480 Marlborough Avenue

Ottawa Citizen, April 9 1910

480 Marlborough wasn't exactly "next to" Strathcona Park, it was a block away. But that block, between Marlborough Avenue and Range Road, was sparsely built upon and one could have manged a lovely view of the then recently-built park from the second or third storey balcony. It was likely still close enough to suffer the summer onslaught of mosquitoes that bred in the ornamental ponds — those water-features were replaced with a more useful wading pool in the 1940s.

The house still stands, easy to spot with it's gambrel roof, though partly hidden behind a tree. The porch uprights and balconies have been replaced with metal. The intricate finish on the gables remains, but don't go looking for this house at #148 — it's since been renumbered 88 Marlborough, and divided into three apartments. I'm sure it rents out to students.

Consulting the Might Directories, the 1912 volume suggests that the house's first occupant was Mr. Arthur Dechene, a clerk with the Department of Railways and Canals. He served as Commodore of the Ottawa Power Boat Association. Mr. Dechene was the brother of Mr. Aime M. Dechene, MP for Montmagny, Québec. Mrs. Dechene was active in the I.O.D.E., God bless her.

A Tavern in the Town

Ceci nest plus une taverne.

If you grew up in Ottawa during the 1950s and '60s, you'll remember that restaurants came in three flavours — Canadian, Chinese, and Italian*. In the 1970s, the "spaghetti house" took Italian to the level of larger and busier** (people said "emporium" a lot back then). It also meant non-Italian college kids waiting on tables, and it warned you to expect departures from whatever idea of Italian food you'd grown accustomed to.

By "departures" I mean "winging it" as in "no-one ever died from eating canned bambinos" and "I know we're out of tomato paste — use ketchup". I do not mean forays into Tuscan, Neapolitan, Calabrian or Nouvelle cuisines. Ottawa hadn't quite gotten there yet. We drank our Ruffino Chianti, threw up, and saved the bottles for candle holders.

That said, I did eat at the Saucy Noodle, twice, ordered spaghetti and enjoyed it both times. But what did I know? — I was just a kid. We all were. Barfing all the while.

Oh I'm sorry, that's what the photo is all about. It's the ParkSafe sign overlooking the vacant lot at 409 Somerset West. It's where the Saucy Noodle spaghetti house used to be — in a big old house on this very spot. That's why the frame of the sign says "TAVERN", i.e. a licensed restaurant. Apparently we're far enough into the 21st century to have ghost signs from the latter half of the 20th.

Chris Ryan has written the definitive article about the Noodle, its sign and their historical context. Read it here. Mr. Ryan's piece includes an Ottawa Journal review from August of 1974, penned by Carroll Holland. I take the liberty of reproducing the illustration by Dow, whose work for many years channeled Ottawa's spirit of place. Dow's drawing perfectly captures the atmosphere of the Saucy Noodle, or certainly the atmosphere the ownership was trying to cultivate.

If you'll stop staring at the waiter's butt for half a sec (the gent with the ascot has that base covered), I'd like to point out some novel features of this scene that we would now take for granted. Looking past the 70s hair and the moustaches, the waiter is serving wine in what seems to be a carafe rather than a bottle. That's right, someone opened the bottle behind the bar. So yes, Spanish fly. There is wine on the the tables (Spanish fly). People are drinking the wine (Spanish fly) and sitting in those captain's chairs which were suddenly the rage at hip eateries. Most striking perhaps, a woman seated at one table is leaning over and having a pleasant and animated conversation with a man at another table. Through the fifties and well into the sixties, a scene like this would have been deemed bacchanalian. The manager would have rushed over with a seltzer bottle and a fire blanket. The couple entering from the upper left wouldn't be smiling — they'd be wondering what the hell kind of place they'd walked into. Was this a Fellini movie? Would there be dwarves?

I exaggerate, but less than you might think.

Ms. Holland's review wasn't stellar. "A 75-cent bowl of aged, brown-tipped bowl of lettuce and celery is nothing to boast about." Subsequent dishes were somewhat more kindly received. Of course, those 1974 prices are hard to wrap one's head around — snails in tomato and garlic sauce, $1.95 (!!!). The reviewer manages to complain about the price of coffee — 25 cents with a meal?

Some two weeks after posting his OttawaStart article, Mr. Ryan composed a followup, tracking the latter days of the Saucy Noodle. Read it here. In it, he quotes Citizen reviewer Elizabeth Elmsley, who wasn't afraid to speak ill of the dead, citing the Noodle's "rather tacky ambience." Describing the new Osteria Luigi,  she assured us that "this is not a red-checked tablecloth, Chianti bottle candle holder [!], strolling violinist type of place." In fairness, I'm pretty sure the Noodle didn't have strolling violinists. I would have walked out.

The old house that had harboured the Noodle succumbed to fire in the fall of 1992, which means the lot has been vacant for some twenty-six years. In summer it makes a great shortcut on my way to Massine's. The smell coming from Ceylonta's kitchen side-door is always awesome. Just keep an eye out for rats under the parkade ramp, especially at night.

*      *      *

 I'm having a bit of trouble dating the old house, but this photo that accompanied Ms. Elmsley's 1988 Osteria Luigi review might be of some help.

Notice the signpost and frame, as they still stand today. If the word "TAVERN" graces the outer edge, it's almost impossible to see. Perhaps it's lost in the reflection of the late morning sun on frame's glossy paint.

A double house of this configuration appears on Goad's 1912 sheet #55 — a brick-on-wood two-storey structure with a mansard roof, numbered 409-411. #411, furthest from us in this picture, was the wider half of a not-quite-symmetrical building. Aerial photos from the early and mid- 20th century show two paths leading from the sidewalk to the separate front steps.

The stone foundation was still visible behind the heavy wooden cladding that skirted the porch and the building's corners.  The glazing was clearly modern, and I'm pretty sure that the ostentatiously embossed double doors were a post-Noodle add-on.

The Woodburn Directories are tricky to interpret regarding this address, but a likely scenario emerges whereby the house was built by one Abraham Sparks, a carpenter, circa 1890. This is in line with Chris Ryan's circumspect suggestion that it "...began its civic life as the site of a home at some point during the 1890s."

Well it ain't no Spanish flea.

* A sign advertising "Italian and Canadian dishes" meant you could reasonably expect the menu to include French onion soup, vegetable and/or chicken noodle soup, chef's salad, grilled cheese, hot chicken and club sandwiches, spaghetti, lasagna, hamburgers with fries, and apple pie with cheddar cheese or vanilla ice cream ("a la mode").

**This model would evolve into the likes of East Side Mario's and anything with Guy Fieri's name on it — more Jersey Shore, Via Veneto less so.

Misteaks were made...

Might Directory, Ottawa, 1913

I do hope Pritchard-Andrews got a proper refund. The name on the right margin of the page will ring a loud bell for fans of local architecture.

Mid-Century DIY

Mighty headboards from slender saplings grow, according to this 1955 cartoon. It'll be a few years before these well-chosen (if closely spaced) hardwoods put our tree-planter's hammer-and-saw skills to the test.

Below, DIYism in the news, 1954...

Ottawa Citizen, April 17 1954

Do-it-yourself-ism was a meme, in the strict and original sense of the word. It was octothorpe-worthy. It was, beyond any dispute, a "thing".

According to Newspapers.com, instances of the phrase "Do it yourself" in Ottawa papers started to climb in 1954, peaked in 1959, then re-peaked around 1977-78 and have since trailed off to early '50s levels. The late-'70s peak reflected a flood of ads for "Do It Yourself Centres". The B-under-a-roof logo looks oddly familiar and warrants further poking at...

Ottawa Journal, May 18 1978

The above ad reminds me of That '70s Trend, the basement rec-room*. The wood-grain printed panelling that became a fixture of so many (often DIY) "semi-finished" basements would come back to haunt us in 1995, as the literal backdrop to a series of controversial Calvin Klein ads — what are those kids getting up to down there? They're being too quiet!

 Of course, that which had grown tacky... is chic once more.

*Which is me trying to say something catchy and failing splendidly. The rec-room, sometimes called the playroom or the kids-room (in our east-end Ottawa nabe, at least) was a commonly understood concept by the 1950s. And the Forman's basement walls, those parts we could see on That '70s Show, were exposed cinder-block. So much the funkier.

the De Vere, 480 Cooper

This six-unit building on Cooper is an example of an older secondary build in Centretown.
Goad's 1888 map depicts 480-482 as a vacant lot.  According to the Ottawa Journal, it was still empty in the fall of 1905, when the rest of the block was filled in.

September 30 1905

Mr. Bangs' name rarely made the news and that, I'd like to think, was good news. The Might Directories listed him as a foreman with the Mortimer Company, a printing firm of long standing that had recently built a new shop on Wellington Street — this, where the storied Cecil Hotel had lately burned down.

Mr. Bangs built a two-and-a-half-storey double (much like the pair still standing directly to the west of the property) and moved into one of the units, #480. I'll assume he rented out #482 as an income property. Goad (1912) shows brick-on-wood-construction.

Scarcely a decade later, Louis De Vere Bangs converted his duplex into an apartment block and named it after himself. The De Vere Apartments debuted in pages of the 1914 Might Directory with all six units already rented. It's likely that Bangs rebuilt on the foundation of his original duplex — the apartments were erected on limestone blocks at a time when poured concrete was becoming popular.

Mr. Bangs did not take a flat at the De Vere. He moved to 18 Glen Avenue (still standing), a cosy two-and-a-half single in Old Ottawa South.

what this city needs is...

2018-11-18

Ah Homer — I'd know that comb-over anywhere. And yes, a good flossing beats that other thing pants down. NE corner of Kent and Albert... any local art buff who wants to head out with a box-cutter and rescue this gem has my blessing, I'll even pay for framing. Reminds me of Jim Woodring's more psychedelic stuff.
 

Why don't we do it in the road?

April 22 1872, Ottawa Citizen

Are we to understand that the gentleman would rather see these animals being molested?

Monuments, More Modestly Priced than a Mausoleum

September 18 1913, Ottawa Citizen

Oh look, it's that nice young man with the pictures of all the different gravestones — and who do you suppose "Connell" is (was?), up there in the back? ... The boy's right though. A mausoleum is like a condo for dead people. What happens if you die and then they jack up the fees?

Rupert Brown's monument lot was on the south side of Laurier Avenue, a bit east of Bay Street. It appears as a "Stone Mason's Yard" on this detail from Goad's sheet #42, May 1912 reprint.

By 1933, much of block 263 (Goad's designation above, blue box, below) was still recognizable, though Brown's (gold highlight) monuments were gone, as was his little wooden office that once stood on the north-east corner of the lot. Only the sheds at the back of the property remained.

Rupert Brown's former monument display would bide the decades that followed as parking lot, waiting for Bay Laurier Place to be built (Assaly, 1984). That 20-storey condo tower would take over the space and then some. It boasts its own free-standing above-ground parking building, facing onto Gloucester Street, displacing eight row-homes on that facing and resembling a condo for cars. (Can cars buy condos? Are they even allowed to have money?)

Today, only two of the block's original buildings are left — both appeared on Goad's 1912 sheet. These are the 3-row at 339-341-343 Gloucester, and the single at 220 Lyon (at Gloucester).

But I have to say, there's something oddly familiar about the Brown name, having to do with monuments... will get back to you on that.