Spare our history from the demolition ball
The old Snouders Corner Drug store in downtown Oyster Bay on October 20, 2015. The building has been empty for almost five years. Credit: Jeremy Bales
Telephones in private homes were still a rarity the first time Theodore Roosevelt dialed out from Snouder's Corner Drug Store in Oyster Bay. Snouder's telephone was listed as No. 1. It was the only phone in Oyster Bay and would remain so for some time.
The two-story, 7,000-square-foot Victorian that housed Snouder's and its pioneering phone apparently predated the Civil War. Roosevelt returned time and again to make and receive calls before Sagamore Hill got its first phone. In later years, when the press poured into town to cover Roosevelt's presidential campaigns, Telephone No. 1 provided an essential connection to the outside world.
Snouder's was designated a national landmark. The historic store was a village meeting place, serving new generations of customers before closing its doors in 2010, citing chronic cash shortages.
Now the building's latest owner -- Great Neck businessman Hamid Nazif -- is considering knocking it down. Blaming years of deferred maintenance, Nazif told Newsday the building was "in such bad shape and hasn't been taken care of in such a long time" that it was "falling apart." (The sellers denied that characterization.)
In great shape or not, demolition would be a shame. While Nazif has every right to seek ways to profit from his investment, I believe preservation, rather than demolition, is a viable path.
I say that because we're running out of local history. The wrecking ball has wiped out too much of Long Island's historic legacy. Just a few months ago Jericho's 18th century landmarked Maine Maid Inn was partially demolished. Over the years eager developers and New York State, exercising its power of eminent domain, have flattened historic structures -- from small private homes, stores and commercial buildings to grand hotels and estates.
I recognize the economic forces behind demolition. I faced them myself in 1981 when I acquired the W.R. Grace company's historic office building at 8 Bond St. in Great Neck.
Growing up in France, I developed an appreciation for architectural jewels. As a new American, I brought that fervor with me. My new acquisition, the Thomaston Building, is a beautiful brickfaced Georgian Revival mews. It was designed by James W. O'Connor, the mastermind behind many of Long Island's magisterial North Shore mansions, many of them now long gone.
Coming to work each day was a pleasure. The building was quite the grand dame, stately and elegant albeit a bit worn and a little creaky. It received landmark status nationally and locally. The prestigious designation of course did nothing to restore the Thomaston Building's original glamour. Nor did it update the building to serve contemporary tenant needs.
To make preservation work, I hired experienced craftsmen, and commissioned repairs using the most authentic materials possible. To restore the slate roof, for example, I located the original Vermont quarry that supplied Grace's builders, and ordered identical stone replacements.
The beauty and elegance of the Thomaston Building have been preserved, at the same time that state-of-the-art heating, ventilation and air conditioning systems and energy conservation technologies have been installed.
My experience proves you can preserve architectural history, meet tenant expectations and turn a profit.
Patrick Silberstein, a former commissioner of historic preservation in the Village of Great Neck Plaza, is president of 8 Bond Street Corp. in Great Neck.
