Gaskins' Lion

Compared with many other Canadian cities, Kingston is unique in several ways - not only in its sociological, historical and architectural makeup but also in its’ iconic images. When you look at what identifies some other cities certain images do pop up immediately in your consciousness; Toronto has its’ new City Hall and the CN Tower; the Peace Tower is emblematic of Ottawa, as is the canal in the winter; Calgary has the low slung profile of the Saddledome; and Sudbury has the Big Nickel. But in all its’ smalltownness, Kingston not only rivals those larger centres, but may even exceed them.

Counting among our city’s instantly recognizable images are the cupola of City Hall, which adorns our official website and the masthead of the Kingston Whig-Standard and the Shoal Tower - part of the Murney Tower system - which flies on the official city flag and so proudly worn on city politicians’ lapels. But we may have bested the big cities by at least one icon.

The Lion in MacDonald Park has been a fixture for as long as I can remember. I know I climbed all over him when I was a kid and can only imagine how many other children have clambered over his back and sat astride this cast iron statue. When you consider the number of transient citizens who have passed through Kingston as students or as part of the military who have been posted here or even the permanent residents of the city and outlying area, who have visited the Park, the number of people who have sat on the lion or been photographed on him truly boggles the mind. More than once, my own three children sat astride his back vying for right to be the one at the front to grab and hold on his mane.

At lunch a few days ago, my sister Jane and I were reminiscing about the Lion. Neither one of us knew how long it had been there or what purpose he represented, besides being a drawing point for children of every age. I decided to see whether I could find out more about him.

The Lion- as far as I can tell there really isn’t any other name given to him - was donated to the city by the family of former Mayor John Gaskin who held that office in 1882. To say he was a political animal is slightly understating history. He was a fiery, feisty Irish Orangeman who wielded his weight where and when he could to advance the Protestant rights in the city. He was hot tempered, foul-mouthed and outrageously anti-Catholic which may explain why he served only one year in office. But, as a businessman, he was successful. A Great Lakes Captain for the Montreal Transportation Company, he relocated ship building to the city and became a very wealthy man along the way .

One of the homes he lived in was at the corner of Ontario and Princess Streets where the Cornerstone Gallery now stands. It was in front of one of his houses that the Lion once stood guard. Along side him was a cannon that Mr. Gaskin fired off every July 12 in commemoration of the Siege of Londonderry in 1689. This was a proud moment in Orangeman history as they defended and survived against the British siege under King James II. The cannon that Mr. Gaskin fired off, was one of the cannons used in the actual defense and presently stands on the lawn of the St. Andrew Church at the corner of Princess and Clergy Streets.

But back to the Lion. Mr Gaskin was the man who was responsible for gaining city ownership of the lands in the area now known as MacDonald Park, land once held by the military. He died in 1908 and the Lion was donated to the city by his family and was commemorated when the Park opened in 1909 thus marking its’ one hundred years of presence in the Park this year.

Given his one hundred years of standing stoutly outdoors and being exposed to not only the elements, but also to many, many bums sliding over its surface over those years - and throw in some unauthorized and rather bizarre paint schemes - it is no wonder that the Lion is feeling his age. One of his forepaws has a hole in the side, which time will only eat away; his back and hindquarter are worn smooth, far below any protective coatings that may have been on him when he was first cast, making him even more vulnerable to decay.

I did some cursory research into trying to find out the manufacturer of the statue, which involved among other things, crawling on my back under the Lion to find any markings. My closest match was a similar cast iron sculpture from an antique dealer in New York. J. W. Fiske was one of the most prolific and famous cast iron foundries in the United States and did cast iron lions around 1880. Considering that Mr. Gaskin was a Great Lakes captain, it is not to difficult to imagine that he could have picked up this statue on his travels. A Fiske cast iron statue was painted to resembled a bronze finish, which may explain why at times the Lion has been described by historians and journalists as bronzed.

As a hundredth birthday present for the Lion, it would be nice if the city could find the funds to refurbish him to his former glory and give another century of joy to the countless children and adults who love to crawl over his back. In these times, I realize that this is highly unlikely - the $10,000 needed to complete this job is probably earmarked for other projects. It is unfortunate that the cost of some of the studies done for other projects is more than this complete restoration. In my opinion, studies are not nearly as valuable or more important than heritage.

When you are next down at MacDonald Park, give the Lion a pat on his regal head and wish him a happy birthday and let him know that in the hearts of many people that although he may not be the King of the jungle anymore, he is truly the King of Kingston.

Still Looking for My Warhol Minutes

If we embrace Andy Warhols’ idea that every person will be famous for 15 minutes, then I should be getting worried. At last time check, I was getting to be older than ideal for being famous. Let’s see, the athlete me was years ago; same with being a member of a rock band. The potential for great discoveries in science disappeared when I changed my major to economics, and a Noble Prize in Economics went out the window in one of my last exams at university. The course was the scintillatingly titled , “Mathematical and Statistical Applications in Micro-Economics”, where my answer to most problems was, “Huh?” I truly only have one last kick at the can before I will have to turn to infamous instead.

While at this time, my 15 minutes have eluded me, I have had the opportunity to meet many famous people, mostly just through the course of life. The school I went to during my early years were sprinkled with the offspring of many recognizable names. Among them, for example, were the Molson and Seagram families. One of my dorm-mates at the time was Reid Willis, the son of actors Kate Reid and Austin Willis. The school population was liberally sprinkled with a number of Bay Street and political families. But probably the most memorable encounter with someone famous was during my art class that we had every two weeks.

The artist in residence at the school was David Blackwood, who, even in those days had a name for himself, but today is even more renown for his moody landscape paintings of life in Newfoundland. On this particular day he was moving around the class giving us encouragement and pointing out how to use colour to achieve a certain effect. He stood beside my painting of the Rockies with 2 majestic mountains rising up in the air. A soft pink glow of the morning sun was bathing the rocks. “Very good. Now try to get the shadow on this side of the mountain.” It was then that I notice a kind of round man beside him looking at my painting. Because I was reading Lord of the Rings at the time, he reminded me of a Hobbit. He was maybe my height, bushy red hair and beard, and smoking a pipe. He stood beside me for a few seconds then tapped the painting with his pipe and said, “Nice boobs.” My first meeting with Farley Mowat and he thought my mountains were boobs. (And I am using a nicer word than he did.) I didn’t know what to do. I felt a little embarrassed that here I was in art class drawing what he perceived to be half a naked woman before I had even seen a real half naked woman. I hastily tried to make them more mountainous-like so I capped them off with a snow covered peak. When he returned he said, “Even better. Much more life-like.”

It was at that early age that I decided that my creative outlet should not be in art but writing. So I guess I could fudge my resume a bit by saying that it was Farley Mowat who after seeing my earlier work, encouraged me write.

One time I did get close to being famous, famous by proxy, I guess. When I was younger I had a passing resemblance to hockey great Bobby Orr. One night I was with friends at The Pub at the Townhouse Motor Inn, when a local N.H.L. hockey player asked me if he could introduce me to some girls as Bobby Orr. He wanted to impress them with someone famous. Hmm, free drinks and a chance to meet some fawning female fans. For that, I even threw in a free gimpy knee.

More recently, I was at a place I often go to after work. It gives me time to relax, read the newspaper and have a beer before heading home to pandemonium. This time, I noticed someone sit down at the table across from me, facing in my direction. A quick glance up and I saw it was a young guy, kind of scruffy looking, a skull cap pulled down over his forehead even though it was a very warm day. Every so often I could feel him looking up at me and I steadfastly kept my eyes on my newspaper. This internal alarm was from my days as a prison guard . Quite often, if you glanced at an inmate the wrong way, they would often spit out a “What are you looking at!”. So I avoided locking eyes with this guy altogether. It was only after he left and paid for his meal that the waitress came up to me gushing that Gord Downey of the Tragically Hip had just left. Now I knew why he kept looking up at me. He just wanted to say hello. We have crossed paths many times over the years and his sister is a dear friend of my wife and I. He’ll probably never try to say hello again.

There have been many other famous people over the years. I spoke to NDP patriarch Ed Broadbent at the liquor store one afternoon and chatted up Christopher Walken at the same place when he was here shooting Vendetta. Nice guy and not nearly as scary in real life as he is on the screen. (I was talking about Walken, not Broadbent, there). But you know there is one person I have never run into. One of my brothers actually pitched him a story I wrote and another brother has been to his house for dinner. It is amazing how many people I know who have a Dan Aykroyd story or two. Yet I have still to meet the man. Maybe one day when I sell one of my screenplays and have my 15 minutes.