Today’s story (and photo) is by Brendan Baker.

Just before heading back to the UK, I needed to get a suit tailored. A tux actually. It needed to fit more like a tux and less like a paper bag. (It’s at this point where I always think of a line in the second to last 007: “There are dinner jackets, and then there are dinner jackets. This is the latter.”)

I was having breakfast on Commercial Drive, and so went over to Renzo & Co, across the street. He (Renzo?) wasn’t in, so I popped in to the bakery next door to inquire. As I did so, he showed up and unlocked his door, an hour after opening hours. Nothing that greeted me inside had been changed within a decade. The suits were of dated styles. The decor simple, well kept and faded. Greens and burgundies. The machines, right in the back corner were the bomproof pastel sewing equipment of decades past. And Renzo himself was verging on retirement. I suspected this, but it was quickly confirmed.

“I only come in sometimes now. I’m mostly retired.”

We talked for awhile. He claimed to be one of the last poor tailors that came from Vancouver from the ‘old country’. We never determined where—somewhere Mediterranean? He decided what needed to be done to the tux (and explained why the other way wouldn’t fit properly), but he revealed that he couldn’t do it in time, suggesting a few tailors who might be able to. After a few minutes of this, he declared:

“I can have it done by Saturday. If you went somewhere else and they didn’t do a good job, I would be disapointed.”

As I thanked him and turned to leave, a half-empty order pad caught my eye on the table.

“Well you can’t retire just yet, you’ve still got some pages to use up”, I declared.

“I have boxes of those. They made a mistake on them in 1959. I haven’t ordered them since.”

And as I watched, he corrected the phone number on my slip, changing the pre-60s ‘AL’ format to ‘25’.

“That number should work. It’s the new one. You can pick them up on Saturday. If I’m not here, I’ll leave them with the baker next door.”

When I returned a few days later, he had not only finished, but done double the work, feeling that the original tailoring plans would not wear right. I put the tux on, and agreed: it fit like my tux, not just one from a random rack. He refused additional payment, and bid me a good time in Oxford.

Feeling I had stumbled upon something undeniably authentic, I wish Renzo a relaxing retirement. Only slightly less than I wish he stays around a little longer, so I can take him another suit someday.

Brendan Baker is a friend and wonderful storyteller who spends his days changing the world and the lives of people around him. Check out more of his stories and his photos on Cashewman, or visit his project The First Drop, a place for informed and accountable discussion among Canada’s next generation of leadership.

You can read Brendan’s previous story on this site here: A Momentary Lapse in Effectiveness.