Two Montreal books tell the story of Snowdon in the 50s and they're both the creation of a local guy named Bill Conrod, who recently put out his second tome More Memories of Snowdon in the 50s.Of course this is an incredibly small niche market and Conrod hasn't done any social network marketing, so I thought it worth mentioning.
The book is solid, from what I'm told, although I have never seen either it or its predecessor.
One Snowdon building I'd be very curious to know more about is the 1929-built, 36-unit Queensway Court building on Snowdon (north side) just east of Decarie.
The 5257 has a weird little alcove up a flight of stairs with a few tiny stores in them. (Photos borrowed from the excellent Spacing site). According to tax records, the $3 million + building was purchased about five years ago by some local Chinese but it looks the same as ever.
I visited one evening after the stores were closed with my son and we were sufficiently freaked out to see a small hairdresser and tailor inside the then snowy-icy courtyard which is not visible from the street.
Apparently I'm not the only one who found the place spooky, judging from this anecdote on that same Spacing post:
- Growing up gay in the 50′s and 60′s was pretty tough. But Snowdon wasn’t too bad for me, compared to other places I’ve heard and read about. The “annex” steps and courtyard in this photo were always interesting to me as a child. Recently, however, I’ve recovered an upsetting memory about that exact spot.
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One pleasant evening when I was about aged 6 I was with my father on Queen Mary, for some reason. On our way home we stopped in front of the annex steps and he said, “Stand right here and wait for me; I’ll be back soon.” I waited and waited — a very long time — but he never returned. I wasn’t sure what to do. But then I remembered that I’d been to Steinberg’s with my mom, and it was just across the street (where Metro is now). I told myself, “You know how to walk home from here. It’s not far.” And I did just that. When I arrived home, Dad was already there. “What happened to you?” I yelled. He just stared back blankly at me. I told my mom what had happened, and she said, “Oh, he probably just got to talking with someone, you know your dad, and he forgot.” I accepted her explanation and put the event behind me. Thinking this over as a grey-haired, middle-aged man now, I’d still like to give my dad the benefit of the doubt. He was a good father. He was always kind, generous and loving toward me. But he was a man’s man. He loved hockey — all sports, really — and I guess I was a disappointment to him, since I wasn’t much interested in that. So, I can’t help but wonder about it all, and I suppose some questions will haunt me for the rest of my life: Who would leave a little kid standing in a doorway on a very public street at night? And, should I change the word “leave” to “abandon?”
One pleasant evening when I was about aged 6 I was with my father on Queen Mary, for some reason. On our way home we stopped in front of the annex steps and he said, “Stand right here and wait for me; I’ll be back soon.” I waited and waited — a very long time — but he never returned. I wasn’t sure what to do. But then I remembered that I’d been to Steinberg’s with my mom, and it was just across the street (where Metro is now). I told myself, “You know how to walk home from here. It’s not far.” And I did just that. When I arrived home, Dad was already there. “What happened to you?” I yelled. He just stared back blankly at me. I told my mom what had happened, and she said, “Oh, he probably just got to talking with someone, you know your dad, and he forgot.” I accepted her explanation and put the event behind me.