By Joel Warner
By Michael Roberts
By Alan Prendergast
By Michael Roberts
By Michael Roberts
By Amber Taufen
By Patricia Calhoun
By William Breathes
A simmering dispute between lower-downtown residents and developers may soon become a full-fledged battle. With LoDo poised for a wave of development not seen since the days steam engines huffed into Union Station, the stakes couldn't be higher for the place where Denver was born.
The controversy is over a proposal to scale down the 130-foot height limit for new buildings in the historic district. A bitter fight last year over a proposed eleven-story high-rise at 15th and Blake streets sparked the effort to come up with new development guidelines. The battle now taking shape pits some of the developers who helped spark the LoDo renaissance against the residents of the very loft projects they created.
People on both sides of the issue say they want more housing built in LoDo. But development veterans like Dana Crawford, who launched Larimer Square, say down-zoning LoDo would discourage new housing. Creating a downtown neighborhood with thousands of residents and round-the-clock activity has been a longtime goal of LoDo developers.
"One of our big concerns is to get housing started down here," says Crawford. "That is happening. I don't see why we need to change the zoning. It's like throwing ice water on [development]."
It's not hard to see why those who live and work in LoDo are concerned about its future. The opening of Coors Field has prompted a flurry of real estate speculation in the neighborhood. Lower downtown has the largest number of intact nineteenth-century and early-twentieth-century commercial buildings in the western United States, and residents want to make sure new construction honors the area's heritage. That means the design of new buildings must mesh with what's already there, or LoDo risks losing its turn-of-the-century flavor.
In the past ten years the neighborhood has been transformed from a tawdry and largely ignored warehouse district into the hippest funplex in the Mountain time zone. With herds of baseball fans grazing on Blake Street, migratory club-hoppers in Doc Martens and brilliantly feathered gallery patrons mingling over merlot, LoDo is now Denver's largest and most colorful zoo.
All this flocking has caught the eye of developers, who are planning everything from $1 million condos to Disney-inspired family restaurants. Even Arnold Schwarzenegger is in on the action, dreaming up a nightclub/shopping center/movie palace on property he owns at 18th and Blake streets, where you'll be able to dine, shake your booty and empty your wallet without stepping outside.
Many LoDo residents look at this new development with alarm. They want to get control of LoDo's future before the historic district loses the low-key charm that attracted them in the first place. But developers claim that it will be impossible to finance new projects unless they can build on a larger scale.
"I don't want a lot of tall buildings," says LoDo resident Barbara Gibson. "We have to balance things in the neighborhood. I can understand how the developers feel. They want the most for their dollars. But at what point does making something economically viable for them turn around and bite us in the heels--and all of a sudden the neighborhood isn't the neighborhood anymore?"
The new zoning guidelines would call for limiting building heights to 55 feet (about four stories). Developers could go as high as 85 feet if they agreed to devote first-floor space to retail and reserved a portion of new housing for moderate-income buyers. The only area where heights of 130 feet would still be allowed is along Market Street north of 18th Street, an area that already has several high-rises.
The proposal has some of Denver's best-known developers grinding their teeth in frustration. They insist that LoDo will never become a true urban hub unless they can build at a greater density. "I think we need more density in LoDo, not less," says veteran LoDo developer Jerry Glick. "Density is what makes LoDo work."
Glick says many LoDo residents say they want more housing in the neighborhood but don't understand the economics behind development. If LoDo dramatically restricts building size, he predicts new housing will drop off. Other issues that trouble Glick include the requirement for street-level retail space and the loosely defined powers of the LoDo Design Review and Demolition Board, which has the final say over new construction in the district.
Although Glick has clout, he's facing off against a neighborhood chock-full of eccentric millionaires who aren't afraid to speak their minds. A series of public meetings on the proposal in coming weeks promises to feature more head-bashing than an elk rut.
"These are difficult issues with strident opinions on both sides," says Carrie Kramlich, incoming president of the Lower Downtown District Inc., which is coordinating the planning effort. "It's going to be quite a process over the next 45 days." Kramlich is bracing for an outbreak of bloody noses, adding, "I'm going to pass out the Q-Tips."
The city ordinance that created the historic district in 1989 was also controversial and sparked a confrontation before the Denver City Council. Kramlich is hoping LoDo can avoid repeating that experience.
"We want to fight this out in the neighborhood," she says. "But I don't know if we'll be able to link arms and walk to city council singing `Kumbaya.'"