Category Archives: Midwest

The Man Mound: A Transformative National Historic Landmark

 

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Aerial View of the Man Mound after the spring “burnoff” of dead prairie grass, 2014.  Image via Sauk County Eagle.

Deep in the rolling hills of the northern flanks of the Baraboo Range, and about two miles northeast of Baraboo, Wisconsin, lies an ancient and mysterious earthen figure, cut off at the shins. An amputee.

The Man Mound of Greenfield is the only surviving anthropomorphic effigy mound in North America.  It was formed of earth between 700 and 1000 AD by the Late Woodland effigy mound builders, who constructed both humanoid and zoomorphic mounds across the eastern and middle western portions of what is now the United States.  Until the turn of the 20th century, Sauk County had as many as twelve humanoid mounds, with hundreds of others depicting birds, snakes and other animals.  Despite early recognition by surveyors of these earthworks as special monuments, almost 75% of the mounds previously identified have disappeared.

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Looking north towards Man Mound’s “horns.”  Despite the snow cover, the rise above grade is clearly visible.  Mowing of the mound ceased in 2008, attributing to an array of prairie grasses and flora seeding from it, including ferns not native to Wisconsin.

Not long after measurements of the Man Mound were taken and the mound was brought to wider public attention by civil engineer and naturalist Increase A. Lapham, an east-west road was cut below the figure’s knees, detaching the body from the feet, an unmistakably adverse effect that would be inconceivable today, and illegal in terms of federal and state laws regarding the mound’s historic and cultural status.  But this was the Midwest in the 1860s, less than a lifetime after the Indian Removal Act, and the center of a century where transportation routes and the opening of government lands pushed non-native people westward.  Immigrants of German and Irish decent were coming by ship, steamboat, railroad and then in wagons through the Baraboo Valley.  Thirty years prior to the construction of Man Mound Road, Native Americans were the primary inhabitants of Wisconsin.  The name of the road has a deeply disquieting effect, as if the mistake was acknowledged as soon as the road was laid.

The Man Mound is a transformative being, a curiosity of the Lower World, a primordial deity, a water spirit, a bear, or a rabbit, or any of these things.  And to native peoples like the Ho-Chunk Nation, who lay claim to the Late Woodland effigy mound builders as parent stock, a symbol of renewal.  In 1908, the Wisconsin Archaeological Society, along with the Federation of Women’s Clubs and The Sauk County Historical Society moved to acquire the Man Mound Site, establishing it as one of the first archaeological sites preserved specifically for preservation purposes.  This purchase occurred in the nick of time, as the previous land owner had disclosed that he was looking into cultivating the site.  Man Mound Park was dedicated on August 8th, 1908.

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Historical marker erected by the Sauk County Historical Committee, 1969, alongside the Wisconsin Historical Societies’ plaque from the 1908 park dedication.  The Man Mound’s torso and right arm are visible in the background.

While the dedication of the park did include an invocation of indigenous peoples, accounts of that day paint a woefully misguided picture of appropriation as appreciation, showing a version of the disconnection between Americans and native peoples that we see today, from feathered headdresses at Coachella to the Washington Redskins to referring to a work meeting as a pow-wow.  Native Americans were not considered a part of the 20th century narrative of the Man Mound, and were instead relegated to a cultural footnote during the celebration-tipis, wampum and all.

Detached from the rest of the body, the feet were now located in a cow pasture on the other side of Man Mound Road, and would over time get trampled down to grade. Even without legs, which is certainly an integrity problem for the ages, Man Mound was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1978.

Rob Nurre is a landscape historian and longtime steward of the Man Mound who has come to live “seventeen man mound-sized steps away from the park.”  With the 100th anniversary of the park looming, Nurre began thinking about the Man Mound’s amputated legs and feet, along with ways to raise public awareness for the site.  Using measured drawings from the 1850s and a can of white paint, Nurre gave Man Mound new prosthetic limbs stretching across the road, and worked with the land owners north of the road to mark off the area where the feet once stood.

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The Man Mound’s “ghost legs” stretch across Man Mound Road.

“How do we best care for these sites,” asked Nurre. “When they are such a reference point in terms of how we see the world?” Perhaps the Man Mound’s painted legs are an arbitration between a careless past and a conscious, deliberate future.  They also “get in your face” Nurre said, as they clearly do not relate to roadway safety, and you’ve got to drive over them in order to get west of the mound.  Rebuilding the missing extremities from grade wouldn’t be appropriate mitigation, as it would serve to erase the lessons in stewardship and our cultural dialog with the past that the flattened legs and feet force us to interface with directly.

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The location of Man Mound’s trampled feet, fenced off from a cow pasture.

In 2016, the Man Mound was designated as a National Historic Landmark, a distinction only given to historic places that have a profound national significance, and are already listed in the National Register of Historic Places. Only 2,500 of our nations historic landmarks meet this criteria.  The boundary of the Man Mound National Historic Landmark was extended beyond the boundary of the National Register of Historic Places listing to include the area of the road containing the “legs” as well as the section of pasture where the feet once were.  The creative mitigation of modern interference is now a part of the Man Mound’s official story.

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William H. Canfield’s map of the Man Mound, 1859.  Canfield shared Man Mound’s discovery with Increase A. Lapham, and Lapham publicized the find.  Image courtesy of the Wisconsin Historical Society, WHi-77567.

In 1859, Increase A. Lapham wrote that the Man Mound “is in the act of walking, and with an expression of boldness and decision which cannot be mistaken.” At over 214 feet tall, Man Mound is striking when viewed from the ground, but aerial views are truly mystifying, and beg some serious questions.  Was the Man Mound meant to be viewed from the sky?  Where is it walking to?  What is the true meaning of the iconography?  We as a modern people know so little about the purpose of effigy mounds, and almost as little about their contents.  As many as 87% of effigy mounds that have been subject to archaeological investigation were used to mark or contain human burials, with most contained near a figures’ heart or inside the head.  While archaeological digs have occurred in the area where the feet once were, yielding nothing of interest, there is no record of disturbance for the rest of the body.  Digging into a cultural monument that is over a thousand years old would be a selfish, obscene choice, and would produce nothing of value.

The Man Mound will continue to yield information on our collective reference point, but by way of our understanding of what has occurred above ground, and how we weigh our current decisions against the established effects of the past and the unknown future.  So what is the best practice in terms of an effigy mound without legs, when there are no other effigy mounds with legs to compare it to?  Perhaps this is the Man Mound’s true character as a transformative being.  One that continues to learn from us as we learn from it.

The author would like to thank Rob Nurre for his generous contributions to this article.

Old Buildings, New Tricks: Permastoned

Permastone 1

Perma-Stone, Formstone, faux stone, Rostone.  John Waters once called this ubiquitous simulated masonry the “polyester of brick.”  From the 1930s through the 1950s, companies all over the United States were pitching faux stone siding to homeowners as a modern update to the exteriors of late 19th century buildings.  Made of shale, lime and water, the unbaked permastone slurry would be pressed into stone shaped molds and heated, creating a stone-like “cracker” that could be applied to the exterior of a building.  Permastone came in an array of colors, textures and stone types, and sometimes mica would be added for extra sparkle.  Widely toted as maintainance free, permastone could be easily adhered anywhere on your building by anchoring it with chicken wire lath, or simply adhering the permastone panels with cement directly to the façade.

permaston 2

The 3400 and 3500 blocks of Le Moyne Street, between Homan and Central Park Avenue in Chicago’s Humboldt Park neighborhood, have some superior examples of permastone in nearly every color and texture, from taupe roman bricks to rusticated course stone so red it resembles raw meat.  Here is a windshield survey of permastone types seen within these two blocks:

permastoned 3permastone 4permastoned 5

permastoned 7permastoned 8

159p 14p 13p 12p 11p10p 17

 

 

 

 

Eligible as Fuck: The Gold Pyramid

Tucked into the northernmost corner of Illinois, Lake County is where Chicagoland thins out. Highways widen, development becomes sparser, and strip malls give way to midcentury ranch homes on acre lots.  Small farms are still spread along the Tri-State Tollway, with silos and barns peeking above the treeline during the winter.  The rollercoasters of Six Flags Great America sit tight and quiet, awaiting another thrilling season.

Along with an optic white, 55 foot statue of Ramses II.

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Am I high?

pyramid exterior

Probably.

This is the home of Jim and Linda Onan, who would serve as collaborators throughout the design and construction of the six-story Gold Pyramid and its spectacularly bizarre and exciting 10 acre grounds.  Assisted by their son Rocko, and inspired by the pseudoscience behind Pyramid Power in the 1970s, Jim acted as de-facto gentleman architect, designing and building a replica of the Great Pyramid of Giza that is 1/9th the size of the original in Egypt.  While President Thomas Jefferson found inspiration in Italian villas, Jim Onan, a concrete contractor by trade, looked to the ancient world.  That’s right.  This is a house like no other.  The only pyramid shaped house in the world.

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The Gold Pyramid in Wadsworth is proportionally perfect to its sister structure at Giza, and set along the same true north directional axis. This alignment was so important to Onan that when it was discovered that an original foundation wall was off of this axis during construction in 1977, the existing work had to be scrapped and the wall realigned.  This axis, along with the natural spring located below the pyramid, is believed to give the pyramid supernatural powers.  However one may feel about this claim, the spring allows the pyramid to be heated and cooled through a geothermal system that Jim Onan designed himself.  Construction was ripe with the Onan’s trying different techniques to solve complex engineering problems.  The Onan’s don’t claim to be architects, fans of high architecture, kitsch or postmodernism.  This is their home, and a physical manifestation of their love of all things Egyptian.  This is a family obsessed over generations, and that dedication shows in the objects and the stories behind them.

The exterior of the Gold Pyramid is simple and harmonious. Currently clad in gold paint (the Pyramid was originally covered in 24 karat gold plates) the pyramid’s front door is barely visible up a set of stairs within a rectangular recess.  Windows are mullionless plate glass set in a haphazard but functional rhythm.

It could easily be believed that Michael Graves travelled to remote Lake County to build a structure that had all of the promise and fun of his renderings, designing a series of workhorse front-facing gables that worked so hard they mighty-morphed into a pyramid. Jim Onan found inspiration in his own interpretation of Egyptian visual language, an approach vastly different than the architects of the lotus flower capitals and cavetto cornices of the Reebie Storage Warehouse in Chicago (George Kingsley, 1922) or the First Presbyterian Church in Nashville (William Strickland, 1848).  Is there a precedent for Egyptian Revival Postmodern Outsider Architecture?  There is now.

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stuffity

gold more stuff

For all of the simplistic elements of the exterior, the interior is very busy-part family home, and part gallery, where Egyptian objets d’art and collectables live freely among pastel Chintz upholstery and billowing white window valances. The ultimate result is a lovingly curated space, where obsession and domestic ease work joyfully together.  This is Linda’s contribution as interior designer.  Family portraits, suggesting the life of an atypical Midwest family growing up in the 1980s, surround a tapestry of Ramses in the living room, collaboration between Linda and Rocko.  The dining room, designed in the shape of a cartouche and located at the absolute center of the pyramid, is filled with real gold objects.  A needlepoint portrait of Nefertiti, a gift from a family friend, is displayed beside 16th century Shawabtys, given to the family by the Egyptian government, with whom the Onan’s have enjoyed a fruitful relationship across decades.  The home is full of Rocco’s ambitious adolescent projects, including a detailed medallion nearly four feet in circumference, and a 24 karat gold leaf front door.  Walls throughout are covered in bright, beautifully stylized depictions of life in ancient Egypt, and done over the course of three years by a sign painter from Zion, Illinois.

gold interior fireplace

signs

Through the 1980s and 1990s the Onans raised their five children, while continuing to add elements to their Post Egyptian estate. The site now includes a four car garage in the form of three small pyramids, a moat, and an exact replica of King Tutankhamen’s tomb in the Valley of the Kings that includes a model of Tut’s mummy and sarcophagus.  After the Onan’s opened up the pyramid to tour groups, they filled a gift shop with Cleopatra beach towels and replica brick-a-brac, and the long strip of pavement leading up to the house was flanked with repeating Bull Mastiff-sized Sphinx figures.  After some interference from Lake County zoning officials, a 55 foot, 2,000 ton statue of Ramses II was constructed at the end of the driveway.  Beats the hell out of a concrete goose wearing a Blackhawks jersey, doesn’t it?

garge

Perhaps what’s more outstanding than the pyramid itself is the desire by the Onan family to be a part of an official conversation about cultural heritage, and there should absolutely be a seat for them at the table. The Onan’s have come to their interest in being designated as a landmark because they recognize and celebrate their own work and dedication to a level of creativity.  This lies at the core of why we want to preserve what is special about our built environment, and the type of people that heritage conservation should want to please.  They wish to see the Gold Pyramid included on local and national lists of landmarks, and have come to this conclusion on their own, without any prodding or outside influence from state agencies or historians.

Truth be told, we desperately need the Onan’s on our team. Recent legislation challenging local landmarks districts in the nearby states of Michigan and Wisconsin have put the field on the hard defensive.  Detractors have called foul on the process and its restrictions on everything from property rights to the replacement of siding and wood windows.  While we fight to keep these ordinances intact and local commissions from making sound decisions, people wince.  This has created a major public relations problem.  Landmarking anything, whether local or national, has come to be seen as prohibitive

This is the type of progressive thinking about cultural heritage, the type that comes naturally to the folks at the Gold Pyramid, that we need to encourage in order to survive-the type that people-not preservation, pushes on its own. Perhaps it’s magical thinking to envision a world where we don’t need historic districts, local landmarks designations, or demolition delay to keep great buildings around to serve our future, but maybe this is a start.  Could we realign ourselves with a message that in preserving our architectural heritage, we provide a place where memories can live forever?  Could we put ourselves in the frame of thinking that realms of kitsch and roadside attractions have the potential to transform over time into an acknowledgement that history takes peculiar and miraculous terms, and that the word “historic” belongs not to the historian, but to the drive-ins, movie theatres and pyramid houses that are given historic status by the people that love them?  Perhaps the deepest question is “how do we get historic preservation to happen without historic preservation”?  The answer might be Jim, Linda and Rocko Onan, as well as a bit of our own pyramid power.

Drawing Home

I’ve drawn all of the places I’ve lived.  These drawings, all done informally in ball point pen and within a small Moleskine notebook, were partially inspired by the small-scale architectural models placed in tombs of the Incas, Aztecs and their predicessors in ancient Mexico.   Their materials, just like the buildings they portray, are simple.  Buried alongside jewelry and ritual objects, these models are vital in their telling of the ordinary, everyday lives of these ancient civilizations.

This exercise also came out of a need for me to see the raw architectural data of each place that I’ve lived, and compare the design, age and typology of each.  All of the places I drew I lived for three months or longer.  These are the buildings of my ordinary life, all through the filter of my brain and hand.

I have lived in a total mixed bag of buildings, from a contemporary ranch in suburban Detroit, to a modernist highrise in Honolulu, to the ultra vernacular Chicago graystone.  These structures range greatly in age.  Many are older with a scatterbrained sense of integrity.  They have missing cornices, or cheap new windows.  Many have design features specific to their location, like the tall concrete wall surrounding the house I lived in when I worked in New Delhi, India, or the attached garage on the house in Troy.

What (and where) we call home inevitably shapes us, but architectural significance has no role in making these structures iconic.  I have borrowed time in many buildings but have possessed none of them, and my occupation of each is only a sliver of a story that spans across decades.

The most surprising revelation is poignant and timely.  These buildings display an element of undeniable privelidge, as I have always had the means to live where I have wanted.  Millions of people are not in a position to ever make that choice for themselves.

1 house2 house3 house4 house7 house6 house8 house

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blasius Across America: Water Towers of the Midwest

Water towers are everywhere. You can find them overlooking a small riverfront town, like Savanna, Illinois. You can find them at the World’s Largest Truckstop in Walcott, Iowa, and sandwiched between the fire station and the public works office in suburban Ohio. You can find them atop buildings in neighborhoods all over Chicago. They serve as navigational tools, often proudly announcing their location in contrasting colors and active fonts. Painted graphics like houses or trees serve as further clues to the characteristics of a community, as does the presence of graffiti. They can be painted to look like fruit, or shaped to look like a ketchup bottle.

They also hold water! If you’re unsure about how this happens, let the City of Bloomington, Minnesota’s Public Works Department explain.

While the spheroid towers make a big impression, my favorite has to be multi-column elevated towers. The more legs one has, the more it looks like its alien inhabitants have decided to stay awhile.
Here is a sampling of water tower types from communities throughout the Midwest:

Multi-Column Elevated, Wauwatosa, WI.  Built 1928.
Multi-column elevated, Wauwatosa, Wisconsin. Built 1928.
Multi-column elevated, Sabula, Iowa.  Built circa 1930.
Multi-column elevated, Sabula, Iowa. Built circa 1930.
Multi-column elevated, St. Paul, Indiana.  Built circa 1920.
Multi-column elevated, St. Paul, Indiana. Built circa 1920.
Fluted Column, Alsip, Illinois.  Built circa 1965.
Fluted column, Alsip, Illinois. Built circa 1965.
Standpipe, Lena, Illinois.  Built 1986.
Standpipe, Lena, Illinois. Built 1896.
Standpipe, Alton, Ohio.  Built circa 1950.
Standpipe, Albany, Ohio. Built circa 1950.
Rooftop tank, Chicago, Illinois.  Date unknown.
Rooftop tank, Chicago, Illinois. Date unknown.
Multi-column elevated, Des Plaines, Illinois.  Built 1957.
Multi-column elevated, Des Plaines, Illinois. Built 1957.
Spheroid, Hazel Crest, Illinois.  Built Circa 1975.
Spheroid, Hazel Crest, Illinois. Built circa 1975.
Multi-column elevated, Machesney Park, Illinois.  Built 1956.
Multi-column elevated, Machesney Park, Illinois. Built 1956.
Rooftop tank, Chicago, Illinois.  Date unknown.
Rooftop tank, Chicago, Illinois. Date unknown.
Standpipe, Gary Indiana.  Built circa 1910.
Standpipe, Gary Indiana. Built circa 1910.
Multi-column elevated, Clark's Hill, Indiana.  Built circa 1940.
Multi-column elevated, Clark’s Hill, Indiana. Built circa 1940.
Fluted column, Broadview, Illinois.  Built 1967.
Fluted column, Broadview, Illinois. Built 1967.
Multi Column Elevated, Homewood, Illinois.  Built circa 1950.
Multi-column elevated, Homewood, Illinois. Built circa 1950.

Old Buildings, New Tricks: Workman’s Cottages on Claremont and Heath Avenues

1323 South Heath Avenue
1323 South Heath Avenue

Sandwiched between a rail embankment, Western Avenue and blocks worth of industrial storage in Chicago’s Near West Side are two small streets’ worth of fascinating 1880s Queen Anne workman’s cottages, on the 1300 blocks of South Claremont and South Heath Avenues. Widely attributed to be the work of architect Cicero Hine, and speculated to be an extension of an earlier development on Claremont Avenue , these cottages were added to Landmark’s Illinois Ten Most list of imperiled buildings in 2009 after two blighted cottages came up for the City of Chicago’s fast track demolition program, 1308 South Oakley Avenue and 1302 South Heath Avenue. With no plans for productive reuse and the potential for the cottage’s abandoned status to attract crime and illegal activities, both buildings were demolished in 2010.

With turned Aesthetic Movement decoration at corner eaves and near entryways, plaster ornamentation below rounded windows and playful variations on layout and decoration, these Victorian workman’s cottages are easy to like, and representative of a period where real estate developers worked with notable local architects, like Hine and his contemporary Normand S. Patton to design buildings that stylishly housed the laborers who would go on to build 20th century Chicago.

The two blocks of cottages have an odd secluded quality, a shuttered body shop protects their view from Ogden Avenue, and until ten years ago, the area to the north was comprised of industrial development, now a series of vacant lots with brick and concrete remnants still secured by chain link fences. Freight trains on the rail embankment produce a low, consistent hum. To the northwest is an all-too familiar, but eery site on Chicago’s south and west sides: an empty residential block completely devoid of houses that still retains its layout at ground level, including alleyways and concrete garage pads. In some areas the ground has settled to suggest the foundation of an atypical Chicago two flat.

Looking south on South Heath Avenue
Looking south on South Heath Avenue
North on South Claremont Avenue
North on Claremont Avenue
1317 South Claremont
1317 South Claremont

Every architectural investigation includes observing what’s not there as a key to understanding what is still present, and how to manage the remaining resources. Each of the extant cottages are located on tiny lots, and have little space between them, which makes the presence of the empty lots on South Claremont, South Heath and particularly South Oakley Avenue a stark contrast. Areas of loss here have been extreme, as historic aerial images of the area clearly show, in 1953, this area was three dense blocks of Queen Anne:

1953 aerial of Claremont, Heath and Oakley Avenue (via historicaerials.com.)
1953 Aerial View (via historicaerials.com.)
1973 Aerial View (via historicaerials.com.)"
1973 Aerial View (via historicaerials.com.)

Twenty years later, loss was still minimal, and the area remained dense. Between 1971 and 1975, the Illinois Historic Preservation Agency surveyed cottages on Oakley, Heath and Claremont, and as the photographs of individual buildings show, many of them had made it out of midcentury madness retaining an incredible amount of integrity. The original building density and the historic character of the area, nearly a century old, had remained intact. So why not landmark the damn thing? It seems to have had all the right stuff for designation in the early 1970s.

Meanwhile, buildings in Chicago’s loop with National significance were being demolished, an era preservationists wish to forget.

1300 North Oakley Avenue, demolished.
1300 South Oakley Avenue circa 1973, demolished (image via Illinois Historic Preservation Agency).
1327 South Oakley Avenue, circa 1973, demolished (image via Illinois Historic Preservation Agency)
1327 South Oakley Avenue, circa 1973, demolished (image via Illinois Historic Preservation Agency)

The Near West Side found itself in the early aughts transitioning from an industrial area, into an area serving governmental organizations, the Illinois Medical District and further east, the University of Chicago. Surprisingly, it’s not until after 2000 that dramatic teardowns occurred. By 2002, the loss was substantial. Many of the buildings on South Heath Avenue had been demolished, with four to five lots in a row now devoid of buildings:

2002 Aerial (image via historicaerials.com)
2002 Aerial (image via historicaerials.com)
2013 Aerial
2013 Aerial (image via Google Earth)

In 2013, nearly all of the structures on Oakley Avenue had been leveled, and a boring three-story residential building had popped up in the middle of the block. One late 19th century building has remained, and over time it has developed a door to nowhere.

1340 South Oakley Avenue
1340 South Oakley Avenue

Perhaps the biggest loss here is that there was a time in history where these two to three blocks were at a confluence between integrity and recognition that was not capitalized upon by giving this area local or national designation. Many of the individual buildings were given an eligibility rating of “Orange” on the Chicago Historic Resources Survey, conducted between 1983 and 1995. This ordinance provides the City of Chicago’s Department of Planning and Development 90 days after the issuance of a building permit to explore preservation options, but in 2014; many of those identified have had their historic character compromised. So is this area eligible for landmark status in 2014? There are definitely better surviving examples of Queen Anne cottages throughout Chicago, with fewer teardowns and more integrity.

While it’s hard to make a convincing case for landmark designation now, the value in these two blocks may have an upswing. It’s a snapshot of what we do with old buildings. For over 130 years in Chicago, people have lived here and continuously changed these cottages to fit their needs. Through changes in the way we live, what we own, how we work and how we relax; these buildings have been altered over time to accommodate modern life. Working class people have been born, lived and died in these buildings. And they have hot rodded the hell out of them!

1307 South Claremont Avenue, midcentury faux stone cladding
1307 South Claremont Avenue, faux stone cladding
1333 South Heath, vinyl siding
1333 South Heath, vinyl siding
1315 South Heath, steel balcony, vinyl siding, window opening changes
1315 South Heath, steel balcony, vinyl siding, window opening changes
1339 South Heath Avenue
1339 Heath Avenue, steel balcony, vinyl siding, window opening changes (although that grill off of the 2nd bedroom is on point, in case you need to hook yourself up with a hot dog in the middle of the night.)

This area represents such a broad range of material and cladding changes, from wartlike faux midcentury stone on Heath Avenue, gratuitous late 20th century vinyl siding, and literally dozens of different fence types across decades. Perhaps the most interesting facade change is the addition of a balcony on the 2nd floor. Roofs are vinyl shingle, wood shingle and even hot tar. Leaded glass lights have been painted over, covered over, or in some places completely removed.

1321 and 1323 South Claremont Avenue
1321 and 1323 Claremont Avenue, various material changes
1301 South Heath Avenue
1301 Heath Avenue, lots of integrity, serious condition issues

A few cottages are derelict, 1301 South Heath in particular appears as if the last inhabitants left decades ago.

1301 South Heath, rear elevation
1301 Heath, rear elevation

In terms of integrity, many of these buildings original characteristics are cancelled out by the presence of an obtrusive modern element, leaving only a few with enough original elements to actually render them significant.

1302 Heath Avenue
1302 South Heath Avenue, vinyl siding, changes in window openings
1307, 1309 and 1311 Claremont Avenue
1307, 1309 and 1311 South Claremont Avenue, various material changes

It’s difficult to resolve this area’s once outstanding potential for preservation against its current condition, but perhaps there is a place within the study of architectural heritage that also includes the research and observance of vernacular, idiosyncratic changes that preservationists fight so hard to prevent building owners from actually living in the buildings they love, own and live in. Old buildings, new tricks indeed.

1330 Heath Avenue
1330 South Heath Avenue

Blasius Across America: The Reed Niland Corner in Colo, Iowa

Blaservations spent most of the past week driving through southeastern Iowa, traveling heavily on Interstate 80, looking for the Hartland’s best taquerias, and blasting the Marshall Tucker Band’s Greatest Hits. And looking at old buildings, of course.

Lincoln Highway, Colo, Iowa
Lincoln Highway, Colo, Iowa

In the nineteen-teens, Indiana entrepreneur (and perhaps the original “Car Guy”) Carl G. Fisher envisioned a highway that would carry Americans from Times Square to San Francisco. Fisher had made a fortune developing acetylene headlights, used on every make and model of automobile across brands for almost ten years, and would later go on to co-develop the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

The wider use of the automobile brought the conditions of American roads to a contentious point, particularly in rural areas. While the Good Roads Movement had set the groundwork for private industry (bicycle manufacturers and enthusiasts’ groups) to invest in improving roads, the modern motorcar required a smooth, even traveling path or risk cracked axles or other damage to futuristic machinery. Using private funds from the likes of Woodrow Wilson, Thomas Edison and Teddy Roosevelt, Fisher seeded the first stretch of the “Lincoln Highway” in 1913 and developed the Lincoln Highway Association to promote it, headquartered in Detroit. The Lincoln Highway Association is still in existence, and now serves as a watchdog organization for the preservation of the highway’s historic character.

America’s first transcontinental highway for automobiles would eventually bumble through thirteen states east to west; New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada, and California, helping develop nearly every community along the roadway. By the time the Federal Aid Road Act of 1916 was enacted and national roadway standards were established, roadways were marked and numbered. By the time state and national highways were designated in the 1920s, service stations and roadside respites had popped up everywhere along the Lincoln Highway, including the Reed Niland Corner in Colo, Iowa.

The Reed Niland Corner, Colo, Iowa
The Reed Niland Corner, Colo, Iowa

In the 1920s, travelers along the Lincoln Highway (or the Jefferson Highway, which bisects the Lincoln Highway in Colo, and travels roughly from Winnipeg to New Orleans) could gas up the Ford, grab an egg salad sandwich or stop for the night at a one stop Mom-and-Pop known as the Reed Niland Corner, after the owner of the service station, Charlie Reed, and the family that ran the restaurant and the motel, the Niland’s. The service station operated as such until 1967, and the restaurant and hotel closed in 1995. The site was sold to the City of Colo by a Niland family member and was restored and reopened in 2008.

Reed's Standard Service Station, built circa 1925
Reed’s Standard Service Station, built circa 1925
Niland's Cafe, built circa 1925
Niland’s Cafe, built circa 1925
The Colo Motel, built circa 1925
The Colo Motel, built circa 1925

The Reed Niland Corner, a grouping of simple wood framed structures located in rural Iowa, is an exceptional and rare example of a building typology that was literally everywhere prior to the development of the modern freeway system. Sites like this seem to further emphasize the shift between travel by automobile in the 1920s and 30s, where roadside culture was built upon stops that would serve as a place to relax and refuel, and today, where convenience and speed is king. Unfortunately, most of our built heritage capturing this time in America has been lost. Small privatized rural highways often became a part of a larger highway system, and historic roadways that ran parallel to super highways found a limited need for a two pump service station, or a roadside diner. These factors, along with the holistic re-use of the Reed Niland Corner’s cafe and motel as just that, a cafe and motel, make the site even more special, and worthy of listing on the National Register of Historic Places.