Richard Moe, the president of the National Trust for Historic Preservation, announced his retirement in November. This recent article in Architect magazine is not only a great retrospective of Moe’s career and the changes he brought about at the National Trust, but also a great primer on the many and varied tenets of historic preservation. A great read—and positive reinforcement for those of us in the trenches. Enjoy!

An unsuspecting young salesman from The Window Store just had the misfortune of ringing my doorbell. My “Not interested,” which I delivered as soon as he introduced himself, was not enough to deter him. So, instead of getting a quick and easy brush-off, he got a30-second diatribe as to why I am adamantly opposed to what he does—market replacement windows so aggressively that salesmen go door-to-door in the dead of winter. I threw a few window rehab facts at him—that there’s no good reason to replace historic wood windows, that replacement contributes to the landfill and wastes resources through intensive manufacturing processes—and his eyes grew wider with every word. Hoping that he is young and impressionable—and maybe even a little uniformed, himself—I referred him to the National Trust for Historic Preservation, which has pages of information about window rehabilitation as an alternative to replacement. (I was a little reluctant to divulge my association with the Preservation Alliance, lest he come back later and egg my house, or something. Admittedly, I could have been nicer to him, but he rang when I was in the middle of cleaning the litter box and my kids were upstairs alone, so I had to rush up from the basement. Why can’t the door-to-door sales types understand that there is almost never a good time to interrupt somebody at home?)

Do you have facts at the ready to deliver a 30-second defense for historic windows, for those times when the window salespeople come knocking at your door? If you need some refreshing, read my earlier Window Talk post in the Field Notes blog, peruse the resources listed with the 10 Most Endangered listing of Historic Wood Windows, read the March/April 2008 issue of the Minnesota Preservationist, or go in-depth at PreservationNation.org

I know I’d catch more bees with honey, and all, but I was a little unprepared myself. This visit served as a bit of a wake-up call—and definitely an opportunity. Maybe if all of us could be a little more prepared, we’d make inroads with the salespeople themselves—who would see the light and turn to window restoration instead.  Zach-the-salesguy, if you’re reading this, I hope you’ve learned something. (And I’ll try to be nicer the next time you ring my doorbell—I promise.)

The other day, I was having idle conversation with a friend about White Castle, and she said something about the “White Castle accordion shop.” What?!? (I wonder if those four words had ever before been strung together in the English language.) I was familiar with the White Castle on Lyndale Ave. S. in Minneapolis that had been turned into a jewelry store—apparently lots of people took pride in saying that they bought their wedding rings at White Castle—but was confused by the reference to an accordion. Turns out the jewelry store has closed, and the accordion shop has moved in. What a great new business for something as off-beat as an original White Castle!

The first—and only—time I’ve ever eaten a White Castle was last spring, when the Ramsey County Historical Society hosted a lecture by a long-time White Castle employee who is the corporation’s Twin Cities historian. He pointed out the ever-evolving designs of White Castle restaurants, which raises some interesting issues for historic preservation. Given that fast-food restaurants are such a significant part of our modern culture, it seems that the most historically intact of them should be identified and preserved. But most fast-food corporations have a policy of planned replacement. Relatively few of them retain the original characteristics that would allow them to be considered historically significant.

The Wisconsin Historical Society has done some research on this topic, and the LA Conservancy’s successful campaign to save the world’s oldest remaining McDonalds is well known, at least in preservation circles. Here in the Twin Cities, I know of an old Dairy Queen in Roseville, and am starting to think that the Taco Bell on Snelling Ave. N. in the Midway area of St. Paul might be considered vintage. (Back in the ’70s, it was a Zantigos.)

As for me, I get a little teary-eyed thinking about the McDonald playland of my youth, located on Robert Street in West St. Paul. I recently drove my kids by it to make sure it is still there—it is, but a sign says it is closed and obviously inaccessible. My fellow neighbor kids and I loved our occasional excursions to this McDonalds across town, because the playground was elevated on a bluff above the restaurant. To get there, we had to walk up a steep path, or take a little train. I’m sure the moms loved it because we were worn out before we even started playing. The playground itself had all the usual equipment—the Grimace cage, a fiberglass tree filled with Fry Guys, and a fairly ominous Hamburglar slide looming over the entire park. On my recent drive-by, I think I caught a glimpse of Grimace through the snow, but can’t be sure. I’ll have to case it out again, come spring.

(This post is proof positive that even professional preservationists aren’t immune to nostalgia.)

As always, I’m open to your comments—and examples of fast food places worth preserving. Contact me at PAMfieldnotes@gmail.com

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