
technological apocalypse.
The Ark had a chequered career, especially
with the rediscovery of cheap oil and consumerism
in the 1980s. For a short while
the Ark was converted to a bed-and-breakfast
inn, but it was abundantly clear that
Anne of Green Gables never slept there.
The image of the Ark and the social and
ecological ideals it expressed were irreconcilable
with the preferred image of green
gables, red soil, and jolly fiddlers that had
been presold to its guests. Its demolition
in 2000 came just too soon for the Ark to
be rediscovered as a pioneering work of
sustainable design. The Ark embodies an
important but suppressed story in recent
Maritime history, that of the draft dodgers,
hippies, and back-to-the-landers of
the 1960s and 1970s. Their legacy of social
justice and environmental activism remains
mostly undimmed in Atlantic Canada,
thanks to a shortage of local opportunities
to sell out to “the Man.” As yet, there
is no official hippy tartan, and little place
for this episode of history in either school
curricula or tourism guides.
The Newfoundland House was commissioned
by Premier Joey Smallwood as part
100 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

of his controversial Russwood Ranch pig
farm at Roaches Line, Newfoundland and
Labrador (fig. 18). 27 The Newfoundland
House was conceived as the central villa
to Smallwood’s personal experiment in
modernity and progress, a large-scale
pork ranch. While traditional outport
houses and outbuildings are able to be
“launched” due to their lack of permanent
foundations, the Newfoundland
House is rooted in its knoll, emphasizing
its tie to place and symbolizing the need
for the agricultural and industrial workers
of Newfoundland’s future to be rooted to
the land, in contrast to the restlessness of
fisherfolk. 28 The extensive development
of the landscape, with encircling carriage
drive, reflecting pond, stone walls,
and gates, also contrasts with traditional
settlement patterns that either neglect
the ground altogether, or fence off areas
for pasture or kitchen gardens. While the
house responds in subtle ways to the character
of its site and climate, the forms and
geometry offer little to Newfoundlanders
that is familiar; instead, like Smallwood
himself, the Newfoundland House is a
provoking symbol of coming progress
and change.
The house is the focus of a prominent
view across the reflecting pond from
Roaches Line, and was long an inescapable
landmark on the route from
St. John’s to the summer vacation area
of Conception Bay South. A gas station
and restaurant across the road provided
travellers with an ideal vantage point to
take in Joey Smallwood’s house and his
vision of progress (fig. 19). Smallwood
was a pariah in Newfoundland for his
role in the referendum that ended
independence (fig. 20). Architect Angus
Campbell was known by the nickname
"Angles" in St. John's, and liked to incorporate
mathematical references and
jokes in his designs. The geometrically
adventurous "vee" plan of the house
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
contains the living room at the prow,
with a monumental fireplace crowned by
a folded plate ceiling. Two wings branch
back from the prow to enclose an exterior
court. One wing slightly larger than
the other, some say a subtle reminder
(from Campbell, or Smallwood himself)
of the 51% to 49% split of the vote in the
1949 referendum on Confederation with
Canada (fig. 21).
A s premier of the new province,
Smallwood was evangelical in his desire
for progress and modernity, with megaprojects
like the Churchill Falls dam
and power plant and the trans-Newfoundland
highway, myriad industrial
and mining projects, and above all the
forced relocation of numerous outport
fishing settlements in an effort at
physical and cultural modernization. The
Newfoundland House, commissioned
by the Newfoundland premier from a
Newfoundland architect, was a far from
reassuring image to Newfoundlanders
feeling the uncertainties of confederation
and relocation.
Joey Smallwood gave the house to the
people of Newfoundland as a continuing
symbol of his legacy of modernization,
but no subsequent government has
been willing to fulfil this wish. Instead, a
Smallwood centre exists at Gambo, Joey’s
tiny and remote home village, keeping
the Smallwood legacy at a healthy distance
from St. John’s and emphasizing his
early, pre-Confederation, pre-modernization
policy years. The Newfoundland
House stands in dire straits, abandoned
by the province. Even the regional road
system has been redesigned to move the
main route well away from views to the
house. The Newfoundland House offers
the potential to accommodate a significant
interpretive centre of Smallwood
and post-Confederation Newfoundland,
easily a cce s sible to touris t s and
steven ManneLL > essay | essai
Newfoundlanders alike. Such an institution
would be an important step for
Newfoundland in coming to terms with
the difficulties of the recent past. 29
In the PEI Ark, the aim was to be consoling;
in the Newfoundland House, to provoke;
but in both projects the specifics of
place, landscape, and climate are embodied,
tempering the cultural material
brought from away. In each case the
result is an image that is neither reassuring
nor easily commodified in the folk/
tourist market. The architectural images
challenge viewers to think critically
about the culture and destiny of place.
The sad neglect of the “Newfoundland
House” and the demolition of the PEI Ark
indicate the postmodern retreat from a
positive view of progress and the future,
and exemplify the cold disregard paid to
authentic cultural artefacts that no longer
fit the ruling folk/tourist narrative.
whY worrY aboUt modern
heritage?
I n T h e D e s t r u c t i o n o f M e m o r y :
Architecture at War, Robert Bevan quotes
George Orwell’s statement of 1943 on
the desire of elite groups in society to
control the shape of the past:
the implied objective […] is a nightmare
world in which the Leader or some other
ruling clique controls not only the future
but the past. if the Leader says of such and
such an event, “it never happened”—well, it
never happened […] this prospect frightens
me much more than bombs—and after
our experiences of the last few years, that
is not a frivolous statement. 30
While the destruction or neglect of modern
built heritage, in Atlantic Canada or
elsewhere, is not occurring in the face
of military conflict, it is certainly part
and parcel of the ongoing cultural wars
101

steven ManneLL > essay | essai
fig. 20. newfOundlAnd hOuse (JOey smAllwOOd residence), 1958-1960, rOAches line, nl. ArchitecturAl firm: cummings And cAmPbell, Architects And engineers, st. JOhn’s,
nl. design Architect: Angus cAmPbell. Premier JOsePh smAllwOOd in the living rOOm Of newfOundlAnd hOuse, 1961. | bOb brOOks. frOm JAmes y. nichOl, “PugnAciOus JOey: the whirling
dervish frOm newfOundlAnd,” the stAr weekly, tOrOntO, APril 22, 1961, P. 8-9. tOrOntO reference librAry.
fig. 19. gAs stAtiOn And dAiry bAr, 1963, rOAches line, nl. ArchitecturAl firm: cummings And cAmPbell,
Architects And engineers, st. JOhn’s, nl. design Architect: Angus cAmPbell. the gAs stAtiOn And
dAiry bAr wAs One Of mAny buildings designed fOr JOey smAllwOOd by Angus cAmPbell, And wAs
lOcAted directly AcrOss the rOAd frOm newfOundlAnd hOuse, APril 2001. | chAd JAmiesOn.
instigated by neo-liberalism and the proponents
of global market economies.
So why worry about modern heritage in
a region where many feel that modernity
has failed? There are the worthy reasons,
including the obligation to bear witness to
the continuum of our heritage, not just to
an imagined, once-upon-a-time “golden
age.” Ian McKay observes that the problem
with touristic narratives, whether imposed
on or adopted, is that, “full and free citizenship
in a society of equals requires an
open dialogue with the past, and such
an open dialogue becomes increasingly
unlikely if canons of significance, criteria
of identity, and the very concept of community
all come to be structured according
fig. 21. newfOundlAnd hOuse. detAil Of “first flOOr PlAn”
cOntrAct drAwing #3, June 1958. | delineAtOr: Angus cAmPbell.
sePiA Print: Angus cAmPbell cOllectiOn.
to commercial criteria.” 31 Our built modern
heritage is a legacy of ambition, will, and
symbolism, left for our benefit and use by
those who came before us; it is folly to
ignore the significant embodied energy,
both cultural and material, in modern
buildings. It is puzzling that contemporary
Atlantic Canadians are easily motivated
to conserve buildings from the premodern
102 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 22. AtlAntic PrOvinces PAviliOn, exPO 67. mOdel. |
PhOtOgrAPh: ernest mAunder. librAry And Archives cAnAdA.
fig. 23. AtlAntic PrOvinces PAviliOn, exPO 67, 1967,
île nOtre-dAme, mOntreAl, qc (demOlished).
ArchitecturAl firm: duffus rOmAns single And
kundzins, hAlifAx. design cOnsultAnts: PrOf.
OJArs biskAPs And PrOf. dOuglAs shAdbOlt,
schOOl Of Architecture, nOvA scOtiA technicAl
cOllege, hAlifAx. generAl view shOwing blAck
sPruce rOOf cAnOPy And cOncrete rAmPs, with
the mOnOrAil trAck At right, 1967. | PhOtOgrAPh:
ernest mAunder. librAry And Archives cAnAdA.
era, a time that most would find oppressive
to inhabit in social, political, and
economic terms, yet are uncomfortable
recognizing the value of the built heritage
of the postwar era, which expresses
such legacies as democratization, human
rights, social mobility, access to education
and health care, access to decent housing
and the arts, women’s and minority
rights, and improved standards of living.
When we casually destroy the buildings,
what exactly do we say about the values
they express?
coda - atlantic provinces
pavilion, expo 67
A nostalgic glance at the Atlantic Provinces
Pavilion at Expo 67, on Île Notre-Dame
in Montreal, provides an example of an
alternative conciliatory approach, one that
embraces regional tradition and folkways
within modern forms and expression.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
A pan-Atlantic project, the pavilion was
designed by the Halifax firm of Duffus
Romans Single and Kundzins, Halifax,
with design consultants Professor
Ojars Biskaps and Professor Douglas
Shadbolt of the newly-founded School
of Architecture at Nova Scotia Technical
College. The pavilion’s agenda (as
described in text and expressed in form
and material) was a conscious hybrid of
tradition and innovation, speaking to the
optimism of the day regarding the reconciliation
of (local) culture and (universal)
civilization. So the big shelter is formed
by unequal-length (up to seventy-five
feet) black spruce cantilever roof trusses,
embodying an exhibition of the uses of
eastern spruce, and was the largest cantilevered
wooden roof in North America
(figs. 22-23). 32 Outside the pavilion was
a fifty-foot tall spruce flagpole / signal
mast—during Charles de Gaulle’s visit,
the signal flags on mast spelled out “God
steven ManneLL > essay | essai
fig. 24. AtlAntic PrOvinces PAviliOn, exPO 67. view shOwing the exPO “minirAil” running beneAth the blAck
sPruce cAnOPy, 1967. in the fOregrOund belOw is “whAle wAll,” An ArrAngement Of whAle skeletOns
suggesting the fOrm Of A viking shiP, by witOld kuryllOwicz And JOhn schreiber. | PhOtOgrAPh: frOm de lOrimier,
exPO 67 - mOntreAl, cAnAdA, P. 132.
Save Canada” in answer to de Gaulle’s
“Vive le Québec libre !” 33
One of the Expo monorail lines (the
“Minirail”) was drawn right through
the pavilion, flanking the chowder bar
seating two hundred and fifty people.
The many visitors waiting for their dose
of seafood lined up along an indooroutdoor
promenade that passed by integrated
contemporary artworks by Brigid
Grant, Molly Boback, Marjory Donaldson,
Paul Tacon, Anne Roberts, and John
Corey, most often involving heritage
themes and incorporating found artefacts.
Marjorie Lorain embedded marine
plants in a series of luminous translucent
fibreglass panels. Witold Kuryllowicz and
John Schreiber’s “Whale Wall” arranged
whale skeletons from Trinity Bay to suggest
a Viking ship (fig. 24). Prospective
chowder-hounds were also offered views
of a boatbuilding exhibition (figs. 25-26).
103

steven ManneLL > essay | essai
fig. 25. AtlAntic PrOvinces PAviliOn, exPO 67. view
Of AtlAnticA under cOnstructiOn in the
bOAtyArd under the cAnOPy, with the viewing
gAllery behind, 1967. | PhOtOgrAPh: frOm de lOrimier,
exPO 67 - mOntreAl, cAnAdA, P. 133.
fig. 26. AtlAntic PrOvinces PAviliOn, exPO 67.
schOOner “AtlAnticA” under cOnstructiOn,
with builder dAvid stevens. | PhOtOgrAPh: ernest
mAunder. librAry And Archives cAnAdA.
Over the course of the fair, the fortyseven-foot
schooner Atlantica was constructed
under the supervision of David
Stevens of Lunenburg. Atlantica was
launched on October 11, which was
designated by Expo organizers as the
Atlantic Provinces special day, accompanied
by a band from Trinidad and Tobago
and a West Indian choir, signifying traditional
relations between the Atlantic
Provinces and West Indies. Atlantica
then sailed south to the Caribbean on a
goodwill tour. 34
According to the pavilion brochure, the
building and exhibition were meant to
give the impression “of a vigorous area
looking to the future with confidence
and wanting the world to know it.” 35
fig. 27. nOvA scOtiA tOurism mAgAzine Advertisement, 2008. A mOre cOmPlex And suggestive fOlk imAge,
Offering A living engAgement Of fOlk trAditiOn And cOntemPOrAry culture. | nOvA scOtiA dePArtment
Of tOurism And culture.
A contemporary commentator, I. Kalin
of the Federal Materials Branch,
remarked that, “[w]hile trying to capture
the spirit of the Atlantic Provinces,
the designer[s] worked hard to avoid
any ‘quaint’ effects. The result was
an interesting contemporary building
which helped to tell the desired story
without duplicating actual Maritimetype
structures.” 36 Kalin’s comments
anticipate by several decades the
notion of “defamiliarization” described
by Alexander Tzonis and Liane Lefaivre.
More than forty years ago, at the high
watermark of modernist architecture
in Canada, the Atlantic Provinces pavilion
provides an exemplar of design
that embodies a healthy vision of
fruitful relations between tradition
and progress in Atlantic Canada. This
relationship of modernity and tradition
is built upon an understanding
of regional character, craft values, and
local culture but without the wilful,
false humility projected by a tourismdriven
self-image. Recently, even the
region’s tourism promoters have begun
to embrace a more self- conscious
image, for example the campaign slogan
“Tradition doesn’t always come
with grey hair and a cane” (fig. 27).
Whether the popular understanding
of Atlantic Canada’s built environment
can adopt a similar embrace of the legacy
of modernism remains to be seen. 37
104 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

notes
1. This article is a substantially extended
version of the author’s “Modern Heritage
and Folk Culture in Atlantic Canada,”
Docomomo International Journal, no. 38,
March 2008, p. 83-88, published here by
permission of Docomomo International;
the author acknowledges the useful comments
of the Docomomo International
Journal guest editor, Francine Vanlaethem.
A significant portion of the research for this
article was conducted in 2001, in preparation
for the Atlantic Modern exhibition
and book; the author acknowledges the
substantial contribution of research assistants
Chad Jamieson and Anita Regan.
Earlier versions of this article were presented
to the “4 th Regional Meeting on
the Identification and Documentation
of Modern Heritage: North America”
sponsored by the World Heritage Council
UNESCO and the University of Florida,
Miami Beach, in 2004; to members of the
Nova Scotia Association of Architects; and
to several architectural history and design
classes at Dalhousie University in Halifax.
This version was first presented at the SSAC-
SEAC Annual Meeting, Yellowknife, NT, in
2008. In each case, the ensuing lively and
sometimes passionate discussion has contributed
to the development.
2. Mannell, Steven, 2004, Atlantic Modern:
The Architecture of the Atlantic Provinces
1050‑2000, Halifax, Tuns Press, p. 12-15.
3. “A Tower of Glass and Steel,” Halifax
Chronicle‑Herald, August 22, 1962, p. 6.
4. Halifax Mail‑Star, December 1, 1961, p. 1.
5. Frampton, Kenneth, 1996, “Prospects for a
Critical Regionalism,” In Kate Nesbitt (ed.),
Theorizing a New Agenda for Architecture:
An Anthology of Architectural Theory 1965‑
1995, New York, Princeton Architectural
Press.
6. Mannell : 24-27.
7. Mikawa himself is less clear about a link
to Metabolism, stating: “I’m sorry; I don’t
know what ‘metabolism’ means.” (Email
communication, Junji Mikawa to Henry
Howard, April 13, 2003.) Designers are
seldom the best categorizers of their own
work, and certainly the Arts Centre exhibits
many of the key ambitions and elements
that characterize Metabolism.
8. Mannell : 52-57.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
9. Mannell : 53.
10. Nesbitt, Kate, 1996, “Introduction” to
“Prospects for a Critical Regionalism,” In
Nesbitt, op. cit., p. 469.
11. Frampton : 471.
12. McKay, Ian, 1993, “History and the Tourist
Gaze: The Politics of Commemoration in
Nova Scotia, 1935-1964,” Acadiensis, vol. 22
no. 2, p. 102.
13. McKay, Ian, 1994, The Quest of the Folk:
Antimodernism and Cultural Selection in
Twentieth‑Century Nova Scotia, Montreal
and Kingston, McGill-Queen’s University
Press, p. 30.
14. Bowring Brothers Store, 1950s, Water
Street, St. John’s, NL; architectural firm:
Cummings and Campbell, Architects and
Engineers, St. John’s, NL; design architect:
Angus Campbell. The brick facades were
added in the 1990s, but the harbour side of
the complex was left roughly in its original
state.
15. Bevan, Robert, 2006, The Destruction of
Memory: Architecture at War, London,
Reaktion Books, p. 8.
16. Tzonis, Alexander and Liane Lefaivre,
1996, “Why Critical Regionalism Today?”
In Nesbitt, op. cit., p. 489.
17. Mannell : 86-87.
18. Mannell : 44-46.
19. Frampton : 471.
20. McKay, 1994 : 35.
21. Id. : 219.
22. Mannell : 60-63.
23. Brand, Stewart, 1968, The Whole Earth
Catalog, #1010, Menlo Park (CA), Portola
Institute, and subsequent issues and books,
including Stewart Brand, 1972, The Last
Whole Earth Catalog: Access to tools, New
York, Random House.
24. [Muir, R. Dalton], 1977, A Most Prudent Ark,
Ottawa, Fisheries and Environment Canada,
p. 6.
25. Id. : 13.
26. “Trudeau Officially Opens Ark at Spry
Point,” Summerside Journal‑Pioneer,
vol. 111, no. 290, September 22, 1976, p. 1.
27. Mannell : 74-77.
28. Mellin, Robert, 2003, Tilting: House
Launching, Slide Hauling, Potato Trenching,
steven ManneLL > essay | essai
and Other Tales from a Newfoundland
Fishing Village, New York, Princeton
Architectural Press, p. 110-115.
29. I was offered direct insight into the challenges
of the Smallwood legacy at my
public curator’s talk at the Arts and Culture
Centre, St. John’s, in 2002. My suggestion of
a Smallwood interpretive centre at Roaches
Line provoked an impassioned negative
response from several audience members,
one of whom shouted “You don’t know
what Joey did to us!” That this response
came from a culturally sophisticated group
(the sort that come out to hear curator’s
talks at art galleries) suggests that there
is much cultural work yet to be done in
Newfoundland and Labrador around the
legacy of Smallwood, confederation, and
modernization.
30. Orwell, George, 1943, “Looking back at the
Spanish Civil War,” in New Road, London
(quoted in Bevan : 7).
31. McKay, 1994 : 40-41.
32. Kalin, I., 1969, Expo 67: Survey of Building
Materials, Systems and Techniques Used at
the Universal and International Exhibition
of 1967, Montreal, Canada, Ottawa,
Canada Department of Industry, Trade
and Commerce, Materials Branch [Queen’s
Printer], p. 6-7.
33. De Lorimier, Jean-Louis (ed.), 1968, Expo
67 ‑ Montreal, Canada: The Memorial
Album of the First Category Universal and
International Exhibition Held in Montreal
from the Twenty‑seventh of April to the
Twenty‑ninth of October 1967, Toronto,
Thomas Nelson and Son Canada, p. 134.
34. Id. : 131-132.
35. Id. : 131
36. Kalin : 7.
37. Signs of a positive move toward the recognition
of modern heritage include the success
of John Leroux’s efforts in Fredericton,
New Brunswick, which have resulted in the
designation of the Centennial Building
(Belanger and Roy, 1967) as a provincial
heritage site, and the declaration of
October 31, 2009 as “Modern Architecture
Heritage Day” by the mayor of Fredericton.
105

HOWArD SHuBert is curator of prints and
drawings at the Canadian Centre for Architecture
in Montreal. He holds degrees in economics, art
history, and architectural history from McGill
university and the university of toronto. He
has published essays and exhibition catalogues
on such topics as ice skating rinks and hockey
arenas, bank architecture in Canada, and the
works of richard Henriquez, Greg Lynn, Cedric
Price, and James Stirling.
ill. 1. guy lAfleur, réJeAn hOule, And mAriO tremblAy PArAding frOm the mOntreAl fOrum
tO the mOlsOn centre, the gAzette, mArch 16, 1996.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011 > 107-119
essaY | essai
tHe MoNtReal FoRUM
the Hockey arena at the Nexus of sport, Religion,
and cultural politics 1
> howard shuBert
On March 15, 1996, a parade made its
way down Ste. Catherine Street in
downtown Montreal. Originating at the
Forum, home to the Montreal Canadiens
hockey team since 1926 (and since 1924 to
the Montreal Maroons, for whom it had
been built), the parade’s destination was
the Canadiens’ new home, the Molson
(now Bell) Centre three kilometres away.
Riding in open-topped cars of the 1950s
to 1990s were Montreal hockey legends,
also of that vintage (fig. 1). A four-storey
tall inflated hockey player added a festive
air to the procession, which nevertheless
was tinged with a funereal sadness—
something gained and something lost.
The ostensible purpose of the parade
was to mark the official opening of the
Molson Centre, but its raison d’être was
the transference of the Forum’s ghosts, its
karma, its winning spirit. In light of this
underlying goal, even more important
than those vintage hockey players decked
out in the bleu, blanc et rouge, was the
presence of a simple torch.
In 19 4 0, then head coach of the
Canadiens Dick Irvin, Sr. conceived a
brilliant tactic to motivate his players.
Inspired by John McCrae’s famous World
War I poem, “In Flanders Fields,” Irvin
had painted high on the dressing room
wall the following lines:
to you from failing hands we throw
the torch; be yours to hold it high. 2
The words remained in place for fifty-six
years, during which time the team won
a record twenty Stanley Cups, becoming
the most successful franchise in
team sport history. Guy Lafleur, one of
107

howard shuBert > essay | essai
fig. 2. mOntreAl cAnAdiens cAPtAin Pierre turgeOn sAlutes fAns
with the tOrch At the finAl gAme PlAyed At the mOntreAl fOrum,
the gAzette, mArch 12, 1996.
the greats through the 1970s and early
1980s, recalled that, “the first words that
we learned when we first stepped into
the room were about the torch. The first
thing they show you is what’s written on
the wall.” 3
Four nights before the parade this torch
had been the central actor in a public relations
extravaganza; a staged melodrama
that was moving in spite of its calculated
kitschiness. Prior to the start of the final
hockey game at the Forum, on March 11,
twenty-three former Canadiens greats
trooped onto the ice to be cheered by
an adoring crowd. Maurice “The Rocket”
Richard elicited the greatest applause
from the crowd, nearly ten-minutes’
worth, including shouts of “Richard,
Richard,” and “Campbell, Campbell”
(a reference that will be clarified further
along). Then, the oldest surviving
team captain, Émile “Butch” Bouchard,
skated to centre ice carrying aloft a flaming
torch. This incarnation of Montreal
hockey tradition was passed from hand to
successive hand of Canadiens captains in
an allegorical reenactment of the team’s
fig. 3. the mOntreAl fOrum under cOnstructiOn, 1924. | © mccOrd museum, mP-1977.140.18.2.
glorious history, until it reached those
of then current captain Pierre Turgeon,
who thereupon dipped the torch to touch
the heart of the Canadiens’ logo, the
CH inscribed at centre ice (fig. 2). In this
action a chapter was ended; witnessed by
some eighteen thousand in attendance
and by many thousands more via television,
the Forum was desanctified. 4
And now this torch was threading its way
through Montreal streets, along with ice
scraped from the surface of the old Forum.
The twenty-four Stanley Cup banners
that had hung from the Forum’s rafters,
inspiring local players and fans and striking
fear among visiting teams, had been
judged too small to be adequately visible
within the more capacious confines of the
Molson Centre. They had been sold off at
a charity auction two nights earlier. 5 New,
larger replicas rode with the players in the
open cars, towering above them. These
precious artefacts were on their way to
consecrate their new home. The torch
would be lit anew, the banners hoisted,
and the Forum ice, now melted, would
be sprinkled over a fresh sheet of Molson
Centre ice, in a ceremony of baptism and
rebirth. The overtly religious dimension
of these ceremonies echoed the medieval
tradition of “translation,” according to
which a saint’s body, remains, or some
other holy relic, was transferred from one
church or holy resting place to another.
The sacred aspect of the parade would
not have been lost on French Quebeckers,
especially those old enough to remember
the common occurrence of local and province-wide
religious processions, such as
the parades organized for Corpus Christi,
Sacred Heart, and Saint-Jean-Baptiste. 6
While the hold of the Catholic church
within the Québécois culture is not so
strong today as it was fifty years ago, its
impact is still in evidence, in the language
of profanity (callise, tabarnak), in the
popularity of communion wafers sold as
snack food in grocery stores, and even in
the nicknames for the Canadiens hockey
team (les Glorieux, la Sainte‑Flanelle). 7
Over the course of its seventy-two-year
history, the Forum witnessed many extraordinary
events that contributed to its
status as a revered shrine. Yet little of
108 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

this veneration redounded from the
quality of the Forum’s architecture,
which has remained never more than
ordinary through a series of additions
and transformations. Completed in
1924 to a design by John S. Archibald, its
three-storey neo-Renaissance exterior,
composed of red brick with sandstone
trim, repeated the rhythms, punctuating
corner pavilions, and central arched main
entrance on Ste. Catherine Street of the
1909 roller rink it replaced (fig. 3). The
encompassing girdle of small shops at
street level, marked by signs and marquees,
endowed the Forum with a commercial
aspect intended to harmonize
its great bulk within its downtown location.
Only the Forum’s massive footprint,
occupying the entire block bounded
by de Maisonneuve Blvd., Atwater,
Ste. Catherine, and Closse Streets, and
its huge, simple shed roof, visible from
above or at a distance of several blocks,
betrayed the scale of the building’s
interior volume, its reason for being.
Subsequent renovations, in 1948 and a
decade later, added a floor and more
seating but left the exterior unchanged.
The more substantial renovation of 1968,
by architect Ken Sedleigh, increased seating
to about eighteen thousand and
removed the interior columns that had
supported the roof but had obstructed
views. This makeover completely transformed
the exterior, unifying and accentuating
its mass by sheathing it in a
composition of concrete panels and glass.
Though otherwise undistinguished, this
final renovation did succeed in branding
the building with the iconic and televisually
punchy image of crossed hockey
sticks, actually side-illuminated escalators,
visible through the glazed façade along
Ste. Catherine Street. This repeatedly televised
image of the building has been seen
by far more people than actually entered
the Forum (fig. 4). 8
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
fig. 4. the mOntreAl fOrum, 1968, ken sedleigh, Architect. | lOwell kOtkO.
Perhaps it is the banality of its architectural
design that has led the Forum, and
professional sports architecture in general,
to be overlooked by architectural
historians. Discussing baseball’s Oakland
Coliseum, Los Angeles Times architecture
critic John Pastier remarked upon the professional
vacuum concerning criticism of
sports architecture. He bemoaned the
fact that, “Theoreticians and scholars
have given this characteristically American
building form roughly 1% of the attention
that they have lavished upon a handful
of secluded neo-Corbusian private
residences.” 9 The same may be stated for
the characteristically Canadian building
type—the hockey arena. 10
A possible reason for this discrepancy
was suggested by the author of a New
York City guidebook discussing Madison
Square Garden: “Sports arenas […] are
defined less by their architecture than by
the collective memories they contain.” 11
And this view was echoed in a commemorative
history of Toronto’s Maple
Leaf Gardens, which was described as
being “never primarily about bricks or
howard shuBert > essay | essai
accoutrements or functionality but about
mystique, nostalgia, and heroics—about
the transporting quality of what went
on there.” 12 The iconic status of Golden
Era arenas owes much less to form and
structure than it does to myth, memory,
and a culture born of shared experience.
A brief overview of the origins and
development of the places in which
hockey has been played in Canada
will help illuminate the nature of this
shared experience as well as the extent
to which the hockey arena has become
embedded within the fabric of Canadian
culture. From its beginnings hockey has
been played in buildings constructed
along utilitarian lines. In the late nineteenth
century, the first indoor games
took place in buildings originally constructed
for other purposes—either
pleasure skating or curling. 13 The builders
of those early wood structures
spanned the ice surface in post and
lintel fashion or with elegantly curving
arches springing from floor level, as at
Montreal’s Victoria Ice Rink of 1862,
one of the very few such structures
109

howard shuBert > essay | essai
fig. 5. interiOr view Of the victOriA ice rink, mOntreAl, 1862, lAwfOrd
And nelsOn, Architects. | chArles P. de vOlPi, mOntréAl, recueil icOnOgrAPhique :
grAvures histOriques et illustrAtiOns relAtives à lA ville de mOntréAl (1963).
to have been designed by architects
(Lawford and Nelson) (fig. 5). All such
rinks relied on natural ice surfaces, and
while some assisted nature, through the
inclusion of louvered openings at the
base of the wall in a bid to draw colder
air onto freshly watered ice surfaces,
all functioned, and changed function,
in concert with the seasons. Regardless
of design, all of these drafty barns had
been constructed for active participants
rather than spectators, so that watching
a hockey match within them would
have approximated the experience of
spectating out-of-doors, with the audience
huddled around the perimeter of
a cleared patch of frozen pond. What
engraved views of these buildings do
not reveal, is the dense smoky atmosphere,
the poor lighting conditions,
and the inevitable soft, snow-covered
ice surfaces that typically prevailed by
game’s end, to say nothing of the limited
views and lack of protection from
flying pucks and bodies. One small
technological advance, the shift from
gas to electric lighting at the end of the
nineteenth century, lowered the average
interior temperature of these rinks
by about eight Celsius degrees. 14
In spite of these inconveniences, hockey
continued to grow in popularity and that
created the economic condition leading
to the construction of the first purposebuilt
hockey arena in 1898—Montreal’s
Westmount Arena. The Arena’s now
ubiquitous continuous tiers of graded
stands surrounding an ice surface created
“a box to contain a drama,” to
borrow a phrase used to describe early
enclosed baseball parks. 15 Yet these
primitive arenas offered little to devoted
fans in the way of spectator comfort;
buildings were unheated and it could
be horribly cold inside. (At Westmount
Arena blankets were rented to spectators
at ten cents apiece.) Seats were
narrow and hard, but still preferable to
standing, as at Ottawa’s Laurier Arena
(1907) where two thousand five hundred
of the seven thousand available “places”
for spectators were for “standees.” 16
Poor ventilation meant that steam and
tobacco smoke combined to make visibility
increasingly difficult as games progressed.
Fog-covered ice surfaces were
not uncommon, and since electric lights
originally lacked reflectors, much of their
illumination was lost to the ceiling, further
impairing visibility. 17 Because most
fig. 6. fire At the shermAn rink, cAlgAry, 1915. | glenbOw Archives, nb-16-446.
early arenas were built of wood, fire was
a real and constant threat. They burned
easily and often. Calgary’s Sherman Rink
burned down in 1915, and during 1918
and 1919 fire destroyed the Jubilee Rink,
Ontario Rink, and the Westmount Arena,
all in Montreal (fig. 6).
Many of these drawbacks were addressed
in the next generation of hockey arenas
constructed between 1920 and 1931. 18
Built of steel and concrete, often remarkably
quickly during the off-season, these
arenas (not rinks) were named Forum,
Gardens, and Olympia in recognition
of the new-found confidence of their
owners. These buildings also distinguished
themselves from their predecessors
in being conceived exclusively by
architects, mostly competent practitioners
of local or regional repute, including
two theatre architects: Thomas Lamb in
New York and Charles Howard Crane
in Detroit. The improved solidity and
stability of these arenas were essential
components to the financial success of
the fledgling National Hockey League
(NHL). While fan comfort was equally
upgraded, hockey spectating still left
much to be desired. 19
110 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

Until the NHL expanded in 1967, hockey
audiences comprised a core of traditional
fans located in Canada and in
the north-east and north-central United
States. For these enthusiasts, hockey was
a unique form of entertainment, often
bordering on religious fervour. This
devout audience willingly accepted a
spectatorship experience that included
obstructed sightlines, steeply graded
stands that could induce vertigo, bad
food, smoky corridors, and cold. (I well
remember the galoshes, overcoat, and
mittens I wore to watch the Canadiens
play at the Forum in the mid-1960s.) For
these spectators the game on the ice
was the main attraction and they craved
little more. It could even be argued
that the shared experience of these
hardships further united hockey fans,
confirming their membership in a community
of true believers. Such loyalty
and evident contentment were repaid
by team owners who were only too
happy to maintain the status quo. Maple
Leaf Gardens, the Montreal Forum, and
indeed the remaining hockey arenas of
what are referred to as the “Original
Six” teams, served their cities with only
modest alterations for longer than sixty
years, on average. This fact alone contributed
to the reverence with which
these buildings were regarded by their
respective fans. 20
While hockey players in Canada have
been reckoned as heroes and the NHL
arenas in which they battle regarded
with awe, the fundamental importance
of even ordinary winter sports facilities
to life in Canada is no less relevant for
lacking a mythological dimension and
for being equally overlooked. In 1878,
a British settler described how essential
the skating rink was to winter life
in Canada: “The rink is the great winter
amusement [where] the bands play and
young people meet to skate, to dance
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
on skates and to amuse themselves.” 21
One hundred years later nothing had
changed. In their 1989 book, Home
Game, Ken Dryden and Roy MacGregor
showed how the humble, ubiquitous
Quonset-hut type arenas that dot the
Canadian landscape serve as de facto
cultural centres, the glue that binds
many small communities together.
They recounted the compelling story of
Radisson, Saskatchewan, a prairie town
of four hundred and thirty-four people
faced with the daunting challenge of
replacing their structurally unsound
rink. The authors interviewed locals
who referred to their rink as “the grand
central gathering place for the young
and old […] the backbone of the community
[…] the gathering place for the
winter months.” And they speculated
on the impact of its loss: “We know of
other towns that have lost their rinks.
The towns die overnight.” 22
If the hockey arena’s cultural significance
and “mystique” have been overlooked
by architectural historians, some sports
historians and sociologists have argued
that the game of hockey needs to be
demythologized in order to be properly
understood. Richard Gruneau and David
Whitson in Hockey Night in Canada:
Sport, Identities and Cultural Politics ask
whether hockey still commands a central
place within the collective psyche
(if such a thing can be said to exist) of
an increasingly multicultural and multiethnic
Canada. And they argue that our
view of the game has been coloured by
romantic, essentialist notions, according
to which hockey, the Canadian psyche,
and the Canadian landscape have been
seen as organically interconnected, as
evidenced by references to hockey as
“the Canadian specific” (Al Purdy), “the
language that pervades Canada” (Scott
Young), and “the game of our lives”
(Peter Gzowski). 23 For Doug Beardsley,
howard shuBert > essay | essai
fig. 7. mAPle leAf gArdens, tOrOntO, 1931, rOss And
mAcdOnAld, Architects. | mAPle leAf gArdens Archives.
“Hockey is an allegory of our life […]
the real national anthem of Canada.” 24
But it is not necessary to mythologize or
universalize the significance of hockey
in order to appreciate the primacy of
the hockey arena as a major site of cultural
activity in Canada.
For example, even after one brushes
aside the Runyonesque saga of Maple
Leaf Gardens’ construction from out of
the depths of the Depression (a story
that features owner Conn Smythe, the
hockey-mad war hero and gambler who
raises the money to purchase a stake
in the team with a successful outing
at the race track and who bends corporate
financiers and union workers
to the “higher” purpose of realising
a sports temple), and one overlooks
the nicknames it inspired—“The Taj
Ma-Hockey,” “Make-Believe Gardens,”
“Puckingham Palace,” “The Carleton
Street Cash Box”—one is still left with
a building known to and revered by millions
of Canadians (fig. 7). 25
111

howard shuBert > essay | essai
fig. 8. the sPOrtimer clOck At mAPle leAf gArdens,
tOrOntO. | mAPle leAf gArdens Archives.
Designed in 1931 by leading corporate
architectural firm Ross and MacDonald,
Maple Leaf Gardens fully succeeds as
a work of architecture; its streamlined
eleven-storey form, Deco ornament,
and massive dome alluding to its great
column-free interior volume, establish
a grand street presence in its predominantly
low-rise neighbourhood and
against a city skyline still dominated by
church spires.
In addition to the legendary tales of
its creation, the renown of Maple Leaf
Gardens was fostered via another celebrated
medium, the voice of Foster
Hewitt. Throughout the 1930s and
1940s, Hewitt’s weekly radio broadcasts
of Maple Leaf games created a virtual
community of faithful listeners across
Canada, people who felt an intimate
connection to Maple Leaf Gardens without
ever having set foot inside the place.
According to Scott Young,
By the end of the 1930s, each game was
reaching nearly two million people. Foster
Hewitt’s voice and, beginning in 1939, the
popular intermission discussions featuring
hockey experts on what was called the “Hot
Stove League” became part of Canada’s
social history. Millions in all provinces came
to treat Saturday night as Hockey Night,
one of the few bright spots in a country
facing war while still suffering the Great
Depression. Fans coming to toronto for the
first time trooped like pilgrims to Maple Leaf
Gardens, the only toronto institution known
across Canada with unquestioning respect.
the same situation prevailed in Montreal,
where fans flocked to see the Forum. 26
It was Conn Smythe who recognized early
on the power of radio to inspire fan interest
and fuel attendance. And when Foster
Hewitt discovered that the best location
from which to observe the game and
report the action was high above the ice
surface, a special broadcast booth was
constructed for this purpose at Maple
Leaf Gardens, a pavilion, suspended
fifty-six feet over centre ice. This “gondola,”
the term still used to describe these
booths and derived from the cabins carried
beneath dirigibles (the appearance of
which were still cause for great wonder
at this date), was originally accessed by
a catwalk without safety railing. More
than the Art Deco styling of its exterior,
it was this element of Maple Leaf Gardens
that suggested the modernity and giddy
excitement of the late 1920s. 27
Other technological marvels contributed
to the experience of modernity
at Maple Leaf Gardens. The four-sided
SporTimer time clock, installed in 1932,
intensified the drama of game play
through the urgent presence of its ticking
seconds (fig. 8). Maple Leaf Gardens
also included what then was believed to
be the largest permanent indoor sound
system in the Dominion of Canada.
Twelve loudspeakers were suspended
over centre ice from the same frame
used to support the boxing ring lights
and from the centre of which hung the
time clock. Together with Foster Hewitt’s
gondola, these features served as focal
points of advanced technology within
Maple Leaf Gardens, lending a progressive
dynamism to sport spectating that
was entirely new. Not only did this sound
system amplify and broadcast music
and announcements to fans within the
building, but it could receive programming
feeds from outside and transmit
everything to external radio stations
for broadcast to remote listeners. Maple
Leaf Gardens was “plugged in.” 28
Like Maple Leaf Gardens, the Montreal
Forum was one of the Original Six hockey
arenas that achieved iconic status over
the course of its seventy-two years of continuous
operation. But due to Quebec’s
unique history and distinct culture within
Canada, the Forum came to symbolize
more than just athletic struggle and triumph.
Since the beginning of organized
hockey in Montreal in the 1870s, teams
had often been established along ethnic
lines. The Shamrock and Wanderer
teams were Irish, the Montagnard and
National were French, and the Victorias
were Scots. With the advent of open
professionalism in the early twentieth
century and the rise of civic-based teams
competing in inter-city leagues, such
early vestiges of the game largely were
left behind, although promoters might
still try to use the ethnicity of players,
sometimes manufactured, to drum up
fan support from specific communities. 29
But in Montreal, the rivalry between
French and English hockey clubs, which
continued at the NHL level through to
1938, was always perceived as more than
a struggle to establish ethnic bragging
rights. It carried on its back long-simmering,
irreconcilable differences over
112 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

language, religion, economics, politics,
and cultural values.
After fire destroyed the Westmount
Arena in 1918, the Montreal Wanderers
ceased operations, leaving the Montreal
Canadiens as the sole club representing
Montreal in the National Hockey League.
The Montreal Canadiens Hockey Club had
been formed in 1909 “to add a French
face to hockey in Montreal,” which
then included English teams such as the
Shamrocks, Wanderers, and Victorias. 30
The name “Canadiens,” as well as the
nickname “Les Habitants” or Habs, made
reference to specifically French-Canadian
traditions. 31
When the National Hockey League
expanded from three to ten teams,
between 1924 and 1926, Montreal
gained a second franchise. From the
very start the Maroons were intended
to draw support from Montreal’s English
community and to restore a rivalry with
the Canadiens that had lapsed after
the Montreal Wanderers folded. 32 The
Maroon’s new building, the Montreal
Forum, was located on the border of
Westmount, bastion of English Montreal
society, and a stone’s throw from the
site of the now-destroyed Westmount
Arena, former home to the now-defunct
Wanderers. 33 The site was already associated
with popular entertainment,
having served since 1908 as home to
a roller rink that enclosed an openair
skating rink, also called the Forum.
The new arena’s investors and board
of directors represented a Who’s Who
of Montreal’s English corporate elite,
including: Edward Beatty, president
of the Canadian Pacific Railway; Sir
Charles Gordon, president of the Bank
of Montreal; Sir Herbert Holt, president
of the Royal Bank; J.W. McConnell of
St. Lawrence Sugar; and several Molsons,
of brewery and bank fame.
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
French-English relations in Quebec ever
have been subject to often inexplicable
and ironic anomalies and hockey is no
stranger to these. The fact that it was the
Canadiens who played the first game in
the new Forum, rather than the Maroons,
is merely one of these incongruities. 34
That the Forum would soon become the
sole home of the Canadiens, emerging
as a symbol of French-Canadian pride in
the excellence of their hockey team, and
a rallying site for a rising wave of French-
Quebec nationalism, is merely a further
instance of this irony. 35
Prior to 1963, every NHL franchise sponsored
amateur teams as a means of
grooming junior-aged players who might
eventually play for the parent club. The
rights of these young players were
owned by the franchise. Consequently,
Canadiens teams were guaranteed a
steady stream of local, French-Canadian
talent for fans to identify with and rally
behind. Even when this system was dismantled
in 1963 with the introduction
of the NHL Amateur Draft, a system that
guaranteed each NHL club equal opportunities
to acquire amateur players, the
Canadiens were allowed a special dispensation.
“Due to the unique situation of
the Montreal Canadiens, it was agreed
to protect the French-Canadian flavour
of the team. Therefore, the Canadiens
were granted the option to select up to
howard shuBert > essay | essai
fig. 9. the funerAl service fOr hOwie mOrenz At the mOntreAl fOrum, mArch 11, 1937. | hOckey hAll Of fAme, tOrOntO.
two players of French-Canadian heritage
before any other team could exercise its
first selections in the Amateur Draft.” 36
Between 1924 and 1938, Montreal’s two
hockey teams combined for five Stanley
Cups, four of them won at the Forum. 37
The two teams produced a succession of
stars, from the goaltending heroics of
three-time Vezina trophy winner George
Hainsworth to the scoring prowess of Nels
Stewart, Herb Gardiner, Aurel Joliat, and
the “Stratford Streak,” Howie Morenz.
It was the tragic events surrounding the
death of Morenz, named Canada Press
“hockey player of the first half-century,”
that first, and forever, marked the Forum
as more than a simple sports auditorium.
Rushing toward the net during a
match against Chicago on the evening
of January 28, 1937, Morenz was checked
and fell awkwardly into the boards with
a Chicago defenseman on top of him,
breaking his leg. Still in the hospital two
months later, he suffered a heart attack
and died. His funeral service, held at the
Forum, was the largest ever arranged for
an athlete in Canada. After thousands
had paid their respects at the funeral
chapel, Morenz’s casket was brought to
the Forum on the morning of March 11
(fig. 9). Laid at centre ice, surrounded by
four truckloads of flowers and an honour
guard of team-mates, some fifty thousand
mourners filed past to bid farewell
113

howard shuBert > essay | essai
fig. 10. “susPensiOn de richArd : cAmPbell est menAcé
de mOrt,” lA PAtrie, 17 mArs 1955.
to Morenz in the four hours preceding the
ceremony. Ten thousand fans remained
behind for the funeral service itself, which
was broadcast to a still larger audience
on radio. 38
Throughout the 1940s and 1950s, a period
during which French Quebeckers
were subjugated by both church and
state and economically subservient
to English bosses, the success of their
hockey team provided an important
and visible source of pride and positive
self-identification. And it was during
these two decades that the Canadiens
began their ascendancy as the most
successful franchise in team sport history
by winning eight Stanley Cups.
The Forum began to be recognized as a
shrine where home-grown heroes could
be worshipped with raucous abandon.
But the events of March 17, 1955, proved
that hockey sometimes could be more
than a sport, and that a hockey arena
sometimes could be more than bricks
and mortar. The Forum, formerly a site
fig. 11. “Arrest 41 After fOrum hOckey riOt,” the mOntreAl stAr, mArch 18, 1955.
of athletic brilliance and entertainment,
became a national stage for the unfolding
of a cultural and political drama. 39
On March 16, the greatest of the Forum’s
heroes, fiery-eyed champion Maurice
(the Rocket) Richard, was suspended by
NHL President Clarence Campbell for the
remainder of the hockey season and all of
the playoffs for having attacked an official.
When Campbell attended a hockey
game at the Forum the following night,
he was pelted with debris and physically
assaulted by indignant fans. A tear gas
canister erupted within the arena and
as the angry crowd left the building,
the game now forfeit, they were joined
by placard-carrying protesters who had
gathered outside, and together they
rioted and looted through the night
(fig. 10). The next evening, a shaken
Maurice Richard spoke to Montreal fans
over the airwaves in French and in English
from the Forum dressing room. Asking for
calm, he said: “I’ll take my punishment
and come back next year.”
The riot was more than an outburst
of hooliganism, as it was described
by Montreal’s English-language newspapers
(fig. 11). 40 In Roch Carrier’s
poetic retelling of the story, Richard’s
suspension was both unfair and a
direct cause of the riot: “Clarence
Campbell is trying to crush a little
French Canadian who has wings. That’s
what people are saying. Anger is rumbling
in the province of Quebec like
the water held captive in the rivers by
the winter ice.” 41 Clarence Campbell
was regarded by many as an agent of
James Norris, head of the powerful
family that effectively controlled the
NHL and whose team, the Detroit Red
Wings, was then in a struggle with
the Canadiens for first place. 42 But for
Quebec’s Francophones, Campbell also
represented the Anglo establishment
that for too long had dominated the
little guy, for whom Richard was their
symbolic champion. One year earlier
Richard had accused Campbell of being
anti-French in his ghost-written sports
114 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

fig. 12. exteriOr view Of the mOlsOn (nOw bell) centre,
mOntreAl, 1999. | hOwArd shubert.
column, “Le Tour du Chapeau,” in the
French-language Montreal newspaper
Samedi‑Dimanche. 43 And even twenty
years later, in a biography of Richard,
bitterness over Campbell’s handling of
the affair and his identification with
Anglo authority remained absolute:
“Monsieur Campbell, du haut de sa
grandeur, écrasait de sa botte anglaise
Maurice Richard, et, en celui‑ci chaque
Canadien français se sentait écrasé.” 44
As if Richard’s suspension was not
enough to draw attention to the grievances
of French-speaking Quebecker’s
against their English master s , an
ongoing controversy over the naming
of the new Canadian National Railway
(CNR) hotel then nearing completion
on downtown Dorchester (now René-
Lévesque) Boulevard exploded onto the
front pages of Montreal newspapers.
Sharing the front page of Le Devoir
with the news of Richard’s suspension
on March 17 was an article subtitled
“Le royalisme et Donald Gordon.”
Francophones, championed by then
mayor Jean Drapeau, were offended
by CNR President Donald Gordon’s plan
to name the hotel the Queen Elizabeth.
They preferred the name Château
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
Maisonneuve. Drapeau had also spoken
out against Clarence Campbell, condemning
him for his harsh suspension of
Richard. After the riot, Drapeau blamed
Campbell for having incited the crowd
through his presence at the game and
advised him to stay away in the future. 45
Newspapers called the rioting the worst
the city had seen since the anti-conscription
battles during World War II, an
earlier flash point that had highlighted
the distance separating Canada’s two
solitudes. 46 There is divided opinion
on when to date the start of Quebec’s
Quiet Revolution. Did it begin as early
as 1949 with the Asbestos Strike, when
the Church gave its support to workers
and union rather than to the corporation
and the government of Maurice
Duplessis? Or, as many commentators
believe, did it begin with the election
of Jean Lesage’s Liberal party in 1960?
Some have even suggested that the
Richard Riot, five years earlier, deserves
credit. 47 Whatever one believes, there
can be no argument that the Montreal
Forum played a pivotal role at the politically
charged centre of a people’s
movement from oppression toward
self-definition.
howard shuBert > essay | essai
fig. 13. exteriOr view Of the PePsi fOrum, mOntreAl, 2005. | hOwArd shubert.
The closing of the Forum and the move
to the Molson Centre in 1996 were therefore
events requiring careful handling
for both economic and political reasons
(fig. 12). Those fans greeting Maurice
Richard with shouts of “Richard, Richard”
and “Campbell, Campbell” indicate the
long memories of Quebeckers, but also
the political and cultural resonance
of the Richard Riot. (Many of those in
attendance at the Forum’s final game
probably had not even been born when
the riot occurred.) Quebec society had
undergone massive changes in the intervening
years, striking evidence of which
could be found in Montreal’s remaining
English-language newspaper. Montreal
Gazette’s front page on March 12, 1996,
featured a headline and photograph
describing the closing of the Forum
along with an article titled, “We are
all Quebeckers—Bouchard,” reporting
on a speech in which Quebec Premier
Lucien Bouchard sought to reassure
Anglophones that they “belong in
Quebec because it’s their home, too.”
The game of hockey and the economic
and social environment encompassing it
had also undergone substantial changes
in the intervening years since the Richard
115

howard shuBert > essay | essai
fig. 14. interiOr view Of the PePsi fOrum, mOntreAl, 2005. | hOwArd shubert.
Riot. Players were now less loyal to teams,
in the face of million-dollar salaries, and
fans were less loyal to hockey, in the face
of an expanding universe of competing
entertainment possibilities. In spite of
those fans with long memories, capable
of connecting the dots between Maurice
Richard, the Forum, and a struggle over
politics and language, the Forum succumbed
to economic realities. Though
not demolished—the fate of Golden era
arenas in Boston, Chicago, Detroit, and
New York—it has been gutted and otherwise
disfigured on the way to its reincarnation
as the Pepsi Forum, a multiplex
cinema with shops and restaurants
(fig. 13). An ersatz re-creation of the
Forum’s former interior, located within
the new atrium, complete with tiers of
rescued seats, provides a sanitized and
Disneyfied experience for visiting tourists
(fig. 14). In Toronto, a proposal was
put forward in 2004 to transform Maple
Leaf Gardens into a Loblaw’s superstore,
according to a plan that would preserve
its exterior along with glimpses of the
original interior. 48
Although of no consolation to those
devoted fans mourning the loss of such
cherished shrines and of the memories
they embodied, it is nonetheless useful
to recall that Canadian society generally
has become less observant of religion
through the twentieth century,
even as it has placed greater emphasis
on wealth and consumption. According
to statistics gathered by the Fondation
du patrimoine religieux du Québec, some
two hundred and fifty religious buildings
in the province have closed their doors
since 1976. 49 Nearly half of these gained
new life in the service of different religious
faiths, but the remainder either
have been demolished or transformed to
new functions, often quite remote from
the spiritual roles they once played. If
one such example, the 1893 Valleyfield
fig. 15. “while bidding the fOrum fArewell might
induce feelings Of trAumA Or greAt lOss…”
| newsPAPer Advertisement fOr decArie mOtOrs, mArch 1996.
Presbyterian Church, could be rechristened
the Centre d’Escalade Vertige,
an indoor rock-climbing centre, as it
was in November 2005, we can hardly
be surprised by the fate of the Forum. 50
The deconsecration and destruction of
so many religious buildings, over such a
long period, has elicited very little public
response, individually or collectively.
Conversely, the overwhelming outpouring
of sadness and regret surrounding
the Forum’s closing and subsequent
transformation potently illustrates that
building’s deep hold on the popular
imagination and serves as stirring evidence
for its claim to apotheosis within
some future pantheon devoted to buildings
of Canadian culture (fig. 15).
116 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

notes
1. This paper is part of a larger study on the
history of skating rinks and hockey arenas
in North America from about 1860
until 2000. Research for this project was
supported by the Institut de recherche
en histoire de l’architecture, the Social
Sciences and Humanities Research Council,
and the Canadian Centre for Architecture.
I would like to thank Nicholas Adams,
Réjean Legault, and Irwin Shubert who
kindly read earlier versions of this paper
and offered important suggestions for
corrections and improvements.
2. John McCrae, 1919, In Flanders Fields and
Other Poems, Toronto, Briggs.
In Flanders Field the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Some 600,000 Canadian soldiers saw
action in World War I, out of a population
of 6 million. Nearly 60,000 lost their lives,
87% as a result of enemy action in France
and Flanders, and more than 150,000 were
wounded. Dick Irvin, Sr. served in the Fort
Gary Horse Regiment as a motorcycle dispatcher
from late-1917 until war’s end.
He saw action in France, Belgium, and
Holland. (I am grateful to Dick Irvin for
generously sharing details of his father’s
service in World War I; telephone conversation
with the author, December 13,
2005.)
3. “Au revoir Forum, bienvenue Molson
Centre,” Associated Press, March 12, 1996
– 21:58 EST, [http://hockey.ballparks.com/
NHL/MontrealCanadiens/articles.htm],
accessed September 15, 2006.
4. For a stimulating and insightful look at
the closing of the Forum and the cultural
significance of hockey arenas in Canada,
see Shubert, Irwin, 1998, “Hockey Arenas:
Canada’s Secular Shrines,” Architecture
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
Canada, Journal of the Society for the
Study of Architecture in Canada, vol. 23,
no. 2. p. 49-54.
5. The banners and other Forum memorabilia
were sold at an auction on March 12,
1996, that raised over $700,000 for charity.
A hot dog grill sold for $900, a turnstile
for $1,800, while former NHL President
Clarence Campbell’s seat went for $12,000.
(Curran, Peggy, 1996, “Fans Bid for Forum
Treasures,” Montreal Gazette, March 13,
p. A1.)
6. Religious processions date back to the
seventeenth century in Quebec and continued
into the 1930s, only disappearing
completely with the Quiet Revolution of
the 1960s. All such processions in Quebec
followed a similar pattern: meeting at
the church, the faithful would take mass,
assemble behind the banner for their
group, and then parade through the
streets while reciting prayers and singing
hymns. The ritualistic patterns of religion
also find a parallel in the deep strain of
superstition that runs through professional
sport. Lucky socks, specific bus seating
plans, playoff beards, and game-day
rituals are legion. Famously, goaltender
Patrick Roy used to step, rather than skate,
over the centre-ice line when entering or
leaving the ice surface.
7. Peretz, Ingrid, 2005, “Wafers Sold as
Snacks Showing Mass Appeal,” Globe and
Mail, December 27, p. A1.
8. The televisual qualities of sports stadiums
and their potential as marketing tools is
now an accepted fact amongst designers of
sports facilities. Brian Trubey, architect of
the new Baltimore Colts football stadium,
noted that, “NFL venues are the most-seen
type of architecture on television. As much
time as we spend making [the stadium]
incredible for the people actually physically
there, we believe the balance of the
audience—which is probably 99 percent
of it—hadn’t been leveraged as a participant
in terms of enhancing brand through
the stadium.” (Frangos, Alex, 2005, “New
Football Arenas Push Bounds of Stadium
Engineering,” Wall Street Journal,
August 29, as published in Pittsburgh
Post‑Gazette, [http://www.post-gazette.
com/pg/pp/05241/561996.stm], accessed
September 15, 2006.)
9. Pastier, John, 1974, “The Laurel That
Oakland Lost,” Los Angeles Times,
October 21, p. 1. If baseball stadiums
howard shuBert > essay | essai
received 1% of architectural criticism,
it is fair to assume that hockey arenas,
by extension, have been virtually unnoticed.
Pastier himself only discusses the
stadium, ignoring the pendant arena.
Oakland Coliseum (1974) was designed
by Myron Goldsmith and Chuck Bassett
for Skidmore, Owings, Merrill. (Adams,
Nicholas, 2006. Skidmore, Owings, Merrill
1936‑2006, Milan, Electa.)
10. Sports facilities, including arenas for skating
and hockey, have received virtually no
attention by architectural historians, even
while closely related building types such as
movie theatres, circus buildings, and shopping
malls have been studied regularly.
11. Morrone, Francis, c1994, The Architectural
Guidebook to New York City, Salt Lake
City, Gibbs Smith, p. 138.
12. Wilkins, Charles, 1999, “Maple Leaf
Gardens (and how it got that way),” In
Maple Leaf Gardens Memories & Dreams
1931 – 1999, Toronto, Maple Leaf Sports
and Entertainment Ltd., p. 53-54.
13. For a more detailed consideration of the
changes in hockey spectatorship since
the nineteenth century, see Shubert,
Howard, 2002, “The Changing Experience
of Hockey Spectatorship: Architecture,
Design, Technology, and Economics,”
Putting it on Ice, Halifax, Gorsebrook
Research Institute, St. Mary’s University.
14. By 1887 most important American and
continental theatres were lit by electricity.
(Penzel, Frederik, 1978, Theatre
Lighting Before Electricity, Middletown
(CT), Weslayan University Press, p. 74.)
15. Nelson, Brian, 1995, “Baseball,” In Karl B.
Raitz (ed.), The Theater of Sport, Baltimore
and London, The Johns Hopkins Press,
p. 34.
16. Kidd, Bruce, 1996, The Struggle for
Canadian Sport, Toronto, University of
Toronto Press, p. 197.
17. Kitchen, Paul, 1993, “Dey Brothers’ Rinks
Were Home to the Senators,” unpublished
paper, Ottawa City archives, p. 3.
18. For a chronological listing of skating rinks
and hockey arenas in North America, see
Shubert, Howard, 2000, “The Evolution
of the Hockey Arena 1860 – 2000,” Total
Hockey II, New York, Total Sports.
19. On the origins of professional hockey
in Canada, particularly its economic
and administrative history, see: Chi-Kit
117

howard shuBert > essay | essai
Wong, John, 2005, Lords of the Rinks:
The Emergence of the National Hockey
League, 1875‑1936, Toronto, University
of Toronto Press; Kidd Bruce, op. cit.;
and Mills, David, 1991, “The Blue Line
and the Bottom Line: Entrepreneurs and
the Business of Hockey in Canada, 1927
– 1988, In James A. Mangan and Paul
Staudohar (eds.), American Professional
Sports: Social, Historical, Economic and
Legal Perspectives, Urbana, University of
Illinois Press.
20. Between 1942 and 1967, the National
Hockey League consisted of only six teams,
in Boston, Chicago, Detroit, Montreal,
New York, and Toronto. The arenas in
these cities (and their dates of operation)
are as follows: Montreal Forum (1924-
1996), Madison Square Garden, New York
(1925-1966), Olympia Stadium, Detroit
(1927-1979), Boston Garden (1928-1995),
Chicago Stadium (1929-1994), Maple Leaf
Gardens, Toronto (1931-1999).
21. Rowan, John J., 1876, The Emigrant and
Sportsman in Canada: Some Experiences
of an Old Country Settler: With sketches
of Canadian Life, Sporting Adventures
and Observations on the Forests and
Fauna, London, E. Stanford, [republished
Montreal, Dawson Bros., 1881].
22. Dryden, Ken and Roy MacGregor, 1989,
Home Game: Hockey and Life in Canada,
Toronto, McClelland and Stewart, p. 15.
The old rink was demolished in 1992 and
replaced by the Radisson Communiplex, a
$1.9 million facility that hosts hockey and
figure skating. See “The Town of Radisson
Saskatchewan,” [http://radisson.sasktelhosting.net/],
accessed September 15,
2006. On the cultural significance of
Radisson’s arenas and of the fund-raising
campaign to support construction of
the new facility, see Shubert, Irwin : 49.
According to Statistics Canada, the 2001
population of Radisson was 401.
23. Gruneau, Richard and David Whitson,
1993, Hockey Night in Canada: Sport,
Identities and Cultural Politics, Toronto,
Garamond Press, p. 25.
24. Beardsley, Doug, 1987, Country on Ice,
Toronto, PaperJacks, p. 36-37.
25. Ross and MacDonald were the architects.
On the Toronto Maple Leafs and Maple
Leaf Gardens, see: Maple Leaf Gardens
Memories & Dreams 1931 – 1999, Toronto,
Maple Leaf Sports and Entertainment,
1999; Podnieks, Andrew, 1995, The Blue
and White Book: From Mutual Street to
Maple Leaf Gardens, Toronto, ECW Press;
Young, Scott, 1990, The Boys of Saturday
Night: Inside Hockey Night in Canada
Toronto, McClelland and Stewart; Hewitt,
Foster, 1970, Hockey Night in Canada,
Toronto, Ryerson Press [1953, revised
printing].
26. Young : 61.
27. Another aspect of hockey’s modernity
arose through the last half of the twentieth
century. As athletes and teams
adapted to advances made throughout
the world, sport become increasingly
international. (For hockey, the pivotal
moment was the 1972 series between
Canada and the USSR, which demonstrated
to Canada that it had much to
learn from other countries.) For sports
historians and sociologists, this quest for
international excellence reflects sport’s
participation in the culture of modernity,
but a consequent side effect has been a
loss of national character. Allan Guttman
contends that in watching international
sporting events we are participating in
a thoroughly modern cultural form and
thereby celebrating our modernity. Cities
that can boast a major league team are
therefore truly modern and world class.
(See Guttman, Allen, 1978, From Ritual
to Record: The Nature of Modern Sports,
New York, Columbia University Press, as
quoted in Hall, Ann, Trevor Slack, Garry
Smith, and David Whitson, 1991, Sport In
Canadian Society, Toronto, McClelland and
Stewart, p. 42.)
28. “An Outstanding Accomplishment –
Erection of Large Sports Arena in Five
Months,” Contract Record and Engineering
Review, November 11, 1931, p. 1353.
29. Johnny Bruno, the promoter for Madison
Square Garden, changed the names of
Lorne Chabot to “Chabotsky” and Oliver
Reinikka to “Ollie Rocco.” (Kreiser, John
and Lou Friedman, 1996, The New York
Rangers: Broadway’s Longest Running
Hit, Champaign (IL), Sagamore Publishing,
p. 1.)
30. G o y e n s , C h r i s , 1 9 9 8 , “ M o n t r e a l
Canadians,” In Dan Diamond (ed.), Total
Hockey, New York, Total Sports, p. 201.
31. “Habitants” was a French term used to
describe the rugged farmer-settlers of
seventeenth-century New France, while
“Canadien” had a similar meaning, refer-
ring specifically to the hard-working citizens
of Montreal. (Goyens : 201.)
32. On the Montreal Maroons, see Brown,
William, 1999, The Montreal Maroons:
The Forgotten Stanley Cup Champions,
Montreal, Véhicule Press.
33. On the Forum, see: “The Forum Building,
Montreal,” Construction, March 1925,
p. 81- 8 6 ; Goyens, Chr ystian, Allan
Turowitz, and Jean-Luc Duguay, 1996, Le
livre officiel Le Forum de Montréal : La
fierté pour toujours, Montreal, Éditions
Effix; Johnson, Dana, 1997, “Montreal
Forum / Le Forum de Montréal,” Ottawa:
Historic Sites and Monuments Board of
Canada Agenda Paper (1997‑20).
34. The Canadiens’ home ice was the Mount
Royal Arena, which did not have artificial
ice. With the construction of the Forum,
the owners of the Mount Royal Arena
feared, correctly, that they might lose
the Canadiens as tenants unless they also
installed an ice plant. It was problems with
the functioning of this ice plant that led
the Canadiens to play their home opening
game at the Forum on November 29, 1924.
35. “Ironically, the first owner [of the
Canadiens], J. Ambrose O’Brien, was neither
a Montrealer nor a French Canadian
[but] the scion of a wealthy mine-owning
family […] [from] Renfrew, Ontario.”
(Goyens : 201.)
36. Tredree, Chris, 1998, “The NHL Entry
Draft,” In Dan Diamond (ed.) Total Hockey,
New York, Total Sports, p. 285.
37. The Canadiens began playing at the
Forum in 1926 after breaking their lease
at the Mount Royal Arena. Montrealers
were already accustomed to viewing the
Stanley Cup as their property. The trophy
had been won by Montreal teams 14 times
in 25 years, from 1893, when the prize was
first awarded, to 1917, the year the NHL
was formed.
38. Robinson, Dean, 1982, Howie Morenz:
Hockey’s First Superstar, Erin (ON), Boston
Mills Press, chap. 9. Maurice Richard’s
funeral in 2000 elicited a still larger public
response. His open casket at the Molson
Centre was mourned by some 115,000
persons.
39. Montrealers were already familiar with the
idea that buildings could embody cultural,
political, and religious values. Since
the mid-nineteenth century they had
lived with a particularly apt opposition
118 JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011

of cultural symbols at Place d’Armes, in
the heart of the old city, where the Gothic
Revival Notre-Dame Church, emblem of
French Catholic religion, stands across
from the neoclassical Bank of Montreal
headquarters, symbol of Anglo-Scottish
commerce.
40. The headline of the Montreal Star on
March 18, 1955, was: “Arrest 41 after
Forum Riot Crowd Loots or Damages
50 Stores.” The La Presse lead was: “Défi
et Provocation de Campbell. ”
41. Carrier, Roch, 2001, Our Life With the
Rocket: The Maurice Richard Stor y,
Toronto, Viking/Penguin, p. 222.
42. In spite of a stately and dignified manner
that personified wisdom and leadership,
Clarence Campbell functioned as a servant
to the owners, according to David Cruise
and Alison Griffiths. Responding to the
suggestion that Campbell be replaced,
Stafford Smythe, son of Maple Leafs
owner Conn Smythe, reportedly replied,
“Where would we find another Rhodes
scholar, graduate law yer, decorated
war hero, and former prosecutor at the
Nuremberg trials, who will do what he’s
told?” (Cruise, David and Alison Griffiths,
1991, Net Worth: Exploding the Myths
of Pro Hockey, Toronto, Penguin Books,
p. 41.) (See also Goyens, Chrystian and
Allan Turowetz, 1981, Lions in Winter,
Markham, Ontario, Penguin Books Canada
Ltd., p. 94.)
43. O’Brien, Andy, 1967, Firewagon Hockey:
The Story of the Montreal Canadiens,
Toronto, Ryerson Press, p. 57-58; and
Carrier : 210-212.
44. Pellerin, Jean Marie, 1976, L’idole d’un
peuple : Maurice Richard, Montreal,
Éditions de l’homme, p. 92, as quoted
in: Dupperault, Jean R., 1981, “L’Affaire
Richard: A Situational Analysis of the
Montreal Hockey Riots of 1955,” Canadian
Journal of the History of Sport, vol. 12,
May, p. 80. Maurice Richard and his riot
continue to exert a hold on the popular
imagination of Quebeckers, and others.
The 2005 feature-length film, Maurice
Richard, directed by Charles Binamé and
starring Roy Dupuis as Maurice Richard,
culminates with the Forum riot.
45. “Il était évident bien avant la partie de
hockey de jeudi soir que la décision de
M. Campbell était d’une extrême impo‑
pularité, et l’on pouvait facilement prévoir
une démonstration de la part de ceux qui
JSSAC | JSÉAC 36 > N o 1 > 2011
allaient y assister. J’avais raison d’avoir
confiance que la population manifeste‑
rait dans l’ordre, puisque ce n’est que sur
la provocation causée par la présence de
M. Campbell que les protestations ont
pris une autre tournure. Il eût été sage
de la part de M. Campbell de s’abstenir
de se rendre au Forum, surtout d’annon‑
cer publiquement à l’avance sa visite. Sa
présence en effet, pouvait être interprétée
comme un véritable défi.” (Drapeau, Jean,
1955, “La venue de Campbell au Forum
constituait un véritable défi,” La Patrie,
19 mars, p. 1.)
46. The reference is to Hugh MacLennan (Two
Solitudes, Toronto, Collins, c1945), which
treated the alienation and confrontation
of Canada’s two European founding
nations/cultures (English – French) through
an individual’s struggle for linguistic and
cultural identity in the inter-war years.
47. Goyens and Turowetz : 87-92; Ulmer,
Michael, 1996, Canadiens Captains,
Toronto, Macmillan Canada, p. 65-72.
48. On the proposed transformation of Maple
Leaf Gardens, see Richards, Larry, 2004,
“The Puck Stopped Here,” Building,
October/November.
49. The “Liste des lieux de culte fermés” documents
more than 300 Quebec religious
buildings that have closed since 1920,
according to records of the Fondation du
patrimoine religieux du Québec. On this
organization, see [http://www.patrimoinereligieux.qc.ca/],
accessed September 15,
2006.
50. On the Valleyfield Presbyterian Church,
see the “Inventaire des lieux de culte
du Québec,” [http://www.lieuxdeculte.
qc.ca/index.htm], accessed September 15,
2006. On the Centre d’Escalade Vertige,
see “Une église qu’il faudra escalader,” Le
Soleil de Valleyfield, 20-21 mai 2005, p. 1,
4; and the website [http://www.vertigeescalade.com/],
accessed September 15,
2006.
howard shuBert > essay | essai
119

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collection
patrimoine
urbain
ExplorEr lEs configurations imaginairEs Et
lEs constitutions matériEllEs dE la villE
Habiter l’arménie
au Québec
Ethnographie d’un
patrimoine en diaspora
marie-blanche Fourcade
S’intéressant à la vie de la diaspora
arménienne du Québec, l’auteure
investigue le « petit » patrimoine familial
exposé dans cet espace privé et intime
qu’est la maison, afin de cerner la relation
organique existant entre le patrimoine et
l’identité en contexte de mobilité.
la ville
Phénomène
de représentation
Sous la direction de lucie K.
morisset et marie-Ève breton
Qu’est-ce que la ville, au-delà d’un milieu
géographique et social ? Les auteurs
l’abordent comme un phénomène de
représentation, un artefact culturel dont
la signification repose entre ceux qui
l’ont imaginée, ceux qui l’habitent et
ceux qui l’explorent.
De la ville
au patrimoine urbain
Histoires de forme et de sens
andré corboz
textes choisis et assemblés
par lucie K. morisset
De la discussion sur la méthode jusqu’à
l’analyse des images, du bâti, des
discours et des projets, ce livre nous
propose d’aborder la ville comme une
création, puis de comprendre cet artefact
collectif en l’inscrivant dans son horizon
culturel. Illustré de quelque 200 images,
il nous guide dans les dédales des
représentations urbaines.
304 pages | 39 $ 352 pages | 39 $ 336 pages | 40 $