Back in the mid-1970s, Walt Worthy bought wrecked cars, fixed them up and resold them. His wife, Karen, taught first grade.

Occasionally, the young couple splurged on $5 prime-rib dinners in the Davenport Hotel's Matador Room.

"We didn't know anything about wine," Walt Worthy recalls, "but we liked the jug that Mateus (an inexpensive ros) came in, so we ordered that. We couldn't pronounce it, though. We called it MAT-ee-us instead of ma-TOOSE."

"We were really green," Karen Worthy acknowledges with a laugh.

When the couple next dine at the Davenport, they can choose from 400 different wines. And, as owners of the revitalized landmark, they won't have to apologize for any mispronunciations.

Two years ago, the Worthys bought the shuttered downtown hotel for $6.5 million in cash and property. Since then, they've poured their considerable energy and resources into reopening the historic hotel.

Anyone curious about what a $30 million facelift buys can tour the Davenport next weekend. Although not finished, the hotel will start hosting guests July 15.

Public tours will begin Saturday morning at 9 and July 14 at 10 a.m. at the new east entrance off Post, where a three-tiered fountain flows beneath the porte-cochere.

Just inside is the new front desk, which incorporates original carved panels and an antique bank of key slots. Eventually the front desk will be flanked by a clothing store, florist and art gallery.

Beyond the front desk is the grand lobby, where guests will relax in overstuffed furniture, watch koi in the Italian marble fountain or enjoy light meals and drinks by the fireplace.

Just off the lobby is the 88-seat Palm Court, a French Renaissance-inspired restaurant which will have marble floors, palm trees and central "raw bar" for prepping salads and sushi.

Also opening onto the lobby is the Peacock Room, an elegant lounge which will feature two fireplaces, a cigar lounge and a 16-by-28-foot Tiffany-style stained-glass skylight.

The hotel's basement swimming pool and spa won't be ready until the Sept. 14 grand opening, but an 8,000-square-foot banquet kitchen will be open for tours.

Above the hotel's three renovated ballrooms are 284 guest rooms, each with marble bathroom, massive mahogany furniture, a wall safe, flat-screen TV and a phone by every toilet.

Internet access will be available in the guest rooms, restaurant, lounge, and even in the lobby, via wireless connection.

Resurrecting the 88-year-old Davenport has been a collaborative effort for its new owners. It's rare not to see Walt Worthy's Lexus SUV and Karen Worthy's red Jaguar both parked next to the curb. But this project has been his baby from the start.

"I said it's OK with me as long as it doesn't jeopardize everything else we have," Karen Worthy remembers. "And it nearly has. But we don't have any children. And we've always felt if the bottom fell out, we could start over."

Walt Worthy first dreamed of buying the hotel in 1985, when it closed. But he didn't make up his mind until the summer of 2000, soon after his father died of emphysema. "That's what spurred me into doing it," Walt Worthy says. "I realized it's later than you think."

Walt Worthy's father, a Georgia native who raised his family "at the back end of beyond," actually had ties to the Davenport. During World War II he served as a pilot in the Army Air Corps and was discharged in Spokane. He spent that first night as a civilian in the Davenport.

But that's no excuse to risk millions of dollars on a hotel that had lost money for decades. Karen Worthy explains the real reason: "Walt did it for the challenge."

Not everything piques Walt Worthy's interest. "I got thrown out of Auburn (University) three times," he says with no apparent regret. "Never finished. Not even close. I didn't learn a damn thing in college."

While teaching at Fairchild Air Force Base's survival school, Walt Worthy began salvaging cars. Later, he threw himself into property development, turning obsolete grocery stores into office space. When finished, he'd plaster the building's facade with banners proclaiming "Walt Worthy Has Square Feet."

"I've always had a knack for making money," he says. "I can look at a project and tell in five minutes if it's going to be viable or not."

But he hedges his bets with hard work. "To really succeed at anything," he says, "you have to eat, drink and breathe it. You can make a living working 40 hours a week, but you don't get ahead doing that."

Confidence and determination earned the Worthys millions. "But I pretty well satisfied my curiosity about doing office space," Walt Worthy says. "I wanted to try something different. This wasn't about making money. It was just to see if I could do it."

While his wealth was formidable, Worthy's unfamiliarity with historic restoration worried some. After all, the Davenport Hotel wasn't some derelict Safeway. It was an architectural treasure, and its defenders weren't about to stand by and let a maverick developer cut corners for the sake of showing he could succeed where other entrepreneurs had failed.

"I don't think we realized what a jewel it was when we first bought it," Karen Worthy admits. "When I stood in the lobby, I thought the ceiling looked like railroad ties. Everything was covered with soot." Now those beams shine with brightly colored griffins, medallions and crests.

The hotel, designed by Spokane architect Kirtland Cutter, is listed on the local, state and national historic registers. To preserve that status and remain eligible for tax breaks, the Davenport rehabilitation had to conform to certain standards.

Spokane historic preservation officer Teresa Brum recalls one of the first times she and Walt Worthy toured the hotel together after the purchase. More than 1,400 windows needed replacing, and Worthy wasn't convinced historically appropriate models were worth the significant additional cost.

"He showed me the window he had put in as a sample -- a fixed-sash, anodized bronze aluminum model -- and said, the way Walt talks, `Here's what I'm going to do.'

"I'm pretty diplomatic," Brum says, "but I told him, `Walt, you're not going to be able to use that window and work in our program.' He wasn't happy."

Over the next two years, the Worthys grew accustomed to rude awakenings. Demolishing 500 guest rooms, razing the Pennington wing, removing the rooftop swimming pool and hauling off asbestos all cost more than predicted. Walt Worthy's initial $15 million renovation budget gradually doubled in size.

Most of the couple's real estate holdings had to be sold, and the rest -- including Rock Pointe Corporate Center -- refinanced.

Earlier this year, Walt Worthy estimated his bills were running $50,000 to $60,000 a day. Since then, he's refused to look at the bottom line. "I couldn't tell you within $5 million how much we've spent so far," he says. "But the hotel is still free and clear. The only money we've borrowed is on furnishings."

Many unanticipated expenses have been for upgrades: ornate carpets, marble showers, 22-carat gold leaf and custom furniture. "Just the (three) bathroom faucets in each guest room cost $1,000," Walt Worthy says. "We could have accomplished the same thing for $200. But the more we got into it, the clearer the vision became of what this thing needed."

Ellen Robey has long had a vision for the hotel. She and her organization, Friends of the Davenport, knew the building needed a champion with deep pockets and determination.

"Our goal in 1986 was to find a new owner," she says. "We put out several brochures. One of our board members took one up to Donald Trump. I mailed one to Prince Charles because he complained about people tearing things down in London."

When the Wai-Choi Ng, chairman of Hong Kong-based Sun International Hotels, bought the hotel in 1990, Robey thought the Davenport had found its champion. But one obstacle after another -- including an underground oil leak from Avista's nearby steam plant -- kept disrupting Ng's plans. By the summer of 2000, he was ready to cut his losses and "pass the baton to the Worthys," as he put it.

Not all Davenport advocates endorsed the Worthys' approach to saving the hotel. Most controversial was the decision to tear down the Pennington wing, an aggregate of buildings that predated the hotel.

But the decision to save the Pennington's most cherished feature -- the Hall of the Doges -- and the effort to recreate the Pennington's Spanish mission style outside the new addition went a long way toward easing anxieties.

"I'm a realist," says Robey. "I believe in historic preservation, but I also know sometimes you have to give up something to save something else."

One measure of the Friends' endorsement is the fact that virtually the entire board booked guest rooms for opening night.

Several hundred commemorative tiles purchased by Friends of the Davenport will be mounted on a wall beneath the porte cochere.

With the Davenport's reopening, Walt Worthy's role will switch from developer to hotel manager. "I think running a hotel will be fun," he says. "And I want to do it just so I can say I did. But if I'm not having fun, we'll probably sell it."

Meanwhile, the couple who used to scrape money together for a Davenport dinner now command the best seats in the house.

But they may be in for a surprise. It turns out the Davenport no longer serves Mateus. In fact, when asked, their young executive chef had never even heard of the stuff.

Cheers!