"Banner Discount Department Store" Opens in Stoney Creek in 1961

Recently, I was talking to my daughters about Banners Discount Department Store that existed somewhere in the vicinity of Millen and DeWitt Roads in Stoney Creek. I remember that it was close enough to my home that when I was 13 years old I walked to the Banners store to buy a birthday gift for the little girl I baby sat in my Worsley Road neighbourhood (one street over from Millen Road). Tonight as I was checking a Facebook page that is dedicated to all things related to my hometown, I was amused to see mention of Banners Discount Department Store since I have a thing about duplicity and Carl Jung’s theory about synchronicity (meaningful coincidence of two or more events). While I couldn’t find any photos of the store, I did find the interesting article that follows. C.M.

New residential subdivisions of the 1960s led to suburban retail. Subdivisions were seen as too large for the general stores of yesteryear, and too small for the kind of massive department stores found in urban downtowns. The decade saw new, smaller retail chains open their doors in the Toronto area, including Towers, Sayvette's, Zellers Country Fair, Miracle Mart, Woolco, and K-Mart.

In 1961, developers Morry and Louis Wingold opened their first “Banner Discount Department Store” in Stoney Creek. Brampton's Northwood Park, built by Wingold Construction, welcomed the second Banner store in September of that year. The Wingold brothers wanted to devote attention to their construction business and, according to the Toronto Daily Star, hired “a succession of managers from the United States” to run Banner.

I found this artist rendering of a Banner Discount Department, which I think may be a drawing of the proposed Brampton store; however, like most chain stores, the Stoney Creek Banner may have looked similar. C.M.

Banner wanted to be bold, deciding to disrupt the way cars were sold. The Stoney Creek Ford dealership was convinced by the Wingold brothers to start selling their vehicles for a flat rate at the Banner store. For every car sale, the store received a $35 commission. Banner could break even on their floor space, selling just 150 cars a year. 

These sales tactics caught the attention of the local media.

“Why can't you save time, trouble and heartache by buying a car the way you buy a typewriter,” asked Toronto Daily Star columnist Pierre Berton. Imagine that, walking into a discount department store and making the purchase, without a “series of wild bargaining sessions.”

The Wingolds calculated that any earnings after that would be pure profit for the department store. The Star reported that Ford Motor Company eventually put its foot down and stopped auto sales of their vehicles through the Banner store. Within days, Studebaker stepped in to take their place. The Star reported that the concept was to be expanded to Brampton.

After less than two years in the retail world, the brothers realized that Banner would either need more hands-on supervision, or they would have to sell. They closed the Stoney Creek location in January 1963, and placed the Brampton store on the market. Brampton’s location, with 50 to 60 employees, closed in the summer of 1963. This short-lived commercial retail experiment was over.

This information contained in this blog is credited to NICK MOREAU, PEEL ART GALLERY, MUSEUM AND ARCHIVES BRAMPTON GUARDIAN April 4th, 2019. Edits by Carolyn MacArthur.

Throwback Thursday is provided by Peel Art Gallery, Museum and Archives. PAMA is a place to explore, learn and make connections about Peel Region’s culture and heritage.

A Canal, A Frenchman, and a Woman Past her Prime (Copy)

A Canal, a Frenchman, and a Woman Past her Prime

A Short Story by Carolyn MacArthur

It was the last three days of a two week stay at her daughter's apartment in Ottawa and Carol was finding it a challenge filling the lonely hours while Heather was at work.

"You know, Mom, the Summer Exhibition is opening today. I think you might like it. It is just like the CNE in Toronto. You could take a nice walk on the path that leads from my building to the Exhibition gates. There are lots of spots along the canal for you to stop and rest if need be."

Carol appreciated Heather's concern. And while it was true that even on a good day on a short stroll, she required a park bench to rest, she winced at the reminder. There was a time when she could have easily jogged the distance. How times had changed!

"That sounds nice. I'll head out just after you get off to work, and I'll be back by the time you get home."

Heather smiled and nodded.  She liked having her mother visit and she enjoyed coming home from work and finding a home cooked meal.  Maybe tonight's meal would include something special from the Exhibition.

After Heather left, Carol dressed in clothing suitable for a walk on a hot August day, put on her sensible shoes, and made her way to the canal path. A short distance into her walk, she was distracted by the site of a boat passing through two stone towers. As Carol walked over to read the historical plaque, a young couple approached her and asked for directions.

Just as Carol was about to explain that she, too, was from out of town and knew little about the lay of the land, she caught sight of a man walking towards them. With a satchel flung over one shoulder and a purposeful gait, he gave the impression of someone who could help.

Photo credited to: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Glebe#/media/File:CanalatGlebe.jpg

"Excuse me,” Carol said politely, attracting the man’s attention. “This young couple would like to know if this path leads to the Parliament Buildings?"

"Mais oui. Dans cette direction,” he said pointing left. The couple seemed puzzled, so he repeated in English, “Indeed. In that direction, the path leads to the Hill*"

With the couple happily on their way, Carol and the gentleman stood facing each other in awkward silence. “He is close to my age, nice looking…not handsome, but definitely suave,” Carol assessed. Dawning on her that he may be sizing her up, too, Carol quickly intercepted his thoughts. "Your French accent seems different than what I am used to hearing here. It reminds me of the French I learned in high school."

"I was born in France and have been living in Canada for only two years."

"How interesting!" Carol was sincere in her enthusiastic response. She was fascinated by other cultures and found it very exciting that he was from a country she had longed dreamed of visiting. Her smile said she wanted to hear more.

"I obtained a position as a violinist in the Alberta Symphony Orchestra, but I bought a house here in Ottawa. I enjoy the culture in the east; and, also, I teach music at the local college during the off-season. I travel out west only for practices and scheduled concerts."

"How interesting!" Carol felt a little embarrassed repeating herself. She knew she didn't do well with chit-chat, especially when talking to men whom she found attractive. Recovering her composure, Carol went on, "I taught art at middle school before retiring two years ago."

A little voice in Carol's head reminded her it was not necessary to spew out the details of her personal life. Since a car accident that radically changed her life by ending her career and leaving her with chronic health conditions, Carol always felt compelled to explain why she retired at such an early age. “No! Not today.” She didn't want the Frenchman to look at her with pity in his eyes.

As Carol struggled with her thoughts, an unexpected cloudburst mercifully brought welcomed relief to her anxious mind.

The Frenchman knew how unpredictable the weather could be in the Capital city, so he was prepared. He popped open his umbrella and sheltered Carol from the downpour.

"There is a riverside café just a little way down the path. Would you like to join me for a drink until the rain ceases?"

"That would be lovely," Carol replied, sounding much more like the intelligent woman in her fifties who she truly was, and not like the defeated incompetent that played mind games with her confidence.

It was an amazing hour of conversation. Carol and the Frenchman had so much in common. They talked about their careers—both taught in the arts; they shared stories about their families—both had grandsons; they expressed their concern about caring for their aging mothers—Carol's mother had moved in with her, and the Frenchman's mother, at age 90, still lived on her own in France; and they discussed, at length, their hobbies: both liked cooking, and both liked to paint.

Carol didn't want the rain to end. She feared when it did, the elation she was feeling would end too. She felt so very much alive at this moment—like her old self, confident and very capable. She hadn't had this kind of attention from a man in years. The Frenchman obviously was able to look past her aging body and tired face. Carol felt he could see the fire of youth that still burned within her.

When the clouds broke and the sun began to shine, a nuance in Carol’s expression told her companion she was sad to see the afternoon come to an end. The Frenchman, who also wanted their time together to continue, made a grand gesture. "If you are not really set on going to the Exhibition, how would you like to come to my house to see some of my paintings? Since you taught art, I would like your honest opinion."

Against the warnings that she had instilled in her daughters over the years about the dangers of going anywhere with a stranger, Carol agreed to go to his house.

They made a quick stop for a bottle of wine—not for their consumption, but for the Frenchman to take to his friends' dinner party that night. Watching him as he selected and paid for his purchase, Carol thought, "He has such exquisite taste. Generous, worldly and cultured.” And she mused, “None of the men in my hometown would be caught dead in a purple silk shirt, wearing dress pants with sandals, and carrying a satchel with a shoulder strap."

“You look very happy,” the Frenchman commented as they left the wine store. “I am,” Carol replied.

There were only a couple of more blocks to go before they arrived at the Frenchman's front door. Carol was relieved. She wouldn't want to admit it, but physically, she was starting to tire.

Photo Credit: MasterClass

As Carol stepped into the living room, she was astonished to see a hoard of paintings leaning against every available wall space. The Frenchman was definitely serious about his passion. As expected of a good host, the Frenchman asked Carol if she would like a glass of wine before viewing his work. They made their way into the kitchen where the obvious remains of an earlier meal were still present on the table and counter. Carol was neither surprised, nor disappointed at the sight of the dried cheese, hardened loaf of bread or curled pieces of salami on the cutting board. She understood the creative mind and how when an idea inspires, nothing else matters. But she did wonder at the already uncorked bottle of wine and two used wine glasses.

The Frenchman led Carol to a backroom where he had an easel set up. He shared with her his vision for the painting he was working on. Carol's comments were well received, and she felt invigorated conversing with a fellow artist. The Frenchman was aware of the risk in showing his finished paintings that many considered avant garde, but he was sure Carol would offer an honest critique of his most innovative work.

They made one quick stop in the kitchen for a second glass of wine, then proceeded to the living room.

For two hours they pondered over each of his paintings.  He had painted a wonderful series of musicians with flames instead of hair—paintings that he hoped would be made into postcards for sale at his concerts. He shared intimate details of paintings of houses, plants, and scenery from his beloved homeland and why they meant so much to him. The afternoon was going splendidly until they came across a picture of a young naked female. Carol wasn't a prude; she had painted nude models, both male and female, years ago when she attended university. What bothered her were the obvious differences between the firm, flawless, well-endowed female in the painting and her out-of-shape, more than middle aged self that she was hiding under her oversized clothing. As if he could read Carol's mind, the Frenchman explained that the young woman in the painting was the woman who rented his upstairs apartment. He needed a model, and she volunteered. Nothing more.

Carol felt a bit foolish, and sensed now would be a good time to leave. Making the excuse that it was getting late and she had dinner to prepare, Carol headed towards the door. The Frenchman gently took her hand and said, "I have one more painting that I would like you to see. It is much too large for this room, so I have it hanging on the wall in the next room."

Carol let him lead her to the next room, which turned out to be his bedroom. She might have bolted if it was not for the awesome sight of the enormous painting hanging above his bed. It was a monochromatic painting in blue tones. On a large bed that filled the entire canvas, a nude woman sat facing outwards. Behind her on the other side of the bed stood a nude male in the process of putting on or taking off his shirt. Carol felt that she had just walked in on a very intimate moment in the couple's life. They did not look startled, though, but rather, disturbingly emotionless. It reminded her of the final stage of her doomed marriage.

It was difficult to read what they were thinking. It was difficult, also, at first, to discern whether they were just getting into bed or getting up. But the couple's dishevelled appearance and the crumpled sheets spoke of a sexual encounter. It was a painting that begged interpretation, and Carol's mind was racing. Before she could speak, the Frenchman announced, "I call it Creation of Love." Carol was confused. The painting did not convey a message of love at all. The coldness of the blues was matched by the coldness of the couple. Carol was so lost in thought trying to process the underlying meaning of the painting that for a brief moment she was unaware of the Frenchman's hand on her back. It was such a gentle touch that Carol allowed his hand to linger. She didn't feel the least bit threatened, but she knew enough about male and female relationships to know where this one was heading. What frightened and surprised her the most, however, was the fact that she was tempted. The second glass of wine she had earlier went straight to her head and made her feel liberated, but at the same time, vulnerable. If she turned and faced him, she would weaken, so Carol knew that was her cue to leave.

As the Frenchman followed her to the door, he asked if they could meet for lunch the next day. He gave her his business card, and as Carol placed her hand on the doorknob, he kissed her. Carol blushed.

Carol didn't remember much about the walk home. Her thoughts were muddled. She kept going over the day in her head. Yes, it was the stuff of romance novels: a canal, a Frenchman, and a woman past her prime. But this was real life. I f she had stayed, she may have ended up like the woman in the Creation of Love—many shades of blue. And the image of the two wine glasses and the painting of the young woman still bothered her. Carol knew she did the right thing by walking away. It was better to have a glorious memory that would warm her heart many times over than risk losing it all in a moment of passion. The scene between Rick and Ilsa in “Casablanca” kept playing in her head, "We'll always have Paris." Carol knew it would make no sense to anyone else, but she would always have Ottawa.

Carol kept his card, but she would not call. She would not be meeting him for lunch. The card would eventually be pasted in her scrapbook where she would, in private reflection, relive the day that brought her such joie de vie.

Back in the safety of her daughter’s apartment, Carol threw something together for dinner from the cans in the cupboard and whatever was left in the fridge. There would be no special Exhibition fare tonight. When Heather arrived home that evening and saw what her mother had prepared, she asked suspiciously, "How was the Exhibition?" Carol said nothing. She just smiled.

The End

Carol: Chapter Two

Carol knew that her dalliance with the Frenchman could not be kept a secret forever.  Her face read like an open book and her eldest daughter was a master at reading between the lines. 

“What did you do in Ottawa?”  Lauren asked.

Carol countered with another question.  “Have you been talking to Heather?”

“Just in a message last week when I texted her at work to see how you were doing.  Heather said you were going to the Ottawa Summer Exhibition and I was just wondering if you had a good time.”

“Carol: Chapter Two” is a follow-up to “A Frenchman, A Canal and a Woman Past Her Prime” written by Carolyn MacArthur.

“Oh.  I did.  I had a lovely afternoon.  The walk along the canal was so relaxing.  I met a lovely young couple who stopped to ask for directions; and I even visited a vintage wine shop on the way to…,” Carol’s rambling came to a sudden stop.  She had backed herself into a corner leaving only two choices:  an outright lie or a watered down version of the truth.    

“Truthfully, I didn’t make it to the exhibition.  I met a gentleman on the way and spent the afternoon with him.”  Feeling relief in having told the truth, Carol hoped her sketchy answer would satisfy her daughter’s curiosity.

Heather, who had just returned home from Ottawa, and Leeann, Carol’s middle daughter, came into the kitchen just in time to hear Lauren ask, “What man?  Where did you go with him?  Was there wine involved? 

Carol told her three daughters all about her afternoon spent with the Frenchman—about the café, about his paintings, and how they had so much in common.  She left out the part about the caressing and the kiss at the front door.

Lauren questioned her mother’s sanity and wondered if Carol had any idea of the danger she could have been in.  Leeann took a more liberal view saying that she loved that her mother, at her age, had an adventure of any kind and wished she had called the number and met the man for lunch the next day.  They all agreed that they were relieved nothing untoward happened to their mother. 

With the story of her ‘almost affair’ done and dusted, life for Carol returned to normal.  She never spoke of the Frenchman again and only thought of him briefly when she came across his business card and the postcard he gave her of a flamed haired violinist he had painted, as she pasted yet another clipping or item that related to France in her scrapbook.

With her milestone birthday fast approaching, Carol wondered what surprise her daughters had in store for her.  They always made such a fuss every year, and for her last milestone birthday, they rented a Cessna plane so her son-in-law could fly her over her neighbourhood for a thrilling aerial view.  All she knew about her pending birthday was that she was supposed to be at Heather’s house at 6:30 pm.

Carol knocked on the front door of Heather and Darren’s townhouse.  She could hear the excited voices of her three youngest grandchildren shouting, “She’s here!  She’s here!  Let’s hide!”

As Heather opened the front door, Carol could hear the dulcet sounds of French music playing in the background.  She was intrigued. 

Heather, Leeann, and Lauren, dressed in black outfits, were wearing pink aprons that they had made especially for the occasion.  Set out on Heather’s dining table was an array of French cuisine that they had prepared from scratch, bottles of the finest French wine, a variety of specialty cheeses, baguettes, croissants, colourful macarons and other delectable pâtisseries.  In the centre of the table, a candle burned brightly in a mini Eiffel Tower.  Carol was speechless.

“You are always talking about going to Paris, so we brought Paris to you,” Lauren explained with a smile.

“I cannot believe this.  This is so amazing!”  Carol said examining each and every item before her eyes wanting to take in every single French inspired detail.  Just when she was about to thank her daughters, her three youngest grandchildren, wearing berets and neckerchiefs, came running from their hiding places.  “Bon jour, grand-mère,” they repeated over and over. 

“Ok, kids.  That was great.”  Heather turned to her mother and said laughingly, “It took forever to teach them to say that. Now they won’t stop!”  

“It was beautiful!  I am overwhelmed by everything.  Thank you all so much.  This is the best birthday surprise I could have ever wished for.”

“And it’s not over,” chimed in Leeann.  “Check out the backyard.”

More than just surprised, Carol was puzzled by the variety of guests gathered in the backyard:   a friend from high school who was a mutual friend of Carol’s cousin, but no sign of her cousin, one of her best friends from her neighbourhood with a man Carol had never seen before, two cousins and their husbands, their sister, but not their brother nor his wife, a former friend and her sister, Darren’s parents, Heather’s best friend, two more sons-in-law, and one more grandchild. 

After greeting every guest, and finding out that the stranger in the crowd was Janice’s new boyfriend and learning that Julie was not well enough to attend, Carol took the seat of honour on the patio.  Family and friends were exceedingly generous with their gifts.  Some kept within the theme of the party and brought bottles of French wine.  Others brought gifts of flowers and plants.  And Darren’s parents gave Carol a digital camera.  By the time Carol was presented the gift from her three daughters, her sons-in-law and four grandchildren, the sun had gone down.  Someone handed Carol a flashlight so she could read the card and clearly see the contents of a box in the guise of a big book.  With her three youngest grandchildren crowded around her, Carol opened the box and with minor difficulty balancing the box and the flashlight, read the small print on the paper tucked in the box, “Destination:  Charles de Gaulle Airport, October 5th, 2008.”   In disbelief, Carol read it again and asked,  “Paris?”  Carol said with a shaky voice.   With great emotion she confirmed, “Paris?  I’m going to Paris, France?”

Not really comprehending the overwhelming emotion Carol was feeling, the eldest of the three smallest grandchildren asked, “Why is Gran crying?”

Yes, indeed, Gran was crying; and so were her three daughters and every guest who was there to witness a dream come true. 

“You are going to Paris for twelve nights and thirteen days, Mom.  We booked an apartment in the heart of Paris.  Surprise!” exclaimed Lauren who was riding high on all the excitement and a few glasses of fine wine.    

“And there is one more gift from Tish and Wanda,” Leeann added.  “You will see why they waited until you opened your present from us to give you their gift.”

From a phone call to Lauren weeks before the party to ask what Carol might like as a gift, Tish and Wanda, upon learning about the Paris trip, decided a tour book of the City of Lights and a big, shiny, black, catchall bag would be the perfect gift.  Carol was delighted by their thoughtful gift--especially the book that held on its pages many of the sites she would be seeing, which until now, were only visited in her dreams.        

In the following nine weeks between her surprise birthday party and her departure to Paris, Carol talked about her pending trip to anyone who would listen. She was surprised at how many people had been to Paris, some having been there several times.  Each person offered suggestions of what of she should add to her must-see list.     

Carol spent countless hours scanning her tour book from Tish and Wendy and earmarked dozen of pages describing more places than she could ever hope to see in thirteen days.  Carol searched her computer for help brushing up on the French she learned so many years ago in high school as she knew that a few select phrases would prove invaluable.  And still not satisfied that she had enough knowledge, she purchased two more travel books at Indigo’s.

As the day of the flight drew closer, Carol’s anxiety about flying across the ocean alone increased to the point that she took time away from her daily planning to research everything listed under “fear of flying and how to conquer it”.  Nothing was going to stop her from travelling to Paris.  It was a welcomed relief, therefore, when Lauren, who was celebrating a milestone birthday herself the following month, was given a ticket to Paris by her generous husband, Connor.  With levelled headed Lauren as her travelling companion Carol could metaphorically keep her feet on the ground while flying high in the sky.     

Let the fun continue…