Terrazzo entrance apron at Danforth Radio.Dave LeBlanc/The Globe and Mail
If I were a mathematician, I’ll bet I could come up with a formula to calculate the loss of heritage elements as they relate to the success of a city, how fast the city expands, and how many neighbourhoods are absorbed and gentrified. And I’m not talking about entire buildings, I’m talking about the little things, the workaday things, the things that, when they survive, add an incredible layer to the urban tapestry.
I say this because, quite by accident, I’ve noticed that many of the things I’ve covered in this space, whether vintage neon signs, Vitrolite glass, or terrazzo entrance aprons, are far more plentiful in cities that suffered economically during the 1960s – 1990s, such as Detroit, Buffalo, or Montreal.
Toronto, on the other hand, has boomed almost constantly (save for a few recessions), and, as a result, lost so much.
When this column was very young (December 2004) I wrote “Talkin’ terrazzo tells of early Toronto retailers,” which described my proclivity to look down as I walked older neighbourhoods – sometimes bumping into other pedestrians – for the visual treasure of old store names or logos fossilized into entryways. And, further, that a quick trip to the Toronto Archives could unearth what these businesses were and, should one really dig, how long they flourished.
Terrazzo entrance apron at Elk’s Men’s and Boy’s Wear.Dave LeBlanc/The Globe and Mail
And while I had a great deal of fun doing that, I’ve never returned to the topic for the simple fact that these colourful little bonbons have become hen’s teeth. But since I found myself in Weston a few days ago, I thought I’d don the pith helmet and play (urban) archeologist once again.
Weston, until it was absorbed into the Borough of York in 1967, was an independent town and its main street has some fine early-twentieth century buildings. And because it’s a little off the beaten path for gentrification, I was able to unearth two examples.
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At 1963 Weston Rd. it was a nice reward to see black hexagonal tile spelling out “Reward Shoes.” A quick look at the 1967 Might’s Directory confirmed Reward Shoe Stores at this address. A few stores over, big bold letters announced “ELKS” at No. 1957. The Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks, perhaps? Nope, just Elk’s Men’s and Boy’s Wear.
Feeling lucky and with a little more time to kill, I decided to check out another far-flung corner of the city, so I headed south to New Toronto, which, like Weston, was independent until 1967. Unfortunately, I found only one, a cryptic “D.W.” across a black shield topped by a puffy green crown at 2898 Lake Shore Blvd. W. But, since the 1967 Might’s didn’t have a match, I had to look at a much earlier edition, which meant Lake Shore was listed as a road, an avenue, and a boulevard crossing different municipalities, each with their own building numbers.
A rendering for a terrazzo entrance apron by architect Benjamin Brown for 'Mrs. Cherry' for a store at 1014 Bloor St. W., Toronto.Dave LeBlanc/The Globe and Mail
Luckily, since Might’s provides cross streets, I came upon Danforth Wines Ltd., and a quick Google search revealed that Danforth Wines’ head office was once situated at 3170 Lake Shore Blvd. W., and had a “capacity of a quarter of a million gallons.” Another search brought up a lovely photograph of a Danforth Wines location on the Danforth near Woodbine Ave.
And speaking of Danforth Ave., it occurred to me that I’d noted a terrazzo store name near Carlaw Ave. many years ago, so, recently, I walked over to happily note that “Danforth Radio” is still with us at No. 581. And before I could even hit the Might’s, I found K Taylor (@OneGalsToronto) on Twitter and her #TerrazzoTuesday post, which informed me that “Arthur and Harold Gibson first opened their Danforth Radio Supply at 2093 Danforth in 1925/26″ but by the “early 1930s they’d have two more shops,” with this being one of them.
And although Ms. Taylor’s terrazzo posts number just three, I was directed to “Malvern” at 1021 Kingston Rd., just west of Victoria Park Ave. Here, she writes, was “Malvern Men’s Wear” which opened in 1950. Searching the last Might’s available online, the 1969 edition, I can see that it was still there. In Ms. Taylor’s photo, the terrazzo is quite dirty, so she wrote in June 2021: “How I’d like to give it a scrub.” Today, I’m happy to report that it has been scrubbed.
But so many have not been scrubbed; they’ve been entombed under boring ceramic tile. Or, only a tantalizing peek remains where a deeper retail entrance has been glassed in to gain square footage, like the little piece in front of Avonlea Kitchen & Bathroom Concepts at 1980 Danforth Ave., the nice folks who are currently helping me complete my kitchen.
Terrazzo entrance apron at Malvern.Dave LeBlanc/The Globe and Mail
How do we convince building owners that these colourful bits of aggregate and binder are worthy of preservation, that it’s an art form that adds more than a footnote to the city’s commercial history?
In a perfect world, there’d be some sort of sliding scale; if a building was found to possess, say, ten per cent of its heritage and the owner would pledge to keep and/or restore it, a ten per cent reduction in their property tax would be awarded. If it were more, they’d get a larger discount. It’s a pipe dream, yes, since I realize the city has enough trouble protecting the big things.
However, since I first wrote about terrazzo it has made something of a comeback, at least in prefabricated tile form, and new, lighter formulations of the poured stuff mean it doesn’t need a cement base any longer. And while it’s not terrazzo, some businesses, such as De La Mer seafood market (189 Danforth Ave.), have decided to place their name at people’s feet using hex tile.
So, add a larger fan base and a bit more time and who knows? Maybe talkin’ terrazzo will be singing a reprise.
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