The Campanile

The Campanile is an old-fashioned apartment building located on a leafy stretch of Avenue Road just north of St. Clair Avenue. For those of you not familiar with the city of Toronto this stretch of real estate classifies as a “good address” even though The Campanile was an older building with dated architecture and design.

The Campanile was built in the late 1940s when Canada was experiencing a tremendous boom in economic growth and construction. The architect determined to create a building that would encourage well-to-do Torontonians to give up their comfortable homes and move to apartments that offered size and location.

Constructed of Ontario limestone with dark brown brick inserts and carved mullions, The Campanile stretched fifteen storeys upward on a narrow footprint of land. The building was on a narrow lot so the builder compensated for the lack of real estate by building up instead of out.

The top 5 floors each contained one apartment per floor, with enough space to comfortably house a family and domestic help. The first ten floors were split into either four or two apartments. These floors shared common elevator vestibules that were tastefully decorated with a rather quaint old-fashioned air. Threadbare Persian carpets and reproductions of old masters, paneled walls and discreet lighting. Fresh flowers were found in the lobby and the flowerbeds near the front door were seasonally updated with fresh offerings.

Apartment house living did not become fashionable in the city until the 1970s and 80s with the construction of new condominium buildings. For decades The Campanile endured as a solid reminder of a different time. The residents—who tended to move in and stay put until they died—enjoyed the quiet amenities of the building along with its vaunted address and service. Cars were brought up to the driveway when requested, and the door staff delivered packages. The faint ring of the house phone announced visitors; the larger apartments had service entrances, back doors, and rooms set aside for domestic staff. Over the years most of the “staff rooms” had been pressed into service for use as a den, small office or even done away with altogether with the destruction of a wall, turning two smaller rooms into one.

The Secretary had purchased the building at almost bargain-basement prices in the 1960s and hung onto her investment as property values skyrocketed across the city. Discussions to demolish The Campanile in the 1980s came to nothing when the local historical board moved to block the sale. The Campanile—almost a charming relic by 1985—instead became a historically designated landmark. Rents went up as new tenants moved in and a massive reconstruction of the lobby and underground parking garage was completed. In its sixth decade of service The Campanile was a local landmark and the property deed was changed to reflect new ownership.

Jane and I arrived in the driveway and were met by a doorman who gave us—or more likely just Jane—a sweeping glance. I was trying to look like a business tycoon and Jane was succeeding in looking like a punk rock singer. We looked up silently at the tall building with its bay windows, stone arches and gleaming windows.

It was ours.

Ardie had already arrived and was sitting in the lobby reading the morning newspaper. A determined young woman from Chartwell, Bidmore & Cope represented Miss Cousins. Together we were the new owners of one of the city’s most prestigious and recognized addresses: The Campanile was my new address.

I held the door open for Jane as we walked into the dim lobby to be greeted by Ardie, the doorman, the superintendent and a small team consisting of a cleaner, a maintenance man and a gardener. I looked around while my eyes adjusted to the dim interior lighting; the solid walls and doors masked any sound from the street. The elevator vestibule was to the right; a small lobby with a seating area and a fireplace completed the public space. In the winter a fire would burn all day to add both warmth and light to the space. The tone was what you would expect in a tasteful old hotel. The superintendent's apartment was on the lobby level, with a small office for any managment requirements.

I looked around and realized I was at home.