Grateful beyond adequate words to have been born in Canada, I am, however, not the best example of a Canadian. I loath winter, long ago gave up canoeing, am only a bandwagon supporter of my local hockey team.
That said, there is one Canadian institution I do occasionally support as shown by my Tim Hortons reusable coffee cup.
(By the way, despite what you were taught, there’s no apostrophe in Tim Hortons, but you can look that up.)
Many deride Tim's as the Walmart of coffees, but that hasn’t stopped the company from being Canada’s most successful purveyor of caffeine and donuts. There are thousands of Tim Hortons locations across this land and in the States (where it’s unusual for a Canadian franchise to prosper), Mexico, the UK, Ireland, Spain, Philippines, UAE, and one in Shanghai.
The origin of this unlikely empire was Hamilton, Ontario, a rust belt steel town not far from Toronto. I’ve an odd affection for Hamilton, an easy trip by commuter rail, but have never made my way to the first Tims. Why not now?
The walk from the wonderful art deco railway station ...
... provides evidence of better times. From abandoned dog wash ... dog wash? ...
... to curious window display in a down-at-heels building for rent ...
... long closed bowling alley ...
... once magnificent turn-of-the-last-century apartment building, now scene of occasional unsavoury goings-on ...
... to an unprepossessing intersection where the first Tim’s opened in 1964.
Some background: Tim Horton - here on the right ...
... played for the Toronto Maple Leafs, one of six teams in the 1950s and 60s National Hockey League. Tim and the Leafs - back then I actually cared whether they won or lost - were my childhood and early teenage heroes.
At the time professional athletes often had to supplement their wages. With an eye to post-hockey, Tim got into the coffee and donut business.
Tim’s was more successful than anyone in their puck-addled dreams (helmets were unknown then) could have expected. Unfortunately, having survived years in one of the toughest of sports, Tim died in a car crash. He is, however, commemorated by annual sales of enough coffee and cholesterol to (probably) fill the storied hockey arenas in which he played.
Rather sadly, the original Tim’s of that old photo above has been replaced by this, no architectural marvel.
Outside a statue of the chain’s namesake ...
... inside regulars keep watch on comings and goings.
But to pilgrims of a certain age what really makes the trip is the re-creation of a long ago Tim’s ...
... filled with stuff suggestive of ‘Canadian Maple’, ‘dutchies’ and ‘double doubles’ (all of which non-Canadians will likely have to look up).
One highlight I don’t encounter is Florence Kasoian ...
... who’s worked here since 1975. Now in her nineties, she apparently comes once a week and doles out donuts for an hour or so.
Satiated with Tim’s memorabilia, I walk back into town passing the Jubilee Apartments ...
... from 1897, year of Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee ... the Golden Fortune Restaurant ...
... and an over-the-top, look-at-me Maserati in an area one wouldn’t normally expect to see Maseratis.
I also stop at Cheapie’s ...
... always good for a picture, if not a purchase.
Speaking of purchases, however much you plead, there’s no way you’re getting my super special Tims coffee mug. For that, go to 65 Ottawa Street North, Hamilton, yourself.
