Portland Architecture

The trouble with convention centers

Yesterday I went to the Oregon Convention Center for the Wordstock festival to hear an old friend from my 1990s Willamette Week days, Dale Basye, read from his new kids book, Rapacia: Second Circle of Heck. After that, I happened upon another colleague, Oregonian film critic Shawn Levy, talking about his Paul Newman biography. It was a great way to spend a Portland autumn afternoon, except for one thing: I couldn't wait to get out of the building.

This is not a blog post about how the Oregon Convention Center's design (courtesy of ZGF Architecture) is vastly inferior to convention centers in other cities. It's fairly handsome on the outside, particularly its curving portion of the southeast facade and its wall of glass along Martin Luther King Boulevard. I also like how its twin spires on the top of the building frame views of Mt. Saint Helens. And the building was LEED-rated upon its expansion a few years ago.

"The Oregon Convention Center (OCC) is the largest convention center in the Pacific Northwest, making it an ideal venue for conventions, industry trade shows, meetings, and banquets," its website crows. "The center's two grand ballrooms, 50 meeting rooms, 255,000 square feet of exhibit space, full-service catering, and experienced staff can handle events of any size, from 10 to 10,000."

Compared to the other convention centers I've been to in other cities like Chicago, Austin and New York, ours is about the same in terms of the experience. In each case, the public areas are pleasant enough, with massive walls of glass bringing in a bounty of natural light, usually to a voluminous two-story space.

But then when it's time to  venture in to the actual belly of these convention centers, one must abandon all natural light in favor of a windowless room with oppressive fluorescent illumination and antiseptic, lowest-common-denominator interiors: usually temporary carpets over concrete floors.

Convention centers can be a big economic draw for most cities, bringing in a succession of out-of-town groups to meet: Shriners, teachers unions, collectors, you name it. I mean, why would I have gone to Texas if not for the green building conference there a few years ago? The thousands of people coming from out of town to the OCC contribute to our local economy, staying in our hotels and eating in our restaurants. And in terms of design, it's clear that these buildings need to be able to offer a very flexible series of spaces to cater to a variety of needs.

That's especially true of the massive-volumed exhibit hall spaces in every convention center, such as the one I visited on Sunday. They are big enough to hold the exhibitors that often bankroll these conventions. In the case of Wordstock, the stages where authors read were wrapped around the exhibitors, and that was no coincidence.

Still, as I sat in the massive Exhibit Hall A hearing my friends read from their books, all I could think about was wanting to be away from the terrible lighting, the concrete block, the carpets that grandma seemingly picked out, and the high priced and bad tasting concessions. That's not even mentioning the miles one walks in the Oregon Convention Center, constantly up and down stairways and escalators or down quarter-mile hallways, to get to anything.

I tried to think where Wordstock could be held next year and came up with only mixed results. In terms of the readings, any number of downtown spaces could accommodate. If Wordstock were in the Pearl District, for example, events could be held at the Gerding Theater for the big authors, as well as the Wieden + Kennedy and Ziba auditoriums and Powell's Books. If it were downtown, you could anchor things at the Portland Center for Performing Arts with additional readings at the Portland Art Museum's Mark Building auditorium. But in each case, where would you put the exhibitors? This is probably why Wordstock has stayed at the Convention Center despite the oppressive ambiance it offers.

The Oregon Convention Center just went through an expansion a few years ago, and for all intents and purposes it functions well already. And given its configuration, I'm not sure there would be any way to change things in order to bring natural light into the exhibit spaces. What's more, they probably wouldn't even want to do so. Natural light is much harder to control, and these spaces are all about providing flexible interior environments that get changed out on practically a daily basis.

Even so, if Portland wants to brand itself as a sustainability capital, what if we were to re-invent the way convention centers are designed to make them more open to the outside world?

I don't know what the attendance figures were for Wordstock. Most of the two hours I was there, the authors enjoyed fairly sizable crowds for their readings. Even so, attendance had to be affected by the fact that people feel outright robbed of a beautiful fall day when they're in this building. Coming out onto MLK Boulevard at 5:00, even though I'd seen two friends and colleagues read from works I liked very much, I felt physically affected by being inside the OCC, a kind of temporary sick-building syndrome that I had to shake off.

Over the last decade or two there has been a plethora of research demonstrating that human physiology is adversely affected by spaces without natural light. Employees in basement offices take longer breaks than their coworkers with cubicles near windows. The Portland Building, famous for its lack of natural light thanks to tiny windows, comes with increased rates of sick leave for employees working there versus other City office spaces. Studies have shown schoolchildren get higher average test scores in windowed classrooms, and in retail cash registers beneath skylights rack up more sales than other cash registers a few feet away. Why does all this knowledge have to be ignored just because it's an extra big space where people sometimes show slides?

Offices by Emmons, YGH

The slumping economy has meant Portland's once robust collection of construction cranes erecting new buildings has dwindled to a scant few. 

And while offices buildings such as One Main Place and B-side 6 are soon to open their doors, many companies have chosen to renovate spaces in existing buildings rather than build from the ground up.

Recently two Portland firms, Emmons Architects and YGH Architecture, saw completion of new office projects in existing buildings.

The Emmons design, for financial services firm RV Kuhns & Associates, which I visited last month, occupies a few floors in the historic Smith's Block on Naito Parkway at Ash Street, just across from Waterfront Park. The Smith's Block was originally built in 1872 and designed by architect William W. Piper. Piper also designed the better known New Market Theater, which was built the same year and restored to wonderful effect by SERA Architects and architect William Hawkins in 1983. (The two photos at right were taken by Stuart Emmons.)

Both the Smith's and the New Market are among Portland's are among the oldest surviving cast-iron buildings in the city. The building is actually comprised of four narrow, virtually identical structures. "If you like this particular Italian Renaissance style," writes Bart King in An Architectural Guidebook to Portland, "tough luck; the rest of the several buildings that once sported it in this area have been demolished. (Even the southern portion of this block was razed for parking.)

Inside the new RV Kuhns offices, Emmons Architects highlighted the building's original interior brick walls by using glass and skylights to dramatic effect to introduce more natural light. Shafts of light carry illumination through the roof and down through lower floors, while also acting as a bold, almost monolithic piece of functional interior sculpture. Stairways are enclosed in glass as well. It's not only a treat to be in an old building so bathed in soft natural light, but also to see historic and contemporary design elements blended together so seamlessly.

Stuart Emmons, the Harvard-trained head of Emmons Architects, has often been known best in Portland for his outspokenness, writing editorials and taking stands on a variety of city policies and design decisions. This activism is a credit to Stuart, and example to architects about getting involved. That said, it's also possible that Emmons Architects' work can be a bit overshadowed as a result, which is too bad, because the design is very good. Emmons Architects performed master planning for much of the South Waterfront district as well as the Naito Parkway area, and the firm has been close to getting major commissions a couple of times over the last decade.

Meanwhile, YGH Architecture (known for most of its history as Yost Grube Hall) has also completed offices in the US Bancorp Tower (a.k.a. 'Big Pink') for the law firm Smith Freed & Eberhard. Big Pink was originally designed by the Portland office of venerable national firm Skidmore, Owings & Merrill in collaboration with legendary Portland architect Pietro Belluschi.

The 25,000 square foot project showcases 360 degree views of the city and includes a reception and conferencing center located on the north side of the building, large lunch room for employees located in a premium location (the Northwest corner of the building); offices and general office space. (The photos above to the right are by Pete Eckert.)

This is a relatively small interior office project for YGH, but the firm has also been responsible for many larger offices, like the LEED Gold-rated North Mall Office Building in Salem, the City Development Center in Portland, and even the US Embassy in Abu Dhabi. Then there's the plethora of international work YGH has done, spearheaded by principal Joachim Grube, in developing countries like Sudan and Kazakhstan. Grube received a lifetime achievement award at last year's inaugural Root Awards from Portland Spaces magazine.

Congratulations to YGH Architecture and Emmons Architects, not only on jobs well done but on finding ways to chug along in tough economic times.

Visiting Pietro Belluschi's Burkes House

Last week I had the distinct treat of visiting not only a Pietro Belluschi-designed house in the West Hills, but one that the late great architect lived in through his final days. The Burkes House is actually still occupied by Belluschi’s widow, Marjorie, who graciously allowed their grandson Jeff to take me on a tour. It was conceived in 1944 for a Dr. and Mrs. DC Burkes, but built in 1947 after wartime restrictions on building materials were lifted.

Like a lot of homes associated with the mid-20th century ‘Northwest Style’ (those by Belluschi, John Yeon, Van Evra Bailey and developer Robert Rummer), the orientation is not toward the home’s entrance, where we pulled into an old-school carport. Once you step inside, though, there is great attention paid to the spectacular view of downtown Portland as well as to the courtyard-like enclosed back yard.

The view itself would be enough to sell most anyone on this house, but soon even the panorama of buildings, hills, roads and changing clouds you can see from nearly floor to ceiling glass gives away to the house itself. There is such a feeling of connection between inside and outside at Belluschi’s Burke House. The wood ceiling, for example, extends continuously past the glass walls outside as an overhang, yet the material doesn’t change. So whether you’re looking towards the downtown view or the other way towards the back yard, it seems like there is merely a glass partition between two of the house’s spaces that just happen to be indoor and outdoor.

Born in Italy, Belluschi was, despite being a Modernist architect, trained in Old World building and craftsmanship. So while the house’s design has a tremendous lightness to it, in the way one appreciates about modern architecture, there is also a clear sense of this house coming from an architect with an acute sense of structure and materials.

As Jeff Belluschi (who is quite the amateur scholar regarding his grandfather’s career) reminded me, wood provided Pietro with a kind of epiphany. His Italian forebears built with heavy stone and masonry. Wood allowed Belluschi to favor a lightness that old buildings could never pull off, but he also knew enough to let the exquisitely warm and natural texture to come through.

Not only was it a wonderful treat to talk with Marge and Jeff about Pietro, but I also was able to visit the architect’s former office, which has been left largely untouched save for a flat-screen TV that Marge happy watches CNN on. His T-square hangs over Belluschi’s old and surprisingly little desk by the window. (Belluschi’s drafting table is now kept at the AIA/Portland Center for Architecture.) And while there aren’t any mementos to his extraordinary achievements as an architect in the rest of the house, here in his old office hangs Belluschi’s 1972 Gold Medal from the American Institute of Architects (the medal represents a kind of hall-of-fame for the truly cream-of-the-crop all time great architects), as well as his 25-Year Award, also from the AIA, for the Equitable Building downtown – the world’s first modern office building with aluminum cladding.

One of my favorite features of the house is now gone: There used to be a koi goldfish pond outside in the back yard that Belluschi actually extended via an underground tunnel into the house itself. So fish could actually swim in and out of two ponds: one inside and one outside. But according to Marge, the fish still couldn’t avoid being snatched up by local raccoons, so they removed the pond.

Another, more practical element I love, though is still there: Throughout the house, folding out of the wall like a series of trap doors are numerous air vents that let you bring in natural ventilation without even opening the windows. This isn’t unique to Belluschi; I’ve seen it in John Yeon’s houses as well. But it’s symbolic of the many lovely little design touches in these midcentury Northwest Modern homes.

Thanks again to Jeff and Marjorie Belluschi for allowing me to see what is undoubtedly one of the absolute gems of local Portland architecture. It’s unfortunate that a private home won’t ever be seen by many people, even if it ends up being on some future home tour. But as far as I’m concerned, we have our own local version of Philip Johnson’s Glass House or Mies Van Der Rohe’s Farnsworth House (two name two other classics) right here.

The Governor and The Sliver

Today on a walk downtown,  I happened upon two spruced up old buildings with goings on.

The Governor Hotel on SW Tenth Avenue, across from the Galleria building, is coming upon its 100th anniversary. To celebrate, the hotel is having an open house this Sunday, March 9, from 12:30 to 4:30PM. It's a chance to see inside places you'd normally have to pay for, in the form of overnight lodging.

Built in 1909, the Governor was originally called the Seward Hotel and was designed by William Knighton, who also was the first State Architect for the State of Oregon.

As explained in a history of the hotel on its website, "The Seward featured Knighton's signature details still seen in the ornate art deco 'gargoyles' that surround the original building's facade and the bell-shaped architectural details seen throughout the hotel's original woodwork, column panels and even fireplace mantles."

In its more downtrodden days before its renovation, filmmaker Gus Van Sant shot a scene or two from his superlative movie My Own Private Idaho with River Phoenix and Keanu Reeves (and Tom Peterson in a non-speaking role; no Gloria, though). Several scenes from the rapturously bad Madonna movie Body of Evidence were too (hope those hot candle wax stains came out).

Not to be outdone, the adjacent Princeton Building, which the hotel took over a few years ago, also played host as a location for The Temp, a more forgettable movie with Timothy Hutton, unofficial 'Actress of the 70s' Faye Dunaway, Twin Peaks' Lara Flynn Boyle, and a character actor I like, Oliver Platt.

As I've written before, though, I was disappointed a few years ago when the Governor Hotel moved its entrance to the Princeton Building side on 11th Avenue. It brought them more space, but shoulnd't you really enter the Governor through the Governor?

Still, overall I'm very glad the hotel exists as a work of architecture -- and one of the city's minor gems, to say the very least. I also have a fond memory of once, several years ago, having breakfast with the now deceased architect James Freed, designer of the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC after he spoke at a lecture series I helped work on for the AIA in 2001.

A few blocks away at the Gerding Theater, formerly known as the Portland Armory, the renovated structure finally seems to be getting its 'Sliver Park', a water feature and plantings along the north side. Designed by Murase Associates, it's a nice little water runoff retention system that relies on a few simple stone blocks and a modest series of waterfalls created by how that side of the building grades slighty downward towards 10th. (Coincidentally, the Armory was another renovation project that moved its front entrance to the back.)

There are still a couple of orange cones there, and the plantings have barely grown at all yet. But my first impression is that it's a lovely little place, however not even close to being a "park". We're talking about a couple of benches, a bioswale and a few long slabs of stone with a tiny strip of moving water. It's a terrific sidewalk area - just not a park. Looks to me like some nice design work and some over-hyped marketing. And while I'm griping about this nicely done project, what took so long? After all, the building was finished quite a while ago. Still, if there's anything Murase projects do well, it's creating a serene, contemplative space. Perhaps that's a fitting indication not to quabble over details of timing and labeling that will eventually wash away over time like the very rainwater (sniff, sniff) passing through the sliver's stone and bioswale.

Yeon Exhibit In Final Days(His Influence, Ongoing)

Bob Hicks has a great piece in The Oregonian today about John Yeon that serves as a good reminder of the "In the Land of Influence" exhibit continuing through tomorrow evening at the new AIA/Portland Center for Architecture.

Hicks recently retired from full-time editorial duties at the paper after a decades-long tenure there, but as he proved countless times over the years, he can write insightfully about anything arts related. About a decade ago, at my first daytime critics screening to review a movie for Willamette Week, Bob was there reviewing it on pinch-hit duty for Shawn Levy's Oregonian review team. It's great to see him still contributing to the paper, writing about Yeon:

"Drive around particular parts of the Pacific Northwest — Ecola State Park on Oregon's north coast, say, or the Columbia River Gorge, or even the platoons of lockstep McMansions that march like conquering soldiers over the fallen body of the region's exurban land — and you can hear the whisper of John Yeon: a whisper of what is, what is not, what shouldn't be and what might have been in his corner of the Earth..."

"A modernist, he created structures that in certain ways were the antithesis of the International Style — buildings that took their very being from the landscape they sat upon, striving not to subdue it but to become part of it. The hallmark of a Yeon house was its beguiling combination of serene majesty and humility, an essence derived from simplicity of line and an unswerving sense of place."

In an unusual twist, tomorrow's First Thursday gallery walk will serve as the closing-night party for the Yeon exhibit at the CFA. (Incidentally, that's the Swann House pictured above.) The facility was a little late in finishing construction, which happens and is understandable. But unfortunately it has made this a shorter exhibit than it deserved. So if you're perusing the Pearl on Thursday night (I also recommend Hap Tivey's light sculptures at the nearby Elizabeth Leach Gallery), be sure and stop in.

The "Other" Wells Fargo Building at 100

When one hears the name “Wells Fargo Building” in Portland, thoughts usually go to the downtown’s tallest structure, sitting just south of City Hall and clad with white granite in a minimalist style.

But there’s another work in town that shares the name Wells Fargo Building. In fact, it’s called Portland’s first skyscraper, and is celebrating its 100th anniversary this year.

Situated at 309 SW Sixth Avenue, the building was commissioned by the bank and designed by architect Benjamin Wistar Morris III, a native Oregonian working in New York City. The 12-story building was jointly occupied by Wells Fargo, Southern Pacific Railroad and Oregon Railway & Navigation. Here’s some more info about the building from the press release:

“The building was designed to evoke the Second Renaissance Revival style. Terracotta was the favored material for most large, commercial structures built during Portland’s era of rapid growth, as it was fireproof, lightweight and relatively inexpensive. Decorative terra-cotta blocks adorn the crown of the building—artisans created these blocks by pressing fine clay into plaster molds and then glazing, drying and firing them. Along with glazed terra-cotta exterior sheathing, gray granite plinths were used on the ground-floor level and limestone sheathing was used on the second and third floors; buff-colored brick was laid in decorative diamond-and-cross patterns; the roof was lined with a prominent copper cornice, a terra-cotta parapet and dentils.”

“Combining elements of Victorian and classical Italian architecture, the Wells Fargo façades stand out with unique compositional elements, colors and materials. The windows and door frames of the two-story street level arches are trimmed with cast iron; the upper floors have sets of double-hung wood sash windows.”

I’ve always loved the combination of early 20th Century buildings and modern ones from a few decades later. In this case, the name Wells Fargo represents both. I’m not nearly as negative towards the tall modern Wells Fargo building, which to many represents the epitome of behemoth Brutalism that supplanted itself in countless downtowns without concern for local architectural contexts. To me it’s a big minimalist granite sculpture that anchors the downtown with its height and simple palette. But it’s also true that the smaller-scaled buildings like the circa-1907 Wells Fargo Building, along with structures here by A.E. Doyle and other early 20th century architects, are an unqualified local treasure.

The Right Kind of Gentrification

Joseph Gallivan has an excellent feature in today's Portland Tribune about the Falcon Art Community that developer Brian Wannamaker has made out of a 1911 apartment building along North Albina Avenue.

When Wannamaker  bought the building 10 years ago, he had to hire "a live-in security guard to shoo out the hookers and the people who slept in the halls." Today, however, it's a hub of musicians and artists, but also includes many of the low-income residents who were there when Wannamaker originally purchased the building. He's allowed their rents to stay below market value.

Meanwhile, the developer has created a strong sense of community. One artist was hired to paint portraits of longtime residents, which hang in the hallway. Wannamaker also built 24 work-only studios in the basement for artists, musicians and writers. He's also in the process of putting in an in-house bar. Naturally, the residents seem to love it -- even guitarist Johnny Marr of legendary 80s Manchester band The Smiths (a personal fave), who stayed here last year while producing an album for local act Modest Mouse. Gavin Shettler, owner of the Portland Art Center, also lived at the Falcon until recently.

If Gallivan's article is accurate, this is a guy who has eschewed the notion of maximizing profits in order to build something more valuable: a place where neighbors old and new, black and white, young artists and elderly retirees, are co-habitating. This is a place people want to be, and in the end I'll bet that will be lucrative for Wannamaker. There aren't hard feelings about longtime residents and members of one Portland's traditionally African American neighborhoods being driven away. Isn't that worth more than a few hundred bucks more collected in rent?

Yeon's Swan House Is Just That

Last week I was invited by realtor Bob Zaikoski of Portland Modern to tour a home off Skyline Boulevard in the West Hills designed by John Yeon.

As many readers know, Yeon, Pietro Belluschi Van Evra Bailey are the primary designers (Yeon was not a registered architect) behind the regional 'Northwest Modern' style that emerged in the 1930s and consisted of simple forms constructed in wood and allowing lots of natural light. Yeon and Belluschi both came up through the office of A.E. Doyle together, and also influenced other top local architects like John Storrs.

This Yeon design, the Swan House, was built in 1950 for a Dr. Kenneth Swan and his family. Fifty-seven years ago, now that Dr. Swan has passed away, the swan of a house is for sale for the first time.  (Not that most of us could afford it.)

Related to that, I wanted to touch upon my writing a blog post involving a sponsor (Bob is the Realtor selling the house on behalf of the Swan family). If this were a piece of journalism, this would probably be a no-no, at least if there weren't full disclosure. And I still try to follow the principle while blogging that editorial content is not influenced by sponsorship. However, I would be interested in this John Yeon house no matter who brought it to my attention, or if Bob brought it to my attention but wasn't a sponsor. So I am writing about this house in spite of the sponsor connection. Does that make sense? Is everyone OK with that? If not, please feel free to email your concerns.

Anyway, the Swan House is beautiful. It's not stunning in a way that calls attention to itself, however. That would be against the whole concept. The house is nestled into its hilly site with extended property comprising four acres of wilderness that are essentially part of the much larger Forest Park. And with its simple wood and glass palette, it's almost as if the house becomes a part of its landscape.

Inside one also gets a sense of Yeon's design (he was not a registered architect, by the way) existing upon an axis. Levels go up and down in interesting ways, such as the bedroom that's about two feet above the living room, or the basement with massive windows overlooking the forest. But everything seems to exist along the same basic horizontal plane. There is a carport to the right that leads along a long walkway to the front door. Inside, the carpet, fixtures, linoleum and other details seem a little dated, but the house is in wonderful shape. I also love the built-in sofa and fireplace in the living room. This house should have long ago obliterated the notion that modernism was cold.

In many details you can tell this is the work of a master. There are vents that pull out of the wall, aiding natural ventilation. Windows are everywhere, too. I visited on a rainy day last week and despite it being dark, no lights on and none were needed. Still, Yeon added lots some very interesting lights set into upper wall panels. Like a Frank Lloyd Wright house, you get the sense here that someone was designing every aspect of the experience, and not just the house but much of what would go inside it.

Now Arriving at PDX

Over the holidays I spent about half an hour at Portland International Airport waiting for a pickup, and it got me thinking about likes and dislikes when it comes to design there.

I think many of us would agree that overall, PDX is one of the nicer airports in the world. It's clean, simple, features many local businesses, is accessible by MAX light rail, and is teeming with natural light in the gate concourses. Most other airports I visit make me appreciate ours. But naturally with a place that big, there's always room for improvement, too.

I'd like to make this a participatory conversation in the spirit of my recent POVIC post and the comments that came afterward. What would you like to see changed or otherwise addressed when it comes to design and the user experience?

Starting from the entry into PDX, I always marvel at the glass canopy stretching from the terminal to the parking garage. It's an impressive work of engineering and/or architecture, and it's also highly functional. After getting out of your car, it feels like you're in a dome stadium instead of an outdoor one. And in winter during the airport's busy holiday time, that's a nice luxury.

Inside, I'll be very glad when they find a way to streamline the process of checking in baggage. It's a pain to have to take the bag one's self from the ticket counter to a separate security screening area. I'm all for as much security as possible, but why can't they connect the checkpoint with those conveyor belts behind the ticket counter? Is our schlepping these bags an essential part of the process?

Next, I'd like to see a makeover of the areas between the shops and the security checkpoints. When you're waiting to pick someone up, as I was recently, you're constantly going back and forth between the televisions to see if the flight has landed and the arrivals corridor where people are coming out. Also, there ought to be some kind of indication to people waiting which passengers are walking past us. Why not have some kind of big board like at Penn Station in New York that hangs above the security area? That way you could watch for the person you're meeting and keep an eye on the arrivals information without going back and forth.

It's also unfortunate that this waiting area is one of the darker, more artificially lit portions of the public space. Beyond security on either side, there are large volumes of naturally lit, glass ensconced spaces, yet no one lingers much there - except TSA screeners. Every time I pick someone up at PDX, I get stuck in one of the darkest, low-ceiling places in the whole building. Even more crucially, though, there's not enough places to sit down while you're waiting for a pickup. What seats there are seem too close to the chaos of a children's play area on one side and are (if I remember correctly) separated from the arrivals corridor on the other side.

I also wish there was more available from a retail standpoint on a 24-hour basis. Half the time I'm flying it seems to be at the very beginning of the day or end of the evening, and the only thing open is a newsstand or a coffee place with a few pastries. I think the Port of Portland should subsidize one good deli with high quality groceries and made-to-order sandwiches.

But as I said, I'd like to encourage the rest of you to let PDX know what you like, what you don't and, most especially, what you'd like to see there in the future.

The McMenamins Vernacular

I'm writing this from Canon Beach amidst a short getaway, and on the drive out here on Highway 26 yesterday I happened to notice a couple signs for McMenamins pub franchises: one in Hillsboro, one in Forest Grove. And of course there are others in McMinnville, Corvallis, Gresham and numerous ones in Portland.

To be honest, I almost never go in McMenamins franchises. I've always found the food to be pretty mediocre, and the pseudo-hippy vibe isn't my thing. But I got thinking recently about how the collection of buildings the McMenamin brothers have renovated and transformed over the years may be the closest thing there is to quintessential Portland architecture. Whether it's the Kennedy School, the Baghdad, or the funeral home they're preparing for a new pub on Killingsworth, these renovated structures are infused with life and become vibrant community gathering spaces. And in many cases, they're in historic buildings that might otherwise see the wrecking ball. (Too bad they can't open a hotel or something in the Rosefriend Apartments.)

Incidentally, the other day I was on North Mississippi with a friend having coffee at Blue Gardenia and had a similar thought about the Rebuilding Center, with its patchwork quilt of used windows and siding. Here, as with the McMenamins buildings, there's a kind of blue-collar grit combined with a sense of playfulness that just seems very Portland.

So often we - and especially yours truly - get hung up on whatever the new buidings may be: condos, offices, maybe occasionally a public building. These little buildings in the neighborhoods and small towns are something maybe less impressive in terms of scale, but there is a life to them that a modern condo likely either will never have or will take a or will take a lot of time to aquire. You don't have to order a Terminator Stout or be into the hippy vibe to appreciate that the McMenamins are doing something very precious.

I just wish somebody with more midcentury modern tastes would follow their lead. How about somebody fixing up my favorite decaying empty building, the multicolored checkerboard on SW 10th Avenue?