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Worn out in South City, with Ted Drewes concretes in sight
(by Jeff Fister - June 23, 2010)
On my 12-mile hike with the Boy Scouts through the heart of the city last month, as the day wore on, the big question was: if we stopped walking, would we fall over and call someone to pick us up?
On the other hand, there was a mighty motivation: we’d started with chocolate malts at Crown Candy and at the end of the trail (or almost, as I learned later) beckoned frozen treats from Ted Drewes on Chippewa.
After leaving St. Stanislaus church north of downtown, scoutmasters Ralph Wafer and Paul Winter and I continued with the six boys south on North 20th. At Delmar we walked by the Magic Stove Lofts, a huge condo/apartment conversion of an old stove factory. Developed by Robert Wood Realty, the building was built in 1895 and helps to anchor the western expansion of downtown loft development.
As we trudged down North 20th, ahead loomed what seemed like the Wonderful City of Oz — Union Station, its stone spires in the near distance. We dreamed of getting shelter from the rain, using indoor plumbing, sitting on benches, maybe even grabbing a bite to eat. Maybe.
If you grew up in St. Louis, you doubtless have memories of Union Station. It was designed by Theodore Link, opened in 1894, closed in 1978 and then reopened in 1985 as an entertainment center. The danger we faced at Union Station was that we might encounter a sudden drop in energy and even a possible mutiny. So instead of staying long enough for the kids to scatter and seek out fast food, we marched on, promising them we’d stop somewhere “up ahead” for lunch.
We eventually made it to Lafayette Square. If you haven’t been there recently, it’s worth getting out of the car and seeing some of the meticulously cared-for Victorian houses.
We worked our way to Russell and Jefferson, and, standing on a corner, I experienced a very “St. Louis” thing. I looked in a doorway and out walked my friend Michael Kilfoy, a graphic artist who’s rehabbing an old commercial building. I would have liked to talk with him some more, but the light cycled once and the scoutmasters urged us on. No time to tarry, here.
Later we walked through another famous St. Louis historic neighborhood: Compton Heights, the winding streets which held mansions once owned by famous St. Louis German beer barons with names like Busch. Ja, and they still keep their streets clean.
By the time we got to Tower Grove Park, we were getting some “pushback” from the kids — and from our middle-aged legs. The rain started to pick up and we finally collapsed at the large gazebo ringed with busts of famous composers and the home of the Compton Heights Concert Band. We sprawled on the stage and ate and watched the rain fall on the green beauty that is the park.
We went out of the park, west on Arsenal and angled south toward Hampton. We passed two of the city’s most interesting historic buildings with two very different missions.
Known to most as the State Mental Hospital — but officially named the St. Louis Psychiatric Rehabilitation Center — the large building on Arsenal looks almost like a southern state capital with columns in front and a dome on top.
Walking south on Sublette, we viewed on the west side of the street, up a hill and behind some trees a group of buildings, one of which was red brick and looked like a giant mausoleum. This is the Missouri Crematory, built in 1888, designed by Otto Wilhelmi and the first crematory established west of the Mississippi. Even on a Saturday morning in May, it seemed a little creepy.
We soon approached Tilles Park and scoutmaster (and urban architect) Ralph Wafer mentioned something that I had never noticed. On the north and east side of Tilles, which extends to Hampton Avenue, are several neighborhoods consisting of small wood-frame houses. Ralph explained that these homes were built after World War II in an area that once had a number of clay mines and brick factories. And of course you know how the nearby “Hill” neighborhood got its name… this was the hill that the Italian immigrants who worked in the clay factories had to climb to get to their homes.
We headed south at Hampton and at Pernod we headed west again. I’d never been on this block before — and it was yet another display of classic St. Louis architecture.
This was “So St. Louis,” home of over-designed stone-and-brick bungalows with postage-stamp green lawns, lawn ornaments and you’d-better-not-spit-on-my-sidewalk. Sturdy, neat-as-a-pin, scrubby-dutch, conservative hard-working St. Louis. It was the beginning of the ’burbs, but not really; the homes were still distinctive and stylish, yet small and very close together. It was a neighborhood where you’d go to see your “grandma in the city” on Sundays, or where you’d grow up walking to the neighborhood parochial school and play soccer for the CYC. It certainly was a long way from the homeless encampments on the Mississippi River we’d seen that morning.
Before I knew it, we were walking south on Watson and at the Chippewa intersection. It took every bit of my will not to walk through Donut Drive-In and order a dozen.
For the past six hours we’d been telling the kids that “it’s not that much farther,” but suddenly the Boy Scouts disappeared. After all-day hiking through rain and city streets they burst into a sprint a block from Ted Drewes. Like horses trotting faster as they near the barn, the boys were flying down Chippewa in hiking boots, their unbuttoned scout shirts flying in the wind.
By the time I stumbled to a stop in front of the familiar white ice cream palace, the boys were well into their assorted concretes and sundaes. Except for our bedraggled group, it was a familiar scene in front of Drewes — a group of nuns, a wedding party and various other short-sleeved-shirt carb hunters. Looking for some kind of validation, I told the girl who served me at the counter what we’d done. She looked at me blankly for a moment, smiled uncomprehendingly and then asked, “Do you want any sprinkles on your concrete?”
Epilogue: A few weeks later I camped with Troop 98 and 12,000 other scouts in Forest Park as part of “Scout Quest 100,” the 100th anniversary of Boy Scouts. Saturday night, there was a big program of music and entertainment on Art Hill. Our campground was maybe only a half-mile from the Art Museum, but we had to march at least three times as far around the Grand Basin and up the long hill to the museum. It seemed to take forever. I asked a scoutmaster next to me why we were taking such a convoluted route. “It’s the ‘Boy Scout way,’” he said. “Wear the heck out of them.”
Gotcha.
• This is the second part in a two-part series. Part I is available at www.westendword.com/NC/0/1555.html.
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