Born Again!

“History dead-ends Holly Avenue,” says Michael Koop. The preservation specialist at the Minnesota Historical Society is talking about the way in which a neoclassical giant, complete with Ionic columns and a massive pediment, rears up in the middle of the avenue, disrupting the neat street grid characteristic of St. Paul’s tony Historic Hill District. Location isn’t the only commanding feature of the building, which was built around 1908 as the First Methodist Episcopal Church, and this month becomes the new home of SteppingStone Theatre.

Constructed in an era when local church styles tended toward the Gothic, First Methodist made a statement from the start. It’s not a modest building—and, according to Paul Clifford Larson, that is precisely the point. “The church was built during a movement within Protestant Christianity that emphasized the importance of social ministry—what we call social justice today,” says Larson, who chairs the St. Paul Heritage Preservation Commission. Because the church ministered to the larger community, not just its own congregation, the exterior was designed to reflect the humanistic ideals of the Classical era rather than a specific theology. Muted religious icons made it easier for people from all faiths to walk in without heresy; the church’s lone cross (now long gone) was effectively camouflaged within a circular frame. The building’s height—one must climb twelve feet of steps just to get to the front door—stemmed from the same impulse. The church leaders “weren’t looking for the highest hill, like the Cathedral,” explains Larson. Instead, he points out, their building “was always intended to be a community building. Methodists had been designing some churches with raised basements so you could enter directly into the garden-level meeting rooms” and thus avoid the sanctuary altogether.

The architectural firm that followed that design directive was Thori, Alban and Fischer. Although this partnership was short-lived, the men had individual influence throughout the state. Martin Thori and another partner, Diedrik Omeyer—“the mad Norwegians,” chuckles Larry Millett, the architectural historian who includes the church in his 2007 AIA Guide to the Twin Cities—are responsible for many of St. Paul’s intricately baubled Queen Anne residences; while Larson credits William Linley Alban with bringing a wave of neoclassical architecture to St. Paul. Alban was also dominant as the sole partner with academic training, graduating from the Chicago School of Architecture. “He was almost certainly the chief designer” of First Methodist, says Larson.

Like most churches, First Methodist changed along with the demographics of the neighborhood. In 1964, it became Saints Volodymyr and Olga Ukrainian Orthodox, and later, Grace Community, a church whose progressive theology eventually proved unpalatable to its African-American congregation. So much for the inclusiveness of the original church: Reverend Oliver White’s outspoken advocacy for gay rights left him with just eleven congregants in 2001, barely enough to fill a pew, let alone tithe for the staggering monthly utility bill.

By this time it would have been kind to call the place a fixer-upper; estimates for repairs topped a million dollars and the tiny congregation went looking for a savior. A highly original developer offered to raze it and build condominiums. Word hit the street—on the eve of a city council meeting that would decide the matter—and guerrilla war ensued. Within hours, neighbors gathered more than a hundred signatures, enough to block the church’s sale and demolition. Another developer proved more acceptable, with plans to rent the church to a charter school. The deal was inked, but then the school moved elsewhere. The developer, David Kabanuk, was stuck with a million-dollar treasure, a locally designated landmark, a leaking, cracking, teetering entry on the National Register of Historic Places.

Meanwhile, a bid by SteppingStone Theatre to buy the Highland Movie Theater had fallen through. The phone at the scrappy company—the only children’s theater in St. Paul, and a poor cousin, relatively speaking, to the Children’s Theatre Company across the river—started ringing. It was the Preservation Commission, it was former City Council Member Jerry Blakey, and it was dozens of the church’s neighbors. Thus wooed, SteppingStone bought the building. The city of St. Paul pitched in half a million. Corporate donors and foundations big and small, including Bush and McKnight, all wrote checks, as did hundreds of individual supporters. Ultimately, the $5.3 million gut rehab didn’t just restore the structure, it also revitalized the old church’s community spirit. Just as First Methodist did, SteppingStone’s artistic director Richard Hitchler plans to open the doors to the neighborhood, starting with a grand opening celebration December 1.

Today the theater is a beguiling blend of old and new: both stainless steel elevator and creaking staircase climb to the balcony. Repaired walls pop out in pleasant primary colors; the original maple woodwork is buffed and gleaming. And even though the 430-seat house is outfitted with plenty of technological gadgetry, there are stained-glass windows that are cracked and popping, awaiting repair. Like any old house, the to-do list never ends.


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