For people who know it, the Del Coronado Hotel in San Diego is not a story page – it’s a chapter. It opened in 1888 by the story of Elisha Babcock and Hampton, it was then the largest hotel in the world. The owners wanted to create a resort that would be “The Western World Speech”-a Victorian Victorian 750-rooms on the edge of the Pacific.
Charlie Chaplin, Judy Garland, Babe Ruth, Thomas Edison, Henry Ford – everyone came to del as it is known. “Some like hot”, shot at the hotel. Right on the coast of the hotel is North Island Naval Air Station (as in “Top Gun”), and during World War II, the hotel houses seafarers for $ 2 a day. “The manager was worried that they would lose the money that was so cheap, but the officers more than they contributed to the bar,” said Gina Penro, the hotel’s inheritance director.
Since 2019, the hotel has suffered the largest, most ambitious renovation in its history. With meticulous, deliberate – and very expensive – has been restored to its previous glory and next month, after six years and $ 550 million, the renovation will be completed. (Right now belongs to the New York Blackstone Group.) The construction crews have pulled the plasterboard, removing the layers and layers of color, removing ceilings and peeling decades of previous renovations so that DEL can regain its original.
David Marshall, president of heritage architecture and design, a company based in San Diego specializing in historical renovation, supervised the rehabilitation project, guidance by Mrs Petrone, using original photos and the first set of hotel designs to update as much as possible. The elevator cage, the wood on the lobby, the railings on many of the balconies – all originals. “We even kept the distortion on a floor,” he said, while standing on the corrugated balcony overlooking the lobby. “We secured it so it is structurally safe, but we wanted to maintain this part of the story.” A little history that can make you feel drunk if you walk very quickly.
Overlooking the lobby is the recently restored coronation window-a 700 piece, stained glass depicting a woman, the unofficial patron of the Coronado Saint, housing himself. “This window has been since 1888, but it was moved several times, so it is even more incredible to survive,” Mr Marshall said. (Only a few windows had to be replaced.)
The real crown of the hotel is, well, the Crown room. Imagine a shed of Oregon sugar pine plane with 33 feet ceilings and four massive crown -shaped chandeliers hanging beneath the central panels. (L. Frank Baum, a frequent visitor who wrote “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz”, designed the signature chandeliers.) Walking in Crown’s room is like going to Titanic on dry earth.
For the renovation, Mr Marshall focused on the period from 1888 to 1948, when the hotel was mostly unchanged.
“In the post -war era, people wanted things clean and smoothly, they didn’t want elaborate plans,” Mr Marshall said. “They threw the ceilings and covered anything that showed the hand of the craftsman. Everything was ‘form followed the function.’
Other changes during the decades were more practical. The 750 rooms of the hotel eventually became 371. “There are no two rooms,” Mr Marshall explained. “We could not reuse a single plan.”
“You have to remember that the Victorians were not swimming, they were not walking on the beach,” Ms Petrone said. “Their swimsuits were made of wool. They came here for the air of the sea, so that the best rooms were then faced in the garden.” In other words, the most desirable rooms today were the least popular in the late 1800s.
The national law on the historical preservation of 1966 finally put an end to the architectural heresy that was happening in Del. And in 1977 a national historical milestone was designated – he put it on the same level as the statue of freedom, Mount Rushmore and on the Golden Gate bridge.
But almost 50 years later, the architects had to understand what was original, what was added later, and perhaps most importantly, the one that was hidden on the walls.
One afternoon during the renovation, Ms Petrone called Mr Marshall and told him to look at a spot on a second floor visitors. According to the plans, “there should be a window there,” Ms Petrone told him. Surely, behind the sheets of the drywall, the workers found original orange windows integrated into massive wooden panels.
Then, a few months before the renovation was completed, Ms Petrone was in the hallway in the dance room when she looked. The ceiling was covered by construction equipment, but there was something just behind the oil cloth. “I couldn’t believe it,” Mrs Petrone said. He had unintentionally discovered the latest frescoes of the building – a flower burst – which has been revealed, restored and marked the entrance to the hotel’s dance room.
“People come to Del to have a historical experience so that preservation of integrity was very important,” Mr Marshall said.
Obviously 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 controlled only at the hotel with a supposed name. Five days later, she was found dead in the back patio, with a single shooting wound on her head. But according to many people who stay in Del, he never left.
“I take photos every day from visitors who saw Mrs. Kate’s ghost,” said Ms Petrone, laughing conspiracy. “You know we want to honor the past here.”
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