Category Archives: mid-century modern

First Grade Flashback: Our Lady of Good Counsel

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our lady of good counsel 1160 St. Cyr Road, Bellefontaine Neighbors, MO photo by toby weiss1160 St. Cyr Road, Bellefontaine Neighbors, MO
We were driving down Bellefontaine Road and we came to the intersection of Bellefontaine and St. Cyr. I say to Rob, “You know, I’ve never taken a left down this road. Let’s see what’s down there.”

As I turn, Rob says there’s this really great modern church at the top of the hill with a swooping concrete roof. He’s covered it on his website…and…I didn’t hear another word he said.

From the first glance of it, I was stunned. Pulling into the parking lot, I was overcome. I’d obviously been down this road before, many times, a long, long time ago. This was the church my Grandma Weiss went to and I’d been inside it many, many times.

You know those flashback scenes in movies? That’s exactly what happened to me standing in the parking lot, staring up at the church. A dozen old reels of mental film were unspooling concurrently at a rapid pace.

The First Reel:
Easter of 1973, and what turned out to be the last time I was in this church. My parents had recently divorced, but Dad picked me up to go to church with him and his mother. I was decked out in a white and brown smock dress and a pair of fake leather white clogs with dark brown wedge heels (come on, it was 1973!). Oh, how I loved those clogs, and the thick hollow sound they made as I dragged my heels.

As we walked up the sidewalk to the auditorium, Dad was getting annoyed with that sound.
“Toby, pick up your heels.”
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
“Toby, stop dragging your feet.”
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
By now we’re in the auditorium, heading for a pew, and the clogs made a whole new sound on the carpet: thwook, thwook, thwook.
“Toby, I told you to stop dragging your heels!”
Thwook, thwook – oops!

Dad abruptly pulls me up into the air by one hand, and swats my butt. I’m swaying back and forth with each swat, and the clogs fall off my feet and land with a loud “da-thunk thunk.” I look down at my clogs contrasted against the red carpet, and tears of embarrassment fill my eyes…. fade out.

our lady of good counsel 1160 St. Cyr Road, Bellefontaine Neighbors, MO photo by toby weissRob and I peer in through the doors, and I see small glimpses of the auditorium, just enough for more film reels to unwind. I had total recall of every single form, line and texture of the interior. Being too young to listen to what was being said at the alter, I spent every service visually scanning every detail of that room. I could feel the childhood sensation of tracing those concrete arches as they dived into the wooden trellis screens. I could recall my fantasies of swinging like a trapeze artist from the braided support cables.

These flashbacks were intense and vivid, and they came on with such force because they had been suppressed for so long. Not once over all these years had I thought of this building; it had long ago left conscious memory. But seeing one small piece of it from a distance unlocked that brain sector, and turns out I knew that building almost as well as the people who designed and built it. And then I forgot all about it, since I got out of going to this church – or any church – after that Easter Clog Debacle.

This part of North County was once a happening place, which is why my grandparents moved there. As the website of this municipality relays, “From the year 1950 to the year 1960, Bellefontaine Neighbors experienced a period of very rapid population growth, the 766 people in 1950 having increased to 13,650 people by 1960.” The Archdiocese website says this church was built in 1951, but a corner stone says 1965, so maybe they had to add on to accommodate the crowds. By the early 1980s, most of our family had moved away from the area, leaving Grandma – who never had a drivers license – hard pressed to get a regular ride to church, even though she lived a quarter of a mile away. This was a common story, a tale also known as White Flight, and was a contributing factor to it being shut down by The Church in 2005.

our lady of good counsel 1160 St. Cyr Road, Bellefontaine Neighbors, MO photo by toby weissSo anyway, that is the unique power of the built environment: physical proof of our pasts, depositories of memories our brains can’t hold because of all the dates, numbers and names we have to remember daily. Buildings are bookmarks in the story of our lives, and in the case of this building, it is the most interesting and compelling character in the short chapter of my church-going years.

Unnerving Florissant Modern

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Halls Ferry Medical Arts Building
Florissant, MO
As a kid, this building scared me. As an adult, it both repulses and attracts. It hovers and squats, begs you to look at it yet wants you to stay away. The complete lack of windows makes it seem unfriendly to those outside and inside.

Thanks to Live Search Maps, I now know that daylight does reach the inhabitants through a center light well. So I no longer need worry about the people inside. But the exterior impression is still unnerving in the same way as Donald Trump’s comb over: Yes, it’s grotesque but I can’t stop trying to dissect it.

It opened in 1973, so it’s in that muffled time period after mid-century modernism but before the carnival sideshow buildings of post-modernism. It sits directly north behind Interstate 270, near the intersection of New Halls Ferry and Dunn Road, tucked oddly into the site. You only see it from New Halls Ferry when driving toward the highway, so it feels like it’s in hiding, waiting to crush you if you happen to walk to close by (though this is deep suburbia, so there are no sidewalks).

When parts of the building are in full sun, it can be striking, like a graceful alien mothership. The stark minimalism of the base – punctured only by double glass doors in the front and back – is audacious in scale. The second story “hat” with bowtie-shaped corners is overblown like a 3-can Red Bull buzz. But again, at the right time of day, it feels jovial… as long as you stay back several yard.

The building was rather popular in the early days. I knew lots of people who had doctors within, and they all seemed to come and go without harm. In the early 1980s, I was scheduled to go there for a blood test and blew it off because I just couldn’t bring myself to walk in the joint.

Under the newest ownership, the Medical Arts building has deteriorated. As seen above in December 2006, a stone aggregate panel had slipped off the frieze. Being able to see what was behind there blew my theory that those panels were originally intended to be windows until the budget ran out. Another look at the first photo shows they did repair it as cheaply as possible.

Mold runs rampant along the north side of the building, as do water stains on all sides. There is no sign of regular building maintenance, though, strangely enough, the landscaping that runs down both sides is always trim and tidy.

When recently talking about this building, a relative who had a doctor there in the mid-1970s said, “Oh, it had the nicest fountain inside the center court.” Which highlighted that one never truly knows a building until you’ve experienced all of it. So, maybe it was time to peak inside.

Going inside means facing this! It really does feel as oppressive as this view looks.

But when contemplating the rear entry up close, it’s not so bad, right? I love the simplicity of the glazing, and the sleek door handles. A defunct phone booth is a quaint touch. Plus, those are vintage plastic office chairs, all 1973 olive green, of course. So, I summoned the courage and darted inside for a quick peek.

This place has got it going on, chair-wise!
I was struck (and relieved) by how much daylight there was, and all the greenery in the atrium. Look through the glass and you can see part of the fountain. I’m guessing it’s not running at this late date, since the pool is now filled with rocks. I wasn’t able to gather details…

Usually, I photographically prowl around inside a building until I get the stink eye. But in this case, I saw no human beings, which creeped me out and made this a 2-frame/30-second sprint.

The sign is intriguing. It wanted to mimic the shape of the building but gave up, so instead uses some of same materials. But that script-like type face is misleading because it’s way friendlier than the building.

While it instinctively unnerves, the building also attracts me because it elicits such strong emotion. Sure, they’re generally negative emotions, but when living in landscapes hellbent on homogeny, a little Boo Radley in a building is a good thing.

Craigwoods: A Kirkwood Mid-Century Subdivision

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Craigwoods Subdivision, Kirkwood MO
While taking a new shortcut to Big Bend and Interstate 270, I looked down into a valley along Craig Road and saw a storybook village of mid-century ranch houses. Because it was the end of winter and the trees were bare, the houses were plainly visible. Once the trees are fully in bloom, the houses are hidden under a sylvan umbrella.

Craigwoods is a 4-street tract tucked into a bowl behind St. Josephs Hospital. Kirkwood is known for a large stock of picturesque historic homes, though it’s actually far more eclectic than popular notion. There are several decades worth of custom homes built in popular styles of the day, with quite a lot of mid-century and post-modern homes resting peacefully next to quintessential Kirkwood historic architecture.

This small but rambling subdivision was built from 1953 to 1955. Houses range from 1,300 – 3,000 s.f. Many of the homes still have the original owners living there, and when listings for them do appear, they sell quickly.

Lately, Kirkwood has been battling a teardown plague, but as of this writing, there are only 2 instances of new in-fill housing in Craigwoods. Both are large, multi-story jobs inappropriate to the horizontal neighborhood, but because the lots are large, hilly and tree-filled they don’t stick out as jarringly as is usually the case elsewhere.

Because the subdivision is so hilly, there are many split-level ranches, which then provides more opportunities for outdoor terraces, usually over the multi-car garage. One characteristic of the uniquely American ranch house style is the attached garage. But rather than the garage eating up half the facade, the ranch style originally found ways to discreetly tuck it into the design so it didn’t call too much attention to itself. Moving it to the backside of the house was a popular option, and made more sense for families. Since everyone was in the backyard anyway, all the stuff needed for outdoor living was neatly stacked into the garage.

That was the original beauty of the ranch style: a new, informal residential architecture that took into account how American families actually lived after World War 2.

Here’s a house in Craigwoods that’s undergoing renovation. So far, they appear to be staying true to the original feel of the house.

A good friend of mine is a buyer’s agent specializing in finding mid-century homes for those so aesthetically inclined. She has noticed that buyer’s have a tendency to become disenchanted with the houses she shows them because so many of them have been remuddled and would require remodeling to return them to their former glory. In general, most every new owner of an existing home has to do some form of renovation; that inevitable expense is usually factored into the overall cost of purchasing the house.

But for some strange reason, some who want an MCM ranch house hold onto the unrealistic expectation that they will easily find an untouched gem and simply move their stuff into a dwell dollhouse. I think this speaks more to a certain lifestyle mindset than the reality of buying any type of house over 20 years old.

The typical American ranch home is now – or very close to being – officially historic. One must put on their “historic rehab” thinking caps and undertake the adventure. Here’s a thoroughly illustrated example of a family who did just such a thing with just such a house.

I ran across a term new to me that describes Craigwoods: Contractor Modern. From Lester Walker’s indispensable book American Shelter:

Contractor Modern, Countrywide – 1955
This style has been called the true twentieth-century vernacular mode. Its compactness and simplicity and its use of many stylistic features dictated by the experience of builders and contractors made it the most commonly used style for the thousands of subdivision ranch houses being constructed all over America…. The contractors used (Frank Lloyd) Wright’s ideas but built expediently with factory-made, often synthetic, materials, such as imitation plastic stone, pressed fiber imitation wood siding, and metal shutters and siding.

From a fascinating New York Times article in 1982, suburban homeowners (who put style 9th on the list of important factors in choosing a house) chose the ranch as the third most popular option, perceiving it “as economical, modest and simple.” Fast-forward to the financially-and energy-challenged 21st century, and “economic, modest and simple” seems once again a virtue.

CWE Mid-Century Modern: Lindell Boulevard

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Lindell Boulevard in the Central West End
St. Louis City, MO
The Central West End is a beloved historical part of town. Residents have worked very hard for almost 40 years to revive what had fallen on hard times and preserve the historic architecture and density that gives the CWE its distinct flavor. It was once a city district on the losing end of White Flight and families and businesses motoring out to the deep suburbs.

After World War 2, the bounty of Civic Progress created Urban Renewal, which meant tearing down all the old, ugly Victorian buildings to make clean, modern buildings that mirrored America’s eager brave face of the future. They were a well-meaning group of WW2- heroic City Fathers with blinkered sight, and it required the generations after them to call a halt to such frenzied destruction of America’s urban centers .

In St. Louis “they” caused great harm to the meat of downtown, and the CWE felt the sweeping hand of progress, too. Along the main thoroughfare of Lindell Boulevard, many ugly old Gilded Age residences were torn down to build clean new buildings with modern lines and fancifully optimistic faces. It was a period of random death and acute growing pains. Time heals, and these replacement buildings have become an accepted part of the CWE fabric. History repeats, and one of these replacement buildings is poised to kick off another misguided demolition spree. 55 years is too long a period for people to remember what history teaches us.

EAST OF N. VANDEVENTER
3765 Lindell, Triple Links Bldg.
We start our tour of Lindell’s Mid-Century Modern (a.k.a replacement) buildings a bit west of St. Louis University because its currently a problematic topic when it comes to demolishing the past for its own future. In the early 1950s, they made the bold move to design and build the most sophisticated of modern libraries on their campus, which most likely inspired all subsequent activity heading west. Tragically, it comes as no surprise that they now hope to strip the Pius XII Library of its MCM elegance because MCM is the New Victorian (i.e., ugly and dirty and it must be purged).

So we skip the ever-controversial SLU, and start with the building, above, that was originally built in 1914, and that the International Order of Odd Fellows has been in since 1921. In 1964 they slapped on the facade you see today, and they were so jazzed by this modern update that they threw a party on July 19, 1964 to celebrate it.

There are quite a few Lindell examples of giving a new face to an old building, which in today’s parlance would be considered very green of them. Actually, the greenest building is the one already built, so rather than chase down LEEDs for sexy new buildings, remodels of existing buildings – even the replacement buildings – is far smarter, hipper and earth-friendly.

3800 Lindell
Across the street from Triple Links was originally the grand private home of James Brock. In 1960, his house was demolished to build the above headquarters for International Business Machines. Today, it houses SLU offices. It was a mid-century replacement building that has survived 48 years of adaptive re-use. A thorough scrubbing of its concrete filigree curtain wall would let its original corporate cool radiate prosperity once again.

3860 Lindell
This building opened in 1945, so it was being built during WW2, which makes it a rare bird for the time period. It is the poster child for masculine, institutional art deco. The soaring entry reeks of Gotham City even before spying the man with lightning bolts carved above the door. This is a building that Clark Kent would run out of to find a phone booth. The city cleared out Toodle House Restaurant (with a private residence above) so the railroad and telegraph unions could have this building. It currently houses St. Louis Job Corps.

FROM N. VANDEVENTER to N. SARAH
3912 Lindell
This is an interesting block of Lindell, as it’s a balanced mix of giving old buildings new fronts and tearing down old buildings for new buildings that would swing. Above is a building that was a private residence built in 1897, but after a 1960 remodel became the home for Equitable Life Insurance. They had the good fortune of being in the right place at the right time when, just next door they built…

3914 Lindell – the former Playboy Club
The grand old home of Ellen Huctson was cleared so the Playboy Club could open their 4th club on October 16, 1962. Hugh Hefner opened his first club in Chicago in 1960, and the distinct design flavor – corporate pimp casual Friday’s – carried into this building as well. Hef is, easily, the first truly modern 20th century man, and the modern man was all about the car. So the new Playboy building added a driveway to drop one in front of the dramatically lit outside terrace before the valet whisked your car into the Playboy garage.

Fischer & Frichtel were the general contractors, and Pittsburgh Plate Glass did the windows. I know this because my father, Richard Weiss, was the glazing foreman on the job, and he – along with all the sub-contractors – were invited to the grand opening of “this beautiful building. It was truly something.”

By the late 70s, the Playboy Club moved out to the Viking Hotel at Lindbergh & Watson Roads, and this building remained vacant until Kearbey’s nightclub opened in the late 1990s, altering very little of the long-shuttered building. And then the building sat dead again until the City Grille and Brewhaus gave it a go. One patron was kind enough to get plenty of pictures of what remained in tact from the Bunny Years before City Grille abruptly folded. Today, the building is in horrible visual shape. The City Grille was too feisty with coats of paint, both inside and out. A front window is smashed in, and it doesn’t look like there’s anything Bunny Fabulous left to pry off the walls as a memento of when the CWE was swanky. There does remain a few pieces of the past they’ve yet to destroy…

Marble tiles stamped with the eternally-cool Playboy logo still lead the eye to the patio and the view across the street of a building that went up to bolster the fading swinger’s self-esteem.

3917 Lindell – Automobile Club of Missouri
One of two round white buildings on Lindell, it looks like the curvy female answer to the boys-will-be-boys clubhouse across the street. But this building was erected in 1977! As early as 1942 the Automobile Club was listed in this same spot, and they certainly waited a long time to join in the CWE urban renewal.

Maybe the delay was so that they could get exactly the perfect building. It’s a truly iconic piece on Lindell – everyone knows and admires this building, and Triple A takes exceptional care of it. They must stock pile drums of white paint for constant touch ups in between new coats. A view through the endless ribbon of windows reveal many original fixtures still in place, and the whole thing has a distinct 1960s Jetsons feel. Were the original plans drawn up in the 60s and they sat on them for a bit, or did they purposely try to evoke a by-gone era, even though it wasn’t all that by-gone? Again, it feels like a sly wink to the club across the street.

3926 Lindell
Built in 1909, it was listed as a private residence of Sara Wesnick in 1942. By 1960 it had become commercial, housing multiple small business at once until it went vacant in 1973. The International Society of Krishna Consciousness have been here since 1980. The new facade is so geometrically simple and graceful that I want to pinpoint it as late 1940s. Does anyone have an accurate read on the remodel?

3940 Lindell
And here’s another old building that got a new face to blend in with all the forward-thinking architectural antics on the block. It was originally a home built in 1899. By 1960, owner Jane Horan had moved on, and after a remodel it became an office building big enough to house 3 companies. It’s becoming clear that so many of these grand palaces were going to seed with all these old widows rattling around in them. Large chunks of grand CWE homes on the private streets were subdivided and degraded as boarding houses during the 1960s and 1970s, which is why the loyal rehabbing of most of them back into single-family luxury is so awe-inspiring.

But Lindell, a main artery in the city, appears to have always been half commercial, half residential. So as old mansions drooped under lack of care, and with most people still not attuned to saving their (then) recent past, it was a cake walk to buy up the brick and stone bags of bones, pummel them down and build anew atop the spot. Remember that it wasn’t until 1968 that Jackie Kennedy Onassis spoke out against the horrendous thought of demolishing Grand Central Terminal, helping to save and restore it. It took a pissed off Jackie O. (who’d already rehabbed the White House during her brief tenure) to change the thinking patterns of a generation fixated on westward expansion, asking them to look back on where they came from:

“Is it not cruel to let our city die by degrees, stripped of all her proud monuments, until there will be nothing left of all her history and beauty to inspire our children? If they are not inspired by the past of our city, where will they find the strength to fight for her future? Americans care about their past, but for short term gain they ignore it and tear down everything that matters. Maybe… this is the time to take a stand, to reverse the tide, so that we won’t all end up in a uniform world of steel and glass boxes.”

Jackie O. took a stand against replacement buildings pretty much like this…

3960 Lindell
The Ira Goodpasture residence was cleared away for this office building to go up in 1955. Maybe Ira’s place was a bigger version of the building to the left in the above picture. Maybe Jackie would have hated that this new version of suburban corporate modern planting itself in an old urban neighborhood. Judging by build dates for the rest of Lindell’s MCM stock, this brand new building was quite the pioneer; it had to look positively alien at the time. A building like that was common in the new car-centric business districts of Jennings or Affton, but just a whole lot too stark for the people waiting to catch a street car. The building has held up very well, and is now a regal example of how tastes change over time.

4020 Lindell – The Continental
Built in 1965, it certainly does look like a place Christopher Walken’s character would live. It feels like it turned seedy about 10 minutes after opening day, and always makes me feel like I want to give it a bath. A row of houses originally stood on the spot that is now this place and the McDonald’s next door to the east, with most of them listed as vacant by 1960. Every time I turn a camera on the place, everyone in the parking lot and lobby gets visibly freaked out, which makes me love this sordid little building even more.

FROM N. SARAH to N. BOYLE
4100 Lindell
It looks like a Southern California motor hotel, but was built in 1957 for the Remington Rand Division of Sperry Rand, which has the ultimate The Organization Man ring to it. City directories are very vague about what was originally in this spot; almost as if the spot didn’t exist. It now houses the St. Louis Housing Authority.

4108 Lindell
Built in 1948, this low slung building is a great example of commercial architecture that bridged the realms between art deco and International style. I call it Deco Moderate, a popular commercial style in that time right after WW2 when the country took stock of how to accommodate the population explosion. Deco Moderate is both modern and quaint at the same time, hedging its bets and successfully fitting into whatever goes on around it. By 1960, the St. Louis Society for Crippled Children moved in, and they kept that name (and the building) well into the 1980s. We may be able to pinpoint the exact moment political correctness took hold in St. Louis when they changed the name to The Saint Louis Society for Children and Adults With Physical Disabilities in 1993 and moved to Olivette, MO. The building is currently vacant.

4236 Lindell
Lucy Heine’s house came down so the Lindell Building could go up in 1958. This building is classically handsome in a corporate International way, like a miniature of the insurance building C.C. Baxter worked in. In 1980, the Hickey Mitchell Insurance company had a floor, so there you go.

It exudes grey flannel offset with a subtle pastel blue tie. Each office surely had a hat rack and bottle of V.O. tucked into the bottom desk drawer. Every material, texture and proportion is carefully weighed for how it shall convey sophistication. The only thing that mars its mid-century cool whisper is the For Lease sign that eternally rests on its front lawn.

N. BOYLE to N. NEWSTEAD
4331 Lindell
The south side of this block is mostly the stately, vine-covered apartments, preserving the history of upwardly mobile in flux to the area in the teens and 1920s. Across the street, the modern building above quietly nestled in. Built in 1935, listed as the residence of Robert McClaran in 1942 and the new home of Knights of Columbus in 1960, which may be when it got the face lift. The K.C. was part of the distinctly Catholic bent of this immediate area, so it’s sweetly ironic that Thrive helps with family planning inside these walls. This building also gains allure by its juxtaposition with the traditional apartment building next door, which is one of the beauties of this stretch of the CWE: history continually flips the pages of its scrapbook via its buildings.

4359 Lindell – The Engineer’s Club
Much like the Triple A, the Engineer’s Club was always in this spot, and treated themselves to this new building in 1965. Its horizontal, Frank Lloyd Wright-like nature sprawl is really out of character for the area, but that’s where the drama is.

The sun dial aspect of the building is always a treat, the campus grounds are always immaculate and the owners of the building are willing to give up some of their parking (behind the building) to the Rosati Kain girls. They are neighborly, aesthetically appealing and loyal to the area, which may be why such an odd suburban addition to a dense urban area now feels just right.

N. NEWSTEAD to N. TAYLOR
4400 Lindell – Towne House Apartments
This is the cherry block for CWE MCM, and now the most controversial. Catholicism is the instigator of the good and the bad of this gorgeous block.

The Cathedral Basilica is the imposing and awesome cornerstone at Lindell & Newstead, which began construction in the spring of 1907. Everything about this block is Catholic because of it, and the apartments directly across the street were even called Cathedral Apartments. Until 1965, when it was torn down to build, above, the Towne House Apartments. How did such a Miami Beach Modern get erected in this spot? Because secular mid-century modern architecture was allowed to retool this block starting in 1961.

4445 Lindell – The Catholic Center
The Archdiocese kicked off the MCM frenzy with this striking space capsule of a building. They blessed the block with this fabulousness in 1961. Its blatant hipsterism is at odds with the seriousness of intent, which is what makes it so special.

My father, again, was the PPG glazing foreman for this building, which he still refers to as “the White Castles central office.” He remains fully impressed by the place, reeling off intricate details of its construction…1″ glazing of 25X Solex gold anodized glass with anchor bolts 5″ off every vertical, imported Italian marble floors that they had to remove shoes before walking on, the very best in aluminum frame doors from West Door… “it was a beautiful building, sophisticated engineering, a real pleasure to work on. They had no budget, so they were spending money like mad. It paid off; it’s a beautiful building.”
Indeed.

Seeing this building purring up against the Basilica is to cherish the broad sweep of 20th century architecture styles. But they, too, had to knock down some buildings to create this striking panorama. The residence of Alice Wahl came down to build the Chancery’s Office.

And they demolished the Sisters of St. Joseph convent in 1960 in order to build its next door neighbor to the west…

4483 Lindell – San Luis Apartments
This complex opened as the Deville Motor Court in 1963, and the Archdiocese wants to demolish it to make a surface parking lot for the Rosati-Kain girls. Even though it has plenty of built-in parking (that was the original point of the place), and even though its simple to reconvert it back to a hotel, and even though it fits right in (and kinda dominates) the majority of this MCM block, the church wants it gone. They own it, so have every right to do as they please. So why is everyone so upset?

Local historical preservationists have weighed in.
The local press is weighing in.
Residents of the area weighed in with letters to the editor and their own websites.
Even the National Trust for Historic Preservation has weighed in!
Each voice makes brilliant points, but really, why do they care about this place?

In a nutshell, we are tired of the imperious disregard for the environments we live in and love.

So far, this Lindell tour has shown how they picked away at the original fabric of the CWE to revive what was dying an unnecessary death. Old buildings that they felt had outlived their usefulness and beauty were demolished or renovated to reflect then-current standards and aspirations. Time and progress marches on, and it’s never a flawless process; there were plenty of disgruntled folks at that time. Time heals, and these same older residents now accept the replacement buildings on their own terms.

But the key point is that old buildings were replaced. They wanted new buildings to keep the density that creates vitality that creates cash and tax dollars. In the case of the Deville Motor Court/Holiday Inn Midtown/San Luis Apartments, the Archdiocese wants to tear down their building to make a blank spot. They plan to nicely landscape it, maybe offer up a little park for the people (who don’t want to bother with Forest Park right down the street), but it’s still a proposal for a void!

My father – yet again – was the glazing foreman for the Deville. H.B. Dale (which today is now H.B.D.) was the general contractor in a hurry to erect the building. My father remembers it as a horrible job, a 6-8 man union crew working overtime until 7 or 8 each night in frigid temperatures to install glass from the outside. He says it “was built on the cheap,” and while he liked the look of the cement board aggregate (above) because “it was something brand new and I always liked a contemporary building,” it was still cheap, and he’s surprised that it has held up so well over the years.

So maybe the Archdiocese is being honest when they say the building is expensive to maintain and draining their budget. First, a suggestion: turning off the lights that blaze 24 hours inside the vacant building would cut down on the electricity bill. Second, the maintenance bill gets high when a building is allowed to rot because the owners had a future plan to demolish it.

Word is that the Archdiocese did bring in a firm to assess the building and the cost to rehab it. The numbers given did not reflect the historic state and federal tax credits the building would be eligible for because they have not given thought to any process that would give the building new life. The church is apparently not motivated by revenue that would be generated by any reuse of the building on their property. They can – and will – do as they wish.

The prospect of this building coming down is sad because of the potential it possesses, and frightening because of the message it conveys. It would be a waste of resources during a time when America is going green in an attempt to save the environment. It would be an unwelcome void in the CWE fabric. It could be the signal for other property owners to devalue their replacement buildings, and start up another round of “urban renewal. ” And it’s this very concept that finally has the National Trust stepping up to acknowledge the merit of Mid-Century Modern architecture. They finally made the bold step of cranking up preservation by several decades to say “Yes to Yesterday.” Whew! Glad you could make it, and welcome.

4482 Lindell – The Jackson Arms Apartments
We stand in the parking lot of the San Luis and look across the street to a tower that appears to be a photographic negative image of the central Deville tower.

Built in 1965, this place is fabulous, whimsical and cool, all in the same breath. It is the aesthetic favorite of younger STL generations who immediately get the inherent beauty of vintage MCM design, and recognize a good specimen in the Jackson Arms.

There is much that I love about the details of this building, and I especially love how it looks up against the turn-of-century house next door. The private residence taken down for the Jackson probably looked much like it. The co-mingling of the distant past and the recent past of St. Louis is the flavor of the CWE. Contrast is what makes every one of these buildings pop out and declare their value, and it’s a special treat to have a 120+ years architectural time capsule working for us every day.

4494 Lindell – Optimists International
Also across the street from San Luis is my absolutely favorite CWE MCM building. From materials, to proportion, to the quiet elegance it exudes, everything about it is exquisite. Rob Powers coined the term Onassis Modern to describe a certain type of 1960s architecture, and the first time he said it, I pictured Jackie Kennedy standing in the lobby of Optimists International when it opened in 1961.

N. TAYLOR to N. EUCLID
4501 Lindell – Lindell Terrace Apartments
The Deville Motor Court’s next door neighbor across N. Taylor is the stately and spare Lindell Terrace Apartments. A private residence was demolished to erect this. One of the reasons my father felt the Deville construction was so cheap is that he watched them build this place at the same time the Deville was going up. They used more traditional and substantial materials, so they must have had a bigger budget.

This high rise does a wonderful job of bridging the gap between classic and modern, which is why it blends nicely with the traditional apartment buildings directly to its west. And with many of the MCM replacement buildings on Lindell, planners seemed to thoughtfully consider the nature of the district and tried to make the insertion of the new as seamless as possible.

There’s no denying that this rush of redevelopment helped the CWE, so developers were allowed to go crazy. Sometimes they were too radical (I’m thinking of the large retail plaza between Vandeventer & Sarah), foisting deeply suburban layouts on a cosmopolitan urban neighborhood. But people use it, and it does contribute to the crazy energy of the area, as well as the tax base. The CWE historical ordinances enacted in 1979 have made sure that subsequent developments don’t get out of hand architecturally, and that the oldest building stock is rightfully protected. I admire the 50-year balancing act this part of town has juggled with, and hope they rightfully include the newer models in their protective embrace.

4545 Lindell
Now here’s an exciting brand spanking new addition to the street scape: 4545. I think it’s a superb specimen of 21st century modern architecture, and it gets a huge assist from being slotted between two classic CWE apartment buildings. The juxtaposition creates an energetic sexual tension on the street, with the youngster demurely taking a back seat to the older opulence of its neighbors without sacrificing any style.

This lot was once a residential building that kept flip-flopping from private residence to business from the 1940s – 1970s. By the 1980s it became a vacant lot. When plans for the lot were unveiled, there was scant negative reaction, and when construction began in 2005, excitement was rampant. Residents and potential buyers were welcoming a high-style, ultra-sleek modern addition to the street scape, which further highlights how sophisticated this part of town and its people are, and always have been. Instinctively, the CWE gets that history is a continual conversation, and the more voices chatting the more vibrant a cocktail party it becomes.

4625 Lindell
I truly never paid any attention to this building. It’s brutalist tendencies were somehow ignorable, even though it was a rhino among giraffes. But once the 4545 went up, this bank building suddenly had contemporary context. Also note that the stacking of the 4545 subtly apes the stacking of the bank. Intentional or coincidence? The original building on the lot was a private residence that turned into a bible church in the 1960s. City Bank built the new building in 1971, but also shared the space with Miss Vanderschmidt’s Secretarial School. Oh, how I love that name, which she held onto until 1980. Bless her un-PC heart!

4630 Lindell
A few private residences were taken down so the Bel Air Motel could go up in 1957. The above photo was taken in August of 2006, and even with the atrocious mauve paint job, it still hummed a jazzy tune while sipping umbrella-festooned cocktails. Those drinks would have been at Henrici’s Restaurant, which shared the space for decades. Check out postcard shots of the place in its heyday, and join the convo about what’s to become of the place.

The building now has new windows, a fresh coat of white paint and crews working on Saturdays, so it really is coming back to life. That entirely inappropriate portico needs to go, but from this illustration it seems they won’t design something more in keeping with the building’s Meis-Lite aesthetic. But I’m not complaining, because if any building on Lindell was vulnerable for the tear down, it was this one.

Some reports say the Roberts Brothers want to build a tower atop the rear of the building, ostensibly for more hotel rooms. But they are adamant about bringing cool, retro boutique hotel style to the CWE, which is sure bet when it comes to typical clientèle in the area. If they had their eye on a project like this in this area, do you think they checked in with the Archdiocese about the San Luis? Wouldn’t that building give them more of everything they’re aiming for, retro hotel-wise? The Roberts are plugged in, savvy and fearless, so it’s not far-fetched to imagine them inquiring as to what the church planned to do with the building after moving out the Cardinal Ritter senior citizens. This is purely circumstantial conjecture on my part, and luckily a similar vintage building, the next block up, came into view. But the facts do highlight that these commercial MCM buildings are desirable to a new breed of developers who smell money coming from the younger generations who revere this architectural genre. Even in St. Louis.

Will the bird sculpture remain atop the underground parking garage? It’s an apt symbol of modern phoenixes rising from the ashes of ancient ruins, which is a spirited part of Central West End history.

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

Sylvan Springs Park

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Sylvan Springs Park, South St. Louis County
Whenever Rob Powers is in town, we usually find something new and wonderful. This time, by simply turning down a street I’d never been on before, we saw the above sight.

My first impression was a quintessential drive-in concession stand plopped into a bucolic setting. Sylvan Springs Park is across from a back entrance to the Jefferson Barracks cemetery on Sappington Barracks Road. The reason Ordnance Shelter resembles drive-in architecture is because it was built in 1955.

The concession stand at the rear of the building is boarded up, but the rest of the shelter is business as usual, with a family (who were very cool about us taking tons of pictures) picnic taking place while we were there.

Ordnance Shelter looks out on a courtyard with short stone walls and small stage, lending the entire setting a quaint Jellystone Park vibe. While I circled the building in blissful disbelief, Powers – who is a working architect – was able to note that the building was in need of some serious repairs. This immediately brings up the fear that rather than repair it, the parks system will simply tear it down. This fear is compounded by the jinx I carry with me: if it’s a great example of mid-century modern still in use and I love it and photograph it, it will come down.

Some quick internet research shows that a skateboard park is planned for a spot north of Ordnance Shelter. I’m asking for the same thing at Carondelet Park, so it’s thrilling to know someone else had – and acted on – the idea. A 2003 Master Plan shows several suggestions for revamping the park, with most plans leaving this shelter standing. But one of slides shows it, too, being revamped slightly. So, fingers are crossed that its essential spirit remains unbroken.

Marla Court

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I was pedaling around a previously-unexplored section of South St. Louis, the very hilly part wedged in the area between Highway 55 and the St. Louis County line. A majority of the homes near the City/County border are the quickly-erected, simple tract homes necessitated by the baby boom. Sprinkled among them are 1920s & 30s brick bungalows, and a couple of much older homes in the “farm mansion” style.

I pedaled up Waddell, and on my right I saw a line of 5 houses that stuck out like a white rose in a red rose bouquet (see photo above). Simple, square homes with an abundance of glass and carports providing a sense of sweeping asymmetry. A glance down Comstock revealed an even longer line of the same houses. A pedal down the street revealed two courts full of variations on this theme!

As I stood at the entrance to Marla Court (map, above), memories of Darla Court rushed forth; Darla Court being a Jetsons duplex village I accidentally discovered in the bowels of Jennings, MO. Darla in the North… Marla in the South… freaking out, in a good way.

Above is a good example of a relatively untouched version of the homes in this little mid-century pocket. All of the homes in this style were built between 1957 and 1958. Each one was originally 952 square feet with one bathroom and central air. These small homes were given a bit of modern drama by treating the standard-height front rooms to 5 transom windows following the slope of the roof line. The steel tubes supporting the roof overhang and carport are placed at the jaunty angles which separated modern from traditional.

This being South St. Louis, tinkering with our homes is a pre-requisite, so of course there is some remodeling. “Stone” siding and shutters were an original cosmetic variation on the theme, while the boarding up of the transom windows and the curly-cue iron columns (above) feels like a form of beating back some of the peskier modern features.

Most of the homes have opted to cover the wood roof soffits with vinyl, which is a normal function of upkeep. But I was charmed by how most everyone kept the wide variety of colors when it came time to replace the siding (above).

All of the houses were the same, yet there is just enough original – and new – detail to make each one interesting in its own right. I was also pleased to see every home occupied and in pristine condition, with neighbors of all ages playing in the street and puttering around the yards. I wonder if being part of a slightly secluded neighborhood of similar houses contributes to the distinct community feel.

Check out the above drastic remodel. Not only did they change the orientation of the siding and the windows from horizontal to vertical, they also added a second story. I love that they went for such radical departures while still honoring the basic lines of the house, and thus the neighborhood. Also, it’s a bit shocking that they are the only house to add a 2nd story in order to gain some square footage.

In the court part of Comstock comes a variation on the basic architectural theme, what I refer to as the Flat Front Model. These homes went in later, from 1961 – 1965, and were slightly larger at 988 square feet and with 2 bathrooms. There was one of these models for sale at the time I took these pictures, and according to the realty listing, that house added a great room to the backside for more square footage, while leaving the front relatively untouched. It had a list price of $149,900.

The Flat Fronts are riper for renovation, with most of them converting carports into garages. Or in the case of the home directly above, the carport became a sunroom, and everything gets a rustic look with cedar siding. But in general, I am impressed with how much of the original stylistic intent remains among all the remodeling; it’s a testament to the flexibility of these homes that so much D.I.Y. can occur without altering the basic flavor of this one-off development.

Streamline Moderne in North St. Louis County

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11851 Benham Road
Unincorporated North St. Louis County, MO
I’ve admired this house for decades because of its simplistic deco beauty, and that it’s such a rare creature in this part of far North County. Near to where highways 367 and 270 meet, if the architecture is not commercial or Christian Northeast Hospital, it’s the standard ranch issue of suburban towns developed in earnest during the mid-1960s and on. But this little gem went up in 1935 or 1938 (depending on which records consulted), when the area was decidedly rural and Dunn Road was the highway system.

The St. Louis County Parks inventory of historic buildings reveals it was originally known as the Everett D. Fry House. The home is 2 stories, 2 bedrooms, 2 baths, central air and 1964 s.f., with an ingenious carport/terrace double-duty spot on the south elevation. During the time I’ve been acquainted with it, the place has always been pristine, and modest about being a white rose among carnations. But in the 21st century, it got a little raggedy, and for over a year the home has been vacant.

On my last visit, I found the above signs in the window. A search for available FannieMae properties does not list this place, and after a number of owner changes in the past several years, it now belongs to an LLC, who bought it for $93,000.

Highway 367 is just about finished with a major (and much-appreciated) overhaul. Benham is a 2-lane road that parallels the highway. As the highway revamps, many of the ranch homes on Benham – north of this site, – have been bought and torn down. I’m assuming new homes will rise up in their place, but it could just as easily swing into commercial use; this part of town is transforming rapidly after a long period of stagnation.

This house would be a dream achievement for certain types of residential art deco aficionados. But there are now so many physical and market-driven barriers piling up around it that the prognosis is bleak. Another “that’s a damn shame” may be added to the list.

2010 UPDATE
This home has been bought and is now fully occupied, with vehicles parked in the carport and a tidy yard. Thank you to whomever saw the beauty of this home!

Pius XII Library, St. Louis University

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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.

Phillips 66, Part 2

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Manchester & McKnight, Rock Hill, MO
On the southwest corner of this ugly and congested intersection is a trim-line geometric bird waiting for flight.

It was built in 1963 as a Phillips 66 gas station. It was a rare species of their New Look line: The Double Canopy. Only the suburban intersections with the greatest promise of heaviest traffic got Bat Wing Deuce.

In the early 1960s, Rock Hill fit that description; today, times that by 150. This intersection is littered with unsightly power lines, traffic lights and signs, clunky after-thought storefronts and new-fangled retail devoid of personality. In the midst of the chaos is this light, delicate space age bird.

From an ariel view, you can see the bat wings, see how startling its appearance must have been back in the day, and how utterly alien it has become today.

I’ve spent years trying to get the proper picture of the building, a way to convey its movement in stillness. I put a wide-angle lens on the film camera, and stood in the middle of the intersection on an early Sunday morning… less chance of being plowed down by angry SUVs. But I just can’t capture the essence. A light pole or warped blacktop always mars the airy lines.

My mind’s eye always erases the ugliness around it, and all I see are those delicate lines. To my eyes, it’s a beautiful sight. To other drivers, it’s lots of honking because I missed the light turning green.

After Phillips 66 vacated, a chain called Windshields & More took over, and it was impeccably maintained. That indicates the owners appreciated their unique and functional building. Once while taking pictures of the place during business hours, one of the younger employees crossed the intersection to ask what I was doing. I told him I was taking some more in a series of photos of the place.
He gave me a queer look, and asked, “Why?”
“Because it’s a gorgeous building,” I said. “Look at it. There’s no other building like it.”
The kid stares back at it, squinting as he sees the building rather than just the place he works.
He finally says, “Huh. It is kinda weird, ain’t it,” and then lopes back across the street.

Because I love this building, that means it Must Come Down. My adoration equals destruction; it’s a strange Architectural Super Power I’m cursed with. I’d much rather have the ability to levitate or will a Triple Crown winner. But anyway…

Rock Hill is one of those land-locked municipalities. They’ve used up all the land, and have no new ways of generating income other than raising taxes or demolishing existing commercial and residential properties to build newer, bigger retail. Rock Hill decided both the northwest and southwest corners of this intersection should be in the hands of Novus Development. So, Windshields & More cleared out, and the Double Bat Wing has sat vacant for almost a year while Novus drops the ball.

In the Spring 2005 issue of SCA, Cliff Leppke wrote: “Today, original Harlequin stations are a scarce resource on the commercial landscape.” The first week of February 2006, the heavy machinery moved in to bust up concrete. Soon, they’ll bust up the rare Double Wing Bird, my El Condor Pasa…
“Away, I’d rather sail away, like a swan that’s here and gone.”

RELATED: Phillips 66, Part 1