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| That's them down in front. |
#214 Gloucester Street acquired its "Desmond Apartments" moniker around 1912. Indeed, the Desmond's street-face matches that of a prim, early 20th century walkup, neo-Georgian by my guessing. However, the even number of bays force the ground floor symmetry askew, shoving the entrance off-center and hinting that behind the red brick veneer, things were once rather different.
This building, or a scaled-down version thereof, actually dates back at least to the mid 1870s, when a conjoined trio of humble two-storey wooden houses stood here — at the time a mere two blocks north of what was then the edge of town. The units numbered, from east to west, 212, 214 and (for whatever reason) 218 and were veneered in brick on their north (front) and west side. Each enjoyed the use of a summer kitchen out back.
By 1888 (per Goad), the trio had grown by a half-storey in height and had spawned an assortment of sheds out back. By 1912 however, something more radical was afoot. Here is Goad's sheet #38 for that year — direct your attention to the upper left section of the map.
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This is the part where the ugly duckling dashes into a phone booth and re-emerges a shimmering butterfly. #218 has been renumbered 216 to stop people from asking silly questions. Our row now stands at a full three-storeys, and someone has cleared out all weeds, sheds and rusted junk in the back yards and tacked on an L-shaped two-storey extension, made entirely of concrete blocks (shown here in blue). This new feature extended to the very rear of the property. Well that doesn't just happen by accident.
Yes, we can all see a plumber's shop at 212, but look how the 214 has taken to calling itself (herself?) "The Desmond Apartments". Lets hop into the city directories and try to fine-tune this scene before Miss Desmond "smiles" for the camera.
Stepping back three years, Might's 1909 listings at 214 and 218 are business as usual, though "Miller John" sharing 212 with "McGarr Mrs Mary C, mus tchr" might have raised eyebrows — unless a widowed music teacher had simply taken in a boarder to make ends meet.
Our next stop is 1912, which happens to be same date as the Goad map above. Might and Goad seem to agree on the details here (and trust me they don't always). Might lists...
212 O'Connell M M, Ltd, plumbersWell, our plumber has a name (this will become important soon enough), the "Desmond Apartments" don't yet have tenants to speak of, and the endlessly dashing Vincent J. Edge (with that name, how could he be otherwise?) lives at the recently renumbered 216. Actually, Mr. Edge — I had to look — was a "clk corres br" at the "Dept M & F", a job at which I'm sure he excelled, dashingly.
214 Desmond Apts
216 Edge Vincent J
Might 1913 brings us news... The Desmond claims three tenants (names not important, as long as they pay the rent)... Plumber O'Connell and clerk Edge are holding steady at 212 and 216 respectively, but for how much longer?
1914... O'Connell still there... Desmond steady at three tenants, but wait... 216 now vacant! — where has Mr. Edge dashed off to?
Checking in on 1915 we see OH MY GOD 212 and 216 are gone! And the Desmond is listing 22 units including one for a janitor. How much do you want to bet that O'Connell fellow turned the whole shebang (including the concrete-block extension behind his shop) into one huge apartment building? I think Miss Desmond is just about ready for her close-up.
This just in from 1917, Miss Desmond makes the news...
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| The Ottawa Journal, February 28 1917 |
Well hunky-dory, that ain't hay — looks like M.M. O'Connell wasn't just a plumber!
A decade-and-pocket-change later, aerial photos (geoOttawa 1928) show the Desmond in its present configuration, extending backwards past the original property with three full storeys of (concrete block?) construction and the intriguing balcony/light-wells we see today — shoot a music video there already!
I don't want to say that the Desmond is a weird building but sure is funky. At some point, someone (O'Connell? Foley & Gleeson?) tried to make a silk purse from three sows' ears by slapping on some kind of Georgian revival facade where a row of Victorian house-fronts had already weathered several decades.
The effect is charming at a glance, a bit clumsy on close inspection (think of a face-lift with hesitation marks). The veneer that should be signaling a chic little walk-up instead plays deceptively small exterior to the Desmond's sprawling TARDIS. Expanses of side-wall are covered in a regrettable textured resin cladding, while the rear is studded in molded faux masonry. And for whatever reason parts of the light-well exteriors feature expanses of individually hand-troweled fake stone. It's wonderful and... funky. Do check it out some time.
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| The Desmond from behind, Nepean Street view |
