Walter Beauchamp, livre ebook

: As one of the Canada's oldest custom tailors, Walter Beauchamp Tailors has nurtured a unique civilian and military tailoring business for over a century. Owned and operated by three generations of the Beauchamp family since 1908, the company appeared on the brink of permanent closure in 2014, but its renaissance was ensured by a bold business move. Now the story behind the success of this iconic brand is captured in an engaging book that takes us on a fascinating tour through the building of a celebrated family business, and into the lives of its devoted clientele.
Told from the intimate perspective of a custom tailor, here are the stories of officers and soldiers, as well as prime ministers, mayors and judges, artists and explorers, and men and women. Along the way, the book reveals an intriguing history of Toronto through the twentieth century and its rapid growth into a globally renowned city from the vantage point of the Beauchamp shop windows.
Walter Beauchamp: A Tailored History of Toronto is a lively tale of how this renowned company has survived the effects of world wars and the Great Depression, store relocations and the wrecking ball, as well as the fickle face of fashion retail, with grace, elegance, and always discretion.
Foreword When I first entered Walter Beauchamp Tailors in 2003, I had no idea I was becoming a part of history. I needed a new wardrobe for a comeback tour and I knew I could count on Terry, Alfonso, Mary, and everyone at Beauchamp’s to take care of it expertly. They have made me various items over the years, many of which I wear on tour and on stage. The more time I spent with Terry, however, the more I heard about his family’s remarkable history. Come to think of it, that’s probably why we hit it off so well: Terry is part tailor, part storyteller. Sometimes I even wondered if Terry’s extraordinary stories about his father and grandfather, not to mention the legions of customers who shopped at Beauchamp’s, were too good to be true. Turns out, these customers were all real and sometimes even more remarkable than Terry realized. I am so happy for Terry that the history of Beauchamp’s is now revealed in the book you are holding. But this book is much more than the history of an excellent tailor. It literally rolls out the fabric of our shared history and tells the story of Toronto, and of Canada, from the vantage point of the Beauchamp shop windows. It’s a story that stretches back to before the Great War and into the lives and struggles of generations of Canadians who have served in our Armed Forces. And, of course, it’s a story that takes us into the boardrooms and homes of those who helped to shape Toronto into the city that it is today. And that is what’s so special about this book: the tailor’s perspective. As I can attest, a relationship with a tailor is an intimate one. Sometimes you feel closer to your tailor than to your doctor or your priest. Although, I can assure you, tailor-client confidentiality is never broken (right, Terry?). What I like most about this book is the personal stories it contains. You will read about the people who wore the clothes Beauchamp’s made and their remarkable adventures. They are soldiers—from those who served at Vimy Ridge in the First World War, to D-Day colonels and their men who served in the Second World War—celebrities, once-notable but now-forgotten figures from the early twentieth century, as well as prime ministers, mayors and judges, authors, explorers, and inventors, younger and older, men and women. What weaves them together is not only a wardrobe tailored by three generations of Beauchamps, but also their remarkable stories that reveal a unique side of our city and our country. My life’s work is telling stories, Canadian stories at that, so I feel a deep connection to this book and the stories it tells. I like to tell stories about things that really happened, to me and to others. I believe we can learn most about life and ourselves from the stories of others and the stories of our own that we share with others. There’s a lot we can learn from this book, not just about tailoring or Canada’s history, but also about the human spirit. Gordon Lightfoot September 2016 A Note about Names Two important names in this book need clarification: “Walter” and “Beauchamp.” We shall begin with the latter. Upon entering the shop for the first time, many customers ask to speak with “Mr. bo-SHAW.” The customer is instructed, politely and patiently by a staff member—who has done so countless times—that the name is pronounced “BEE-chum.” The Beauchamp family was originally French, but settled in England during the Norman Conquest in the eleventh century. Like most French surnames in England, Beauchamp became anglicized over time. The family remained in England until the mid-1800s, when the founder’s grandfather Richard moved to Canada, where Walter’s father, George, was born. The pronunciation of the Beauchamp name is the most obvious clue that a customer is brand new to the shop. (Adding to this confusion, in the 2000s Terry persuaded a family-owned art gallery based in Quebec City to open an outlet in the premises adjoining his store. The name? Beauchamp Art Gallery, with the family’s surname pronounced à la française.) Officially the company was known as Beauchamp & How before 1969; it has been Walter Beauchamp Tailors ever since. But customers have always simply called the shop Beauchamp’s. Several “Walters” appear in this book: the founder Walter Beauchamp, his son Walter Beauchamp, and the third-generation owner, also named Walter Beauchamp. The family has never used a suffix, such as “the second” or “junior,” to differentiate the Walters. The second Walter Beauchamp was called Sonny by his family and friends. And the third Walter Beauchamp has been called Terry (the ter in Walter) all his life. Indeed, as a young boy he was scarcely aware that his given name was not actually Terry. For the sake of simplicity, this book refers to the shop’s founder as Walter Beauchamp Sr., to his son as Walter Beauchamp Jr., and to the current owner as Terry Beauchamp. Introduction The history of most tailors is preserved in their paperwork: not their business receipts and invoices, but the measurement ledgers and paper patterns they create for each customer. In the ledgers are recorded the intimate details of each body, including the exact measurements of the belly, the shoulders, and even the seat—measurements that are sometimes hidden from customers to shield them from uncomfortable truths. Tailors also note any oddities, such as slouched shoulders, an overerect posture, or unequal leg lengths. Cumulative ledgers show how a body ages and, as the notes become more personal and idiosyncratic, how the relationship between tailor and customer evolves. Once a customer dies, it makes little sense for tailors to retain such records. After all, they will never be used again. Yet some of the storied houses of Savile Row in London—an old city with a deep belief in the value of the past—have kept such tailoring records for centuries. Unfortunately, like many businesses, Walter Beauchamp Tailors discarded much of its history. And likewise, through the years, Toronto, where the company makes its home, has demolished buildings and razed neighbourhoods, sacrificing much of its rare architecture of historical significance. Only in recent decades have preservationists’ voices begun to be heard. With a limited amount of archival material from the company to draw upon, the authors have had to reconstruct the history of Walter Beauchamp from other sources. We have delved deep into city archives and military museums, pored over decades of newspaper stories, and conducted dozens of interviews with individuals whose memories stretch back as far as the 1930s. In the process, we have uncovered not only the story of Beauchamp’s, but also a history of Toronto, as seen through the eyes of a tailor. Chapter 1: The Founding of Beauchamp & How, 1908–1914 Walter Beauchamp Sr. didn’t set out to become a tailor. In fact, on December 22, 1906, almost two years before he opened his shop in Toronto, he was facing death in the shadow of the Pinos Altos Mountains in New Mexico. For several months, Walter had been working as a cattle rancher in the small outpost of Fort Bayard. The work was hard and unforgiving, so to get some respite he and two other ranchers had spent a good part of the day drinking and gambling in Silver City. The two-hour horse ride back to Fort Bayard took them along winding mountain trails as the sun was going down over the Pinos Altos. The other ranchers rode ahead, followed by Walter. Behind them a heavy cold-storage wagon drawn by four horses was lumbering along the steeply undulating path. The driver had drunk a bit too much “nose paint” in the city, and just as the wagon reached a summit on the trail he nodded off. He was so intoxicated that he continued sleeping as he toppled from the wagon into the sand and bushes by the side of the trail. His horses, knowing they were heading home and sensing their driver was gone, started to pick up speed. Ahead in the twilight, Walter had no idea the wagon was barrelling along without a driver. He leaned back in the saddle as his group started down a steep hill into a narrow valley. That’s when he heard the wagon coming up fast behind them. He glanced back, only to see that the driver was gone and that, with the weight of the heavy wagon behind them, the horses were advancing at deadly speed. Walter and his men spurred their horses into a gallop. They rushed toward the bottom of the hill, knowing that if the wagon reached them, travelling at full speed on the narrow path, no one would survive. Walter saw that the trail immediately headed steeply upward again. Could he and his men make it to the incline before the runaway wagon caught up with them? They rode at top speed down the slope. Walter could hear the panicked breathing of the wagon’s horses right behind him. But, as they started up the next hill, the weight of the wagon began to tire the horses. Walter jumped from his saddle. The wagon had slowed enough that he could climb on and bring it to a halt. What was he doing, Walter wondered, two thousand miles from his hometown? His family and friends in Toronto were preparing to celebrate Christmas on a frigid December day while he sat sweating in the New Mexico heat, feeling his adrenaline ease away. If truth be told, this son of a prominent Toronto hotelier, working day and night as a ranch hand, was there to escape. Back in Toronto, people assumed he had fled the city because his young wife, Bessie (née Giles), had died of septicemia in the summer and he was heartbroken. Little did they know that, even before his wife died, Walter had fallen for someone else. His new love was a mere teenager, the niece of a prominent business leader to boot. If anyone learned that he was not wearing mourning clothes but instead was writing weekly love letters to a sweetheart, neither he nor the young lady would live down the scandal. [IMAGE 15] The young woman Walter had fallen for, with whom he had secretly held hands that summer as they strolled alongside the Beaver River near Meaford, Ontario, was Viola Mackenzie, daughter of Alexander and niece of William. William Mackenzie was soon to be knighted for helping connect the country with his Canadian Northern Railway and for linking various areas of Toronto with the Toronto Railway Company. Walter was a graduate of tony Upper Canada College and came from a family of successful businessmen, but Viola was practically Canadian aristocracy. She would have brought disrepute to the Mackenzie family if their courtship had come to light. In February of 1907, Viola embarked on a ten-month journey to Europe with her sisters and William Mackenzie. During her trip, she received letter after letter from Walt, as she called him in her diary, though none of the envelopes bore the sender’s name or return address. She kept the letters detailing the secret affair to herself. She even hid the photo Walt sent of himself decked out as a cowboy atop his horse in New Mexico. And, though she admitted to flirtations with other boys in England and Scotland in her diary, none were serious. [IMAGE 11] In his letters to her in Europe throughout 1907, Walter assured Viola he was living a righteous life, albeit indulging in a bit of gambling while trying to stay off the drink. He made the occasional flirtatious comment, such as how pretty she looked in the photo she had sent him, or how he had found a bunch of mistletoe and wished she were around so he could steal a kiss. Mostly he recounted the daily exploits of working the land in New Mexico. But, as the months wore on, Walter wrote more about plans for his return home. Above all, he was in need of a new suit. He asked his friend Alf How to order one from tailor Frank Burton at 73 King Street West because “no one [else] can make anything I like half so well.” Walter also took care to order a suit made with a lightweight fabric, knowing it would please Viola. Second, Walter was eager to get back into business. Before fleeing Toronto, he had owned a hotel, like his father. But Walter wanted to go into the rapidly growing clothing industry, Toronto’s biggest employer at the time. He hoped to become the local agent for the Regal Shoe Company of England if he could find a storefront on Yonge Street, the city’s up-and-coming shopping district. [IMAGE 01] The rise of Yonge Street was but one aspect of the boom Toronto was experiencing when Walter returned home in July of 1907. As the city annexed the surrounding neighbourhoods and received an influx of immigrants from overseas and workers from the rest of the country, the population of Toronto reached nearly 350,000 by the end of 1910–an increase of more than 80 percent since the turn of the century. Toronto ranked second only to Montreal as the economic powerhouse of the nation. It was the ideal time to go into business. [IMAGE 17] But the idea of being a shoe salesman was short lived. Walter had been friends with Alfred “Alf” Deans How since they were teenagers. They had often got into mischief in Beaverton, Ontario, where their families had nearby cottages. Instead of a shoe business, Alf had another career idea for Walter. Alf had been working as a junior cutter at Frank Burton’s tailoring shop since 1900 and was ready to go out on his own. But he didn’t have the capital to start a business. Alf’s father worked at the Globe as a typesetter, a respectable position that paid a decent salary. But, unlike Walter’s family, the How family’s pockets weren’t deep enough to set Alf up in business. So he made Walter a proposition. Next to Frank’s shop in an attached space at 73½ King Street West was O’Brien’s Limited, a women’s tailoring company that did piecework. Alf knew the space could accommodate a second small business. Why not open a tailoring shop of their own? They’d start modestly, with Alf doing all the cutting, and bring in jobbers (temporary tailors) as needed. With Walter’s business acumen—and his connections to Toronto’s wealthy elite—Alf knew they could succeed. Alf recognized that it was Walter’s money that would make the business happen, so even though Walter wasn’t a tailor, Alf proposed they name the company Beauchamp & How. [IMAGE 08] Walter’s sweetheart, Viola, may well have thought King Street was a fortuitous location, for her father Alexander had been born just steps away. When her grandfather, John Mackenzie, came to Canada from Scotland in the 1830s, he had settled his family on a small strip of farmland around King and Bay Streets. “But he was too far from the water,” Viola recalled in 1973, “so a few years later they packed up and moved to Kirkfield.” Six decades later, her future husband would start his own business on that former farmland. Despite Yonge Street’s rise to prominence, King Street West was a promising place to launch a venture in 1908. In the Toronto of the late nineteenth century, King between York and Bay was the street to see and to be seen on. One of the first thoroughfares in the city to be paved, it allowed carriages and coaches to let off their well-born passengers in style, for elsewhere the city was still deserving of the nickname “Muddy York.” The street was lined with high-end saloons, merchants, and men’s clothiers, such as tailors R. Score & Son, as well as Edward Dack’s shoe company. Dack’s would eventually become a household name, remaining in the same place until the strip was demolished in 1962 (see page xx). This section of King Street was known as Opera Lane because patrons in white tie would stroll along it and through an archway next to 77 King (the future address of Beauchamp & How) to reach Theatre Lane, a narrow street that ran parallel to King behind the row of shops. Eager to be surrounded by such grandeur and so many other tailors, Walter and Alf not surprisingly jumped at the opportunity to launch their business there, even in a modest shop. In October of 1908, Beauchamp & How was incorporated, and Walter and Alf set about establishing their business. [IMAGE 07] The company’s early advertisements and letterhead did not list its full address—perhaps Walter and Alf sensed their lowly status on King Street. Instead of the cumbersome 73½ King Street West, Walter adopted the term Tailors’ Row. No one else used “Tailors’ Row” in advertising, even though a disproportionate number of tailors could be found on the south side of the street between the Moorish Palace Hotel at 55 King (and Bay) and the Imperial Bank at 139 King (and York). In fact, of the forty-five or so businesses, twenty were tailors. Other tailors may have used the term colloquially, but Walter’s appropriation of it was an early indication of his business savvy. In one fell swoop he not only obscured the company’s humble address, but he also elevated the King Street strip where it was located, making it sound like a place nestled between London’s Savile Row and Jermyn Street. [IMAGE 12, 21] Unlike the tailors on those venerable London streets, Beauchamp & How advertised its wares. England’s tailors, especially the fine houses of Savile Row, regarded advertising as tawdry and unseemly, relying instead on word of mouth and personal recommendations. Though deeply conservative in matters social and religious, Toronto’s citizens welcomed new business tactics wholeheartedly. Every tailor took out ads in the Daily Star, the Globe, the Mail and Empire, the Toronto Evening Telegram, and other broadsheets. Establishing what would become a Beauchamp tradition, the company kicked off an audacious marketing plan, though that term was not used at that time. To distance themselves from the older, more-established tailors on the row, Walter and Alf used a modern-sounding slogan in their early years: “Tailors to Young Men.” They knew that older men were set in their sartorial ways and had already acquired their wardrobes, which were meagre by today’s standards, comprising perhaps two or three suits and one piece of formal wear. Young men were also more likely to trust a tailor who was open to Edwardian styles and trends, instead of sticking to the Victorian fashions of their fathers’ generation. [IMAGE 10, 13] Walter and Alf had another trick up their sleeves: they advertised all their garments at the single price of twenty-four dollars, equivalent to about five hundred dollars today. This distinctive pricing strategy may seem a bit odd until you consider that over at 77 King was R. Score & Son, a company that eclipsed every tailor for blocks around. Established in 1842, this pre-eminent tailor occupied more than three thousand square feet and employed about sixty cutters, tailors, pressers, and salesmen. And it sold its suits for twenty-five dollars. Decades later, Walter and Alf’s company would not only take over R. Score & Son’s location but would also acquire its customers and its prominence in Toronto’s tailoring industry (see page xx). [IMAGE 19] But all that was in the future. In early Toronto Daily Star advertisements, Beauchamp & How’s suits were proclaimed to be of high quality at low cost. But how did this “high-class custom tailor” offer “a properly tailored suit or overcoat at a reasonable price” despite having a cutter who was “one of the highest-salaried men in Toronto”? One way to keep costs down was to buy fabric directly from mills in England and Europe. And written proof shows that Walter Beauchamp Sr. did exactly that. [IMAGE 14] Walter wrote numerous letters to Viola during his buying trips to Europe in 1909 and 1910. Writing on January 11, 1909, aboard the SS Haverford of the Dominion Line, Walter reported that he would visit London, then Feltham (perhaps to visit family in Middlesex), Bradford (still a major textile-producing centre today), and eventually Paris, “if I don’t change my mind.” Despite the origin of his family name, Walter confessed to Viola that he was not all that fond of the French. Later that year, writing before another trip to Europe, this time on the White Star Line’s SS Laurentic, he says that from then on “I will only go once a year,” a comment that suggests he had already made many visits. [IMAGE 09] Although Walter and Alf were ambitious, business was slow but steady in the years before the First World War. On May 29, 1909, just six months after the company was incorporated, Walter wrote to Viola: “Business has only been fair this week, but we have to expect it now.” Even so, just a week later, on June 5, he was pleased to announce that they had received “twenty orders so far this week, that is growing some, isn’t it? But we need them in our business.” Changing the store’s location also seemed to be a stepping stone to success. Walter and Alf always knew that their first address was temporary. As it turned out, their friend Frank Burton would once again help them take their next step. [IMAGE 16] Whereas R. Score & Son dominated men’s tailoring on King Street West, women’s tailoring was centred on O’Brien’s, whose space Walter and Alf shared at 73 King, along with Burton. Such close quarters led to a split in 1912, when Burton joined forces with O’Brien’s head cutter, John Ahlgren, and some of his staff, and moved a few doors west to 97 King to start a company called Ahlgren’s. Walter and Alf were not ready to take over the remaining space at 73 King, so they started looking for a new home. In the spring of 1914, a few months before the war broke out in Europe, Beauchamp & How moved to 97 King to share space with Ahlgren’s. They would spend the next five years at that address, years that would not only cement Beauchamp & How in Canada’s tailoring history but also shake the foundations of Canadian society. [SIDEBAR 1A] Men’s Styles of Edwardian Toronto Early in the 1900s, Canada followed the styles and fashion of Britain, in particular, and of the United States. The dominant style in the Toronto market was the Victorian, and then the Edwardian, “sack” suit (sometimes referred to as “sacque”). It had supplanted the frock coat, which had been popular late in the late nineteenth century in the eastern United States, as well as in Toronto. Instead of the four panels of fabric used to assemble the back of the frock coat, two panels are used for the jacket of a sack suit. In this way, the jacket is assembled more like a sack, not that it looks like one. In fact, it was originally based on a more casual coat style from France. This casual look initially limited the style to country pursuits, such as shooting and riding. But by the time Beauchamp & How launched its business in 1908, the sack suit was acceptable for business and city wear alike. [IMAGE 20] Edwardian styles did not stray far from their Victorian predecessors during the first decade of the twentieth century. By today’s standards, sack jackets were quite long, falling well below the seat, which made the torso look long and slim. Edwardian jackets featured naturally shaped shoulders and a slightly nipped-in waist. The buttons on the front of the jacket were just a few inches apart (as opposed to about five inches today), allowing the lapels and the quarters (the bottoms of the jacket front) to swoop away elegantly. Though sack jackets were structured to ensure a shaped silhouette through the torso, they were far more relaxed than the tails and frock coats of the Victorian era. Trousers, as well, were changing with the times, becoming slimmer at the ankle, almost to the point of caricature. “Peg-top” pants that tapered from about twenty-four inches at the knee to a mere sixteen inches at the cuff were much in vogue. (Today’s suit pants are closer to twenty inches at the knee and eighteen inches at the cuff.) The peg-top style of pant had the unfortunate effect of making men look broad at the hips with tiny feet. Clearly one cannot account for fashion. Much like the present day, 1908 saw seasonal changes and trends. Men were beginning to embrace colour in their wardrobes, moving away from the blacks and charcoals of the previous era. As the Dry Goods Review noted, pointing toward the spring trends of 1909, “olive drabs, olive browns and browns and blues” were finding favour. The magazine called these colours “extravagantly fancy” without being “extreme.” In fact, the November issue declared: “Browns are holding a strong place in suitings, but the opinion is it will never rank as a staple color,” a statement that still holds true more than 100 years later. In the nineteenth century, suiting could weigh more than twenty ounces a yard, which meant a three-piece suit could easily weigh more than five pounds (the lining alone was heavier than most suiting today). But, with no central heating during a cold Toronto winter, you would have been grateful for a warm, thick suit of serge or tweed. Even so, in the early part of the twentieth century, lighter fabrics—which had traditionally been used for women’s clothing—were starting to migrate into men’s tailoring. It was a trend Walter certainly took notice of, as did Viola. [SIDEBAR 1B] A Visit to the Toronto Islands, 1907 “Was out on the bay in a gasoline boat yesterday and... went over to the island at night, it is just as crazy as ever but the new park is not half bad and some of the amusements are very good there, such as the Chutes and Dip the Dip.” —Walter Beauchamp Sr., in a letter to Viola Mackenzie, July 23, 1907 Walter Sr.’s letters paint a detailed, personal view of the Toronto Islands early in the 1900s, but it’s not a description that many Torontonians would recognize today. Long before the parkland, Centreville Amusement Park, and dragon boat races, the islands were a thriving suburb that welcomed throngs of visitors and hosted a large year-round population. Development on the islands included Victorian mansions, where the city’s rich escaped the heat of summer, a tent community on Ward’s Island, and a number of hotels. But by far the greatest attractions, the ones that drew Walter and his friends in 1907, were Hanlan’s Point Amusement Park and Hanlan’s Point Stadium. [IMAGE 03] The amusement park, opened in the mid-1890s, was Toronto’s very own Coney Island and included numerous attractions, such as the ones mentioned in Walter’s letter. Chute-the-Chutes (also Shoot-the-Chutes), the precursor to today’s log-flume ride, was extremely popular in amusement parks across Canada and the United States. A small boat with a few passengers would shoot down a sharp incline on a greased track and rocket out onto Lake Ontario, skimming the surface until it glided to a stop and was retrieved by an attendant. Dip the Dip, the forerunner of Coney Island’s Wonder Wheel, promised “to combine all the thrills of the scenic railway, Ferris wheel and Chute-the-Chutes.” Described as “a real thrill,” the ride featured “dip” cars suspended on circular tracks within the Ferris wheel structure so that they would tip and fall at high speeds along the track as the wheel slowly revolved. The rides were meant for adults, and consequently an older crowd enjoyed the amusement parks, though some children were seen too. In his letter of July 23, Walter, who evidently spent a fair amount of time on the islands, also writes: “I think we will go to the Lacrosse game on Saturday, haven’t seen one this year yet and it is sure to be good. The Tecumsehs are ahead in the league and just Toronto and Buffalo are tied for first place in the baseball league so we have a good chance for both Championships this year.” [IMAGE 04] Lacrosse was quite a popular sport in Toronto at the time. The games were played at Hanlan’s Point Stadium, a massive round structure with partially covered stands that seated more than ten thousand spectators. Nestled against the amusement park on one side, with the lake on the other, the stadium had been built for lacrosse and baseball in 1903 after the previous stadium burned down. It was at these grounds (in another incarnation of the stadium) that the legendary baseball player Babe Ruth was to hit his first professional home run in 1914. In 1907, as Walter was writing, one of the city’s teams—the Toronto Tecumsehs, also known as the “Indians”—had suffered its first defeat of the lacrosse season at the hands of the Montreal Shamrocks the day before. Sadly, for Walter, Montreal went on to win the league championship. Meanwhile, the Toronto Maple Leafs baseball team, playing in the Eastern League (A level, just below major-league baseball), also went on to lose the championship. Some things about Toronto sports never change. [IMAGE 05, 06] Walter Beauchamp Sr.’s love of sports was not confined to his youth; in addition to becoming one of Toronto’s best-known tailors, he was also one of the city’s best-known boxing and wrestling promoters in the 1920s and ’30s.