Fairmont makeover a chance for S.F. to shine

In a pristine world, no tower would sully the rear of the Fairmont Hotel. That sparkling 1906 classic would stand in regal isolation on the crest of Nob Hill.

Instead, as the owner seeks to demolish the hotel's 1961 addition and erect an even larger one, the Fairmont illustrates a 21st century challenge faced by cities such as San Francisco: Can new buildings help repair the damage done by wrongheaded "progress" after World War II, or should mistakes be left intact for fear of making things worse?

There's no pat answer in a case like this where the newcomer must measure up to one of our true architectural icons - and so far, what's proposed falls far short.

The proposed makeover has attracted attention mainly because the developers want to do away with the Tonga Room, a rock-walled lagoon of Polynesian kitsch complete with rainfall on the hour.

But the project also would involve perhaps the largest building demolition in San Francisco history, removing a 317-foot tower at Powell and Sacramento streets as well as a low podium along Powell that contains meeting rooms and parking.

In their place would rise a residential shaft of the same height, though with extra girth on the lower floors, and a 105-foot condominium mid-rise where the podium now stands.

Unless you're a staunch defender of modern architecture, the removal of the 1961 piece is no cause for dismay.

The tower itself is a homely but inoffensive peak when viewed from such perspectives as Union Square - but up close, the sins of 1960s urbanism loom as harshly as ever. I can't imagine any tourist snapping a photograph of the windowless brown-brick podium. The base of the tower is even worse, concrete block as tall as the six-story residential building across the way.

Another problem is less obvious: this is a tower designed with a modernist's eye for efficiency. The low ceilings and double-loaded corridors work for hotel rooms. They're an awkward fit for other uses.

The catch is that the proposal calls for addition as well as subtraction. And if what's proposed isn't as bleak as what's there now, it lacks the commanding joy of the Reid Brothers-designed original.

Don't make waves

The design by Tiburon architect Miles Berger for the hotel's owners - led by investment group Maritz Wolff - reads like what it is, a development deal smoothed and buffed to make minimal waves. The tower is pale limestone with square windows and a vertical strip of balconies at each corner. The mid-rise would be gray stone, pulled in slightly at the 55-foot mark to appear less imposing to pedestrians.

These moves are toned down from what surfaced at hearings last fall, and the changes are for the better. Gone are the glassy horizontal bands that made the podium replacement look like a hospital. The tower has been thinned a bit, with a less fussy skin, and townhouses along California no longer push within 8 feet of a 1906 facade.

All of which is ... serviceable. The tower would be a backdrop, no more and no less; the scene along Powell would be less oppressive but still ungainly.

Long disruption

Some neighbors seek to derail the project, and no wonder: three years of demolition and construction outside your window is no picnic.

The city's Historic Preservation Commission, meanwhile, goes so far in a letter as to suggest that since the 1961 addition was "completely inappropriate," any proposal involving demolition should be judged as if there was an empty site (in other words, turn back the clock).

But there's opportunity in a project like this, opportunity lost if the only goal is to pull the plug on change.

The fact is, we've relearned the basics of urban design since 1961: A new structure along Powell can be designed to bring ground-level life to a block that now is grim. As for the skyline perspective, you can imagine an exquisitely detailed tower as an ethereal counterpart to its robust neighbor; a glass oval, perhaps, rising from a stone base along Powell.

The 1906 building would define the edge of Nob Hill, magisterial and strong. The new piece would be the downtown skyline's soft fade.

At the very least, the current approach can be made more inviting.

One argument for the project is that it will help fund restoration for important parts of the historic hotel, such as the Venetian Room. But it can also improve the cityscape we share. The tower should be a clean shaft, losing that lower-floor bulge the developers would fill with super-sized condos. The mid-rise could be reshaped as a compact block that allows ample views of the Fairmont's east-facing facade.

Another option, sure to ruffle feathers: cap the height along Powell at what's now there and extend the terrace garden designed by Lawrence Halprin, but allow a bit more height for the tower if the architecture earns it. There's little real difference between 317 and 350 feet.

Make no mistake: The 1961 addition shows the perils of insensitive growth. But if change can be delivered with flair and respect - on Nob Hill and throughout the Bay Area - then we shouldn't be content to settle for the status quo.

E-mail John King at jking@sfchronicle.com.

This article appeared on page A - 1 of the San Francisco Chronicle