
Mean Streets: In Search of Forgotten Halifax, 1953-1967 by Steven Laffoley came about while the author was researching his earlier novel, Halifax Nocturne. In the preparation for that book he had come across thousands of old photos of Halifax taken in the 1950’s and 60’s by the Halifax City Engineering and Works Department. In the aftermath of WWII the city of Halifax adopted a policy of urban renewal and slum clearance, and these photos served to document the “unsightly premises, fire and flood damage, and construction” of properties which were eventually doomed to demolition. Laffoley endeavoured to visit the areas where these photographers snapped their pictures decades ago. It was not a surprise to discover in almost all cases documented in this book that the houses and businesses had been torn down. Wherever a photographer captured a sagging roof, tilted garage, backyard strewn with garbage or, understandably, a burned-out shell of a building, they would all end up razed in the name of urban renewal or slum clearance.
What these city photographers may not have been aware of as they roamed the streets was that they had also captured moments frozen in time: children playing outside, snowball fights, people on their way to work, and curious residents peering through their curtains at these urban paparazzi. As I looked at these residents I wonder if they realized that their homes would soon not be theirs for much longer:
“There is nothing in the reading that I have done to indicate these people were asked what they felt about slum clearance–or even about the designation of slum.”
Communities were once alive with activity and then suddenly blocks and streets were wiped off the map. The creation of Scotia Square, for example, saw entire streets obliterated from history. The author did provide one example where the city’s wrecking ball did not strike. Although the house next to it was photographed as a target of urban renewal and later demolished, what was then known as 9 Bauer Street in 1961 still stands today, although it has been renumbered as 2019 Bauer Street.
The final chapter of the book was devoted to Africville. This entire community was razed in the sixties yet the proposal to do so was introduced as early as 1945, as seen in the city’s Master Plan.
The language which accompanies the photographs is telling, as it is drenched in clichés against the poor:
“The drumbeat of dark and dangerous continues with more stark photographs accompanied by leading phrases that shape the reader’s imagination: ‘… buildings beyond hope of repair … crowded with families … ‘living’ space for 48 adults and 33 children … only one bathroom … shocking condition …'”
Although the photos took up half a page, nevertheless their size and resolution made it very difficult to see what the author was describing in them. I figure he must have been looking at them as blown up projections, since he was able to describe such detail as the patterns on people’s clothing.