The plan to demolish an old building on the site of Genesee Brewing Company has me conflicted.

The building in question is a massive structure. Imposing. A little weird. And it's unique, for sure: in appearance and in location.

Brewery officials say that they have no use for it and haven't been able to sell it - and that it's hopelessly deteriorated. But some preservation enthusiasts, including the Landmark Society, want the building saved.

Maybe the brewery will find a use after all. Or maybe somebody else will buy it and restore it for something. I'm as ardent a preservationist as anybody, and I'll be happy if the building is saved. But while I could be convinced otherwise, I don't think I'll go to the mat for it.

We've certainly lost far too much of Rochester's architectural history, and the loss of nearly every old building - large or small, architecturally valuable or ordinary - is a loss we should regret. But as a friend of mine says, we can't save them all.

I tested my wishy-washiness with that friend, Jean France, an architectural historian, active Landmark Society member, and leading local preservationist. Jean isn't all riled up about the threat to the brewery building either.

We can't save them all.

We ought to save what we can, Jean said - "if they have a use, and if somebody will finance it."

"But," she said, "you have to start with ‘if they have a use.'"

If the brewery doesn't have a use for the building, who might? For what? Stranger things have happened, I guess, but I can't picture this building, in a less-than-vibrant industrial neighborhood next to a brewery, becoming a residential or office building. Or a restaurant, unless the brewery decided that it could transform it into the microbrewery, pub, and visitors center that it plans in another building.

Jean speaks fondly of the building. "I'm amazed that the brewery doesn't want to do something with it," she said. It's "very lumpy," very Bavarian; "It has a certain kind of twisted charm, if you're fond of Wagner and you like twisted Gothic things." It resembles, she said, the castle of "the mad King Ludwig of Bavaria."

"It doesn't have an appeal for everybody," Jean said, "but it does for me - and that is as a symbol for beer."

Perfect for the brewery, then, but....

Jean and I mused about the really important buildings we've lost: the Security Trust Building where the Convention Center is now. Certain houses on East Avenue and in Corn Hill. And the greatest loss of all, Claude Bragdon's train station.

"I think of England or Europe and think of the things they just use," said Jean. "They wouldn't think of tearing them down. They put up with the inconvenience and the discomfort, because that's how they think. America doesn't think that way."

Still, Rochester and its surrounding villages have saved a lot, and we have a lot to be proud of. As painful as downtown Rochester looks right now, there's still a lot of old stuff there, thanks to farsighted preservationists (led by the Landmark Society), architects, developers, and yes, government officials. City government rescued a deteriorating old federal building and turned it into the spectacular City Hall we have now, and county government has carefully preserved its important building on Main Street. In the city's eight preservation districts, in neighborhoods around the city and in the surrounding suburbs, Greater Rochester has saved an astonishing amount of its architectural fabric.

We have done all this in the face of rampant suburban sprawl, which continues to try to bleed the life out of downtown Rochester, city neighborhoods, and the oldest suburban villages.

I'm grateful for the preservationists who are pushing for a rescue of the Cataract Street building. I'll be happy if they're successful - but I hope they'll not press for the unreasonable.