A
adma
Guest
[I guess Toronto's version might be the unfortunate Tate & Lyle-ing of the REDPATH SUGAR sign]
www.maisonneuve.org/index...le_id=2382
SIGNS OF THE TIMES
Montreal's "Farine Five Roses" may soon come down,
taking with it a piece of city lore
by Christopher DeWolf | September 1, 2006
It sits at the base of Montreal's skyline, and
it's hard to miss: "Farine Five Roses," it reads
in red neon, blinking languorously through the
night.
For more than half a century this sign has greeted
Montrealers driving over the Champlain Bridge,
walking through the Old Port or Little Burgundy,
or descending from Mount Royal, but perhaps for
not much longer. In July, the sign went dark, its
owners having decided to do away with it. As one
of Montreal's most distinctive and beloved
landmarks faces extinction, a question is raised:
do we care enough-or even know enough-about our
sign heritage?
The Farine Five Roses sign can be found atop the
Ogilvie Flour Mill, a sombre brick edifice that is
somehow always bathed in diffuse, grey light. With
its clear, straightforward design, it's a
deceptively simple signal light, for it belies a
history that mirrors that of Montreal. Erected in
1948, it originally read "Farine Ogilvie Flour,"
named after the wealthy Scots-Canadian family that
owned the mill. In 1954, the family name was
replaced by Five Roses, a new brand of flour that
quickly became a fixture in Canadian households.
The next change came in 1977 when, in accordance
with Bill 101 (which required all commercial
signage in Quebec to be in French only) the last
five letters of the sign were removed. Finally, in
1993, the Ogilvie's business was bought by Archer
Daniels Midland Company (ADM), an international
conglomerate based in Illinois.
"It's a repository for any number of stories,"
says Matt Soar, a professor of communications at
Concordia University who helped create Logo
Cities, a project that examines high-rise signs
and logos. Farine Five Roses recalls the glory
years of neon, he explains, when the ability to
make signs blink and simulate movement gave cities
a shock of excitement and allure. It tells us
about how Montreal grew-the sign's positioning
makes it visible from large parts of the city-and
how industry shaped that growth. Its
transformation from Ogilvie to Five Roses marked
the birth of branding. It has a lot to say about
language politics: bilingual when most downtown
signs and advertisements were in English,
unilingual when bilingualism was officially
declared to be a threat to French in Montreal.
(Even then, where does bilingualism begin and end?
"Flour" was removed but the trademarked "Five
Roses" remained, a testament to the linguistic
contradictions of modern Montreal.) More recently,
it tells the story of corporate convergence and
globalization, where brands, companies and local
landmarks become commodities traded on an
international scale.
Earlier this year, ADM sold the Five Roses brand
to Smuckers, making the big sign perched atop the
old Ogilvie mill irrelevant at best and a
liability at worst. To corporate management, then,
it seemed only natural to turn the sign off, with
the ultimate goal of dismantling it. Big mistake,
at least in the eyes of Montrealers. When word
came that the sign's days might be numbered,
heritage activists and ordinary citizens expressed
shock. The Gazette ran an editorial declaring that
the Farine Five Roses sign "deserves a place in
our hearts, if not our skyline," and urged ADM and
Smuckers to keep the sign alive. Soar, for his
part, launched a website called Save Farine Five
Roses, which contains historical information, an
image gallery and an anagram game in which users
can rearrange the sign's letters.
After the public outcry, ADM and Smuckers decided
to reilluminate the sign until a final decision
was made about its future. Many are pessimistic,
however. It is unlikely that either company would
be willing to invest in the sign's upkeep. The
City of Montreal, meanwhile, has shrugged off any
responsibility and has refused to acknowledge the
sign's heritage value. A spokesman for Montreal's
downtown borough pointed out that such a sign
would be illegal today because of new bylaws
designed to protect views of Mount Royal. But Dinu
Bumbaru, the head of the advocacy group Heritage
Montreal, insists that the sign's future is of
urgent public concern. "It's really not an insult
to its surroundings; it's part of the genus of the
place that is dedicated to industry, flour milling
and trading and so on," he says. "Like the
[Guaranteed Pure Milk] bottle, or how people are
lining up for Schwartz's smoked meet, [the Farine
Five Roses sign] is part of the heritage of the
city. It's not a nostalgic thing because it's not
part of the past; it's part of today's
heritage-the living heritage."
Part of the Farine Five Roses sign's appeal is its
sheer presence. It adds visual complexity to
Montreal's skyline, creating a natural point of
interest to which the eye is drawn. Most
charmingly, it is ever so slightly whimsical,
working with the mountain's neon cross, Place
Ville Marie's rotating spotlight, the illuminated
harbour clock and the blue-and-white animation of
the Molson brewery sign to create a nocturnal
fantasyland of light and colour. "These are the
elements of the nightscape," explains Bumbaru, the
quixotic collection of things that make the night
so much more mysterious and romantic than the day.
Signs are an integral part of both the nightscape
and the dayscape. They are part of Montreal's
collective heritage, emblems of this city's
culture past and present. Yet they are often
poorly understood and marginalized; buildings are
restored and monuments are protected, yet
historically or culturally significant signs
rarely fare so well. Farine Five Roses is but one
of hundreds of vintage signs in Montreal. Many of
these are neon signs from the 1940s and 1950s and
handpainted advertisements from even earlier eras.
The former are often in disrepair. The latter,
faded with age, are known as "ghost ads" for their
habit of showing up in unexpected places;
disappearing and reappearing with sun, shadow and
rain.
The biggest threat to many of these signs is
simple negligence. Since they exist on private
property and promote businesses that have long
since disappeared, civic officials are reluctant
to acknowledge their value. Yet they are often
beautiful, or at least striking in their design.
"There was a lot of craftsmanship that went into
them," notes Bumbaru. Their importance extends
beyond aesthetics: they are also important
reflections of the everyday social and economic
life of years past, part of what Bumbaru calls the
"archaeology of cities." Sainte-Catherine Street
in downtown Montreal is littered with ghost ads.
Some advertise pianos, others boots. Ghost ads in
the west of Montreal are in English; those in the
east are in French. Last year, on the Main, the
demolition of several vacant buildings revealed a
century-old Lea & Perrins' ad that advised
passers-by to "Look out for imitations!"
There are many obstacles to saving old signs. The
profusion of cheap, mass-produced backlit signs in
the 1970s created a backlash against signage that
can still be felt. When old buildings are
restored, ghost ads are sometimes erased; many old
neon signs are simply discarded, as was the case
for the classic sign that adorned the
Sainte-Catherine Street entrance to Saint-James'
United Church until its restoration this year.
Sometimes, politics interfere. In 2005, the owners
of the Monkland Tavern in Montreal's West End won
a civic award for the restoration of their
bilingual 1950s-era neon sign. The ensuing media
attention, however, prompted an anonymous militant
to file a complaint with the Office québécois de
la langue française: the sign's English "tavern"
was the same size as the French "taverne," which
contravenes Quebec's language laws. The bar was
forced to alter the vintage sign at great expense.
If anything, though, such controversy underlines
the cultural importance of old signs. Matt Soar
points out the unusual step ADM and Smuckers took
in re-illuminating the Farine Five Roses sign.
"It's culturally relevant to a lot of people," he
says. It has become both a temporal and a spatial
landmark in many Montrealers' lives, like a
childhood home or an old school. Signs like this,
worn by time and weather but always very visible,
remind us of the city that was and the city that
exists today. In these signs, we see ourselves.
www.maisonneuve.org/index...le_id=2382
SIGNS OF THE TIMES
Montreal's "Farine Five Roses" may soon come down,
taking with it a piece of city lore
by Christopher DeWolf | September 1, 2006
It sits at the base of Montreal's skyline, and
it's hard to miss: "Farine Five Roses," it reads
in red neon, blinking languorously through the
night.
For more than half a century this sign has greeted
Montrealers driving over the Champlain Bridge,
walking through the Old Port or Little Burgundy,
or descending from Mount Royal, but perhaps for
not much longer. In July, the sign went dark, its
owners having decided to do away with it. As one
of Montreal's most distinctive and beloved
landmarks faces extinction, a question is raised:
do we care enough-or even know enough-about our
sign heritage?
The Farine Five Roses sign can be found atop the
Ogilvie Flour Mill, a sombre brick edifice that is
somehow always bathed in diffuse, grey light. With
its clear, straightforward design, it's a
deceptively simple signal light, for it belies a
history that mirrors that of Montreal. Erected in
1948, it originally read "Farine Ogilvie Flour,"
named after the wealthy Scots-Canadian family that
owned the mill. In 1954, the family name was
replaced by Five Roses, a new brand of flour that
quickly became a fixture in Canadian households.
The next change came in 1977 when, in accordance
with Bill 101 (which required all commercial
signage in Quebec to be in French only) the last
five letters of the sign were removed. Finally, in
1993, the Ogilvie's business was bought by Archer
Daniels Midland Company (ADM), an international
conglomerate based in Illinois.
"It's a repository for any number of stories,"
says Matt Soar, a professor of communications at
Concordia University who helped create Logo
Cities, a project that examines high-rise signs
and logos. Farine Five Roses recalls the glory
years of neon, he explains, when the ability to
make signs blink and simulate movement gave cities
a shock of excitement and allure. It tells us
about how Montreal grew-the sign's positioning
makes it visible from large parts of the city-and
how industry shaped that growth. Its
transformation from Ogilvie to Five Roses marked
the birth of branding. It has a lot to say about
language politics: bilingual when most downtown
signs and advertisements were in English,
unilingual when bilingualism was officially
declared to be a threat to French in Montreal.
(Even then, where does bilingualism begin and end?
"Flour" was removed but the trademarked "Five
Roses" remained, a testament to the linguistic
contradictions of modern Montreal.) More recently,
it tells the story of corporate convergence and
globalization, where brands, companies and local
landmarks become commodities traded on an
international scale.
Earlier this year, ADM sold the Five Roses brand
to Smuckers, making the big sign perched atop the
old Ogilvie mill irrelevant at best and a
liability at worst. To corporate management, then,
it seemed only natural to turn the sign off, with
the ultimate goal of dismantling it. Big mistake,
at least in the eyes of Montrealers. When word
came that the sign's days might be numbered,
heritage activists and ordinary citizens expressed
shock. The Gazette ran an editorial declaring that
the Farine Five Roses sign "deserves a place in
our hearts, if not our skyline," and urged ADM and
Smuckers to keep the sign alive. Soar, for his
part, launched a website called Save Farine Five
Roses, which contains historical information, an
image gallery and an anagram game in which users
can rearrange the sign's letters.
After the public outcry, ADM and Smuckers decided
to reilluminate the sign until a final decision
was made about its future. Many are pessimistic,
however. It is unlikely that either company would
be willing to invest in the sign's upkeep. The
City of Montreal, meanwhile, has shrugged off any
responsibility and has refused to acknowledge the
sign's heritage value. A spokesman for Montreal's
downtown borough pointed out that such a sign
would be illegal today because of new bylaws
designed to protect views of Mount Royal. But Dinu
Bumbaru, the head of the advocacy group Heritage
Montreal, insists that the sign's future is of
urgent public concern. "It's really not an insult
to its surroundings; it's part of the genus of the
place that is dedicated to industry, flour milling
and trading and so on," he says. "Like the
[Guaranteed Pure Milk] bottle, or how people are
lining up for Schwartz's smoked meet, [the Farine
Five Roses sign] is part of the heritage of the
city. It's not a nostalgic thing because it's not
part of the past; it's part of today's
heritage-the living heritage."
Part of the Farine Five Roses sign's appeal is its
sheer presence. It adds visual complexity to
Montreal's skyline, creating a natural point of
interest to which the eye is drawn. Most
charmingly, it is ever so slightly whimsical,
working with the mountain's neon cross, Place
Ville Marie's rotating spotlight, the illuminated
harbour clock and the blue-and-white animation of
the Molson brewery sign to create a nocturnal
fantasyland of light and colour. "These are the
elements of the nightscape," explains Bumbaru, the
quixotic collection of things that make the night
so much more mysterious and romantic than the day.
Signs are an integral part of both the nightscape
and the dayscape. They are part of Montreal's
collective heritage, emblems of this city's
culture past and present. Yet they are often
poorly understood and marginalized; buildings are
restored and monuments are protected, yet
historically or culturally significant signs
rarely fare so well. Farine Five Roses is but one
of hundreds of vintage signs in Montreal. Many of
these are neon signs from the 1940s and 1950s and
handpainted advertisements from even earlier eras.
The former are often in disrepair. The latter,
faded with age, are known as "ghost ads" for their
habit of showing up in unexpected places;
disappearing and reappearing with sun, shadow and
rain.
The biggest threat to many of these signs is
simple negligence. Since they exist on private
property and promote businesses that have long
since disappeared, civic officials are reluctant
to acknowledge their value. Yet they are often
beautiful, or at least striking in their design.
"There was a lot of craftsmanship that went into
them," notes Bumbaru. Their importance extends
beyond aesthetics: they are also important
reflections of the everyday social and economic
life of years past, part of what Bumbaru calls the
"archaeology of cities." Sainte-Catherine Street
in downtown Montreal is littered with ghost ads.
Some advertise pianos, others boots. Ghost ads in
the west of Montreal are in English; those in the
east are in French. Last year, on the Main, the
demolition of several vacant buildings revealed a
century-old Lea & Perrins' ad that advised
passers-by to "Look out for imitations!"
There are many obstacles to saving old signs. The
profusion of cheap, mass-produced backlit signs in
the 1970s created a backlash against signage that
can still be felt. When old buildings are
restored, ghost ads are sometimes erased; many old
neon signs are simply discarded, as was the case
for the classic sign that adorned the
Sainte-Catherine Street entrance to Saint-James'
United Church until its restoration this year.
Sometimes, politics interfere. In 2005, the owners
of the Monkland Tavern in Montreal's West End won
a civic award for the restoration of their
bilingual 1950s-era neon sign. The ensuing media
attention, however, prompted an anonymous militant
to file a complaint with the Office québécois de
la langue française: the sign's English "tavern"
was the same size as the French "taverne," which
contravenes Quebec's language laws. The bar was
forced to alter the vintage sign at great expense.
If anything, though, such controversy underlines
the cultural importance of old signs. Matt Soar
points out the unusual step ADM and Smuckers took
in re-illuminating the Farine Five Roses sign.
"It's culturally relevant to a lot of people," he
says. It has become both a temporal and a spatial
landmark in many Montrealers' lives, like a
childhood home or an old school. Signs like this,
worn by time and weather but always very visible,
remind us of the city that was and the city that
exists today. In these signs, we see ourselves.