Facade

EMPTY. VACANT. VOID. Those descriptions fit 184-186 Main Street in Annapolis, which housed a commercial building in the city's proud historic district until a five-alarm fire destroyed the century-old structure three years ago. Empty, vacant and void also could describe the bag of ideas that Mayor Dean L. Johnson has brought to the table to fill the space and build something worthwhile on that important site. The void is becoming symbolic of Mayor Johnson's tenure. Many Annapolis residents, including former supporters, believe he's a man of great intention but little result.

BALTIMORE'S historic Engineering Society headquarters appears to have grown a second skin this winter, as if it's trying to stay extra warm.The new outer coat consists of plastic sheets over scaffolding that has been set up for crews repairing the brownstone facade of the Mount Vernon landmark, which dates from the 1880s.The plastic wasn't attached to keep the construction crews warm, though it might have done that. It was put up to keep the building's surface temperature above 40 degrees, so restoration work could proceed when air temperatures fell below freezing.

One of Baltimore's most distinctive buildings is hunting for a tenant. The four-story Fava Building in Jonestown, featuring a cast-iron facade salvaged from an 1869 warehouse, has been largely vacant since Gardel's Restaurant and Supper Club went out of business last fall. It formerly housed the Baltimore City Life Museums. A private entity, the 1840s Corp., owns the building at 33 Front St. and last year opened the 1840s Carrollton Inn, a 13-room, $2 million bed-and-breakfast inside three other former City Life buildings on the block.

For five years, the muddy, litter-strewn vacant lot among the shops of Main Street has detracted from the otherwise picturesque view of Annapolis' downtown. Filled with debris - piles of bricks, crumpled concrete and steel - and lined with a stockade fence, the lot where two buildings burned in December 1997 is viewed as such a blight that it's called "the hole." But this week, the owner is taking the first steps toward cleaning up the site at 184-186 Main St. Under pressure from city officials, Ronald B. Hollander is expected to rid the lot of junk and litter, fill the hole with top soil, scatter grass and wildflower seeds, and replace the fence - which is pumpkin orange on the State House side - in time for Robert L. Ehrlich Jr.'s inauguration as governor next month.

LIKE THE president's admission of a sexual affair, the recent razing of a burned facade in the heart of Annapolis' historic district was inevitable -- and about seven months too late.Weeks after the Dec. 9, 1997 fire that destroyed 184-186 Main St., three experts with impeccable engineering credentials pronounced the building's charred facade unsalvageable. They predicted it would have to be taken down.Their dispassionate, expert assessments were dismissed out of hand, however. Because that happened, the city of Annapolis looks very foolish today.

Bel Air architect Craig Ward is giving his downtown office building a makeover, peeling away the dated smoked glass to reveal its stone department store facade -- a reminder to passers-by of Main Street's roots as a shopping district. Ward's is one of five downtown Bel Air businesses that have received grants for exterior upgrades, part of a $75,000 package from the state Department of Housing and Community Development and administered by the town. Ward, who is also president of the Bel Air Downtown Alliance, said the grant money "can really help get the ball rolling to have more renovation, entertainment and retail.

IT IS high tragedy when the places that embody the character and history of a people are destroyed by natural disasters or war. It is shortsighted stupidity when they are eradicated merely because they are deemed obsolete. The twin sports palaces at Camden Yards, along with changing times and economics, clearly ended the usefulness of Memorial Stadium as a professional sports venue. What did not end, however, is its place in the soul of a people. The preemptory demolition of the stadium and redevelopment of the site, without any meaningful effort to formulate a creative and respectful reuse, betrays a sad lack of comprehension that the site of this great municipal gathering place speaks as much to our future as to our past.

A year after officials refused to allow a "facade-ectomy" on a protected west-side block, deeming the buildings there too historic for that kind of procedure, the same developers now want permission to demolish the structures altogether. The developers say that without demolition - their foiled facade-ectomy would have torn down everything but the historic facades - their planned multimillion-dollar overhaul of the block isn't feasible. But preservationists are equally adamant about saving the block, a key link between downtown and the nascent west-side renewal.

Nine years ago, a few muddy brown homes in North Baltimore threw off their dreary facades and something magical happened: They got some color. After a century of muted colors and blah-blah browns, neighbors in Charles Village began scrambling across their roofs and porches wielding paintbrushes. In came macaroni-and-cheese yellows and tangerine oranges, deep blues and screaming greens - all part of a 1998 contest to encourage residents to brighten up the neighborhood. Today, the contest is just a memory, but the painting hasn't stopped.

It was 1966 at the Cocoanut Grove in Los Angeles, and everyone who was anyone was there to hear Bobby Darin sing -- Mia Farrow, Ben Gazzara, Eddie Fisher, Andy Williams, Ryan O'Neal.Dressed to the nines in regal emerald green was wife Sandra Dee -- America's sweetheart -- and their 5-year-old son, Dodd, clad in a custom-made tuxedo that not so coincidentally looked just like his father's.The curtain call was ending and Bobby Darin was standing on stage with his son in his arms. The audience was captivated; the little boy was telling a riddle and his father was laughing in delight.