St. Louis lost a legend on June 12, 2021. Larry Giles passed away from leukemia, and many St. Louisans lost more than a friend. I’m sure in the coming weeks, there will be many articles and tributes that go into great detail about his life growing up in St. Louis, riding the Hodiamont streetcar, his service as a Marine in Vietnam, his role in saving Soulard, and how he founded the largest collection of salvaged architectural elements in the world. But right now, I think St. Louis should realize that it has lost one of its best citizens, and an inspiration to countless young people who have gone on to successful careers in this city and elsewhere. I know my own work, and countless St. Louis Magazine articles, have been enriched by Larry’s life and achievements. In fact, Larry has been the feature of more than a few articles in St. Louis Magazine.
One of the last times I saw Larry was earlier this year, when we embarked on an expedition to retrieve the blocks of granite from the former War Memorial in East St. Louis. As I wrote back in 2019, a group of veterans had collaborated on replacing the monument with an exact replica in a new location, and the East St. Louis Parks District had removed the old one, placing its three pieces in the back of Jones Park. Fast-forward a couple of years, and Larry had agreed to accept them for safekeeping at the National Building Arts Center, which he founded and moved into the old Sterling Steel Casting Company Foundry in Sauget.
Early one morning, I showed up at the foundry, and Larry was waiting for me with his flatbed truck ready to go. A couple of pieces of wood and straps were loaded on the back. Larry grabbed a can of starter fluid, sprayed it in the carburetor (I think? I don’t know much about trucks), we got in the cab and the engine turned over, roared to life, and we were on our bumpy way from Sauget to East St. Louis.
“Larry, what year is this truck from?!”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the 1960s,” Larry said laughing. “It’ll get us there.”
We rumbled along, driving along the streets of East St. Louis at about 20 mph, getting passed by more than a few cars, and, eventually, we got to the 26th Street bridge over the railyards. We chugged over the top and were rewarded with a stunning view of the trains below and the St. Louis skyline in the distance. We arrived at Jones Park, and then the work really began. I called the East St. Louis Parks District to let them know that we were there and that we were retrieving the old monument.
The multiton blocks of granite were frozen in the ground. Luckily, Larry had brought a shovel and crowbars, and we got to work carefully hacking at the mud, not wanting to further damage the monument after its long history of being hit by automobiles in its old location. Little by little, we were able to get a strap around the first of the three pieces, and Larry lifted it up onto the flatbed with the crane. I started to understand why he enjoyed salvaging pieces of St. Louis history so much; it’s one thing to sit around and write about architecture, but it’s a whole different experience to be standing there, holding your breath as you watch a giant block of granite lift off the ground and defy gravity for several minutes.
Around this time, a park policeman pulled up and sat about one hundred yards away. I went over and talked to him, just to make sure everything was OK. It turns out that the director of the East St. Louis Park District, Irma Golliday, had sent him over to make sure we were safe. I thanked the officer for taking the time to keep an eye on us, but I thought myself, “That’s Larry Giles over there. He can take care of himself anywhere!”
After that, the next small piece was relatively easy, but then finally, the last piece, the shaft of the obelisk had to be hoisted up onto the truck. I was sure it would take us four hours to get the whole job done, but with Larry’s deft and skilled hand, it had only taken about an hour and a half. Larry was in good spirits as he strapped down the three blocks of granite.
“Those are just for show,” referring to straps, “those stones aren’t going anywhere,” Larry remarked, “Great job, Chris!”
“Thanks, but honestly I think you did about 90 percent of the work while I just poked around with the crowbar,” I replied.
We got back to the foundry, and Larry told me he’d get the pieces cleaned up and looking good. I thanked him. Over the next couple of months, we continued our normal practice of my emailing him with questions, and his immediate detailed responses about St. Louis architecture. He always seemed to know the answer, and the library at the National Building Arts Center always seemed to have about 10–20 books on the subject in question that Larry had collected over the years.
So when I emailed Larry with a Soulard question a couple of weeks ago and he never responded, I got worried. That just wasn’t like him to ignore one of my emails. Then the terrible answer to why came last week. Larry was dying.
I was eventually able to figure out the Soulard answer myself, but it was always so much more fun to get the answer from him, along with all the interesting stories that came along with it. But I realized that while I couldn’t do anything to prevent Larry’s passing, I can continue his work and share the story of his love for St. Louis.
A memorial for Giles will be held at 4 p.m. on August 7 at the National Building Arts Center.
