My tenure on the Seattle Landmarks Preservation Board from 1995-2003 involved two years as a board member and six years as chair. While the City Landmarks Preservation Ordinance (SMC 25.12.350, which can be viewed online at City Landmarks Ordinance) suggests a maximum engagement of two consecutive three-year appointments to the Board, my term was extended due to the slow pace of mayoral appointments.

My initial realization after leaving the Board was how open my weekly schedule appeared. Every other Wednesday afternoon and Friday morning were suddenly free from the regular Landmarks Preservation Board and Architectural Review Committee meetings. Of course, the schedule openings quickly closed with other commitments, but the brief holiday was liberating.

A more regrettable schedule change accompanying my departure from the Board was on Saturday mornings. I had regularly taken time on Saturdays to visit the varying landmark nominations coming before the Board. This had been a quiet, contemplative time in which I could explore neighborhoods and consider the merits of various nominations. I learned a tremendous amount about the history of Seattle during these solitary outings examining wonderful landmark structures embedded in their rich neighborhood fabric.

A few of the more notable nominations during my tenure on the Board at the close of the 20th century included the following:

One of the easiest and most joyous designations was the Space Needle. This outstanding icon of the Seattle World's Fair met all six landmarks ordinance standards (view the standards at City Landmarks Designation Standards ). The nomination and designation proceedings had a festive mood; a celebration of the people, events, and structure that symbolizes our city to this day.

In contrast to the headliner aspects of the Space Needle, the nomination of the Seattle Empire Laundry Building (view this landmark at City Landmarks List ) examined the people's history of Seattle. The early struggles of working women and labor unions dovetailed elegantly with the modern dialectical tension between developer and tenant to create a passionate discussion on the public stage of landmark designation proceedings.

Initially, historic advocates (local and national) and tenants urged the board to nominate the property. Historic advocates described the tumult of workers' struggle for safety, reasonable hours, and a fair wage. Tenants, predictably, hoped to use the Landmark Preservation Board's proceedings to block development of the building. The developer, who initially opposed the landmark nomination assuming it would complicate his conversion plans, did an about-face mid-way through the proceedings upon learning of available tax credits for restoration of historic properties.

In the final analysis, the property was designated on a split vote. I recall voting against the nomination because I wasn't convinced of the specific significance of the association between the early labor movement and the building. But enough board members disagreed with my assessment to designate the property.

Projects such as the Seattle Empire Laundry Building are indicative of challenges facing the Board currently. Uncontested nominations, such as the Space Needle, have largely been completed. The Board now debates the more challenging "second tier" landmarks. The structures or places that elegantly capture the context and texture of bygone eras, but don't necessarily meet the demanding "significance" criteria embedded in the Landmarks' ordinance.

During my tenure on the Board, we were fortunate in designating a number of wonderful neighborhood schools and parks. Seattle has become a national leader in restoring its historic schools. Equally compelling, the extraordinary Olmstead Park legacy of Seattle is steadily being recognized and preserved under the ordinance. The rich heritage of these landmark structures and places plays an important role in the ongoing vibrancy of Seattle's neighborhoods.

The buzz of politics filled the proceedings when the Monorail came up for nomination. Despite the curious logic of new Monorail backers' attempts to block the nomination, the graceful Monorail of the World's Fair easily met several designation standards. Following designation, further review of the Monorail development plans was halted based on the Mayor's recommendation, and the City Council's acquiescence, to overturn the negotiated landmark controls and incentives. I still find it disingenuous that, while the landmarks ordinance was established to recognize and provide stewardship for the historic legacy of our city, when a major transportation system proposed to raze historic structures and overlay entire historic streets and districts, the elected officials chose to overturn the landmarking process for purely political reasons.

In retrospect, particularly after the subsequent implosion of the Monorail dream, I would urge our politicians to listen more carefully to the deliberations of the Landmarks Preservation Board and let them perform their duty. Vibrant cities the world over exhibit a delicate balance of slow, steady growth punctuated by grand schemes. Cultural richness and congruity is in the balance. Grand schemes, while seductive in their initial vision, often overwhelm the complex vibrant texture of organic development that so richly defines areas of our city. Pioneer Square and Pike Place Market are two such districts that stood fast against the grand urban renewal schemes that decimated so many American cities in the 1960s. Notably, these two historic districts help define our city today.

In the final analysis, I miss the people associated with the Landmarks Preservation Board most of all. Fellow board members and staff are good, bright people committed to the vital stewardship of our historic legacy. The heartfelt presentations, advocacy, and debate surrounding most nominations involves committed citizens speaking passionately of their beliefs. The proceedings of the Seattle Landmarks Preservation Board exemplify messy, pluralistic democracy at a grassroots level—regulated by ordinance—but defined by people who care deeply about our city.

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