Preservation Research Officeby Michael R. Allen
According to records on Geo St. Louis, on Clarinet LLC applied for a demolition permit for the Switzer Building on March 6. The Switzer Building, located at 612 N. 1st Street on Laclede’s Landing, sustained major damage, including the collapse of its eastern wall, during a fierce storm on July 21, 2006. Emergency stabilization work commenced after the storm, but rehabilitation work in progress at the time never resumed.
What has become of the abandoned buildings mentioned in my whimsical short essay “Abandoned Buildings in Saint Louis: Magic & Death,” published in 2004?
Enright Middle School: Under renovation.
Carondelet Coke plant: Scheduled for demolition.
City Hospital Tower: Already gone then (although it still haunts the dreams of the restless); site still undeveloped.
Armour Packing Plant: Proposed for demolition; site now for sale.
St. Mary’s Infirmary: Purchased for renovation; listing on National Register of Historic Places in process.
These are big changes. In a few short years, the architectural narrative of the region has changed as major abandoned buildings have been renovated or demolished. Urban explorers occasionally complain that there are no “big buildings” left accessible. That’s not entirely true, especially on the Illinois side of the river, but reflects a distinct reclamation by developers. While my theoretical bearings are still formative, I see abandonment diminishing in favor of reclamation as the dominant narrative of marginal property around St. Louis. Reclamation is value-neutral, though, so this shift in the major narrative is no guarantee that the stewards of these places are making wise decisions.
Reclamation demands a counter-movement that clearly and consistently promotes an ethic of architectural stewardship based on a respect for history, knowledge of ecology and an embrace of urbanity. That’s a lot more difficult than waxing poetic and punch-drunk about the views from the rooftops of forgotten factories (although I do that), or automatically celebrating new development because it replaces something troublesome and frightening.
How about a counter-movement that aims to resolve the contradictions of reclamation in order to rededicate St. Louis to metropolitan life? Who’s in?
Unexpected magic lives on, though, as long as there are buildings, full moons and flowing rivers. As I age, I take less advantage of these moments than I did even three years ago — but seek them out as much as I can. The rest of the time I spend on the ideas needed to ensure that no matter how much our region changes we still have the places that fill us with awe.
by Michael R. Allen
Someone who attended the first meeting of the Bohemian Hill Neighborhood Association on Thursday night had this to report: There were about 50 people in attendance, including Democratic Central Committee chair Brian Wahby. The discussion was intense and at one point centered on how Alderwoman Phyllis Young has yet to meet with residents of the small neighborhood, and at another centered on how people don’t want to live next to a strip mall.
by Michael R. Allen
My goodness, I hate passing the corner of Cass and Florissant and seeing a strange mess of masonry rubble where before the Brecht Butcher Supply Company buildings stood. It’s getting harder to know when I’m back home. I hate to engage in outbursts of emotion, but I feel that this problem is pretty logical: the loss of tangible landmarks erodes a living environment to the point of unfamiliarity.
Do you want to pass by daily a pile of rubble that may stay a vacant lot for years? Do you want to look through that rubble and see intact and recognizable parts of the building? Do you want to deal with the failure of any legal authority to protect the sanctity of place?
This was no mere run of the mill (method) building. The Brecht buildings were among the finest of the near north side’s industrial buildings, and completely worth the loss of reputation I risked to defend them. Additionally, they defined the southern portal of my neighborhood, Old North St. Louis. Without them, I have a vacant lot as a grave and — perhaps surprising — more energy to resist the next assault on my neighborhood. I’m not angry, I’m agitated — and that leads to action.
On March 13 and 14, I was fortunate to take part in an interesting architectural education program involving students from O’Fallon High School (Illinois). The 10th grade honors geometry and art students — led by teachers Kelly Wamser and Debbie Raboin — are studying and researching historic St. Louis buildings and architecture with the aid of the St. Louis Building Arts Foundation. The program this week came about through the excellent work of Lynn Josse.
The goals of the program include research, photography, presentations and — most interesting — 3-d scale models of buildings being studied. The students toured various buildings downtown and midtown with Lynn and historian Mimi Stiritz, and studied information put together by their teachers and Foundation volunteers. At lunchtime both days, the students came to City Hall where I spoke in the Kennedy Room about my work with Landmarks Association of St. Louis and how preservationists are actually architects of the future.
Programs like this are the backbone of effective historic preservation efforts. Without public education, our ideas will never become widespread. That education must be geared toward those young people nearly at the brink of lives spent shaping the world. Notable also is the great collaboration in the effort — two architectural advocacy organizations, a Metro East school, several building owners and St. Louis city government coming together to make something happen shows that at least some people get the “big picture” and are willing to share that view.
I look forward to seeing how these efforts transfer into the students’ work, this year and beyond.
by Michael R. Allen
I could be doing anything right now. I could be writing a book, watching a movie, talking to a friend, taking a walk or be traveling.
Instead, I am scrubbing up after hours of work around the house. I have not had a moment to myself in weeks, and may not get the chance for weeks more. However, I am watching a building reverse a 120-year span of decay under my own direction, largely alone although experienced craftspeople have aided with masonry, carpentry and roofing.
What we can take into our own hands is where we build the most change in the world. Obviously, few people choose to take much into their hands — and many of us end up with far too much in our hands. Yet hesitate to think of what would become of the world if I did not assume this momentary burden. I hope that others do the same, but I know that I can’t make them. Not everyone could take up the task of rehabbing a large building with no supervision and little assistance, even if he or she wanted to do so. I’m not sure if the cororllary is that those who can should do so, but I note that those who can most often must do so.
When my neck starts to ache beyond the limits of medicinal Schlafly, I try to think about how each gesture composes the larger plot of one house renwed and revitalized in a neighborhood that is renewing itself in a great city that is seeing a multitude of actions like my own add up to a resurgence of energy…
(Cynically, I could note that these hundreds of hours of labor are punishment for that one moment when I realized that I wanted to live in this house. To want something is always an arrogant proposition.)
This should be good. As someone whose undergraduate thesis was on the subject of modern drama (along with politics, architecture, epistemology and related concerns), this event holds special interest:
After 70 years, Tennessee Williams’ first full-length play — “Candles to the Sun” — is returning to St. Louis for a March 16 homecoming performance at the theater where it premiered on March 18, 1937.
The organizer of the reunion is Tom Mitchell, the acting head of the department of theater at the University of Illinois.
The play, which illuminates the struggles of coal miners and family members living in Alabama’s Red Hills mining region, was originally presented twice — on March 18 and 20, 1937 — by The Mummers, an amateur acting troupe, in the auditorium of the Wednesday Club. Since 1972, the building at 4504 Westminster Place has been the home of The Learning Center, which presents educational and community-focused programs.
“The Learning Center/Wednesday Club auditorium is a remarkable building, constructed in 1908 from designs by architect Theodore C. Link in the Prairie Style,” Mitchell said. “The auditorium features the original furnishings that Williams and his friends experienced when mounting the first of his full-length works.”
“The first-floor auditorium has approximately 500 leather-upholstered seats and a small stage that was used for recitals and poetry readings, as well as theatrical productions,” he said. “Upstairs, the Wednesday Club had a large kitchen and dining room, with several side rooms with fireplaces and a solarium.”
The March 16 production of “Candles” at The Learning Center begins at 8 p.m. Tickets are available for a minimum contribution of $10 at the door, or by calling 314-361-1908. Tickets also may be purchased in advance at Left Bank Books, 399 N. Euclid, St. Louis, or by calling 314-367-6731.
More information about the performance is available from Mitchell, 217-333-3538, or Emily Richard at The Learning Center, 314-361-1908.
by Michael R. Allen
Black Jack creates architectural review board – Brian Flinchpaugh (Northwest County Journal, March 13)
Critics including Toby Weiss and I have long lamented the lack of preservation review in parts of St. Louis County where mid-century buildings lack protection and appreciation. Others have lamented the lack of sound planning policies in the county, and pointed to the inherent difficulty of creating meaningful policy amid 91 different municipalities. At least Black Jack is making the best of the current system.
Program could help Normandy preserve historic structures – Sonia Ahuja (North County Journal, March 13)
Meanwhile, Normandy is examining participation in the Missouri State Historic Preservation Office’s Certified Local Government program. The mayor and several aldermen are already backing participation, which would entail the establishment of a preservation commission.
by Michael R. Allen
Today I was walking down Ninth Street when I ran into someone who was eager to tell me something about the Ninth Street Garage, the jaundiced hulk that is finally nearing completion.
“Look at that new building. I hear it’s called the Century Building,” he said
“Is that a fact? I swear that the Century Building would be marble clad. This appears to be a concrete building — perhaps they upgraded the plans,” I replied.
“And that nice archway there that leads to the Century Theater,” pointed out the guide with a case of gallows humor.
This guide was none other than Mickey McTague, a resilient wit and storyteller who is always a welcome surprise on the downtown streets. His family ran a basement restaurant — McTague’s Cafe — in the fallen Century Building, so he’s understandably upset by its demolition. Yet he’s quick to find something amusing and poignant in all of the terrible decisions he’s seen in his years watching city politics, and he’s perhaps even quicker to point that out to a friend.
I walked away from seeing with a smile when before I had a scowl as I examined the garage’s hideous interplay with the graceful Frisco Building across Olive. If I could turn that thought into a good joke, I’d have life made.
by Michael R. Allen
One of my most favorite moments of any long day of rehab work on this house is when dusk arrives and the floodlights on the Columbia Brewery smokestack come on. This is a perk of having a flat roof with a great view — I can go out, beer in hand and wait for the sudden moment when the dark smokestack is almost silver bathed in light. I rarely check the time, because I like the full surprise. (I never guess right when I think I’m moments away.)
Usually, I can see the Continental Building beacon in the far distance blinking as if to wink at my wonder at what is actually a pretty mundane event.
Sometimes, the mundane is magical.