Demolition makes way for the Richmond Coliseum in the 1970s, as part of the city's Project One. (Photo courtesy The Valentine)
Mayor Levar Stoney’s administration is proceeding with negotiations with the NH District Corp. to undertake a transformation of 10 acres bounded by North Fifth, East Marshall, North 10th and East Leigh streets. The plan, calling for a mixture of residential and retail, would entail creating a civic arena to replace the ailing 46-year-old Coliseum.
In January of 2011, Mayor Dwight Jones proposed a regional initiative to construct a $147 million, 14,000- to 15,000-seat civic arena near the Coliseum it would replace. The three-volume, $150,000 study commissioned by Richmond vicinity businesses concluded that the new activities center would require the demolition of the weary Public Safety Building. But the scope of Jones' concept wasn’t as extensive Stoney’s idea. And that old bugaboo of a "regional initiative" didn't get much traction.
So it’s happening again, but because history doesn’t repeat, but sometimes rhymes, it’s worth noting that the last time the city undertook a huge project, called “Project One,” the preparations wiped away old and historic housing and generational, family-run businesses. What happened was the Coliseum, the convention center that kept needing expansions, parking lots, the Marriott Hotel, a plaza, two office buildings and, ultimately, Sixth Street Festival Marketplace.
Dating back to the city's first master plan in 1946, a downtown "activities center" was considered necessary. The urban-revival fever that invaded the city during the 1960s rekindled the discussion. The Richmond Arena, which stood south of what was then Parker Field baseball field between Boulevard and Hermitage Road, needed replacement by a modern facility. The Arena remained from 1908, when used by the Virginia State Fair that was held there. (On the site today is the Richmond Sportsbackers stadium.)
A July 7, 1966, Richmond News Leader headline blared, "Coliseum Will Increase Land Values, Kling Says," referring to noted Philadelphia architect Vincent G. Kling, who won the design commission. Kling enthused, "There is absolutely no question in my mind about the effect of this project on the entire area north of Broad."
One year later, Councilman Richard Wright voted against the proposal, declaring, "This is the most colossal error in judgment in the history of the city that will preclude other capital projects for years to come."
Glenn Frankel, of the now-defunct newspaper The Richmond Mercury, reported in its Aug. 30, 1975, issue that the city’s $9.8 million investment would bring Richmond an additional 30 conventions and $4.2 million annually. In 1975, the city’s then planning director, James C. Park, is quoted saying, “Sixth Street could become our Bourbon Street. Sure, it’s a bold idea, but it’s not that far off in the future, if we make it happen.”
That New Orleans’ renowned Bourbon Street and downtown Richmond’s “North Core” were linked in the same sentence uttered by a city official must’ve struck the Mercury readers of 1975 as at best a badly chosen comparison and at worst delusional. After all, Bourbon Street wasn’t planned in an office. What is recognized today as “Bourbon Street” evolved from a particular city’s history and traditions.
Nick Mouris, owner of Nick’s Produce & Importing Co., 506 E. Marshall St., sounded a bitter tone. He’d just spent $25,000 on improvements to his store, for which he had a 10-year lease. “I moved here from Sixth Street in 1967 when they built the Coliseum,” he recalled. “Now they’re going to move me again."
Another Richmond city planner, unnamed in the Mercury article, muses, “It seems the city is always behind. Just when downtown expressways were going out of style, we built one. Five years ago stadiums were in vogue; now we’re about to build one. Then there was the coliseum, an idea that lapsed right at the time we built ours. Now it’s convention centers. The real question you have to ask is can any of this help in reviving the north core. I have my doubts.”
(For those keeping score at home, Nick’s landed on 400 W. Broad St., where, after 40 years, the family business jumped out to 2413 Westwood Ave. and added an online shopping component.)
The Coliseum was supposed to bring the catalyst of change downtown. Kling and Richmond architect Ben Johns Jr. strove to make a building that, despite its size, would “blend in.” Johns, in an Aug. 15, 1971, Times-Dispatch piece wrote that with such a massive structure, “it’s so easy for it become an isolated monument.” Hence, the dark brown hues of brick, buff supporting piers, lofty Roman arches in brick, the roofing of porcelain-enameled aluminum that covered an area the size of five football fields arranged side by side.
The exuberance and expectation is evident on the cover of the special supplement the T-D published in advance of the Aug. 24, 1972, public opening of the Richmond Coliseum.
On the first page, women are striking determined, hands-on-hips, in-charge, Wonder Woman poses, but wearing shorts and boots. They are set within a representation of the Coliseum that resembles the splashy opener of a low-budget superhero show.
The paper described the uniforms of the 90 women as, “Black hotpants, white shirts, cardinal blazers with the coliseum insignia and white boots.” The hotpants and blazers, provided by the Coliseum management, were designed by “Piette Harit.” The writer noted, “The girls must provide the white shirts and boots.”
And there were also 20 ushers (not pictured), attired in white shirt, black tie, black pants and cardinal-colored blazers. Only the blazer was supplied. Male and female employees earned $1.60 per hour, and the single benefit was watching every event for free at the $24 million venue.
Its first concert: Blood, Sweat and Tears. And to take us out, the lyrics of their "Spinning Wheel" seem entirely appropriate.
