The Dorsa, "The Ultimate in Mode Moderne"

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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.

St. Louis Centre Reconfigured

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St. Louis Centre
Downtown St. Louis, MO

Architects for the reconfiguration of St. Louis Centre have been picked, along with a name change to 600 Washington. A rendering of the new facade is above (courtesy of the St. Louis Business Journal), and I like it. Anything would be an improvement to a building that was hideous and outdated on opening day in 1985. I appreciate the lower level retail being open to the street, and I like the thoroughly, unabashedly modern look of it.

It’s also a bugle call for what I think is sorely missing from the Downtown Renaissance: brand new, modern buildings.

It is criminal and inexcusable to tear down historically worthy buildings, and both the marketplace and public knowledge has progressed so far as to make that concept nearly past tense. I’m proud that St. Louis finally gets it, and embraces the financial and cultural benefits of restoring and reusing our urban past.

In the early 1990s, I was so fearful of how dead and dying downtown was that I began photographically documenting most all of the historic buildings between Memorial Drive and 14th Street. I’d rummage through the vacant ones that revealed a secret way in, and kept track of the ones under contention for destruction.

Then a rare miracle was granted by Jefferson City: They resumed the historic tax credits! I closely watched the press and the construction crews as, one by one, long-ignored buildings were coaxed back to life. And even though there was discernible progress, I still worried about some of my very favorites:

The Board of Education Building was near the path of the Century/parking garage debacle, but the Roberts Brothers have it under control.

The Mallinckrodt Building stood forlornly overlooked while the Lenox and the Statler were restored to prosperous activity. Were they going to also tear it down for even more parking? But Pyramid has it under control, and I’m both relieved and delighted.

Now that rehab activity is rapidly spreading to “Downtown West” (the modern term for everything west of 14th street), I no longer feel the need to worry about Downtown’s stock of historic buildings. Instead, the Big Picture view of the Downtown Renaissance shows a lack of brand new construction, which is a positive sign of a financial confidence.

Again, I’m not advocating the tearing down of any existing buildings. If you tour Downtown West, block by block, you’ll see plenty of vacant land memorializing what was already torn down during that last, fetid blast of Civic Progress in the 1980s. And those plots – usually half a block large – are crying out for vital re-use.

But to build something new that does a piss-poor job of aping its surviving neighbors would be an embarrassing and unworthy endeavor. It’s time to come up with thoughtfully modern and fresh, multi-story buildings – both residential and commercial – that will fit in with the scope and scale of its neighbors, but also herald a new plateau of downtown progress.

Earlier this year, I talked with a developer who has this same thought. The project – and its location – is being kept under wraps for many reasons, including that it will most likely be viewed as unacceptably radical to introduce a proudly modern high-rise residential building into the area. When was the last time Downtown St. Louis was receptive to that idea? Maybe the Mansion House in the 1960s?

Mid Town embraced new, modern architecture for that area (the Pulitzer and the Contemporary Art Museum), and the global architecture/design communities gave it more glowing press than did our hometown. I’m all for seeing a truly talented and site-sensitive global architect doing something similar on already vacant land in Downtown proper. I’d expect the planning and supervision of such projects to be just as strict and thoughtful as the Historic Tax Credit regulations. And I’d expect residential consumer response to be just as receptive to a new building as it is to the restored ones.

There’s room – and a need – to liven up the colors in the patchwork quilt of downtown. If the reconfiguration of St. Louis Centre works as well as expected, then we all might be more receptive to a new era of the old and new co-existing peacefully. I remain hopeful for the future of Downtown.

Ballwin Teardown

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347 Ries Bend Road
Ballwin, MO
On the very same day that the St. Louis Post-Dispatch put the topic of Suburban Teardowns on the top half of the front page, I ran across this unassuming little house in Ballwin (above).

It’s a cute little house, well-maintained and added to over the years. A satisfying home life is evident all over the house and property, and makes me nostalgic for a history I know nothing about. There’s really nothing terribly compelling about it to advocate saving it; moot point, anyhow. It just happened to be a perfect example of why the Teardown topic finally even made it onto the front page of the P-D.

Public records from the county* inform that the house was built in 1952, 1,254 square feet on slab. It may well have been one of the original new houses built in this area, as the remaining original houses neighboring it lean towards mid-60s ranch style.

Lucille Fink sold the house and land in August 2005 to an unspecified buyer. The sign out front informs that Belcher Homes plans to build 5 new homes on this plot. They were supposed to start this past spring, but obviously they didn’t, and neither Belcher nor the real estate agent listed offer any further information about the proposed development.

This plot is like high-potency catnip to home builders because it’s huge. A shot of the backyard (above) only captures a tiny piece of the vastness of the property. The buyer only has to contend with one homeowner/seller in a desirable location, and can then cram 5 new homes onto the parcel. From their perspective, it’s a sweet, sweet deal, and I’m shocked that they haven’t begun any serious work on it other than marking trees to be cut down. Would the home building bubble leaking be a reason for the delay?

Across the nation, Teardown conversation is building to a constant hum. Even in St. Louis County, landlocked, tax-dependent municipal governments have been spurred to address the topic during 2006. That is a valid indicator that it goes beyond the trauma of bleeding heart preservation advocates; the Average Joe Homeowner in these neighborhoods had to make an effort to introduce the topic to their City Hall, and City Hall had to respond.

Webster Groves is the latest municipality to address the topic, and they’re doing so in a conscientious manner. Of great interest is the logically brilliant idea presented by Jeanne Kirkton, who “suggested the possibility of sending a questionnaire to neighborhood residents. She said regulations should not stifle creativity but should maintain neighborhood integrity.”
Yesss!

Money talks, but so do the neighbors.
It’s an interesting struggle between City Halls’ needing the extra tax dollars that in-fill home builders’ can deliver vs. the area residents who vote for the folks in City Hall. Financial clout usually wins, but there’s been enough of a grassroots slapback to slow down the process.

Oddly enough, aesthetic considerations are only one part of the civic conversations; environmental impact, unrealistic property tax increases and destroying the stock of affordable housing are just as important to neighbors. Sure, the entire point is moot if individuals keep “selling out,” but these conversations conjure some form of conscious upon those now contemplating selling to the developers, and may conjure some form of moderation upon those wanting to cram inappropriately large house into the spot. By paying attention to Boomer Aging and the momentum of the energy crises, the safety net under obscenely large houses has a nasty tear in it. Responsibility to the environment may be forced upon as via pocketbook considerations. These are the right talks to be having at the right time; I feel less helpless about the situation, both locally and nationally.

Anyway, back to Ries Bend…
Next door to the unassuming Fink House is a new street with houses built in the late 1990s (above). As go McMansions, these are much nicer than most models. They have a bit more character, as if aspiring to be worthy of a Norman Rockwell painting. Considering the soullessness of so many developments, “Norman Rockwell” really is a compliment. Maybe something similar will eventually fill in the open land of the Fink Lot.

At the entrance to this street is a Disneyfied version of a carriage house, complete with an actual carriage. I’ve noticed this same motif at the entrance of several new neighborhoods in this general area. Is this the “logo” of a particular builder, or Ballwin City Halls’ requested nod to the heritage of the area?

About 200 yards from this tasteful theme park entrance, an old, rusted 1940s pickup truck rests just off the Fink’s carport (below). It speaks more accurately of this area’s 20th century history, but abandoned pickups don’t sell new housing developments as well as bucolic allusions of equestrian gentry. The added irony of the horse carriage is that the Fink’s could have housed about 5 horses in their backyard, but eventually it will hold 5 houses.

*Because of threatened legal action, I was forced to remove an entry about a Sunset Hills teardown property. Once the hint of danger to peoples’ livelihoods has passed, the rights and legalities of the subject will be researched so as to be better prepared should it happen again. And it probably will. Lots of people are making lots of money on properties marketed solely as teardowns, and anything that seems a stick jammed in their bike spokes is perceived as a threat. But it’s a free market with plenty of access to public information, and that works both ways. So, the topic (and the entry) is not dead, just resting and gathering strength.

The Gateway Arch

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The Arch has been a continually reoccurring theme in my life, lately. I was commissioned to photograph interior pieces of it for CD art work. That’s one of my photos on the cover, above. I even got to sing with Joe Thebeau on the track “Eero Saarinen,” which is about the metaphorical and philosophical meanings of The Arch.

Finn’s Motel Escape Velocity releases on September 19, on Scat Records. They play their first show on August 25th, at Off Broadway, and will continue to tour all parts of the country the rest of the year. I’ll refrain from raving about how absolutely brilliant this record is because you need only listen to tracks available on-line to hear that for yourself.

Then, the other night I went to the Fox Theater for the debut screening of The Gateway Arch: A Reflection of America, a new documentary from Civil Pictures. It’s a professional and lively trek through all the important historical points of Arch conception and execution. Of great interest were current interviews with a few of the men who helped build the structure. We see footage of them inches away from death high above the riverfront, and then watch them chat about this experience as if it’s no bigger deal than buying a Big Gulp. Their presence in this documentary makes it worth the price of admission.

For an hour, I’m thoroughly engrossed in the film; the final triangle piece is inserted, and The Arch is complete and then… the movie’s over! What? How can this be? There’s much more to this story: the controversial revision to Saarinen’s plans for the grounds surrounding the Arch, the development of the museum, and how they finally got around to lighting the sucker at night. Just these 3 topics alone would make for a worthy half hour.

But I realize that when making a documentary time is money, and sticking to an hour probably makes it easier for television stations across the globe to program it. The filmmakers never claimed to be offering up a definitive documentary on The Arch, just a compelling, updated one. This they do deliver. Good job, and the field is still wide open for someone to dig deeper for the entire story…

A few hours before the documentary, I saw this man moving furniture on Lindell Boulevard:

That’s the coolest tattoo ever! If he hadn’t been so busy, I’d have chatted him up for the, er, back-story. But at that moment, I was thrilled with what I figured would be the opening act for the Arch documentary. In retrospect, the documentary was the scholarly footnote to the impassioned, inked headliner.

R.I.P. Phillips 66

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Here’s the backstory on one of my favorite buildings in St. Louis County.

This morning, I got word from Brett that dirt was being aggressively moved about the former Phillips 66 site at Manchester Road & Rock Hill.

By mid-afternoon, Rick sent me cell phone pictures showing the white, lattice-work towers were now horizontal.

The double-wing Phillips 66 sat abandoned and waiting for an inappropriately long time. And then it came down in less than 5 hours. I suppose a swift demise is preferable to a slow, painful one. But it’s still shocking.

I cut out of work a little early to view the remains, and pay last respects. Even though I knew what to expect, it still hurt.

The demolition crew had swept the shattered pieces of the building into 2 piles that seem much smaller than they should be. At this moment, they had left behind all of the towers. Considering how quickly the crew is demolishing the entire southwest corner of this intersection, these pieces will be gone by the end of day Friday.

Above, it looks like a leg bone sticking out of an open grave. OK, a little dramatic, but these kinds of things can happen at a wake.

The last business in this building was Windshields & More, and they kept the place in perfect condition. After they were made to leave, it was shocking to realize just how strict they were with maintenance. Within 3-4 months, all the white paint started peeling, with rust seeping through. The royal blue trim grew dingy. But all the exhaust fume erosion couldn’t mar the lines of a building that always looked like a bird starting its ascent.

And now, the bird’s wings are mangled in the concrete dust.

My digital card filled up fast, and I stood in the heat with vehicles roaring all around, deciding if I should walk back to the car to get another card and continue on. Then I got lost in lengthy contemplation and sadness, finally broken by an SUV honking in my ear. Coming back to reality, I realized I didn’t have the stomach to finish this task. After documenting the crime scene, I’d paid proper respect to a lovely building, and once the rush hour traffic clears, and the sun sets, the Double Bat Wing can finally rest in peace.

Alley Trash

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My Alley
South St. Louis, MO
I live on what could be the very longest, uninterrupted alley in South St. Louis. It covers 6 blocks and a long cemetery, and no cross streets bisect it. The first time an “outsider” uses it as a shortcut is also the last time, as there’s nothing short about this unplanned commitment to endless pavement.

Luckily, I live near one end of the alley, so it’s not the Twilight Zone it must be for the people who live dead center of it. These people surely pack a thermos, and then flip a coin to decide which direction to go toward the light at the end of the tunnel.

But this Endless Alley also creates a special atmosphere, a unique sense of community. And since very few outsiders are brave enough to traverse it, the big-item trash we leave behind doesn’t get picked over and rescued at the same rate of other Alley Trash Boutiques.

So, this alley usually looks like The Island Of Misfit Toys, while the banished furniture is an impromptu exhibition on the timeline of home decor.

It’s certainly picturesque, and there’s the added bonus of having the New York Doll’s “Trash” (“go pick it up”) soundtracking through my head as I catalogue this Sanford & Son wonderland. (Side Bar: The brand new NY Dolls album is a surprising triumph, and a Must Own for any David Johansen fans.)

The scene, above, is one of my favorites, as it combines dead retail history (a Venture shopping cart!), real estate and commentary on the homeless. It was editorial photojournalism waiting to be snapped. And for a few days, the alley was a swanky rumpus room (below).

Ridin’ the Storm Out

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Aftermath of 7.19.06 Storm
South St. Louis, MO
Ahh, the sheer decadent luxury of electricity… it’s back on and it’s fabulous!
The house sat for 3.5 days without power, and even though it’s back on, I’m treading lightly around it, running appliances on rotation so only one works at a time. Hoping by me not using so much, some other people have a quicker chance of getting their power back up.

That storm was creepy enough to earn every big fish story we’ll hear about in perpetuity. Violent winds roaring in 4 directions at once… look at the tree pictured above; like twisting licorice.

The Most Vivid Memory That very moment the storm finally passed; 1 minute of vast silence collapsing in on itself punctured by fire, police and ambulance sirens wailing across the entire city. 10 minutes after that, the sound of screaming chainsaws filled my neighborhood. Oh, chainsaws… that’s not a good sign.

The Most Gut-Wrenching Sites That Tasmanian Devil wind treated trees like handles on cabinet doors, with the “doors” being our terra firma (see above photo). Trees in attics, in alleys, in cars. Thursday morning, it was like driving through a green snowstorm, forging a path through tree guts to powerless, lawless intersections. Starving, I try to stop at a downtown Kirkwood McDonald’s, which looked like a refugee camp.

It took me 2 days to work up the courage to drive through Carondelet Park (above and very top photo), and then it wounded me so bad I fled in a panic. It looks like Zeus threw a temper tantrum, a larger-than-life destruction that only Mother Nature and her cronies are capable of.

The Best Relief Effort KDHX. They, too, lost power, but then hooked up one generator to power just one mike, just on CD player. For 3 days, the volunteer DJs sat in a dead building turned oven and talked straight to us, played music for us. No phones, so people would come in off the street to Paul Revere news updates. KDHX was a singular, life-affirming joy, and everyone who relied on them during this post-electric chaos had better be pledging at least $88 come next pledge drive.

The Best Line From A Friend Baking in a House with No Power “No traffic lights, no street lights, but down the street the Tan Co. is just blazing away in all its neon purple glory! I wanted to walk in and ask, ‘Hey, could I heat up some pizza rolls in one of the beds?’ “

The Best Symbolism On a truncated street just north of the Tower Grove/Vandeventer intersection, the wind collapsed a billboard into a graceful arc. I have an extensive photographic history with this 1/2 block (and will share that saga shortly), and just as I was digging in to document the above, my digital camera batteries went dead. It perfectly summed up 3 days worth of no-power issues.

And it bears repeating… I’m so grateful to have power back, that my entire block finally has power back. It feels like being baptized by The Church of the EverReady Kilo Watt. I am born again, amen.

New Town at St. Charles

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New Town At St. Charles
St. Charles, MO
No matter how hard one may try not to look at an accident, you still sneak a peek. The specter of New Town hung heavy over me as reports from others who’d made the trek were trickling in, so no matter how much principles dictated not looking, I was “stuck in traffic” and might as well take a good look. Accompanied by someone brave enough to take it, we left a trail of breadcrumbs (necessary when traveling west of 270) for the long journey out to Oz in a Cornfield.

The Riverfront Times already covered this topic at length, and Jen Silverberg’s masterful, editorial photos speak loud and clear. So, I’ll just get right to the immediate impressions.

After cruising through a placeless industrial complex, you spot dots of color popping out of a defunct cornfield. There’s only one entrance into the “city,” and an old, abandoned farmhouse serves as the un-manned guard post. A quick scan of the distant layout is interrupted by a curious and wondrous sight:
A Canal.
Filled with water.
Stone foot bridges crossing it.
Like Walt Disney Does Venice & Paris.
With people paddling and floating in it!

Disney World continues, as one floats through the “It’s A Small World” theme ride, because most every nationality of traditional European residential architecture is represented (above, Italian Lite), and all within the first two blocks! And if you stop to absorb details, a line of visiting cars backs up behind you like impatient tourists waiting to get on The Matterhorn.

From flowers and trees, to porch chairs (which much be issued to NT homebuyers’ on closing day, with strong recommendations on proper placement), to sidewalk lighting, it’s impossible to escape that movie set feeling. But actually, it reminded me of the first time I walked into a Pottery Barn store, and had the queer sensation of being trapped in a catalog. Or more accurately, New Town looks just like the “Historic Buildings” section of a model train accessories catalog.

The model train feeling persisted because, Where Are The People?
Granted, it was a day so hot that local weathermen swore you’d spontaneously combust if you stepped outside. But even the perfect tableaus depicting the classic art of porch sittin’ usually lacked tables for placing beverages, or any other signs that people actually used these spaces.

Moving deeper into the vast development, we finally spotted people spilling in and out of the various model homes, so we went in the model that sports an attached “mother-in-law” cottage. Aside from battling feelings of Alice in Wonderland falling down the Barbie Townhouse hole, the interior work and layout was OK. As with most of the NT homes, they are not square footage hogs; rooms are modestly sized, with some of the bedrooms about the same size as those in a South St. Louis bungalow. The developers are truly more concerned with density than with soaring entries and great rooms with ceilings so high you can see the energy bills mounting.

(Above, left, the exterior color palette to choose from. Above, right, test patches on a common ground utility shed buck the color rules.)
More urban traits the developers got right: narrow streets (some of them one way) with cars lining the curbs; alleys with trash dumpsters, and sidewalks for loitering. From a kid’s perspective, this place should be paradise because it’s easily traversable on a bike or foot, plenty of places to play out of parental sight (like the plethora of unprotected buildings under construction – a classic hotbed of juvenile delinquency), and lots of obvious and not-so-obvious places to gather in groups.
But where are the kids?
Kids don’t care if it’s awfully hot because that’s what summer’s all about. Are their parents making them stay inside lest they melt into a puddle of Juicy Juice in the villainous heat wave? Or does New Town discourage the owning of children?

Right on cue, the sign above appears on a tiny front lawn, proving children are allowed and are being manufactured on a daily basis. Plus, this family has a pun-ridden appreciation of Italian sex goddesses, so New Town does embrace the cultural arts.

There are a few lakes throughout, and the signs posted around them warn that you use them at your own risk. But they are ambiguous about the swimming issue; doesn’t say you can, doesn’t say you can’t. So, can you swim in them?

And once again, just like a stage manager cueing the talent to take the stage, a father carrying a brightly colored floating device is trailed by two young boys in sleek black life jackets. They are headed straight for the lake. You can swim in the lakes!

Yes, you can swim, float, paddle and boat, and in the case of the above lake, they provide wide, descending stair steps that take you right to the edge of the stone-encrusted shore. And the water temperature was, of course, perfect. And it’s at this point that we asked ourselves, “Is it OK to not hate this place?”

Sometimes, the buildings would elicit outright admiration; quality material choices, or proper placement of a 3-block long row of Bostonian townhouses, or ultra-wide wooden stairs leading up to a porch would signal a deep commitment to doing this right. But then you pull away from a dense cluster of Faux Brooklyn Heights to see miles of flat, treeless land bumping up against a typical McMansion subdivision in the distance, and that model train set feeling returns.

Now, if you’ve spent your entire life living in St. Charles, or similar environs, then New Town is a safe (though there sure were a lot of cop cars around) way of experiencing the joys of traditional urban life, circa Leave It To Beaver. For the older folks who long ago fled a city in a mild state of panic, this is a rarified chance to approximate the sentimental aspects of their early years. For the people who still live in a bonafide urban area, it lacks the crucial flavor of organic and ethnic evolution. New Town is the visual equivalent of the taste of low fat Pringles.

The central business district (above) was both disquieting and fascinating. It follows the model of “county seats” throughout small town America, but in this case, it was actually inhabited by people attending to business and pleasure. We finally saw all the townfolk who’d been missing during the first part of this journey.

The large-scale chess set (above) saw use, and inside the Town Hall, over a dozen tables were occupied by people of various ages deeply concentrating on chess matches. A steady stream of people were coming and going from the market, and tiny groups of people were milling about a row of food stands (below), which were made to look like miniature temples in Athens, Greece.

It was truly hot, so cold beverages were needed, and that’s where the (quick, pick the fruitiest name ever) Prancing Pony came of service. It’s billed as a cafe, but it’s a modern take on the general store and lunch counter (of which actual people were actually using) combined with a bookstore. Their architecture section puts a Border’s to shame, and the developers are dead serious about New Urbanism, with selections like A Pattern Language and How Buildings Learn. It was an impressive selection of books.

After purchasing bottled drinks (for which they provide an old-fashioned bottle opener nailed to the wooden counter), it was time to sit and observe the New Town inhabitants. And sure enough, they were walking into the town center and casually using all the amenities; bringing Prancing Pony food out onto the veranda (below) complete with overhead doors opened and closed depending on the weather, or small groups having a quick chat before attending to marketing.

I wound up in conversation with a young boy who was picking up grilled cheese sandwiches to go, and I peppered him with endless questions that he answered in a friendly and precise manner. He and his family moved here from elsewhere in St. Charles, and their house was up for sale (“oh, they sell real fast, and for more money than when buying them the first time”) so they could move into a larger model that would be ready at the beginning of September. When I mentioned the name of a realtor we’d run into earlier, he remarked, “Oh yeah, she’s always selling. Lots of stuff to sell.”

I’d noticed one church already standing, with another one under construction, so I asked him what denominations they were. “Christian. They pretty much cover everyone,” and he said people do go to them.

He confirmed that it really is a great place for kids, pointing out a shallow amphitheater where they show free movies every Friday night (King Kong and Napoleon Dynamite), and lakes to swim and fish in (“I don’t know how deep they are because I haven’t touched bottom, yet”). The school buses come right into the town center to pick them up, and they do play in the alleys. While talking, he said “hi” or nodded to every person that passed by, and I was pleasantly surprised at how willing he was to engage an obvious visitor in prolonged conversation. So prolonged, that I had to let him go before the grilled cheese (wrapped in a nifty black boutique box) got cold.

This casual exchange made me wonder how the New Towners felt about outside visitors; do they want tourists coming in to use their grocery store, eat at their restaurants, watch their free films? My travel companion made a good point: This should be no different than someone from, say, Richmond Heights popping into the Central West End for a bite. They’ve set it up as a full-blown town (albeit a just-add-water version), so they really wouldn’t want to go out of their way to discourage patrons willing to spend cash.

Since New Town is working on a 12-15 year plan, it seems logical that they would explore the options of a movie theater, library, concert hall, etc. These venues probably wouldn’t pull a CWE crowd, but St. Charles and O’Fallon folks wouldn’t have to go as far to get some form of well-considered culture.

So, what are the final impressions as one heads back up that long, solitary road?
I didn’t feel as creeped out as I had expected, and I begrudgingly admired a large chunk of the architecture in much the way the newfangled Las Vegas bowled me over with how expertly it recreates landmarks from around the globe. It’s fun to occasionally check out a dog & pony show, and the people sure were nice, but I was relieved to see the highway that leads back to a real city.

My fellow explorer hit upon the obvious: Sure would have been nice if they’d tried this experiment on the Old North Side. And he hit upon a missed opportunity: If they feel compelled to do something like this, why does it have to be a pastiche? Why not go for ultra-contemporary, sleekly modern homes, with minimalist boxes lining the lakes?

If a developer is sinking this much money into such a (by Midwestern standards) radical concept, they could also push the envelope a little further, and change up the architecture on the back acres of the town. There’s still time, and people will buy anything as long as it’s expertly marketed. New Town is both a marketing campaign and a misplaced experiment, kind of like New Coke capitulating to Classic Coke with vanilla. But for those who prefer their caffeine via coffee, it’s a moot point.

Updates

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The beauty of cyberspace is access to vast resources that eventually provide answers to most questions.

Question: What was the original use of the building at 3504 Washington?
Christian Herman answers:

“The building at 3504 Washington was an Arby’s restaurant in 1969, it’s original use. The interior makes use of the color psychology of the day: orange and brown to stimulate the appetite. I remember orange vinyl booths.”

CORRECTION
And cyberspace brings about fast edits! Upon seeing this post, Darren let me know that the building couldn’t have been an Arby’s, since there was already one at Grand and Lindell. This building was a Neba’s Roast Beef restaurant, as evidenced here (scroll halfway down).

Question: What’s the story on the sculpture plopped in the middle of a South City block?
Grant Alexander answers:

“The story behind “White Mountains” is pretty interesting. My friend, Rick helped assemble it when it came to the STL area in 1978 but this isn’t where it was first built. It was conceived and constructed in NY by artist Clark Murray. Its birthdate was probably in the early or mid ’70’s but I don’t know for sure. In NY the piece sat in front of PS-1, a school that, to my understanding, had been adapted for use by artists.

In ’77 a friend of Murray’s named Adam Aaronson(sp?) saw the sculpture and wanted to use it in STL. Mr. Aaronson ran some banks here in town and he employed local artists to make furniture, sculpture or other artwork for his banks. (This is where Rick enters the story, he was working for Aaronson) Murray agreed to have the “Mountains” moved to STL and they sat in a field behind the State Bank on St. Charles Rock Rd. for a time.

From there it was loaned to Laumier Sculpture Park and was on display there. According to Rick the sculpture disappeared from the park when the director changed and from there he lost track of it. About two years ago he was riding through the neighborhood, saw the sculpture and was dumbfounded as to how it made its way to its current location. As far as he knows it still belongs to Murray but he doubts the artist knows its whereabouts.

Currently the firm I work for is working on the new Pepose Vision Center (in Chesterfield) and Rick is working on the interiors. He is trying to persuade the Pepose family to refurbish the “White Mountains” and install the piece in front of their new building. So the life of these tubes is far from over.”

Marina City

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Marina City, Chicago, IL
This site just never gets old.

And it even works at night. Well, except for the House of Blues building, whose cornice outline reminds me of strands of rolled-out Play-Doh applied by a sugar-jittery toddler. Here’s why we were at The House Of Rules.

Someday, I’ll get in an extensive photographic tour of all eras of Chicago’s architecture, a legacy of which its citizens are rightly proud. So proud, they have a foundation that hosts tours that bring in yards of money, respect and awe.

Has anyone in St. Louis has thought of doing something similar? Just asking…