Iuliu Iancu / Jules Janco: Restoring an Architectural Legacy (part III)
Here we’ve reached the last part of Amit Janco’s article which documents the lesser known journey of the architect Iuliu Iancu / Jules Janco, her grandfather and Marcel Janco’s brother. This part covers moments and projects from the second half of Iuliu Iancu’s life, after he fled to Israel and, later, emigrated to Canada, where he continued his career as an architect.
The first part documents his studies in Zürich and the beginning of his career in France, while part II, the largest and densest, illustrates projects he worked on in inter-war Romania, alone or with Marcel Janco.
Text: Amit Janco; Photos: Iuliu Iancu Fonds. Courtesy of Jewish Public Library Archives, Montreal (donated by Dan Janco and family); Romanian version: here
Palestine: A Refuge from Persecution
Jules emigrated from Bucharest to Palestine in 1939, only to return to Bucharest the following year, when the British Mandate regulations became too onerous for him. But political circumstances in Romania, coupled with the diminution of civil rights for members of the Jewish community, were no better when he returned with his wife and young son.
In late 1940, Jules survived a particularly brutal beating and lock-up by a group of extremist Legionnaires of the Iron Guard. Along with that, his work prospects continued to suffer and dwindle. Only days before the Bucharest pogrom in late January 1941, Jules fled the country with his wife and son. The threesome traveled by land and boat, through Turkey and Syria, returning again to Palestine, where they settled in the small town of Herzliya.
Not long after their arrival, Jules found employment in the coastal town of Jaffa, with the country’s army engineering corps. During his tenure there, Jules modified British military barracks in Gaza, and constructed a compound of barracks in the southern outpost of Eilat.
After Israel declared its independence in 1948, an abandoned British army camp on the outskirts of Tel Aviv was converted, under the leadership of Surgeon General Dr Chaim Sheba (Israel Defense Forces), to an Israeli military hospital, known as Tel Hashomer (now the renowned Sheba Hospital). As part of that operation, and due to his growing expertise in design and project management, Jules was appointed chief architect of Army Hospital №5.
For a time, the brothers also joined forces with a local architect, establishing Pearlson & Ianco Bros. Contractors & Architects — a firm that may have been originally founded by a Holocaust survivor. Possibly during that period, Jules and Marcel submitted plans for a “Competition for Building Bathing Establishment in Tiberias Hot Springs,” but were not awarded the job.
Although a comprehensive list of Jules’ work in Israel is yet to be compiled, one of his novel designs (or possibly, in cooperation with Marcel) that still stands today is a private home in the beach town of Herzliya Pituach — once owned by the Consul General of Britain. Decidedly different in style than his modernist buildings in Romania, this home’s contours and interior architecture highlight Jules’ adaptations — to a new country, new climate, new materials and textures.
Montreal: Starting Over, Yet Again
In early 1953, Jules and his small family were on the move again. After securing work in Canada, so that his son could pursue architecture and engineering studies at a reputable university, Jules, his wife Mizzi and Dan left Israel for the United Kingdom. In May, they traveled by ship from Southampton, landing in Quebec City, then settling in Montreal — which is where Jules lived out the remaining thirty years of his life.
By July 1958, bilingually adept, well-adapted to Canada, and busy with his career and travels, Jules became a naturalized Canadian citizen.
In Montreal, Jules resurrected his career once more. However, lacking the necessary architecture credentials in Canada, Jules was barred from signing his name on plans. Nevertheless, as a senior architect at the prominent firm Greenspoon, Freedlander and Dunne, the breadth of his European and modernist interpretations were valued, and his contributions to the firm’s projects acknowledged.
During this phase of his career, Jules planned and supervised extensions and modifications to synagogues (Shaar Hashomayim, Temple Emanuel, Chevra Kadisha). In a letter written by one of the firm’s principals, Jules is said to have “cooperated with us in all kinds of projects, especially large apartment and office buildings, multiple stores, alterations, etc;” and “was engaged in the design and execution of a large 300-bed Hospital and Home for the Aged” (Maimonides Geriatric Centre).
Jules designed and built private homes in the city’s suburbs; and a pair of summer cottages in the lush green mountains north of Montreal — a landscape that may have reminded him of Predeal. He also drafted plans for a series of buildings for Bell Canada (national telephone corporation) that were erected in downtown Montreal, as well as an office high-rise, for which he oversaw the interior architecture and tenant management. This building today houses the Consulate of Romania (in Montreal).
A truly special project
Regardless of the breadth and quantity of work that this seasoned architect accomplished prior to his arrival in Canada, it was there, in his twilight years, that Jules Janco — my grandfather — envisioned and executed the crowning achievement of his career.
It was the early 1970s. As his son’s family grew, the dream of a single, multi-level residence edged towards reality. Together with his son, Jules sketched out multiple designs, drafted architectural plans and elevations, conceived interior flourishes and tended to the smallest details. In the small living room of the family’s second-floor duplex, father and son spent countless hours poring over dozens of blueprints, textures, tiles, door handles, water taps, fireplace styles, wallpapers, paint and carpet swatches, window trimmings, and more.
Although Jules took the lead, the project was a family affair; each of us closely inspecting the latest plans, offering suggestions, modifications and many opinions. Too many opinions, according to Jules. For the most part, he derived much pleasure and pride from our multi-generational collaboration. But, one day, after an endless barrage of requests for changes, he begged his son to fire him. That never happened, of course. Instead, with the patience of a loving patriarch, Jules masterfully withstood the changing winds of our preferences, and oversaw every detail of construction until moving day, in the summer of 1975.
In many ways, that three-storey home was an architectural and engineering marvel, in which father and son incorporated industrial elements, geometric forms and pragmatic solutions, into a wholly new interpretation of modernism, one largely informed by Jules’ lifelong appreciation for beauty, style and good design: Steel beams. Soaring ceilings. A sunken living room. Bidet. Dry sauna. Cedar closets. Built-in furniture. An indoor garden. A semi-circular window treatment in a second-floor bathroom offering unobstructed panoramic views (a feature he and his brother had originated in Bucharest); and, in the kitchen, a dedicated glass case covered an entire wall, displaying my parents’ extensive salt-and-pepper collection. Still today, in a nod to the artistic legacy of his brother, the front door of this home, a single slab of marbled wood, features — even in the hands of new owners — an abstract bas-relief designed by Marcel.
Even after Jules reached the traditional age of retirement, he never lost his flair for, nor desire to, work; he could often be found at his son’s office, the two of them huddling over plans. He felt honoured to be asked for his advice, or to help supervise construction and renovation projects. Approaching the end of his life, he continued to work in the downtown office building whose interiors he had designed decades earlier; overseeing specs, reviewing blueprints, tending to the smallest details. At work, as in life, he left no stone unturned.
Ticu
To DADA artists in Zurich, and to the merchants and boyars of Romania, he was Iuliu Iancu. To the military and property developers in Israel, he was Mr Yanko. And to contractors and engineers in Montreal, he was Mr Jules Janco. But to my two sisters and I, he was someone else altogether — he was our Ticu. And Ticu, whom we loved dearly, was the only grandfather that we knew.
On February 14, 1985, Jules Janco — our humble but extraordinarily skilled and talented Ticu — passed away in Montreal.
Due to the overall paucity of written and visual documents available as of this writing, further archival research is required to construct a more comprehensive — and accurate — profile of Jules Janco’s commissions and repertoire; in Romania, Israel and Canada. And to restore the name of Iuliu Iancu (Jules Janco), in his own right, into the annals of Romania’s architectural history.
