The Glencoe, ca. 1905
by Jack Neely
In recent years, people haven't talked about the Glencoe much except to wonder why its owner doesn't fix it up and triple the rent. With so much interest in downtown residences, here's one already in place, a three-story apartment building with a grandly Edwardian lobby, high ceilings, big windows, and balconies. Located at 615 State Street, it's a sturdy building of yellow brick, though its wooden trim and porches are in need of a coat of paint. Directly across the street from the venerable First Presbyterian Church and its antebellum graveyard, it's a necessarily quiet neighborhood.
Not yet a gentrified condo for young urban professionals, the Glencoe's still a residence for people with more modest requirements. About 25 people live here. Rents are about $250 a month.
Two other early 20th-century residential buildings wrapping around the corner of Church and State form something of a pocket neighborhood. The Elliott—the bigger, double-lobbied apartment building right on the corner—is also mostly occupied. The other is Dr. Samuel Miller's old townhouse, better known as the Knoxville Business College building. Though it's lopsided-keyhole door in the marble facade makes it a favorite local image, having appeared on the covers of preservationist brochures and rock 'n' roll CDs, has been vacant for years. Prodigious developer David Dewhirst recently acquired it; renovation work is underway.
The Glencoe has gotten unusual attention in recent weeks, as architects investigating construction options have considered the possibility of tearing it down. See, that great big brick building across the alley from the Glencoe is the back of the Tennessee Theatre, which is planning a major expansion. Besides a deeper backstage for the theater itself projecting out over State Street, it will likely call for construction of a lateral truck-loading dock for big productions, and there don't seem to be many graceful places to put it. The Glencoe's right in the way.
It was built around 1905. It has always been an apartment building, and for reasons forgotten, it has always been known by the name of a remote Scottish valley. In its earliest days, the Glencoe's population fluctuated with some long-term residents and many short-termers, varying from about five to 10 adult residents at a time, most of them widows and modest professionals. Among those who lived there before World War I were a bookkeeper, a couple of salesmen, a milliner, a stenographer; brick-company manager Theodore Lundy lived here, as did stockman Ivan Bauhard, grocer Harry Goldberger, the widow Sarah Williams.
It also served as a sort of hotel for "drummers"—salesmen during Knoxville's heyday as a regional wholesale center—who used the Glencoe's parlor to display their wares.
It was a style of living common among middle-class Knoxvillians a century ago. Once, there may have been a couple hundred of these buildings. But only a handful survive downtown. The Glencoe is one of the oldest.
For almost 20 years, the Glencoe has been listed on the National Historic Register as part of the Gay Street commercial district. That doesn't mean it can't be torn down, of course—the late Fouché building was on the same list—but it might well mean there would be formidable problems with prospective federal funding for the project. For his part, Doug McCarty, the architect in charge of the Tennessee Theatre improvement project, will only say that his clients are considering acquisition of some properties adjacent to the theater, including the Glencoe. As for its fate, he says demolition is "not in my planning," but adds that he won't be the one making that decision. Some options call for acquiring the building intact for theater-related uses.
Ralph Humphrey spends some sunny afternoons sitting in a folding chair on the Glencoe's porch. He's been living at the Glencoe for about four years. Originally from Dayton, Ohio, he's a retired painter. He sits out here where he can get a good look at one of his last big jobs. A couple of years ago, Humphrey and a colleague painted the monumental First Presbyterian Church. He says it took about a month. It still gleams white in the afternoon sun, as if they painted it last week.
He likes the Glencoe for its beauty and convenience. He thinks downtown could stand a grocery and a laundromat, but he says he has a stepdaughter who takes him where he needs to go. He knows his neighbors, and says howdy to them as they come and go.
He's heard stories that the Tennessee Theatre wants to buy the Glencoe. "I'd like to see them keep it," he says. "I wouldn't mind paying another $75 or $100, as long as they keep it up more. It needs a coat of paint," he admits.
"The inside's a lot better than the outside," he says, and for the most part, it is: the lobby of dark-hardwood paneling, with mosaic-style hexagonal-tile floor; the wooden waiting pew and an open stairway leading all the way up.
The third-floor porch is closed, but the one on the second floor is open for business. A note says, "To Keep Flies, Bugs, and Birds Out, Re-Shut Door." But the door's wide open. It's just too nice a day.
In recent weeks, some have characterized the Glencoe as "a lousy building" and an "eyesore." Sometimes all it takes is a deferred coat of paint—and a motive—to make a whole building sound worthless.
August 29, 2002 * Vol. 12, No. 35
© 2002 Metro Pulse
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