The question before us is not merely what becomes of a building, but what becomes of Greenwich. The Havemeyer Building, erected in the 19th century and long home to community educational purposes, sits as a physical and symbolic cornerstone of Greenwich Avenue. Its impending transformation now invites a broader civic inquiry: Which way shall Greenwich Avenue go?
A volunteer committee, convened to evaluate proposals for the redevelopment of the property, has rendered its recommendation to the Board of Selectmen. Of the six submissions reviewed, the committee has endorsed a public-private partnership for a 71-room boutique hotel, complete with a rooftop bar and restaurant. Slightly more modest in scale than the nearby Delamar Hotel, this project is notably bereft of adequate parking. Worse still, it would eliminate existing public parking spaces in and around the Havemeyer site.
While the aesthetic and commercial appeal of such a venture may seduce the eye and wallet, we are obliged to ask: for whom, precisely, is this project being built?
Hotels, by their nature, cater to transience. They serve the traveler, not the neighbor; the passerby, not the participant in town life. They are often islands of comfort for the guest, yet arid plains for the community that surrounds them. This proposed hotel—glamorous perhaps, but exclusive in both price and purpose—offers no meaningful public space and would indeed eliminate existing access to public parking. Its benefits, such as they are, would accrue narrowly.
Will guests of such a hotel stroll down the avenue to Diane’s Books, Grigg Street Pizza, or Michelangelo’s? Or will their custom be drawn instead to national retailers— Apple, Saks Fifth Avenue—whose glowing storefronts mask the dwindling presence of local merchants? These chain establishments, while polished and prosperous, are not woven into the civic fabric of Greenwich. They do not sponsor our nonprofits, support our youth leagues, or grace our local boards. Their loyalty is not to place, but to margin.
The quiet attrition of local enterprise—driven in part by escalating commercial rents and diminished foot traffic—has already frayed the unique character of Greenwich Avenue. That Greenwich Avenue is changing is unquestionable. Traffic is often at a standstill, double parking occurs on every block throughout the day, pedestrian crossings are confusing, local stores are hard to find, parking is impossible to find; Greenwich Avenue is becoming a street that many avoid unless there is an absolute necessity. Now think about adding a hotel to the mix and fewer parking spaces. A traffic study is definitely needed. As is an infrastructure study.
Yet this is not yet a fait accompli. The full proposals are available for public review on the town’s website. A public information session is scheduled for Monday, June 9th. That meeting is more than a procedural step — it is a moment of democratic participation.
We have written before that the Greenwich Sentinel envisions something more expansive and enduring; interesting and forward-thinking for Havemeyer: a versatile black-box theater and performing arts space and more. Such facilities are enjoying a quiet renaissance. The New Canaan Playhouse, reborn just a year ago, has swiftly become a locus of town life. The United Theatre in Westerly, Rhode Island—revived by Greenwich’s own Chuck Royce—stands as another testament to how theater can anchor a community
This vision is not fanciful. It is feasible. And, most important, it is faithful to the spirit of the original bequest that gave the Havemeyer property to the public. That gift, made with a stated purpose, demands careful legal and financial scrutiny before any redevelopment proceeds. Any future use must comport with the intent of the donor and be evaluated by an independent consultant to ensure both transparency and viability.
To those inclined to shrug and say the die is cast, we reply: not yet. The path Greenwich takes is still ours to choose. If you believe a hotel will elevate the avenue, by all means, make your case. But if you dream of something richer — something that invites rather than excludes, that elevates rather than encloses — then raise your voice. Loudly
