It was 1978. A newly registered architect, with more ambition than cash flow, was looking to open a new office. The City of Toronto was, against enormous pressure, pursuing a policy of preserving industrially zoned land. The overheated real estate market had created absurdly high rental and purchase costs for traditional housing.

At the corner of King and Parliament, a landlord combined with a small group of prospective tenants to create a loft community in a downtown warehouse building. It was one of a number of illegal lofts that were springing up on the shoulders of Toronto’s downtown, originated by people who were following the example of artists and others in New York, London and elsewhere around the world, and who were willing to take risks in return for unique opportunities.

The building at King and Parliament offered brick walls, mill construction wood floors, high ceilings, huge windows with great views, and total flexibility in layout. It also featured substandard heating, freight elevators that were an adventure with every use, and a virtually total disregard for fire safety codes. But for a new architectural practice, the $250 per month rent (and that was gross rent!) for 750 square feet of “funky” space was an offer one could not refuse. The space, at the northeast corner of the fourth floor, subdivided easily into living and working areas, and suited the needs of a fledgling practice. Working hours were flexible, and the area lent itself well to entertaining or business meetings, whether long solitary hours of drafting, groups pulling an all-nighter, dinner for two, or a working lunch.

It was presentable as a business address and met the desire for a downtown lifestyle, being within a few minutes walk of King and Yonge, the St Lawrence Market, restaurants, theatres, and the squash club. The daily experience of watching the downtown-bound traffic pour onto Richmond Street from the Don Valley Parkway as I dressed for the day reinforced the conviction that this was a viable alternative to the suburban/urban dichotomy that had become the norm in North America.

The City never made a serious attempt to eliminate the illegal residences. Perhaps the number of buildings and residents involved was so small that it would not have been worth the effort. Perhaps they recognized that, although the lofts did fly in the face of the City’s industrial policy, there were benefits accruing to the City, such as the preservation of older industrial buildings, the provision of alternative forms of downtown housing, and the reinforcement of economic activity around the urban core.

The experiment continued for over two years, until the difficulty of making the transition from living to working became harder to achieve. As the staff complement of the office grew and their working schedule started to follow a more regular pattern, the acceptability of their being greeted at 9:00 a.m. by the principal in a bathrobe became less defensible. Bowing to the inevitable, the space became merely an illegal office in an industrially zoned building.

The King-Parliament experiments, and others like it in the King-Spadina area, presaged by two decades, the introduction of the Revitalization Area zoning during the tenure of Mayor Barbara Hall. In these areas (“the Kings”), the zoning does not proscribe uses or densities, but rather allows the market to determine appropriate uses. The zoning requires compliance with building-envelope criteria and reduced parking and loading standards. Many previously empty and deteriorating structures have been rehabilitated and given new life. There is a new vitality in both districts, with new lofts and condominiums, high-tech offices, restaurants, entertainment establishments, light manufacturing, and the traditional fashion industry coexisting in a vigorous and dynamic synergy.

Leslie M. Klein