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Tegan
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Sorry, I've been gone a while, and I'm way too lazy to read through all of the arguing and good points alike, but the SHPO person warned against the kind of work being done. The company should have listened. Preservationists work with these kinds of old buildings all the time, and they are restored and renovated all the time... you just need to know how to do it the correct way.
In many cities, construction and architectural firms will have a SHPO official working closely with them to consult on ideas, or even better, actually have an historic preservationist on staff.
Of course, we all know how much credit is given to historic preservationists in Flint....
Sorry, got a little bitter.
Anyways, hopefully the building will be redesigned or reinforced CORRECTLY, and next time, more weight will be given to SHPO findings.. |
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Mon Aug 27, 2007 10:52 am |
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Public D
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There are two security cameras mounted near the upper floors of the Mott Foundation Building. One on the Northwest corner. One on the Southwest corner. My understanding is that as the owner of the Mott Foundation Building, the Mott Foundation has sole legal access to the footage on those cameras.
According to their website, "The mission of the Charles Stewart Mott Foundation is to support efforts that promote a just, equitable and sustainable society." Good. Then in the interest of promoting a just society, the citizens of Flint are justified in asking the Mott Foundation to make that footage public.
If the footage does not actually show the collapse, they should make public the footage from those specific cameras, over that specific span of time, for the purpose of proving that those cameras did not, in fact, capture anything.
We have the right to know how and why that building fell. We have the right to see it (if there is anything to see). We have the right to verify that the cameras did not capture the collapse - if we are told that the cameras did not capture the collapse.
However, as a major funder of Uptown Reinvestments, the nonprofit that acquired the Saginaw Street properties and turned them over to be redone by the for-profit Uptown Developments investor group, it is doubtful that they will ever be made public.
But that does not mean we don't have the right to continue to demand that they are.
I'm hopeful that the Mott Foundation will do everything in its power to reassure the citizens of Flint that it is safe to walk down the city's main street without being killed by the structures they are helping to build. |
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http://www.toomuchonline.org/index.html
http://www.hr676.org
http://www.pnhp.org/publications/the_national_health_insurance_bill_hr_676.php |
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Mon Aug 27, 2007 3:35 pm |
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Ryan Eashoo
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Well, I wish them the best in moving this project forward. I hope they can talk the Blue Collar Gourmet people into putting a business there!
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Flint Michigan Resident, Tax Payer, Flint Nutt - Local REALTOR - Activist. www.FlintTown.com |
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Mon Aug 27, 2007 3:54 pm |
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Pachuco
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Analysis of Rowe building collapse beginsInsurance adjusters, structural engineers, architects start talking
By Cathy Shafran
FLINT (WJRT) - (08/27/07)--It's been four days since the partial collapse of the Rowe Engineering building in downtown Flint, and now the real work begins to determine how to secure the building for the future.
Work on the project is at a standstill for now. Insurance adjusters, structural engineers and architects started talking Monday. Rubble must still be cleared over the next couple days to find the exact cause.
In the meantime, the developers continue to look ahead.
"That's all going to be a glass atrium," said Uptown Redevelopment partner Phil Shaltz.
"To the left of that, if you can see through that, that's the area that came down and that's the area of interest for the structural engineers.
"We think there was a wall in there that has been breached. We don't know why, and that's what the structural analysis will hopefully tell us."
Shaltz concedes their commitment to building a structurally sound building that maintains a sense of history has resulted in nearly a year's worth of delays already.
"A majority of the delays we've had is when we open up a wall or open up a floor and we find something that the prints say wasn't supposed to be there and you have to deal with that issue," he said.
But they have no doubts that this will be a viable building with an historical look.
So now the focus is on the architectural firm and the structural engineer on the project.
Lopez Engineering will try and determine what failed and how to reinforce it.
Schaltz confirms they'll likely be looking at what tear-down may be necessary and whether to reinforce anything with brick or metal.
If there is good news in all of this, the building withstood Friday night's storm.
All other downtown development is moving on schedule, and this delay gives them even more time to secure a restaurant to go into the street level space of the Rowe building. |
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Mon Aug 27, 2007 6:15 pm |
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kermitt
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Wierd:
http://www.downtownflint.com:8000/df/FMPro?-db=content.pro&-format=global%5farticle%5fdetail.htm&-lay=web&-sortfield=issue&-sortorder=descend&owner=uncommon%20sense&keyword=alley&-recid=36138&-find=
April 2005
The Alley Review
“What up, Vaughn?” asks Khan, his tone absent of the smiley sincerity familiar to the phrase – rather, riddled with suspicion and disappointment. “That aint a demon or a devil or a ninja or a machine gun or a hot ass chick or an explosion or a funky amphibian with his hands in his pockets saying somethin’ like ‘mama, I’m a baller.’ That’s some dumpy ass building. Isn’t it?”
“Looks like a stack of turds,” notes Squiggle.
“That aint what the Bugaboo Crew is about, mane.” says Khan.
“No? What is the Bugaboo Crew about? Bombin’ the city with flash tattoo knockoffs and b-boy clichés? F that noise. Yeah, it’s a dumpy ass building.”
“Looks like a stack of turds,” notes Squiggle.
“You’re the expert.”
“Why you throwin’ up a dumpy ass building on a dumpy ass building?” asks Khan. “Aint that redundant?”
“Looks like a stack of turds,” notes Squiggle.
“I’m burnin’ that building on this building before those guys totally redo that building and turn it into a martini bar office building.”
Walking toward them through the long, vacant lot are three men from a construction crew. They are pacing the perimeter of the old property, reviewing the plans to retro-furbish it from dilapidated and deserted to fresh and functional. The structure faces the main downtown street. It had last been a music store, adjoined to the south by another old building – this one still fresh and functional (they sell drugs). At the rear is the alley, and bordering the northern exterior is the narrow lot. Across the lot is the southern wall of another abandoned building – Vaughn’s canvas.
It is an exciting and important project for city, and judging from the confident strides and hearty head nods of the crew, they are fully aware of that significance. The man with the plans is Mike, the foreman. As Mike and his crew pass Vaughn and his, Mike and Vaughn exchange upward chin jerks. They have an understanding that Khan and Squiggle and the other constructors don’t.
Six Sundays back, Vaughn was in the lot practicing his art on the old music store. After church, Mike and his five-year-old son Mack went to take a quiet first look at the building he’d just been assigned to renovate. When they rounded the corner from the alley they spooked the can out of Vaughn’s hand. Vaughn spooked the kid out of Mike’s. Mack wasn’t spooked at all. In fact, he was entranced by the image on the bricks in front of the stranger.
“What that, Dad?”
“That’s a 1962 Fender Stratocasterm . . . unless you plan to paint the rest of the neck pocket.”
“No,’ said Vaughn. “It’s a ’62.”
“Amazing detail. Custom color, huh. Whudahyah call that green?”
“I don’t know. Yuck Yuck Green.”
“I like it. You play?”
“No. It’s the last guitar my dad sold before this place went under.”
“Really? Where’s he at now?”
“ He’s buried outside Parris Island, South Carolina.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Me too. He was the manager here. When it folded, he was basically forced to join the military for money. He died in boot camp. Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. Like Hank Gathers.” “That’s awful.”
“Yeah. What are you doin’ here anyway?”
Mike wasn’t happy to tell Vaughn the plans for his dad’s old shop. Vaughn wasn’t at all happy to hear them. But they both understood the futility of concern against the momentum of mother and human natures. The chaos and concord flux. They struck a deal.
Over the next weeks, Vaughn and Mike worked on their buildings. Vaughn used his connections to keep writers from tagging Mike’s. Mike used his to keep civic minions from ruining Vaughn’s. They had each other’s back, despite the peculiar paring. They knew outsiders would see them as “builder” and “vandal.” Yet Mike and Vaughn realized they both played both roles. Of course Vaughn understood the vandal rap. Naturally, Mike grasped the builder bit. But Vaughn built half-pikes and Mike painted garage doors with college mascots. They appreciated each other’s talents. They appreciated each other. Mike let Vaughn use his ladders. Vaughn would mix paint for Mike. They appreciated past and future, new and old.
Vaughn put his balls to his wall. He depicted each dinged brick and resilient bush with the master detail and scrutiny Americans appreciate in dead Europeans. Fine art. Find art. No one would ever place an auction bid on Vaughn’s grit if they knew what he did with the near empty cans. He would have it no other way. To say there was a madness to his method would be an insult to manics. Vaughn’s nozzle was an extension of his mind and memory. Sharpness of feel and blending of detail into a palace of place and tribute. Stunning. Nostalgic. Immediate. Haunting.
Mike was inspired. He ignored many of the grad-school architects’ town-cool instructions. He let linger the intricacies of originality. Conduit and drywall were not his concern. Contour and cohesiveness and commemoration were. Mike was proud, especially of Vaughn’s approval.
“Looks like you’re about done,” Mike yelled to Vaughn from the second floor window.
“Yeah. Just this last detail.”
“I recognize that guitar. Is that the guy who bought it from your dad?”
“My dad bought it for himself. That’s him leaving the store with it for the last time.”
“That’s a really powerful piece, Vaughn.”
“Thanks. Your place looks great too. My dad would be happy. Nice choice for the trim.”
“Thanks. We’re done tomorrow. Tenants move in Tuesday. It’s been great working with you.”
“You too. Say hi to Mack and I’ll see you around.”
That Sunday, long after the church bells had punctuated benedictions throughout the downtown, the streets quietly soaked in the spring sun. The silence was noticeably thick, as if the echoes of past vitality were gathering in the bricks, hushed and huddling in preparation for some coming eruption.
Then the whispers began to hiss. Steadily building in volume and shrillness in time with the sky’s mutation. The peace blue and whipped cream mountains spilling into uniform, pale porridge. The flutter of banshee cloaks. Last fall’s stubborn leaves given renewed movement by the shrieks. Yuck yuck green. The mad diffusion into balance. Smokestack black. The great evening out. Deafening. Bedlam.
The crazed surgeon plunged his towering, dark scalpel through Mike’s masterpiece. Vaughn’s was spared, both from direct cut and the high-velocity splash of guts. They understood the futility of concern against the momentum of mother and human natures. The chaos and concord flux. |
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Thu Aug 30, 2007 3:27 pm |
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last time here
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damn dude!!! your quite the writer!!  |
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Fri Aug 31, 2007 8:26 pm |
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