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.
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.