Tulsa Audio Tour: Art Deco Echoes & Jazz Trails Downtown

On your left, look for the tall, pale-gray tower with tight rows of small square windows, rising like a clean-lined cliff against the sky. This is First Place Tower, planted at 15 East Fifth and facing Boston Avenue like it wants to be noticed. What you’re seeing is really two eras stacked into one address: the lower, midrise portion came first in 1949, a 20-story statement that Tulsa meant business. Then, in 1973, the city went bigger-adding the 41-story tower that shoots up to about 516 feet, making it one of Tulsa’s tallest. Standing here, you can almost feel that 1970s confidence: straight lines, no frills, just height and hustle. Ownership has had its own plot twists. From 2006 to 2017, it belonged to Maurice Kanbar, a California entrepreneur with a serious downtown portfolio, before he sold it to his operating partner, Stuart Price. Ready for Mid-Continent Tower? Just walk northwest for 0 minutes.

Look for the tall, bright-white tower with a dark copper-green roofline and little Gothic-style details near the top-it’s the Mid-Continent Tower, and it stands out against the sky like Tulsa decided to wear a dress shirt to work. This is the Mid-Continent Tower at 401 South Boston Avenue: 36 stories, about 513 feet tall, and one of the easiest buildings downtown to recognize thanks to that clean white terra cotta skin and the unmistakable copper crown. But here’s the twist: this “one” tower is really two eras pretending to be one body. Down at the base is the original 1918 Cosden Building-16 stories tall, built for oilman Joshua Cosden when Tulsa was booming hard and fast. And it sits on a site with even deeper roots: the first Tulsa schoolhouse, started as a mission in 1885 on Creek land. So, yes, you’re standing near a place that’s been educating people in one way or another for well over a century-first kids, later oil executives. Kansas City architect Henry F. Hoit designed the original, in a modern take on Gothic style-more “cathedral vibes” than Art Deco glitz. Then in 1984, Tulsa pulled off a very careful architectural magic trick: a new 20-story section was added and cantilevered so it looks like it’s resting on the older building, even though the real support is tucked to the east. Built 66 years apart, but dressed to match so well you’d swear it was always whole. When you’re set, 320 South Boston Building is a 1-minute walk heading northwest, and it will be on your left.

On your left, look for the big brick-and-cream tower that fills the whole block, topped with a stepped crown and a little cupola like a hat perched on its head. This is the 320 South Boston Building, and it’s been doing the most in Tulsa since the day it showed up. It started life in 1917 as a ten-story headquarters for Exchange National Bank, planted right here at Third and Boston. Then Tulsa hit its growth spurt, and in 1929 they stacked on a major expansion, pushing it to 22 stories and about 400 feet tall. For a moment, it was the tallest building in all of Oklahoma-Tulsa basically standing on tiptoe and waving. The title didn’t last past 1931, but in Tulsa it stayed the tallest until 1967. Architecturally, it’s Beaux Arts-think: formal, confident, and slightly overdressed on purpose. You can spot the terra cotta wrapping the lower floors, the long vertical lines of windows, and that tower that steps back near the top before finishing with a temple-like section and the cupola. And that cupola wasn’t just decoration. For years it doubled as a giant weather signal: green lights for fair skies, red when trouble was coming. Downtown had its own built-in forecast, no app required. In 1949, KOTV put a transmitter on the roof-an exciting upgrade with a tragic footnote when a dropped wrench killed a woman on the street below. The station eventually moved broadcasts to a taller tower in 1954. Also, no, the top wasn’t a Zeppelin parking spot-fun myth, zero evidence. When you’re set, Tulsa Performing Arts Center is a 2-minute walk heading northwest.

On your left, look for the big, blocky cream-and-tan building with a wide dark entrance canopy and glass doors sitting low against a nearly windowless wall. You’re standing at the Tulsa Performing Arts Center, and from the outside it has that “serious business” look-like it’s politely holding all its drama, music, and jazz hands on the inside where it belongs. This place opened in 1977, built with a mix of public and private money, and it’s been Tulsa’s main indoor gathering spot for the performing arts ever since. But getting here wasn’t automatic. In the early 1970s, Tulsa realized the older venue downtown-the old Municipal Theatre-wasn’t cutting it anymore. A Theatre Advisory Committee formed, led by Charles E. Norman, and they studied a bunch of options: fix up the old 1914 theater, use the Akdar Shrine theater from the 1920s…or do the scary thing and build something new. Then a major opportunity landed: John H. Williams of The Williams Companies had bought up a huge nine-block area for development. Plans shifted, as plans do, and land between 2nd and 3rd became available. Williams donated that parcel to the city for a performing arts center, and in 1973 he teamed with philanthropist Leta Chapman with a very Tulsa-style challenge: if the voters funded half, they’d raise the other half. The bond vote passed big-about 69%-and the project was originally set at $14 million at the time, roughly around $100 million in today’s dollars, give or take depending on whose inflation calculator you trust. The architect was Minoru Yamasaki-yes, the same guy who designed the former World Trade Center towers. That connection adds a little gravity to the story, even if what you’re looking at right now feels more “stoic arts bunker” than “soaring skyline icon.” Inside, though, it’s a whole complex: four main theaters, studio space, an art gallery, and room for receptions. The largest space is Chapman Music Hall with 2,365 seats, and on opening night-March 19, 1977-Ella Fitzgerald helped christen the place. Not a bad way to say “welcome to the neighborhood.” This center runs on variety. Local anchors like Tulsa Ballet, Tulsa Opera, and Tulsa Symphony keep the calendar packed, and big names have rolled through too-Michael Bublé, Kelly Clarkson, Steve Martin, even Anthony Bourdain. And because Tulsa passed an ordinance requiring 1% of public building costs to go to art, the PAC ended up with a permanent collection-76 works-mixing local, national, and international artists, with significant Native American representation. It also evolved: a major accessibility retrofit in the early 1990s, then a big expansion in 2000 that added more space and, mercifully, lots more restrooms. When you’re ready, BOK Tower is next-just walk northeast for about 4 minutes.

On your right, look for the tall, bright white tower with tight vertical stripes and a red “BOK” logo perched near the roofline, rising like a clean-edged ruler between older buildings. This is BOK Tower, and it’s got a little bit of New York swagger baked into its bones. When it went up in 1976, it wasn’t just another office building for downtown Tulsa-it was a statement piece: 52 stories, about 667 feet tall, and for decades the tallest building in Oklahoma, until Oklahoma City’s Devon Tower finally nudged it out in 2011. The real plot twist is the architect. The tower was designed by Minoru Yamasaki, the same man behind the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers. Tulsa businessman John Williams loved that design so much he basically ordered a “make it like that… but Tulsa-sized.” Early plans called for two shorter, 30-story buildings. Then Williams pushed for something more dramatic-legend says he stacked one model on top of another to make his point. Result: one single tower that feels like a half-scale cousin of the New York original. Executives even joked the plans were just “cut in half,” which is the kind of joke you make when you’re staring at the rent roll. Inside, the lobby leaned into that same vibe: marble walls and hanging accents reminiscent of the Twin Towers. The building holds about 1.1 million square feet of office space, and it filled fast-around 80 percent occupied within four months. Then, in 2005, trouble hit: a water main break flooded the basement and took electrical gear with it. The fix in 2006 cost about $16 million at the time-roughly $25 million today-covering flood repairs plus upgrades like new windows, fitness centers, and spruced-up pedestrian bridges. When you’re ready, Tulsa parks and recreation is a 2-minute walk heading northeast.

As you come up on Tulsa Parks and Recreation on your right, you’re standing next to the office that-quietly, steadily-keeps Tulsa’s “go outside” habit running. Tulsa isn’t shy about parks. The city manages 135 of them, spread across about 8,278 acres. That’s not a couple of pretty lawns with a bench or two-that’s a whole system. Think: two nature centers, community centers where the air smells like rubber mats and determination, a couple of skate parks where gravity does most of the coaching, dog parks where everyone suddenly becomes best friends, pools for the summer furnace season, and enough walking trails-around 66 miles-to make “just a quick stroll” a lie you tell yourself. Add in sports fields, playgrounds, tennis courts, picnic shelters, golf courses, disc golf courses… and you start to see the bigger story: this department isn’t about one park. It’s about how a city chooses to breathe. And Tulsa’s park story has some real character. Early on, one of the city’s first big green bets was Owen Park. Tulsa bought 20 acres back in 1909, and the park opened in 1910. A few years later, they dammed a ravine to create a swimming hole-because if you’re going to survive Oklahoma summers, you get creative. In winter it froze over, turning into an ice-skating spot. Imagine that: a neighborhood park where the same water hosted cannonballs in July and wobbly skates in January. Those activities eventually stopped, but the lake stuck around, and now it’s more for birds and geese than belly-flops and toe-picks. My favorite detail: Tulsa’s first park superintendent, John Meisenbacher, lived right there, and park board meetings were held in a room above his garage. Nothing says “young city figuring it out” like civic decisions made over a garage. Then there’s Woodward Park, which sounds peaceful-until you get to the legal drama. Tulsa bought 45 acres in 1909 for 100 dollars an acre (roughly 3,500 dollars per acre today), planning a park outside the city limits. But it turned into a long lawsuit because the land was tied to a Creek headright belonging to the seller’s minor daughter, Helen, and permission hadn’t been properly secured. The case dragged on for years, Tulsa ultimately won in 1929, and construction didn’t even start until 1933. Today it’s beloved for its gardens and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places-proof that even a park can have a messy backstory. Scale matters here too. Tulsa’s biggest is Mohawk Park-created in 1924 and sprawling over thousands of acres. A lot of its early development came from New Deal-era work programs like the Civilian Conservation Corps and the Works Progress Administration. It’s where you’ll find big-name Tulsa outdoors staples like the zoo and Oxley Nature Center, plus lakes, trails, and golf. And Tulsa’s parks don’t always stay neatly inside the county lines. Lake Eucha Park, created as a state park in 1952, is the one Tulsa city park that’s not in Tulsa County. When Oklahoma planned to close some state parks in 2011 for budget reasons, Tulsa stepped in and took over. That park isn’t just about camping and trees-it sits near Lake Eucha, which helps ensure high-quality water feeding into Spavinaw Lake, part of Tulsa’s water supply. So yeah, sometimes “parks and recreation” also means “protecting what comes out of your faucet.” When you’re set, the Oklahoma Jazz Hall of Fame is a 3-minute walk heading northwest.

On your left, look for the big sandy-colored Art Deco building with two square towers and a long canopy out front-the façade still reads like a train station because it used to be one. This is the Oklahoma Jazz Hall of Fame, and it lives inside the former Tulsa Union Depot-now called the Jazz Depot. If the building feels like it was designed for arrivals and departures, that’s because it was. Back in the day, people rolled in here with suitcases, timing their lives to a timetable. These days, it’s more about timing in the musical sense: swing, groove, improv-the kind of timing you can’t print on a ticket. The Hall of Fame is a nonprofit with a pretty clear mission: honor Oklahoma’s jazz, blues, and gospel musicians, and make sure their stories don’t get lost in the shuffle. Inside, it’s part performance space, part museum-photos, bios, and memorabilia tied to names like Chet Baker, Charlie Christian, Don Cherry, Earl Bostic, Barney Kessel, and Jimmy Rushing. It’s the sort of place where you can go from a display case to a live set without changing gears. The organization was created by the Oklahoma Legislature in 1988, during a push to help rebuild and reinvest in North Tulsa’s historic Greenwood district. It first operated out of the Greenwood Cultural Center and even helped host “Juneteenth on Greenwood,” celebrating Black music traditions in Oklahoma. In the early 2000s, public funding helped move the Hall into this depot: Vision 2025 set aside $4 million for purchase and renovation-about $6.7 million in today’s money. The building reopened in June 2007. Like a lot of arts organizations, it’s also lived through some hard measures. By late 2020, a lease and payments dispute spiraled into a lawsuit, then bankruptcy in early 2021. But the music didn’t get the final word-later that year, a new nonprofit took over, pledging fresh investment for repairs and operations, and renovations pushed forward. When you’re set, Oneok Field is a 13-minute walk heading southwest.

On your right, look for the big steel-and-brick entrance topped by a tall frame and a bold “ONEOK FIELD” sign-hard to miss unless you’re actively trying. This is ONEOK Field-pronounced “WUN-ohk”-Tulsa’s modern ballpark, sitting right here on the edge of downtown in the historic Greenwood District. It’s home base for the Tulsa Drillers, and since 2015 it’s also hosted FC Tulsa soccer, which means this place has seen its share of both slow summer innings and “no time to blink” late-game drama. The story starts with a problem: by the late 1990s, the Drillers’ old home out at the fairgrounds was feeling… let’s say, a little tired. Around 2008, they even flirted with moving to Jenks. But city leaders-including then-mayor Kathy Taylor-pushed hard for something that brought crowds back into the heart of Tulsa. The downtown move became official June 26, 2008, and even when a major donor, SemGroup, collapsed financially, the project didn’t fold. Groundbreaking still happened on December 19, 2008. A month later, ONEOK and the ONEOK Foundation secured the naming rights with $5 million for 20 years-about $7.4 million in today’s money. The park opened April 8, 2010, and the Drillers dropped the first game 7-0, in front of 8,665 people-more than 800 over capacity. Tim McGraw threw the first pitch, which is a pretty classy way to start a new neighborhood hangout. Designed by Populous and built by Manhattan Construction, the field sits about 13 feet below street level, with 23 suites and a “big-league comforts” mindset-built to feel connected to the city, not stranded outside it. And in 2025, it packed in a record 9,507 fans for a USL Championship final-proof this place can crank up the volume when it needs to.