ABSTRACT
The University of Toronto was stately, its campus green before the snow. It was in the middle of the city and had good Victorian buildings, and also such necessary pieces of tradition as a Philosopher’s Walk, which led out towards an old village enclosed by the growth of Toronto. The village had not yet been smartened up, and only those academics so supremely rational as to want to walk to work lived in it. There were also boarding houses for students. It was to one of these I came in September 1952 when I left my brother’s home at 19, to work my way through college.
