A dispute over the architectural merits of the Gaiety Theater on Washington Street has become ugly, with charges of dishonesty and venality being hurled at some of the city's most respected preservationists.

Well-known organizations such as Historic Boston, the Boston Preservation Alliance and the Boston Society of Architects this spring opposed landmarking the theater. About a dozen activists, calling themselves Friends of the Gaiety, are furious.

The Gaiety Theater, tucked into an anonymous and largely empty office building, opened in 1908 as a burlesque house. After years of decline, it closed in 1983. All that is left is the auditorium, structurally intact but largely stripped of its ornamentation. The marquee, ticket booth and lobby are gone; a passer-by can only spot the Gaiety by seeing a faded, painted sign on one side of the building.

Now the owner wants to raze it and put a 30-story apartment building in its place. The Friends figured, quite correctly, that the best chance of saving the theater would be if it were granted landmark status. But two weeks ago, with the concurrence of the preservation groups, the city's Landmarks Commission refused.

``It's the selling out of preservation in Boston,'' charges the Friends' Steve Jerome.

Preservationists ``agreed to give the developers the Gaiety,'' says another Friends member, Lee Eiseman, in exchange for the city backing efforts to save three other theaters (the Opera House, Modern and Paramount).

The Friends now see an ``unseemly web'' of relationships among preservationists, City Hall and developers. The preservation groups have been co-opted, says Jerome.

``They throw out crumbs to people like Susan Park (Alliance president) who then nod and do the mayor's bidding,'' he says.

And the accusations go deeper. Friends member Stephen Landrigan accuses Historic Boston of a conflict of interest on the Gaiety, because it saved and now owns the nearby Hayden Building. He claims Henry Moss, chair of the Boston Society of Architects preservation committee, acted without authorization. He says that the Preservation Alliance now behaves like a developer.

And then there is an explosive rumor that the Gaiety owner promised $50,000 to the Alliance - a bribe, in effect, to secure its cooperation.

Them's fightin' words. And they're wrong.

Preservationists and others have consistently been unimpressed with the Gaiety.

A quarter century ago, under pressure from the same preservationists the Friends are now attacking, the city began grading the architectural merit of downtown buildings on a scale of 1 to 6. The 1's and 2's were considered strong candidates for landmarking. The Gaiety was a 4.

In the mid-1980s, city consultants assessed 15 theaters as part of an effort to revitalize its moribund theater district. The Gaiety was ranked 13th.

Then, in the late 1980s, the Preservation Alliance put together a draft of a petition to landmark the Gaiety. It ended up not submitting it because it was unpersuaded that the theater had the significant, regional importance landmarking demanded.

Combine that history with the fact that preservationists take on the city when it comes to other issues (saving the Northern Avenue Bridge, a recent battle which infuriated the mayor, comes to mind) and charges that the Alliance and others are simply pawns don't seem credible.

Moreover, from the point of view of the preservationists, the issue about the Gaiety was a tough but responsible decision about making choices. The theater just wasn't good enough to make the cut. For example, two key claims argued in favor of landmarking the Gaiety were that it was an early example of fireproof construction and that it has particularly good acoustics. Neither is particularly compelling. An assertion that it was a center for some of the first integrated burlesque shows is disputed. And the theater itself is in terrible shape - saving it would mean virtually recreating it rather than restoring it.

The controversy has left preservationists, in the words of Preservation Alliance Executive Director Albert Rex, ``hurt and disappointed.''

``The only product we have is our name,'' Rex says. ``If we jeopardize it, we're toast.''

Rex denies the stories about a $50,000 payment. ``It's never been offered to us and we wouldn't take it.'' Other preservationists, such as Historic Boston's Stanley Smith, are equally adamant in asserting their integrity.

Nevertheless, the Friends vow to go on. Calling themselves ``the real preservationists,'' they plan to expand their mission to saving other theaters and other buildings. Their passion is admirable. Their scorched-earth approach, one that brooks no dissent and soils the reputation of others, is not.

Tom Keane can be reached at tomkeane@tomkeane.com.