The Jean Talon Market: Of Revival And Closure

My family owns a building in the Jean-Talon market in the center of Montreal. It's considered to be prime location.

Right in the middle of the famous market and nestled in Little Italy, my father became a successful tailor by making Montrealers look fine. During the 1970s and 1980s he was at the top of his game and was considered to be the best at his craft.

I remember fondly when he would take my brother and I to his shop on Sunday mornings. The unmistakable scent of fabrics, the sounds of Italian soccer on the television and the site of a colorful market overrun by rugged fruits and vegetable farmer entrepreneurs remains with me today. My brother earned his first stitches there following a stunt only two hyper boys could attempt. Many a time we would bug my father to let us use the sewing machines. As he smoked he would watch over us. Of course, not being stable, mature guys, we'd always turn something into a joke and my father would send us outside until we headed home for, you guessed it, a typical Italian Sunday lunch.

The routine was simple. Get to the shop. Mess around. Ask questions. Go outside. Buy chocolate milk. And soak it all in.

Back then, the Jean-Talon market had a distinctive Italian and French-Canadian character. It was alive and bustling with guys shouting at one another passing boxes, laughing and sharing fruit. One guy I remember would always sing as he sold fruit. Another would sit in silence laughing as he sold his eggs. Sometimes a soccer ball or football would add to the whole affair. It was full of excitement that's for sure.

Everyone said hello to each other. It was rugged and free of any pretentiousness.

In the picture, the building with the Sami Fruit sign is ours. The larger brown building next to us happens to belong to out neighbour where we live and the to the left that property is owned by my uncle - my father's brother. This picture is a recent one and does not capture the good old days.

An example of a typical day was when my brother and I were sitting on the steps and my cousin, who worked for one of the fruit vendors, passed by with a box on his shoulders smoking (everyone smoked back then) looking like a greaser. He would shout out "hey, les cousins!" while on his way to make his drop later to return and sit with us and talk to my dad in Calabrese dialect. I don't see much of my cousin anymore.

My father's local was special. It wasn't the biggest spot but it was long and slender with big "vitrines" (windows). It was sort of a thru-way from Jean-Talon blvd. to the market in the back alley. We had the best view. Above all, it fed a family and served as a base for other projects.

Then, by the time the 90s rolled around the market was dying a slow death and no one was buying tailor-made suits anymore. The 90s were a dark decade as one massive fruit store with no interest in providing quality destabilized the market. There was no joie de vivre left. It became just a market of convenience with little else. The demographics had changed.

We always knew there was going to be a renaissance and indeed it came. Our tenant left (after destroying our place) and the market association proceeded to explain to us that the intentions were to make the market "haute gamme."

That much is true. Now it's young people that come. They buy three apples at a time, sit around in the new artisan food shops and run off. Back then, people bought by the case and interacted with the everyone in the market.

For me, the potential at a revival was nixed by the new layout of the market. It's not well thought out. Once upon a time you saw straight through to the other side from my father's place. The market was covered but opened. Now, they've completely closed off the middle thus choking off the view on both sides.

The picture reveals the center of the market directly in front of us before it was closed off. If you can see below the arches you can tell and imagine the openness of it all once upon a time.

The one thing I observed when the association came to us was that it seemed to me they were running a racket. I won't get into it here but my suspicion was confirmed when we got a firm offer on our building by a fruit owner who knew my father and has been there for over 35 years. It seems her place did not fit the new "look" the association were looking for so they want to rub her out.

By buying our building she in essence anchors and protects herself. Good for her.

Her timing is good because we are sellers. The local, once a place that defined our lives, was stripped to its four walls. On top of that, my father is not well. As far as the relationship goes, it has seen better times.

Now, we must do what we must. None of us (I have two sisters and a brother) want the headaches of running an aging commercial property opting instead to enter the residential side of the equation. Start fresh. This should have been done long ago for some of us.

Many decisions and weighing of options still have to be made but I can't help but feel a tad sad. On one end, it's our chance to build something bigger. On the other, I will permanently leave behind those fond memories.

"Hey, les cousins! Viens ici. Let's go pull a joke on Mario and Jean..."