By Robert G. Ursul, special to the News (Dec. 22, 2011)
The fight over west Mountain brow lands is overshadowed by a far greater story. A story of prayers answered, a city served and saved; but sadly, also a story of loss, neglect, obscurity.
Here’s that story.
The year was 1906. Lung disease and tuberculosis were epidemic worldwide, and often terminal. Here, west brow farmland was donated to provide medical treatment and recuperation.
Our Mountain sanatorium was humble — two tents served eight patients. The trickle of infected grew into a vast, endless parade. Cottages replaced the tents and brick buildings were next. Then all of Hamilton came into the fold, as “The San” opened its doors to embrace severely injured soldiers sent hom from both world wars.
More than any other institution, The San was our best face. Thousands of tributaries somehow flowed to the west Mountain; from Beach Road and Red Hill; Rymal and Westdale; giant steel mills along the bay, the north end and Ancaster. These tributaries were men, women, children and the afflicted. Give hope a chance, sometimes a cure.
My link to The San is great. My Mom was in a cold bed in the Empire Building, 1930-1931 and 1932–1935. She was moved to a dim room. Left to die. But instead, a kindly nurse stroked her back, and death passed.
Later, as a teen, I reconnected with The San. We’d hike the radial trail and visit The San, our eyes blurred with tears. The Inuit were there, faces pressed flat against window panes, as if pleading to escape.
To mark its great achievement, an appropriate memorial was erected in 1953. The Cross of Lorraine was a beacon for humanity, a bond and link to wonders accomplished on hallowed grounds.
The cross stands for liberation, a solo vertical pole supporting a shorter top bar and lower longer bar — keyed to form interconnected neon lines throughout. When current was switched on that November, it was as a symbol of hope and a constant reminder of lung, TB and respiratory threats.
Which, finally, hits my point. The cross and the greatness it represents is forgotten. The neon is broken. Foliage suffocates it. Our cross is dark.
Let’s save the cross: trim the foliage, erect steel beams to elevate it, install new neon and wiring.
Due to obvious budget constraints, I propose a public fund raising drive to save the cross.
In the end, certain monuments overlook and define great cities. Rio, Hollywood, Honolulu. Let’s add The Hammer.
In doing so we honour the past and trumpet the future through rays thrown by a small red cross, there to serve as a beacon and a blessing to a thankful city.
Robert G. Ursul is a Hamilton resident.