a peek inside the fishbowl

To tell you the truth, I was dreading the thought. But the plan was already in place. And who would I be to chicken out now? With some reservations, I picked up my clipboard and went to meet Dagne. We were heading into the neighborhood to knock on some doors. Our goal: to collect signatures in support of keeping the old Maison Jeanne D’Arc convent on Kenwood Ave.

I was afraid that people were going to be rude. I didn’t want the door slammed in my face. I hate it when strangers come knocking on my door. I hate the interruption. And I tend NOT to open the door, especially if I’m home alone. My dander is up as soon as I hear the doorbell. I immediately expect someone who is trying to sell me something or try to scam me. No thanks.

So you can imagine how thrilled I was at the prospect of doing this.

But first, a little bit of info for those who are tracking the issue.

We’ve been in contact with Heritage Ottawa. They have been following the re-zoning application of Mr. Hobin with some interest. They have been approached by a number of residents of the area and they have encouraged them to apply to the City to have the building considered for designation under the Ontario Heritage Act.

We’ve been told that these kinds of applications have more effect when they come from neighbours of the property or members of the immediate community rather than advocacy group such as Heritage Ottawa.
 
Although Heritage Ottawa has an application to the city we were encouraged to gather some names and make a separate application.
 
This is the link to the City of Ottawa’s website entry concerning the Heritage Designation Program.
 
At last count we have 138 names on our list. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

So, yes. Back to the door knocking. It was tough. And it took a lot longer than either of us expected. We started at 7:30 – and I didn’t look at my watch until 9:20 (ack!), and that became the last doorbell we rang.

It had the same beginnings every time. We walked up the driveway. Sought out the doorbell – or knocker – many people had non-functioning doorbells. And then we stood. And waited (with butterflies!), knowing full well we were interrupting SOMETHING that was going on indoors.

Indeed, we heard a few crying babies in the background. I felt bad about that.

People eyed us with suspicion each and every time, that is, until we gave them our spiel and showed them a photo of the building. Interestingly, at this point we could almost always predict what their reply was going to be. They’d either reach for the pen or step back and sigh.

No one was rude. I am happy about that. Everyone engaged us in lively conversation, whether pro or con. There were a handful of people who refused to sign our petition for a number of reasons:

1) They didn’t care. And yes, one person actually said “I don’t care what goes in there” even though the construction was going to be happening steps away from his front door. I found it a little hard to believe. If it was me, I would be chaining myself to the bulldozer.

2) Dagne and I talked a lot about reusing the building for another purpose. “Wouldn’t it be great to keep the building and use it for a retirement home or daycare, or both?”  But one person really didn’t want a retirement home, she was in fact strongly against the idea. I felt like saying, so, what’s wrong with old people?

3) Someone else said it would increase property values. Well, property values are already overinflated in this area. And what do you think that’s doing to your taxes?

Don’t get me wrong. All of this discussion was completely civil. And I respect everyone’s opinions, whether they agree with us or not.

We had some really great conversations, and that’s what really kept me going. We talked to a lovely fellow (this, the last doorbell we guiltily rang at 9:20 p.m.) who actually watched the old convent get built! He confirmed that it was 1934 – the actual date has been the subject of some speculation. Some of his family members (a father and brother?) worked on that building as well.

We stumbled upon so many fragments of old stories. We talked to someone who lives in a home that was originally built in the late 1800s. 

This neighborhood is soaked with history. It would be such a shame if it gets obliterated just for the sake of something big and new.

I wonder, why does our history have to be relegated to the history books? And why can’t it be part of our everyday lives?