Ballad of the ol’ town hall

The chatter of the lake as the spread of geese descended in hand with the light of day: Stacks of cars and trucks framed Main Street as a multitude of people pressed into the ol’ town hall. It was a Thursday and the gathering at Wellington’s former civic place was an opportunity for cross sharing around matters of interest to townies and rural folk alike.

Jammed to the rafters, scarf and rubber booted citizens were to be heard by elected leaders on a menu of topics; first there was the clear garbage bag matter; next the quandary over ‘how many vehicles can possibly get through Main Street on a July or August day’; then came the discussion about the building affectionately known as the Variety Store, a title the structure inherited from its most recent usage. Rooted to the corner of Wellington’s Wharf and Main Streets, the century building is like a molar tooth up against a relatively tight and cared-for configuration of edifices at the centre of town.

In a nutshell, the building was bought by the County, something to do with concerns that a river runs through it, or more to the point, under it; Lane Creek as it turns out. Voices from the town hall crowd praised the structure’s heritage; others claimed it was gold filled with bullion from the County treasury; and yet many in the group were convinced that extraction was the most humane act considering, in their view, that the thing was rotten anyway and besides didn’t the village need more parking apropos those aforementioned impassable traffic days of July and August?

In the end cool was restored when a plan was announced that would get taxpayers off the hook. A replacement purchaser was being sought for the building under which conditions the new owner could empty their pockets straight away into a project that would see the building restored while at the same time returning cash into County hands since there was no panic to buy it in the first place when it was reasoned that as far as anyone could tell, the creek has happily accommodated the building and vice versa over the past 122 years and bets were that they would continue to get along into the foreseeable future.

Then came the topics of volunteer burnout; money and the sustainability of staging the likes of fireworks displays and street dances and town parades. It was about choice: what to do? There came a soberness in the ambiance of the room with plenty to think about when added to decision- making came the conundrum of the very building within which everyone had gathered and for the most part were comfortably seated—the Countyowned and managed ol’town hall. Sure the building was kinda an old shoe of a place on the inside, in need of a fresh coat of paint; its second floor unused for years. What’s more, similarly to the other once township halls in the County, this one had become surplus, an orphan at the time of amalgamation.

Now it remains as a name in the 80-plus inventory of County-owned buildings that require significant dollars for upkeep; usage of the building being slim and the only proceeds derived from the hall’s rentals were barely enough to buy a new mop and bucket.

The microphone flew from voice to voice in one hell of a frenzy that set dogs to barking and geese to calling: what to do, what to do? Advice poured in from every corner of the room: make it a marketplace; how about a public art gallery, a bowling alley, a movie house or a spa or…one voice spoke the ‘s’ word—SELL! The rhythm of the waves from the nearby lake could be heard in the silence; the crowd pondered the potential loss of a public building that was more than just bricks and mortar. It had weathered the ages, stood fast through the changes of the lake town. The building held meaning, magic charm especially after if we give it a fresh coat of paint someone said. It was iconic said another.

As I drove home from the meeting, my truck’s headlights shimmering on the slim rises and dips of the Old Danforth Road seemed to elicit a voice. Over the rattle of the fender I recognized it. It was the voice of the ol’town hall itself: “No one mentioned the perfect symmetry of my windows. All 24 of them,” it held. “Or how beautifully with 12 panes each they herald the light from the lake and the migration of the geese and how I’ve carried the flag and heard laughter and song and right out my front door how I have witnessed the joyous parades and also the bugle cry of Last Post at Remembrance. As the face of our town I have heard and I have seen.”

Turning into my driveway, I shut the engine and sat in the silent night when the ol’ town hall believed once more. “I am a means not an end. I am here to preserve the ‘bonum commune communitatas’—the happiness and well-being of community.” The stars shone bright that night.