Here is a nice example of maintenance. Shame, shame.
Showing posts with label demolition by neglect. Show all posts
Showing posts with label demolition by neglect. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Friday, November 7, 2008
Grumman-St. John update
The owners of the Grumman-St. John house admitted they're letting the place be vandalized. And they want sympathy because people expect them to follow state law?
What cracks me up is that their lawyer is quoted saying the house is "of very little historic value." Tell that to the National Park Service and the National Register of Historic Places. If it was of so little value, believe me, the state and the preservation interests would have let the matter drop years ago. They aren't just doing this for fun or to ruin your business.
Another entertaining aspect is that the building the owners want to keep and expand, the main Inn building, is this sprawling, soulless modern motel/banquet hall complex with zero character. Pretty landscaping, but.... Even a sucker like me sees no redeeming qualities there. Interestingly, there are virtually no photos of the exterior on the inn website.
The house even in its deteriorated state is way more commanding and of far superior construction. It could really add some authentic historic charm to what is a functional but uninspiring inn property, creating a link between the inn and the Green. They could make it sort of a boutique luxury component of the inn property, or convert it to large suites. A little imagination would uncover a ton of hidden potential, and a little design creativity could allow both the inn to expand and the house to be retained. But the owners would rather fight to the death to knock the house down, rather than making a design compromise that could make everyone happy and end this costly and bitter battle very quickly.
Yep, it's just another old wooden building.
What cracks me up is that their lawyer is quoted saying the house is "of very little historic value." Tell that to the National Park Service and the National Register of Historic Places. If it was of so little value, believe me, the state and the preservation interests would have let the matter drop years ago. They aren't just doing this for fun or to ruin your business.
Another entertaining aspect is that the building the owners want to keep and expand, the main Inn building, is this sprawling, soulless modern motel/banquet hall complex with zero character. Pretty landscaping, but.... Even a sucker like me sees no redeeming qualities there. Interestingly, there are virtually no photos of the exterior on the inn website.
The house even in its deteriorated state is way more commanding and of far superior construction. It could really add some authentic historic charm to what is a functional but uninspiring inn property, creating a link between the inn and the Green. They could make it sort of a boutique luxury component of the inn property, or convert it to large suites. A little imagination would uncover a ton of hidden potential, and a little design creativity could allow both the inn to expand and the house to be retained. But the owners would rather fight to the death to knock the house down, rather than making a design compromise that could make everyone happy and end this costly and bitter battle very quickly.
Yep, it's just another old wooden building.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
The Grumman-St. John House, Norwalk, CT
Time for a little hometown controversy:
In a nutshell, the Grumman-St. John house in Norwalk, CT is currently falling apart as its owners seek to bulldoze it and the local preservation trust is fighting to save it. Luckily the trust has Connecticut's Attorney General Richard Blumenthal on its side. But it's an ugly fight, and it ain't over yet. Props to the trust and the attorney general for fighting to save this important piece of Norwalk history.
I had the pleasure of meeting the director of the Norwalk Preservation Trust while helping out with a historic house tour last month. I grew up in the next town and my parents now reside in Norwalk. In another odd twist, my husband is a descendant of the Norwalk St. John family. Given these connections, I've been tracking the story from afar. We discussed the issue and he said that to these owners, this valuable and irreplaceable house is "just an old wooden building."
Call me a bleeding-heart preservationist, but I can't look at any crummy old building without appreciating it in some way. Even some rickety old shed behind a remuddled bungalow gets a drop of my interest and compassion. Perhaps this is because I get paid to spot and survey anything that appears to be over 50 years old. Perhaps all this surveying, and my lifelong fascination with architectural detail, makes it inevitable that I can't just ignore buildings. Even as I write some of the built environment off as too new to survey, or too altered or insignificant to be NR-eligible, I still see potential in things most people would not appreciate. I still see a story there, even if it's not a very important or interesting one.
Sometimes I wish that I could take a would-be demolisher on a tour through the building they want to knock down to build their McMansion or chain store. I'd point out the details, the hand-hewn beams, the delicate molding profiles, the soft wear on the stair treads, the honey of the floors in the afternoon sun. The hand-built china cabinets and homely old mantels. The sturdy construction under the cracking paint and crumbling plaster. I'd point out the beauties and irreplaceabilities of even the ugliest ugly-duckling building, share my vision of what it could be. I'd also point out that they'd engender a lot of community goodwill if they kept it and revived it. Is knocking down history and pissing off the neighbors really a good way to promote a business?
Would they listen to me? Probably not. Would they still think their convenience store is a better use for the site? Probably so. But if just one developer could be taught to appreciate the history and potential of a venerable old building, or how it might fit in with their plans after all, maybe they'd reconsider the next time they come across a property for sale that contains some old white elephant that would need to be torn down. And that would be a good thing.
In a nutshell, the Grumman-St. John house in Norwalk, CT is currently falling apart as its owners seek to bulldoze it and the local preservation trust is fighting to save it. Luckily the trust has Connecticut's Attorney General Richard Blumenthal on its side. But it's an ugly fight, and it ain't over yet. Props to the trust and the attorney general for fighting to save this important piece of Norwalk history.
I had the pleasure of meeting the director of the Norwalk Preservation Trust while helping out with a historic house tour last month. I grew up in the next town and my parents now reside in Norwalk. In another odd twist, my husband is a descendant of the Norwalk St. John family. Given these connections, I've been tracking the story from afar. We discussed the issue and he said that to these owners, this valuable and irreplaceable house is "just an old wooden building."
Call me a bleeding-heart preservationist, but I can't look at any crummy old building without appreciating it in some way. Even some rickety old shed behind a remuddled bungalow gets a drop of my interest and compassion. Perhaps this is because I get paid to spot and survey anything that appears to be over 50 years old. Perhaps all this surveying, and my lifelong fascination with architectural detail, makes it inevitable that I can't just ignore buildings. Even as I write some of the built environment off as too new to survey, or too altered or insignificant to be NR-eligible, I still see potential in things most people would not appreciate. I still see a story there, even if it's not a very important or interesting one.
Sometimes I wish that I could take a would-be demolisher on a tour through the building they want to knock down to build their McMansion or chain store. I'd point out the details, the hand-hewn beams, the delicate molding profiles, the soft wear on the stair treads, the honey of the floors in the afternoon sun. The hand-built china cabinets and homely old mantels. The sturdy construction under the cracking paint and crumbling plaster. I'd point out the beauties and irreplaceabilities of even the ugliest ugly-duckling building, share my vision of what it could be. I'd also point out that they'd engender a lot of community goodwill if they kept it and revived it. Is knocking down history and pissing off the neighbors really a good way to promote a business?
Would they listen to me? Probably not. Would they still think their convenience store is a better use for the site? Probably so. But if just one developer could be taught to appreciate the history and potential of a venerable old building, or how it might fit in with their plans after all, maybe they'd reconsider the next time they come across a property for sale that contains some old white elephant that would need to be torn down. And that would be a good thing.
Monday, March 3, 2008
The Cross Keys Tavern/Chrome Hotel
HABS 1959
Same view, 2008
Say you're driving down a pretty country road. You cross from northern Maryland into southern Pennsylvania, and up at the top of the road you see this massive, hulking old stone house that looks like it came out of a time warp. Its decrepit condition is disturbing, and when you do some poking around, it seems that this building has an unusual level of historic significance. Built in three sections, it served for many years as a tavern and dwelling. Among its more unique features, the old inn has a rare diamond-pattern carved front door, and the second floor has an unusual early folding partition between two of the rooms.
It appears that the Cross Keys Tavern, also known as the Chrome Hotel, hasn't changed much at all since it was documented by HABS in 1959. It's a lot more run-down, the front-yard sapling has become a handsome tree, and the road has inched closer, but no obvious alterations. It does not appear to have been occupied in 1959 or since then. On one hand, this means nobody has updated it for modern-day lifestyles, and it probably remains in a state of high historic integrity. On the other hand, it is probably pretty useless to its owner, and is deteriorating at a rapid rate. But what incentive would your average property owner have to put money into its upkeep?
I don't know the story behind this house and its owners, but I've been driving past it for nearly four years and watching it steadily decay. The roof has growing holes and is failing rapidly at one corner, a few upstairs windows are broken, one fascia board is coming off, and the exterior stucco is disintegrating. Once the water gets in, it's the beginning of the end. The interior is now at high risk of being lost forever. A couple of years ago, someone tied a huge green tarp over the entire roof, but within a few months the wind had torn it to shreds, and there has been no further attempt to protect it from the elements.
When I see something like this, it really bums me out, because even as a preservationist, I'm not sure how to fix a situation like this. The Cross Keys is so valuable from a historic and architectural perspective--it could teach us so much about life in the 1700s and 1800s. But most property owners today would see this thing as a giant eyesore, or a money pit, or a candidate for Extreme Makeover - Home Edition. If you approached them to ask them to take care of it, they just might resent the intrusion and bulldoze the entire thing. Maybe the family wants to hang onto it but can't afford to keep it up. Maybe it's tied up in someone's estate dispute, or family members can't agree what to do with it. Maybe it's subject to legal conditions we don't know about. For all I know, people have been trying for years to purchase and save it, but have been prevented from doing so. There doesn't seem like there's a lot you can do as a concerned bystander in a rural area like this, in a county (with one historic preservation employee) that is being overtaken by developers, in a state with hundreds of threatened resources. How do you stage an intervention for a neglected building?
As the old house crumbles, the current owners of the property seem to have built up a spiffy business complex in back selling fireworks. I'm not a fan of fireworks, and it's not even legal for me to buy them, but I'd go in there and buy them out of Roman candles if it meant they would put a good new roof on the old tavern, and get some glass back in the broken windows. If I had the money, I'd buy it a roof myself. If the owners can't find a use for the Cross Keys and cannot care for it adequately, I would hope they might just seal it up as best they can against the elements, and find a new owner. It could be an incredible house museum, or study house, or (why not?) a tavern, or even a restored private home...if you don't mind being a few feet from a busy intersection.
It appears that the Cross Keys Tavern, also known as the Chrome Hotel, hasn't changed much at all since it was documented by HABS in 1959. It's a lot more run-down, the front-yard sapling has become a handsome tree, and the road has inched closer, but no obvious alterations. It does not appear to have been occupied in 1959 or since then. On one hand, this means nobody has updated it for modern-day lifestyles, and it probably remains in a state of high historic integrity. On the other hand, it is probably pretty useless to its owner, and is deteriorating at a rapid rate. But what incentive would your average property owner have to put money into its upkeep?
I don't know the story behind this house and its owners, but I've been driving past it for nearly four years and watching it steadily decay. The roof has growing holes and is failing rapidly at one corner, a few upstairs windows are broken, one fascia board is coming off, and the exterior stucco is disintegrating. Once the water gets in, it's the beginning of the end. The interior is now at high risk of being lost forever. A couple of years ago, someone tied a huge green tarp over the entire roof, but within a few months the wind had torn it to shreds, and there has been no further attempt to protect it from the elements.
When I see something like this, it really bums me out, because even as a preservationist, I'm not sure how to fix a situation like this. The Cross Keys is so valuable from a historic and architectural perspective--it could teach us so much about life in the 1700s and 1800s. But most property owners today would see this thing as a giant eyesore, or a money pit, or a candidate for Extreme Makeover - Home Edition. If you approached them to ask them to take care of it, they just might resent the intrusion and bulldoze the entire thing. Maybe the family wants to hang onto it but can't afford to keep it up. Maybe it's tied up in someone's estate dispute, or family members can't agree what to do with it. Maybe it's subject to legal conditions we don't know about. For all I know, people have been trying for years to purchase and save it, but have been prevented from doing so. There doesn't seem like there's a lot you can do as a concerned bystander in a rural area like this, in a county (with one historic preservation employee) that is being overtaken by developers, in a state with hundreds of threatened resources. How do you stage an intervention for a neglected building?
As the old house crumbles, the current owners of the property seem to have built up a spiffy business complex in back selling fireworks. I'm not a fan of fireworks, and it's not even legal for me to buy them, but I'd go in there and buy them out of Roman candles if it meant they would put a good new roof on the old tavern, and get some glass back in the broken windows. If I had the money, I'd buy it a roof myself. If the owners can't find a use for the Cross Keys and cannot care for it adequately, I would hope they might just seal it up as best they can against the elements, and find a new owner. It could be an incredible house museum, or study house, or (why not?) a tavern, or even a restored private home...if you don't mind being a few feet from a busy intersection.
Until then, it's an intriguing time capsule, containing secrets of the past until the elements prevail.
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