A Hideaway in Plain Sight

 The story of an Ann Arbor family with a history of politics and preservation

—By Jonah Mendelson

At the Intersection of Family and Community

Hathaway’s Hideaway is easy to miss. If you aren’t looking for it, you’d probably never know it existed. An unadorned two-story brick building, it sits on the same strip as the well-known and heavily-trafficked Fleetwood Diner — students heading to their favorite late-night greasy spoon have passed right by it for decades. 

Originally a polling place for Ann Arbor’s 2nd Ward, the building was constructed in 1901 and purchased by the Hathaway family in 1969. It was transformed by attorney John Hathaway and his wife Mary into a venue, Hathaway’s Hideaway, that acted both as a center of Ann Arbor civic life and as an extension of their own home. It once served as a frequent meeting place for the local League of Women Voters chapter; it also once served as a pretend-saloon for a young Will Hathaway, son of John, on his birthday: “We dressed up as cowboys…. My dad taught us how to play poker,” said Will, sharing early memories of the venue. “My dad was really into jazz, there were some particular groups that he would invite to perform there, they’d pass the hat around to raise some money.” It’s a building shot through with personal and collective memory.

Selective Hosts

The Hideaway was the pet project of the Hathaway family, purchased at least in part because John and Mary saw “a real value in the historic preservation of downtown architecture in general,” according to Will. The Hideaway is rented at the sole discretion of the family. Rental rates are suggested, not set. Most requests from strangers are not granted. The website for the venue states that “[t]he ideal user for Hathaway’s Hideaway is a recurring monthly meeting or social gathering with a community purpose. These events could be held by non-profit organizations or informal, ad hoc community groups.” A footnote clarifies that the venue reserves the right to only host causes the family is comfortable supporting. In the recent past, the venue has hosted campaign events for Gretchen Whitmer and Eli Savit; currently, a sign promoting Joe Biden’s presidential campaign hangs from the window. 

Preservation of Memory through Architecture

A new appreciation for the historic buildings of Ann Arbor had emerged in the late 1960s and early 1970s as forces of change intensified in the downtown area, which was once a sleepy stretch of department store outlets and small family businesses. During this time period, Ann Arbor’s population soared and ambitious construction projects were undertaken. The biggest player in Ann Arbor real estate was and continues to be the University of Michigan, an institution that is generally granted a great deal of autonomy from local regulations by virtue of its charter. This includes laws surrounding the preservation of historical architecture, which means that when the University purchases property, any regulations that protected an old building from renovation or destruction become no longer enforceable. If not for John Hathaway and many other community advocates, this would have been the story of the Detroit Observatory on E Ann St. They lobbied the University to preserve the historic building from planned demolition in the 1970s, in part by drumming up public support (particularly from prominent astronomy faculty members) and in part by succeeding in getting the observatory listed on the National Register of Historic Places. 

However, while successful examples of preservation are salient, the memory of unsuccessful attempts tends to fade at a rapid rate. Community advocates for historical preservation generally have little leverage and often fail. For example, the push to save Waterman Gymnasium, demolished in 1977, was insufficient to prevent its eventual demolition. “Part of what the university does with historic preservation sometimes is they’ll let a building just go until it’s sort of decrepit, and then they’ll say, ‘Oh, well look, we’ve just got to tear it down,’” said Will. When a building is demolished, it fades quickly from collective memory. How many people who weren’t around before its demolition have heard of Waterman Gymnasium? The University of Michigan owns 9.4% of the space in the City of Ann Arbor and their reach continues to extend, all the way out to the West Ann Arbor Health Center near Will’s home in Scio Township. Because of this dominance, the University of Michigan’s real estate decisions are deeply influential on how the history of Ann Arbor is remembered. 

Newton’s Second Law

It isn’t just the University of Michigan’s eager absorption of surrounding land that threatens historical buildings. Forces of entropy chip away at these structures over the years, foundations crack, fires start. Will discussed the unfortunate fate of the former economics building, burned by an arsonist: “It was badly damaged, and instead of trying to repair it and fix it up, the University tore it down.” Practicality has always reigned supreme in such matters. Hathaway’s Hideaway itself is battling forces of destruction at the moment, its Facebook page currently dominated by posts documenting the careless construction project undertaken by their neighbors that has caused minor but notable damage to the Hideaway.

The Advocacy of Mary Hathaway

The Hathaways have never been solely interested in preserving the old, but also in affecting the new. Mary Hathaway in particular was the face of countless advocacy efforts. For decades she fought on a local level for causes as varied as nuclear disarmament, alleviating homelessness, and refugee rights. Most recently, prior to her passing away in the summer of 2020, she campaigned for the development of a city park in the empty lot adjacent to the Ann Arbor District Library, a parcel of land (Library Lane) that has been fought over for decades now. This particular campaign has been in the works for years, and while progress is being made, it is often slow and affected by personal disagreements between regional political players. The quiet politics of local history in a city like Ann Arbor can go unnoticed by students even as the change is unfolding right in front of their noses. 

Town & Gown

The story of the Hathaways is emblematic of the frequent clash between the practical, fast-paced and temporal needs of the University of Michigan (and their associated student body) and the quiet, generative history of the community that surrounds them. To most passersby, Hathaway’s Hideaway is just another building. To those who know its role, it contains specific personal memories, like Will’s idyllic childhood birthday party, the long history of a family passed down through generations, and the collective history of a community and its local politics, from being a meeting place for the League of Women Voters in the 1970s to hosting events for Eli Savit. The town plays a fundamentally different role to locals and students. 

To students, Ann Arbor is a transitory and kinetic place. They spend four years there, often filled with stress and revelry. Their interest in the fabric of the town is short-term by its nature. This divergence in attention paid towards civic processes as well as the nuances of construction and demolition is a quiet example of the town-gown dynamic: “Students generally don’t get interested in historic preservation, unless you have a particular interest, like if you’re an architecture student, maybe, or someone interested in architectural history or something, then I can imagine students might take an interest in it. But most students sort of notice the buildings, they might say, ‘Oh, that’s kind of cool, that old building,’ but they’re not going to really care about it,” said Will. For those who grew up in Ann Arbor, the roots run deep, and it can be a constant struggle to keep those roots from getting excavated to make room for a new medical complex.

Feature photo by Will Hathaway