People said these Minneapolis buildings weren’t worth saving — but they were wrong

The demolition of the Metropolitan Building in 1961 is regarded as a great sin of urban renewal.

It’s a cautionary tale about sacrificing the unfashionable past for the allure of the new. That’s true, but we’re also a bit tired of the tale. And not everyone thinks it was a lovely thing, to be honest. It was a monster of a building, redeemed by a spacious interior whose light court would make for a fine hotel today. But that’s all long gone now.

There were other landmark buildings that also were torn down because they were eyesores or too old or lacked distinction. We revisit some of the bygone ones that were razed but maybe shouldn’t have, and ask: What purpose might they serve today?

When it was finished in 1889, there wasn’t anything like it in Minneapolis. Its Roman motifs, French roofs and Greek columns were heaped together and topped with an underwhelming tower that looked like a pinky finger sticking out of a thick fist. If there was a design contest that included other civic buildings from the same era, the Federal Building would have come in fourth. The occupants were government employees, including the post office, U.S. District Court and other federal offices.

Why we should miss it: For all its faults, it still spoke in the classical language. And downtown today is not abundant with references to Greek and Roman design.

What it would be today: A hotel, probably. Or it might have been gutted and used as a museum. In either case it would have dramatic lighting at night, and while this would make it a nifty part of downtown, it still wouldn’t be a particularly good building.

Built in 1888 by the Minneapolis-based firm of Long & Kees, the Oneida was a seven-story structure that piled one idea on top of the other. A skinny slice of stone, it commanded its corner with confidence for decades, but eventually aged out as more attractive buildings took its B- and C-list tenants — the usual mix of insurance agents, lawyers, bankers. In the end it was not demolished, but humiliated by being reduced to two stories. The stumpy two-story base served as a podium for billboards, until the building was finally put out of its misery.

Why we should miss it: Downtowns need old peculiar buildings with odd histories and evocative tenants like the Yuen Faung Low chow mein restaurant, one of the city’s early Asian eateries.

What it would be today, if it hadn’t been truncated: A low-rent arts incubator with lofts and gallery space.

Wesley Church erected a 12-story office building in 1929 on the edge of downtown. It was an ordinary office block for the time, but would look distinctive today because it was made of brick, not sheets of reflective glass. It also had plenty of terracotta frosting on top to provide some visual punctuation. The Wesley tower was intended as part of a larger complex, with a hotel and another office tower, but the crash of 1929 put an end to that idea. It was demolished for the Convention Center in 1986. There weren’t any complaints about its loss — it was an ordinary building with no great distinction, and the Convention Center was progress.

Why we should miss it: We need all the tall buildings we can get.

What it would be today: Apartments, or perhaps a refurbished office tower with a good view of downtown Minneapolis on one side and Loring Park on the other.

The four-story structure was home to the city’s fourth Kresge variety store. When it opened in 1929, it was the fourth-largest store in the 575-store chain, housing two floors of retail and two floors of office. It wasn’t architecturally distinctive, but neither was its early 1980s replacement, City Center. The Kresge’s plain style with minimal ornamentation suggested “middle-class thrift,” and its broad shoulders made it a worthy competitor to the Dayton’s and Donaldsons department stores across the street.

Why we should miss it: Downtown needs a lot of smaller mixed-use buildings made of brick with ground-floor retail.

What it would be today: Empty, probably, waiting for Nicollet Mall retail to return.

We gained more than we lost, but the block between 7th and 8th streets between Nicollet Mall and Marquette Avenue had some interesting buildings, such as the massive Woolworth’s store and its two chic neighbors, Bernard’s and Lerner’s.

On the 7th Street side was the surprisingly modern First Federal building, which brought a stripped-down, historical international style to the city a few months before the First National Bank building. It had a vast expanse of granite on the front, with a huge clock.

Why we should miss it: Big clocks on the sides of buildings are interesting.

What it would be today: Covered with glass. The appreciation for the international style faded with time, and developers were keen to put up reflective glass to make a building look up-to-date.

These are just a few. Some of the unlamented buildings were just ordinary commercial structures that barely tried to be interesting, but they produce a nostalgic tug today. Not just because they’re gone, but because the simple one- or two-story structures, with their storefronts on the ground floor and apartments or offices upstairs, remind you of the vitality and diverse purposes of the average block of a prosperous American city.

The scythe of progress leveled most of them for parking lots or shiny new towers. It’s a bit sad to know they’re gone. It’s much sadder to know that few today remember them.

A city is more than landmarks. It’s the average building, the ungainly old ogre, the faded remnant, the humble block of shops. When you realize all that’s gone, you might well think: If we could have traded the Metropolitan Building for all the smaller unsung structures, the ordinary blocks of humble shops and sooty old towers that just needed some love, we’d be a better city today.