Initial discussions with Provo’s development staff were encouraging. After all, what respectable city planner wouldn’t get excited about repurposing a solid historic building in the middle of town? The city waived seismic and ADA requirements based on the building possessing historic “grandfather” status in both cases. During the overall development process, city bureaucracy raised its head more times than I’d have preferred. Generally, though, city government was cooperative and encouraging.
The trickiest challenges to achieving the vision of living space you’d expect to find in Manhattan or San Francisco, but not Provo, were architectural. The architect and I agreed early that adding or deleting exterior doors or windows was off the table. “Keep the exterior pristine” was the guideline. Where structurally allowable, however, removing interior walls, including a full-sized performance stage built of concrete walls, was very much on the table.
Dozens of large dumpster loads of concrete, framing lumber, lath and plaster, old steam-heat components, etc., were hauled out. The concrete walls that were removed were a full 12-inches thick, floor-to-ceiling, and filled with river-rock aggregate as large as 8 inches. Amazingly, those weren’t bearing walls as attested by the 1 to 2 inches of space between the tops of the concrete walls and floor joists immediately above them. Go figure. We about killed several dozen hired college kids, having them haul that concrete out in 5-gallon buckets. That is serious work.
The real brilliance, I think, came from Kevin Scholz, principal of Scholz Architects, the Provo firm that was given the assignment to best utilize the interior space, and set a new standard of cool rental housing in our community.
Scholz and his staff designed 15 single-bedroom apartments and two common rooms into the space. Their designs make the apartments feel surprisingly spacious (553 to 1,090 square feet), helped by tall ceiling heights (11 feet), which is natural in a church. Every apartment is unique, including some with lofts, most with elevated bedroom/bathrooms, overlooks, etc.
The original windows—135 of them— were aesthetically attractive and certainly desirable from a historic perspective. However, generally they were a mess: single pane, in poor mechanical condition, most unable to be opened/closed, etc.
Provo’s historic committee lobbied hard for the windows to be refurbished, rather than replaced, offering some financial incentives encouraging us to do so. It was their belief the original windows could be made to function well enough. We explored that option, discovering the original windows could be rehabilitated at a cost of $157,000, or $1,163 per window. New windows designed to mimic the originals came in at $42,000, or $311 per window. We took those numbers to the historic committee. Instead of approving the financial incentives (substantially less than the rehab cost), the historic chairman told me: “Greg, your economic issues are not our problem. Our concerns deal with historic issues.”
I think I’m a reasonable man. But I replied, essentially: “Take your incentives and jump in the lake. I’ll forgo your financial inducements and replace the windows with something that makes sense.”
From about 10 or more feet away, the new windows feel like they’ve always been part of the building. They function well and are much more efficient than the originals
PHOTOS: N. Gregory Soter