In the early 20th Century, St. Louis was bursting with optimism. The population continued to rise, making the city one of the largest in the nation. City leaders sought and obtained unprecedented tax dollars from voters for massive public works such as the system of boulevards that snake around the city. Likewise, monuments completed during this era, such as the Soldiers’ Memorial, Peabody Opera House, or the Civil Courts Building continue to provide a sense of history and civic pride in their eminent facades at the center of the city.
To the south of those grand buildings, the city built another stately edifice that addressed the problems wracking St. Louis during the 1920s and ’30s. Prohibition was still the law of the land in the 20s, and the mayhem that ensued resulted in the highest number of fallen officers the St. Louis Metropolitan Police would ever see. The need for a new, modern police headquarters arose during this time of strife.
The firm of Mauran, Russell and Crowell, who had earlier designed the Railway Exchange Building and other prominent downtown office buildings, created the plans for the new police headquarters, which opened in 1927 at the corner of Tucker (then 12th Street) and Clark Avenue. Towering over the intersection, the building would serve as the home of the police department for 87 years, until moving this year into a former Wells Fargo office tower at 1915 Olive.
Mitch Kays, facilities manager for the Metropolitan Police, gave SLM and photographer Jason Gray a tour of the now largely vacant headquarters last week. One department remains; the heat and lights are still on. It’s an interesting feeling to walk the halls of a building that was never quiet for almost a century. Many parts of the building look much as they probably did in 1927, while other floors show the patina of renovations over the years as needs and technology changed.
Even with the absence of people, the historic building still exudes the personalities of the generations of police who called the headquarters home. The facade of the building reminds one of a Renaissance palazzo of a grand Italian family; in keeping with the appearances of their forebears, Mauran, Russell and Crowell created a building that looks part office building and part fortress. The Medici would certainly feel at home here. While not structurally necessary, the architects made the walls look impregnably thick—no use giving anybody any ideas about breaking in or out.
The front portal allows entry into this law enforcement palace, where the formal lobby, clad in polished stone, welcomed the visitor into the building. But access was controlled; one could not simply wander around the headquarters. Over the last 87 years, the public entrance of the building has acquired an interesting mix of display cases and other plaques. Metal detectors still dominate the center of the room.
Rather logically, the top floor housed the most important offices: that of the police board. Their elegant and beautifully decorated wood paneled board room and public hearing room still retain their original character. One floor down, the former chief’s corner office commanded sweeping views of downtown.
But perhaps the most fascinating aspect of walking the now empty halls, offices and cubicles, are the spaces closed to the public, where the policework was conducted. Moving gives people a great opportunity to prioritize what they really need, and no more does it show than in a recently vacated office space. The modern, up-to-date technology has all found its way over to the new headquarters, but here and there, funny little reminders of pre-computer office technology sits. There’s no need to bring along that forgotten, outdated printer or electric typewriter. A lone comic strip is thumbtacked to a bulletin board, or yellowed copies of department policy sit on a shelf.
The homicide detectives’ offices offer the most compelling look into the dark, shadowy corners of humanity. Tucked away on a nondescript floor is where the police interrogated suspects for the most heinous of crimes. The holding cell where homicide suspects sat still looks much as it probably did in the 1920s. Desperate, fleeting graffiti is scratched into the metal. Around the corner, down a narrow, carpeted hall are the old interrogation rooms. One can only imagine the subjects discussed in these cramped, suffocating spaces. There clearly is a psychology to how the interrogation spaces were laid out. No windows. One feels trapped, doomed back there. Undoubtedly that was the intent, and without a doubt it worked. There are no one-way mirrors anymore, but the proverbial ashtray still plays an integral role. Sitting on a table in one of the rooms was a tray chockfull of cigarette butts. Just like in the movies.
Down in the basement, the snaking, hissing guts that heat the building still chug away. They still work and are well maintained, but it’s easy to understand why the city ultimately decided to move the police to a new building. New technology in 1927 is old technology in 2014. But happily, this critical component of the history of the 20th Century is safe from demolition; the City is actively searching for a new tenant. The old police headquarters will continue to be a landmark in downtown St. Louis.
Chris Naffziger writes about architecture at St. Louis Patina. Contact him via e-mail at [email protected].
