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Archives: May/June 2002

The Making of the 'Most'

By Susanna French

From a Pearl Harbor tugboat to Colorado mining towns to the entire state of Vermont, when a historic place is threatened, the Trust revs up the 11-Most publicity machine.


Stevens Creek settlements, Lincoln, Neb., on
2001 "11 Most" list


Even J. Edgar Hoover couldn't stop the vandalism; of course, he was dead at the time. In the decades after the nation's No. 1 G-man passed away in 1972, Congressional Cemetery in Washington, D.C., had gone forgotten by all but miscreants. Congressional, the last resting place of Hoover, John Philip Sousa, Civil War photographer Mathew Brady, Choctaw Chief Pushmataha, and Elbridge Gerry (Declaration of Independence signer and the "gerry" in gerrymander), was a mess. More than two thirds of its tombstones were broken or damaged.

Then, in 1997, the National Trust named Congressional Cemetery to its list of America's 11 Most Endangered Historic Places. In the wake of the ensuing media attention from newspapers, wire services, and the likes of NPR, the BBC, and even Japanese Public Radio, good things began to happen: More than 1,000 volunteers signed on for a two-day cleanup, and Congress appropriated $1 million in matching funds for the cemetery's preservation.

Such stories are no longer unusual. Announcements of America's 11 Most Endangered Historic Places, made every summer for the past 13 years, are the most powerful public-education implements in the Trust's toolbox. "The list does wonderfully well because when you put a tangible object in front of people, there is immediate impact," says Trust President Richard Moe.

So what does it mean to be on the list? Although it offers no legal protection or financial support, a listing can generate substantial publicity, as in the case of Congressional Cemetery. In some instances, the public pressure of the listing can influence lawmakers' policies or owners' demolition plans; the publicity can also help to raise money to preserve a site.

It all started in 1987 in the fertile brain of Ian Spatz, the Trust's then-director of public policy. Deeply embroiled in a struggle to defeat plans to develop a shopping mall near Manassas National Battlefield Park in Virginia, Spatz needed a way to publicize the issue. It occurred to him that the FBI's list of the 10 most-wanted fugitives might be a model for bringing public awareness to the threat at Manassas and to other threatened sites.

"We decided to put out a ‘10 Most Endangered' list, but then we came up with all these great ideas," Spatz says. "We narrowed it down to 11 places and sent a memo up to [J. Jackson Walter, then-president of the National Trust] with a list of all 11, assuming he'd want to take one off. But Jack writes me back on the top corner of the memo, ‘Great, okay, the 11 Most list.'"

"I said 11 to be puckish," Walter recalls. "People would say, ‘Man, that's a little weird!'" Also on the first list were the Little Big Horn Battlefield in Big Horn County, Mont., Christopher Columbus' landing site in the Virgin Islands, and the Vieux Carré Historic District in New Orleans. All faced encroaching development.

The Trust stayed with the 11 Most idea the following year, deciding that sites should remain listed until out of danger. But in 1993 the policy was abandoned on the theory that a new list every year would have greater public impact. Today, previously listed sites remain priorities in the organization's six regional offices until the sites are out of danger.

The list of possible threats has grown. A place may be endangered by demolition, such as Tiger Stadium in Detroit (1991); deterioration from weather, as is the Manuelito complex of archaeological artifacts near Gallup, N.M. (1994); and neglect, such as the tugboat Hoga, the last surviving vessel from Pearl Harbor (1995). Other problems include lack of funding, such as at Wheelock Academy in Millerton, Okla., a 19th-century Choctaw Nation school (2000); and laissez-faire public policy, as in New York's Hudson River Valley (2000), where industrial development proliferates. All of these sites remain endangered.

Landmarks of the recent past are appearing on the list more often. The world's oldest surviving McDonald's, in Downey, Calif., was listed in 1994 because the company planned to demolish the unprofitable store. Public support generated by the listing helped persuade McDonald's to reverse its decision; now, the store is a popular museum and gift shop.

 
CIGNA building

The precedent-setting Connecticut General Life Insurance buildings in suburban Bloomfield, Conn., erected in the late '50s and early '60s, were named last year and are still in the way of plans for a hotel, housing, and a golf course.

 
Mapes Hotel

The list's first total loss was the 1947 Mapes Hotel, in Reno, Nev., which sank to the ground on Super Bowl Sunday 2000. The nation's first hotel-casino and famous Rat Pack hangout had been the focus of a fight waged by the National Trust and local partners, some of whom were developers with viable reuse proposals, but Reno's city council approved demolition anyway. Two years later, the Mapes brouhaha has led to stricter protections for Reno's remaining historic buildings, but no final plans have been announced for the site where the Mapes stood.

A 1990 amendment to Colorado's constitution allowed limited-stakes gambling in two towns, Black Hawk and Central City, as a way to revitalize the local economies. Instead of the mom-and-pop slot shops envisioned, large downtown casinos sprang up. Historic sites around the state have benefited from the fact that 28 percent of Colorado's gambling-tax revenue is earmarked for a preservation fund, but one state preservationist calls the situation "feeding off the carcasses of two towns to save the others." Central City's casinos have since gone bust, and the town is debating whether to move its state preservation allotment into the general budget just to make ends meet. The Trust named the towns to its 1998 list.

The prognosis has brightened for other sites. Erosion threatened to topple Southeast Light, on Block Island, R.I.; its 1990 and 1991 listings helped a volunteer foundation raise the $2 million needed to move the lighthouse back from a cliff and restore it to working order. Historic buildings in the Gulf Coast states went on the 1997 list because of a growing threat from Formosan termites; that citation helped cities in the region enlist public support to fight the pests.

Prairie churches in North Dakota made last year's list because the state's declining population means that many tiny rural parishes are disappearing; several congregations have even burned down their churches rather than see them deteriorate. The listing helped preservationists promote alternative uses as libraries, museums, or as a last resort, homes.

Several trends, not individual sites, have made the list, and sprawl is at the heart of each of them.

 
Kirk Middle School, Ohio

When America's historic neighborhood schools were listed in 2000, preservationists suddenly had a stronger case for persuading their local officials not to build megaschools on the edge of town. "We still continue to get calls or e-mail virtually every day from communities that have heard about [the issue]," says the Trust's Constance Beaumont. "Across the country there's been a groundswell from parents and educators for smaller, community-centered schools."

A similar case was made last year for the nation's historic theaters (2001), whose advocates blame the proliferation of multiplex theaters for the demise of old movie palaces. They encourage equitable movie-distribution policies so that independent theaters have a fair shot at first-run films.

The entire state of Vermont made the 1993 list because its rural character and historic downtowns were threatened by big-box retailers. Before its listing, Vermont was the only state in the nation without a Wal-Mart. Although that's no longer true, the listing may have helped influence Wal-Mart to recycle a vacant Kmart in downtown Rutland instead of sprawling over undeveloped acreage outside the city. "I don't think that would have occurred without the 11 Most listing," Beaumont says.

The Trust annually casts a wide net for ideas; last year, for example, it received 105 nominations. Anyone or any group can nominate a site, but the Trust's regional offices and statewide and local preservation groups help determine its listworthiness. Ultimately, the Trust's president approves the selections.

The format of the 11 Most is intrinsic to its success. "For one thing, everybody loves lists," says Dwight Young, the Trust's senior communications associate involved in the program. "The concepts are easy to convey and understand. The lists have variety, geographic distribution, and something for everybody."

The World Monuments Fund biennially names 100 endangered sites, and preservation organizations in at least 15 states and in countless communities across the country make their own lists.

In Colorado, for example, a five-year-old endangered-list program run by Colorado Preservation, Inc., is the focal point of the group's fieldwork. With a good budget, a dedicated staffer, and currently 42 statewide volunteers, the program attracts more than 60 nominations yearly. Lists have included Denver's 1969 Currigan Exhibition Hall, demolished this year; Camp Amache, a WWII Japanese internment camp; and the Red Mountain Mining District near Telluride. Unlike National Trust 11 Most sites, Colorado sites remain listed until saved; accordingly, the size of the list varies from year to year.

"Nominations come from every corner of Colorado, from all walks of life," says Linde Thompson, a member of the group's board. "We're seeing a lot more recognition of the program; sometimes, just getting the word out can help find a sympathetic buyer to save a threatened property."

As for Congressional Cemetery, last year Congress made a second $1 million appropriation for its preservation, and the cemetery association, the National Trust, and Congress are working together to finalize the site's long-term plans. Volunteers such as congressional pages and a local dog-walking group maintain the grounds, and the cemetery association is already making plans for 2007, the graveyard's 200th-anniversary year.

Susanna French is a freelance writer in Arlington, Va.

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