Decadent Wastefulness and Willful Amnesia

In the early hours of May 20, 2007, Walnut Hall's useful life was unceremoniously terminated by a team of firefighters. And while a collapsing rear wall sealed its fate after three decades of shameful dilapidation, this end was all but inevitable to those who had witnessed and wondered upon its long and intentional decline. Its value, econometrically assigned, required that Walnut Hall wither: its former owners, wishing to demolish the building and redevelop the property, let it disintegrate until restoration was all but impossible for its most recent purchaser. This handsome row of townhouses (1856) at Jarvis and Shuter Streets in Toronto stood as a symbol of our willful historical amnesia, the single-mindedness of capital and the impotence of policymakers.

The story is familiar. Although the strengthening of the Ontario Heritage Act in 2005 gave municipalities more tools to preserve cultural heritage resources, these increased powers have in some ways diminished the property owner's motivation to preserve. The problem, of course, is that as more restrictions are placed on what an owner can do to his or her property, the more attractive 'demolition by neglect' becomes.

This certainly seems to be the modus operandi for the Sylvan Apartments in Toronto's Bloor-Dovercourt neighbourhood. The two-storey, L-shaped building at the corner of Havelock St. and Sylvan Ave. has suffered a precipitous decline in the last five years, evidence of a decadent wastefulness of resources that the promise of greater profits all but guarantees. The Sylvan, which is listed on Toronto's inventory of heritage properties, is slated for near complete demolition so that the lot can be redeveloped, with only a portion of the facade remaining as a sop to preservationists and local dissenters.

The building, which provided 16 rental units, is to be replaced by a four-storey structure with 59 units. If density is your sole criterion for development, you would likely declare this a positive addition to the neighbourhood. Of course, the art of city building is more subtle than that. We must question the value of what is lost and measure it against its replacement using other criteria.

The first thing to consider is appropriateness of scale. The Sylvan occupies a large lot, but it relates to an intimate and close pairing of intersections (Dewson Ave. is just to the north). Its two storeys are appropriate to this setting, because the surrounding houses are generally three storeys, with the upper floor contained within a peaked roof. And while the new building, at four storeys, is not an overbearing addition to the street, we must ask ourselves whether it will be an improvement to the public realm? Or more importantly: is it better than what's already there?

What about design? The Sylvan (1910 and 1927), by no means an architectural masterpiece, is a fine example of its type: the walk-up Edwardian apartment building. It is subtly detailed with Doric order columns and a three-sided bay at the corner. The buff brickwork is quietly handsome, with delicately articulated arches spanning windows and doors; this detailing was intended for a truly 'pedestrian' audience. The initial drawings for the new building suggest a motley collection of applied mouldings and styles that fairly shout at the passerby, “I'm classy! I exude Old World charm!” and are reminiscent of the lawyer-foyer applique boxes so lately popular in the outer suburbs. Will this be a positive addition to the street?

As for 'use value', there is a definitely an argument to be made for increasing the number of people that can live on the lot. However, given that the last tenants were evicted in 2005, one can't help but wonder to whom an empty building is any use. It seems incredibly wasteful that a serviceable building, particularly one of architectural interest, that contains within it the cultural legacy of our deceased craftsmen, and that is appropriate to its setting should be left to decrepitate. The eventual profits to be realized from such an enterprise beggar at once the neighbours and the public realm.

These discussions inevitably come around to sustainability: drafty old buildings cannot possibly return the same energy performance of new, hermetically sealed structures, the argument goes. However, it is important to remember that buildings like the Sylvan were designed to be perpetually maintained. Bricks need to be repointed, windows painted and reputtied, weatherstripping reapplied as needed, etc. New building components are marketed as maintenance-free, a sleight of hand appealing to a 'knowledge economy' that has forgotten the importance and usefulness of manual work. Maintenance-free is code language for disposable, a position that is neither sustainable nor ethically sound. Moreover, when we consider the energy embodied in the fabric of the building (that is, the energy already expended to construct it), the sustainability ledger is more difficult to balance: the maintainable surely holds some value when measured against new, high-tech, disposable and energy-intensive building components, no matter how high their R-value.

What is perhaps the most ironic about the sad tale of the Sylvan Apartments is that, unlike many other buildings of a similar vintage, much of its lot is unbuilt upon. Behind the building is a large yard and a sagging row of garages. Surely there is some missed opportunity here, some way to keep another gem from being discharged to the landfill and to keep tenants from being dehoused (yes, 'rental replacement' is a form of dehousing - just ask 're-assigned' tenants of Regent Park): townhouses on mews, for instance or a set-back, three storey addition, no taller than the surrounding houses. No doubt the parking requirements would put a kibosh on such a development, despite being spitting distance to bus and streetcar stops and two subway stations. It is econometrically more prudent to demolish and make sixty-one (!) parking spaces underground. And if you're going to ask for a zoning amendment for the extra density, better make it triple the existing so that the legal and development fees and all that time lost arguing with the neighbours and councillors is worth it.

Let's be clear: I am not opposed to the creative reuse of or additions to heritage buildings. There are clear benefits to new construction that cannot be overlooked, and we should not forget that much of our current heritage stock was built, in fact, on the foundations of razed predecessor buildings. My point is that our criteria for supporting development (in this case, by the Ontario Municipal Board, as the city was opposed to it) must not simply evaluate new construction, but should carefully weigh the merits of what is to be lost.

What becomes of the Sylvan? The development process seems to have stalled. In the meantime, more bricks have disappeared from the parapet every time I pass by. Many windows are broken, and a neighbour informs me that there is a family of raccoons living inside. She also claims that the roof is severely leaking, which may explain the substantial settlement cracks on the Havelock facade. It has good bones, but surely there are limits; any chance of rehabilitating the structure ebbs away daily. The developer is not obligated to maintain the building beyond a minimal public safety baseline, and if the city can only protect a small portion of the facade, what happens now that it is left to crumble? The Heritage Act offers no protection to a 'listed' building, short of stalling a demolition permit. And as the untimely demise of Walnut Hall demonstrated, the vagaries and punishment of nature need no permit.