When a five-alarm fire ripped through downtown Baltimore’s Westside on September 2, I feared the worst for the New Pickwick, a 1908 nickelodeon which helped introduce moving pictures to the city.

The plucky little theater had weathered the long decline of the city’s once grand shopping district on Howard Street, battered but still sturdy, on the city-owned site known as the Superblock.

Amazingly, it was unharmed by the fire.

When I first laid eyes on the movie house, I was astonished to see the faded red rosettes that still march across the facade above the entrance. These rosettes were the most restrained elements in a gaudy facade of sculpted faces and figurines, topped by a sun goddess above the pediment and an ornately carved ticket booth below.

All ornamentation except the rosettes vanished long ago, and even the modern marquee that replaced it is gone. Yet the now-humble building still stands. Whether it can withstand future demolition activity and redevelopment plans is uncertain.

At the north end of the 100 block of North Howard Street, Read’s Drugstore, a civil rights landmark, was also unscathed. But in-between and around the corner, the haunted air of the other city-owned vacants had intensified.

For a quarter-century this ghost town, dubbed “The Superblock” by City Hall, has been waiting redemption.

One building on West Fayette Street was immediately razed. Last week demolition began on a trio of handsome 19th century buildings that once housed the discount retailer McCrory’s.

CHAP, the Commission for Historical and Architectural Preservation, had once hoped to preserve them for future redevelopment.

The cause of the blaze? Still undetermined. Federal investigators with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives have joined a local team to help with the investigation.

Donuts and Sneakers

Modest as it was, the New Pickwick – renamed The Howard in 1924 – thrived for many years amid the downtown bustle. But when the middle class decamped for the suburbs, the theater declined.

Before closing in 1985, patrons were sometimes found napping or engaging in activities that did not involve watching the movie.

In 2008, when I began the research for my photography book, “Flickering Treasures: Rediscovering Baltimore’s Forgotten Movie Theaters,” many of the 72 theaters that I profiled were unrecognizable.

The New Pickwick/Howard had transitioned to a Dunkin’ Donuts, and later, to an athletic shoe store.

In conjunction with two museum exhibitions of “Flickering Treasures,” I led several walking tours of downtown theaters. A man hanging out on Howard Street was antagonistic toward our group until I shared a 1910 photo of the ornate New Pickwick with him.

Immediately, his demeanor changed. New information altered his perception of the neighborhood in a positive way.

Shortsighted and Shameful

Researching my book, I learned that hundreds of Baltimore’s theaters, including many of its largest downtown venues, vanished without a trace.

Further north on Howard Street, a parking lot has replaced the Stanley, Baltimore’s grandest theater palace. Other major theaters razed in the name of urban renewal include the Royal, the jewel of Pennsylvania Avenue, and The Century and New, first-run movie houses downtown.

Preservationists call the willful deterioration of buildings until they are beyond repair “demolition by neglect.” Destroying such structures of merit diminishes our collective heritage.

It’s not just shortsighted, but shameful. The ongoing neglect of our built environment should be called what it is – architectural elder abuse.

Conversely, the superb restoration of The Hippodrome, Parkway Theater and Everyman, formerly the Town, demonstrate that historic preservation is possible and can fuel urban rebirth.

Propped, then Dropped

Adjacent to the site of the now-razed Stanley is the mutilated Mayfair – gone except for a propped-up facade. I’m worried about its fate.

With stalled redevelopment, even this beautiful throwback to Baltimore’s better days may be torn down, echoing the fate of the Hendler Creamery facade in Oldtown.

Such a familiar pattern:

Developers get the green light and often public subsidies to partially demolish a historic structure. When their plans collapse, so does the facade that was supposed to be saved.

Why can’t the Baltimore Development Corporation do a better job of vetting and monitoring its chosen developers?

Needed: A New Approach

Real estate redevelopment is the slow, complex endeavor of chasing financing, navigating bureaucratic hurdles and balancing profit versus community requirements.

For two decades, city leaders have fantasized over a grandiose redevelopment of the Superblock.

The last seven mayoral administrations, starting with Martin O’Malley, announced plans for high-rise apartments, a hotel, shopping mall, grocery store and late-night entertainment venues on the city-owned site.

They all  failed – the latest casualty, a $200 million mixed-use plan, coming to a halt almost exactly a year ago.

Isn’t it time to try smaller scale projects, tapping, say, the demand for affordable residential units and down-to-earth retail, to revive this vital piece of Baltimore?

Yes, drug addiction, crime and homelessness are obstacles to any revival. But consider the turnaround of Baltimore’s homicide rate.

With focused violence prevention strategies, the killings declined during the Scott administration to a level not seen since 1978. The Opioid Restitution Fund settlements of about $580 million, properly directed, should reduce our addicted population.

A holistic strategy could direct a portion of these and other funds to equitable community development that includes and embraces historic preservation.

With care, scrappy survivors like the New Pickwick can be saved.

• Amy Davis, a former Baltimore Sun photojournalist who worked for the paper for 38 years, is the author of “Flickering Treasures: Rediscovering Baltimore’s Forgotten Movie Theaters.” Reach her at flickeringtreasures@yahoo.com.