Absurd Mansard in Sunset Hills

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Intersection of Gravois & South Lindbergh
Sunset Hills, MO
In the late 1960s through to the 1970s, suburban apartment architecture went crazy with a bastard form of the mansard roof. I lived in just such an apartment complex, so was ultra sensitive to their unseemly popularity. At this website, the author even refers to it as “revenge of the Mansard.”

So the building shown above really really grinds my teeth. It is nothing but mansard!

As seen from the rear, this was once a normal building. Built in 1960, it was originally a full-service gas station. Today it is a pool supply company. Not sure when it was decided that pulling the roof down to the pavement was a cool idea, but someone bears the karmic scars of this aesthetic assault.

Or maybe they just had a sly sense of humor, and erected an asphalt shingle monument to…

Cousin Itt. Seriously, don’t the two share a striking resemblance?

Havin’ A Laugh

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I had some time to kill while in Fenton, and in the spirit of “lovin’ to hate it,” I cruised through some of the new home developments. Nowadays, with the new home building industry choking, it’s even sadder than usual to drive through these places. Lots of suspended animation, and little signs poking out of dirt mounds proclaiming what would have been.

In the distance I saw the site shown above.
1st Thought: They pretty much have a solitary wilderness view at this point. Too bad there’s no windows on that side of the house.
2nd Thought: I’m totally hallucinating, right?

Profusions of triangles on the front facades of new homes are exactly like acid wash denim. 1988 was the apex of frosted denim frenzy, and 2008 is shaping up as the peak moment of needless peaks.

LOOK AT THIS!!!!!
I swear they’re purposely yanking my chain here, havin’ a laugh at my expense. Going back to the first photo, these peaks are not even articulated. It’s just flat, repetitive triangles because Test Market Central says that’s what sells new homes? As if trying to disguise how cheap and bloodless this is, they attempt a secondary design motif with the two round attic vent covers. As if adding a third one would have been overkill.

I am counting on this economic time-out forcing new home builders to come up with some new cosmetic gimmicks to exploit, because the triangle is now as played out as Electric Youth.

The St. Louis Hills Office Center Stands Alone

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Here’s Part One of the story.
And this is Part Two.
The Suburban Journals took my cue and bridged a gap here.
The nutshell version: This condemned building was going to seed in a desirable neighborhood. The neighbors were upset with the vandalism, and the alderwoman worked with the owners to find a new use for it until communications broke down. Then the backside of the building started to come down. From neighbors to passers-by, everyone wants to know: What’s Going On?

We got messages from one of the building’s owners, Dan Stevens, inviting us to take a tour of what remains and to talk about how to assure the building’s future.
Above, on October 17, 2007, the parking garage is melting away.

By November 10th, the garage is gone, the last bits of debris are clearing out, and the St. Louis Hills Office Center is now a stand alone building. On this particular day, we got into conversation with a neighbor across the alley from the site. He said they were all jazzed about suddenly having a view with the parking garage gone, but their distrust of the owner is still strong. They are aware that the owner’s are redeveloping the Ozark Theater in Webster Groves, but are worried about their historically glacial pace. As is always the case, silence equals anger, and with the neighbors kept in the dark about what the owners’ intend, they uneasily await the next move.

Dan Stevens hosted a private tour of the building that has belonged to his family since 1974, and is now under his primary control, which is a good indicator of why there is now movement on two long-dormant buildings.

The parking garage is the epicenter of the St. Louis Office Center tale. According to Stevens, the garage was originally designed to be fully enclosed, but the 1958-era neighbors across the alley complained that 4 stories of brick would be dark and depressing, so the design was changed to accommodate them. This revise to the design was the fatal error that immediately doomed the building. All the steel used to support the wing was constantly exposed to water, and it started rusting a few minutes after the first original tenants moved in. The photo above shows just how grotesquely deteriorated all the steel beams were, for decades. The structural problems were not about owner neglect, but design defect.

The garage wing was built as a separate piece from the main building that faces Chippewa, so its 2 buildings joined at an angle. This made it easier to remove the defective part without harming the tower, which emerged from its amputation unscathed. They were diligent about resourcing the salvage and carefully saved the good bits from the demolished section. Stevens took us inside the front lobby to see the piles of what they saved (above).

Stevens is holding one of aqua ceramic tiles that punctuated the ribbon of windows of the demolished wing. They can be seen in this photo under a layer of brown paint, and that paint unfortunately ate through quite a lot of the aqua facing.

We got to see the cafeteria (above) and learn how there were actually 2 lobbies to the building; one facing Chippewa for pedestrian traffic (seen in the background above right), and the other off the parking garage, which is how most people entered the building.

The banks of elevators are in the side lobby, which is why the “front” entrance holds only the stairs (above). I waited a long time to take those stairs, and the views from it are even cooler than imagined. The lighting, the flooring, the banister, all of it is original and in good shape.

The big surprise about the front facade was revealed when inspecting the blue metal panels under each window (above) and seeing daylight where the flooring should meet the metal. It’s a curtain wall! Because of the materials and the transparency of the facade, it was assumed the wall was structural, but nope, it’s a cosmetic wall for your viewing pleasure.

With flashlights and camera flashes, we took a trip down the corridors of the 2nd floor, and stopped in at what was the elaborate office of the building’s original owner. While his building was ultra mod, his office was very traditional and fascinating and featured the mural shown above. Esley Hamilton recognized it as a scene of the Philadelphia skyline, and proceeded to name every single historic building depicted.

Dentists and doctors made up the primary tenants, and here are some remnants of those days (above). Note that the wall phone is the exact same shade of yellow as the rest of the equipment.

Cruising through all the offices and corridors, we got a distinctly residential feel. As in, tear down the partition walls between tiny offices and make loft spaces. Or, leave the walls and turn it into a boutique hotel. Both ideas are intriguing and ripe with moneymaking potential.

The nearest competing hotels are at Hampton and Hwy 44, and a boutique hotel in this part of town is a brilliant idea, as it’s next to everything out-of-towners want, and they can do some of it on foot, if they like. Just saying “loft living in St. Louis Hills” is enough to make certain people tingle with anticipation. Be they rental or condo, this building in this location would be a no-brainer for the lucky listing agent.

(Shown above: with the parking garage gone, the basement now becomes just the ground level.)
Dan Stevens and his partners are adamant about preserving and re-using the remaining portion of the building. Their affection and earnestness about the place feels genuine, and it’s in such good shape that any future work would be more renovation than rehab. He shared some very appealing ideas for the west facade of the building that reveals he truly understands the style and era of the building. He’s made the Ozark project move at a steady pace. I feel relieved that this building is in good hands, someone sympathetic to the built environment. The only negative is ignoring people for love of the building.

I asked Stevens about the development offers that Alderwoman Barringer had brought to them previously. He felt that those interested parties weren’t completely serious or were seriously low-balling the worth of the project, or just wanted the land. He knew the unique problems of the building, and that a proper solution required more time and care.

I asked why conversation with the alderwoman had come to a halt, and Stevens doesn’t perceive it that way. I’m getting the impression that he and his partners are so fixated on the mechanics of renovating their two properties that they don’t think to make time for people not directly involved.

But the work being done to the medical center is blatantly public, which is why Stevens is now acutely aware of the anger and suspicion of the St. Louis Hills residents. Stevens contacting us seems to be about starting a dialog to see what can be done with the building and how to calm the boiling waters around the property.

As is so often the case in these situations, commercial developers don’t think about the residents who live around their properties until they pop up as angry voices. The Blairmont Situation is a good example of how a developer’s plans created in private scares the people who will be affected by these plans. Silence equals anger.

Seen from the developer’s side, it is their property and their business, and they are not required by law to share information. Seen from the neighbor’s perspective, a developer’s secret plans pose a very serious threat to quality of life and property values. What developer’s repeatedly fail to understand is that if they were eager to engage the people of the community they are affecting, the community would be eager to be a part of any reasonable plan.

Dan Stevens wants to know how to get cooperation for his plans, and that’s simple: Let them in on your thoughts. I recommended that he get Alderwoman Barringer back in the information loop and have her talk with the neighborhood association about the project progress. The alley neighbor I spoke with a couple of weeks later made it even more simple: “If the owners could just show up at a neighborhood meeting and talk to us, it would cut down on some paranoia.”

The residents of St. Louis Hills have no idea how committed Stevens is about this building and its surroundings. Stevens doesn’t understand that his silence has created angry mistrust. The situation is growing needlessly complex. It’s a simple solution: Transparency.

All sides need to talk with one another, right now. Lack of communication is what has created the current ill will, so the antidote is communication. Someone involved, please take the ball and run with invitations to a public forum on the St. Louis Hills Office Center. Make sure there’s time for all sides to share their thoughts. Make sure there’s plenty of snacks, and make sure to invite me when it happens!

Top of the Towers

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Chambers Road & Hwy 367
Moline Acres, MO
The Lewis & Clark Tower still stands as a slightly-raggedy reminder of the brief moment when North County was progressively modern and willing to create the image of glamorous new suburban frontiers. That’s the impression it still gives off to those of us who were stuck with a babysitter so our parents could party here, but childhood impressions are not always reality.

While reading the newspaper at the end of August, the picture of the man shown above caught my eye. He had a real Rat Pack “ring-a-ding-ding” air about him, so I read the obituary. Impression and reality heartily clinked martini glasses when revealed that this man, Bud Dallavis, was the developer of the Lewis & Clark Towers and its iconic, spinning Top of the Tower Restaurant.

Development is listed as beginning in 1963, county records put 1964 as the birth date of the complex, and in 1965 architect George J. Gaza is listed as the only full-time commercial resident. That he stayed until 1967 while the complex was completed begs the question: was he the Tower architect?

In 1966, the place was 100% jumping with at least 7 floors of wedge-shaped residential apartments (now condominiums,) each with two sliding doors out to the continuous balcony, with its own swimming pool and gym in the basement. Businesses on the first two floors of the Tower included Alpha Interior Designer, Donton & Sons Tile Co., Figure Trim Reducing, King’s Tower Pharmacy and a Missouri State License office.

Shooting off the Tower is a strip of retail facing Hwy 367, long-anchored by Stelmacki Supermarket, a rare, independent grocer still unaffected by the continuous grocery wars. The site slopes down to the West, creating a lower 2nd level building which held the Towers Bowling Lanes and the Lewis & Clark Theater (shown below). Occupancy for the complex was robust for 10 years, with an influx of dentists and doctors filling tower spots when others moved out. The Courtesy Sandwich Shop even had a storefront for a bit. The Tower didn’t show any longterm vacancies until the late 1970s.

The remaining claim to fame of the Tower is the long-closed restaurant at its top, Rizzo’s Top of the Tower Restaurant, “the revolving restaurant… a landmark for many years where diners could view the downtown St. Louis and Clayton skylines, as well as the Alton river bluffs.” Considering how popular it once was, and how its myth still lingers, there’s surprisingly little information to be found about it. Internet searches only turned up a fuzzy photo of someone’s matchbook collection which includes a Rizzo’s cover, and entertainer Tony Viviano, who seems a natural to have performed in the joint.

While visiting with my father, Rich and his wife, Ann, I asked if they ever ate at the Top of the Tower Restaurant, which became a rapid fire series of memories of the place, starting with Rich saying, “You know there were supposed to be 2 towers, right? Which is why it’s plural Towers.”

No, I didn’t know that, but that does explain why the building ends the way it does (shown above) and why the land closest to Chambers Road has remained vacant all these decades. So what happened to the other tower? Rich says that the company who originally owned it ran into some problems of partners stealing from each other, which left no money.

I tell him about the obituary for the developer whose name I couldn’t remember, and Rich asks, “Was it Bud Dallavis? He was the public face of the Towers, head of Quick Realty,” which the obit later confirmed as correct. I countered that the man pictured was really good looking, to which Rich says, “Yeah, that has to be him,” and to which Ann responds, “We were ALL really good looking at the time. We were a handsome group of people.”

She was not bragging, just stating fact. This was suburbia in the mid-1960s, post-JFK assassination, mid-Beatles revolution. Rich and Ann were a part of the World War 2 and Korean War vets who left North St. Louis city in the late 1950s for the greener (and whiter) lands of burgeoning North County. Watch Mad Men to know exactly how they dressed during the work day, how they gussied up for frequent evenings out.

And Rizzo’s Top of the Towers was a popular, happening spot for them. The restaurant was turned out in the finest china and table linens, the food good. Was it expensive? Indicative of the times, Ann responds, “I have no idea what the bill came to at the end of the night. Women never saw the bill because we never paid.”

To which Rich tells tales of the endless rounds of free cocktails courtesy of Dick Grace, the Towers bartender commonly called “Buttsey.” Buttsey had perfected a way to look like he was taking money and putting it in the cash register, but it usually went into his pockets, and lingering guilt led to lots of rounds of “on the house.” Mr. Grace was found dead in his bed in the Towers apartments in the mid-1980s, a fatal heart attack at the age of 49, all those cuisines, cocktails and cigarettes catching up to him. By that time, the Towers and surrounding area were pretty much ate up by neglect, with all the original pioneers heading ever-further away.

The rest of their memories just further cemented the vibe the building gives off to this day. Even though well-past its glory, it’s still in service. Most of the store fronts (shown above right) are occupied, and the Tower balconies are dotted with an endless series of satellite dishes, BBQ grills and plants. Heading out in any direction from the Tower reveals dozens of commercial buildings that followed its modern lead, now-shabby ghosts standing in the shadow of the Lewis & Clark Towers. May they all remain until the time they are brought back to life as proof that just once, for a short space in time, we had fabulous optimism for the future.

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North County Modern

South Big Bend Art Deco

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1200 South Big Bend at Warner Avenue
Richmond Heights, MO
I would call this a truly iconic modern building in St. Louis. Because of its hillside location at Big Bend and Hwy 40, it can’t help but be seen. On a sunny day, it’s a beacon of light. And the look of the building seems to please everyone of any design bent.

For those who know of this architect’s work, it’s assumed to be a building by Harris Armstrong. The building above is from 1938, originally built for Dr. Samuel A Bassett. During that same time period, Armstrong was doing medical offices with this precise look.

But it’s not an Armstrong; it was designed by Edouard Mutrux, prior to forming his partnership with William A. Bernoudy (thank you to Kyrle Boldt for the info). But I do enjoy the vision of Dr. Bassett wanting a Missouri International Style Armstrong office, balking at the price (or maybe that Harris hit on his wife?) and finding someone willing to do an homage. Pure speculation, understand.

Until the 1980s, this workaday deco palace remained devoted to medical pursuits. By 1943, Dr. Bassett turned the building over to six different doctors’ offices, and considering how the large building crawls and expands up the hillside, there would have been plenty of room for everyone. But Bassett came back in 1949, kicked everyone out and went solo again until 1953 he partnered with Dr. Thomas A. Coates to form the Bassett – Coates Medical Clinic. Dr. Coates shared the building off and on until it was turned over to a now-defunct marketing firm called Money Marbles & Chalk. Currently it is filled with various lawyers and CPAs. Strange coincidence is that since 2000, the building is owned by Bassett Properties, sharing a surname with the doctor who originally had the place built.

From the angle shown above, the broadly curved front piece with its glass block windshield seems like a later addition to the adamant stack of rectangles.

But when seen from its parking lot on the Warner Avenue side, that protuberance is really an indicator of more curves to come. The double wiggle behind the main entry (above left) is a cheeky echo of its momma butting into the sidewalk below, which is actually a ship’s bow.

Because seeing the entirety of it’s north facade reveals a nautical theme lurking around the edges. This place has a lot going on, almost too much, yet it somehow finds a balance that keeps the eye enthralled. And by contemporary standards, it must be rather large and functional since it’s been in constant use and proper upkeep since inception.

1500 South Big Bend at Lindbergh Drive
Richmond Heights, MO
Oddly enough, just about a mile south of the deco ship is another fine example of a building unsullied and functional since birth. Built in 1952, it was a bit past the deco commercial trend, and the blond brick structure is all rectangles. But it was given the whimsical flourish of curving eaves with stainless steel fascia, which was just enough to earn it points for fluid grace.

The original sole occupant was G. H. Reich, Inc. a plumbing company that still exists in a modified current form right down the street. By 1955, the General Binding Corporation was listed as the sole tenant until 1963 when Reich Plumbing came back in, along with 6 other companies, including the State Board of Probation and Parole.

The building obviously subdivides with ease. By 1974, a little elbow room came with 8 businesses going down to 4. By 1986, the (renamed) Missouri State Probation Offices took over the entire building, and a little before that is when I first became intimately acquainted with the handsomeness and flexibility of the place.

About every 4 weeks I was required to visit a probation officer, whose particle board office did have a window overlooking the steep parking lot that climbs up the building’s north side. It was on that very same parking lot that I was late to an appointment as I sat in my car, dumbstruck, at the news that David Lee Roth had left Van Halen to be replaced by… did he say Sammy Hagar? No way! Seriously?! By the look on my face, the probation officer was expecting the worst. Well, it was the worst news, just not what she was expecting.

Every time I pass this place, I think of that horrible moment in April 1985. And here we are some 22 years later: me with a ticket to the Van Halen reunion show and the building still just as handsome as ever, giving home to various health and beauty establishments. “And I say rock on!”

A Top 100 Architecture Blog

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Along with John Mayer and Suzanne Somers, look today I celebrate a birthday. The most delightful of all b-day surprises was an e-mail I received saying that B.E.L.T. made their list of Top 100 Architecture Blogs.

B.E.L.T. comes in at #48 in the “Niche” category.

My pal Andrew Raimist also made the list for his exemplary site, Architectural Ruminations. Congratulations to him, and my thanks to International Listings for such a cool, out-of-left-field pop fly.

Oak Hill Chapel

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Leona & Bowen Streets, South St. Louis, MO
In Holly Hills, across from Woerner Elementary, built in 1931, and among rows of houses built shortly thereafter is the church, seen above. Maybe because it looks like nothing else in the immediate area, people often point it out as queer looking, while others have come right out and said they hate the way it looks.

It is a bit mod for the neighborhood, and especially since it caps off a row of typical South Side gingerbreads, it has a red-headed stepchild feel about it. I admire it for all these reasons, and that it has silently persevered against a steady, calm stream of improprieties, beginning with its point of origin.

City property records claim it was built in 1953, lists the type as “cinema” and the building style as “restaurant/recreation.” The City Directory first lists it in 1963, which makes much more sense, architecturally. It was never a cinema (yeah, I got my hopes up about that); it started life as Bible Chapel and became the current Oak Hill Chapel (even though it’s not in the Oak Hill neighborhood) around 1985.

2013 UPDATE
Esley Hamilton learned by happy happenstance that Erwin Carl Schmidt is the architect of this church. There is a May 4, 1951 listing for “church Southside Gospel, 6100 Leona,” when Schmidt was partnering with Walter Krueger.

I love what the architect was originally going for on the front facade and steeple. Minimal, asymmetrical geometry. Just because he was going for that doesn’t mean he did it successfully; the scale seems a bit wonky, especially the finial on the toppermost of the steeple. But the palette is spare, so it can’t go too awfully wrong.

Until seen from the angle above. Is that funky roof dormer original? And if so, was this intentional or the result of parishioner intervention during the design and budgeting phase?

The course of modern life has imposed some other changes upon the church. An educated guess says the arrowhead stairs shooting out from the entrance were sans banister, originally. Or if so, it wasn’t the one seen above, nor would the designer have put it smack dab in the middle of the dramatic point. Also, the above banister matches the ones flanking the handicap ramp that was required.

I do appreciate that the ramp follows the asymmetry of the front facade, but surely that was a divine accident. ADA issues aside, why the vertical mini-blinds in the transom glass above the entrance? Considering how the building is sited, those windows were meant to catch the afternoon sun. I’m guessing the alter would be square in the sun’s spotlight because of them. But at least the lines of the blinds kind of echo the lines of the soffit above them.

But the biggest imposition to the original design is in the sign seen above. LOVE the plaster sign frame, like half of the Van Halen logo, and all airliner kitsch, which has nothing to do with religion, or the building it identifies, really. I wish I could see a picture of what font was used on the original sign that went behind the glass.

The sign frame is still cool despite what it’s holding up. The wood placard inside was cut and made to fit the space, and obviously represents what the parish wishes their building was like: colonial and quaint. To their credit, they have not hacked away at the building’s exterior to make it match the placard, but it is the intense juxtaposition of the sign that keeps me from investigating the interior. There’s only so many architectural improprieties with one building that a girl can handle!

Colonial Baking Co. Thrift Store

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Gravois Avenue & Taft
South St. Louis MO
Here’s a wallflower building that I admire. Maybe by driving down Gravois you better recognize it from this angle:

The “WonderKids” mural is distinctive and colorful, and until a few years ago, it was a Colonial Thrift Store, which lends it a sweet memory association. City records say it was built in 1967. Something this unabashedly modern simplistic in this area at that time had, perhaps, a slightly glamorous original tenant? According to city directories, it has always been a Colonial thrift store. It’s unusual for a city building to retain the occupant that built it for that many decades, so that’s a pleasant surprise.

What’s not so pleasant is that the ground story windows have recently been boarded up. The clerestory windows in the undulating row of arches on both long sides of the building (I love the uninterrupted view from front to back) are now smashed and shattered.

A worrisome thought is that its owned by the same people who own most of the buildings along the stretch of Brannon between Fyler and Arsenal. There, they have a chain of striking mid-century modern factories (and an early century building that burned) that, even when occupied, are in a distressing state of decay. So, this doesn’t create much hope that the Colonial Thrift Store will be actively seeking a new use, and that’s a shame because it caps off a newly-thriving part of Gravois (thanks to the Bosnians) and can be easily converted for most any use.

In-Fill Housing Comes To Holly Hills

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Coronado & Burgen, South St. Louis MO
The simple twin geometry of the garages (above) in the late summer spotlight had my attention, but the large mound of dirt behind them caused a distraction. Who can resist a huge pile of dirt? It means something’s up that must be investigated.

Where there’s a dirt hill will always be a hole, and this is a good one. On this corner plot in Holly Hills was previously a simple home turned to crap by the final owners. It was a throbbing boil in the neighborhood, and when it was demolished, you know the neighbors breathed a sigh of gratitude. Then the lot sat vacant for just about a year, which was plenty of time for daydreaming.

There’s been almost no new in-fill housing in Holly Hills. The original housing stock is still sturdy, attractive and desirable, so they don’t get demolished, only remodeled. I’ve been longing for something like this to be inserted into the spot. Build something small to fit the scale of the direct surroundings, affordable and modestly modern in shape.

Take a look at the sign above for an illustration of what’s actually going in. It’s bordering on an “uh oh.” The square footage is suitable for the lot, but I’m assuming the 2 car garage will be attached, which doesn’t match the rest of the neighborhood. There are 2 story single-family houses in the ‘hood, just not in this immediate vicinity (though some are 1.5 stories), so its height will stick out just a tad, but it’s no big deal. The drawing looks harmless enough, but finish materials usually sour the finished product.

Our alderman, Fred Wessels, 13th ward is pretty good to us in that he causes no harm and has a genuine interest and feel for built environment issues. It’s encouraging that he snagged a new home construction during this lousy market downspin, so the whole idea is a bit exciting. So, I’ll keep a camera eye on the progress, and hope for the best.

Kirkwood Teardown Protest Escalates

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Driving through Town and Country, Missouri, the lopsided sight above is increasingly common. The death vibe hangs over any ranch that rests within sight distance of an overdeveloped profusion of triangle points that are the current rage in new home building. The more McMansions in the area, the greater the chance the ranch is toast, and what does it feel like to live in a Death Row home? Is there a will to survive or a rubbing of hands over the cash-out possibilities?

Drive a little further and what pops into view (above) is the community’s reaction to the news that Principia is considering the sale of some of its property for either residential or mixed-use development. There’s a double standard at play here. Town & Country has no reported problems with homes on private property being demolished to make even bigger homes, but it does have a problem with vacant private property desiring something similar. It’s confusing because it’s all private property and owners’ rights prevail, especially in the free market real estate bonanza of desirable zip codes such as this.

Regardless of my confusion, I am touched by the visible groundswell of protest among T&C citizens. They jumped on this quick, dotting most every quarter mile of Clayton Road with thumbs down signs, and I wonder if this community’s uncharacteristic protest was emboldened by the development protesters in Kirkwood, Missouri.

Kirkwood homeowners have spent most of 2007 trying to solve their dis-ease over the escalating tear down & infill frenzy taking place. But their tipping point was the sale and destruction of 407 East Argonne to one of the more prolific new home builders working the area, and they responded with dozens of red yard signs addressing the would-be new owner of the coming McMansion with “Don’t Buy 407 E. Argonne.”

There is now a continuing (collect all seven!) series of signs peppering most all of Kirkwood; the lawns display far more yard signs than during the most heated elections. While not everyone in the town is political, they are all effected by what happens to the homes around them. With the recent demolition of the cause of the yard sign campaign, they’re even angrier and aren’t about to shut up about it.

I was particularly taken with two of the newest signs shown above because, in essence, aren’t these bordering on aesthetic protests?

The Kirkwood citizens concerns started with developers pushing new homes to the brink of property lines for more square footage, then it advanced to the inappropriate scale of in-fill housing. Both are zoning issues that are being tackled by public due process. But what made them so angry about one beloved home when so many others have vanished in the last three years?

I’ve overheard and talked with dozens of Kirkwoodians about their dislike of the steroidal Lego mansions “going up across the street,” but until this summer, they were private grumbles. So why now do they want to Protect Historic Kirkwood from this:

And this?

Here’s my theory:
They understand that free-market private property rights rule, but the new housing market is like the drunkard staggering down the street waiting for the proper gutter to fall in to. There are now, literally, dozens of these new Vaguely Victorian monsters sitting empty with For Sale signs flapping in the Kirkwood breeze. Rather than minting it, these developers are now losing money, thus don’t have the financial clout to massage city hall as they have in the past. Also, with a return to a Buyer’s Market, more people now have to stay put rather than freely move away from what disturbs them.

I believe the neighbors now sense the chance to have just as much pull as the developers, and their form of kicking a man when he’s down is: we’re going to alter zoning laws AND we hate your trousers; you have horrible taste.

When money talks, it’s the loudest voice in the room, but lately it’s a bit phlegmy and hoarse. That leaves just enough quiet for Horton to hear the Whos down in Who-ville, and proclaim (in modified format): A House Is A House No Matter How Small.

With every passing day and every new yard sign, Kirkwoodians are getting braver about this situation, and they are a town with the pride and organization to actually make a difference for themselves and for other townships getting fed up with abused zoning laws and garish, bloated houses. Their public conversation continues, and I wish them all the best in finding smart solutions that balance the scales.