Breuer building - A matrix of concrete bathtubs.

Architect David Ellison compares the reinforced concrete construction of the controversial Marcel Breuer tower to mud and sticks. It's not a term of derision. It's just a way to take the mystery out of a situation that has pitted architects and politicians against each other in an argument that quickly reaches deep into a broad palate of niche subject matter — like the physics of energy consumption and conservation, what makes a piece of architecture worth preserving, and whether 'tis nobler to spend job-starved Cuyahoga County's public money on a labor-intense restoration project, or on materials, including imported steel, for new construction.

Ellison is one of many architects researching the Cleveland Trust Tower and building arguments in the long-shot hope of stopping the county from demolishing it. The county commissioners have already voted in a 2-1 split decision to knock it down and build a new administration building in its place, with Peter Lawson-Jones casting the dissenting vote. For the moment, the building's future would seem to lie with the City of Cleveland Planning Commission, which will take public comment and consider the demolition proposal in meetings at 9 a.m. June 1 and June 8, in City Hall Room 514. Anyone who cares about the character of the Cleveland skyline, or the environmental and other implications of throwing away a structurally sound, landmark highrise, is invited to attend.

COMMISSIONERS Jimmy Dimora and Tim Hagan are not alone in their choice to demolish the building, claiming that its "floor plate" — the amount of space on each of the skyscraper's 29 floors — is too small to accommodate entire county departments. But a substantial coalition of well-informed people, from architects to environmentalists, historic preservationists to politicians, say for a slew of reasons that knocking down the Breuer tower is a terrible idea. The local chapter of the American Institute of Architects, for example, has observed that it is the only Breuer-designed skyscraper in the world.

"Cleveland is very fortunate to have Breuer's only highrise," observed Anthony Hiti, an architect with the Herman Gibans Fodor firm, and a principal in the local AIA chapter. "It's one of those buildings in the blind spot of history. It's not old enough to be historic, but it's not new anymore, either. It's akin to how your parents' stuff is a bunch of junk, but your grandparents' stuff is antique."

Hiti laments that it's even hard for some architects in the historic preservation community to see that blind spot of potential, even as they focus on the way architecture defines space. The local AIA chapter, for example, just last year hosted a conference about architects as "place makers." It's difficult to imagine a building that more immediately tells where you are than one that can be recognized by a single one of its deep-welled, concrete box windows.

"If the building comes down, Cleveland will be something of a laughingstock in the architectural community," Hiti says. "I can't imagine that this would happen in another city, especially with public money."

Neither Hiti nor Jones accepts the claim that the building doesn't meet the county's office needs.

"Given that most office interaction takes place by e-mail and phone, it is not necessary for everyone in a department to be on one floor," Jones says.

Lending a voice from the private sector, as Hiti observes, "It's not uncommon for firms to be located on multiple floors. Our office is in the Warehouse district. We have three floors, and no problem communicating. It never seems to be a barrier."

But of course, not everyone sees it that way. When the Free Times ran a letter from AIA Cleveland president Beth Ann Kalapos in support of keeping the tower, another of the organization's member architects quickly replied, arguing that the building has "no asset value."

Even Dimora and Hagan might debate that, having bought the building for $21.7 million. If the building is demolished, they will have paid that cost — plus an almost certainly low estimate of $10 million for asbestos removal (a contract already awarded to the R.P. Carbone company, which critics note was recently in the news for its involvement with a scandal involving the Lorain County justice center). That comes to nearly $32 million simply to acquire the vacant lot. It's estimated that putting a new county administration building on that site would cost an additional $164,000,000.

When the county borrows that kind of money for a construction project, it typically expects a major spin-off in jobs. Consolidating county administrative offices at East 9th and Euclid would certainly bring jobs to that neighborhood — not just county workers, but also the restaurateurs, deli owners and other services that would certainly grow in the shadow of a new highrise. But the opposite would happen in neighborhoods where the county currently leases space: those neighborhoods would lose both county workers and the businesses that cater to them. In terms of long-term jobs, for Cleveland and the county, the move would likely be a wash.

As for jobs associated with the construction or renovation, Ellison observes that since restoration is more labor intensive and requires less in the way of materials, local trades people would probably get more work if the county chose to renovate. Further, he says spending money on new materials — including imported structural steel — would mean sending a sizable portion of the total investment out of the region. But the most basic argument over what to do with the building speaks to our national discussion of energy consumption, global warming and our cultural habit of disposability.

All three commissioners agree that whatever the county's new facility is, it should be a "green" building. They plan to seek the "silver" level of LEED certification, a high stamp of environmental friendliness. But Jones, Ellison and others charge that the choice least friendly to the environment would be to knock the building down.

"The thing that's so absurd about this is that they want the new building to be "sustainable.' But by wasting energy that is embedded in the structure by tearing it down, you cancel out any green energy efficient effect."

In other words, Ellison says, to build the Breuer tower in the first place, raw materials were mined and processed and moved. Steel was forged. Gasoline was burned. Bulldozers were driven and cranes were operated.

"A new building might be more energy-efficient than what is there now," Ellison says, "but it would take hundreds of years to pay off the loss and the investment in building anew. It's been calculated that buildings like this embody the energy worth about 15 gallons of gas per square foot. At 250,000 square feet, that means something like 3.75 million gallons of gas, which in dollars comes to about $11 million just in energy cost. By taking that down, we'd have nothing to show for all that lost fossil fuel and pollution of the atmosphere, and on top of it we'd have an enormous amount of solid waste to throw away. So Dimora's claim that a new building would be more sustainable or green is completely cancelled out. It is so hypocritical. That's what makes me so mad, is the hypocrisy of it all."

Even if their arguments persuade the Cleveland Planning Commission that allowing demolition would be an architectural loss and an environmental boondoggle, Commissioner Jones fears it may be too late. Not only has he heard Hagan and Dimora say they're not interested in the site if they have to keep the Breuer tower, but he's been told by legal counsel that they technically could override the city planning commission's decision. Any hope of changing Dimora and Hagan's perspective, he says, lies in the hands of the public.

"I don't know how the public would react if my colleagues decided to reject the findings of planning commission," he says. "But to the end I'm advocating adaptive re-use. I'm committed to retaining the Marcel Breuer tower as the new county administration building."