For those who know that, the San Diego Hotel Del Coronado is not a history page. That's a chapter. It was opened in 1888 by the story of Elisha Babcock and Hampton, and at the time it was the largest hotel in the world. The owners tried to create a resort that is “the story of the Western world.”
Charlie Chaplin, Judy Garland, Babe Ruth, Thomas Edison, Henry Ford – they all came to Dell as it is known. “Some people are hot,” he was shot at the hotel. Just above the coast from the hotel is North Island Naval Air Station (like “Top Gun”), where during World War II, the hotel houses naval officers for $2 a day. “The manager was worried that he would borrow it so cheaply and lose money, but the officers made up for it at the bar,” said Gina Petrone, the hotel's estate manager.
Since 2019, the hotel has undergone the largest and most ambitious renovations in its history. With great care, intentionally, and very expensive – it will be restored to its previous glory and the renovation will be completed next month, six years and $550 million after the renovation. (It is now owned by the New York-based Blackstone Group.) Construction crews can pull out drywalls, remove layers of paint and layers, tear down dropping ceilings, peel off previous decades of renovations, allowing Dell to regain its original grandeur.
David Marshall, president of San Diego-based Heritage Architecture Planning, specializing in San Diego-based historic renovations, oversaw guidance from Petrone to inform as many renovations as possible, using the original photographs and the hotel's first set of blueprints. Elevator cages, lobby wood, many balcony railings – all original. “We kept warping against some floors,” he said. “We secured it, so we wanted to keep that history a bit, even though it's structurally safe.” There's a bit of history that you might feel drunk if you're too fast.
Overlooking the lobby are newly restored Corn-coronal windows. A depiction of a 700-piece stained glass of a woman, the unofficial patron saint of Coronado Island crowns herself. “The window was in 1888, but since we moved several times, it's even more incredible to survive,” Marshall said. (Only a few panes 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 a 33-foot-high ceiling and four giant crown-shaped chandeliers hanging down a central panel. (L. Frank Baum, a frequent guest who wrote “The Great Wizard of Oz,” designed the distinctive chandelier.) Stepping into the crown room is like stepping into the Titanic in dry land.
For renovations, Mr. Marshall focused on the period from 1888 to 1948. The hotel was hardly structurally altered.
“In the postwar era, people wanted things to be clean and smooth. They didn't want glamour designs,” Marshall said. “They dropped the ceiling and covered everything that showed the artisan's hands. At the time, there was an architect who actually said, “Decoration is a crime.” ”
Other changes over the decades have been more practical. The hotel's 750 rooms were eventually 371. “There are no two rooms,” Marshall explained. “A single drawing could not be reused.”
“You need to remember that the Victorians weren't swimming. They weren't walking down the beach,” Petrone said. “Their swimsuits were made of wool. They came here for the ocean air, so the best rooms of the time were facing the garden.” In other words, the most desirable rooms of today were the ones that were most popular in the late 1800s.
The National Historical Preservation Act of 1966 ultimately ended the architectural heresy taking place in Dell. In 1977 it was designated a national historic landmark on par with the Statue of Freedom, Mount Rushmore and the Golden Gate Bridge.
But almost 50 years later, the architects had to grasp what was original, what was added later, and perhaps most importantly, what was hidden in the wall.
One afternoon during the renovation, Petrone called Marshall and told him to look at the guest corridor spot on the second floor. “There should be a window,” Petrone told him, according to the blueprint. Sure enough, behind the drywall sheets, workers spotted an original amber window embedded in a huge wooden panel.
Then, a few months before the renovation was completed, Petrone was in the front yard of the ballroom when she looked up. The ceiling was covered in construction equipment, but there was something right behind the oil cloth. “I couldn't believe it,” Petrone said. She accidentally discovers a fresco (a burst of flowers) remaining at the end of the building.
“People come to Dell for historical experiences, so maintaining integrity was very important,” Marshall said.
Apparently, “historical experience” can take many forms, like the existence of “Miss Kate.” In November 1892, a 27-year-old woman named Kate Morgan checked into the hotel alone under the supposed name. Five days later, she was found dead on the patio on her back and had one gunshot wound to her head. However, according to many people staying at Dell, she never left.
“I take photos every day from guests who see Miss Kate's ghost,” Petrone said with a conspiratorial laugh. “You know we want to celebrate the past here.”
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