Sunnyview Restaurant and the Great Blackout

At 5:20 pm, Tuesday, Nov. 9, 1965, the lights went out in Sunnyview Restaurant at 41 Roncesvalles Ave. Steve Sromek muttered under his breath as he headed for the electrical panel with a flashlight. The beam illuminated a row of good fuses and a breaker still in the on position.

Outside, the Sunnyview sign was dark. The same was true for Tip Top Typewriter two doors down and Wong’s Laundry next door. All the signs along Roncesvalles were out. Even the bright orange neon Esso sign on the roof at Queen and King Sts., which could usually be seen from blocks away, was dark.

A few minutes earlier, a small generating station in Lewiston, N.Y., had tripped an improperly set relay, triggering a chain reaction of power failures through most of Ontario and the northeastern U.S. It took five minutes for the interconnected power utilities to go dead.

The Northeast Blackout of 1965 was the largest blackout ever experienced in North America. Some 30 million people were stranded in the dark. All of Ontario except Fort Erie was without power for 12 hours.

Emergency measures

But Steve was a problem solver. The gas stove was working; he didn’t have to worry about keeping his perishables chilled; and there was plenty of food. There was just no light or heat. He called out to Helena, his wife, business partner and head waitress, to cut some large slices of bread and put candles in them, one for each table.

The restaurant began to fill up. The blackout delayed those coming from work, including some of the regulars. However, many, unable to cook in their homes, wandered onto Roncesvalles Ave. looking for answers and possibly someplace warm to eat. On the best of days, it was hard to pass up the Sunnyview specials of two pork chops for 15 cents, its homemade sauerkraut, and thick homestyle bread. Today the temptation to share a good meal with neighbours was even greater.

More than a restaurant

Steve and his wife were well-liked and respected in Little Poland. The Sunnyview hired as many new Polish immigrants as was possible. People in the old country spoke of Roncesvalles Ave. as the place to go once you arrived in the city. It was a little piece of the familiar in an unfamiliar land.

News about the extent of the blackout flew around the restaurant as neighbours ate and drank a little wine. “The whole neighbourhood is out.” “No, the whole city is dark.” “I heard it was all of Ontario, and even New York City.” “The streetcars are standing in the middle of the street going nowhere.” “Thank goodness Steve is open.”

The restaurant stayed open until it ran out of food. Only then did the last of the stragglers button their woolen winter coats, wish Steve “dobranoc” and head into the cold November night.

Steve sighed as the adrenalin left his body. They had pulled it off. He locked the door to the now dark restaurant, and Helena turned her key to unlock the recessed door next to the Sunnyview. Together they and their two boys climbed the stairs to their flat above the family’s restaurant.

Remembering Steve and Helena

Steve Sromek passed away in 1999. Helena passed away in 2008.