If It Can Be Saved

By Beth Yarbrough

You have no doubt seen the promo for my new book on historic preservation, but I’m writing today with an observation that runs central to the premise of saving old structures on a subject that is as current and as relevant as just a few weeks ago.

The issue is one of experience vs not-so-much, and the degree to which that experience (or lack thereof) plays into the process of historic preservation. Unless a community has a long-standing history of preservation-minded oversight, it is very likely that the decision-makers in that location are not very well versed in the subject of old structures. This renders them defenseless against the word of developers, builders, and engineers - all of whom may have an ulterior motive in making sure that the old place goes away.

On the experienced end of this equation, these same developers, builders, and engineers have perfected the art of getting what they want while appearing to promise something entirely different.

Realizing that planning and zoning staffers, planning boards, city councils and county boards of commissioners do not routinely deal with an endangered structure, they frame the picture this way: “We very much hope that this structure can remain and be a part of our project. We care a great deal about history. We understand the importance of this structure to the community. It is our intention to make every effort possible to preserve and protect it during this process, if it can be saved, understanding, of course, that we don’t know what we’re going to find once we get in there.”

The italics were mine, for emphasis. To an untrained or inexperienced ear, this sounds like an ironclad, heartfelt promise to protect and preserve, with a completely reasonable disclaimer tacked onto the end. After all, one cannot be held responsible for what lies hidden, correct? And with that, projects get a green light from these various decision-makers, based on their trust that pigs will likely take flight before any harm comes to the iconic structure involved.

The truth, however, hides in plain view in the disclaimer, and it is this: If a developer wants to find that insurmountable problem, he will. Follow-up communications - either in private session or in public hearings - usually come filled with terminology relating to structural engineering reports, assessments from contractors, and estimates that clearly demonstrate the unsustainable expense of saving the place (again, italics are mine for emphasis.)

End of story, cue the wrecking ball?

Well, yes - unless this pitch is being made to those who have a working knowledge of preservation. Too often for comfort, historic structures are designated as “tear downs” with estimates that run into six figures and beyond, when in reality the true number - rendered by preservation professionals - turns out to be significantly less and completely attainable.

Very often (but not always) developers and their counterparts know better than to call in trained preservationists, choosing instead to rely on the opinions of those who can get them the desired results - knowing that the decision-makers to whom they are making the plea likely have only surface knowledge and not much choice but to trust their word.

Simply put, the road to the destruction of many old structures is paved with the phrase, “if it can be saved”.

If you are like me and care about making sure that we protect and preserve as much of our history as possible, then a great first step is to begin in your own back yard. Familiarize yourself with the old structures in your midst. Investigate the degree of protection that they carry (protective covenants and/or preservation easements are the very best), and then open conversations with the decision-makers in your community, if you know them. Encourage those people to learn more about preservation methods and educate yourself while you are at it. Knowledge is power, and being forewarned and forearmed against double talk and clever disclaimers may end up making a difference for an endangered old structure right where you live.

Photo by Beth Yarbrough.