Goodbye to mid-century modern

Some of my favorite buildings, albeit ones that I do not (or now, cannot) visit often have come down in recent years. Or altered past their original design to be unrecognizable.

In Downtown Pittsburgh in the 1980s and early 1990s, First Federal Bank, now long since absorbed into some financial institution conglomerate many times over, had a warm, contemporary wood and brass office at the corner of Penn and Stanwix. I loved going there. The space was so minimalist and the glass and a few plants added a gorgeous slight hue of green to the space. Gone.

In Cleveland, the Garden Center in University Circle, in the same time period, (and I'm guessing it was built mid-20th century too,) had a gorgeous terrazo floored lobby, with a glass curtain hanging under a brass stairwell that was wide and curving down to a lower level that had a spacious auditorium, simply adorned. At ground level, another glass curtain wall looked out onto herb, rose and other gardens, with fountains place unobtrusively. Gone.

In Columbus, the Ohio Union, built in the early 1950s with an expansive entrance from High Street with twin staircases inside the main entry (heading up and down) and lined with brass rails has been torn down in favor (after, of course, due consideration to refurbishing-remodeling, but no, not when there is a rich alum who wants his/her name on a new building) of what has become the bland design of the present, red brick with shiny silvery trimmings and lots of space inside for fast food joints (though to be fair those had invaded the old OU as well, which had a cafeteria that in my memory resembles nothing so much as the one featured in "Animal House." Gone.

Here in Pittsburgh, development interests are pushing as hard as they can to tear down the Civic (Mellon) Arena, a groundbreaking design when in was built in the early 1960s. The Pittsburgh Penguins want to develop the site, but have warned it will "take time." Sounds to me like it will be a parking lot. Soon to be gone.

We want to be "green" here, but only when the term applies to new buildings. Which isn't very green at all.

Pittsburgh says: Go away

I hate being mad

Why, you might ask, gentle reader?

I will tell you. Madness, also known as anger, as frustration, leads me down the path of idiocy. I lose control of my reason, a powerful tool, and become a shrieking, or at the very least, shrill, harpy.

Alas, I became a harpy today, in the wake of two incidents of public -- I will not say rudeness, because I do believe rudeness requires malice aforethought -- but of public unconsciousness. In other words, I encountered people so utterly out of touch with the fact of their presence in public spaces that they were utterly unable to see their way toward accommodating another human being. In the smallest of ways.

Allow a single person already exiting a door through which you and your posse are about to enter? Nonsense. The out-of-touch will have none of that and simply barrel through the door and over, through and around the solitary exiting person, who will be lucky to make it through without bruises.

And yet another door user, exiting and, before doing so, turning briefly and seeing more human traffic behind him, and despite this, exiting and then, yes, dear reader, pausing, nay, stopping in his moronic tracks, yes, I say immediately outside of the door. Pausing thoughtfully to survey his surroundings. And, being a total fucking moron, oblivious to the people traffic exiting the door behind him, who, much like the band in that apocalyptic parade scene in that finest example of satirical American cinema, "Animal House," simply followed their course, stacking up against the wall of flesh created by one human moron. Ahh. Of course the sin is upon not the moron, but those who expect the smallest of civic courtesies.

Now, to the last tormentor of my reason. It is No. 3, but by virtue of being sicced upon me by a faceless corporate entity, must and shall live in a separate category.

It begins thusly: "No trespassing!" "No loitering!" "Private property!"

A public space -- designed as such some 50 years ago when Pittsburgh truly deserved, as it most assuredly no longer does, though some lazy media outlets continue to rely on it like a crutch, the nickname of "Smoky City" -- has been turned into a No Fly zone by current ownership.

Gateway Plaza, its gorgeous, severe and yet serene Mid-Century Modern design already having been squashed, cluttered and fussified some few years ago by said current owners, has now been ruled off limits in the area of a certain restaurant patio, cutting off pedestrian access through the plaza at one of two sets of steps toward Liberty Avenue.

Perhaps the plaza has become a haven in recent years, with its shady arbors and welcoming benches, for layabouts, the unemployed, oh, the folks who enjoy reading during lunch hour or just a chance to sit in the noon sun and enjoy their lemonade. And yet, it is so odd, truly, that property managers, in the name of discouraging such behavior, block off only the access around a new restaurant, which, like its apparently less fearful predecessor, has parked tables and umbrellas on the patio in an area that is open, airy and unshaded. Exactly the sort of space that malingerers and evildoers would NOT frequent, perhaps, because, rightly, even sub-human brains would recognize that such a spot would not be the ideal place for engaging in questionable deeds.

The arbors with deep shade, however, are still available. Bad guys, come on down.

A chapter closed

Our lives have chapters. Childhood and adulthood in their many separate branches. Private lives, with their mysteries known only to us. Connected lives, which we share daily with partners, friends, spouses. Ephemeral lives, the ones we share with the clerk at the lottery counter, or the barista who makes our daily coffee. The lives we share with our animals, the lives we share with the creatures of the world.

Carl and I lost an animal, Holli, on Tuesday, the last day of August. We had shared lives since February of 2002 and felt utterly enriched by her presence. As she aged with us, she grew from a goofy blonde greyhound with a Fred Flintstone 5 o'clock shadow to a sweet, yet reserved, regal beauty. We called her the Honey Dog for her personality and the Soft Dog for her smooth coat. We mellowed, too, growing easier with age ... feeling less called upon to adventure. Perhaps a good thing, or, perhaps not.

We were enriched by her presence; but that seems pat.

I think that the people and creatures and times that define our lives do constitute chapters. Our thinking is shaped by our days and our reflections upon them. We grow with parents, siblings, children, friends, animals and all provide us with bricks of love and insight for the foundations of our time on earth.

Holli offered love, companionship, a measure of silliness, and total trust. And she asked for so little in return. I miss her selflessness, and her sweetness.

She was a lovely chapter in our lives. And I hope we were in hers.

Good-bye, Honey Love.