Louisville’s white elephants
For some unknown reason, we citizens of Louisville seem to have been saddled with more than our share of architectural monstrosities over the past half-century or so. It most cases, these white elephants are the result of some well-meaning benefactor who decides that it would be a keen idea to display some objet d’art for citizens and visitors to enjoy. Not wishing to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak, the city fathers accept the gift; only to find that the maintenance costs greatly exceed the value of any artistic edification to be gathered therefrom.
A brief and cursory listing of these mistakes will illustrate our point:
1. Founders Square. Back in the early 1960’s, when Urban Renewal was winding down, the half-block of Muhammad Ali Boulevard (then called Walnut Street), bounded by Fifth Street and Armory Place, contained nothing more useful than small businesses, generating jobs and tax revenue. Not wishing to underspend the federal Urban Renewal funds sent from Washington, the city fathers (there were few city mothers back then) decided to level the half-block and erect Founders Square. A ten-foot-deep circular excavation was made, and a two-story circular building was erected. It was surrounded with huge concrete devices, looking for all the world like croquet-hoops on steroids.
The subterranean part was to be used for meetings and conferences, and the upper floor, reached by a ground-level bridge, was for visitors’ information and the like. But, from the start, the many design flaws became apparent. When it rained (as it does in Louisville, with some regularity), the structure became an island, surrounded by a moat of dirty water. The lower level was generally useless, save for an occasional SCUBA convention, and the upper level became moldy and unusable. In time, it was torn down, filled in, and replaced with a “park” of sorts, used chiefly by the street people awaiting the daily sandwich handout from the Catholic Cathedral of the Assumption, across the street.
Louisville belvedere fountains
2. Belvedere Fountains. At the foot of Fifth Street, the city constructed a belvedere, complete with a fancy series of fountains, overlooking the Ohio River. Problem was, the fountains were atop the Galt House’s underground parking garage, and the fountains leaked, almost from the start. In an effort to remedy the leakage, some Works Department genius contracted to have the fountain basins coated with some sort of epoxy resin, as a sealant. Unfortunately, the resin, when exposed to sunlight, caused the fountain water to turn into a mild acid. When the acid leaked down into the garage, the acid was strong enough to ruin the paintjobs of hundreds of cars.
At first, the City Law Department had signs erected, disclaiming any liability. When the city started losing lawsuits anyway, the Law Department was compelled to pay out untold thousands of dollars to Earl Scheib. Eventually, the fountains were ripped up.
The falls fountain
3. The Falls Fountain. In the early 1990’s, Mary Bingham, wife of Courier-Journal publisher Barry Bingham, generously donated a million bucks for the construction of a floating fountain, to be located in the middle of the Ohio River, shooting 100 feet into the air, and visible from the Belvedere. She had seen a similar fountain on a trip to Lake Geneva, and thought it would be a classy addition to Louisville’s riverfront vista.
Evidently, Lake Geneva is a bit cleaner than our dear old Ohio, because the inlet filters on the Falls Fountain were continually clogged; necessitating frequent maintenance, repair, and replacement. After Mrs. Bingham died, the city quietly removed the floating Falls Fountain, and scrapped it.
4. The Pink Bike Rack. In an effort to provide parking space for the much-anticipated flood of bicycles which will be coming to downtown Louisville (any day now), as well as exposing local philistines to examples of fine art, the city has embarked upon a campaign to erect bike racks all over town. Not just ordinary bike racks, mind you, but excellent metallic sculptures, of the nuvo-junkyard genre. You may find these constructions are an egregious waste of taxpayer money; or you may find your artistic heart aflutter with appreciation for the avant-guardyness of Louisville’s street art. One thing you will never find, however, is an actual bicycle chained to one of these monstrosities.
One particularly hideous version was bolted to the ground on Fifth Street, next to the Old Courthouse (Mayor Jerry wants us to
call it “Metro Hall,” but folks will always call it the Old Courthouse.). Shaped like a half-arch with a loop in the end, the Pepto-Bismol-pink creature was visible from the Louisville City Hall Examiner’s office, and was just about the ugliest thing to be found around Congress Alley since old “Pop” Malone retired. It was unaffectionatly referred to in the neighborhood as “the IUD bike rack.”
Fortunately, the giant pink IUD bike rack was also visible from Metro Mayor Jerry Abramson’s office window. Abramson, whose taste for the fine arts is second to none (Or is that “next to nothing?”) in our community, soon had the offending bike rack unceremoniously ripped from its moorings and removed to a spot behind the Works Department garage and junkyard at Lexington Road and Payne Avenue, where art lovers and kitsch aficionados can visit, by appointment.
5. The Derby Clock. Last, and certainly least, is Louisville’s infamous Derby Clock. Actually, this boondoggle is the reason for this entire stumble down memory lane. The news reports that a group of well-meaning (and well-heeled) volunteers have been repairing and refurbishing sculptor Barney Bright’s magnum opus, and it will soon be ready for relocation to “an appropriate site.”
The clock, a large circular metal track, slanted ten feet into the air on poles, is supposed to run a race every hour on the hour, with little metallic avitars of George Rogers Clark, the Belle of Louisville, and the like, competing for a computer-randomized victory. It never really worked properly, so the Governor is not requesting that we bet on the outcome of the races.
Originally donated to the city (by overly-generous benefactors), and ensconced in the middle of the River City Mall (Remember that fiasco?), the clock’s metallic workings did not weather well, and became a constant maintenance nightmare for the city’s Works Department. When the River City Mall was reincarnated as Fourth Street Live (a/k/a Casa Cordish), the clock was removed to the back lot at Bowman Field airport, near Cannons Lane. Unfortunately, the clock’s much-anticipated decline into oblivion has now been arrested, and, like a junkyard phoenix, the Derby Clock will soon rise again.
Eventually, the Derby Clock will be relocated, probably trashing up the Belvedere or the Great Lawn, where it will remain until its big spring rusts out again, after which the cycle is destined to repeat. Louisville seems to have the hardest time with its junk pickup program.
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Louisville’s white elephants
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