Editor’s Note: By Simone Jennifer Smith
Co-written by: Paul Junor
“My first memory of Monica Lewis was her red lipstick. I don’t attend many funerals because they always remind me of the painfulness of transitions, but on Saturday, June 13th, 2026, I could be nowhere else. I had to attend this one because of what she represents.
When I was younger, my parents would take us down to Monica’s on a Saturday. My mom would get her hair done, and my dad would be downstairs with George, going through records and getting the latest Grace Thrillers albums. Me? I was roaming the store, looking at all the things that were in there, fascinated by the fact that the store had everything. She was always so nice to me.
As a woman, I would drive by Monica’s, and the memories from my youth would return. That red sign, her larger-than-life hair, and that red lipstick always stood out to me. Without realizing it, this woman has left an impact on my spirit. The fact that she owned a store and was such a part of the Jamaican community in Canada touched my soul. We did not lose her; we gained a legacy that we will remember forever.”
To walk into 1553 Eglinton Avenue West was to step into the beating heart of a diaspora. It was a sensory overload: the chemical sweetness of hair products upstairs clashing with the heavy, rhythmic bass of reggae vibrating through the floorboards from the basement. This was Monica’s Beauty Salon & Cosmetic Supplies, a fixture that defined Little Jamaica since 1968.
Who was Monica Lewis, really? To the world, she was a pioneering entrepreneur, but to those in her orbit, she was “Miss Monica,” a woman defined by a singular contradiction: she possessed a nurse’s heart and an iron-clad entrepreneurial spirit.
Born in Brown’s Hall, St. Catherine, Jamaica, she was the chosen one of her family, afforded a rare opportunity to study in England. She carried the hopes of an entire lineage across the Atlantic, working as a nurse in the 1960s before plunging headlong into business with her husband, George.
While Monica reigned over the aesthetics of the community upstairs, a quiet revolution was happening beneath her feet. In the basement, her husband George ran “George the Record Man,” a legendary shop with a yellow sign that became the headquarters for Caribbean music history in Canada.
Monica provided the sanctuary that allowed a new genre to find its voice. It was in her shop, in 1979, that Mr. Q’s “Ladies Delight” was recorded, widely recognized as the first Canadian hip-hop single. She disrupted the narrative of Canadian music, creating a space where international stars like Lenny Kravitz and local icons like k-os and Kardinal Offishall felt at home. If Monica had never existed, the map of Canadian hip-hop would have a gaping, silent hole where its foundation should be.
In the written piece by Paul Junor, he captures the tremendous void left by her passing on May 20th, 2026. Paul highlights a defining trait that many overlooked: her unshakeable grit. For sixteen years, the construction of the Eglinton Crosstown LRT tore the neighborhood apart, resulting in the closure of an estimated 300 businesses. Monica’s store stood as a community hub, and a safe and welcoming space for cultural exchange.
What drove her when no one was watching? It was a deep, God-fearing faith and a sense of duty that transcended profit. Even after the devastating loss of her son, Derek, Monica continued to serve. For the last five years of her life, she was the primary caregiver for George after he suffered a stroke, demonstrating a strength through vulnerability that became her hallmark.
Monica Lewis was the matriarch who met everyone with the same warmth and dignity, whether they were a homeless person seeking warmth or a world-famous musician. She was keenly aware of the love the community had for her, writing on her Facebook page just before her passing: “I didn’t realize how many friends I have.”
Her son, Junior Lewis, has ensured that her physical legacy remains. While the beauty business eventually closed, the building at 1553 Eglinton West continues to serve as a hub for pop-up shops, art galleries, and weddings.
If you loved her, you saw her in the red lipstick and the resilience that kept a neighbourhood anchored during its darkest decade. If you didn’t know her, you should care because every time you hear a Canadian hip-hop track or walk through a community that refuses to be erased, you are experiencing a woman who chose to build a home where others only saw a storefront.
Monica Lewis healed our community divisions and anchored its soul. She was the best of the best, a strategic storyteller whose life was the greatest story ever told in Little Jamaica.
Rest in Power, Miss Monica. Your legacy is our blueprint
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