In Denver, the major studies of the convention-center proposal were done by Coopers & Lybrand and Hospitality Real Estate Counselors Inc. Both studies were submitted to the city in 1997 and came to similar conclusions: to support a center with 600,000 square feet of exhibition space, Denver would need a 5,000-seat auditorium and an adjacent hotel.
To have enough space for the auditorium, the city will have to acquire the Terracentre office building at Speer Boulevard and Stout Street. The city dragged its feet on buying the building, watching while investors purchased the tower for $6.5 million last year, then turned around and sold it for $11 million in June to Matrix Capital Bank. Now Denver is condemning the building.
Mitch O'Connell
Anthony Camera
Councilwoman Susan-Barnes Gelt (above) thinks Denver's on the verge making an elephant-sized mistake.
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The probable destruction of the Terracentre is one more reason that local wags have dubbed the convention center "the project that ate downtown." Many fans of modern architecture are mourning the destruction of Currigan Hall, which they see as one of the most innovative buildings from the 1960s. Many people feel that, together with the loss of the I.M. Pei-designed paraboloid in front of the Adam's Mark hotel -- part of a DURA-funded expansion that was also justified as a necessity to host large conventions -- the convention center has become a disaster for anyone who cares about Denver's history.
"We've lost buildings that were attractive and usable and will be replacing them with a convention center that's half empty most of the time," says Tom Noel, professor of Colorado history at the University of Colorado at Denver. "At what price is progress when you lose an I.M. Pei building?"
In the 1980s, building a new convention center was touted as a way to recharge the depressed Denver economy, which was still suffering from the mid-decade collapse of the oil industry. Mayor Federico Peña campaigned relentlessly for a new center.
However, the young and inexperienced mayor soon found himself in the middle of a political free-for-all, as vying real estate interests came up with competing proposals. Denverites spent years arguing over where the new center should be. One group backed by developers Mickey Miller and Marvin Davis pushed a site behind Union Station, while another advocated the Golden Triangle. A smaller, less organized group wanted the center to be next to Currigan Hall on 14th Street.
After the city had selected the Union Station site, opponents launched a petition drive to require a public vote on the proposal. The result was one of the biggest setbacks of Peña's career, as voters rejected the Union Station site 65 percent to 35 percent in 1985.
Then the Colorado legislature entered the fray. The state agreed to contribute $36 million to the project, with the proviso that final determination of an appropriate site be left up to the Urban Land Institute, a Washington, D.C.-based research group. After studying the issue, the institute recommended the location on 14th Street next to Currigan Hall. Peña quickly accepted that decision and gave the responsibility for designing the new Colorado Convention Center to Curt Fentress, the Denver architect who would later be brought in to create Denver International Airport.
Fentress is also designing the expanded center. Many people think the existing convention center is one of the uglier buildings downtown, and the city asked Fentress to completely redo the exterior of the building. The new design Fentress submitted puts glass walls all the way around the center and fanciful canvas "sails" on top, ostensibly to break up the mass of the building.
Barnes-Gelt isn't impressed. The current convention center has done little to invigorate upper downtown, she says, and even the best architects can't turn them into anything more than glorified warehouses that kill off street life. She has little hope that the depressing blocks around the existing convention center will be changed by the expansion.
"No one cares about urban design or architecture," says Barnes-Gelt. "At the end of the day, people will ask, 'What impact did this have on the lives of the people in this city?' Instead, every decision has been made based on time and money. That's why we have this thing."
Barnes-Gelt has often been a minority of one on the council with her criticism of the project. Those who are pushing the expansion and hotel say her concern is ideological and not particularly pragmatic.
"Susan Barnes-Gelt has a philosophical belief that convention centers are obsolete," says Garcia Berry. "She doesn't like the convention business. She says, 'How many more T-shirt shops are we going to have?'"
Denver's downtown business establishment is used to getting what it wants, and the array of shiny new civic buildings that have cropped up over the past decade are evidence of that. Critics have predicted disaster for many of these projects, especially Denver International Airport, but they have largely been successful and even become a badge of pride for Denverites. When city leaders promised voters the same success with a bigger convention center, they were willing to go along with the idea.
Barnes-Gelt has been a supporter of many of the other construction projects Denver is backing, from the Denver Art Museum addition to the new Civic Center municipal office building. But she fears Denver's luck may have run out with the convention center and hotel. She blames a business lobby and City Hall leadership that resisted asking hard questions, then misled the public into believing there was little risk involved.
"The voters had confidence in what their leaders were saying," she says. "The voters are generous and optimistic, and we've abused their generosity and optimism."
