Box Factory Lofts, Tampa

Below is an entry I wrote a year ago for Curbed.com’s Past Lives about an adaptive reuse project in Tampa’s Ybor City.

No Room for Squares at Tampa Box Factory Turned Lofts

Monday, April 9, 2012, by Curbed Staff

Here now, Past Lives, in which Curbed contributor Chris Berger explores what some of the country’s most interesting residential buildings used to be before they became livable homes. Care to suggest a building with a fascinating past life? Do drop us a line.
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Photo: Miles Development Partners

An old box factory may not sound like a thrilling place to live. But don’t tell that to the urbanites who call Tampa’s Box Factory Lofts home: there’s more to the former Tampa Box Company building than its plain name suggests. The area was a cigar-rolling powerhouse from the late 1800s through the Great Depression, and the wooden cigar boxes produced at the factory were shipped across the globe. Business was so brisk that the firm billed itself as the largest in the world. But cigars eventually lost their cachet, and the complex passed to other industrial uses.

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Photo: Hillsborough County Public Library

↑ The property was beaten up when it was purchased by a developer in 2004. Windows were boarded, the wood was decayed, and a truck had slammed into the wall. But the one-story, box-shaped structure had a malleable layout and prime location, just east of downtown Tampa in energetic Ybor City, that made it ideal for conversion into 53 lofts.

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Photo: Miles Development Partners

↑ The rehabilitation carefully meshed the building’s historical fabric with new features. The rusticated block walls were stripped and painted in the original colors, and the 9-foot-tall windows were replaced in kind and painted rust brown. A 5.5-foot-tall vertical addition—built to cram in as many units as possible—was stepped back to minimize its visual impact. Rafters were reused in the living areas, where the ceiling remained at its original height.

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Photo: Miles Development Partners

↑ Concrete block walls partition the units, which range in size from 950 to 1,700 square feet and include 20-foot-tall ceilings and stained concrete floors. Exposed ducts add to the industrial feel, and steel and wood stairs lead to the lofted master bedrooms. Parking was built into the structure, and a pool was dug in the enclosed central courtyard.

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Photo: Miles Development Partners

↑ In addition to their unique accommodations, residents value their proximity to work, culture, and nightlife. All the lofts sold for about $200,000 to $400,000, though some are occasionally rented.

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Photo: Miles Development Partners

· Loft Condo Conversion That’s Outside the Box [Building Design + Construction]
· Lord Aeck & Sargent Architecture [official site]
· From Boxes to Block [Masonry Construction Online]

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Sarasota School of (Commercial) Architecture

The Sarasota School of Architecture, the group of designers who adapted the International Style to Florida’s west coast beginning in the 1940s, are well known for their houses and institutional buildings. But the Sarasota School’s commercial buildings receive much less attention. It’s understandable; many of the buildings look like any other commercial building constructed after World War II, and none is in pristine condition. But a few, particularly those designed by Victor Lundy, are one-of-a-kind.

655 Plaza de Santo Domingo, Greater Sarasota Chamber of Commerce (Pagoda Building), 1956. Victor Lundy

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Pagoda Lundy

Vintage photo of the interior. This city-owned space would be perfect for a Sarasota School of Architecture museum.

1575 Main Street (1959). Architect unknown20130311-223850.jpg

1851 Hawthorne Street (1961). Tim Seibert20130311-223910.jpg

Doctors Gardens (1957). Unknown architect20130311-223924.jpg

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2051 Main Street, Lawyers Professional Building (1961). Frank Folsom Smith20130311-223946.jpg

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339-361 St. Armand’s Circle (1960). Tim Seibert20130312-174707.jpg

25 S. Osprey Avenue (1957). Victor Lundy20130311-224000.jpg

261 S. Orange Avenue (1960). William Rupp

1551 Second Street. Chamber of Commerce (1969). Jack West20130311-224029.jpgs

318 S. US 301 (1949). Paul Rudolph.

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I don’t think Paul Rudolph would want his name attached to this.

533 S. US 301 (1958). Victor Lundy.20130226-201300.jpg

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Filed under Mid-Century Modern, Modernism, Sarasota School of Architecture

St. Petersburg Shuffleboard Club

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Every feature article about the historic St. Petersburg Shuffleboard Club reads the same: It’s Friday night. Young people guzzle beers, bob their heads to upbeat music, and flirt with the attractive stranger next to them. No, they’re not at a bar or club; they’re at a shuffleboard club in St. Petersburg, Florida, a city long associated with retirees. Wait, what? Yep, the game typically associated with octogenarians has experienced a rebirth…

And it’s true, the club attracts a younger crowd when it opens its doors for free play on Fridays from 7 to 11 (young families and the middle-aged were also well represented when I last visited earlier this month). But the club is more than just a singles joint.

Formed on January 24, 1924, the St. Pete Shuffleboard Club bills itself as the largest in the world. It has 65 courts–32 of which are under the vintage light fixtures–and seven structures that date from 1927 to 1948. A 1994 USA Today article called it the Yankee Stadium of shuffleboard courts. Scenes from the movie “Cocoon” were shot there.

1925. Photograph by Burgert Brothers. Courtesy Tampa-Hillsborough County Public Library System.

Undated. Courtesy State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory, http://floridamemory.com/items/show/161776

Undated. Courtesy State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory, http://floridamemory.com/items/show/161752

Undated. Courtesy State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory, http://floridamemory.com/items/show/161756

1941. Photograph by Burgert Brothers. Courtesy Tampa-Hillsborough County Public Library System.

1940s. Photograph by Joseph Steinmetz. Courtesy State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory, http://floridamemory.com/items/show/245081/

What’s going on here? 1952. State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory, http://floridamemory.com/items/show/71243

1955. Courtesy State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory, http://floridamemory.com/items/show/56950

The club’s membership eclipsed 8,000 shortly after World War II. But over time shuffleboard’s popularity plummeted; the club had only about 100 members by 2005 and was at risk of closure. By then, St. Petersburg no longer wanted to be known as just a retirement haven and sought to attract a younger, creative class of people. The city-owned shuffleboard complex, on the other hand, was a dilapidated reminder of St. Pete’s image as death’s waiting room.

Ironically, it was a group of the very people St. Pete sought to lure who took an interest in the shuffleboard club. In spring 2005, the group of young artists, known as the Artillery, took up the game. For this crowd, shuffleboard fit into their nonconformist lifestyle in the same way they took a liking to PBR beer, cutoff jean shorts, and Gilded Age-era facial hair. But more than that, shuffleboard proved to be a fun way to socialize. They joined preservationists to play Friday night games in spring 2005, known as St. Pete Shuffle. Each week, they attracted more and more people to the courts. The New York Times even wrote about the phenomenon. Because of the attention, in 2008 the club received $150,000 in sorely needed repairs.

Crowds continue to pack the courts Friday nights for St. Pete Shuffle, and the club is here to stay. Last year, it launched a kids league, and it hosts a variety of non-shuffleboard events. People have even gotten married there. Despite its popularity, in 2011 the St. Petersburg City Council considered a $1.4 million proposal to turn the cue house/clubhouse into a bar/restaurant. Club members and other residents successfully rallied against it; they didn’t want the club’s historic ambiance ruined and their Friday night games put at risk.

Communities often spend a lot of money, time, and effort to distinguish themselves. But many times they need only to look to the past for the attributes that make them unique. St. Petersburg realized this recently when its historic shuffleboard club was dusted off. The city didn’t need to launch a public art campaign or construct a brand new downtown pier (ahem) to set themselves apart. They simply needed the right group of people to recognize the club’s value as a municipal focal point unlike any other in the world.

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Royalton Hotel, Miami

Here is an article I wrote for Curbed.com about the Royalton in Miami. Click here for more editions of Past Lives.
PAST LIVES
MIAMI, FLA.

Once Decrepit Miami Hotel Returns as Low-Income Housing

Thursday, December 20, 2012, by Chris Berger
Here now, Past Lives, in which Curbed contributor Chris Berger explores what some of the country’s most interesting residential buildings used to be before they became livable homes. Care to suggest a building with a fascinating past life? Do drop us a line.

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Photo: Beilinson Gomez Architects

A number of historical Miami hotels have been converted into residences in recent years, but none serves a more important purpose than the Royalton.Built in 1923 at 121 SE 1st Street, the Neo-Classical Revival Royalton Hotel was a swank destination. It was rumored to be a speakeasy during Prohibition, and Al Capone was said to have played cards on the top floor. But by the 1990s, the Royalton was a dive, and the seven-story building’s roof leaked all the way to the ground floor. Though it was one of the last 1920s hotels in the area, demolition seemed the logical next step when Carlisle Development bought the building for $3.5 million in 2004.

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Photo: Scott Strawbridge

↑ Carlisle had better plans. The company teamed up with Carrfour Supportive Housing, a nonprofit dedicated to Miami’s homeless, to convert the building into low-income housing. The co-developers corralled $18.5 million in financing from local, state, and federal sources.

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Photo: Carlisle Development Group

↑ To qualify for $2.1 million in historic tax credits, the rehabilitation—directed by Beilinson Gomez Architects—had to comply with the Secretary of the Interior’s standards. Restorers matched the original exterior paint color, uncovered the enclosed loggia, and re-laid the terrazzo flooring.

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↑ Further, the Royalton’s ceiling, windows, and decorative details either were repaired or replaced in kind. The 100 former hotel rooms, which range from 200 to 265 square feet, would have been too small for market-rate residences but were suitable for transitional housing. Kitchenettes were added to each studio apartment. The building also includes a classroom, computer lab, and a television and meeting room.

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Photo: Carrfour Supportive Housing

↑ Residents are carefully selected by Carrfour and must be alcohol and drug free for six months before they can move in. Once at the Royalton, Carrfour provides them with help finding jobs, financial management workshops, and Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous meetings. Rent is based on income.

Photo: Beilinson Gomez Architects

↑ The Royalton is a former eyesore that has been carefully restored to its former grandeur and offers a link to Miami’s past. But, more importantly than that, it’s a clean, comfortable, and conveniently situated home for people who want to regain control of their lives.

· Royal Treatment [Multifamily Executive]
· Renovated hotel opens its doors to homeless [The Miami Herald - PDF]
· The Royalton [The National Trust for Historic Preservation]

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Filed under Florida, Past Lives

Century of Progress: 1933 World’s Fair Houses

The 1933 World’s Fair was held in Chicago to mark the city’s 100th anniversary and celebrate scientific advancements. Known as the Century of Progress, the fair was not as transformative as the 1893 Columbian Exposition, but it did draw 62 million people and spawned the Major League Baseball All-Star Game.

The Homes of Tomorrow Exhibition focused on the dwellings of the future. The World’s Fair design committee sought homes that were affordable and easy to mass produce. Twelve homes were included, but with features such as heliports and airplane garages, few actually met the guidelines.

A couple years after the fair ended, Robert Bartlett moved one house by truck and four by barge across Lake Michigan  to Beverly Shores, Indiana, about 50 miles away. Bartlett hoped the houses would bring attention to his new, lakefront community. Bartlett’s development failed, but the houses stayed. By the 1950s, their often experimental materials were already deteriorating.

Today, the homes are within the boundaries of the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore. In 1993, the Historic Landmarks Foundation of Indiana placed the five, failing houses on their 10 most endangered list. Three years later the preservation nonprofit teamed up the national lakeshore to sublease the homes to preservation-minded stewards who would restore the buildings. One of the lease stipulations is that the houses must be opened to the public once a year, the third Saturday in October.

I’m a northwest Indiana native and was visiting this year when the houses were open. The homes are in differing states of repair. The Armco-Ferro and Florida Tropical houses have been painstakingly restored. The Cypress Log Cabin has also been restored, and an adjoining addition has been built. The Wieboldt-Rostone is undergoing restoration, but the House of Tomorrow awaits a lessee.

Armco-Ferro House

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Armco-Ferro, right, and House of Tomorrow, left. Courtesy Library of Congress. http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/in0352.photos.048679p/

From the street.

From the rear. Lake Michigan is in the background.

Photo of the house before the panels were removed.

House of Tomorrow

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At the fair. Courtesy University of Illinois-Chicago.

Steward needed.

Cypress Log Cabin

HABS interior documentation. Courtesy Library of Congress. http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/in0354.photos.048693p/

HABS interior documentation. Courtesy Library of Congress. http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/in0354.photos.048693p/

Original portion is to the right. Addition to the left.

Wieboldt-Rostone House

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The move. Courtesy Library of Congress. http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/in0352.photos.048678p/

Florida Tropical House

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At the fair. Courtesy University of Illinois-Chicago.

Appears right at home on the beach, though 1,000 miles too far north.

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Ichetucknee Springs State Park

Ichetucknee Head Spring. October 2012

Florida’s beaches receive most of the attention, but the state’s springs are its true natural wonders. Florida boasts about 700, the largest concentration of freshwater springs in the world. This includes 33 first magnitude springs that pump at least 100 cubic feet of water per second. For thousands of years, the springs and their constant 72 degree waters have been places where people and wildlife can play, cool off, bathe, catch food, and, most importantly, drink clean water. But now all of Florida’s springs are at risk.

Icketucknee Spring is one of the better known in the state thanks to its namesake river, popular with tubers during Florida’s oppressive summers. The first magnitude spring group includes the Ichetucknee, Blue Hole, Devil’s Eye, Coffee, Grassy Hole, and Mission springs — all within the Ichetucknee Springs State Park. Most of the Ichetucknee River also flows within the state park’s limits.

Ichetucknee Head Spring

Ichetucknee River

Ichetucknee River

Florida does have a fall.

The much deeper Blue Hole Spring, a short walk away from the headspring.

According to this paper, evidence of native people within the park goes back as far as 14,000 years. Hernando de Soto passed through the area in 1539, and the Spanish established a church at Mission Spring in 1608. The Bellamy Road, built in 1824 to connect St. Augustine and Pensacola, passed the Ichetucknee, and soldiers camped along there during the Second Seminole War. Shortly before the Civil War, settlers used the spring system for both recreational and industrial purposes.

The land around the spring was logged and farmed after the war. In 1890, phosphate was first mined near the spring, a practice that would continue for the next 80 years. By then, the springs were popular with day-trippers, and  landowners generally allowed them to cross their property to reach the springs. In the 1960s, the springs were a favorite hangout for University of Florida students, and drinking, nudity, and littering were rampant. Moreover, landowners along the river didn’t think twice about dumping junk into the water. The combination of anger over the destruction and better public awareness of environmental issues led to pressure to protect the springs.

1920 bathers. Photographer R.W. Blacklock. State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory, http://floridamemory.com/items/show/41419

Ca. 1968. Photographer David LaHart. State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory, http://floridamemory.com/items/show/97174

Ca. 1970. State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory, http://floridamemory.com/items/show/60998

1970s beer loading. State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory, http://floridamemory.com/items/show/60994

1974 headspring. Photographer Charles L. Noegel. State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory, http://floridamemory.com/items/show/13977

Ca. 1980. State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory, http://floridamemory.com/items/show/91317

In 1970, the state bought the springs and a portion of the river from a phosphate company for $1.85 million. They cleaned the property and opened it to the public.  Visitors swarmed the new state park, and again the fragile ecosystem was at risk. In response, the park banned food, drink, and tobacco on the springs and river — a contrast to nearby Ginnie Springs. A limit was placed on the number of tubers per day, and tubing is only allowed from Memorial Day to Labor Day to allow plant life a chance to regrow. The regulations have proved successful.

While Ichetucknee Springs State Park is a model for Florida springs management, park managers can’t control the quality and quantity of water that bubbles out of the ground. Like the other springs that dot the state, Ichetucknee’s  water comes from the Floridan Aquifer, an underground network that includes Florida and parts of Alabama, Georgia, and South Carolina. Water seeps into the aquifer and stays there for approximately 15 to 50 years before it resurfaces. In recent decades, pesticides, fertilizer, and human and animal waste has infiltrated the aquifer. This has caused nitrate levels to spike and the water to lose its clarity. The nitrate also leads to algae growth, which has a crippling effect on ecosystems. What’s more, less water comes out of springs because of over pumping. Some springs have even dried up.

Fanning Springs, a popular swimming hole along the Suwannee River, is not in as great health as the Ichetucknee spring system. October 2012

Fanning Springs

Yet despite the known threats, some officials continue to put short-term interests above the long-term health of the springs. The Adena Springs Ranch proposal in Marion County is one such instance. That plan puts the future of Silver Springs, another legendary Florida spring, in peril.

Florida’s springs are more than just recreational venues. They represent both the current health of the state and offer hints at its direction. Millions of people receive their drinking water from the aquifer, the same water source that supplies the springs. When the aquifer is polluted and/or tapped beyond repair, Floridians will need to find a new water supply. If they are not proactive, the economic effects will be devastating. Imagine the prohibitive costs of finding new water sources or importing from out of state because the state’s own water is too polluted or not sufficient. But there would have been warning signs.

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Filed under Conservation, Florida

University of Florida Campus, 1931-1953

As I mentioned in University of Florida Campus, 1906-1930, the school has done a good job of protecting its historic architecture. This, the last of two entries about the historic campus, includes the structures and park built from about 1931 until 1953. I stopped at the latter date because that is what UF considers its 100th anniversary.

For more historic UF photos, see the UF Then and Now project or the UF Digital Collections.

Florida Pool (ca. 1931)

Not sure what’s going on in this ca. 1949 photo. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

1950s. Um. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

Ca. 1958 swim instruction. Florida Field is in the background. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

Courtesy UF Recsports

Plaza of the Americas (1931)

Ca. 1935 tree planting. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

Ca. 1960. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

1960s event. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

1970s longhairs. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

August 2012

The Infirmary (1931)

Under Construction ca. 1931. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

Ca. 1956. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

Courtesy UF Physical Plant

Courtesy UF Physical Plant

Norman Hall (1934)

Early aerial. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

1940s. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

1950s. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

January 2012

January 2012

January 2012

Peabody Hall (1934)

1920s. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

August 2012

Dairy Science Building (1937)

1950s. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

Courtesy UF Physical Plant

Dauer Hall (1936)

1940s. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

1950s. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

September 2009

September 2009

Murphree Hall (1939)

1920s. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

August 2012

Fletcher Hall (1939)

1950s. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

1950s. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

August 2012

Former home of yours truly. August 2012

My sophomore-year home is on the third floor in the foreground. August 2012

Florida Gym (1949)

1950s graduation ceremony. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

Mourners leave a service honoring John F. Kennedy in 1963.

August 2012

Weil Hall (1949)

Ca. 1950s view of Weil Hall from The Swamp. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

August 2012

The Hub (1950)

Ca. 1960. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

August 2012

September 2009

Mallory, Reid, Yulee Halls (1950)

Ca. 1957. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

Courtesy UF Physical Plant

Weaver Hall (1951)

Courtesy UF Foundation

Tolbert Hall (1951)

Courtesy UF Libraries

Tigert Hall (1951)

1951 dedication. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

1960s. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

January 2012

Van Fleet Hall (1952)

Courtesy UF Foundation

Broward Hall (1953)

Ca. 1960 dorm room. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

Courtesy UF Foundation

Matherly Hall (1953)

Ca. 1966. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

August 2012

President’s Residence (1953)

Reitz family. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

Ca. 1966. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

Century Tower (1953)

1950s. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

1950s. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

1960s. Courtesy UF Digital Collections

August 2012

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