Editorial | Dilworth House
Note penultimate paragraph
Posted on Fri, Aug. 12, 2005 in the Philadelphia Inquirer
Keep it, with a new role
Some decisions are just really close calls – like the one now coming to a head in Philadelphia:
Should the 1957-vintage house of Richardson Dilworth, perhaps the city's greatest mayor, be demolished so that a condo tower designed by Robert Venturi, perhaps the city's greatest architect, can be built in its place on Washington Square?
If the lively civic debate on this issue were scripted as a dialogue between two opinionated friends, it would go something like this:
Dr. No: Today's the day. Unless it wants its name to become a sick joke, the Philadelphia Historical Commission must rule at its session today that no plausible case has been made to remove the Dilworth House from the list of significant contributing buildings in the Society Hill Historic District.
Ms. Yes: Whoa! How do you figure that!?
Dr. No: Society Hill is one of the great urban renewal success stories of 20th-century America. And Dilworth was its author. A turning point was his dramatic gesture of faith in building this residence on the edge of what was then a dodgy district known for brothels and rats.
Ms. Yes: All props to Dick Dilworth as a great mayor, but... get real. This house didn't make Society Hill. That transformation occurred because of the equally legendary Edmund Bacon's visionary plan, which Dilworth and his successor, James Tate, executed. You exaggerate the role of this house. Truth be told, this bit of Williamsburg-style kitsch is at odds with the Baconesque blend of the truly historic and the unapologetically modern that made Society Hill work.
Dr. No: Plans are lines on paper. Leadership is what makes things happen. Dilworth House is a monument to the guts and vision that made this man a great mayor. It's an inexpressibly sad irony that a city that today is so desperately in need of reformers on the model of Dick Dilworth would tear down this house.
Ms. Yes: Yep, Dilworth had a vision – and he didn't quail at tearing down dozens of old and, yes, in some eyes historic, structures to make it happen. Cities aren't preserved in amber; they are dynamic, vital. They shed one skin and grow another. And, if you want to talk about great men and legacies, Bob Venturi stands with people like Frank Furness and Louis Kahn as giants of architecture from this town. Yet no major Venturi building stands in Center City.
We made that same mistake with Kahn. Let's not make it again, just so we can preserve some faux colonial that would fit right in at the Ersatz Hunt subdivision in, say, Mount Laurel. The thing looks silly on Washington Square, which is designed on a grander scale. The 12-story tower that developer John Turchi proposes would add beauty, amenities and, yes, because of Venturi, make history.
Dr. No: Were you born this much of a snob, or did you go to school for it? History is not just about fancy architecture; it's about people and what they did. The great singer Marian Anderson was born in a humble rowhouse in South Philadelphia, but it's an historic structure because of all she achieved. The Dilworth House is historic in the same way.
Ms. Yes: And what kind of a memorial is it really, a private residence with a little plaque? Turchi proposes a display about Dilworth's legacy in his building's lobby. That would teach younger generations more about the guy than this house ever will, and give us a Venturi building to boot.
Dr. No: You do realize you're falling for a transparent dodge, don't you? Turchi knows he's got no real chance under the historic ordinance, so he recruits Venturi's firm so that people like you will swoon. If it weren't for the architect, we wouldn't even be having this conversation about this lousy proposal. I love Venturi, but let him do one of the 87 other condo towers that'll go up in Center City.
Ms. Yes: As Rummy would say, you have to go with the condo plan you have, not the one you'd like to have. Venturi is 80. He ain't getting any younger; this may be the one chance.
Dr. No: Haven't I heard you complain a million times about how pols and developers in this city run roughshod over smart planning and sound design, about how we casually risk our historic legacy to placate the expedient and the greedy?
Ms. Yes: Maybe you have. Your point?
Dr. No: My point is: It's an awful precedent to dedesignate a building of real historical significance because a clever infomercial magnate is rich enough to hire Bob Venturi to design his little profit pit on Washington Square.
Ms. Yes: Technically, it's not a precedent. The commission takes up every proposal de novo. But, I won't press the point. Let's say you don't remove the designation. I still think Turchi's plan passes the "public good" test for demolition of a designated building.
Dr. No: One last stab at clearing your clouded mind. State Sen. Vincent Fumo said he'd come up with state money to buy the place from Turchi. OK, here's a better plan for the house, floated by Gregory Heller, president of the (pay attention, now) Ed Bacon Foundation. Have the city or state buy the house, and turn it into the city's official mayoral residence, like Gracie Mansion in New York City. Perfect site, perfect use to honor a civic hero's memory. How about that!
Ms. Yes: Wow, you never give up. I hate to say it, but that's not a bad idea. Tell you what: Find some way to make that happen, while making sure Venturi gets another project in Center City – soon – and I'd buy that deal.