The CNE: Back When Toronto Was a Different Kind of Fun

If you grew up in Toronto in the late 1960s or early 1970s, there was one place that seemed to magically transform the city every summer—the Canadian National Exhibition.

To a kid, the CNE wasn’t just an exhibition. It was an adventure.

The moment you walked through the gates, everything changed. The smell of cotton candy filled the air. You could hear the screams coming from the midway, music blasting from the Grandstand, barkers shouting about the latest attraction, and somewhere in the distance, the unmistakable sound of a ride whirling people around at what seemed like a hundred miles an hour.

And you couldn’t wait to see what was new.

The midway was the main attraction for a lot of us. There were the old favourites and the brand-new rides that seemed to get crazier every year. Ferris wheels, spinning rides, roller coasters and attractions that, looking back, probably wouldn’t get past today’s safety inspectors without a small army of lawyers standing nearby.

But nobody cared.

We were kids.

We wanted the rides.

And if you had enough money left over, you wanted cotton candy.

Then there was the food.

The CNE food court was practically an attraction by itself. You could smell everything before you even saw it. Burgers, fries, sausages, candy apples, popcorn and every other kind of fair food imaginable.

It didn’t matter that you had probably eaten before leaving home.

You were at the CNE.

CNE calories didn’t count.

Then there were the concerts at the Grandstand.

Back then, seeing a major performer at the CNE was a big deal. The Grandstand was where you could sit under the summer sky and watch entertainers who seemed larger than life. For a kid growing up in Toronto, it was another reminder that the CNE wasn’t just a fair—it was an event.

And then there was the Coliseum and the horse show.

The horses were magnificent, the riders looked like professionals from another world, and the whole place had an atmosphere completely different from the noise and chaos of the midway.

But if I’m being completely honest, there was one attraction I really wanted to see.

The freak show.

Today, that phrase alone would probably cause an immediate meeting of several committees.

But back then, things were different.

Much different.

The sideshows and “freak shows” were part of a long tradition dating back to travelling carnivals, dime museums and circus sideshows. Showmen such as P.T. Barnum helped popularize exhibitions built around human oddities, unusual medical conditions, performers and, sometimes, elaborate hoaxes.

As kids, we didn’t understand any of that.

We just knew there was a tent.

And we wanted inside.

I remember seeing displays featuring Ronnie and Donnie, the famous teenage conjoined twins, along with the bearded lady, tattooed men and women, people with unusual physical conditions and other performers who were presented as attractions.

Today, many of those displays would rightly be viewed through a very different lens.

Back then, however, they were advertised as entertainment.

And kids lined up to see them.

But there was one attraction I’ll never forget.

A beautiful woman was standing inside a steel cage wearing a bikini.

That alone was enough to get every teenage boy within walking distance interested.

Then the carny started working the crowd.

“Everybody move up front!”

Naturally, the kids moved closer.

We had no idea what was coming.

The lights went down.

Music started.

Then came the strobe lights.

The woman began to change.

At least that’s what it looked like.

Her body appeared to transform right before our eyes.

The beautiful woman disappeared.

In her place was a gorilla.

Now remember—we were kids.

We didn’t know about stage tricks, lighting effects, costumes, mirrors, mechanical illusions or any of the other tricks sideshows used to fool an audience.

As far as we were concerned, we had just watched a woman turn into a gorilla.

And then things got even crazier.

The cage opened.

The gorilla broke loose.

Suddenly the creature was running around the stage.

Kids screamed.

Some probably wondered if they were about to become lunch.

Meanwhile, standing behind us were our parents.

And they were having the time of their lives.

They knew it was a trick.

We didn’t.

That’s what made those old CNE attractions so memorable.

Today, you can find virtually anything on the internet. We have smartphones, streaming television, virtual reality, video games and special effects that can make almost anything look real.

But back then, you had to be there.

The CNE was something you experienced with all five senses.

You smelled the food.

You heard the rides.

You felt the vibration of the midway.

You tasted the cotton candy.

You watched the lights.

And sometimes, you stood inside a darkened sideshow tent while a carny convinced a bunch of Toronto kids that they had just witnessed a woman transform into a gorilla.

Would some of those attractions be acceptable today?

Absolutely not.

There would be outrage, protests, social media explosions and probably a television panel discussing it for three days.

But history has a funny way of reminding us that every generation has its own version of “normal.”

What seemed like entertainment to us as children would be viewed very differently today.

And maybe that’s why those memories remain so vivid.

The CNE of the late ’60s and early ’70s wasn’t perfect.

It was louder, rougher, stranger and sometimes downright bizarre.

But for a Toronto kid, it was magical.

You went through those gates not knowing exactly what you were going to see.

Maybe you’d ride something terrifying.

Maybe you’d eat enough junk food to require medical attention.

Maybe you’d watch a horse show.

Maybe you’d see your favourite performer at the Grandstand.

And if you were really lucky…

a beautiful woman would turn into a gorilla and escape from a steel cage right in front of you.

Those were the days.

And for those of us who grew up with the CNE back then, you didn’t just attend the Exhibition—you lived it.