TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/121189/12118900.063

Text File | 1992-09-23 | 3.6 KB | 74 lines

                                                                                DESIGN, Page 110

Tacky Nostalgia? No, These Are Landmarks


The doo-wop architecture of the 1950s may not be classy, say
preservationists, but it's a slice of history

By J.D. Reed


    Twenty years ago, it was simple enough to define an
architectural landmark. American beauties like Monticello, the
Smithsonian Institution "Castle" and Grand Central Terminal
came to mind. These days, however, the definitions are becoming
a little trickier -- and a little tackier. Supermarkets,
drive-ins, car washes, neon signs and other exuberant examples
of Pop architecture, mostly from the 1950s, are being touted
for preservation, and some have already been set aside as
historic landmarks by local and state agencies. "Many of the
things that were taken for granted in the 19th century --
factories, mills, neighborhoods -- people now want to save,"
says Chester H. Liebs, historian and author of Main Street to
Miracle Mile. "The same thing is going to happen to this
century."

    Much of the attention to what critics call the "vernacular
architecture" of the postwar era comes from baby boomers
nostalgically intent on preserving the roadside attractions of
their youth. Groups in six states are seriously studying some
of the teepee-shape motels and iceberg-shape gas stations that
still dot U.S. Route 66, once the main route from Chicago to Los
Angeles. "These places are a part of our history," says Richard
Gutman, author of American Diner. "They are being swept away at
a pace that is astonishing."

    The sooner the better, some might think. The '50s and '60s
landscape was one of atomic optimism on the go, of Sputnik-like
motels and space-race tail fins. The style captured an attitude
of innocent adventure in a TV fantasy of stucco and neon. Could
Wally and the Beaver come to serious harm in a drive-in with a
giant ice-cream cone for a roof? George Jetson, it seems, could
have been the master architect of the whole doo-wop decade.
Granted, one thing to be said for those stylistic oddities is
that they extended a warmer welcome than much of today's
franchised glitz. Says Arthur Krim of the Society for Commercial
Archeology, which studies America's commercial history: "To look
at a diner or gas station was a link to a smaller, more friendly
world." But not necessarily a more visually pleasing one.

    Still, a hulking hot-dog stand is often a lesser evil than
what some developers want to put in its place. When a new
mini-mall threatened to replace the Minuteman Carwash in Los
Angeles, a 1960 building sporting a boomerang-shape decoration
on its roof, neighborhood residents petitioned the Cultural
Heritage Commission of Los Angeles to declare it a landmark. The
ploy failed, but the case attracted the attention of the
National Trust for Historic Preservation, the largest
preservation organization in the U.S. Says trust spokeswoman
Courtney Damkroger: "If something like this gas station is
designated a landmark locally, it sets a precedent for other
buildings of its kind."

    The debate over the historic worth of these roadside
wonders is sure to continue. Landscape theorist J.B. Jackson
thinks saving car washes and doughnut stores is absurd. Says he:
"There's a fake folksiness at work." Although Liebs somewhat
agrees, he feels it is necessary to study vernacular
architecture. "This century," he says, "is also highways and
strips and suburbs." As Chuck Berry told the doo-wop generation,
Roll over, Beethoven, and tell Tchaikovsky the news.


-- Daniel S. Levy/New York and Tara Weingarten/Los Angeles