Burying an Architectural Landmark on the Boulevard

As I approached my store, , the other day, I felt my heart tumble backward and into the proverbial rabbit hole. “They” were finally here—two awkward-looking men, dressed in khakis and dirty shirts. Sweat raced down their faces, as if trying to wash away their guilt.

Their small pickup truck was parked in the front of the store, with the words “Roofing”emblazoned along the sides. But I knew they weren’t roofing today. Today, they were doing the work of painters—lingering around the perimeter of Swork, anxiously waiting for something imminent. 

I knew what they were there for—and I had been dreading this day. They looked at me, as if waiting for me to forgive them so that they could strike up their ladder to begin the hurried task of burying with paint the beautiful glazed-brick walls that make up the store’s exterior. 

For me, the very idea was like taking a bullet right through the heart. I ran into my store as fast as I could, hoping that an invisible pit would open up on the sidewalk and eat them up in one bite.

Renovation vs. Preservation of Historic Charm

I had been primed months ago. The building's owners, in an honest attempt to take advantage of lower interest rates, wanted to renovate the place. They had graciously asked the tenants, Swork included, to give them an outline of what needed repair.

I took the request seriously and spent several days preparing a five-page letter, detailing some of the building's major issues as well as expressing the importance of keeping its historic charm intact.  

I specifically emphasized the building's exterior because I was worried that its original 1917 glazed brick would be painted over. At first, I was promised that the glazed brick—so far untouched—would be spared. But as the process began, things took a turn for the worse. As much as I saw the building as beautiful—even if the brick was not perfect—the owners saw it as broken and wanted to patch and repair.

I tried to convince them that instead of adding more paint, they should remove it and let the glazed bricks shine. I argued that in doing this, they would be helping to preserve one of the most precious and historic buildings in Eagle Rock. But my saber was not sharp enough and the owners' pockets not deep enough for such an arduous task.

Love at First Sight

Looking back, it feels like yesterday when we first met—this building and I. I’ll never forget the day when I was standing in front of her with my son Sage, who was only three years old at the time. We were waiting for the pedestrian light to change when the previous tenant of the space that’s now Swork—a printing shop owner—came out and said hello.  

He was an older man, tired and a bit worn out. His apron was stained with printing ink. He looked like he could use a cocktail and a vacation—a long one. We started chatting. I told him that we had just moved to Eagle Rock and that we were looking for a good coffee shop to go to.  

It was the only thing missing around here, I said. He smiled in agreement. “You should just move into this corner and open one up yourself,” he told me, adding: “I’ve had enough of the printing business and I’m closing soon.”

With a tempting grin on is face, he let Sage and I take a quick peek into his shop. It was a train wreck inside—dirty, crowded and sad. Most of the windows had been covered with plaster. I didn’t see any employees.

But as I looked beyond the neglected rubble, my eyes saw magnificent potential. And as we walked home, the idea of a coffee bar had already cemented into my soul. Eagle Rock had picked me, I told myself.

Matriarch of Eagle Rock’s History

The building that houses Swork was originally known as the Edwards & Wildey Building. She was constructed in 1917—in my eyes, a matriarch of Eagle Rock’s history. Looking back, she had me from the word hello—her vintage glazed brick exterior was beaten around the edges, yet she still stood proud and undefeated. She had strong bones—and I knew she could take on a budding business into her nurturing arms and hold on tight.

In my mind, there was never a question of whether or not my business would succeed in a building that still held a tremendous amount of success within her walls. She just needed someone to help her shine back. She wanted to feel pretty again—and from the looks of her, she had clearly been neglected. 

From that moment on, I knew this was my calling. A month later, I saw a “For Rent” sign on the door and my heart raced as I jumped to the nearest phone and dialed. A week later, with a signed lease in my hand, it had suddenly hit me that I had no idea how to even build a coffee house. All I knew was that I had to.

Uncovering New Treasures While Revisiting History

It was a feat I was about to take on with the enthusiasm of a child and a fearlessness I had orphaned years ago. As we renovated, each day uncovered new treasures.

The part of the building where Swork stands housed an old pharmacy, whose bottles were still hidden between the walls. The covered-over windows had the pharmacy’s advertising still imprinted on its glass. The brass fixtures were delicate and ornate in their glory. Above all, the vintage wood and the moist brick created a unique aroma that revealed nearly a century of time. 

The whole scene propelled me to imagine what the building was like in its infancy. I imagined the pharmacy and it’s patrons sipping ice cream floats as they waited for tonics and tinctures for their ailments.

This was a time when people were genuinely trusted, smiles were free and a bike could stay safely parked on the sidewalk. A simpler time, when we really talked to one another instead of staring down at our smart phones in silent conversation with cyber space.

No doubt the lovely ladies of the Women’s Twentieth Century Club of Eagle Rock, wearing their cloche hats atop bobbed hair, frequented the place. And the men, dipped in derbies, bowlers and rounded fedoras, taking fashion seriously in their high-waisted jackets and cuffed trousers. The corner carousel bustling with children and spinning in an indefatigable happiness. 

But, best of all was the air, clear and crisp—with the smell of “homemade” everywhere. I can only imagine it was a golden time, filled with a peacefulness that most of us will never know.  

But now, there was so much to do. I made it clear to my contractor to be as gentle, careful and considerate as possible while doing anything to the building’s “bones.”

Looking around, the pharmacy’s long, metal soda counter, with its faded green paint peeling off, had been abandoned—pushed up against the back wall and buried under printing supplies. The red brick walls were pop-corned over and the concrete floor covered with decades of weathered tile.  

We unleashed the blocked windows, removed their cheap aluminum and replaced them with solid wood, mimicking local historic buildings. We carefully removed the thick plaster from the walls by hand, exposing the building’s natural interior brick and allowing it to breathe again. We washed the building’s exterior with warm water and soap. In short, we fixed what we could and cherished what we had.

Rescuing Eagle Rock’s History

But that was more than 10 years ago. Things change. We change. Life moves forward. I know it’s not my building—and my rights as a tenant are limited when it comes to her restoration. But I do worry that one day her exterior may be completely covered in plaster and paint, burying a little bit more of Eagle Rock’s history. 

That would be a sad day for all of us. However, I still cherish the thought that one day, this building will be released and offered to me. With the loving hands of my husband’s restoration company, her paint will be gently scraped off and her vintage transoms revealed once more. She will be restored and reborn as a gift to Eagle Rock.  

Having known something so beautiful punished for her longevity and strife shames us all in a sad way. My father used to tell me that “beauty” is subjective. In this case, I agree to disagree.