When it was first established in 1890, the University of Toronto’s architecture program was part of the School of Practical Science (now the Faculty of Applied Sciences and Engineering). The "T-square artists," as they were often referred to within the School, were a small but very vibrant group occupying much of the third floor of the Little Red Schoolhouse (pictured above), located where the Medical Sciences building now stands. C.E. Langley, who graduated in 1892, was the first to complete U of T’s initial program in architecture.

The School of Architecture parted ways with engineering in 1948, but many of our traditions — such as the silver rings offered to our graduating students each year — continue to reflect our engineering heritage. (The Engineering Iron Ring ceremony was established by the engineering schools of Canada in 1922.)

C.E. Langley published the following recollections in the 1923 Engineering Society Yearbook and Transactions 31 years after he graduated.

Special thanks to the Engineering Society for permission to share this piece of history.

Old School
1891 - 1901

C.E. Langley

My first recollections of the “Old School” began with the curiosity excited by that wind gauge affair which used to spin and glitter above the skyline, and which could be seen from the dog pond where, as kids, we used to sail our toy boats. Perhaps there was a subconscious determination even then, to learn, some day, what went on inside those red walls.

That “dog-pond” was then a picturesque institution in Queen’s Park – Toronto’s Serpentine, in fact. A little lake formed by a high dam across the creek at the eastern entrance to the campus; and so, just south of where Hart House now is. “Musk Rat” I think the creek was called, but this may be checked by a reference to our freshman’s survey drawings of ’88; for as fate would have it, this very spot, drained by scientific vandals, was chosen for us surely out of pure cussedness, like lots of other things because hard to get right, as fitting place for wee Davie Burns to put us over the bumps with the instruments.

About this time it seems to have been realized to some extent at least, that the fine Arts had, as a matter of concern for the University, been neglected, and in ’89 the Architectural course was started. C. H. C. Wright for staff; yours truly for class. It is a matter of pride with my mother-in-law to show the newspaper clipping indicating my standing: No. 1 in every Architectural subject. This course has gone steadily forward, as we all know, until now it is to be reckoned with and a justified cause for pride. Naturally it can yet go far, and besides furnishing professional education, be a great factor in the necessary cultivation of, and general appreciation in fine Arts, by people who call themselves well educated.

The fine Arts of a nation might well form a better skeleton than Kings and dates on which to hang history: and general cultivation and appreciation is necessary if Canadian Art is to take its proper place. It is food for thought that so few, even leaders, have any knowledge of the eternal fitness of things in matters of beauty. Perhaps, some day, it will not be optional to remain ignorant on these things.

I seem to have got away from the few little recollections I had intended to put down, and now I have taken up much more space than you wish me to occupy.

I might have mentioned the distinction S. P. S. had in the fact that it was our assistant janitor, “Game” Goodwin, who dropped the tray of oil lamps in the East Wing and so thoroughly set fire to University College the night of the Conversat. We did our best to kill “Game” at Wellesley School when boys, but he was destined to a higher end.

There was a splendid demonstration of cultured boneheadedness at the fire, suggesting “presence of mind” as a compulsory study: the recklessness with which the mattresses and pillows were carried down stairs from the residence, and the care exercised in hurling carefully articulated skeletons from the museum windows, was truly beautiful in a cubist way of speaking.

Another regrettable incident: when the sodium exploded and Dr. Pyke’s eye was hurt. We didn’t realize that at the time, and were only vastly entertained at Jo Jo Bonstead, his assistant, who seemed mortified, knowing that sodium shouldn’t kick up in that way, properly handled.

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Alumni: Do you have a stories, photos, or memories about your time as a student that you would like to share? Email Dale at communications@daniels.utoronto.ca