Originally published in December ’94.
The snow falls silently in Toronto. It is Christmas Eve, and the snow is falling on the rich and poor, on the black and white, on the bag lady pushing her grocery cart and on the high-flying Bay Street broker in his Jaguar XJ-l2.
The snow gives the great city a festive air, and nowhere does it fall more prettily than here in Rosedale, the elite Toronto neighbourhood that is the last word in power, wealth and privilege.
Forty eight people may have frozen to death on the streets of Toronto last winter and beggars may be present in greater numbers this Christmas than at any time since the Great Depression, but the l980s and 90s have been good to Rosedale.