Scenicruiser (Greyhound in Banff), 1987

“I’m traveling in some vehicle
I’m sitting in some cafe
A defector from the petty wars
That shell shocked love away” ~Joni Mitchel, Hejira

Cross country checkout

In the spring of 1987, having packed up my small Vancouver studio, I set my sights on the bright lights of Toronto. With the proceeds of my last couple of shoots banked, I figured I had enough money to make the move — stock up on film, and buy a $99 bus ticket to TO.

I recorded the trip with my Nikon FM and a roll or two of Kodachrome; my medium format Mamiyaflex camera packed away in the box with my Tiltall tripod and other studio gear. These surviving snapshots are my only evidence of the interminable hours spent traversing the TransCanada Highway, interrupted only by a day or two stopover in southeastern British Columbia to visit my daughter.

I’d hitchhiked as far east as Regina in my 20s. I spent 3 months there, including a sojourn in Saskatoon, Joni Mitchell’s hometown. Can we blame the Saskatchewan songstress for “coming home” to California? I fled the province at 1am, Jan 1, 1978, after an extended period when the temperature never cracked ﹣50. Spectacular sundogs and northern lights aside, the experience reminded me of my temperate temperament. Getting “a tan in the Vancouver rain,” to paraphrase John Lennon, suited me better. I had yet to experience a Toronto winter.

Manitoba and Ontario seemed to stretch on forever. White River, Ontario reminded me how unworthy a Canadian I really was, boasting its record of “coldest place in Canada”: 72 below.

Luckily, I got to see the granite expanse of the Canadian Shield and the endless shores of Lake Superior in daylight. At night I was not sure if the the highway lines, flashing by hypnotically, were dreamed or real. The vastness of Canada impressed itself upon my psyche almost as much as the seats of the Greyhound, apparently made of concrete, did on my butt. By the time I arrived at the Toronto depot, my glutes were numb, reminding me of the ordeal for several days.

Welcome to Toronto

Former Vancouver roommate Brian Hay met me at the terminal, taking me back to the communal house he shared with 8 others on Clinton Street, off Bloor.

Brian was working in a commercial studio and figured, considering my diverse portfolio, I’d have no trouble finding a position in one of the city’s many studios churning out product photography.

He was right — after a few weeks working the phones for a polling firm to make ends meet, I finally landed a job alongside Brian at TDF Studios, a gigantic catalogue sweatshop under the crumbling Gardiner Expressway … as a janitor.

And so began my illustrious career as a product and advertising photographer in the Big Smoke.

A few months later, thanks to Peter Kundert, one of the best commercial photographers in Toronto, I got on, first as an assistant, at another behemoth studio in Markham. The daily TTC commute to Pringle & Booth began early in the morning as a sardine on the Queen Street streetcar to join the equally crowded subway train, finally transferring to a bus at Finch Station for the final leg.

Stay tuned. in the next few posts, I’ll share some of the stories and photos from my adventures in Toronto’s ad trade.