You'd think it wouldn't be a big deal to perform an act as small as opening a window. Or that singing schoolchildren and their teachers strolling underneath the tree canopy outside could increase productivity. That there's a nice coffee and sandwich shop down the way shouldn't be revolutionary.
Yet, these are some of the reasons employees of Maverick Public Relations Inc. look forward to going to work. The reason is that each workday morning, they head to the Annex, one of Toronto's prime residential neighbourhoods, where Maverick has offices at 37 Madison Ave., once the home of Lewis Lukes, contractor.
It wasn't always so. Five years ago, Maverick (and life) partners Julie Rusciolelli and Gerry Riddell were paying $18,000 a month for office space in a tower at Bloor and Church streets.
Despite the "marble up the yin-yang" and other amenities the A-class building offered, Ms. Rusciolelli says, when it came time to renew their lease, the two decided it was time for change. More specifically, it was time to purchase a space more befitting of their corporate image as non-conformists, and nothing other than a Victorian home in the Annex would do.
"We were not motivated by property and real estate, we were motivated by culture," Ms. Rusciolelli explains. "Our space is really important to us."
And it's an important space in the history of the Annex. Designed by legendary architect Edward James Lennox in 1887-88 — just after he'd won the commission to design a new city hall (now Old City Hall) for his native city — the home is a masterful blend of heavy stone Richardsonian Romanesque detailing at its base and light, carved-wood Queen Anne on top.
Mr. Lukes, the story goes, was in Mr. Lennox's employ on the city hall project, so he asked the architect to design a house for him. In her seminal book Toronto Architecture: A City Guide (McClelland & Stewart, 1985), Patricia McHugh called the home a "domestic masterpiece" that "became a model for much of what followed" in the neighbourhood.
It's featured in Old Toronto Houses (Firefly Books, 2003), in which author Tom Cruickshank echoes Ms. McHugh when he describes it as the "first and finest of the Annex type."
Since being "first and finest," the home has worn many hats. City directories at the Toronto Archives suggest the home switched from residential (a three-unit apartment) to commercial use in 1973, when a law firm and an interior decorator were listed at that address. Just before Ms. Rusciolelli and Mr. Riddell purchased it, it was a media post-production house.
With these varied uses over the decades, the assumption that much of the original charm would have been renovated away is to be expected, but my recent walkthrough confirms that only the slightest alternations have been made to Mr. Lennox's original vision.
From the intricate tile work of the vestibule to the grand front-parlour fireplace (now Maverick's boardroom), and from the scuffed banisters and wainscotting to the incredible stained-glass windows (one standout depicts Little Bo Peep), it's all here.
To most of Maverick's 20 employees, however, it's the original, operational windows that dominated conversations while I toured, along with how the staff has adjusted to the quirkiness of the space. In their old office, meetings were formal; here, it's not uncommon for impromptu get-togethers on the stairs.
Neil Murphy, vice-president of corporate and professional services, had worked exclusively in "big glass towers" previously, but he finds his current digs "amazing." Familiar, too: He grew up in a 130-year-old Cape Breton farmhouse built by his great grandfather.
Enjoying the cross-breeze is account executive Hilary Bassett, who came from a "big office building" that was "always freezing cold or way too hot." Another account executive, Geoffrey Morgan, brings his dog in once in a while and enjoys lunch-hour jaunts with his four-legged friend.
Despite the ice, slush and occasional panhandler, all agree that being forced to interact with their neighbourhood is a plus.
No PATH system with its bottled air, no elevators, no underground parking — just the Annex, warts and all.
"You're in a little community, so it's nice," confirms consultant Tamara Kaftalovich, who sits beside the little door to the home's second-floor loggia (balcony) and can hear the singing schoolchildren best.
It's surprising, to me anyway, that more business owners don't take advantage of the built-in benefits a "home office" in an established neighbourhood can provide. When I take inventory of businesses I frequent on a regular basis, only two come to mind: my dentist dwells and drills in a traditional mid-1940s Leaside-style home at Bayview and Eglinton, and my veterinarian pokes and prods our kitty, Gigi, in a late-1950s suburban rancher at Warden and Sheppard.
"If you're used to office space with an accounting department and a proper lunchroom … it's not this," Ms. Rusciolelli says while eyeing a paper shedder blocking an ornate fireplace. "[But], in fact, I think it enhances our experience rather than detracts and takes away."
It has been the right fiscal decision, also. While Mr. Riddell admits it was "very tough" finding a mortgage, the building is now worth considerably more than the $1.45-million they paid. And despite the high property tax bill, they still pay less each month overall than when they were lessees.
Perhaps, in future, the city will grant tax breaks to businesses brave enough to give old heritage homes new life.
Failing that, perhaps they could move in?
"I can't imagine having a house this big," Mr. Riddell responds with a chuckle.
