I was standing in the checkout line leafing through a book on modern architecture I intended to purchase. A woman standing next to me, noticing my book, said she hated modern architecture and thought it ugly. Though I should have praised her interest in the subject at all, I directed her, in a somewhat condescending tone of voice, to a book I had flipped through moments before with the name of The Architecture of Happiness by the essayist Alain de Botton. Its cover, depicting a very modern "machine for living in" and an 18th century bucolic cottage, promised another diatribe against modern architecture. So I put it back on the shelf. Lucky for me, my wife gave it to me as a present.

In the book, de Botton calls our attention to an assertion by John Ruskin that we ask only two things of architecture: that it shelters us, and speaks to us. Great buildings give voice to the values and aspirations of those who built them. And a true city is made up of many voices. That is what gives challenge and pleasure to urban life.

But many have turned a deaf ear to Modern architecture, dismissing it on the basis of what currently passes for beautiful. Current tastes have always been the enemy of historic preservation. In the early and middle of the 20th century, many modernists and cultural progressives rejected the Victorians and their garish fussiness. But when I visit the Campbell House Museum downtown, it speaks of the world inhabited by my great-great grandparents. I'd like to think that my grandchildren would understand more of my parents, and the world they sought to make for themselves, by driving by their 1950s ranch some day.

What does Modern architecture have to say to us? At its most eloquent, it bears testament to a spirit of progress, openness, and a hope that the world could be made better through thoughtful design. In a profoundly optimistic tone, it strove to reconcile our daily preoccupations with the technology, affluence and mobility that drove the material aspirations of the 20th century.

Such aspirations gave rise to new architectural forms such as the thoroughly modern "motor hotel." One striking local example is the DeVille Motor Hotel at 4483 Lindell Boulevard in the Central West End, the only local work by prominent New Orleans architect Charles Colbert. Completed in 1963, the streamlined hotel somehow managed to fit gracefully amid the ornate apartment buildings and mansions of Lindell Boulevard--a move many Modern buildings could not and did not make.

Developer Joseph Vatterott purchased the hotel in 1966, proudly telling the St. Louis Globe-Democrat that "[w]e believe that the revitalized spirit of St. Louis as symbolized by the Gateway Arch and the new Busch Memorial Stadium and other progressive developments has shown that St. Louis is a city on the move and is rapidly growing toward becoming the center of progress in the Middle West."

After serving as a Holiday Inn through 1975, the hotel became the San Luis Apartments for senior citizens who enjoyed the amenities of a great urban location.

The building is now threatened with demolition. The Archdiocese intends to tear it down to make way for a parking lot to serve the needs of Rosati-Kain High school. The school believes that additional parking is necessary for it to remain competitive with similar institutions. It is important for the city and the neighborhood that Rosati-Kain remains where it is, strong and vibrant.

It is indeed ironic that the San Luis Apartments, a splendid model of how new construction can respect the streetscape yet accommodate the automobile, should come down for the sake of a parking lot. Perhaps an answer can be found within this conundrum.

The building lies on a major artery between two of our principal universities, and is well served by public transportation. The Washington University medical school and the Goldfarb School of Nursing are within easy walking distance. The building's 226 rooms resemble nothing so much as dorm rooms, each with its own bath. Students would love them. Perhaps the old swimming pool could be resurrected. With this new use, in this location, little demand need be placed on the 180 parking spaces already on the site. Much of that capacity could be reserved for the high school a block away. Might a developer be found that would convert the apartments into dorms?

In the era of $4 gas and increasing awareness of the true costs of our disposable culture, the adaptive reuse of the San Luis Apartments would speak of the best values and aspirations of our time. There is nothing as green as the continued use of the embodied energy found in buildings.

Giving a new lease on life to this fine piece of architecture would be a small but meaningful step for St. Louis "toward becoming the center of progress in the Middle West" once again.

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