By Village Voice Writers
By Lindsay Toler
By Lindsay Toler
By Danny Wicentowski
By Lindsay Toler
By Sean Kelley
By Ray Downs
By Ray Downs
Many consider southwest St. Louis, with its fish-stocked lakes, clay-paved sidewalks and 100-plus acres of parkland, one of the city's plushest addresses. Nowhere, though, will you find a decent public swimming pool -- never mind a proper waterslide.
Then again, it's been decades since any St. Louis neighborhood could claim bragging rights to a first-class watering hole -- bars and taverns excluded.
In 1912 the city created an aquatic wonder with the Fairground Pool at Grand Boulevard and Natural Bridge Road. At the time, the luxurious Fairground was thought to be the world's largest municipal swimming pool. But that's all water under the bridge now. With the steady drumbeat of suburban growth, lavish pools and well-appointed recreation centers have long passed cash-strapped St. Louis by.
These days, from Maplewood to Webster Groves to Des Peres, each new community pool is designed to outdo the others, with brightly colored shade structures, giant animal-shape fountains, resort-like landscaping and soaring, serpentine waterslides that swish children into shallow leisure pools while parents float down a current-enhanced "lazy river" nearby. "It's the desire to have what the Joneses have," concludes Nancy MacCartney, director of the University City Department of Parks, Recreation and Forestry.
Meanwhile, there are three outdoor and five indoor pools in all of St. Louis. The last one was completed more than 30 years ago. As Mayor Francis Slay admitted after his re-election earlier this year, the city's recreation facilities are "shabby" and "embarrassing" when stacked up against the county's bounty.
A cadre of city residents aims to change all that. Bill Burnes, Wayne Myrick, Mike Banahan and Ken Crecelius want to build the Nottingham Community Center on a leafy four-acre plot near Francis Park in the heart of southwest St. Louis. They say a three-pool public facility can be constructed at a cost of $10 to $12 million. Funding, they assert, could be provided by the creation of a Community Improvement District (CID), a taxing tool designed to bankroll special services or beautification projects the city can't afford.
An ad executive and a city dweller for fifteen years, Burnes raised his kids in the area, resisting the temptation to move to the 'burbs. He and his cohorts have long decried the "abysmal" state of St. Louis' recreation facilities. "Now four people have finally gotten off their rumps to do something about them," he says. "If it works in our neighborhood, it could work in any other neighborhood across the city."
A year and a half ago, Burnes and his foursome began studying the feasibility of a neighborhood community center and pool. The group has since ballooned to sixteen members. Two volunteers, St. Louis architects Marcus Adrian and Michael DeVlieger, donated about $40,000 in pro-bono architectural fees to develop a structural plan for the center, envisioned as a 12,000-square-foot pleasure palace replete with exercise facilities as well as meeting, banquet and game rooms. Plans also call for outdoor terraces and a lazy river that flows around the exterior of the swimming pools. Part of the project's price tag would go toward beautification projects in the neighborhood and the nearby business district.
At the outset, the pool team researched the amenities and layouts of county recreation centers, but deliberately kept their project under wraps from the general public until they'd hammered out one design.
"There's limited real estate in southwest city, and you want to make sure your ducks are in a row before you start pointing publicly to various pieces of land," explains committee member Jim Orso. But two months ago, the team began conducting a series of public meetings, inviting area citizens' groups to gander at several dozen detailed architectural renderings of the planned project.
"We've gotten overwhelming support," Burnes says. "We have more than 120 people signed up to volunteer to do anything. And of the surveys we've given out, 92 percent of those who completed them say this is an outstanding idea."
There are, however, a couple of sticking points.
Encouraged by the fact that the St. Louis Public Schools have put about 45 schools on the auction block in recent years, Burnes' group had zeroed in on what they believed was an ideally situated facility: Nottingham School, located on Donovan Avenue across from Francis Park in the St. Louis Hills neighborhood.
"We did get a letter in the mail that looked like somebody wanted to make the school into a country club," confirms Martin Braeske, planning supervisor for the school district. The group did not submit an offer, merely a letter of intent to make one, he adds. "It was a fancy little package."
"We aren't country clubbers," Orso insists. In fact, he says, if a rec center were to be built, a board would devise a policy to allow access to city residents who live outside the CID. "We assume it will work like the county pools that people in our neighborhood access now as nonresidents: They pay a fee for daily or season passes."
Regardless, says Braeske, "Nottingham is not for sale."
The school, which would have to be torn down in order to construct the recreation center, is home to a vocational program for 100 middle-schoolers with special needs. "These kids can't get these kinds of skills in a typical high school setting," Braeske explains. "That's why we run the program."