To the people who know, the Hotel del Coronado There is no page of history in San Diego – it is a chapter. Opened in 1888 by Elisha Babcock and Hampton Story, it was then the largest hotel in the world. The owners wanted to create a resort that “the conversation of the Western world would be”-a Victorian 750 rooms on the edge of the Pacific.
Charlie Chaplin, Judy Garland, Babe Ruth, Thomas Edison, Henry Ford – they all came to the Del, as it is known. “Some like it,” was shot at the hotel. Just on the coast of the hotel is North Island Air Station (such as in “Top Gun”), and during the Second World War the Hotel Navy Officers housed $ 2 a day. “The manager was afraid that they would lose money to rent it so cheaply, but the officers made it more than good in the bar,” said Gina Petrone, the hotel’s heritage manager.
Since 2019, the hotel has been undergoing the largest, most ambitious renovation in its history. The renovation will be carefully, intentionally – and very expensive – it is recovered in its former glory, and next month, after six years and $ 550 million. (It is currently owned by the New York -based Blackstone Group.) Building teams have brought out drywall, layers and layers of paint removed, tore out ceilings torn out of the way and peeling off for decades of earlier renovations, so that the Del can reclaim its original grandeur.
David Marshall, the president of Heritage Architecture & Planning, A company that specializes in San Diego that specializes in historic renovation supervised the restoration project, with the guidance of Mrs. Petrone, with the help of original photos and the first set of blueprints of the hotel to inform as much of the renovation as possible. The lift cage, the wood in the lobby, the handrails on many of the balconies – all original. “We even held the warping on some floor,” he said, stood on the wavy balcony overlooking the lobby. “We secured it, so it is structurally safe, but we wanted to keep that piece of history.” A little history that makes you feel drunk if you walk too fast.
View of the lobby is the newly restored coronation window-a 700-part, stained glass image of a woman, the unofficial patron saint of Coronado Island, who throws itself. “This window was from 1888, but it was moved several times, so it is even more incredible that it survived,” said Mr. Marshall. (Only a few windows had to be replaced.)
The real crown of the hotel is, well, the crown room. Imagine an airplane hangar made of Oregon Sugar Pine with ceilings 33 feet high and four solid crown -shaped chandeliers hanging along the middle panels. (L. Frank Baum, a frequent guest who wrote ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’, designed the characteristic chandeliers.) Walking is a step on the Titanic on Dry Land as a step on the Titanic.
For the renovation, Mr. Marshall concentrated on the period from 1888 to 1948, when the hotel was usually structurally unchanged.
“In the post -war era, people wanted things clean and smooth. They didn’t want graceful designs,” said Mr. Marshall. “They dropped the ceilings and covered everything that showed the hand of the professional. Everything was” Form follows the function “. At that time there was an architect who actually said:” Singing is a crime. “
Other changes in the course of the decades were more practical. The 750 rooms of the hotel eventually became 371. “No two rooms are the same,” said Mr. Marshall out. “We couldn’t reuse any drawing.”
“You have to remember that Victorians don’t swim; they didn’t walk on the beach,” said Mrs. Petrone. “Their bathing suits were made of wool. They came here for the sea air, so the best rooms were then those who stand to the garden.” In other words, today’s most desired rooms were the least popular in the late 1800s.
The National Historic Preservation Act of 1966 finally put an end to the architectural heresy that took place in del. And in 1977 it was designated as a National Historical Monument – the on the same footing with the Statue of Liberty, Mount Rushmore and the Golden Gate Bridge.
But almost 50 years later the architects had to find out what was original, which was added later, and perhaps even more important, which was hidden in the walls.
One afternoon during the renovation, Mrs. Petrone called Mr. Marshall and told him that he had to look at a place in a guest limit on the second floor. According to the blueprints: “There should be a window there,” Mrs. Petrone told him. And yes, behind sheets of drywall, employees found original amber stations embedded in solid wooden panels.
When a few months before the renovation was completed, Mrs. Petrone was in the Vestibule to the ballroom when she looked up. The ceiling was covered with construction equipment, but there was something just behind the oil cloth. “I couldn’t believe it,” said Mrs. Petrone. She had unintentionally discovered the last remaining fresco of the building – an eruption of flowers – that has now been discovered, restored and marks the entrance of the ballroom of the hotel.
“People come to the Del to have a historical experience, so maintaining integrity was very important,” said Mr. Marshall.
Apparently a ‘historical experience’ can take many forms – such as the presence of ‘Miss Kate’. In November 1892, a 27-year-old woman named Kate Morgan only checked in the hotel under an assumed name. Five days later she was found dead on the back terrace, with a single shot wound on her head. But according to many people who stay with the Del, she never left.
“Every day I get pictures of guests who have seen Miss Kate’s spirit,” said Mrs. Petrone, conspiratory. “You know we are happy to honor the past here.”
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