Cities wrestle with how to grow but not erase history in the rush

Once there was a farm, to go along with this house.

But that was decades ago, back when the streets were lined with orchards. Back when children picked berries from the bushes.

Now the Stephenson farmhouse is surrounded — on one side by a motel, on the other side by a warehouse. Cars rush past it, horns yelling, radios blaring, tires screeching to a stop.

"Industry has come in and increased the potential of the city," said John Mergens, 72, executive director of the Greater Kent Historical Society Museum, who was raised in the city during the farming days. "But any time you see concrete poured over your fertile land, you feel a little bad about that."

It's poised to happen again in Kent — this time with the Stephenson house, built in 1889 by a family of farmers, a year before the city was incorporated. The current owner wants to raze the run-down building to make way for a mixed-use development. Historic-preservation advocates are putting up a fight. And the whole thing has Kent considering the larger question of how to preserve its history in the face of such fast growth.

It's a question many cities in South King County are asking, as development races through a valley once known for growing fruit and lettuce. Some have adopted ordinances to protect historic buildings from demolition. But many more are taking preservation on a case-by-case basis, reluctant to interfere with property owners' rights.

Public hearing

A proposed historic-preservation ordinance will get a public hearing before the Kent City Council's Planning and Economic Development Committee. The hearing is scheduled at 4 p.m. Monday in Chambers East, Kent City Hall, 220 Fourth Ave. S. For more information, go to www.ci.kent.wa.us/citycouncil/
committees/planning.asp

If there's money to restore a building and the owner agrees with the plan, then fine. Otherwise, some city officials say, the preservation advocates are out of luck.

"Just the fact that it's old doesn't affect me at all," said Mayor Steve Mullet of Tukwila, who grew up in the town when it was mostly cow pastures. "I don't save things for the sake of saving them."

Damage already done

There are historic points of pride across South King County, preserved through the effort of residents and the commitment of city councils: the Neely Mansion, a sprawling Victorian farmhouse with gingerbread trim, right outside Auburn; the blocks of elegantly aged buildings in downtown Kent.

But without an ordinance, advocates say, there's no guarantee a town's history will get preserved. All across South King County, damage has already been done.

"It's unbelievable what we've lost down there," said Julie Koler, historic-preservation officer for the county.

Linda Van Nest, a board member of the Greater Kent Historical Society, lobbied hard to save a historic house 10 years ago. But without an ordinance, she said, citizens had no power. The house was torn down one night, and nothing ever took its place.

"There's just a vacant lot there now," she said. "What a shame."

When it comes right down to it, city officials say, they are too busy fashioning the future to focus so much on the past. South King County's population has grown by nearly a quarter since 1990. Officials say they are struggling to find money for police officers, let alone historic preservation.

And preservation is expensive. It took a group of residents about $350,000 to keep the Neely Mansion from sinking into a field. It also took two decades of fundraising, furnishing and volunteer work.

They did get help from the county, which offers grants, loans and tax breaks to property owners for preservation. All a town has to do is sign an agreement with the county and adopt a historic-preservation ordinance, and money can follow for buildings designated as "landmarks."

But for strong defenders of property rights, there is a hitch: Owner consent is not required for the county to name a building a landmark. And once a building becomes a landmark, the owner must go through a rigorous process to demolish it.

In this corner of the country, where individual rights rule, some owners are offended they even have to ask.

"It's the Wild West," said Chris Moore, field director for the Washington Trust for Historic Preservation.

The preservation effort here has focused mostly on natural resources, advocates say, from forests to parks to shorelines. Unlike the East Coast, where centuries-old buildings are preserved at all costs, the newer houses of the Northwest have not attracted much public attention.

But as they age, and interest grows, some cities, like Seattle and Tacoma, have adopted strong ordinances to protect them. Both those ordinances came from a groundswell of support among residents.

Elsewhere in the state, residents have adopted weaker wording, recognizing the importance of historic preservation but insisting that owners have final approval over what happens to their property.

Comfort in memory

When the owner of the Stephenson farmhouse applied for a demolition permit, the Greater Kent Historical Society did not even raise a red flag. Its members were busy researching the county's preservation program at the time. There was a carriage barn of their own they wanted to make a landmark.

So the fight fell to Kay Linn Guynes, a receptionist and mother of three, who knew the farmhouse from childhood, when she picked strawberries at a church nearby. She drives past it now on her way to work, a 48-year-old woman taking comfort in the memory.

As soon as she saw the city sign in front of the property, Guynes went to work, making phone calls, writing letters, speaking before the Kent City Council.

Guynes got the Washington Trust for Historic Preservation to name the farmhouse one of the state's 10 most endangered properties, the only one from King County.

Guynes said she'd be heartbroken if the house were razed. "There are so very few of these houses left."

The developer, Kim Bui of Bellevue, said through a spokesperson she would be happy to see the house moved instead of torn down. But so far, no one has come forward with the money to move it.

"It's all been lip service," said Casey Bui, her spokesperson.

Koler, of the county's program, said she is looking right now for a place and the money to move it.

It is probably too late to save the Stephenson farmhouse, said Ron Harmon, chairman of the city's planning and economic-development committee. But all this talk, he said, has the committee looking more closely at historic preservation.

In a hearing scheduled for Monday, members will consider a recommendation to join the county's program, making them eligible for help if they follow the county's rules.

"I think maybe we can start the ball rolling," Harmon said.

Drawing the line

If you ask the preservationists, Auburn is a good model to follow. The city signed on to the county's program more than a decade ago.

And with support from the program, it's now preserving the 60-acre Mary Olson farmstead, complete with a smoke house and a weaving shed, as an educational experience for children.

But even Auburn draws the line somewhere. This is a city that badly needs business downtown. So when the third generation of the Cavanaugh family wanted to demolish its historic hardware store and build a hotel/condo complex in its place, Mayor Pete Lewis could not in good conscience argue.

The building had not been designated a landmark yet anyway.

When bulldozers brought the old store down, Lewis said, there was some sadness on Main Street. But there was also satisfaction.

Because there were the Cavanaughs, those early pioneers, taking another chance on the town.

News researcher Gene Balk contributed to this report.

Cara Solomon: 206-464-2024 or csolomon@seattletimes.com