Fifty years ago, on April 19th 1962 residents of LeBreton Flats were notified of the looming expropriation of their mixed working-class neighbourhood. Modernist planners had labelled the area undesirable “slum” and demanded the demolition of the central-city neighbourhoods, making it easier – if not necessary – to run high-speed roadways, high-rises, and office superblocks through the working-class district. Railways defined the district – and their very presence commanded planners to desire their imminent removal. Postwar urban renewal, stunted by an appeal to functionalist and technocratic visions, was rolled out just as the most stunning of all social, technical, and political projects: the railway, were declining and disappearing, as architecture, and as public place.

Claude Monet: Gare Saint-Lazare: Arrival of a Train, 1877 (c.f. NYRB)
In an evocative celebration of the railway in the NYRB (December 2010, January, 2011), Tony Judt proclaims that: “the railway stands for modernity”. It was nothing more, commands his prose, than a “conquest” of space, beyond any other technical innovation, completely altering the physical environment, cultural landscapes, the socio-environment, and the concept of time. In laying the foundations for industrial modernity, railways cut swaths through the historic and geometric patterns, on a scale never seen before. In this socio-technical recalibration of geographies “railways demanded – and were accorded – powers over men and nature alike: rights of way, of property, of possession, and of destruction”. Opposition was fruitless. Towns and villages that struggled against the grain — and dared to oppose “a line, a bridge, or station”– were left behind as “expenditure, travelers, goods, and markets all bypassed them and went elsewhere”. But here might be his best geographic line, akin to Zola’s evocation of the power of railways in “La Bête Humaine”: “railway tracks reinvented the landscape. They cut through hills, they burrowed under roads and canals, they were carried across valleys, towns, estuaries.” Such prose demands pause on the reader, and evoke through vivid imagery the massive scope and scale of the endeavour: imagine the radically altered environment. He pushes our senses even further (in an Benjaminian embrace) into feeling the textured grain of this calamitous transformation: “(I)ron girders, wooden trestles, brick-clad bridges, stone-buttressed earthworks, or impacted moss; importing or removing these materials could utterly transform town and country alike”, and in the process overcoming “obstacles like forests, boulders, crops, and cows”. But it was not only about the conquest of space, Judt observes, but also about the inexorable “reorganization of time”. The timetable shifted everyday life from being space bound, to being time bound: “nationally and internationally agreed time zones, factory time clocks; the ubiquity of the wristwatch; time schedules…; school timetables” simply followed.
The majestic rococo, neo-Gothic and Beaux Arts stations transformed lived urban spaces and how people interacted in the urban environment – radically. Railway stations, no less, “wrought a revolution in the social organization of public space”. These new meeting places were not beyond the practical: “patrons and clients were not supposed to just buy a ticket and go: they were meant to linger and imagine and dream.” As an urban geographer, I am taken by Judt’s evocation of public space, his romantic recall of railway stations as modern, and their moribund decline. As he pointedly notes, railways once “the major facilitator of urbanization, it fell victim to it”. The fate of individual stations fell to what Judt calls the “antihistoricist fashion” of 1955-1975 that saw the destruction of the public halls and architectural treasures of train stations (most famously Penn Station in NYC where Jane Jacobs cut her activist teeth).
Ottawa’s downtown train station did not escape this fate as part of Jacques Gréber’s 1950 design for Canada’s postwar capital. The French architect and planner evoked a visceral disdain for level crossings — which he lamented impeded the smooth flow of traffic — and the dust and noise which accompanied them on their journey. In his modern vision, railways would be removed from the city center, and moved to the periphery with empty rail lands replaced white lines of expressways.
A new “modern” railway station would be erected at the edge of the urban core in Ottawa’s east end. Designed by John B. Parkin Associates in 1966, the central feature of the International-Style-infused station is a reinforced concrete ramp that twists up from the underground passages, letting outbound passengers slowly soak in their departure, and inbound passengers slowly glimpse the steel and glass of the minimalist design. Just like the Beaux Arts educated, modernist sympathizer Gréber, the station contains contradictions. The concrete ramp is an ode to the great railway stations which were “designed to serve as dramatic entrances portals to modern cities”, even as it’s construction precipitated the decline of old urban spaces.
SOURCE: PANDA ASSOCIATES PHOTOGRAPHY
Sadly, this new meeting place is now mostly unused as time-pressed passengers prefer the motorized escalators over the melodic ramp, hurried on their way to the awaiting taxi stands outside, ready to whisked away along Gréber’s parkways and expressways. In their flight from the isolated station they are robbed from experiencing a grand entrance to the city’s vibrant urban fabric, a regrettable practice akin to the tragic destruction of majestic public places that Judt justifiably laments.




