Train Wreck

At this point, kvetching about gridlock, subway delays and streetcar diversions isn’t just a local pastime; it’s part of the city’s DNA. Torontonians have been suffering through a transit deficit for decades, but now that we’re finally seeing movement on desperately needed projects, some residents are paying with their sanity. To wit: clutches of home­owners and small-business owners along the Ontario Line’s path—15.6 kilometres of tracks from Exhibition Place through downtown and up to Eglinton and Don Mills—are bearing the brunt for the benefit of everyone else. Progress comes with growing pains, but how disruptive is too disruptive? Here’s what life is like at the centre of the storm.

Who: Janice La Chapelle, 66, retired IT specialist Years on Booth Avenue: 28

In 2019, the province announced that the Ontario Line would be coming through South Riverdale. Generally, I’m supportive of new public transit—Toronto urgently needs solutions to the overcrowding on the TTC. Then I learned that construction would take place in the existing GO train corridor that cuts through my immediate area, 12 metres from my house.

I was concerned about the project from the beginning. I’ve been on disability since 2010 because of severe problems tied to my vision and balance. I spend most of my time at home with my adult son, Liam, and I was worried about how incessant construction, noise and street closures would impact our lives. Metrolinx was saying the Ontario Line would be completed by 2027, but we knew from the disastrous delays with the Eglinton Crosstown LRT that the disruptions could last a lot longer than eight years. Still, I wanted the project to happen for the greater good.

Related: Behind the scenes of an $11-billion dollar subway war

Then, in the summer of 2020, Metrolinx brought in massive excavators—more than three storeys high—to extract soil samples. Once that was done, rats started appearing in my house and in those around me. The excavators had sent the rats scurrying, and they’d chewed through the concrete in my basement. I called an exterminator, who sprayed pesticide and set traps. He has been coming every three months since then; I’ve probably spent close to $2,000.

The people at Metrolinx sent me a flyer letting me know that my home was located in a noise and vibration zone and that they would be monitoring to make sure the levels didn’t exceed what was considered safe. I’m not sure what qualifies as an acceptable level—no one was willing to explain it to me.

In the spring of 2021, things turned from bad to worse: I found out I had oral cancer. Sections of my cheekbone and upper jaw were removed, and I spent months undergoing chemotherapy and radiation. My doctors told me that the most crucial part of my recovery would be getting adequate rest. That became next to impossible once construction started in earnest—it was loud enough to make my ears ring. The vibrations shook the entire house.

My home, like many others in the neighbourhood, is more than a century old. I bought it in 1996 and lived there for two decades without any problems. The back part of my house is an addition built in the 1950s, and it doesn’t have the same sturdy foundation as the original structure. My ground floor has begun to slant toward the backyard—it seems like construction-related vibrations are causing my home to slide off its moorings.

I’m not the only homeowner on my street with concerns. One neighbour found a long and very visible crack in the concrete on the side of her house. Another discovered that her stove had been bent out of shape from the shaking, and one of her pipes even burst. In my home, cracks were emerging in the kitchen ceiling and on the second floor, in Liam’s bedroom. I was terrified that the ceiling would cave in on him.

Last fall, the pace of construction picked up noticeably. Metrolinx projects are exempt from the municipal noise bylaw, and work was being done almost around the clock. It wasn’t unusual for me to be snapped out of my fitful sleep by workers yelling at each other across the construction site. I like to think of myself as a laid-back and friendly person, but one particularly rough night last year, I rushed out my front door and screamed at the workers to stay quiet or use walkie-talkies. The workers are generally nice to me, but they don’t seem to care much about the disruptions they’re causing. One time, their drilling work was so loud that I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I asked when it was going to stop. One of them just laughed and said, “Sit on the couch—you’ll get a good massage.”

Metrolinx has a customer service number for residents to call in the middle of the night if construction gets too loud or intense. I’ve called numerous times. Usually, nobody answers. When someone does, they take down my name and address and say that they’ll be in touch. More often than not, nobody calls back.

One weekend a couple of months ago, work started on Friday evening and continued pretty much non-stop until Monday morning. I found myself gazing up at the sky, hoping for rain that would stop the construction. But even that would have been a mixed blessing—when there’s a downpour, workers bring in enormous, noisy trucks to pump out the water.

I’ve sent Metrolinx emails describing the structural damage to my home. I typically receive generic responses saying someone will investigate. This past June, I wrote to them that the slant in my floor had gotten so bad that my washing machine was no longer level enough to work. They offered to send some shock-absorbing mats.

The projected completion date for the Ontario Line has now been pushed back from 2027 to 2031. It’s difficult to fathom enduring another seven years of this. I’ve contemplated selling my home, but I don’t want to leave this neighbourhood. I don’t have much family, and my neighbours have been a tremendous support. During my cancer treatment, they would help out by bringing me food or keeping me company. If I moved, I’d be alone, so I’m staying put. I’ve started to notice a lot more For Sale signs, though. I don’t blame anyone for wanting to move—many of us are seniors who rely on our pensions, and it’s unrealistic to expect us to pay for damage caused by construction.

I had envisioned spending my 60s peacefully tending my garden. Instead, I’m dealing with excavators, bulldozers, dust and rats, all while living in a home that no longer feels safe. The cracks in the walls are growing, and my ground floor has sagged so much that it’s leaning on the vents of my furnace in the basement. It could eventually put pressure on my gas lines. Due to persistent lack of sleep, I almost always feel tired, weak and irritable. I worry that the stress of all this will slow down my recovery.

I’m incredibly frustrated by Metrolinx’s handling of the situation. Getting a straight answer from them on project completion dates or safety measures is a real challenge. There have been a few rare exceptions: Metrolinx did, for instance, address my complaints about workers yelling through the night. But there’s no consistency.

I’m now organizing my neighbours to approach Metrolinx collectively. We want the agency to compensate homeowners for physical damage to their properties, send structural engineers to assess the problems and ensure that future construction won’t make things worse. Metrolinx has said that they are working on this, but based on my experience so far, I’m skeptical. We also want information about safe vibration levels and access to meters so we can track the levels ourselves.

My hope is that collective pressure will force Metrolinx to address our grievances. Currently, my only goal is for us to have a genuine conversation, but if these problems persist, I would consider pursuing legal action. We need clarity and transparency—and peace of mind.

Who: Roderick Rennick, 63, landscape architect Years on Hopedale Avenue: 24

Eight months ago, Metrolinx took my dream house from me. I knew I wanted to live there the moment I first saw it, in 2000. Perched on a crest of the Don Valley north of Pape, it sat on a cul-de-sac with eight other houses. It was gorgeous, and it had 250 square feet of table land to build a garden on. I bought it for $460,000, $100,000 over asking. I was only the second owner; the first, a doctor who got rich selling “prescriptions” for alcohol during Prohibition, had put his proceeds to good use: the posts were carved in an art deco style, the walls had beautiful wood panelling and there was a huge fireplace. In the years since, I planted a massive garden that included specimen trees such as golden hinoki cypress, weeping white spruce and Japanese cherry blossom.

One night in October of 2021, I was in my pyjamas enjoying a scotch when I heard a knock. On my stoop was Phil Verster, the head of Metrolinx. He handed me a letter and said he wanted to give me some information before it went public. I opened the envelope and quickly scanned the note. One sentence stood out: “Your house may be impacted by an upcoming project.” Just then, my neighbour came storming out of his house, raging at Verster.

Related: Who broke the TTC? Inside Toronto’s public transit disaster

You know you’re doing something wrong when you’re dropping a letter off to someone in the middle of the night. By the time Verster left to knock on other doors, I had barely an hour to digest his message—the news about the expropriations went public at midnight. Everyone on the cul-de-sac was reeling. We were like a family: we had keys to each other’s houses. What would happen to us now?

We didn’t hear much of anything for two years—not when we’d have to move or how much money we could expect to get for our homes—which meant we had no idea how much we’d be able to spend on new ones. The stress and uncertainty of not knowing when I would be thrown out of my house or where I’d go next were unbearable.

Metrolinx held community meetings, but often they were announced during holidays or late on Sunday nights. And we’d have to pre-submit our questions, which they’d selectively answer. One time, they gave us a month to review a 5,000-page report. It’s like they didn’t want us to know what they were doing.

In the fall of 2023, we were told that Metrolinx would be moving forward with the expropriation within the next year. On the afternoon of December 15, I received a registered letter stating that I had 90 days to vacate the premises—another scumbag move, breaking the news 10 days before Christmas. Over the holidays, my father slipped and fell, and he passed away on January 17. I wasn’t there to say goodbye: I was showing Metrolinx my house, on their schedule, to determine how much they would pay me for it. For that, I missed my father’s last moments.

My house hunt was a mad scramble. Metrolinx granted me a two-week extension because I was grieving, which meant I had to be out by April 1. I saw more than 40 houses before finally coming across one a few streets away that I liked: a former convent on a ravine lot. I still didn’t know how much I could really afford, but I took a chance.

I got a good deal. It was originally listed for $3.9 million but eventually dropped to $2.9. I got it for $2.7 million. Metrolinx finally got back to me at the beginning of March with a number for my house: $2.2 million. They valued it based on data from November of 2023, when the market was low. By my estimation, it should have been closer to $2.5 million; the work that I’d done on the garden alone was worth $500,000. They threw in a five per cent “inconvenience bonus.” To say this experience has been an inconvenience is like calling the Pope a little bit Catholic. People assume I’m rich because I’ve been expropriated, but it’s the developers who give you good cash, not these guys. Metrolinx nickel-and-dimes you.

My moving expenses were enormous, close to $40,000, and I’ve had more than 30 carpenters and painters come through to get the new place ready. I’m fighting to get Metrolinx to pay for that. And then there’s the financing. I have a herniated disc in my back and arthritis in one knee. I can’t bend or lift, which means I can’t work full time, making it hard to get a bank loan. I had to go to private lenders, and now I have a ridiculous mortgage with steep fees. When I tally everything that’s happened this year—from the gap in the value of my home to the loss of the garden and the cost of moving—Metrolinx owes me roughly $1 million. I have every intention of getting that money back, but I’ll have to submit an incredible amount of paperwork.

I’ve been handed an enormous number of lemons, so I’m trying to make lemonade. My new house is very nice, and I’m starting a new garden. But it’s not my home—that was the place filled with memories of hosting my family. I’m half-Italian, and we used to have great feasts together. I drove by the other day and took a good look. The garden has been cut down, and I’m sure the 400-year-old oak trees will be next.

I understand that the city needs public transit, but this hasn’t been done in a fair way. The government just came in and said, “Get the hell out of my way.” They don’t care. Damn right I’m a NIMBY: there’s a train going through my living room.

Who: Linda Sargeant, 59, real estate broker Years on Booth Avenue: 20

In 2004, I bought a three-bedroom detached home at the corner of Booth and Paisley, and I felt lucky to be joining such a diverse and tight-knit community. Although GO trains regularly whizzed by less than 50 metres away, the noise didn’t bother me much—especially after I installed new windows to dampen the sound.

After Metrolinx announced the Ontario Line, they held a series of meetings to share their construction plans. From the presentations, I got the impression that the impact on residents would be minimal. Metrolinx assured us they would be open to hearing about any issues that arose.

This promise of accountability became especially important once I was told that my house was within a noise and vibration zone. I was worried about potential damage—like many other century homes on Booth, mine had an addition in the back that was built on columns instead of a foundation. Metrolinx assured us that they would monitor the situation.

In the summer of 2023, Metrolinx offered to conduct pre-construction surveys of houses in the noise and vibration zone. The goal was to document the condition of the homes before work began so homeowners could file claims if any damage occurred. I was ­hesitant—I’ve seen construction companies do some shady things in my job. I wondered if Metrolinx would use the information they collected to avoid providing compensation by claiming that the damage was already there or couldn’t be linked to the construction. I ended up opting out of a survey.

Metrolinx ramped up construction—pretty much around the clock—across the street in the fall. The resulting noise and vibrations seemed far too intense to be safe. Most days were bad, but some were truly awful. One day this past June, my house shook so wildly that artwork flew off the wall and broke. As I picked up the pieces, I took stock of damage elsewhere: shifting crown moulding, sinking patio stones in my backyard, and long cracks snaking down the exterior stucco wall where my addition connected to the original structure.

Whenever I’ve shared my concerns with Metrolinx, all I’ve gotten are vague explanations and stock answers about how the noise and vibrations don’t exceed safe levels. I’ve asked to see their full reports, hoping to find out more myself. I’m still waiting.

I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. I’m bringing in a structural engineer to assess the condition of my home and evaluate the feasibility of adding a foundation to secure my addition. If this independent assessment reveals major structural damage, at least I might be able to file a claim with my insurance company.

My home is my oasis, and I don’t want to sell. I’m fortunate that I can afford to safeguard my house. Others in my neighbourhood aren’t as lucky. Some days it feels like we’re David facing off against Goliath. I’m speaking up because Metrolinx should be held ­accountable—they can’t put in these tracks and have people’s houses falling down around them. I think they should place set sums of money in escrow—calculated relative to the total value of the homes—to pay for potential structural damage. But I’ve lost faith in them doing the right thing.

Who: Traci Reynolds, 55, florist Years on Galt Avenue: 1

I moved to South Riverdale, near Gerrard and Jones, in May of 2023 to open a new location for my flower shop, Fern Toronto. I was beyond happy: it’s a beautiful, spacious studio in a two-storey building nestled in a peaceful neighbourhood. A few months after setting up the shop, I moved into the apartment upstairs. I was aware of the building’s proximity to the GO train corridor, just six metres away, but I guess I didn’t realize how expansive the Ontario Line project was going to be.

I got my first inkling this past February, when a crew of workers showed up outside my building unannounced and began tearing down and replacing the fencing along the train tracks. It was obvious that they were setting up a construction site, but when I approached them for details, none of them wanted to talk about it.

Metrolinx kept mum too. In fact, I hadn’t been told that construction was slated to begin; even my landlord, who also lives in the area, had no idea. But it soon became clear that the crew was there to stay. They brought in excavators and other colossal construction equipment, which towered over my building. Then the vibrations started. My shelves rattled and shook. Vases and other merchandise fell to the floor and shattered. I was constantly moving stuff from the shelves to the floor and back again according to the cycle of drilling and excavation. The noise and vibrations were beyond inconvenient: because of them, I was forced to cancel the floral arrangement classes I had planned for the spring and summer. There was no way I could properly teach in that space, and who would want to pay to endure those conditions?

My business and my income have taken a hit over the past six months, but that’s not my only problem. The pounding, shaking and booming of construction often continues into the night, making sleep impossible. I’ll lie awake in my illuminated bedroom (courtesy of the powerful construction lights shining directly into my apartment), stare at my vibrating ceiling and wonder, only half-jokingly, if this is the moment my roof will cave in. During the day, I’m thoroughly exhausted and my head aches.

Metrolinx hasn’t properly considered our community’s safety and sanity. Since February, I’ve called the overnight hotline more than 20 times to complain about the excessive noise and disruptions. The people on the phone take down my name, address and contact information and tell me that someone will call me back. No one ever has.

I did eventually receive a formal notice about the construction—but in March, after it had been going on for two weeks. A Metrolinx community-engagement representative visited my building to drop off flyers notifying residents of upcoming overnight work. She couldn’t explain why I hadn’t heard from them until then. When I mentioned the relentless noise and vibrations, she handed me earplugs and suggested I use a white-noise machine. She also took down my name and phone number, promising to investigate the matter and get back to me.

Nothing has changed. The construction continues day and night with the same intensity. I’ve spoken on the phone with the community-engagement representative probably a dozen times. She has always assured me that she will look into things, but I’ve never once had anyone from Metrolinx follow up.

I suspect Metrolinx is just placating residents with its hotline and community liaisons, hoping we’ll eventually give up. Even the representative stopped returning my calls more than three months ago. I don’t really blame her, though. Instead of enabling real community engagement, I think Metrolinx hires people like her to be buffers.

There are far better ways to interact with residents. In July, Metrolinx finally implemented an opt-in email system for updates on construction changes that impact our daily lives. In theory, it’s much more effective than relying on outdated and unreliable methods like paper ­flyers—except I have yet to receive an email. Metrolinx could also choose to invest in face-to-face time with residents and ensure that serious concerns reported through their hotline are properly addressed.

The lack of communication indicates poor leadership—no one is being held accountable for disrupting communities like mine. Ultimately, I can’t afford to wait around for Metrolinx to change their ways. As much as I love my place and the neighbourhood, I’ve decided to move my shop again when my lease ends in 2026. The past few months have been a nightmare and more than I can handle.

This story originally appeared in the September 2024 issue of Toronto Life magazine. To subscribe for just $39.99 a year, click here. To purchase single issues, click here.