Treatment of historic properties blurs distinction between public and private good

One of the most concerning things about President Trump’s destruction of the East Wing is his disdain for the concept of the People’s House. Not his house, the people’s.

In imposing his gilded ideas on the People’s House, he acts as if he is the head of a private corporation, and can do to the property whatever he wishes, without regard to its history or traditions, and with no regard for the democracy which built it in the first place. To him, it is just one more piece of real estate. But that is exactly what it is not.

Embedded in the White House is the history and tradition of our country.  One commentator said this about the East Wing: “You think of the towering figures of American history who graced those spaces over the years, and to think that those are being swept away is a real loss.”

This is why the National Trust for Historic Preservation, an entity chartered by Congress to preserve America’s historic buildings for the public, is suing to force President Trump to submit his plans for the new ballroom. Unfortunately, the destruction is already done. Perhaps as destructive as the actual demolition is the blurring of the distinction between the public and the private good.  

In my community, we face a similar battle with the University of Georgia to preserve a beautiful, functioning WPA pool, one of the few remaining in the Southeast. Legion Pool was built in 1936 in the midst of the Great Depression by the local American Legion, with the aid of the WPA, to provide a pool for the children of the city. Touted as the largest and most beautiful swimming pool south of Richmond, Va., Legion Pool and its pavilion and bathhouse were designed by architect C. Wilmer Heery of Atlanta.

Set in a natural bowl, surrounded by oaks and magnolias, the Olympic-size pool and its buildings were built in the gracious Neoclassical style of the era. When the University of Georgia offered to purchase the pool and the surrounding acreage from the American Legion in 1952, Judge Henry West of the Clarke County Superior Court reviewed the offer and noted that Legion was “one of the largest outdoor pools in the South,” and that it was in “more or less the nature of a trust,” built to serve the citizens of Athens. The sale was finalized two years later.

The pool continues to function as an irreplaceable asset to both the Athens community and the University, beloved for its history and its beauty. And the pool is not only important to our town, but to the state of Georgia. Wright Mitchell of the Georgia Trust for Historic Preservation wrote a letter in strong support of saving the pool.

[Legion Pool] is eligible for listing in the Georgia and National Registers of Historic Places. HPD further concluded that demolishing these Category 2 historic resources would constitute a significant adverse impact under state preservation standards and would not be consistent with the State of Georgia’s guidance for treatment of historic properties.

The University says its plan for demolishing the pool is what students want. Yet during a mandated public hearing, students were among the most passionate supporters of the pool, pleading with university officials to save the pool and allow them to enjoy it.

Other community members brought up the fact that our town in Georgia has a dearth of outdoor public pools, most with severely limited lap lanes. Camps, from ESP to cheerleader camps, all use the pool during the summer, and now will have very few outdoor venues. The faculty and staff of the University say the pool is one of the few perks the University affords them.

Public sentiment is overwhelmingly in favor of saving the pool, which is one of the few genuine places for town and gown mingling. What, you might ask, makes the University so hellbent on taking the pool? It’s to build a parking lot! And this parking lot, the University claims, is in the service of its students’ health and wellness.

Ironically, not a third of a mile away, UGA has just finished constructing a 500-space parking garage. No matter how much parking UGA builds, it will never be enough, because the University refuses to curb cars on campus. Instead, it expects the town to absorb an exponentially expanding number of vehicles.

However, the University’s true motives in demolishing the pool may prove to go beyond parking. In an earlier battle to save the pool in 2012, Conoly Hester, an Athens journalist, wrote:

A recent letter to the editor on the University of Georgia’s plans to demolish Legion Pool mentioned the UGA Real Estate Foundation, which borrows money to build big buildings, paying the investors back with interest (Priorities skewed at UGA,” Aug. 29, 2012). With current building plans the foundation will be $350 million in debt, “to which must be added the interest and service costs — otherwise known as private-sector profits,” the letter noted. We’re talking big business here — big money and big debt in hard budget times…. Is the university in the building business, or the education business? Does it serve the student body, or make money off of it?

We have to ask ourselves, is the University of Georgia a public institution, or is it a corporation that serves its investors?

Just as President Trump said the White House would go through a robust process for the ballroom, so too did UGA say it would do its due diligence, but what they really meant was they would report their plans to Georgia Community Affairs, the Georgia Trust for Historic Preservation, and hold a public hearing, which they did, and then proceeded to ignore the overwhelming opposition to the destruction of the pool. Furthermore, they accused those who stood up to speak about what the pool means in their lives as “sentimental.” Yet we know from architectural psychology that built spaces are important for our wellbeing.

The spaces we inhabit do more than shelter us from the elements; they shape our emotions and influence our behaviors. Architectural psychology delves into this complex relationship by examining how the built environment affects human experience. Our emotions and memories become intertwined with the physical environment as we navigate the spaces around us. This fundamental interaction is central to our daily experience and pivotal for designing spaces that promote health and well-being.

If this is true, then how much truer is it of spaces laden with tradition, embedded in a community’s history?

The point here is, that in both instances, the Trump administration and UGA feel they have the right to destroy public buildings because they have the power. But in both instances, that stance is myopic. Here is a comment on Change.org from a PhD candidate about the University’s plans:

The core argument from the administration is that the students do not benefit from the pool. But make no mistake, a university, no matter how prestigious, that bulldozes the needs of the community with whom they share a space will not attract bright, talented, and engaged students. Without a supportive community, ratings for the university will fall, and with it, funding. And what about faculty? I certainly would not want to accept a faculty position at a university that does not support the community that I would be becoming a part of. I urge the University not to be shortsighted on this front. For your own sake, don’t be stupid.

Neither the White House nor Legion Pool are mere real estate. They are communal spaces that are thick with tradition and history. They exist as symbols of our highest and best aspirations. They hold our memories and promote true community. They were created with civic pride and community sacrifice in order to serve the common good. Might does not make right. It may appear quixotic in this time when we are experiencing so many degradations of our country and world, to care about a community pool. Yet we have to begin where we are to stand against such degradations. We have to fight for what’s good and right and beautiful, even if the machine stands against us.