I’ve been recounting a couple of stories from my days living in what was once a hardware store on Ossington Ave, here in Toronto, back in the mid-80s, and since I’m on a roll, here’s another.

Apparently, you aren’t supposed to live in a hardware store. I had no idea about zoning bylaws. There were lots of storefronts in the area where clearly people lived. As painters, we needed studio space and living space and affording both separately on the part time job I held at the time wasn’t realistic. Either was actually selling some paintings as it turned out. Our landlord didn’t care as long as he got cash every month. We would have had no problem except that the dog and the guy who had the little money-losing business next door shared a mutual dislike. He decided the thing to do was report us to the City. That led to a visit from a building inspector, who asked me if I lived there. Um, yes. I decided to try the straight-forward approach. He said, “oh, OK, thanks very much, have a great day,” and off he went. I thought, great, no problem.

Next thing you know old Jed’s a millionaire, our landlord Antonio received a letter from the city instructing him to stop renting his property for the purpose of residency. The City wanted him to give us the boot. Antonio said, “I don’t want no trouble. I think you’re gonna have to go.” The letter he had from The City said there had been a Committee of Adjustment exercise about which Antonio knew nothing at all. Buddy next door knew though, and he appeared and made his complaint which went undefended.

I arranged to see our Councillor, who was Mr. Joe Pantelone. He was very helpful as it turned out. He put us in touch with someone at the City who educated us on the process and advised how our landlord might proceed. For a minor fee, Antonio could appeal to the Ontario Municipal Board. He had to make the appeal and pay the dough, but we could appear and make our arguement. The fee was very small, and Antonio, who was a fantastic landlord, filed the appeal. Our contact at The City advised me and the fellow in the back to explore the neighbourhood and take photographs of all the storefronts in which it was obvious people were living. We made a display on a chunk of foam-core and hauled it into the OMB meeting. Buddy next door did not appear. I showed the photos, demonstrating that lots of people in the area lived in storefronts. Antonio was granted a zoning varience.

We were thrilled because we figured that meant we could legally live in our studios. However, the battle may have been over but the war was not quite won as it turned out. Next, our friendly neighbourhood building inspector showed up again. He had a clip board. He said that now that we had the zoning variance, he had to ensure that the place met or exceeded code for a residence. Oh oh. I invited him in and he had a good look around. He said, look guys, there are some things that really have to be done. It was a short list and he gave us some time to get it done.  I don’t want to suggest that he wasn’t being as thorough as he might have been, or that he was sympathetic to our plight, but I will say that I was pretty happy with what was on his list because I knew we could make the changes no problem.

Finally, a couple weeks later, we were legal. However, there was more trouble on the horizon. The first indicator was when the Vietnamese Karaoke joint with the black windows moved in next door. They played the same loud tape over and over and over in there. Every 63 minutes, Seasons in the Sun by Terry Jacks could be clearly heard through the walls. I learned to hate that song with a passion. Not long after that, Antonio came to see us. He had been offered enough cash money for the building that he and his family could return to the place he owned in the Azores and retire in comfort. “Boys, I don’t want you to give me no trouble. I have to have the building empty when the deal closes.” He made us a deal. We agreed to leave on time and he agreed to stop collecting rent. I hope Antonio and his family enjoyed a great life back home.