A Passion for the Old Pasadena

Through charm, organization and stubbornness -- "Over my dead body" is a Bogaard battle cry -- she has achieved virtual veto power over development that might destroy or alter buildings she loves.

She and her associates at Pasadena Heritage, a preservation group that would inspire the launch of other such groups nationwide, have defeated plans to bulldoze many of the buildings in Old Pasadena. They saved the grand Colorado Street Bridge from the wrecking ball. Their power might help determine whether an NFL team plays in the Rose Bowl.

More than a few developers have left town sputtering mad, complaining about "hysterical preservationists."

Others seek Bogaard's counsel, occasionally stopping for coffee at her stately Victorian home off South Orange Grove Boulevard, a street where Pasadena's elite have lived since the 1890s. Bogaard, a willowy blond with a preppy, proper air, listens politely as her callers lay out their plans. She gives advice, tips and, if they're lucky, her blessing.

Her focus is Pasadena, but her reach extends beyond, largely through the example set by Old Pasadena, now an internationally recognized model for downtown revitalization studied by other cities hoping to restore their urban cores. Representatives from Japan and India recently came to town to learn the Old Pasadena formula. Preservation groups have also copied Pasadena Heritage's tactics, a mix of smooth politicking and blunt confrontation.

Though her husband is Pasadena Mayor Bill Bogaard, the 64-year-old Claire earned her reputation as a powerful preservationist before he entered politics in the 1980s. She helped start Pasadena Heritage in 1977 after the city approved knocking down old buildings to clear the way for a big shopping mall south of City Hall.

The group was too late to stop the mall, but it geared up quickly to fight for Old Pasadena. At the time, the area around Colorado Boulevard and Fair Oaks Avenue featured a collection of saloons, peep shows and junk stores doing business in dilapidated structures dating to the early part of the century.

Developers thought the area could be revived, but they wanted the freedom to tear down and rebuild.

Bogaard saw it differently, arguing successfully that the key to the revival would be restoration.

"All of us could see the quality that existed in Old Pasadena," she said. "Some people thought we were crazy to want to save the old buildings. That was the mentality of the day. We were advocating restoring wood floors in an era of wall-to-wall carpeting."

Now Pasadena Heritage is determined to keep the landmark look of the Rose Bowl amid plans to overhaul the stadium for possible use by the National Football League.

Hoping to head off a fight, two sets of consultants have been working for months: One to woo the NFL and the other to win over the preservationists. In other words, Claire Bogaard.

Her power -- it's widely known she hates to lose -- has brought her praise and scorn.

"I think, generally, Claire is well-intentioned, and there probably have been a lot of positive contributions by the group," said builder Lary Mielke. "But sometimes they forget to look at the impacts their decisions have on individuals and businesses as a whole. There's a cost to everything you do."

Mielke's firm fought with Bogaard over the fate of the Huntington Hotel in 1988, arguing that the structure was too earthquake-damaged to save. Pasadena Heritage disagreed.

City voters were eventually asked to weigh in on the matter, clearing the way for Mielke's group to demolish and rebuild part of the complex, which is now a Ritz-Carlton. The battle cost the developers tens of thousands of dollars.

Santa Monica developer John Wilson, who had a number of projects underway in Old Pasadena, was perhaps Bogaard's most vocal foe. The two sparred over the smallest of details, such as whether window panes in a building on Colorado should be beveled.

Wilson installed beveled glass, but Bogaard wanted it taken out, because she said the structure originally had plain windows. With the bevels, Bogaard said, Wilson was trying to "cutesify" the area also known as Old Town.

Ultimately, the city ordered the developer to replace the beveled windows. For years, Wilson was disgusted with the "tweedy" woman who made his life so difficult. But now he gives her credit.

"Some of my contemporaries in Old Pasadena will think I've fallen off my rocker when they read this, but I give Claire very good marks," Wilson said.

Bogaard says she became an avid preservationist almost by accident, though the seeds were planted when she was young.