Over the Labor Day weekend, the Chillicothe Gazette printed a series of articles on preservation in Chillicothe by staff writer Ryan Kelley:
It is a decent series that pleasantly suprised me in its thoroughness and fairness. I could comment on and on about statements made in the articles, but I will restrain myself to the below. (I comment plenty in other articles in this issue.)
John Fraim is a regular columnist for the Chillicothe Gazette whom I criticize strongly in another article, "Badmouthing the Carlisle Again." In a later column, August 30th, he again concerns himself with historic preservation in Chillicothe:
We had the devastating Second Street fires, leaving the underappreciated street looking like a gap-toothed hillbilly.
The loss of historic buildings in the downtown area fires was wretched, but let's face it, you can't go back and rebuild a century-old building. Patina and tradition take time to occur. Sometimes you have to let go, otherwise there would still be wooden wigwams and a price on scalps.
Yes, you can go back and rebuild a century-old building. It's been done plenty of times. Why can't it be done here? Yes, the patina and tradition won't be there, but if done right, it will gracefully accumulate. And, thank you for caring about patina and tradition - I would have expected otherwise. Yes, sometimes you have to let go, but why must we have such a slippery grip here?
Mr. Fraim quotes from late San Francisco architectural critic Allan Temko: If we got rid of all the cars...the relief would be magnificent. Of course, we would be left with our sprawling civilization... How would we do it? Well, I think we would have to rebuild our cities.
Or, we would have to reuse the traditional pedestrian-oriented cities that we have - or had. The same traditional city that older Chillicothe represents. The same traditional city that people are willing to live in an hour and more from work. The same traditional city that is supposed to have safeguards for its traditional downtown.
He also quotes from English critic C.E. Montague: Let everything - almost everything - change with a will, in any city that you love. People gush and moan too much about the loss of ancient buildings of no special note - 'landmarks and 'links with the past'. In towns, as in human bodies, the only state of health is one of rapid wasting and repair.
Yes, the body is constantly being replaced cell by cell. But it is not disfigured by that change. Our arms do not stretch out, our legs do not shrivel up, our eyes do not swell, as our body regenerates. There is a funamental difference between that and how modern trends disfigure traditional cities. (Also, C.E. Montague died in 1928 - long before the vast disfigurements that the automobile wrought on the landscape.)
I also wonder why Montague qualifies that first phrase with "almost." Perhaps more is revealed in the original passage - but maybe Montague couldn't help but be a little sentimental about a little of the past that he is so willing to sacrifice.
Mr. Fraim closes with a quip fired over his shoulder: Wait now, you history buffs, remember the old lady and her cow.
Does Mr. Fraim really want a downtown Chillicothe that closely resembles Bridge Street or western Western Avenue? Because, that is the modern city that a modern Mrs. O'Leary's cow would lay the groundwork for.
Replacement vinyl windows seem to be appearing on historical buildings at an increasing rate. More downtown building are getting them, most (but not all) with the permission of the Design Review Board.
The building at 75 North Paint Street is one of them. Unfortunately, it looks a bit different from what was promised.
The building was built by January of 1853 to replace one lost in the Great Fire of April 1st, 1852. It literally stands out among its three-story brethren with a front half a story taller. It had a cast-iron storefront. Sometime in the late 19th century pressed metal hoods were added over the windows, eschewing Rennaissance Italy, giving the building an even more stately appearance.
However, by the end of the 20th century it was getting tattered. The original six-over-six windows had been replaced with single-pane sashes that stared out like blank eyes. The brick had been sandblasted. A dreadful plywood storefront smothered the entry and added curves where none belonged. Last year I saw that some of the base trim had fallen off and lay on the sidewalk for months, with protruding nails waiting to be stepped upon.
But the building has not received the renovation that would have made it a better part of the streetscape. In its May meeting the Design Review Board approved vinyl replacement windows for the second and third floor windows (there were no window sizes to replace the squat fourth floor windows). But the promised simulated six-over-six windows did not appear. Instead, strange six-over-six-over-six-over-six windows on the second floor created a baffling rhythm. In addition, the new windows were set flush with the front wall, loosing the sense of depth in the facade that the attic windows still have. The plywood storefront was retained instead of replaced, and repainted its bright, clear yellow color.
Then a blue awning and matching large letters appeared over the storefront, neither of which were approved by the Design Review Board. But they were approved afterward in the August DRB meeting. No mention was made of the odd windows.
It's great that this building has been revitalized, contributing to the liveliness of the downtown. However, it represents an increasing number of sizable investments that could have been done better, and will now mar buildings for generations. The replacement windows are like putting the wrong tires and hubcaps on a car. Yes, they will work, but they're damned ugly. (Then again, "ugly" seems to be all the rage now...)
The replacement windows with fake muntins sealed between the panes certainly make it easier to clean and maintain them, but they are so fake - the muntins are too wide, they're too plain, and they have no depth. Strips of masking tape would do just as good a job. And the replacement windows almost never fit, so the trim around then are extra wide. It's like having eyeballs that are too small.
Better planning, more concern for the authentic look of the downtown, and better guidance would help the necessary changes be better.
The Chillicothe Gazette reported July 22nd and August 1st that the man who essentially destroyed a historic log church in rural Harrison Township will have to pay $2,788 in restitution for his arson. It had been reported May 19th that he would serve 17 months in prison with three months of probation after release.
However, exactly one year after the church burned, the Chillicothe Gazette reported that he got early release and would soon be set free. He was to be placed in the Ross County jail until a position in a "community-based corrections program" could be found.
Etam United Methodist Church was a log church built in 1810 on Walnut Creek Road in Harrison Township, Ross County. The logs had been sided over and a belltower had been added, but the original firepit remained under the flooring. Until the arson fire August 1st, 2005, services had been continuously conducted there for 195 years. Originally a United Brethren church, through mergings of denominations it became a United Methodist church, and the oldest one west of the Allegheny Mountains. As of May 19th, plans were to demolish the remains of the building and place a historical marker at the site.
Big Bear Climbs Down The neon-trimmed icon of a big brown bear lost its perch on the Central Center sign July 17th. The "Big Bear" grocery store had opened there 50 years ago, in 1956. In 2003 the 1991 replacement store became Community Market. You can view a long photo series on the removal of the sign at the Scioto Architectural Salvage website.