But this is Chico, too

I’m running a series about Chico’s architecture in “But this is Chico,” my weekly column in the Enterprise-Record. Readers are commenting about buildings they think are beautiful and ugly. Some are proposing ways to prevent ugly buildings from going up in the first place. My ideas for solutions are based on a libertarian philosophy — further proof to my 20 year-old-son Todd that I’m not an ideologue. He insists on calling me a “pop liberal.”

I’m opposed to imposing picayunish rules on architects and builders. I think community input while the buildings are still in the design stage is the way to nip bad projects in the bud. And if a few bad ones do get through, the community’s subsequent scorn should be enough of a deterrent to future mistakes.
Both liberals and conservatives are quick to call for government intervention to help them deal with their respective pet peeves. But some things should be hashed out in the marketplace of ideas and passions.

The only reason this fails to work is that people can be incredibly apathetic. But I’d like to think that in Chico this problem isn’t insurmountable. One of our enduring myths (and by that I don’t mean fairytales, I mean the things we say when we talk about our traditions and values and our hopes and dreams) is that Chico is a place where individuals and grassroots groups have the power to change things. City Hall can be fought. City Hall can be persuaded. City Hall will listen to the little guy because there are no little guys here. We are all the same size. As more Chicoans become sensitized to the importance of creating a pleasing environment and raising a fuss about anything that impedes that aim, the likelihood of ugly things getting in because nobody was paying attention will lessen.

Of course, drawings and computer images of projects aren’t the same as the real thing. The impression of concrete in the actual new City Plaza is a lot stronger than it was on paper. Sometimes our imaginations fail us. We need to see tangible objects before a designer’s intentions can affect us. That’s one of the reasons I worry about imposing too many rules on designers. Those gargoyles perched atop a row columns may look hideous on paper, but they may turn out to be just the stroke of genius that was needed to create a memorable building.

Needless to say, my libertarian impulses have their limits. There are exceptions to every rule. There are exceptions to every instance in which there is an absence of rules. I’m strongly in favor of a historical preservation ordinance for buildings. We need a rule that allows the city to cite a building’s historical value as the basis for rejecting plans to demolish it. Libertarians don’t want to tell people what to do with their property, but I have no qualms about telling owners it is against the rules to exterminate a piece of the city’s history.

In arguing for the need for preservation, I’m talking mainly about recycling. No community can afford to operate too many Bidwell Mansions and Stansbury Houses, which need to be maintained in a state of historical suspended animation. Most 19th and early 20th century buildings have to be able to adapt to 21st century uses if they are to survive.

This reminds me of the efforts of Francis Farley to preserve the eastern foothills portion of the incredibly historic Humboldt Road, a project John Bidwell spearheaded more than 150 years ago to link Chico with recently discovered silver mines in the Nevada and Idaho territories. The road’s future is far more prosaic. It will become part of suburbia. It is proposed to be widened and turned into a collector street for future housing developments.

How do you recycle a historical treasure like this? I wish somebody could figure it out. How do you make the road — Farley calls it Chico’s Appian Way — fit to handle 21st century traffic without destroying it? Farley isn’t content to just have some of the wagon ruts and rock walls alongside the road preserved. He wants the road to be left alone. What do you do when the future creeps in and creates conditions that make it impossible to either adapt this treasure to modern-day uses or feasibly maintain it in a state of historical suspended animation?

The road can remain the way it is only if the hillside is never developed. And we know that’s not going to happen.