How I met Walter Carsen and the secret we shared

Walter Carson

The quirky anecdotes, the story behind the story, it's often more interesting than the story itself. Especially interesting to the people in the story years later who were unaware of these little gems. The sphere of influence, the circle of life; the founding principle of social media. In that regard, it is not just gossip, but an integral insight into the relationship. Briefly, the late Walter Carsen was one of the pillars of success in Canada, a self made man who crawled out of the depravity of WWII. Walter did exceeding well in life and he was a most generous man, donating most of his fortune to the arts, but more importantly personally assuring the well being of projects he donated to. Walter was one of the most driven men I ever met, with an unbelievable sense of personal style. He was an aristocrat, he was a simple man; he had the touch.

How I met Walter Carsen and the secret we shared

Back in those lazy hazy days of summer of 63, me and my friend Val, were chilling down by the Don River under the shade of a willow tree; smoking cigarettes, listening to CHUM 1050 am rock and roll on a transistor radio; those were the days. Enter Walter Carsen, an adult, and apparently we were on his property. It was my understanding the high water mark was the boundary, but it was the cigarettes likely, not the high water mark. Walter was just as surprised when he stumbled upon us, he was very pleasant, gave us a lecture about smoking and leaving campfire debris on his land. We went on our way, thinking to myself: so that's Walter Carsen. I knew this because his daughter  Johanni  and I attended Woodland Public School, I was in grade 8,  Johanni  was in grade 6.

The next time I saw Walter, I was driving up to the house at the top of the hill, just up from where we were caught smoking. At the time I was riding a 1949 500 cc single cylinder AJS, looking sort of like a biker at 17; leather vest, boots, long hair, etc. The motorcycle had no muffler or headlight, it was early and it was loud. Apparently I thought this was OK. I was there on the occasion to pick up his daughter for our first date. Walter and I looked at each other and immediately we both remembered the smoking incident years earlier, he smiled. I think Walter had greater concerns at this point, “like who is this punk ass”, in any case he just grinned politely and let it slide. I learned later in life, you don't mess with the romantic interests of your daughter, especially the first boyfriend.

Sculpture by Fritz Wotruba. I was commissioned by the late Walter Carsen of Thornhill to produce photographs for a catalogue of his private art collection for Expo 67.

Over the course of the summer, Walter gradually implemented upgrades to my act. Getting me used to riding his Honda 300 for starts, helping out with picking up stuff in his wife's 66 Mustang convertible. He didn't like my AJ. Over lunch and dinner and a few outings, Walter and I got to know each other beyond the constraints of my interest in his daughter. We found we had a common bond in the arts, he was well aware of my father's paintings and my father's work with the National Ballet of Canada. Walter was on the board of directors at the Ontario Society of Artists. He was surprised when he heard the cast of the Bolshoi showed up for an after hours party at our house in Thornhill; accompanied by a fully armed KGB escort to make sure nobody left the party unannounced.  As a young student my parents did their best to expose me to culture; it must have worked.  I was able to have some interesting discussions with Walter about the politics of the arts; especially painting and ballet.  Walter went on to become a generous patron for the National Ballet of Canada.

Briefly to that point, my father was trying for years to break into the politics of art in Ontario via his talent. He didn't realize it was mostly politics that determined what good art was. Over lunch one day Walter offered his influence to help my father's admittance into this elite society of artists. My father being the hard head he was flatly turned down Walters offer, holding to his principles, his work and talent should be the ticket. That's another story.

Back to Walter and me, our relationship took another turn; Walter had one of the most extensive private art collections in the country. It was just around EXPO 67 in Montreal and Walter was lending a few pieces to the art show, but first he needed pictures of his famous sculptures and paintings. I was the man, not because I was dating his daughter, but because I was proficient at art photography. I had access to my father's equipment, including the 4x5 Linhoff Tecknica studio camera. Walter was aware my dad photographed many famous works, including Picasso's, and other artists. I got the job.

My best friend at the time and I drove to Toronto every day to attend Thornton Hall, it was a pain, but it was worth it. Walters daughter attended Havergal, it was on the way. By this time  Johanni  and I had gone our separate ways as teenagers do. It was an awkward silence driving to school and back that winter, we all took turns, it was a very awkward time in our lives. So many conversations we didn't have. The last time I saw Jonnai was a few years later at a roadside gas station on 401.

Upon the occasion of his death at 100 years of age, The Toronto Star printed the story of Walters struggle with his past, fleeing Nazi Germany, joining the RAF, and never speaking of it until his kids were adults. Walter was Jewish, he was so traumatized by what happened to him during the war he never told his kids until they were adults. It broke my heart to hear this, to know I spent time with his kids growing up in Thornhill. In hindsight, I subsequently understood why Walter did this to protect his kids. Antisemitism was alive and well in Thornhill at the time; you heard it everywhere, not only antisemitism, but overt discrimination against virtually every minority that came along.  I barely made the cut, being a poor Christian immigrant of European heritage; apparently connecting consonants made no difference in Thornhill if you were a good hockey player. We had one black student at Thornhill at the time, my pal Ray. But that's another story

After 60 years of the most wonderful life on God's green earth here in Canada who would have thought that I would also become a target of hate and discrimination, apparently I am not white enough for some folks up here. Ah, the two connecting consonants, it will do it every time. I'll put my genes up against theirs any day. To be clear, I am not a victim, I am not really concerned about the opinions of certain backwater hillbillies, but I think Walter would be happy that I am taking them on, one at a time. Game on.  I was lucky to have known him. That catalogue I did for the Expo 67 show, opened a lot of doors in the years to come.

The Walter Carsen Center in Toronto

I just knew him as Walter