PHOENIX » Michelle Dodds bounded through a downtown that, to the untrained eye, seemed to be dominated by gleaming skyscrapers and sports arenas, the kind of shimmering modern structures that lend credence to the stereotype of this being a young city devoid of history.

But Dodds, the city’s historic preservation officer, knows better.

On this day, she pointed out the old City Hall, where the police interrogation of Ernesto Miranda in 1963 led to the landmark Supreme Court decision requiring officers to inform criminal suspects of their rights. A few blocks away was Barrister Place, where Alfred Hitchcock filmed the opening scene of "Psycho."

Dodds could also spot the ghosts of downtown: the buildings that no longer stood and the decrepit spaces long past their glory. Too often, she said, the structures were lost because the case for preservation was unpersuasive, or because too few people knew of their significance.

"You can’t win everything," said Dodds, a longtime city employee who, in three years at her current job, has become a student and defender of Phoenix’s history. "You can’t save everything. It’s not possible."

Her efforts have been outlined in a plan called PreserveHistoricPHX that is meant to bring more clout to the cause. The document, which will be presented to the City Council next month, does not have legislative teeth; it would not add money or change policies. But it serves as a bold declaration that Phoenix has an architectural history worth saving, and it lays out a road map to preserve it.

"We need to do a better job of being proactive and making people aware," Dodds said. "Our office spends a lot of time reacting to things — demolitions, or someone doing something to a building. To a certain extent, that will always be true."

One problem is that the funding for most of the city’s preservation efforts is nearing depletion. In 2006, voters approved a $13.1 million bond issue to pay for grants to property owners who say they will restore historical buildings. Less than $1 million is left.

"We’re driving on fumes right now," said Mark Briggs, a lawyer and member of the city’s Historic Preservation Commission.

A century ago, Phoenix was a frontier outpost in the northern Sonoran Desert that had only recently become the capital of the new state of Arizona. It had just more than 11,000 residents. By 1940, that figure had climbed to about 65,000.

The end of World War II spurred explosive growth: Phoenix’s population increased exponentially — it has about 1.5 million people today — and its footprint sprawled farther across the Salt River Valley. The rapid expansion also brought about a sense that holding on to the past ran counter to a kind of manifest destiny for the city.

"Phoenix was just so intent on building a name for itself and being seen as something new and different, it didn’t see a need to preserve the old examples," said Jennifer Boucek, director of Preserve Phoenix, a nonprofit.

That many of the buildings under threat are not all that old — they are mainly midcentury modern structures, often built after 1950 — has complicated recent efforts.

"Historic?" said Dodds, repeating the common reaction. "It’s younger than I am!"

"People don’t often believe what was accomplished in their lifetime is historic or worth taking another look," said Alison King, a design professor at the Art Institute of Phoenix who runs a website about local midcentury modern architecture.

"These buildings are really engineered to make people feel good," said King, pointing to their use of natural light and restful proportions. "When you’re inside them, you feel uplifted."

But lately, there has been a reconsideration of the changing face of downtown. For one thing, the economic downturn stalled the type of major developments that had threatened historical sites. But it is more than that: The millennial generation has drifted back to the city’s core and has shown an attachment to older buildings. And the generation behind the city’s explosive growth is starting to reconsider its legacy.

"It’s insane what has been lost," said Will Novak, president of the Phoenix Historic Neighborhoods Coalition. "If you don’t respect your own history — if you don’t value your city — how is anyone supposed to value it?"

A galvanizing moment came in 2012, when the 1952 home Frank Lloyd Wright designed for his son faced demolition by its owners to make way for new homes. Preservationists and city officials moved swiftly to save it. But many people, including architectural historians, had been unaware of the significance of home, which features a spiral design reminiscent of the Guggenheim Museum in New York, which Wright also designed.

As Dodds gave a tour of downtown, she noted positive signs: The Gold Spot, a building that was nearly demolished several times, has become a gathering place — complete with a hip coffee shop — in the Roosevelt Row Arts District, known as "RoRo." And a warehouse district in the shadow of downtown that was once dead is now growing.

Dudley Ventures, a financial services company, was among the first to arrive in the warehouse district, leaving behind a traditional office for an old supply store that had been neglected for years. When it bought the building five years ago, the company was practically the only business around. Renovating a 10,000-square-foot space that had no air conditioning and limited plumbing was tougher than its executives had imagined.

"We were just fortunate that it worked out," said James D. Howard, the chief executive, noting the restaurants, shops and other businesses that have since moved in. "The economy could have continued to spiral, and we could continue to be here alone. At the time, it was a little bit of a speculative bet."

There have been losses downtown, such as the Hotel St. James, built in 1928, that was demolished, save for its facade and lobby. The boarded-up property is now surrounded by parking spaces.

But success stories include two of the earliest high-rise buildings in Phoenix, both built in the 1920s, one Art Deco and the other Beaux-Arts. Dodds said the preservation of the two buildings, which will be incorporated into a new hotel, came with a compromise: another building on the block, erected before the towers, had to come down, to the chagrin of preservationists.

"People were disappointed to lose the building, but there’s something gained from that," Dodds said. "We could have lost the whole block. Everything’s a give and take."

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