ROSH HASHANAH EDITION 5782 SECTION D PAGE 10
Between the lines of text and hundreds of photographs that compose Phil Goodstein’s latest book on Denver history — The Denver That is No More — are strong subcurrents of regret, as well as anger.
That’s not surprising, in light of Goodstein’s well-established love of Denver’s heritage, and the politically rebellious stances he often incorporates into his writing.
The historian’s consistent contention in this extensive review of the many great and beautiful landmarks that have forever vanished from Denver’s skyline is basically that money talks and, well, you-know-what walks.
Especially in the mid- to late-20th century, the author contends, developers’ love of profit and the city’s love of revenue worked together to obliterate many of Denver’s historical and architectural treasures, more often than not replacing them with bland or featureless boxes or, in an amazing number of cases, slabs of asphalt to serve as parking lots.
This trend was never more blatant than during the 1950s and ‘60s when a wave of urban renewal fever swept over the city’s leadership, seemingly determined to remove much of Denver’s architectural heritage, especially downtown, in the firm conviction that the city needed a drastic makeover to face the future as something more glamorous than a proverbial cowtown.
The primary agent for this demolition frenzy, Goodstein states, was the entity known as the Denver Urban Renewal Authority whose ravaging was only slowed down by a handful of preservation forces, including Historic Denver, by the early 1970s. The author says that DURA’s role in this morality play is that of a reckless villain.
Readers may agree or disagree with this scenario, depending on their own perspectives, and, to be fair, even as nostalgic a chronicler as Goodstein admits that some of Denver’s demolished landmarks had grown so worn out, inefficient, overrun with pests or outdated that demolition was the only realistic recourse.
But he makes a strong case that many of the city’s architectural highlights could have, and should have, been preserved.
Among those that could have been renovated and repurposed to 21st century uses, he suggests or implies, are the Tabor Opera House, Windsor Hotel, Bredan Creamery (which appears on the book’s cover), the city’s once renowned movie palaces, any number of Capitol Hill’s once glorious mansions and a slew of sites associated with Denver’s black, Jewish and other ethnic communities.
Goodstein points to Union Station and the Molly Brown House as two examples of how preservation efforts have contributed significantly to Denver’s present day cultural richness. Those who have visited those locations in recent years might find it hard to disagree with him.
The Denver That Is No More, however, is more than a treatise on preservation vs. urban renewal. The book is organized into compact and readable segments which are — as Goodstein’s books usually are — replete with fascinating and unusual anecdotes and factoids that bring the cityhistory to life.
There are lots and lots of photos here, and even though Goodstein expresses regret that some of the city’s lost treasures seem never to have been recorded on film, the images that do exist not only provide provocative glimpses of the past but underscore the author’s belief that much of that past is worth keeping around.
Chris Leppek may be reached at IJNEWS@aol.com.
Copyright © 2021 by the Intermountain Jewish News
