INTRODUCTION
Iuliu Iancu (Jules Janco), born on October 24, 1896, was the second son of Herman Iancu and Rachel Juster’s four children. His siblings were Marcel, Georges and Lucia (Medi). Marcel was a prolific artist and writer, still today a celebrated figure in Romania, Israel and beyond; he also worked as an architect. Much less known is that Jules was an accomplished architect and visionary in his own right; contributing significantly to the architectural landscapes of Romania’s interwar period, then to the development of public edifices and private villas in British Mandate Palestine / Israel (pre- and post-independence), and finally to Montreal’s mid-century skyline.
A CHARMING CHILDHOOD
Growing up in Bucharest’s upper-class society at the turn of the 20th century, Jules was sent to study architecture in Switzerland, along with Marcel, even as World War I raged on in the rest of Europe. The Eidgenössische Technische Hochschule (ETH) provided a calm refuge where he could pursue his studies in peace; and still explore all that Zurich and its surroundings had to offer.
Despite a heavy study load, Jules led a busy social life: He was an avid opera-lover and theater fan; performing in three plays with the Berliner Rhinehart Theater. He joined the Boston Club, signing up for dance lessons. And as an ardent tennis player, Jules even competed in an international tournament in Zurich (October 1918). Although he was eliminated in an early round, he was thrilled when invited to referee the game.
In his youth, Jules’ interest in antiques was sparked, leading him to amass a carefully-curated collection of memorabilia; stamps, coins, trinkets from his travels, atlases and books — on architecture, literature, music, and poetry. With a wide-ranging thirst for knowledge, he became well-versed in politics, business, art, architecture, music and Zionism. Being reared in a family that placed great value on travel inspired Jules to craft his own adventures by rail, car and motorcycle; in his free time, he explored towns and mountains in Switzerland, Italy, France, Austria and beyond.
During their stay in Zurich, Jules and Marcel would attend performances at Zurich’s pre-eminent concert venue, the Tönnhalle; or play billiards at the Odéon. The Meirei café was another meeting place, where they would gather with Tristan Tzara, Hugo Ball and Emmy Hennings — planting seeds for the emergence of Dadaism. For the inaugural evening of Dada at Cabaret Voltaire in February of 1916, Jules recounts how he fashioned costumes for the performers: “Hugo Ball recited his poem clad in the costume designed by Marcel, but done by myself. It was fun to do it and even more to undo it!” In later years, Jules would fondly recall this period of his life, pulsating with boundless energy, conviviality and astounding creative output.
FRANCE: LAUNCHING AN ARCHITECTURAL CAREER
The end of World War I coincided with the completion of Jules’ architecture studies in Switzerland. Armed with his certificate and the confidence of a young man ready to carve out his career, he set his sights on Paris — with its allure of cabarets, museums, grand boulevards, operas, fine food, women and wine. But, after many months of searching for work without success (the only exception being one, short-lived stint with an employer who was mostly absent), Jules’ only offer of suitable employment came from the far reaches of northern France: “Although I didn’t intend to work in France in other places than Paris, it may be very possible to change my will…”*
But departing Paris was not an easy decision for Jules, a young man utterly enchanted by the city’s delights:
“Juste pour me rapeller, j’ai devant mes yeux, la Place de la Concorde, avec le Ritz et le Ministere, la Place de 1'Etoile, la Place des Vosges, les Jardins des Tuileries, le Louvre avec ses batiments en partie date de quinze cent. Les Invalides. La Sorbonne. Le Palais de Justice avec la Conciergierie, et la St Chapelle. Le Luxembourg. Le Musee Carnavalet. Notre Dame. Montmartre. Les boulevards. Le Bois de Boulogne. Fontainbleau. Versailles et tant d’autres merveilles. J’etais beaucoup de fois a Paris, mais j’ai jamais changer d’idee qu’il peut exister une autre ville dans ce monde qui pourrait egaler la ville lumiere. Et maintenant, apres vous avoir evoquer les temps merveilleux passer a Paris, j’ouvre le nouveau chapitre de ma vie, les annees passer dans le nord de la France, travaillant pour la reconstruction du pays.”
Indeed, by the fall of 1920, after a preliminary visit and meeting, Jules accepted a position in a temporary camp that had been erected beyond the village of Croix du Bac. There, he joined the sparsely staffed office of Theodore Comte, and helped to orchestrate post-war reconstruction efforts in the region.
Ultimately, what Jules initially considered an undesirable relocation, far from the glitter and charms of Paris, materialized into one of the most rewarding phases of his early career. In Croix du Bac, Jules’ assignments included rebuilding homes and other damaged structures.
“We, the architects, had to move to investigate what was destroyed, make plans for the reconstruction, submit the plans to the French authorities, who will get the money from the Germans. Our company extended its work on more than half of the north departement, and all our jobs were to be presented to the French authorities, if I remember well, till the month of August 1922 or 1923.”
Among the many projects assigned to the architectural staff in Croix du Bac was the village church, which unexpectedly led Jules to assume another important role:
“The building of the church was not a problem, I was in charge of it, and it went smoothly and everything in time. But it was the presence of the bishop of the diocese who had to come to the inauguration of the church. And it was necessary to have a choir and an organist with an orgue to do some music — absolutely necessary. The parishioners arranged to have a choir… But who will do the playing? As it was impossible to get someone, I thought that I had to do it. I had some experience on the piano when we were in Zurich, at the Pension Altman, where we had a piano in our room. And I accompanied Marcel who sang all the chansonnettes in French. I knew how to start playing something on the piano. So… I took the job and when the day came for the inauguration, I was there and I played the organ part next to the choir. I have to tell you that I was congratulated by the bishop, which I wonder if he knew that I was a Jew.”
ROMANIA: A RETURN HOME
In 1922, Jules resigned from his position in northern France and, after stopping in Germany to enjoy the sights, returned to Bucharest.
In 1923, despite his inherent pacifism , Jules was obliged to enlist in the military academy — where he first became a lieutenant, then promoted to the rank of officer before being discharged the following year.
Even during his stint with the military, and for almost two decades hence, Jules received commissions for many architectural projects in Bucharest, and beyond. He also opened an office with Marcel, the Birou de Studii Moderne, out of which the brothers offered their expertise in modern interiors, reinforced concrete, design of private homes and furniture design.
What remains unclear is the degree to which Jules and Marcel collaborated, throughout the existence of their Birou. Multiple versions of office stationery present variations of: “Marcel și Iuliu Iancu, Arhitecti” — implying that they were a team. But was it so? How did they apportion tasks? Did they each retain a separate roster of clients? As of this writing, the division of labour and the extent of their collaboration, is not well-documented.
What seems certain is that the slim file of documents preserved in Romania’s National Archives, titled “Iancu Iuliu, Conductor autorizat,” does not comprise the full range of Jules’ work in Romania. Since Jules was mysteriously never granted signing rights, and Marcel only obtained the right to sign architectural plans after being admitted to the Corpul Arhitectilor in 1933/34, all that remains is some written and photographic evidence - and much speculation. As a result, it is virtually impossible to ascertain which edifices should be jointly attributed to the Iancu brothers as a team — or only to one of them. And then: to which one?
With the ongoing unearthing of previously-unknown buildings (in various archives), this much is clear: The entire repertoire of interwar projects that have been attributed solely to ‘Marcel Janco’ demands a careful revision and correction.
At least one response to these discrepancies and gaps can be found among Jules’ own recollections. For example, not long after his military discharge, the large parcel of land on stretches of Aleea Iancu and Strada Trinitatii owned by Herman Iancu, his father and a successful businessman, became a subject of familial discussion:
“After a conseil de famille, parents and children decided to start the development of our land, with the money father got from the selling of our home. Marcel was busy (working with Rosintal), but I was free, and started the plans for the building to be erected. There were also two streets to be cut, and all the plans to be done for 23 duplexes, each having one basement, one at the ground floor — a vestibule with toilet, a hall, living room, dining room and kitchen, and on the upper floor, 3 bedrooms and 1 bathroom. It was quite a job, but I had time and was really eager to do it.”
According to family documents and photos, Jules’ landmark Bucharest projects (some with Marcel, perhaps others on his own) were known to be, inter alia: the Solly Gold building, the Haimovici building (the plaque reads M.I. Iancu — again, erroneously attributed solely to Marcel), Florica Reich villa, Bazaltin building, Emil Petrașcu residence, Hermina Hassner Villa, and the Iluță Laboratory on Olari Street — to name just a few.
Indeed, Jules identifies a number of commissions that were joint projects with Marcel, or those he laboured on himself:
“Shortly after, together with Marcel, we had our first job. The father of our brother-in-law, the old Salzman, had a nice property and wanted to add to it and make also lots of changes to it. The job was very interesting and challenging. And we did it in a fine manner. A bit later, uncle Emil wanted to do a new house and we were very happy to do it. Aunt Cecil wanted a sophisticated house (on Fetitilor) and lots of new things and really was enchanted to be helped by 2 new fresh architects. Another job came when a young lawyer Silberman, wanted to have his house done. Now, this time, Marcel was not free, so I had to do it by myself, and I built my first house in a part of Bucharest which was called Cotroceni. Further going, I can remember that together with Marcel, we built another 2 houses, we built some pavilions in the Mosh as it was called then, and here and there we had always something to do.”
Beyond Bucharest, Jules’ growing portfolio included numerous projects in Buzău, Sinaia and Predeal — a resort town nestled in the Carpathian mountains, north of the capital. His projects encompassed the Institutul Climato-Terapeutic Bucegi, a sanatorium that he designed and built with Marcel; as well as many other buildings and family residences in Predeal which he developed on his own — or with his younger, engineer-brother, Georges.
Jules’ memories of his works in Predeal, reveal a stark clarity and gift for detail:
“It was in 1926 when a certain Mr. Einhorn(?) came in our office and asked us to build him a bungalow in the mountains. The place was in Predeal. He had a piece of land just in a corner next to the main road and wanted to have something yotze min haklal (extraordinary). We proposed him, because we were in the mountains and all around only forests, to build him and to make the plans for his house it should be done all in wood. He accepted our idea and we started working. As you know, Marcel was still with Rosintal and George was mine to do the plans. And we thought we will do it and it was really a good job. It was the first time that we had to use just logs, which were cut in the forest nearby and assembled together to have a nice bungalow. We made him, if I remember well, a very nice big entrance with a central hall and some four rooms bedrooms, one dining room and a kitchen in the back. We solved the problem in a jiffy, Mr. Einhorn (?) was satisfied and now we had to build it. The idea was — and Mr. Einhorn (?) wanted — that we shall build him also the house, because he didn’t want to have to work with other people. So, we had to build him the house. Marcel couldn’t go there, but I still could go. So I went to Predeal and I stayed some 2 months there, to build his house, and it was really a good job, a fine job, to the satisfaction of everyone…
“When the first houses for the bank were ready, Mr. Iohannovic (?), the director of the bank, had to pay us the prices of these houses. But he told me that for one of these houses, he hasn’t got the money. So he asked me if I want to take the house and to pay him something for the land and that will be all. We convened to do this thing and I stayed with the house. We finished the house as soon as possible, named it Villa Fanel later, and that was the house in which my son Fanel had all his young years…
“In between, another client came, it was a general, the chief of the Gendarmerie Royal Romaine, General Dobrescu. He found me on the job and asked if I am willing to build for him also a house. The place was a little higher in the mountains but in the spot. And I told him that I am willing to do it. Now he told me that he hasn’t got too much money but he can dispose of all what I need. I had only to tell him what I need, as materials and manpower, and he will look after these things. I had to be only there to conduct the work, to make the plans and to finish the house. As it was convened with him and for a certain sum, we started also this house…”
A number of certificates and affidavits, signed by Jules’ clients (including relatives), also credit him with planning and executing lesser-known projects — such as Technica Universala on Str. Dorobantilor in 1926. Those papers attest as well to Jules’ invaluable role, including his architectural contributions and project management, in one of his most cherished and significant undertakings, Strandul Kiseleff — a ground-breaking venture commissioned by the FSSR (Federatiei Societatilor de Sport din Romania).
According to archival documents, Jules executed the architectural plans (with his brother) and oversaw the rushed construction of Ștrandul Kiseleff in the summer of 1929. It was heralded as the largest urban beach, (concrete) pool, sporting facility and cabana complex, in interwar Europe. In less than one month, 3000 workers turned the earth into a basin of unparalleled size and grandeur. The monumental compound was inaugurated on July 7, 1929 — with King Carol II of Romania among the attendees. [The Romanian Film Archives contains a precious 1929 silent film about its construction, available on YouTube.)
It is entirely possible that the broad strokes and vision for Strandul Kiseleff emerged from Jules’ admiration for, and awe over, the “Paris-Plage” resort that he visited during his two-year sojourn in France.
Recently discovered papers highlight more missing links, along with details of Jules’ network of influence — and at least one aborted project. Among the newly found records is a 1965 statement, signed by his friend and business partner N. Kretzulesco Caracciolo, in which Mr. Kretzulesco refers to architectural projects that Jules helmed, a number of which he visited: “buildings on Str. Golescu, Str. Stelea, Str. Biserica Amzei and Str. Armeneasca.”
About a planned 1938 reconstruction of the Kretzulesco Foundation on Calea Victoriei (in the heart of Bucharest), a project that was initially granted to Jules, Mr. Kretzulesco writes:
“But the persecution began for the Israelites and the plans made by him for my ancestors’ Foundation were refused by the Town Hall, on the pretext that the projected construction would have dominated the Royal Palace. I had to give up his service and hire Prof. Arch. Duiliu Marcu and (G.M.) Cantacuzino to succeed in building the palace in 1939–1940. Which caused J. Janco to lose more than $12,000 in this case alone, and led to his unemployment.” (Translated from French)
This was neither the first nor last time that Jules would be targeted by antisemitic persecution in the country of his birth.
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 again could not sign off as the principal architect. 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).
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.
NOTES
*In 1981, I conducted — and taped — a lengthy interview with my grandfather, in our family home. Later, I transcribed these recordings; but they are sometimes imprecise due to the difficulty of understanding his every word. Ticu spoke, sometimes in great detail, and with much gusto — about his childhood, youth, family, studies in Zurich, and his engagement with Dada and friends. Unfortunately, the interview was paused when he discusses his life and work circa 1927, even though there was still so much more left to be said…
And yet, more letters and documents have come to light in the intervening years, most recently a letter Ticu wrote (presumably, to his granddaughters), describing his courtship of, and eventual marriage to, our grandmother Micu (nee Malca/Mizzi Packer).
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.
CREDITS (for photos and documents):
> Janco Family, Montreal.
> Iuliu Iancu Fonds. Courtesy of Jewish Public Library Archives, Montreal. (Donated by Dan Janco & family.)
