To Queens Quay, at Lower Jarvis St., the locally great and powerful, their apparatus and entourages, and the media chroniclers of grand moment had trooped. An "exciting announcement" had been promised about the development of the East Bayfront lands. But what was this?
"The venue is within an active construction site; flat, closed-toe shoes are recommended."
To the air-conditioned and limo classes, such a state of affairs came close to warranting danger pay. Even so, it was immediately apparent on arrival that not all had heeded the counsel.
With some bemusement, the T-shirted men in safety helmets and steel-toed boots, taking respite from labours at the site's entrance, watched as the gathering convened.
Of all the wide chasms in the world, there is probably none quite so great as that between those who work manually and outdoors for a living and those who don't. So a walkway had been fenced off to keep the visitors, stepping daintily over the grit and muck in their heeled, open-toe shoes, from harm's way.
At walkway's end, in the middle of a rough-hewn empty lot, a large awning, as at an outdoor wedding, had been erected to shade guests from the scorching sun. Beneath were rows of folding chairs, occupied by folks in breezy frocks and finery, fanning themselves against the heat.
A lectern had been set up at the awning's western end – the cranes and city skyline behind it the point of the exercise. Though high noon was scarcely past, TV lights had been installed. Speakers were erected to ensure all words were heard, a recording table arranged, explanatory material provided by public affairs professionals.
For a time, soft white hands shaking others of their kind, there was the expectant buzz, cocktail party nicety and practised bonhomie of the chattering classes on the job.
Then, presently, the mayor – for he was there – summoned the province's new minister of energy and infrastructure – for he was too – and whispered that the moment had arrived. The two men left together briefly, then made their formal entrance with a third – for the premier had been delivered by his security detail, and it was he who had brought the cheque.
By turn, George Smitherman and Dalton McGuinty and David Miller were invited to the microphone. One after another, they spoke of how the $61.5 million contributed by the province to construction of a new campus of George Brown College would enable a great step forward in the revitalization of the city's waterfront.
To generous applause, they made jokes that the assembled found charming. The three acknowledged the considerable privilege it was to be in each other's company. They praised the vision, dedication and courage such endeavours demanded. "Extraordinarily important," "building a city," "glorious day."
In time, their pieces were spoken, a place in city history staked. Congratulations were exchanged. The trappings of the ceremony were torn down, all sign of their fleeting presence removed.
A mere construction site it was again. And the folks in boots and helmets, who eat dust and dirt all day, who hoist and shift and pour and bolt, who put up the buildings to which the names of the great will one day be affixed, went back to work.
And Brecht?
Well, it was he who famously wondered how credit came to be given for the pyramids, and how the history books were filled with the "names of kings."
"Was it the kings who hauled the craggy blocks of stone?"
Jim Coyle's provincial affairs column appears Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
No comments:
Post a Comment