The Most Valuable Building in Maplewood
How the fates of two very different buildings in one St. Louis suburb reveal what a city is—and is not—willing to protect.
Twenty years ago, the city of Maplewood successfully ended a multi-year dispute with a local property owner — a dispute that started when a large derelict building went on the market in 1999 and the city subsequently denied the new owner’s request for a demolition permit. The owner took the city to court over their right to demolish the building — and the city won. No demolition was granted. The derelict building remained.
The Rannells House — or Woodside, as it’s known — still stands today. Built around 1850, it’s the oldest known building in Maplewood, and as part of the court agreement in 2004, the city purchased the property. For twelve years as preservation efforts continued, the city awaited a buyer who would agree to (and could afford) the long and expensive restoration process. The buyer finally came in 2016, and in 2022, with the costly restoration complete, the seven-bedroom, single-family home went back on the market. This time, there was no dispute to speak of. The restored house is a gem and sold in the very high six-figure range, making it not only the oldest home in Maplewood but also one of the largest and most expensive.
This historic preservation effort has been well-documented, and as with most such efforts, was the result of a dedicated, collective effort spearheaded by local activists and city officials. It’s also a good example of the fact that cities do not simply make themselves. Our urban environments are the ever-evolving results of both our shared desires and the power structures that translate those desires into reality. Urban studies scholar Dan Immergluck writes that cities are “a politically and socially constructed space” resulting not merely from abstract market forces, but rather from deliberate decisions and planning. Through property regulations, policy choices, and strategic action, cities are made to reflect the vision and values of those in the community with enough power and privilege to shape them.
The preservation of Rannells House is a small but revealing example. To see why, let’s look at another local building that recently faced demolition — and met a very different fate. The building has no name, fitting since it no longer exists and was never very well known in the first place. It was built in 1940, making it quite unremarkable historically, as many buildings in Maplewood were constructed in the early decades of the 20th century. Still, over 80 years later, we are now about as distant from the construction of this building as it was from the construction of Rannells House some 90 years prior — making the two buildings almost like distant cousins, raised in very different circumstances and going on to live very different lives.
Through property regulations, policy choices, and strategic action, cities are made to reflect the vision and values of those in the community with enough power and privilege to shape them.
Regardless of their rarity, the many aging buildings over a hundred years old in Maplewood (Rannells House included) all carry their own weight in lived history — or, at least those that are still standing. The building in question is not. It’s now only a ghost. Where it once stood is a grassy strip of cement leftover from its foundation and the quaint public green space that now occupies the property. I don’t know what the building might have been known as to those who lived there, but since it had no formal title, let’s simply call it by its HUD project name: 2270 Yale Ave.
In 2012, the city made a decision about this building’s fate and, just as it did with Rannells House, marshaled its resources to transform that decision into reality. This time, however, the city absolutely did want the building torn down.
2270 Yale Ave was a three-story, 12-unit apartment building. It may not have seemed very remarkable, but at least in a few ways it actually was. While there are many small apartment buildings throughout Maplewood, there are only about three clusters of the slightly larger three-story buildings — two of these clusters are on Maplewood’s east side, one to the south of Manchester Road and the other just to the north. This cluster north of Manchester is notable indeed. It not only contains many affordable apartments for lower-income and working class residents, it also contains some of the only dedicated project-based low-income housing anywhere in Maplewood. This housing is set aside for those in need who would struggle to find and afford housing without it — and who would otherwise be at very high risk for homelessness.
I don’t have to explain how fundamental safe and stable housing is for everyone everywhere, no matter their circumstances. Access to it is the foundation of well-being. For decades the low-income housing available in this eastside neighborhood has meant folks in the lowest income brackets and with the highest need have not only had a place to call home but also residential access to local community resources and support. Two of these buildings, including 2270 Yale Ave, were funded by the Low Income Housing Tax Credit (LIHTC), which is the main national source of low-income housing since the end of the public housing era. This means that the twelve subsidized units of 2270 were able to house families without enough income to afford market-rate rents elsewhere.
LIHTC housing operates as a public-private partnership, with state-administered federal funding flowing to private developers in exchange for affordability agreements. Since the buildings are not publicly owned, it’s up to private owners to maintain them. Starting around 2011, the city of Maplewood began citing the owner of 2270 Yale Ave for maintenance failures. These safety issues were never abated and eventually the city took over ownership of the property with the intent of tearing the building down.
In May 2012, the city officially initiated the demolition process, and about a year and a half later, the historic preservation commission approved the demolition request, followed by a 7–0 city council vote for demolition in December 2013. Two years later, the building was finally taken down. This was not a snap decision — and there were many opportunities along the way for the city to decide on a different course, should one have ever been desired. A Post-Dispatch article about the demolition describes city officials claiming the building was “a problem for the city and a burden for the police department for 28 years.”
The city was happy to be rid of the building, and footing the hefty bill for the demolition was “money well spent,” according to the city manager, who wanted “to get rid of the nuisance this thing has created for the city over the years.” At no point in the city’s records of the demolition process, or in the minimal news coverage it inspired, was there ever a mention of the building’s previous status as low-income housing — nor was there any mention of the possibility to renovate the building to preserve that status and continue offering affordable housing to Maplewood residents who needed it. Clearly, this is the story of two very different buildings — both deteriorating beyond tolerance. For one building, the community and city came to the rescue. For the other, there was not even a whisper of hesitation. Tear it down. Be rid of it. As with all preservation efforts (and failures), in order to understand why these buildings met such different fates, we’ll have to take a look at their history. And we’ll have to talk about how our valuing of place intersects with structures of power, privilege, race, and class. Who matters in Maplewood? And whose buildings are worth trying to save?
Maplewood wanted to save Rannells House both because of its significant age and because of the people who once lived there. There’s a cruel but largely accurate joke about historical preservation. Two people stand in front of an old crumbling building. The first person asks, “How do we tell if it’s historical or just a heap of junk?” The second person replies, “Well, how rich was the guy who built it?” Back in 1999 if you happened to stop and take a look at Woodside, you might have asked a very similar question about its value. And it’s likely not a surprise that Charles Rannells, the building’s original owner, was indeed very wealthy. It’s also likely not much of a surprise that Rannells was a powerful white man who enslaved Black people and forced them to work for him against their will and for no pay. What’s perhaps more surprising is that Charles Rannells was also an attorney who went to court to defend other enslavers who were trying, often quite effectively, to re-enslave Black people who had legally won their emancipation.
Rannells knew very well the power of money and privilege, the sort of power that could earn you a luxurious house that would be fought for and defended by generations to come. He knew that if you had enough of this power, you could not only buy, sell, and abuse other humans — you could also make sure those who had won their liberation could have it stripped away. Why? Because they lacked the social power and resources to keep it — and a man like Rannells lacked the willpower to use his great privilege toward any other purpose. Later in his life, Rannells was debilitated by a substance addiction, became a nuisance to his community, and lost control over his own property. Still, those around him didn’t tear down his home. Instead, they sought out medical treatment for his addiction and, eventually, re-secured his property into the care of the family — meaning that the preservation of Woodside actually started long ago and despite the great faults and struggles of the man who once lived there.
Rannells knew very well the power of money and privilege, the sort of power that could earn you a luxurious house that would be fought for and defended by generations to come.
When Rannells House was finally saved by new owners in 2016, no one had lived there for years. But four years earlier, in 2012, when Maplewood finally began making good on its long desire to purge the community of 2270 Yale Ave, many people actually did live in these apartments — just as many others had before them, decade after decade as long as the building stood. There will likely be no history recorded of their lives, or of the building they called home. Why? Well, let’s not forget that cruel but accurate joke. How do we know which buildings matter and which don’t? To the city, the occupants of 2270 Yale Ave were just as much a nuisance as the neglected building they lived in. They had long “burdened” the police department with their poverty. The struggles that for someone like Charles Rannells might have been a personal crisis that warranted further care and attention were for these residents nothing but trouble — a mere symptom of their perceived lack of value.
I suppose it goes without saying that this eastside neighborhood of Maplewood is also home to the city’s largest portion of Black residents. Not only were the residents of 2270 Yale Ave not rich and powerful like Charles Rannells — many of them were likely also not white like him. Generations of systemic racism, discrimination, and abuse against Black Americans had not dissipated into thin air after the end of legalized slavery or the hard-fought successes of the civil rights movement — instead they had carried on into a property owner’s dangerous neglect and a city’s shameful desire to fix what it saw as a problem by tearing it down and pretending it never existed.
In the 1990s, the infamous Clinton-era HOPE VI program sought to do something very similar. After the systemic and structural failures that undermined the country’s public housing, HOPE VI envisioned a “solution” wherein housing projects would be unceremoniously demolished and in their place housing vouchers would be distributed and more dispersed, low-income townhomes would be built. The result? Thousands of housing projects were indeed torn down, all across the country, but in their place only a small fraction of subsidized units were ever built to replace them. And the housing voucher program is devastatingly underfunded even to this day. In St. Louis, the program’s more than two-year-long waiting list is no longer even open for applications. Only a fraction of low-income residents who would qualify for vouchers ever receive them; those who do will likely struggle to find properties actively participating in the housing voucher program, particularly in any of the less poverty-stricken parts of St. Louis.*
The result of HOPE VI is echoed very precisely in the aftermath of 2270 Yale Ave’s demolition. Under-fund it. Tear it down. Pretend the problem is gone. After the low-income housing in 2270 was lost, did Maplewood seek to replace the loss with new subsidized units? Actually, just this year directly across the street on Lyndover Place, Maplewood’s one other LIHTC-subsidized apartment building, which has provided low-income housing for the last 30 years, went on the market. The new owners won’t continue with the subsidy and every unit in the building will flip to market rate. Does the city or community care? Did they even notice? Just as there was no multi-year collective effort to save 2270 Yale Ave and restore the invaluable housing it provided to families in need, there was indeed no effort at all to preserve or replace the subsidized units on Lyndover Place.
2270 Yale Ave was not torn down because of its level of deterioration. It was torn down because of who lived there — and who didn’t. Who matters in Maplewood? How do we decide what makes a building worthy of being saved?
Right now, the most valuable building in Maplewood is not the remnants of 2270 Yale Ave. And it’s certainly not the Rannells House. The most valuable building in Maplewood is actually right next door to the open green space where 2270 once stood. At the end of the block, where Yale meets Manchester, sits a building that has not been torn down, or restored. It was built over a hundred years ago in 1922, and this building does have a name. It’s known as the Maplewood Loop Apartments, and it’s now the only HUD-sponsored public housing in Maplewood.
The Loop Apartments is one of the largest low-income buildings in mid-county, offering over 80 units to residents in need, alongside mixed-use commercial spaces at street level. It’s actually exactly the sort of building we should be constructing more of, particularly mixed-income varieties in parts of Maplewood that don’t already house enough lower-income families or commercial space. But the reality is that places like Maplewood Loop Apartments are a dying breed, often viewed as a blight on the community and a burden on city resources. For now, the Loop Apartments building is still standing — and still serving one of the greatest social functions a community can offer, making it very valuable and very vulnerable indeed.
In the early 2000s, when Rannells House was still in severe disrepair, two key interventions ended up making all the difference in deciding its fate. First, the city government worked to pass brand new legislation creating Maplewood’s first historic preservation ordinance. By creating new public policy that reflected the community’s values, the city was able to step in and protect a vulnerable building that would have otherwise been lost. Second, one of the many local activists who fought for Woodside donated money for a brand new roof, even though no one was to live under it. The new roof provided badly needed protection that meant the building would live on. Of the many citations the city sent for 2270 Yale Ave over the years, one of the key issues was a failing roof causing severe damage to the apartments inside and endangering the people who lived there.
Everyone needs a roof over their head. In Maplewood, housing for all residents, regardless of their income level, should be treated like a human right that the city uses its power and resources to actively protect. Next time you drive by the Maplewood Loop Apartments on the eastside of town, try to remember how invaluable this building is. How we need more, not less, of the affordable housing it provides. And remember that of course a building’s real value should never be judged merely by the wealth of those inside. ❖
*Data available from HUD indicates that no properties anywhere in Maplewood participate in the housing voucher program, despite the city recently enacting a “source of income” protection that explicitly forbids property owners from discriminating against tenants who use vouchers. It’s unclear how precise the HUD data is, but a likely explanation for this lack of voucher participation is that even apartment buildings that commonly rent to lower-income tenants avoid accepting vouchers because local, state, and federal governments provide no enforcement or accountability regarding this form of discrimination. Property owners know that low-income tenants have few other options and even fewer resources at their disposal. And it’s well-known that tenants who do use vouchers almost always elect to wait for an opening at a building already known to work with the local housing authority.
If you are a rental building owner in Maplewood or any of its neighboring cities, please consider joining the housing voucher program to help support residents in need of safe and stable housing. If you’re a developer, consider partnering with the county to do the same.
