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From: www.thestar.com/NASApp/cs...9483202845
________________________
An interior decorator called Ed
cheap un-chic | In tribute to Ed Mirvish on his 92nd birthday, we prove you can furnish a bachelor pad for $500 at Honest Ed's, and have a total kitsch immersion in the process.
Jul. 23, 2006. 01:00 AM
CHRISTOPHER MAUGHAN
You need a toaster oven, a new dress shirt and some aspirin. What do you do?
In any other city, you make three trips, but in Toronto, you go to Honest Ed's.
On the occasion of Ed Mirvish's 92nd birthday, the store with the garish, 23,000-bulb sign at the corner of Bloor and Bathurst is still evolving as the emporium of all things. As of May, it added an immigration centre to its list of goods and services, which also includes a dental office and a beauty salon.
Of course, it's still necessary to negotiate the maze of counters, half-floors, little nooks and mirrors that give the place its charm but also frustrate first-timers to no end.
In theory, there's no reason ever to shop at another store. So the Star decided to put that theory to the test. The mission: furnish a bachelor apartment using only items found at Honest Ed's, and do it for less than $500.
Rats. Guess that $6,500 antique Buddhist shrine by the Pepsi and paper towels will have to wait.
First things first: the big-ticket items. At just over the $350 mark, most of those are taken care of, including desk ($99), DVD player ($49), coffee table ($89) and TV ($149). The DVD player even has a built-in karaoke machine — that staple of any decent bachelor pad.
As for a futon sofa-bed, the store was out of stock, so our bachelor will be sleeping on the floor, albeit with some extra cash in hand.
Should be a cinch coming in under $500.
But as most locals know, it's easy to get distracted at Honest Ed's. There's something about that store that makes the desire for kitsch overpowering.
Maybe it's the black and white movie stars of decades past staring at you from behind the '50s-era cash registers. Liberace and Tony Bennett are Ed's favourites, says store manager Russell Lazar, who's tagging along on the first leg of the mission, pausing at points of interest along the way.
Whatever the reason, it's hard not to find yourself wanting that statue of a cartoon pig in a police uniform, or those fun little birds that keep bobbing for water.
Then there are the antiques, which are out of everyone's price range but add to the distraction anyway. Every so often, though, some eccentric buyer will surprise the staff with a big purchase.
"We sold a couple of these stoves recently," says Lazar, pointing to a group of black cast-iron relics. "A guy from Thunder Bay who actually collects these came down and bought them."
Lazar explains that a lot of the antiques come from former Mirvish theatre productions. "We have people from all over buy our antiques; we even used to sell some on eBay. People as far as Las Vegas would buy them."
The iron stoves seem out of place among all the gilded wood of oriental statues, rickshaws and miniature dragon boats. Honest Ed's is all about weird juxtapositions— a few years back they even had a snack bar in the middle of the ladies' wear section.
Consider the objet on view outside the linens department. It's hard to believe anyone not on a serious drug trip would be in the market for this giant cuckoo clock adorned with a deranged-looking moose head. He stares down at passersby with bug eyes and a maniacal grin, and if you've got 20-foot-high ceilings and $15,000, you can take him home with you.
If you're a rich eccentric, but a little more conservative, you can get a $500 machine that turns a penny into a flat pendant with an inscription of the Lord's Prayer. Sounds pretty steep, especially for a machine that no longer works, but Lazar insists it's a true Honest Ed's bargain.
But back to the task at hand: furnishing that apartment. In the linens department, the pillows were printed with bunny ears or wacky-looking animals, and the sheets felt chintzy, but at $5 and $8 respectively, who cares. And at just $12, you can get a lovely set of brown, floral printed drapes that would go great with a puke-green carpet.
It's still necessary to negotiate the maze of counters, half-floors, little nooks and mirrors that give Honest Ed's its wacky charm
So, the mission continues to be a success. Perhaps it wasn't that much of a challenge in the first place. Honest Ed's customers certainly didn't seem to think so.
"Oh, yeah, I think it's doable," long-time shopper James Gow says the of $500 limit. For him, the real challenge of Honest Ed's is making it out of there without getting lost. "But people like it. I think a lot of the people who come here from other countries are used to the hodgepodge."
"When I get here, I'm laughing because the prices are so cheap," says Osinowo Kunle, who's been coming to the store for the past 18 years. "But I also really like this place because it's different. It's not so impersonal. It's like the markets back home in Nigeria."
Moving through the store, Lazar pauses on one landing, pointing to a picture of a greasy-haired, stubbly, toothless old man. Underneath his photo, a caption reads, "Honest Ed welcomes you."
"Back in the '50s, before he became a public figure, people used to think this guy was Honest Ed," says Lazar, grinning. "But his name was Dick. He was a homeless man who helped Ed clean up around the store. He had a bit of a drinking problem, but he was proud to work here and Ed always kept him on."
One night, when Dick had been picked up after a bender, police actually mistook him for Mirvish. They even called Ed's mother in the middle of the night to say he'd been arrested.
Spend any time in Honest Ed's and you realize that, besides the kitsch and the bargains, a lot of the charm comes from the people who shop and work there — many of whom have relationships with the place going back decades.
Take Lazar, for example. He's been working there for 40 years. "I started when I was 5," he likes to tell people (but he does not like to divulge his age). Even though he's a manager who spends a lot of his time in an office, the customers know him well.
"Aren't you Russell Lazar?" a smiling woman asks as she passes us.
"Well, hi, how are you?" he answers warmly.
"You know, I've been coming here 30 years, but I didn't recognize you," she says. "You were a lot skinnier."
Stella Cordoso has been at Ed's for 24 years, and says she'd never dream of working for anybody but Mirvish as she shows off the gold watch he gave her for her 20th anniversary at the store.
"I learned all my English working here," she says with a slight Eastern European accent. "Now, when there's a customer who doesn't speak English well, they always ask, `Where's Stella?'
Given that newcomers to Canada have long been a big part of Mirvish's clientele, Cordoso gets to practise her Polish, Russian, Czech and Ukrainian pretty regularly. She says hearing a familiar language makes the store especially homey for a lot of newcomers.
So much so that Leslie Lakos, the full-time immigration consultant, says he doesn't feel the least bit out of place at his little desk in the middle of the department store.
This store was built on the concept of immigrants," he says with a smile, leaning in for emphasis. "Think about it. Why wouldn't you sell meat in a kitchen?"
Newcomers are a part of the clientele that Lazar says is close to Mirvish's heart. In his office, among the awards, letters from prime ministers and world leaders, antique swords and photos of celebrities, you'll find two seashells sitting on a postcard from a former customer. "Dear Mister Ed," it says. "These two shells are from my home village. I wanted you to have them."
On the way down from Mirvish's office, the remaining items for the apartment get taken care of and, lo and behold, there's $30 left on the tab.
Just enough for a bust of Elvis. The only question is whether to get the shiny bronze model, or the rosy-cheeked, blue-suede-lapelled version of the King.
"It's strange, but they're one of our biggest-selling items," says Lazar, who clearly has an anecdote for just about every item in every department of the store. "Once, a couple came in here to get their wedding pictures taken.
"They wanted a souvenir and asked for our kitschiest item. So we gave them one of these, and Ed even signed it."
________________________
An interior decorator called Ed
cheap un-chic | In tribute to Ed Mirvish on his 92nd birthday, we prove you can furnish a bachelor pad for $500 at Honest Ed's, and have a total kitsch immersion in the process.
Jul. 23, 2006. 01:00 AM
CHRISTOPHER MAUGHAN
You need a toaster oven, a new dress shirt and some aspirin. What do you do?
In any other city, you make three trips, but in Toronto, you go to Honest Ed's.
On the occasion of Ed Mirvish's 92nd birthday, the store with the garish, 23,000-bulb sign at the corner of Bloor and Bathurst is still evolving as the emporium of all things. As of May, it added an immigration centre to its list of goods and services, which also includes a dental office and a beauty salon.
Of course, it's still necessary to negotiate the maze of counters, half-floors, little nooks and mirrors that give the place its charm but also frustrate first-timers to no end.
In theory, there's no reason ever to shop at another store. So the Star decided to put that theory to the test. The mission: furnish a bachelor apartment using only items found at Honest Ed's, and do it for less than $500.
Rats. Guess that $6,500 antique Buddhist shrine by the Pepsi and paper towels will have to wait.
First things first: the big-ticket items. At just over the $350 mark, most of those are taken care of, including desk ($99), DVD player ($49), coffee table ($89) and TV ($149). The DVD player even has a built-in karaoke machine — that staple of any decent bachelor pad.
As for a futon sofa-bed, the store was out of stock, so our bachelor will be sleeping on the floor, albeit with some extra cash in hand.
Should be a cinch coming in under $500.
But as most locals know, it's easy to get distracted at Honest Ed's. There's something about that store that makes the desire for kitsch overpowering.
Maybe it's the black and white movie stars of decades past staring at you from behind the '50s-era cash registers. Liberace and Tony Bennett are Ed's favourites, says store manager Russell Lazar, who's tagging along on the first leg of the mission, pausing at points of interest along the way.
Whatever the reason, it's hard not to find yourself wanting that statue of a cartoon pig in a police uniform, or those fun little birds that keep bobbing for water.
Then there are the antiques, which are out of everyone's price range but add to the distraction anyway. Every so often, though, some eccentric buyer will surprise the staff with a big purchase.
"We sold a couple of these stoves recently," says Lazar, pointing to a group of black cast-iron relics. "A guy from Thunder Bay who actually collects these came down and bought them."
Lazar explains that a lot of the antiques come from former Mirvish theatre productions. "We have people from all over buy our antiques; we even used to sell some on eBay. People as far as Las Vegas would buy them."
The iron stoves seem out of place among all the gilded wood of oriental statues, rickshaws and miniature dragon boats. Honest Ed's is all about weird juxtapositions— a few years back they even had a snack bar in the middle of the ladies' wear section.
Consider the objet on view outside the linens department. It's hard to believe anyone not on a serious drug trip would be in the market for this giant cuckoo clock adorned with a deranged-looking moose head. He stares down at passersby with bug eyes and a maniacal grin, and if you've got 20-foot-high ceilings and $15,000, you can take him home with you.
If you're a rich eccentric, but a little more conservative, you can get a $500 machine that turns a penny into a flat pendant with an inscription of the Lord's Prayer. Sounds pretty steep, especially for a machine that no longer works, but Lazar insists it's a true Honest Ed's bargain.
But back to the task at hand: furnishing that apartment. In the linens department, the pillows were printed with bunny ears or wacky-looking animals, and the sheets felt chintzy, but at $5 and $8 respectively, who cares. And at just $12, you can get a lovely set of brown, floral printed drapes that would go great with a puke-green carpet.
It's still necessary to negotiate the maze of counters, half-floors, little nooks and mirrors that give Honest Ed's its wacky charm
So, the mission continues to be a success. Perhaps it wasn't that much of a challenge in the first place. Honest Ed's customers certainly didn't seem to think so.
"Oh, yeah, I think it's doable," long-time shopper James Gow says the of $500 limit. For him, the real challenge of Honest Ed's is making it out of there without getting lost. "But people like it. I think a lot of the people who come here from other countries are used to the hodgepodge."
"When I get here, I'm laughing because the prices are so cheap," says Osinowo Kunle, who's been coming to the store for the past 18 years. "But I also really like this place because it's different. It's not so impersonal. It's like the markets back home in Nigeria."
Moving through the store, Lazar pauses on one landing, pointing to a picture of a greasy-haired, stubbly, toothless old man. Underneath his photo, a caption reads, "Honest Ed welcomes you."
"Back in the '50s, before he became a public figure, people used to think this guy was Honest Ed," says Lazar, grinning. "But his name was Dick. He was a homeless man who helped Ed clean up around the store. He had a bit of a drinking problem, but he was proud to work here and Ed always kept him on."
One night, when Dick had been picked up after a bender, police actually mistook him for Mirvish. They even called Ed's mother in the middle of the night to say he'd been arrested.
Spend any time in Honest Ed's and you realize that, besides the kitsch and the bargains, a lot of the charm comes from the people who shop and work there — many of whom have relationships with the place going back decades.
Take Lazar, for example. He's been working there for 40 years. "I started when I was 5," he likes to tell people (but he does not like to divulge his age). Even though he's a manager who spends a lot of his time in an office, the customers know him well.
"Aren't you Russell Lazar?" a smiling woman asks as she passes us.
"Well, hi, how are you?" he answers warmly.
"You know, I've been coming here 30 years, but I didn't recognize you," she says. "You were a lot skinnier."
Stella Cordoso has been at Ed's for 24 years, and says she'd never dream of working for anybody but Mirvish as she shows off the gold watch he gave her for her 20th anniversary at the store.
"I learned all my English working here," she says with a slight Eastern European accent. "Now, when there's a customer who doesn't speak English well, they always ask, `Where's Stella?'
Given that newcomers to Canada have long been a big part of Mirvish's clientele, Cordoso gets to practise her Polish, Russian, Czech and Ukrainian pretty regularly. She says hearing a familiar language makes the store especially homey for a lot of newcomers.
So much so that Leslie Lakos, the full-time immigration consultant, says he doesn't feel the least bit out of place at his little desk in the middle of the department store.
This store was built on the concept of immigrants," he says with a smile, leaning in for emphasis. "Think about it. Why wouldn't you sell meat in a kitchen?"
Newcomers are a part of the clientele that Lazar says is close to Mirvish's heart. In his office, among the awards, letters from prime ministers and world leaders, antique swords and photos of celebrities, you'll find two seashells sitting on a postcard from a former customer. "Dear Mister Ed," it says. "These two shells are from my home village. I wanted you to have them."
On the way down from Mirvish's office, the remaining items for the apartment get taken care of and, lo and behold, there's $30 left on the tab.
Just enough for a bust of Elvis. The only question is whether to get the shiny bronze model, or the rosy-cheeked, blue-suede-lapelled version of the King.
"It's strange, but they're one of our biggest-selling items," says Lazar, who clearly has an anecdote for just about every item in every department of the store. "Once, a couple came in here to get their wedding pictures taken.
"They wanted a souvenir and asked for our kitschiest item. So we gave them one of these, and Ed even signed it."