The photographer sets up his camera on its tripod as he prepares to take aim at the crowd gathered at the corner of Elm and Durham Street. It is 1913 and Sudbury has the look of a frontier town just waiting to spend the cash-flow from the mining and smelting.
After 30 years of continued growth, Sudbury needs a centrepiece, a jewel in its crown to show that it has come of age. These gentlemen (along with four children) are here to celebrate the groundbreaking for Sudbury’s newest structure: a towering three-storey stone post office. And, standing in the centre of the group, spade in hand, is the town’s mayor, J.G. Henry.
Three years earlier, the initial decision made in Ottawa in regards to building a post office in Sudbury could have had a substantial effect on the style of building which would have been built as well as its potential to remain a part of our heritage to this day.
In a memorandum signed by then Prime Minister Wilfrid Laurier on April 2, 1909, the Committee of the Privy Council, on the recommendation of the Minister of Public Works, advised that authority was given to purchase the property of Mrs. Mary McCormick, at the corner of Elgin and Elm Streets, for the sum of $12,000 (which they “considered a fair and reasonable price”).
The property consisted of lot No. 148, in Block "A", with frontages of 50 feet on Elm Street, and 120 feet on Elgin Street. (The property currently encompasses the current 75 Elm Street and 54 Elgin Street block across the street from the CPR Telegraph building).
By 1912, the property purchased was considered to be insufficient in size for the purpose and another property was then purchased, this time from the Canadian Pacific Railway Company.
For $20,000, the CPR offered to the Department of Public Works a property having a frontage of 85 feet on Durham Street and 62 feet on Elm Street, and extending 120 feet south from Elm Street, and 100 feet east from Durham Street.
This sale was subject to a surprising condition, which (for all of us who have seen photos of the old Post Office) never did come to pass.
"And the Grantee (the federal government) … will forthwith after (the purchase) open up and will at all times maintain in good and serviceable condition a roadway extending from Durham Street to Elm Street upon, along and over portions of the said lots parallel to and immediately southeasterly of the northwesterly limit of the lands … such roadway to be of sufficient width to accommodate satisfactorily traffic of all kinds whatsoever between said streets so as to avoid the necessity of such traffic crossing the railway tracks of the Grantor (the CPR).”
In layman’s terms, the purchase was subject to the condition that the federal government would build and maintain a road extending from Durham Street to Elm Street parallel to the Stobie spur, in order to eliminate the double road crossings that existed where the spur passed over those two streets.
Although this is the true story of how the post office came to find its home at Elm and Durham streets, an apocryphal tale from mid-20th century Sudbury historians instead stated that “sentiment” swayed officials to place the old post office at this location because it was there, in 1884, that CPR storekeeper R. Barns doled out the first mail ever addressed to Sudbury.
In 1913, tenders for construction were received, with William Doran and Richard Devlin of Ottawa (and their bid of $98,200) winning out over five other bids, including two local ones: a group made up of Anthony Gustiana, Geo. R. Craig, R.M. McCaulay, Agostino Cecchetto, E.M. Lansdowne (with a bid of $140,453.00) and the Laberge Lumber Co. (with a bid of $143,000.00).
The assistant chief architect of the Department of Public Works, whose estimate of the cost of the building at $100,000, advised the acceptance of the lowest tender.
When completed, the new Sudbury Post Office would actually cost $94,333.07 ($2,422,712.81 in 2024).
The cost was divided as follows:
- Construction: Doran & Devlin - on account $98,200 contract; $95,000; less $3,690 paid in 1913- 14
- Inspection: P. Cairns (April to March) - $1,565; outlay, $3.36
- A.H. Beath: installing clock, $100; carpenter work, etc., $56.55
- C.R. Joyce: turret clock, $808.23; duty on clock, $179.30
- Placing bell in tower: $22; electric work, $71.47; painting tower, $45.75; sundry, $15.22
- Advertising: $123.50; King's Printer, $32.69
Beyond all of this, the Minister of Public Works, on the advice of the chief architect, also recommended accepting the tender of the J.T. Schell Company, at $5,475, for the supply and installation of “Post Office, Customs, and Inland Revenue” fittings in the Public Building.
In November 1914, the federal government decided to change the original floor plans of the new post office, which called for a cement floor in the public space, to marble flooring. A spokesman said at the time that “this will be more in keeping with the elaborateness and massiveness of the new structure throughout.”
Doran & Devlin, the contractors, were also given only until June 1915 to complete the interior. They would end up finishing well ahead of their government imposed deadline.
On Saturday, April 10, 1915, a new feature was officially added to Sudbury’s skyline, a town clock. An exquisite timepiece, installed by local jeweller A.H. Beath, from which most Sudburians could now take their time (both visually and aurally).
The clock was built by Joyce & Co., of England, one of the oldest clock makers in the world (they had been in business for more than 220 years by that point). The first clock of the same design as Sudbury's was built for a bank in Chester, England more than 60 years prior and was “still keeping excellent time.”
Clocks made by the same company were also installed in the government buildings of Sydney, Australia, at Birmingham and Glasgow Universities and many cathedrals in various parts of the world.
Seen up close, the clock looked to be a huge one, but way up there on its perch in the tower of the post office it did not look nearly so big. As a matter of fact, the four faces measured just six feet across; the minute hand was three feet in length, and the hour hand was two feet, six inches.
The bell, which struck the hours only, weighed about half a ton and was three feet in diameter. Roman numerals set in opal glass showed the hours, and the faces were illuminated at night with 16 candlepower tungsten lamps.
The pendulum was six feet long and weighed 60 lbs. To compensate for changes in temperature in our northern climate, it was constructed of zinc and iron tubes. The clock would run for a week with one winding, but that one winding required 20 minutes of steady turning of a large handle.
Unfortunately, the clock, though filling a long felt need in Sudbury, as it looked down and marked the many changes in our northern metropolis, would not survive long past the middle of the 20th century.
A short 44 years after the Bell of Sudbury first tolled, it was forever silenced in the name of modernity. The “Grand Old Lady” was on her way to an early grave. Although valuable in a sentimental way, the 1915 post office was deemed to be too cramped for Sudbury's growing volume of mail and customs entries.
The clock's dismantling marked the second week in a wrecking operation aimed at razing the three-storey stone landmark at the southeast corner of Elm and Durham streets.
But it's not quite as sad as it seems. The old lady's memory ended up being preserved in many ways (some of which may still be around 65 years later).
The rough hewn dirty, black stone that some said came from rock blasted on the road to Levack was taken to be used (preserved, really) in the construction of a church in New Sudbury.
The large window frames through which the old lady looked out onto the busy city streets were taken by camp owners to be repurposed as picture windows for their summer camps on the lakes and rivers spread out across the Nickel District.
Some of the large bricks which strengthened her backbone were repurposed to block unnecessary windows in some of the city's other older buildings.
In fact, one story told during demolition had it that while workmen tugged and heaved to pull down a section of wall, a man approached to collect some bricks. He wanted about 200 to block up some windows in his house. Why didn't he go out and buy them? Because, apparently, new bricks wouldn't match the bricks in his home but old post office bricks would.
However, there was one item that would never be removed from the site, no matter how much work was expended to find it. This was a secret that the old lady would carry with her to the grave.
Irving Greenspoon, in charge of the workmen on the wrecking crews, stated at the time that after five weeks of demolition, they had failed to turn up anything resembling a cornerstone (and it's not because they weren’t looking). In fact, no stone in the building ever bore a date. One piece was inscribed “post office” and another “customs.” That was it.
There is a chance that no cornerstone was ever laid. If true, it could be blamed on one of two possibilities. The fact that the First World War was in progress, or lack of interest from local politicians.
For Greenspoon, even though he had been charged with the task of erasing the post office’s existence from its home at Elm and Durham, he admitted that the old building held some charm for him. In fact, he hated to see it demolished.
"It was the meeting spot for everyone," he recalled. "All the truant officer had to do was come down here and he'd find the kids who weren't at school."
It was also a meeting place for show-going mothers, romancing youngsters and old-timers who would reminisce for hours on a bench provided for weary pedestrians outside the post office.
According to Greenspoon, the interior could have been ripped out and remodelled for city hall purposes and the architecture preserved, without encountering any serious problems. He even stated that it was one of the most solid buildings his firm had ever demolished.
Steel beams (15 and 24 inches wide) supported the rambling old structure. At times it took as many as five men to pull down one simple section of plastered wall.
Oh, and for those wondering, no long-lost pieces of mail were ever found during demolition. Though, a few coins (silver five-cent pieces and an English half-penny) were found under an uprooted counter, coins minted during the reign of King Edward VII (1901-10).
And, what of the clock?
In 1958, as the disposition of the old post office approached, the old clock appeared headed for a graveyard of some kind. The city's retired waterworks superintendent, Rex Martindale, began quietly waging a battle to retain one of Sudbury's few links with its fading past in order to save it for future generations.
He took the question of the clock to the sympathetic ears of two Chamber of Commerce officials, president George Spencer and secretary-manager Bob Hollywood, which made it a topic of interest at a meeting of the chamber's board of directors.
"I feel all things with historical value should be preserved," said Hollywood. “As it is today we have an absolute lack of anything of historical significance. It is something which needs a lot of thought and discussion."
Martindale's idea was to have the chamber ask the city council to preserve the clock when the old stone walls came tumbling down. He feels it would look right at home on a new city hall. Until the new city hall is built, the clock could be stored.
"I think it is something the city ought to retain." he said. "It adds dignity and class. A lot of people look at it and I would hate to see it scrapped and thrown away. We don't pay enough attention anymore to some of our old stuff."
Unfortunately, as there is nothing more mentioned in the historical record, no one knows the ultimate fate of the crown jewel of Sudbury’s post office.
By the morning of April 29, 1959, rubble, bits of wood and splintered glass were all that remained in the spot once occupied by Sudbury’s venerable old post office. After two months of work, the demolition was now totally finished.
Ten men had undone the work of a small army of carpenters and masons who labored for two years to erect the building back in 1913-14.
For months following the completion of the new post office a block farther east, the fate of Sudbury's first Dominion Federal building was the topic of heated discussion at high levels of government. In some quarters, it was argued the site should be cleared for use as a park. In others, it was claimed that the structure was worthy of becoming a city hall, or even an institute of higher learning.
But, none of those would be its ultimate fate, as instead, plans were set in motion for the construction of a five-storey Woolworths building. The newspaper of the day called it an “example of down with the old and up with the new” (but, was it really a good idea?)
Well, dear readers, it is your turn to send us your memories of that Grand Old Lady at the corner of Elm and Durham. We are looking to you to fill the gap between the construction and demolition. (Did you work in the building? Or, were you only a visitor? Perhaps even just an admirer from street-level). But, please don’t send your memories by mail (we have a tight deadline), email will suffice.
Share your memories and/or photos by emailing them to Jason Marcon at [email protected] or the editor at [email protected].
Jason Marcon is a writer and history enthusiast in Greater Sudbury. He runs the Coniston Historical Group and the Sudbury Then and Now Facebook page. Memory Lane is made possible by our Community Leaders Program.