"In Beautiful Downtown London."

The above is from a card I bought recently at 'Colour by Schubert,' the photo-refinishing place on King Street across the road from the New Market in Beautiful Downtown London. I'm guessing it's from a photo taken by the nice fellow who owns/works in the shop. Possibly named 'Schubert.'

It's a great little place and I go there for most of my photo work that I don't want to trust to the teenagers running the machines at Loblaws. Sure, it's a bit more money, but if you want a good job done - and not have to worry about your photos being lost - believe me, it's worth an extra buck or two.

As you can see above, they also have a great selection of cards of various heritage sites as well as reproductions of original post-cards of London in her glory days.

In the photo, you can see that the owners are in the midst of some renovation work, just completed a year or two ago. Before long, the outside woodwork would be gone (replaced by stucco,) as well as the buildings brightest feature - the sign proudly proclaiming "Located in Beautiful Downtown London." Now, that's just priceless, any comment would just be superfluous.

Only in Hicksville, Ohio would we cover up a pioneer-era - 1855 - building with stucco and take down a sign which was its most endearing outside feature, whilst ignoring the crumbling foundation. Some previous idiot-owner took down a wall-length photo wall-mural of the Toronto airport. Just what the connection was between the Toronto airport and the Hotel Brunswick is a question for minds greater than ours - but that was another of its charms.

I highly recommend a visit to the photographer's shop to pick up a card of your own.


The address again - Colour By Schubert; 121 King St. - in beautiful downtown London.

It's right around the corner from the old Brunswick Tavern - or 'The Bruns.'

Regrettably, it is now referred to as 'The Wick' as it has been for the past three decades, ever since becoming popular with the young people who are fans of what one local architectural expert has recently referred to as "grunge music."

Other than being a nice quiet place to start out a weekend night, I've seldom gone to the Brunswick as a 'destination' place. There have been exceptions - the last time was about a year ago to see local boys, 'Osterberg' doing their tribute to Jimmy O and cowboys everywhere - and being really surprised by a band of middleaged Toronto businessmen in suits and mop-tops called 'Parkdale Hookers' who played tight '60s Mod music, the kind you might hear at the graduation dance in 'To Sir With Love.' Simply smashing. Simply elegant.

But since it's on the way home from Call the Office and within staggering distance of my pad, on my annual Night Out on the Town, I've occassionally popped in - if the band sounds any good. And you can tell if they sound good from about a block away down York Street because on a hot summer night, it gets so hot in there that they keep the doors open - and since the 'stage' backs onto the corner-door which opens onto York Street, it's quite possible to stick your head in from the sidewalk and yell out an appreciative "GO, MAN, GO!"

Musicians really appreciate that kind of direct feedback. Almost as much as the sight of people dancing in front of them.

I recall about two years ago walking a straight line home from The Office one night on one of my annual Nights Out on the Town, after a disappointing evening of a band supposedly worthy of the hefty cover-charge (heck, it was probably at least ten bucks,) and walking by the Brunswick and liking what I heard.

Still having less than $5 left in my wallet, after peering in that front corner door, I went in for a closer look and a chance to groove and it was about the best five bucks I ever spent. Not only was there a trio of guys in lumber-jack shirts, basically just jammin' while playing riffs of Neil Young in his Crazy Horse periods - but there was also pickled eggs for sale!

I ask you - just where on Richmond Row are you going to find pickled eggs for sale? Or Neil Jung or lumber-jack shirts for that matter?

So, I kinda like the place.

And considering the alternative - yet another unpaved parking lot downtown, I'd like to see it still there, stucco and broken third-floor windows and all.

Because it's the same as most of us. Working men - and career chicks. Apparently it was originally thrown up because of the railroad coming through and even 150 years later, as the closest place across from the Bus Station, it has maintained a certain appeal for travellors about to depart or just passin' through - last call before hitting the road.

Possibly the best thing you can say about the place is the fact that it is non-judgemental. As far as bands go, they would apparently book ANYONE. If you could guarantee a crowd of your thirsty friends and family and people getting off the 11:13 from Brantford, and if you didn't play any P-Diddy, you could likely get a chance at the Bruns. Know what I sayin'?

Anyone could feel at home there. During the 1980s and early '90s, on a Saturday afternoon after doing your grocery shopping at 'Dominion' or furniture shopping at 'Jensens on King,' or getting a new key made at Home Hardware up on the Main Drag, if you happened to drop in to the Bruns for a quick beer, you would likely find local rock legends Steven R. Stunning or Jamie Baconhead heavily involved in the weekly cribbage match with old ladies with names like 'Edna' and 'Mavis' - or middleaged hustlers with names like 'Ernie' and 'Swifty,' who worked the Brunswick and also the Legion cribbage/Crazy-8's circuit.

Of course, that was the days before this city decided to ban smoking from all indoor places. Edna and her friends didn't come round much anymore. Still smokin' I assume -but sadly, they just weren't 'patio' people.

As for the architectural value, well, let's be honest. There's absolutely nothing remarkable or noteworthy about it.

BUT, as my colleague Butch McClarty has pointed out, even though it was thrown together in a matter of weeks, in a 'Deadwood' saloon kind of way, surprisingly enough, it's still here and hence, is one of our few examples of a Pioneer building.

Shit, just think of it - Davy Crockett, Daniel Boone or Pierre Radisson could have drank at The Brunswick! Even our first Prime Minister John Eh may have hoisted a few at the 'Bruns.' Wild Bill Hickok could have drank and played cards here!

Things don't change toooo much over the years so I'm sure that (until the latest round of renovations,) on a weekend night, they have always had The Absolute WORSE male washroom I've ever come across - did you ever slide on feces before because the one toilet is overflowing? Yeah, just try to act cool while sidling up to the bar after something like that.

... but here is my first memory of Hotel Brunswick, and it explains why I have a soft spot in my heart and my brain for the place and the people who have worked there.

True story - it's 1975, my family has just moved here from Windsor. I'm 19 years old. The first time a friend from the ol' home town visits that summer, I give him a tour of our downtown. Still being teenagers we mocked EVERYTHING - even though in the interim his parents have moved to fukkin' DRESDEN, (Ontario, on the ass-side of Chatham.)

The sign outside The Brunswick - 'Located in Beautiful Downtown London,' was particularly worthy of snickers - and remember, this is before Letterman introduced The Age of Irony.

So - how perfect it was that I soon became grateful for the people that worked there.

It was a little after noon. It was summer, it was hot and it was London and I had just spent an hour smoking cigarettes in my friend's supposedly air-conditioned 1965Mercedes.

Truth be told, these days, I enjoy an occassional cigarette (if alcohol is involved,) but on this occassion, there was no alcohol. Just my excuse for 'peer-group pressure.' At the time, I was unused to tobacco. Or perhaps it was the blend of the leaves.

And if you have ever been in such a situation where the words 'nausea' 'dizzy-spell,' "I gotta go lay down somewhere," or "does anyone have an ice-pack?" mean something, you will know how I was feeling.

The first door open is into The Brunwick. I go in looking for a washroom. Nausea is quickly setting in. And since it's High-Noon, I'm blinded just walking into the place, because they don't seem to have any lights. Luckily, since the place just opened minutes ago, there's not much of a lunch crowd, if fact, I seemed to be the first guest - when a middle-aged waitress approaches - and that's when I pass out and fall to the floor.

When I come to seconds or half a minute later, the only two people in there are hovering over me asking if I'm Okay.

Well, of course I was, but more embarrassed than anything.

And that's what has always endeared me to the place - the fact that when it happened, The Young People weren't even a reality for The Brunswick - it was still a 'Gents Only/Lady & Escorts' kinda place.

But these two employees (I'm guessing that one of them might even have been 'Woody' the fabled 'Wick bartender,) came rushing over, and thinking I might be some young kid off the Greyhound from across the street - some Western University-bound grad who looked capable of discovering the Cure to Cancer or if I was just some kinda homeless street-kid passin' thru - for them it didn't matter where me or my bank-account lived.

After checking my vital signs, they offered me a FREE hamburger AND a FREE Ginger Ale - or comparable soda-pop. On the house. Or out of their own pocket.

THEY DIDN'T HAVE TO DO THAT.

They could have just as easily called the cops. Or thrown me out onto the sidewalk out front.

But they didn't.

And in return, they gained someone who appreciates the power and beauty of good manners, common courtesy, showing a concern - and a speculative fascination for how 'Located in Beautiful Downtown London' might look in NEON.

*** that address again - Colour By Schubert' - 121 King Street, London. 519-438-1339

www.colourbyschubert.com