Remembering Gil Frey

Gil Frey and wife Joyce, Grand Floral Parade, 2016 (Brian Libby)

BY BRIAN LIBBY

Eight years ago when Veterans Memorial Coliseum was threatened with demolition and a group of us banded together to form the Friends of Memorial Coliseum in hopes of saving the building, we discovered that the arena already had a vocal, passionate champion: Gil Frey.

After Frey's passing last month, I'd like to honor his passion and his activism.

To members of Portland's City Council back in 2009, Frey was already a familiar face, having long lobbied them for the building's restoration. As he would address Council during times of public testimony, they didn't seem to know whether to take Frey seriously or not. (Except for Amanda Fritz; she always did.) He was elderly and he was a Korean War veteran, which earned their respect, but he wasn't well connected to the political establishment, he wasn't wearing a suit, and he seemed to have a wild idea that countered what some of the commissioners' moneyed donors were telling them: that unlike most of the country, where 50-year-old buildings are almost always torn down (especially arenas and stadiums), we should preserve this building and appreciate both its architecture as well as its role as a veterans memorial.

"He was there, writing letters to the editor and rallying fellow veterans, 10 years ago when Trail Blazers owner Paul Allen and then-Mayor Vera Katz first started playing with plans to remake or replace Portland's 'glass palace'" wrote Oregonian columnist and baseball fan Anna Griffin in a column that spring, a blend of tribute and patronization. "He's been the loudest voice again this year, as city leaders fast-track a plan to demolish the 49-year-old building in favor of a minor league baseball park. 'You're going to see me standing in front of bulldozers,' says the Milwaukie insurance salesman. 'Bet on it.' Never mind that when the Coliseum does come down, demolition crews will likely use TNT."

As then-mayor Sam Adams and Portland Timbers owner Merritt Paulson introduced their backroom deal to tear down the Coliseum to make way for a new minor-league baseball stadium — a plan that would have replaced a busy multipurpose venue for one serving a single use and a franchise with less than 2,000 season ticket holders — the public began to rally around the Coliseum. At a public open house to introduce the stadium plan, Adams was surprised to find a room full of people opposing the stadium plan. He soon reversed course and abandoned the stadium idea, but with the building still needing a renovation, the fight was not over.

Frey was a big part of the next thing that happened to Memorial Coliseum: its renaming as Veterans Memorial Coliseum. The building had always been a veterans memorial, with plaques in its sunken gardens inscribed with the names of soldiers from Portland killed in World War II. But the renaming doubled down on that tribute, which also reflected the fact that veterans, including former Oregon governor Victor Atiyeh, had lobbied Mayor Adams and City Council to retain the building.

In the ensuing years, Frey was never an official part of the Friends of Memorial Coliseum. He had his own ideas about how a restoration should proceed (no replacing the original seats!), and he was a leader, not a follower. But we would often see Gil because he would take it upon himself to organize. He would rent a conference room and fill it with friends and fellow seniors and vets, as much cheerleader as advocate. He would insist everyone stand before the meeting and sing some patriotic song, like "God Bless America." Honestly I'd roll my eyes sometimes, wondering whether anything productive was coming out of it. But something very important was indeed happening: whether he was being listened to by the powers that be or not, he was demonstrating his passion.

From the time the Trail Blazers moved out of the Coliseum and into the Rose Garden next door, it was inevitable that the older arena would come under threat. After all, no city had ever retained its NBA team's arena after the team moved out. And indeed, by 1999 or so Katz's administration was investigating whether the Coliseum should be demolished. But time after time, city leaders came back around to the fact that Portland still needed the arena. It remained profitable or at least broke even year after year, with well over 100 annual events (more than would ever take place at a minor league ballpark). And eventually the city's own study confirmed that the arena fulfilled an important niche in the array of local venues, between the 20,000-seat Rose Garden and the downtown concert halls topping out at about 3,500 seats. The study, commissioned by then-mayor Charlie Hales, also estimated an impact of some $2 billion by restoring the building.

The Freys entering Memorial Coliseum during last year's parade (Brian Libby)

While it's sad that Gil Frey did not live to see his beloved Coliseum fully restored, I'm glad that he was around last year for what seems to have been a turning point, when the National Trust for Historic Preservation named Veterans Memorial Coliseum a National Treasure: a distinction that has gone to only about 70 buildings in America. Frey proudly rode in last year's Grand Floral Parade to honor his role in saving the Coliseum.

Later that year, November's City Council elections saw the building's biggest opponent, Steve Novick, defeated by Coliseum proponent Chloe Eudaly, who joins Amanda Fritz, Nick Fish and seemingly Ted Wheeler in a majority on Council. A new Rose Quarter master plan, set for release later this year, envisions a restored Coliseum with the two arenas' parking garages buried underground and high-density development all around and newly activated waterfront greenspace, which is exactly what the district has always needed. Meanwhile, while full restoration has not yet been achieved or even approved, the city has spent over $2 million on the Coliseum over the past two summers, with the building set to co-host the Phil Knight Invitational basketball tournament this November.

The fight certainly isn't over, but there is valid reason to believe Veterans Memorial Coliseum is closer than ever to being restored.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm all alone in this," Frei told Griffin in that 2009 column, not long before the groundswell of support for the building began. If Frey didn't get to see the Coliseum restored during his 85-year lifetime, I think he certainly came to know he was not alone. And like the war veterans honored on the memorial plaques outside the building, we intend to see that Gil Frey's advocacy will not be forgotten.