This mural reminds us of one of our honeymoons. Our newest bride neglected to include seasickness medication while packing for a trip across the English Channel in winter. It did not bode well for the passage or the week in Paris or the marriage itself. Nonetheless, we were host to a flood of treasured memories of a better nature when strolling past the Drake Hotel yesterday. Oh Elaine, we loved you best.
We have to say, none of our romantic reverie had to do with the present incarnation of what was once a local horror. At first we anticipated with pleasure the arrival of a renovated boutique hotel in the midst of squalour, how could we not, being as fond of entertaining and the distractions of pleasant company beyond the POWcityblog bunker as we are. Yes, initially we welcomed the renewal of the Drake Hotel.
Did we also expect to have strong, even conflicted, emotions about the new Drake? Yes. Grandfather, after all, had moved to the Drake some decades ago when he crossed the line from mere dissolution to actual pre-mortal decline. By the time brave grandfather expired the Drake was at its nadir and a haven for desperate addicts, street prostitutes, writers and other end-of-their-rope undesireables.
We tried not to judge grandfather too much. As a young man with an enthusiasm for things maritime he volunteered for the fledgling Royal Canadian Navy's elite diving bell unit and was sent off to fight in the Great War. In the early 1970s Aunt Mamie would take advantage of newly passed access-to-information legislation and discover how often grandfather had been subjected to emegrency decompressions. When grandfather came back from the war he spent rather a lot of time, as Canadians used to say, "canoeing whiskey lake."
As renovations proceeded we put aside our concerns about our own family associations with the Drake and watched as large amounts of money were lavished on the wreckage. How delightful that the moulded cement details of the old building were to be spruced up. The Drake represents something of a treat for engineering and architecture buffs like myself. Her facade is a rare example of a hybrid approach to decoration employed only for a short span of years.
Delays cropped up in the renovation and soon unfortunate rumours reached the bunker that the individual behind the project was not from the area. Apparently the "entrepreneur" in question was a victim of Post Trauamatic Stress Disorder who, bleary eyed and carpal tunnelled from many a year before a computer monitor, had recently fled Canada's high technology bubble to bestow his favours on Parkdale.
Gravely concerned for our local environment we created a fake resume with our prominently local address in a large font. (The POWcityblog bunker is well within typical grenade launcher range of The Drake) We then attended an event quaintly called a "Job Fair" in the hope of going undercover as an employee, entering the belly of the beast if you will.
Our suspicions were enflamed by the rebuttal of our approach. The Toronto Cold Shoulder was applied to us, one of the most difficult and entrenched forms of ignorance ever brewed and a frightening weapon of control. Never to be accused of strategic idiocy we know the difference between backing off and backing down.
Regroupng ourselves from the boredom and indifference of the "Job Fair" we decided upon a direct attack. With reluctance we hired outside muscle. An old associate was brought in to provide force and protection. My hope was that his appearance on my right hand as I entered the Drake's ground floor breakfast annex would achieve the desired effect. Indeed, history shows that the great battles are not won when an enemy has been obliterated but when that enemy surrenders his powers of resistance in fear of obliteration. Our choice of a six-foot-five red-haired northern Italian ex-SS bruiser named, we kid you not, Luigi, was sure to be the right one to gain the upper hand over the Drake.
We send a monthly cheque to his widow Carmella and the children. The mediocre food and apathetic staff caused a cranial explosion in poor Luigi that made JFKs assassination look like a shaving accident. Somebody had betrayed us! We don't know how else the Drake would have known to concentrate a maximum effort of Toronto Cold Shoulder on us. From the moment we walked in the door we were doomed men.
We are prepared for a long struggle against a vicious enemy. We are patient and will bide our time though we fear that the acceptance of overpriced mediocrity, the boredom, apathy and ignorance on the part of the general population is a perfect background for the likes of the Drake. Having lost a comrade we have sworn to secure payback. It may take us longer than we thought but eventually we will see the Drake driven back to the way it was during grandfather's day.
Ready, aye ready! Grandfather.
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