How do we know what historic buildings are worth saving?
An era of Raleigh whimsy is ending in 2023, when developers plan to demolish Raleigh’s cylindrical Holiday Inn and break ground on a new, luxury hotel. State archivist Ian Dunn told The News & Observer that getting rid of it “will not only be a loss to present citizens of Raleigh, but future citizens.” Others are ready for the eyesore to be gone.
Seeing buildings destroyed can be difficult, and some communities take it harder than others. Charlotte is known, perhaps incorrectly, for its appetite to destroy and rebuild. Other municipalities, like downtown Chapel Hill, appear to resist as much change as possible. There are over 100 historic commissions in North Carolina, with varying degrees of influence.
What’s notable, however, may not just be what we’ve saved; it could be what we’ve destroyed, or what we refuse to destroy. By examining what we’ve saved, we remember who had the power to ask for government protection. In North Carolina and elsewhere, Black and indigenous landmarks have never been afforded the same dignity that society gives to cozy downtowns or historically white neighborhoods. Only recently has attention been paid to the need for equity in preservation.
In Durham, apartment buildings are repurposed from old tobacco warehouses as a way of reimagining the history of the cigarette industry in the area. Meanwhile, the 1960s urban renewal project in Durham destroyed the historic Hayti neighborhood, displacing around 4,000 families and 500 businesses. In the last few years, preservationists been able to seek financial backing to regrow the parts of the community; they say they still get left out of conversations that directly affect Hayti’s future. No one is redeveloping the old tobacco district for high-density growth, in part because it’s protected by historical designations.
In Chapel Hill, stately Franklin Street homes and quaint two-story shops run parallel to the historically Black Northside neighborhood, which saw changes in the 1990s as developers sought to buy single-family homes and transform the lots into duplexes and triplexes for college students. Once Northside received its own conservation overlay, development moved to other parts of the town, and created new conflicts.
Because historic commissions vary by locality, the answer of what neighborhoods, buildings, landscapes and structures are worth saving varies. Dan Morrill has been considering this subjectivity for years, as a retired history professor and the former director of the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Historic Landmarks Commission.
“The past is extraordinarily important, and history is extraordinarily important, but it’s not as important as the future, because the future is a repository of hope,” he says.
Morrill describes historical designations as a scalpel: it’s an invaluable tool, but one that should only be used when necessary. It’s possible that if we crystallize history and refuse to reexamine it over time, we lose sight of the way our country is changing. He suggests historical commissions should examine what they’re protecting on a regular basis. Otherwise, they could ultimately end up adding to the displacement they aim to avoid, by making it more expensive to change any part of a home or building.
After 50 years of historic commissions, it may be time to reexamine what we have saved. The Fayetteville Market House is an example, as it is a physical memory of the buying and selling of enslaved people in North Carolina. When it was burned by Black Lives Matter protesters in 2020, it was the perfect time to weigh whether it should still stand. Morrill explains how changing feelings play into what is saved, but the same could be said for what we destroy.
“It’s subjective, but all the most important things in life are subjective, like love, compassion,” he says of what makes a building worth saving. “You can’t put a number on feelings.”
No one is advocating for total demolition, lest we end up in another urban renewal era and lose entire communities. But we could use that scalpel more sparingly for certain populations: Morrill notes that appearance commissions, like the one in Raleigh, could give home and business owners more freedom with their property versus a historic commission. Another example is physically moving important buildings, like the homes built by freedmen during Reconstruction that became Preservation NC’s headquarters.
But again, not everything needs to be saved. So while it’s a little sad to see a historic Raleigh landmark disappear, we have to imagine what it could mean to let go, and to look toward the future.
