Labour of Love Restoring the Low/Martin Mansion

A LABOUR OF LOVE

Restoring the Low/Martin Mansion

A local entrepreneur who admired the mansion for decades gave it the hug it needed.

By Matthew St. Amand Photo by Trevor Booth

It is one of the most regal and distinguished homes in Essex County: the Low/Martin Mansion in Walkerville.

Also known as “Devonshire Lodge,” the mansion was commissioned by Windsor rumrunner, Harry Low, nearly a century ago. George Lawton was chosen to build the rough-cut stone Cotswold English cottage style home. Construction commenced in 1927, and cost $150,000 to build. Low and his wife, Nellie, moved into the house in 1928 and lived there until 1934, hosting many notorious guests during that time, including Al Capone and members of Detroit’s Purple Gang.

The mansion changed hands over the ensuing years, until it finally became the residence of Paul Martin, Sr., and his family, beginning in 1960. The home was visited by sitting Prime Ministers Lester Pearson and Pierre Trudeau. It remained a possession of the Martin family until after their deaths in 1995.

Although the Low/Martin Mansion received official historical designation in 2007, that did not spare its fall into ruin. Many attempts were made by various owners to resurrect the home, but none were up to the task.

Except for one.

“I moved to Windsor in 1984,” says current owner, Vern Myslichuk, owner-operator of BetterMade Cabinets. “For twenty-some years, I lived on Argyle. I had a facility there, too, for a while. Many of my customers, seeing the style of cabinetry I had at that time, referred to Low/Martin Mansion. By chance one day, I came across it and became the house stalker. I was in no position at that time to buy it. It was just something I put it in my brain: ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to own that someday?’”

Vern purchased the home in April 2012, and immediately found himself tumbling down a “careful what you wish for” rabbit hole.

“The day I finalized the purchase was the first time I went inside the house,” Vern recalls. “It was raining inside. I had an accepted offer on the table, and it was raining inside the house. I looked at my realtor and said: ‘This is a really good purchase.’ I walked toward the back door, shaking my head, thinking: ‘This is absolutely ridiculous—the amount of work that needs to be done.’”

Vern soon learned there was an accumulation of water in the attic, which caused the ceilings and stairwells to continuously drip with water. In some places, the ceiling was patched with plywood. In other places, all that kept the ceiling from caving in were two-by-fours positioned to hold it up.

“Everything needed attention,” Vern says. “Because this was a restoration, we couldn’t just pull wire. We couldn’t destroy what was there. I wanted to preserve as much as

possible. This made everything three times harder because we couldn’t just knock down walls. We wanted to preserve that hundred-year-old paneling.” When he bought the house, people said to Vern: “You’re going to be restricted because of the house’s heritage designation.”

“For me, there was zero restriction. I wanted to preserve as much as I could,” Vern says. “I went out of my way with the eaves troughs and windows. I did more research than the heritage people. I was not there to challenge them. When I was finished the home, I wanted it to look just as it had in 1928.”

Vern and his crew began work on the mansion and didn’t stop for a solid two years.

“We started from the top down,” he explains. “Wherever there was damage, we used those areas to run electrical, heating and cooling, and plumbing. The damage gave us access. We removed the plywood holding the ceiling up, and I directed all trades people: ‘This is how we get in. We’ll repair it after.’”

Vern’s plan for the house morphed over time.

“I had purchased real estate in the past, and at first, I saw this house as just another business deal,” he says. “As I got involved with the project, it went from being a business deal to an emotional, passionate quest. It was very personal. It’s my baby. It just needed a hug.” Although it was easy to see only the damage and neglect inside the house, it didn’t take long before Vern and his crew caught glimpses of its former splendor.

I did more research than the heritage people. I was not there to challenge them. When I was finished the home, I wanted it to look just as it had in 1928.

“Everything in the house has a curve to it,” Vern says. “The craftsmanship in the Low/Martin mansion is second to none. Nothing in Essex County is comparable to it.

“The roof is undulating,” he continues. “The cedar shake—the little wooded slats on the roof itself— wraps around the soffits. The roof has a roll to it. It’s not flat, not sloped. It rolls on the edge. I’ve never seen one like it. You could not do this today.”

There are more than 90 windows in the house. They are all leaded. Vern says that everything is bevelled. When the light shines into the house, it creates a diamond effect on surfaces. Even the window in the turret is curved, not a flat pane.

“Every room has a different ceiling detail,” Vern says. “From extreme plasterwork to over-the-top woodwork. It’s all original.”

In the kitchen area was the refrigeration system, an old-time ice box, which did not function when Vern took possession of the house. He sought to get it working again, but learned that even in its heyday, it did not work properly.

“We took it to BetterMade Cabinets and removed the back panel,” Vern says. “We kept the façade, we kept the authenticity, but now it functions as a pantry.”

At the rear of the house was a crumbling covered porch. Vern got quotes for repairing it but was told that it was beyond repair.

“So, we took the porch down to its footings,” Vern says. “We couldn’t save the blocking. I took every single stone off it, photographed it, labeled it, stacked it on the lawn. My neighbours must have thought I’d gone crazy. Then, we rebuilt the porch and replaced every single stone. There wasn’t one stone left over.”

When the neighbours beheld Vern’s victory over the covered porch, they began to believe this restoration effort was different from all the others.

“They had seen so many people unable to pull off the restoration,” he says. “It was a thundering task. People began believing we could do this. They brought us water and sandwiches as we worked. It changed how they felt about the house. One neighbour came up and thanked me for increasing the value of his home because of the work we were doing.”

“The house spills out into the back,” Vern remarks. “There is a great coach house back there. It was once a three-car garage, and now is again. We also restored a livery as a two-bedroom bungalow.”

After two years of continuous work, Vern moved into the house in 2014.

Ten years after purchasing it, the Low/Martin Mansion, restored to its former glory, is now up for sale.

“I’ll give it a year,” Vern says, “and if I get the right number, I’ll sell it. If I don’t get the right number, it will never go on the market again.” Then he adds: “Never buy what you love. It’s too hard to sell!”

For more information about buying the Low/Martin Mansion, contact listing agent Stephanie Winger through stephaniewinger.ca. W.E.