Unlike Americans, Canadians don’t deify our architects. While some names might come to mind for the casual aficionado – a Vancouverite might think of Arthur Erickson and E.J. Lennox might pop into the head of a Torontonian – the existence of a force such as Frank Lloyd Wright has eluded us.

In my two decades with the Globe, I’ve tried, like my hero Adele Freedman before me, to boost the names of the city’s postwar modernists, especially since many of their creations have hit an age where systems fail and windows leak. Two names, in particular, have come up more than others over the years: John C. Parkin and Peter Dickinson.