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Back in time: Modern in Denver recalls the last days of Cinderella City

Back in time: Modern in Denver recalls the last days of Cinderella City
All images by Ron Pollard, courtesy of Modern in Denver and the artist.

When the Cinderella City mall opened its doors in Englewood in the '60s, it was state of the art in an almost Disney-esque fashion, all light and fountains and lofty arches, with a movie theater and the quaint Cinder Alley, a tchotchke lane where the hippie kids shopped. But, like many pop-culturey things, Cin City wasn't built to last. By the '90s, not only had the poorly built structure begun to crumble away, but the mall had lost business to more up-to-date shopping centers. It's gone now, replaced by the bustling Englewood City Center and light rail stop, but during the months before it was demolished, photographer Ron Pollard (who's made more recent news for his collection of what appears to be Russian avant-garde paintings) went in and shot images of the dilapidated palace of commerce.

Modern in Denver magazine printed a spread of the photos in its Summer 2014 issue and online; here's a sample that might jog a few memories of past suburban glory, along with Amy Phare's text from the article.

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Back in time: Modern in Denver recalls the last days of Cinderella City
Back in time: Modern in Denver recalls the last days of Cinderella City
Ron Pollard
Back in time: Modern in Denver recalls the last days of Cinderella City

Continue reading for more Cinderella City photos.

Back in time: Modern in Denver recalls the last days of Cinderella City
Ron Pollard
Ron Pollard
Ron Pollard
Back in time: Modern in Denver recalls the last days of Cinderella City
Ron Pollard

Continue reading for Modern in Denver's Cinderella City text by Amy Phare.

A 40-foot fountain. A 28-foot handmade carousel. A 600-person theater. More than a million square feet.

Once upon a time, that was the glory of Cinderella City, the largest shopping center west of the Mississippi River. Even if you never stepped inside the Englewood megastructure, you undoubtedly know someone who has.

Designed by Texan developer Gerri Von Frellick in 1968, Cinderella City's architecture was nothing short of grandeur. It boasted five individual malls--the Gold Mall, Rose Mall, Shamrock Mall, Cinder Alley, and a 73,000-square-foot center court, the Blue Mall. Its soaring columns towered over infinitesimal shoppers, who could easily get lost in 250+ stores. Cinderella City took three years to construct and had two grand openings. While it was enchanting for many, a fairy tale it was not.

The proposal to bulldoze and build on the land home to KLZ Radio towers was met with opposition from both local residents and city officials. Five years of litigation ensued and an alternate location was approved. Ground eventually broke at Santa Fe and Hampden, devouring Englewood's City Park and burying its stream below the concrete structure. Exacerbating the controversy, the structure itself was not built to be sustained. Perhaps a hasty oversight or simply a pricey stunt, Cinderella City was a novelty that would soon turn to dust.

Below the park where Von Frellick laid his lavish masterpiece was a landfill, causing Cinderella City to crumble in just a few years. The garbage heap below compromised the soil, leaving a rocky, shifting foundation. Pillars cracked, making the parking garage and stores above unsafe, and in the early 1980s, Von Frellick sold the mall. Under new ownership, it underwent a massive renovation, yet it could not withstand competition from newer developments like Park Meadows and Cherry Creek Mall. Empty, gated storefronts soon flanked the halls. Shops fled in droves. Cinderella City became a simulacrum.

In the late 1990s, the dead mall sat abandoned, yet unlike most urban decay, it was still very much alive in its dilapidated state. Its vivid colors and persona left a striking spirit. Bold remnants remained, albeit tattered and soiled. Such livelihood and demise, a juxtaposition not unlike its heyday. And in that raw and honest form, it was captured.

Just before its demolition, photographer Ron Pollard went in. Left alone with his camera to roam the floors of a desolate and haunting 1.35-million-square- foot failure, his lens captured the tale of Cinderella City--the story of one man's master plan that may have been magical, but would never be happily ever after.

Now see the full pictorial online at Modern in Denver.



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