Derrick Coyle
A couple of weeks ago, the Saturday Star dedicated above-the-fold space to a story about Rhodes Avenue in East End Toronto. On the heels of some startling sales activity this Spring, The Star’s real estate piece referred to Rhodes as “The hottest street in Toronto.” The significance of this Rhodes to Riches story for me? It’s the street on which I grew up, from age eight to 22, and the scene of my most entrenched recollections of youth.
When my parents conspired with the Leithwoods – sometime in the mid-sixties – to move from a shared triplex on Greenwood and buy adjacent, detached homes on Rhodes Avenue, they shelled out a whopping $11,000 for a narrow, two-storey brick home. It’s a sum my Dad still maintains was nothing short of extortion. The Star story showcased a couple of houses that sold in the $700,000 range after the bidding wars of ardent suitors drove numbers well above list price. Granted, these homes were in the more desirable stretch of Rhodes north of the tracks near Monarch Park, but even some of the structurally suspect homes at the ground-zero of my childhood were recently pedalled for half-a-million.
After some astonishment at a 4,500% market value increase for houses like the one I grew up in – and a brief reflection on what the same $500,000 to $700,000 buys a shopper in London, Ontario – I settled comfortably into a little nostalgic reflection about the Rhodes Avenue and surrounding community I knew 40 years ago. One of the things that came to mind as a profound then and now contrast, is how businesses in those days were predominantly owned and operated by real people, rather than big box conglomerates.
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With a little reminiscing and intellective time travel to the Rhodes Avenue of the 60’s and 70’s, here’s a sampling of some of the small businesses (and applicable quirkiness) our family would have encountered in the years we spent in that community:
Our home – positioned midway between Fairford and Gerrard – provided a couple of options for the day-to-day staple items, like milk and bread. There was George’s Convenience Store to the north, where a nickel would also fetch a sizeable bag of mixed candy (albeit of questionable vintage) and an earful of semi-coherent ramblings – from the bizarre to the inappropriate – courtesy of the principal himself. The alternative was Chuck’s Smoke Shop, a few paces further to the south, but notably less traumatic for the unaccompanied or faint of heart.
The drug store of our choice was Maw’s Pharmacy. A little further away at Gerrard and Greenwood, but that’s where my brother and I toiled for a gentleman named Herb Maw and earned 90 cents an hour as the bicycle delivery team. We alternated evenings Monday through Friday and if you happened to pull the rotation that included the longer Saturday shift, it was $10.80 cash in the pocket for the week, plus tips. It may not sound like much today, but in our early-teens, it paid our way for a three-week trip to Scotland.
Fresh meats would be purchased at either Bob the Butcher, on Gerrard, or Dale’s Meats on Upper Gerrard, where childhood buddy, Dave served as the delivery boy. If you chose to shop at Bob’s, you were also in the area of Lum Brothers where you could pick up the supply of fresh fruits and vegetables.
In those days, the black-and-white television was a device that’s imminent and repeated malfunction was met with repair rather than replacement. From the assortment of multi-sized and variable-shaded glass tubes plugged into a panel deep inside the dusty bowels of the television cabinet, suspect tubes would be extracted. It was then a short trip over to Sandy’s T.V. on Coxwell for testing and hopeful replacement of the offending globe.
I once visited Johnny’s Barbershop at Coxwell and Gerrard as a part of a mutual dare with friend, Dave. The objective (for reasons that now escape me) was to voluntarily subject ourselves to a ‘brush cut’ in an era when longer hair was the prevailing boys’ fashion. Johnny’s was a four-chair shop with walk-in service and the additional chairs were tended by fellow countrymen, Sam, Tony and Rocco. Each had his own style, skill level, and temperament, and it was luck-of-the-draw as to which barber you would draw any given visit. On this day, I drew a Rocco cut and when the hair clippings settled, emerged with a sheering of such severity, that scalp tones glistened in the summer sun. Dave, who simultaneously attended the rivaling Nick’s Barbershop a little further down Gerrard – and who had apparently softened on the brush cut idea – countered with what was referred to as a ‘crew cut’ and an outcome not unlike that of a procedure commonly referred to today – as a light trim.
Another memory is when I launched a puck through the kitchen window from our backyard ice rink, narrowly missing my Granddad who was visiting from Scotland and at that moment, tending to the stove on the other side of the glass. It’s not clear whether it was my Grandfather or my parents who were more shaken, but the latter immediately dispatched the guilty brothers to Pat’s Hardware on Coxwell to pick up a fresh pane of glass, metal anchoring clips, and sealing putty – with which we were left to reconstruct the window with hands numbed and fumbling in the deep freeze of winter.
Occasionally frequented was a clothing store on Coxwell called Laurie’s Mens’ Wear. This establishment had a more formal focus and was a little out of our price range and fashion interest. More practical and much cheaper garments were found a little further up the road at Bargain Harold’s – which is the sole-proprietorship imposter that led the way to a new era of retail commerce.
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Seems the owner-operated shops in urban centers are few and far between these days. Victims to the big box wave where superstores like Loblaws, Home Depot, Costco, Future Shop, and Shoppers Drug Mart dominate the grocery, hardware, clothing, electronics, and personal care markets for a busy and cost-conscious population demanding convenience and value. You can scarcely find a shop that hangs the owner’s name and reputation on the shingle. Walmart may have tried to cash in on the homey, personal touch concept with their Sam’s Club brand initiative, but the short-lived stay in Canada may be in ironic proportion to the precious few Sams’ one was likely to find running the joint.
There is clearly not much stopping this particular train of progress, or the technological efficiency and economy of scale that fuels it. But it was nice to take a short trip down memory lane to a time when the entrepreneurial spirit ruled retail and business owners were invested in their enterprise in every sense of the word. To a time when routine shopping provided a different social dynamic between vendors and customers, who often shared a neighbourhood and friendship, as well as the transaction.
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While it is undoubtedly the real estate bonanza that bolstered the net worth of homeowners on my old street, the riches of the Rhodes I best remember is measured more in pleasant memories of a simpler time and an upbringing rich with priceless experience and unforgettable adventure.
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