The World’s Biggest Bookstore closed its doors back in March, but the building stood intact until this past weekend when excavator machines began demolition. A Toronto landmark just off Yonge on Edward St. since 1980, the site is slated for redevelopment as a row of four large-scale restaurants.

News of the demolition triggered a flood of memories for many Torontonians; it was one of those stores that became a civic institution, even if its title as “world’s biggest” was disputed. Opened by Jack Cole, proprietor of the Coles Books chain, it was later run by Chapters Indigo but retained its unique identity and nearly block-long signage proclaiming its jumbo status.

The abruptness of the demolition seemed like a bit of a shock, almost more than when it ceased operation. When a building is taken down it’s like the most vivid parts of the memories we have associated with it go too and we’re left with just the faded snapshots.

On Monday, with half the building ripped away, a steady stream of people stopped on the sidewalk, taking pictures, as if gawking into a grotesque civic autopsy. The books were gone but otherwise it was as if the store was still open: rows of shelves were still visible on the first and second floors, and signs for the New Age, Self-Help, and Sports sections were still affixed to poles, even as the giant excavator machines chewed up more of it, spitting it onto the ground where their caterpillar treads rolled over the rubble like the robots in the Terminator movies.

The building itself wasn’t anything special, essentially a big box store in the middle of downtown, but like Honest Ed’s it was a big box that got a pass from usual criticisms for sentimental reasons. Bookstores aren’t just shops selling goods, but intimate places where nearly anyone can find something personal.

The sheer size of the store meant hours could be spent in there, wandering the aisles as you might walk an interesting city, stopping in unexpected places and discovering new people.

Time seemed not to matter inside the windowless building; the World’s Biggest was never a place to go if you only had 10 minutes to pick something up. You could do that of course, but rushing missed the point of the place: the happenstance discovery of books we didn’t know we needed.

Sometimes a clerk would ask if you needed help but they never hustled customers along and there was never a sense of being watched like there is in some stores. When you did ask for help, even for something obscure, it wasn’t a surprise when they had it in stock.

During the last decade the no-frills store did seem like a artifact of a different time, like the Olympia Bowling alley that occupied this building before it, when socializing and shopping was done in person, not online. At the World’s Biggest Bookstore it was all about the books and only the books.

It’s almost a surprise it survived so long despite Amazon being the go-to place for book buyers, and other bricks-and-mortar bookstores trying to keep customers coming in with scented candles, throw pillows, and other bric-a-brac for sale. Even Costco sells books now.

Books are still being written and purchased, thankfully, but the public flirtation we perform with them in bookstores is waning, a conspicuous romance in one of the few places our intellectual life has a physical presence. It’s why we grieve a little whenever one closes — part of us goes away with them — and why our remaining bookstores, independent or corporate chain, remain so beloved.

Shawn Micallef usually writes on Fridays about where and how we live in the GTA. Wander the streets with him on Twitter, @shawnmicallef