“A more discerning buyer” must be the new corporate speak for monied white folk.
And Koman plans to “seek input from neighborhood organizations about the design” well after the point of it making any difference. For as you know, the only thing Phyllis Young’s constituency cares about is making sure the exteriors are brick so it fits into what’s left of the original neighborhood.
Between the above, and the Bohemian Hill fiasco, I have two questions for the people who run the city of St. Louis:
What century is it?
Where’s you’re civic self-esteem?
Re: Blairmont
I’m pretty sure it’s the 21st century, yet both city & state government is dangerously close to resurrecting 19th century Jim Crow Laws that were completely abolished in the latter 20th century. This potential regression into segregation is just as absurd as it is illegal.
Re: Bohemian Hill
There’s no denying that St. Louis City has come back to life, and it’s the unique aspects of this city that have been its resurrecting life force. Yet our civic leaders still carry on as if we have to beg and grovel to every Daddy Walgreens to have any chance at survival. Rather than plan and deal with a sense of purpose and confidence, their continual cave-ins to homogenous, corporate pressure just reveals a lack of respect for themselves, their city and the citizens who voted them in.
The Dorsa Building
1007 Washington Avenue, St. Louis MO
The firm of Eames & Young were, essentially, the City of St. Louis’ house architects, and with 2-dozen-plus buildings in a small area, they couldn’t all be spectacular. So, when the Dorsa Company (photo above) took over the building in 1946, no one objected to a face lift. And no one since has regretted the decision.
Even when Washington Avenue was at its shabbiest, The Dorsa was a bright spot so witty and sophisticated that even the thoughtless didn’t think of totally obliterating its essence. All the turn-of-the-century buildings around it sprung back to life, so it was merely a matter of time until the Dorsa was rehabbed. But would new owners restore it to 1902, or leave the Gotham Deco facade be?
The Pyramid Companies bought it, and the 1946 remodel qualifies for Missouri Historic Tax Credits. The upper floors of this building (and 1011 next door) are converting to lofts, and with only a few units remaining while the place is still under construction, it’s a wise move, to say the least. But what would become of the mythical ground floor of the Dorsa?
I say “mythical” because it felt like I needed a Willy Wonka Golden Ticket to experience the mothballed splendor behind the Emerald City facade. Photos of the magical mystery tour produced audible gasping and intense swooning. I longed to go to go inside, where “neon lights will shine for you, Xanadu.”
“And now, open your eyes and see, what we have made is real. We are in Xanadu.”
Paul Hohmann is principal architect for Pryamid Architects, as well as Kubla Khan, because he gave me an expansive Dorsa tour. Days before the blessed event, The Building Collector revealed he had an original, 1946 promotional brochure introducing Dorsa Clothing’s new home at the St. Louis Building Arts Foundation library. Hohman and I had yet to see it when this tour began, so the questions and observations had no answer yet. But it turns out that Hohmann has an instinctive understanding of the place, and an admiration that assures its protection.
After entering from the Washington Avenue entrance , we enter the main sales floor area (photo above). It’s a riot of curvaceous plaster, idiosyncratic offices and alcoves, and a perfect time capsule of an odd moment in retail design.
(Above) The brochure calls the Entree Floor “…the ultimate in mode moderne.” Note that aside from the undulating planters around the base of the columns, all the original features remain intact. Because of construction on the floors above, the entire space is covered in a deep layer of dirt and plaster dust, but Hohmann confirmed that the original terrazzo floor tile is still there and in fine shape.
Even in this dishabille state, I could see a Joan Crawford sales gal peddling accessories to Ladies Who Lunch, a Jean Harlow patron contemplating purchases in the lounge. It looks like a classic Hollywood movie set, a way to be a part of something that never really existed, yet in downtown St. Louis, it does exist!
(Above, looking back towards the entrance) The pair of streamlined, aerodynamic columns are the most awe-inspiring feature of the room. Paul Hohmann is an average-size man, so he (unwittingly) gives you a sense of how colossal the columns are.
Dragging myself away from the The Entree, we come to a hallway featuring a squiggle cut-away in the plaster ceiling (above). All the original neon tube lighting still rests within all the ceiling recesses, and it’s easy to “see” the soft glow it gave to the Dorsa showroom. This type of cut-out, and this form of “moth to flame” lighting reminded me of the fabulous tricks employed by Morris Lapidus at the height of his retail design power.
Sure enough, a book on Lapidus’ work revealed a 1945 kids’ showroom (above) using much the same features that triggered my initial comparison. This has me wondering how much Meyer Loomstein – the architect of the remodel – was influenced by the work of Lapidus.
I’ve yet to take a look at the 6 homes in Ladue, MO credited to Loomstein in the early 1950s, so I’m not sure what architectural style he preferred. But in the mid-1940s, Morris Lapidus was making huge design waves for his retail work in New York City. The Dorsa Clothing Co. president states in the brochure that they “cherished the ideal of design-ingenuity,” and uses the word “drama” a few times, so when Loomstein landed the commission, it’s easy to imagine him looking to Lapidus for inspiration. I also detect the influence of Hollywood art directors like Cedric Gibbons and Carroll Clark, which is an appropriate connection to make for the show room of a women’s clothing manufacturer.
And now we move into The Salon (above), which is where Golden Hollywood deja vu really kicks into overdrive. 2 levels of capriciously careening stairs lead down to a clams-on-the-half shell stage. It is so over-the-top, that my brain can’t even process how fabulous it once was, how utterly alien it must have seemed in 1946. And I’m impressed with Dorsa having the guts to bring this kind of glamour to the St. Louis wholesale garment district.
As I mentally glided down the stairs like a Ziegfeld Follies showgirl, Hohmann points out that the plywood covering the slithering stair banisters (above) are not original. The guts do not reveal any electrical fixtures, so he surmises they may have placed potted plants in them, to add another level of texture.
What seems a random pattern of swoops and swirls to the stage is actually a clever way of providing multiple levels of seating and endless niches to display items. And even though there’s much movement, it’s created by clean lines. When considering some of the exaggerated details of the spaces, this feature becomes the grace note within the dramatic tension.
And this, above, is the money shot, showing the overall effect of The Salon.
We see the brochure a few days later, and I’ll be damned, the brochure artist knew it was, too! And I’ll be damned, Hohmann correctly called the potted plant banister! The mural above the stage is gone. Was it bas relief, a mural painted on the plaster, or a painted canvas attached to the surface? Chipping away at the remains may provide some answers.
The fanciful, wood framed mirrors (above), partially shown in The Salon sketch, are still in place today.
And here is The Stage (above). Once you’re up on it, it’s awfully tiny, but then a model didn’t really need all that much room to spin around in. Again, it’s about glamorous presentation, so drama is created with curves and height and color and….
…movement. As I stared at the pirouetting stage, black & white images of Ginger Rogers & Fred Astaire gliding through the room ran through my head (there’s that Carroll Clark connection).
To stand on the stage and look out into the room (above) only encourages such celluloid fantasies. It’s such a seductive sight, all this Hollywood excess via burgeoning Midwest sophistication. It’s so fantastical that in the 60 years since its birth, no one has had the heart to destroy it. They may not have used it, but they couldn’t remove it. And that brings us to: What will become of this space?
While Pyramid has modernized the upper floors of the building for residential space, they are committed to keeping this retail space as is. It’s such a rare and alluring treasure, that to gut it out for the marketplace would be criminal.
There is approximately 7,000 square feet of space. That’s plenty of open space, plus 3 enclosed offices, a bathroom and a display window facing onto bustling Washington Avenue. The ultra unique fixtures and look of the space calls for a special kind of retail use. Ideas include:
Clothing Designer An independent clothing and accessories designer could carry on the legacy. Or imagine a collective of local designers sharing the space. As it’s divided into separate rooms, 3 different designers would have ample space for their wares, while all would be able to take advantage of the stage. Imagine the fashion show returning as a promotional staple, and imagine the customers flocking to this destination.
Wedding Planner Now that retirement has shuttered Blusteins Bride’s House, the downtown market is wide open for a wedding planner looking for a grand show and work room. All attendant accessories and services for wedding planning would have room for representation, and imagine the bride-to-be trying on gowns and standing for fittings on the stage.
Furniture Store The thought of modern furniture and home accessories scattered throughout the Moderne space is very appealing. There is ample wall space and plenty of niches and surfaces for display, and the possibilities for grouping furniture settings is endless. Plus, there’s a side staging and load-out area in the alley for furniture deliveries.
Supper Club The Entree Floor is ready-made for a bar and restaurant, while the auditorium is begging for multiple levels of intimate tables and chairs overlooking the stage. The stage is just big enough for a cabaret performer or small jazz ensemble. The facade and interior of the building already provides built-in atmosphere, making the marketing of the concept a breeze to execute.
Beauty Spa It’s a no-brainer to imagine a full-service beauty parlor and spa inside the Dorsa. Simply walking in the front door broadcasts beauty and fantasy. There are private rooms for massage, tanning and waxing, and plenty of spaces for hair, make-up and clothing. I’m thinking more the beauty salons of old, rather than today’s Zen centers. But spa owners would know better than I how the Dorsa could work for their intents. Plus, the large group of young ladies living downtown would make this an intriguing prospect.
Though dirty and worn, the retail areas are in great physical shape. Scrubbing, scraping, patching and painting would comprise the bulk of revitalization work. Pyramid is actively seeking a tenant wholly engaged in taking advantage of this extraordinary space. A personal tour of the space certainly gets your imagination working overtime, and check with them to see if a new retail venture would qualify for Missouri Historic Tax Credits. Give them a call if you’re curious.
Last, but not least, is the puffy marshmallow cloud atop the auditorium column (above). This is where drama and whimsy meet, at the corner of Hollywood Boulevard and Washington Avenue.
I noticed a dark magenta peeking through the layers of peeling paint on the ceiling, and a few days later it became clear. Looking at the brochure (and the original envelope it was to be mailed in) showed a brilliant magenta as the Dorsa color, and they simply carried that color from building to brochure. Just imagine that white plaster cloud popping out of a deep hued ceiling, and swoon yet again.
As for the outside of the building, Pyramid is preserving and restoring as much of it as possible. The letters spelling “DORSA” on the front facade were sold to a Chicago antique dealer several years ago. If the budget does not allow for re-purchasing them, exact replicas will return in their place. Some pieces of the terracotta “spider web” to the left of the entrance were found, but trying to recreate that feature is cost-prohibitive. Instead, that well will convert to display windows, which is an added bonus for the future retail tenant.
The dark orange metal window frames on the upper story were installed in the 1980s, but was that the original color? Pyramid research couldn’t locate a good color photo of the 1946 remodel, so they’re defaulting to black frames for the replacement windows. But Hohmann’s heart just isn’t with black frames; it feels like a disservice to the vibrancy of the facade.
And once again, that wondrous, highly-accurate brochure disclosed the facts! Of course the original windows were a red orange, because it perfectly compliments the 2-stories of green tile. The look of relief in Hohmann’s face was touching, and now let’s hope fabrication on the new windows has not yet begun so there’s a fighting chance of banishing the black.
Thanks goes to Paul Hohmann for the tour and his sincere dedication to The Dorsa; Larry Giles for providing a library where treasures like the Dorsa brochure can come to rest; and to Lynn Josse for scanning and enthusiastically sharing the brochure with all of us.
3650 Lindell Blvd., St. Louis University Campus
St. Louis City, MO
The Pius XII Memorial Library is something I’d have never known about if not for Claire Nowak-Boyd getting a job there, and taking us for an all-access tour of the building.
Though it has a vintage of 1958, my jaundice eye caused by self-absorbed SLU built-environment activities expected a bunch of bland nothingness. Upon entering, I first saw the Founder’s Wall (above). While impressive with both the name dropping (the by-gone days of Stix, Baer & Fuller, Granite City Steel Corporation) and immense sheets of arresting marble, I still only registered a typical collegiate vibe.
The ground floor southern wall of the library is nothing but glass (above), creating that wispy hint of a wall idea that was so novel, so liberating in late ’50s architecture. A librarian came over to chat with Claire, and wound up giving us an instant history lesson of the place.
The middle of this glass wall used to be the main entrance when there was an actual street running in front of it. Once SLU reconfigured the street grid for campus greenery, the entrance was glassed in, and one now enters only from Lindell.
He also confirmed what was becoming apparent; this building’s interior remains virtually untouched since it opened in 1958. It’s rare that anything on this campus remains untouched. It was hinted that some remodeling may be in its future.
Behind the ground floor’s main room are some offices and amenities. The black and gold marble (above) against a modern take on stained glass has a curious tension to it.
Then I look at the wall opposite (above) and I’m transported back to the set of The Apartment. This is just like a hallway at C.C. Baxter’s place of employment, Consolidated Life, all sleek and generously stretched, professional and showy at the same time.
Come off the elevator on the 2nd floor, and it’s instant nostalgia for a time never personally experienced, but man, did it look great. Seemed so much more civilized to use a phone booth (above). The remaining ones should be rechristened Cell Booths, and those who scream into their cells should be strongly encouraged to use them.
The black metal, thick wood doors (note the subtle offset of the knob to the key plate) and ceiling-to-floor reach is carried throughout the entire building, never missing a step. The same font (a heavier Lever House) is used to label every door (even the janitor’s closet). This consistency of detail lends an air of authority and grace.
Turn the corner (above) and some new elements are added to the palette . A slab wall of narrow-course brick tilts up against the uniform door, and a wall of glass completes the frame. Further down this brick wall, the rose-colored marble from the ground floor rejoins the concert in progress. With a subtle touch, the mood went from Manhattan to Los Angeles. I saw The Beverly Hillbillies Mr. Drysdale striding out the door.
After leaving the office areas, one is hit with the vertical immensity of the main library space (above). A perfectly Grecian line of columns rings all perimeter walls, with slender windows matching them foot-for-foot. The brick hinted at outside Mr. Drysdale office makes its own chain of columns. Note the patterns of the lights recessed into the metal acoustical tile; it holds throughout the entire building and adds a whimsical touch to what could be a cold, austere space. All that height! And the “room” is just as wide as it is tall – just vast and airy. But it feels warm.
The copious amounts of natural light streaming through banks of simple white sheers create warmth, as do endless rows of what the building was made for: books.
Endless volume is bisected with a 3rd floor balcony within the center of the space. Stainless steel banisters top a platform that serves as ceiling for below, a floor for above, and also conveniently houses duct work, using the air vents as a decorative element. The rows of books are in a low-slung cozy space under the platform. The study of those books takes place in the surrounding gallery of light and air.
Note Claire in the above photo. Note what she’s sitting on. Know that most all of the furniture and fixtures are the original late ’50s vintage. Know that I almost passed out from too much bliss.
Here’s where the study gallery turned into the set of a Doris Day movie!
The 1″x1″ wall of tiles (various blues, with beige, white & black accents) is repeated throughout the entire building. It is like the grass from which all elements grow. Up against a completely uninterrupted wall of this, steel blue-gray leather slipper chairs and a simple, bi-level coffee table float above the blue-gray carpet. It literally looks like something Doris Day’s interior decorator character in Pillow Talk would have pulled off for a corporate client.
This is, literally, a round table meeting. A spontaneous circle among the rectangles was a nice touch, as are the blue cloth-covered slipper chairs in the far-ground (above). Again, it must be noted that all of this original furniture is in exquisite condition. Considering it’s a campus library in service for almost 50 years, there’s nowhere near the amount of use-marks that would be expected. Does it not get used as much as I think it should? Or have all generations of SLU students been overly respectful to the chairs and tables? But I’m so grateful for this oddity.
Private study stalls (above) have matching display cases throughout the building. Danish Modern in shape, they also share a wood grain with all the office doors, which once again shows the scope of repetitive detail. The designers considered every inch of this building, and treated them all with a subtle hand.
Still on the second floor, the periodical section (above) takes on a slightly different flavor. The wood chairs are positively Eames-like; the tilted wood counter is Amish Modern.
Massive, modern artwork (above, left & right) hangs from the brick column walls, and from the look of it, it was all created and procured within 5 years of the building’s erection. That’s artwork placed…
…and then there’s artwork found. Peering over the edge of the 3rd floor balcony (above), the banks of file cabinets and card catalogs are a 3-D cubist painting.
Even the utility stairwells are a work of art. That same tile covers all of the stairwell walls, and taffy-pulled steel rails and banisters snake above white, granite-look tile flooring. These stairwells feels like an upscale dining room in a 1950s downtown department store; the kind of restaurant where Ladies Who Lunched had cucumber finger sandwiches and extra dry martinis while a water fountain trickled seductively in the middle of the room. This may be the only stairwell to ever evoke such strong images in my head, and I could happily camp on these landings for days.
New sections were added to the library in the early 1980s, and while the materials were downgraded to drywall and pine, they stayed true to the sparseness of line and the generosity of scale. The dramatic circular staircase (above) disappearing into a circular mass is a particularly cool touch. On first glance, I assumed it was original, but it’s part of the new additions. A round of applause goes to the remodeling architects for such a sensitive homage to the rest of the building.
Every single bathroom in the building has a completely different color scheme. The men’s room shown above is all Playboy Club bright, while other versions (of either gender) have powder blue, coral or burgundy stalls against complimentary shades of wall tile. I imagine the original designers having to storyboard all the bathrooms, to make sure they didn’t repeat themselves, and that commitment to that level of detail brings a tear to my eye.
No matter where your eye lands, there are underplayed but sophisticated details that have remained largely undisturbed. It was built on a grand scale, but pays attention to how humans will use it, right down to the countless vintage hand-crank pencil sharpeners that blend in to the surfaces. The sky blue metal bookshelf (above) is utilitarian, but has details that harmonize with its immediate surroundings. The entire space is a symphony.
As strange as this may sound, the above space reminded me of a Palladio villa; the scale, the symmetry, the quiet quality of light and sound harnessed by a soaring column. It’s both classic and modern. This library building is a jewel, and I pray to the architectural gods that Father Biondi overlooks this gem for several more years.
206 North Sarah Street, Central West End
St. Louis, MO
An underground Italian restaurant that was a loosely kept aboveground secret is closing at the end of April. In the middle of a mostly-residential block, in the basement of an apartment building, Rossino’s (under various names) has been in business since the mid-1940s. Originally known for their pizza, over time it became a place for city movers-and-shakers to lunch, lovers to hide away, hardcore regulars to roost and an exquisite jewel to discover.
The freshly painted, off-hand “shack” facade is already at odds with the dense urbanity of the neighborhood. Going down the stairs from street level (above) sets the stage for the time warp about to be entered.
The “lobby” (above) is crammed with antiques both retired and in-use. It’s also relatively well lit because of outside light seeping in. This is the last time you will see any form of blank space, or your feet.
Abruptly, the ceilings lower, as does anyone over 6 feet. You’re bombarded by stuff nailed, propped and stuffed onto every surface, and one has only taken 2 steps away from the lobby. Then, BOOM, you can literally crash into the bar (featuring a signed photo of Tom Cruise’s first wife Mimi Rogers, as well as a less-crazy Tom with Mama Rossino, above). Bumping and stumbling is de rigueur because there are hardly any light bulbs; candlelight is it. You know that moment when you come from bright outdoors into a darker room and your eyes need a few moments to adjust? Underground at Rossino’s, your eyes stay in that suspended moment of disorientation. The wait staff is well-practiced in playing seeing eye-dog, leading the blind through narrow alleys, and politely ignoring the clumsiness and exclamations of those dealing with Alice In Wonderland alternate reality.
This was my maiden voyage to the institution that was retiring. I’d never known of the place, which is shocking considering all the Italian-descent, city-dwelling people in my life. What brought me here was my mother and my friend, Bob Dielman. Both of them are 70-years old, and Rossino’s was a regular hang out for them during the late 50s/early 60s. Back then, the main calling card was, yes, the pizza, but more importantly, they had a 3 o’clock liquor license. When the other places closed, Rossino’s was the place to go for more booze, or to sober up. When they heard of Rossino’s imminent retirement, they wanted to take one last nostalgic trip to relive fond memories and to say goodbye.
Both of them recognized the bar and the main dining room (above). They peered into their past as the hostess walked us right past it, and Mom and Bob slightly freaked. As of the mid-1960s, that bar and dining area was the extent of Rossino’s. Somewhere in the following decades, a wall was knocked down and the restaurant oozed into the rest of the basement. As you proceed, the ceilings get lower, it gets even darker, and the bric-a-brac piles higher.
Above is a fair representation of the cozy, netherworld ambience, as interpreted by a non-flash digital camera pushed to maximum capabilities. It was an exercise for me to decipher the menu (which I folded up and stashed in my purse as a keepsake) by candlelight, and my eyes are pretty good. My 70-year old companions? They didn’t even bother reading it; they simply ordered from “ancient” memory: lasagna for Bob, spaghetti and meatballs for Mom.
Both were thrilled that it was just as good as they remembered it. I had the carbonara, and it was truly amazing (both the cream sauce and the bacon perfectly prepared and balanced). Later, when I paid the bill, I was stunned at how cheap our meals and drinks were. It was as if having a 5-star Italian meal in 1962! That’s the moment my heart broke: I had just fallen in love with this glowing ember, an eccentric, sentimental oddball oasis inside a tear in the space/time continuum… and this love affair could only last for 2 weeks. This is how I genuinely felt after 1.5 hours. What about those who’ve felt this way for decades? One would buckle under the weight of their sadness.
Speaking of buckles, what will become of the very old-school sanitary napkin dispenser (above) in the ladies room? What will become of 60-years worth of memorabilia, antiques and junk that hold up the concrete walls? If there was light, you could stare at just one corner and never see everything hiding there.
Needing to know what was being missed, I finally let the camera flash strobe blindly into the vast darkness, and only later was I able to see what we couldn’t see right in front of our faces. In the shot above, that’s only a 5-foot sqaure piece of Rossino’s Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe. Multiply that by 10,000 other items that never see the light of day, soaked in warm memories and appetizing aromas… that it will all be dislodged and uprooted is just… heartbreaking, really.
Second-generation owner/ manager Nancy Zimmerman has been at the restaurant since her early teens. She now wants to retire. It couldn’t have been an easy decision to make, for not only is her entire life in that basement, but also her family, past and present. The sadness of loyal patrons’ just adds to the hugeness of her decision, and the strength of conviction to do the proper thing. She’s given everyone fair warning and plenty of chances to say a fond farewell. She and her family have contributed something lovely and worthwhile to the history of St. Louis. Thank you.
Out of the blue in early February 2006, an e-mail asks: Can your photos be blown up to poster-size? Specifically, the Charles Schmitt shot?
That brief message ended 2 months later with 25 of my architecture photos enlarged to 2’ x 3’ and framed to hang permanently inside the renovated Cupples Station apartment building. (Above, L-R: South Hampton, Arsenal & Northland)
On April Fool’s Day I got to see some of my prints installed in the building, which is now actively seeking renters for the spaces that remain. On this same day, Pablo Weiss opened his newest restaurant, Mercury, which occupies a bottom corner of the building (above). It’s a minimalist twist on the sports bar. The interior is simple and lively, the outdoor bar area is ultra appealing and will provide what this part of downtown needs: street life.
My photos hang opposite the elevators on all 7 floors of Cupples. While on the tour, every time the elevator doors opened, I felt an odd sensation. It’s a new experience, so I have no idea what to call the sensation. (Above, Mr. Yummy’s)
The main atrium of the building (above) keeps most of the industrial warehouse intact, both by design and because some portions of the building were built for no man to ever tear asunder. The “affordable rate” apartments carved out of this gigantic space come in various dynamic configurations, and they actually are affordable. Not affordable as in “cheap for downtown,” but as in giving people who make, say, under $30,000 annually a chance to live in attractive, spacious city apartments. Which is a welcome concept, especially since the living quarters currently brewing all around this building will be the typical uber-expensive condos and lofts that exclude the majority of folks who would like to live downtown. So, I’m proud to have my photos hanging in a handsome rehab that my friends and I could actually afford to live in.
Above is my “patron,” Ron Silverman, senior vice president of Historic Restoration, Inc. He’s a Beverly Hills, CA native (with some lively tales of the late Ambassador Hotel) who’s a genuine fan of both high- and low-culture. One of the perks of his position is picking the artwork that grace HRI rehab projects.
The day Silverman gave me the tour of Cupples under construction, he mentioned picking the paintings that hang in the Renaissance Grand. I told him that he picked some paintings from a good friend of mine.
“Really?” he said. “Which artist?”
Dominic Finocchio.
His immediate reply was citing exactly which floor those paintings hung. Now, Silverman selected over 20 artists over 3 years ago for this project, yet he still had instant recall of just one of the painters and even remembered exactly where it hangs! At that moment I knew that this man truly loves art and I was honored that he’d gone out of his way to find me.
(Above, River Roads) Silverman is only “half-committed to the Internet,” but that’s where he started when looking for art to go into Cupples. During a random search, he found an image that caught his eye, and followed the paths which lead to me. Then came his brief but momentous e-mail. He’d noticed that many of my photos were about buildings dieing or dead, and thought, for a change, I might like to be a part of a once-comatose building coming back to life. Correct assessment.
(Above, in the leasing office, Downtown St. Louis) I was already a long-time fan of HRI because The Statler (which became the Renaissance) and the Merchandise Mart (the inside of which I used to spelunk on lunch hours while it was boarded up and vacant) had always been 2 of my favorite downtown buildings. To watch them brought back to life was a joyous process, and to have it done right was a bonus.
(Above, in the leasing office, L-R: Wellston Mondrian & Charles Schmitt) I had put together a portfolio of 40 images for Silverman to pick from. His choices were all St. Louis city and county buildings, with a good chunk of them no longer in existence, or threatened with extinction. As I went through the exacting process of converting images for large format and working with the man who printed the posters, I felt this odd sense of detachment. It was like looking at someone else’s work. Then I surveyed the big box of finished posters and got the biggest kick out of seeing my memories enlarged. I’m still amused by personal adventures being thought of as art. I’ve spent years getting dirty, violating private property and meeting all kinds of interesting people because of it, and now some of those moments are hanging like casual museum pieces. Wild.
At the time of the viewing, the rest of the photos were waiting to be installed (above, Cross Keys and Natural Bridge Road). My thanks to Ron Silverman for this unique opportunity to be a part of the Cupples Station project.
On Tuesday, October 18th, Billy Idol disappeared from the window, and excitement brewed within when I saw signs of renovation (above). I saw lamp shades; will Kabbaz add lighting to the Marilyn Gallery? I looked forward to the revamped unveiling of a new Marilyn.
This afternoon, signs say the candle burned out long before the legend ever did…
The black curtain backdrop has fallen to reveal freshly painted red walls, light fixtures, tables, chairs and a man busy on a ladder. Someone has taken over the storefront. That’s not surprising. With major new retail across the street, these old storefronts are now desirable property. If I could sit in the Starbucks’ drive-thru and stare at Marilyn paintings, it would make sense for a business to take advantage of that kind of visability.
I should have knocked on the door to pepper the Ladder Man with questions, but I was too sad and too shocked to do so. I walked away with a funeral dirge in my head and a heavy heart.
So was Billy Idol’s rebel yell Kabbaz’s comment on being evicted? Will a new shrine spot be found? How do I mend my broken heart?
With more bad news, of course.
Today I got word that this Lustron home that I toured in June was demolished on October 18th. Details coming as soon as my anger subsides.
And since my little BELT world was taking so many hits on this Sunday, I decided to really wallow in despair and view the last bits of the Northland carcass. An update is coming soon.
2005 has NOT been a good year for my favorite modern architecture in St. Louis. Death to Lustrons, Northland, Busch Stadium…
…if I adore it, it’s coming down. It’s not paranoia, just fact. See the building above? It’s always been a glamorous favorite of mine, so of course it’s coming down any day now. The intersection of Rock Hill & Manchester is getting a massive makeover, so this gorgeous example of roadside jet set Route 66 architecture is toast.
I’ll cover this story in greater photographic detail in the near future. But right now, I’m too sad and angry to care.
Since St. Louis is tearing down modern Busch Stadium for a big brick ball park, viagra then it makes perfect sense to brick up a modern downtown apartment tower built around the same time, right?
Obviously, St. Louisans live in fear of modern architecture, because a project architect for Gentry’s Landing said, “What we are trying to do is humanize the building, and make it seem more approachable and more pleasant.” Local developers feel this can only be accomplished with brick, brick and then some more brick.
It was the World War 2 generation that instituted Urban Renewal, which translated into most major cities erasing thousands of acres of Victorian buildings in order to erect thoroughly modern commercial shrines to a progressive space age future.
In St. Louis, a notorious chunk of Urban Renewal failed miserably, but after the blacks and the Chinese (sorta) recovered from the trauma of being so abruptly displaced, the area that is now the Gateway Arch, Pet, Inc., Mansion House, Gentry’s Landing, KMOX and Busch Stadium has worked pretty well for the last 40 years or so.
Now a younger generation begins to erase the initial erasure, and, naturally, nothing makes as unique and contemporary a statement as brick. So, down comes the white, arched concrete of Busch Stadium for a wide pile of bricks . Hide the large expanses of Gentry’s Landing glass behind a tall pile of bricks. And if we’re lucky, they’ll tamp down all that shiny stainless steel and brick up The Arch!*
*An architect pal said that what ultimately protects the Arch is that it’s nearly impossible to lay bricks in a catenary curve. Antonio Gaudi could do it, but he’s long dead and gone. Whew!
Copy of a 1980’s display window poster
From the Ecology of Absence news desk:
DOWNTOWN FAMOUS BARR WILL REMAIN OPEN WITH MORE VISIONARY NAME
SOUTH COUNTY-Downtown St. Louis’ historic Famous-Barr store will remain open, say officials at Federated. Federated, a large conglomerate, recently purchased the May Company, a local conglomerate that owned Famous-Barr.
As part of a national campaign, the name of Famous-Barr will be changed. Sources at Federated have said that early on, the plan was to change the name to Richard M. Daley’s Chicago Marshall Fields. They cited the fact that Chicago’s history is more important than St. Louis’, as evidenced by the fact that Chicago is bigger, contains more money, has taller cheaply built buildings, and is larger than St. Louis.
However, the plan to change Famous-Barr to Richard M Daley’s Chicago Marshall Fields has been scrapped, citing that the new name still contained some historical merit of some sort, and that historical merit is bad for profits. Federated Spokesman Bort Stunt stressed that, “Nothing has ever happened before now, except for baseball and plastic columns on houses. There were also ice cream and cars, which happened in the 1950s, and trucker hats, which happened in the 1970s, but that’s it. Nothing is going to happen after tomorrow, either.”
In that progressive line of thinking, Federated has drafted a new name for the Downtown St. Louis store: Francis Slay. “We wanted to name it after the insightful, door-closing dealmaker that made it possible for us to keep our Downtown location open, despite incredible odds,” said Stunt at a press conference Monday. “We want to express to everyone in St. Louis City that we are doing them a gigantic favor by not cruelly and pointlessly shuttering their store, and no single person has understood that better than Mayor Francis Slay, except possibly his pet newt Richard.”
The renamed Francis Slay store will feature different products than what Famous-Barr currently sells. Federated plans to completely axe the children’s department, in accordance with local budgeting policies, which will have all children moved out of the city as early as fall 2006. The section will be replaced with an extensive selection of taupe, off white, and bone colored polo shirts, in a bold, visionary move that is intended to predict the rapidly changing demographics of Downtown and of the city itself. “We want to be on the cutting edge,” announced Stunt, “and we do mean cutting.”
But even more than interior changes to the new Francis Slay store, St. Louisans will notice the extensive exterior changes. Federated plans to increase parking near the store, citing that Famous-Barr’s parking garage “is sometimes as much as 40% occupied” and that the extra spaces soon to be available in the Century Building Memorial Parking Garage under construction on 9th Street are “simply too far away to walk, at a whopping two blocks’ distance.”
In order to make shopping Downtown convenient and pleasant for its customers, the Francis Slay store will feature an unprecedented 49 square blocks of parking. The lot will stretch from the former Lucas Park, across the former art galleries on 10th and Locust Streets, over to the former Richard Serra sculpture on the Gateway Mall, and up to the front door of Francis Slay. It will feature up to eight trees, although the Federated Planning Department has yet to finalize the number of actual trees to be planted. The lot may preserve as much as four percent of the existing street grid, though that number is also still on the drawing boards.
There will be one other prominent new feature to the exterior of the Francis Slay store. In an effort to draw more attention to the store, a new sign will be located on each of its four sides. The four signs will be identical. Instead of touting the store’s name, they will simply and elegantly consist of an image of Mayor Francis Slay’s head. Stunt said, “We wanted to pick something that symbolizes power, profit, and prestige, and could think of no other symbol more evocative. We almost chose a picture of one of Francis’s dogs, but decided to save that for the new dog day spa and salon that will replace Harris Stowe University.” The four heads will feature glowing eyes which change color according to the number of buildings being demolished that day on the North Side, to let shoppers and Downtown drivers alike know approximately how much progress is happening in the city that day. Designer Sally Patronage wrote in her press release that the changing eyes will give passerby “the opportunity to feel the heartbeat of the city at any given moment. …as we all know, Francis Slay is the lifeblood of this city. We would be nothing if he did not heroically keep all of our businesses open, like they should be anyway.” To help portray the idea of keeping a beat, the signs will rotate and whistle every hour, on the hour.
–AP
Last Season at Busch Stadium
Downtown St. Louis, MO
Breaking down the elements into outline form, I aesthetically love the current Busch Stadium because it lends a delicate airiness to the Lego blocks of the downtown skyline. The beginnings of the new (to the left, above) juxtaposed with the old stadium highlights Chunky vs. Sleek, and considering how huge our bodies, cars and houses are, a chunky new stadium makes perfect sense.
In the Spring of 2003, I was part of a small committee who tried to save Busch Stadium. A new stadium was going to be built, but we came up with alternate uses for the existing stadium, in hopes of keeping it and incorporating it into “Stadium Village” (any more word on that promise?). If the owners had situated the new place just a few blocks further south, the existing place could have served as St. Louis’ version of the Roman Coliseum. History preserved and reutilized for all manner of public events, retail and restaurant establishments, and a natural meeting and hanging place. The owners could have saved millions on demolition costs, and still made money from rental fees.
During this same time, I had a marketing job interview with a downtown architecture firm. Half way through the interview, it was revealed that the firm was part of the stadium demolition team, and thrilled to be partnered with the powerhouse HOK because of it. My gut reaction was “I’m staring into the eyes of Beelzebub,” and I mentally shut down, purposely steering the interview into the ground. Even though I was desperately unemployed, I didn’t want to be considered for the job.
I’ve never been down with the concept of allowing sports and retail profits to dictate civic and community evolution. Old vs. new, this story is filled with truth, propaganda and sentimentality. It was the sentimental angle that brought me to the ball park on Saturday night to visit the place one last time, take tons of photos, and say goodbye.
I choked up quite a few times while reflecting on both my personal past with the stadium, and the glorious baseball history that’s soaked into the concrete walls. I got lost in the sad poetry of crudely painted RedBirds (above left) and historic home run spots (above right) that won’t – and can’t -make it to the new stadium.
And I’ve never taken for granted these views from the stadium. No matter the decade, it’s always thrilled, even when a particular game didn’t. The arc, the Arch, the sweep and swirl of energy, and all the pieces that combine to turn a structure into the nucleus of a proud and glamorous era.
I don’t want to give this up.
Why are we giving this up?
Yes, I know the truth, the propaganda and the spreadsheets, and I resent the owners’ tugging on this city’s raging sentimental streak as they milk this season’s long goodbye. But I suppose there’s money to be made from that, too.
Speaking of money, I highly doubt that I will ever pay to see a game in the new stadium because A) I won’t be able to afford it, and B) I refuse to put my money in their coffers because C) we all originally voted against this idea. If someone pays my way, I’ll visit the Retro Brick Theme Park, and stare wistfully off into the distance where the last graceful cookie cutter stood, remembering how much I loved the old place… It’s going to be a long, mournful summer, and a bittersweet fall (since the Cards will go the distance).
