Graeme Parker has worn the same Blundstone boots for almost a decade now â a shelf life he credits to an Ottawa cobbler who he says has “guided” his shoes through the years.
The repairman in question is Muhamad Merhi, and in 2026 his store will celebrate 25 years of business inside the federal government’s downtown C.D. Howe Building.
Parker, who works as a senior government adviser in that Sparks Street office tower, says Merhi stuck “some magic thing” on the bottom of a recently purchased pair of shoes that were giving him blisters.
Merhi had previously made Parker a replacement suitcase handle out of leather that “looks and feels better” than the original.
“We live in turbulent times,” Parker says, “and it’s good to know that no matter what happens, I can get my shoes taken care of.”
Like the glue he uses to keep shoes together, Merhi has stuck to what he acknowledges is “a dying trade.”
Growing up in Lebanon, he and his brothers learned the craft from their shoemaker father.
One Christmas Eve in the 1980s, Merhi’s 11-member family moved to Canada to escape the civil war back home.
Merhi can measure his time in Canada using prime ministers: Brian Mulroney for his family’s arrival, for example, and the latter years of the Jean Chrétien government for when Merhi opened his store inside C.D. Howe’s lower-level concourse.
The public servants who stream by Merhi’s shop and who make up about 75 per cent of his clientele have come and gone over the last quarter-century.
But Merhi Quality Shoe Repair has remained in place despite waves of government layoffs, years-long construction surrounding the shop, and the COVID-19 pandemic.
“I don’t think I would have survived outside,” he says. “Whenever government is not working, we’re very slow.”
Merhi’s perch has allowed him to observe the rising and falling fashion trends among Ottawa’s civil servant population.
Blundstones like those he’s nursed for Parker remain popular, zippered half boots less so.
Merhi has also learned not to judge a suit by its cover.
“Some people don’t wear a suit and their shoes are beautiful, and some people wear a suit and the shoes don’t go with the suit,” he observes.
A good deal of the damage he repairs happens as a result of exposure to sidewalk salt.
The salt is meant to prevent people from slipping and suing if they get injured, but some places overdo it, Merhi says.
Shown a photo of a Listerine-blue salt clump in front of a Queen Street business earlier this month, Merhi nods in recognition and says, “That’s like paving the sidewalk. I think it’s a waste of salt.”
“That,” he adds, “will kill your shoes.”
Sometimes Merhi’s job is not to save a shoe, but to convince its owner it’s time to move on.
“They bring me shoes that they love, they don’t want to let go, but they’re falling apart,” he says. “Sometimes I’m able to fix them, and sometimes I tell them it’s not worth it.”
Merhi would feel guilty to tell people, yes, he can fix their shoes, only for them to last another “month or two.”
The shoe repair trade won’t make you rich, Merhi says, but it’s a good living and he figures he’ll keep at it for at least another decade.
For one thing, the number of people who possess his unique set of skills is dwindling.
Merhi has also built personal relationships with his customers, he says.
And he likes to succeed where others have given up.
“I like the fact when somebody brings me something that somebody else told them, ‘That can’t be done,’ [they] bring it to me and challenge me with it.”
Have you experienced an egregious over-application of sidewalk salt in your community? Guy wants to hear from you. Email him at [email protected]. Be sure to include photos of the offending salt spread.
