A Case for Historical Preservation

Bob and his wife, Joy, on the front porch at their home in Cape Girardeau.

Kassi Jackson ~ kjackson@semissourian.com

I’m a retired professor living in a historical home in an old part of Cape. I could easily move to a new house, but I strongly prefer living in this old place.

My house was built in 1893, so it’s “late Victorian.” I know a lot about the early years of the house thanks to Shelly (Goss) Phillips, who researched its history.

The whole family on the front porch of the home Bob and Joy now live in, seeing Bob's father off to WWII (early 1945)

Submitted photo

My house has been in my family for nearly 100 years. Every morning I wake up in a bedroom where my grandparents slept and where one of their children — my aunt — was born in 1929. I’m reminded every day of how my family weathered the Great Depression and WWII in the very rooms where I now live.

In addition to my family, I sometimes find myself pondering the lives of the earliest inhabitants of this old house. How did they live in the house before it had bathrooms and central heat, before there were televisions, computers or even radios? How did they travel without automobiles? I know the house originally had a small barn in back for a horse and carriage.

In addition to these imaginings, I also have my own early memories of the house: my grandmother working in the kitchen, the family having holiday meals and so forth.

My point is: this old building connects me to all these people of the past, including my own childhood self. I know when I touch these old walls, I’m touching something that was also touched by someone in 1895, or by someone of my family who is now gone. In other words, I live in a place with real historical depth, a place that continuously surrounds me with a palpable sense of connection with the past. I think that’s important.

When compared with most small cities in the central part of the United States, Cape is really lucky. We actually have a significant history, some of which is still around us in our old buildings. For example, every time I enter our truly charming City Hall (the former Lorimier school), I imagine my own father as a 10-year-old sitting in a classroom where he was a student in the 1930s.

Bob and his wife, Joy, inside of their home in Cape Girardeau.

Kassi Jackson ~ kjackson@semissourian.com

Why don’t more people value our historical buildings as some do? The answer is complicated. On one hand, most Americans don’t seem to have much sense of history. This is likely the fault of our education system, but it’s probably also a result of our being such a young country. We don’t really have much history when compared to many parts of the world.

Then there’s the cultural problem. We’re the ultimate throw-away society, with people always looking for something shiny and new. Add to this our obsession with “growth” and “progress” at any cost, and it’s easy to understand why history isn’t even on the radar for most Americans.

We might contrast this attitude with prevalent attitudes in Europe, where people have a much stronger commitment to historical preservation. Consider, for instance, how after the massive destruction of WWII, many historical buildings were lovingly restored to their original state, literally from out of the rubble, and at great cost. Today in much of Europe, people continue using very old homes and other buildings, rather than tearing them down.

Fortunately, there have been a lot of “wins” for historical preservation in Cape during recent decades. I applaud the people who fight for these successes. I’m guessing it wasn’t easy.

With that said, there have also been a number of tragic losses. I could cite several recent examples, but one keeps coming to mind. I’m referring to the two magnificent homes on Sprigg Street demolished to make room for the university’s latest round of student housing. Certainly our town and all of our lives have been cheapened by this short-sighted vision of “progress.”

The City Council, as well as those in positions of power at the university, hospitals and various businesses, typically decide the fate of our historical buildings. I encourage these community leaders to curb the tendency to destroy our historical heritage in favor of today’s inferior, soulless architecture. Please cultivate a stronger historical sensibility, and please give higher priority to historical preservation for its own sake. There really are more important things in this world than money, efficiency and progress.

I am certain we can retain more of our historical buildings by repurposing them or adding on to them, as, for instance, when more space is needed for city administration. Of course this must be done in a tasteful and respectful manner that maintains a sense of architectural integrity and continuity with the surroundings. A good example of how to do this may be found at 212 N. Main.

I sometimes wonder if the people who decide to destroy our historical buildings grasp the magnitude of their actions, and so I will finish with this thought: When you tear down one of these old buildings, you are destroying forever our connections to the people of the past. But more than this, you are also destroying those connections for future generations who will then be deprived of that experience. Your actions reverberate far beyond our lives and today’s passing agenda, compelling as that agenda may seem in the moment. I hope the people who make these decisions will take pause and really think hard about the larger implications of their actions.

Bob Polack is a retired professor from Southeast. He lives in Cape Girardeau with his wife, Joy Bell, a coonhound named Bessie, and two chickens, Winnie and Mo. His family has been in Cape since the 1830s.