ome years ago, my father and I watched The Red Green Show perform at the Alaska Center for the Performing Arts (PAC). It was a delightful show, largely because my father and I both enjoy Red Green’s humor, but I also remember how the audience members themselves added to the evening’s atmosphere. Dad and I noticed, as we sat in the auditorium waiting for the production to begin, that there were two types of attendees. About half of the audience wore a combination of flannel shirts and jeans; the other half sported suits and evening gowns. Did someone miss the memo on the dress code?

Absolutely not. One of the great joys of the PAC is its function as a community hub, and in Alaska, that community includes those who dress for comfort and those who are looking for an excuse to wear elbow-length gloves. I remember attendees chatting politely before the show began, no one paying much attention if their partner in conversation was sporting a tie or work boots.

Growing up in an Anchorage that boasted such a community venue, I didn’t give much thought to whether or not my hometown’s population justified a performing arts space with multiple auditoriums. As an adult, I’m grateful that forty years ago the Anchorage community, awash with funds derived from North Slope oil and gas production, chose to invest in the city and its future. In an interview for this issue’s cover story, Codie Costello, president and chief operating officer for the PAC, said, “We’d be a very different place without these community venues… I think it’s important to acknowledge that gift. I think it’s important for us to reimagine how we invest in and maintain those gifts.”

The spaces in which we spend time influence us long after we’ve left them. Designing community buildings and spaces to be safe, functional, comfortable, and welcoming isn’t a nicety, it’s a necessity. Alaska’s architects and engineers excel at crafting places that can be filled with art, music, conventions, and commerce, creating moments that turn Anchorage residents into neighbors and friends. Such venues gather Alaskans in denim and flannel with those in silk and beads to learn, grow, and laugh.