Physical Design Issues Illustrated

Chicago's downtown Cultural Center (1893), on Washington St, besides being a physically stunning building, is hosting an exhibition of paintings by Hale Woodruff (1900-1980). An Illinois native, Woodruff spent much of his working life in Alabama and Georgia. His work has a common theme of black empowerment. That he was also sensitive to issues of physical design is shown in these two murals painted in the 1940s.

"Results of Poor Housing"

"Results of Good Housing"

Toddlin' in Chicago

I've spent the last four days in Chicago, attending the annual meeting of the Midwest Political Science Association. I attended a bunch of panels and heard gobs of presentations, and I'll blog about some of those later. For now I want to talk about the city itself.

Chicago exhibits many aspects of what the city design folk are calling "urbanity." I spent most of my time downtown; the conference was in the Loop, and my hotel was in the River North area. Pedestrian traffic is everywhere, and there are a lot of work places, places for serious recreation like theaters and museums, and a huge number of coffee houses and restaurants. The sidewalks are wide, with buildings mostly built up to the sidewalk. The few exceptions make for a nice variety. The building across Jackson St from the Willis (formerly Sears) Tower actually has a lovely lawn, but for urbanity's sake that's definitely the exception. This is a section of Jackson St looking west, by the well-famed Intelligentsia Coffeehouse.

Note the amount of car traffic, and street width, both probably more than the new urbanists would like. Interactions between pedestrians and cars were mostly peaceful, though there were frequent examples of aggressive action by both. 

Downtown Chicago has many places you've heard of, so I'll skip those and talk about my quirky favorites. Friday morning I had breakfast in the food court at the Merchandise Mart (1928). There are many oatmeal options, and the CTA stop exits right into the gigantic office building.

Friday night I saw a movie ("Jazz on a Summer's Day") at the Gene Siskel Film Center, hidden in the middle of the block on North State Street, but once inside a great place to see movies that never come to Cedar Rapids. Sunday morning I worshiped at First United Methodist Church downtown, housed in "Chicago Temple" (1924), a skinny skyscraper on Washington Blvd. The church is vital and active, acoustically live, with an impressive music program and (are you sitting down?) no video screen.

I made a couple forays into the suburbs, seeing the downtowns of Downers Grove and La Grange. Both seem to be in fine shape (as is Naperville's, which I visited in January): commercially active, nice layout, though I suspect that if I did a careful survey I'd find they tended towards the tony-upscale over the practical. Maybe not. All three are 19th century towns that became suburbs when the metropolitan area's reach took them in. I didn't visit any more recently-created or less-wealthy towns.

Even so, signs of sprawl are everywhere in metropolitan Chicago. The metro area extends for miles beyond the city limits, and takes in numerous suburbs of ever-decreasing density. Understandably, a former student who recently moved to Chicago from Montana complained about the lack of nearby wild areas.

The area's reach has long since engulfed the small towns along Route 30: Sugar Grove, Big Rock, Hinckley, Waterman and Shabbona. From the perspective of my car on Route 30, Hinckley and its traditional downtown seems to be making the adjustment well. Waterman, by contrast, is building a gigantic subdivision east of town with cookie-cutter houses, all large on large lots, and connected to nothing. As a society, we have a long way to go to achieve sustainability. In tiny Waterman, even for destinations that aren't a long way off, they'll have to get there by car. 

Bruce

Is Too Society

The latest issue of Perspectives on Politics, a journal published by the American Political Science Association, has a number of articles related to the financial crisis which began in 2008, and the impacts it has had on American society. Two speak directly to the core question of this blog--how are we going to live together?--and are worthy of comment.

In "The Insecure American: Economic Experiences, Financial Worries, and Policy Attitudes," Jacob S. Hacker and two co-authors report results of a survey that asked Americans about their economic experiences and expectations. The economic crisis brought a "dramatic" increase in the number of people reporting worrying about things like losing jobs, losing health insurance coverage and not being able to keep up with rent or mortgage payments. These worries were "far greater" among nonwhites, people with lower incomes, and people with less educational attainment. The worried are more likely to support government social policies--the "very worried" especially so.

In "Democracy and the Policy Preferences of Wealthy Americans," Benjamin I. Page, Larry M. Bartels and Jason Seawright report on a survey of wealthy Chicago residents. The average income of their respondents was $1,040,140; the median wealth was $7,500,000. Compared to surveys of the general population, respondents in this survey reported far more political activity and attitudes that were in the main (though not universally) far more conservative. The survey asked about a broad range of issues, including the economy, social programs, health care, Social Security and education. The three points of greatest difference were:

• 52: The federal government should spend whatever is necessary to ensure that all children have really good public schools they can go to (general public 87, SESA survey 35)
• 50: The federal government should make sure that everyone who wants to go to college can do so (general public 78, SESA survey 28)
• 49: The government in Washington ought to see to it that everyone who wants to work can find a job (general public 68, SESA survey 19)

The two articles explore in depth different dimensions of our contemporary economic reality: current economic arrangements increase insecurity for most people, and do so in ways that are experienced very differently by people in different life situations. It is clear from these surveys that they know it. This may not be even worth mentioning except that there is little sense of a common destiny among Americans. Many people feel like they've achieved exemption from ordinary insecurities, and work to ensure that their status is protected (for example, by eliminating the tax on estates). Many people have given up. Most people seem to be in some sort of middle state, where they're getting by but aware that one adverse event can knock them severely off track. For their perpetual insecurity they blame whoever they don't like--the government, the rich, the poor, oil companies, Obama, Bush, ...

It is interesting to read and write this in the week following the death of former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. She, and her contemporary Ronald Reagan, are widely credited with getting their governments out of ditches, and preparing their societies for the information age economy. They are also criticized for attacking the social safety net and leaving individuals to their own devices amidst increasing economic insecurity. Individualism and competition have their roles to play. But Thatcher is widely quoted as saying, "There is no such thing as 'society.'" The quote's been taken out of context, and so probably doesn't bear deep analysis. But a people who have tilted heavily in the direction of individualism and competition, with no concern for the opportunities of the people around them, is a people that has lost their souls. It may be better in the short run for the rich if they become ever richer, but a public sphere that is impoverished leaves us all poorer eventually--if not financially, then at least in terms of quality of life.

Source: Stanford Center on Poverty and Inequality, http://www.stanford.edu/group/scspi/cgi-bin/facts.php

Something's up at the Armstrong Building

As of this afternoon, people entering the Armstrong building on the 3rd Street side are greeted by signs like this:

That's because, beyond the library entrance, before you get to the lobby and the food court, some men are building a wall:

The library staff was not sure why this wall is being built. They were told it had something to do with building an underground parking garage. Meanwhile, the library now has a back door so patrons can access the washrooms (hard to find anyway, but they're behind the food court) as well as the stairs to the skywalks.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall. I'll miss seeing the stream of people walking through this hallway as I study. But I suppose underground parking garages, like bypasses, have got to be built.

Bruce

Sacred Places In-between

In my readings about place this semester I ran across an article by Steven Pickard in the Journal of Anglican Studies: "Church of the In-Between God: Recovering an Ecclesial Sense of Place Down-Under" (May 2009). It's an unlikely journal for me to run across, but Ebsco is a rare and beautiful thing. I talked about Pickard's article in our church's adult Sunday School this morning, and the class had some interesting responses.

Pickard writes from the perspective of an Anglican in Australia, and while I am neither, his observations have wider import. He describes Australian Anglicanism as "a colonial church 12,000 miles on the other side of the known world, on the largest and driest island continent on Earth." Consequently church members set about trying to establish a sense of home, which they do, but they remain oriented to faraway Britain instead of their immediate surroundings. This makes it difficult to adapt to their physical surroundings as well as their fellow inhabitants, particularly indigenous people that got colonized upon.

Their situation isn't identical with ours, but middle-class churches can identify with their situation to a considerable degree. Particularly, he suggests, globalization creates insecurity on so many levels (homogenization of places, economic dislocations, &c.) that we may well feel the need to establish roots in secure and protected spaces. And this is OK, as long as we don't just stay there. To quote the hymn "In the Garden," which by the way is 100 years old this year, "he bids me go; thru the voice of woe his voice to me is calling."

It is good to be welcoming to visitors, but today's churches have to face the reality that many people are not likely to seek them out. Through much of the 20th century, going to church was socially-expected, and people went where their parents went, or their neighbors, or co-workers, and then they kept going, and the churches didn't have to work too hard to attract people. Maybe they could put more energy into weeding out the undesirables? Anyway, in today's more secular America, this is quite clearly no longer the case. And that stands to reason: my comfort at my church stems in part from going there for 22 years, which means I know a lot of the people, the theology, the location of the rest rooms, and perhaps most important the unwritten rules of normal behavior. An outsider obviously is not going to feel that degree of comfort; in fact, they are likely to be uncomfortable in inverse proportion to our comfort! So only some other strong motivation is likely to bring them in.

Pickard advocates what he calls "life-at-the-boundary," the boundary, that is, between the safe place of our church home and the relative chaos of the world beyond. It is along these boundaries, he says, where routines and roles are disrupted enough to allow "new and creative opportunities for life together [and] new patterns of human interaction arise." He draws on a book which I have not read, A Christian Theology of Place by John Inge (2003), to argue that any "location of meeting and activity in the interaction between God and the world" could be a sacred place. Pickard cites two familiar, powerful incidents in Jesus's ministry: the encounter with the woman at the well in Samaria, which occurred because Jesus led his disciples out of the comfort zones of Judea and Galilee into decidedly alien territory; and the post-resurrection encounter with two followers on the road to Emmaus, where the men do not even recognize Jesus when they see him apart from their usual meeting place.

The members of the class took the class in a number of different directions, including: encouraging members of the community (however defined) to share their talents and gifts, developing a sense of acceptance in the church, issues with welcoming new ideas, and the trials of relocating to a new town. All agreed that going out beyond our shelter is a core part of the church's job. That much was not even controversial.

So why is it so difficult to do? Pickard stresses the aspect of risk, and I can certainly identify with that. I am not comfortable meeting new people, particularly in unstructured situations. And time is always in short supply, even in the City of Five Seasons. I wonder if there are sufficient opportunities available, or even structures where those opportunities could be created? Habitat for Humanity builds or work trips or medical missions are great experiences, maybe even life-changing, and I think Pickard is thinking of more routine encounters. There are opportunities for charitable work with meals programs, health clinics, and homeless ministries in our town, but those are encounters specifically designed to help those in critical need. Are there "in-between places" where people can meet mutually?

Toward the end, the discussion went off to discuss our church's welcoming stance towards gays and lesbians, and how some people may not feel welcomed in a church that welcomes gays. Moreover, our church sponsors a Boy Scout troop, and the Boy Scouts have their own rules and issues about homosexuality. Those are interesting and difficult questions, but I think are NOT the issue here. In those cases the church is addressing how it deals with people in its own home. The "in-between places" of which Pickard writes are no one's home, the encounters are mutual, and structures and rules remain to be negotiated. It is in such "neutral places where relationships are less clear and consequently open to new possibilities."

Are there such places?

Skywalker

(Skywalk System enters the Higley Building)

(4/5/2013) I've been reading a lot lately about the New Urbanism, which has been very interesting and provocative, and which I expect to address in a post soon. One of the best books in the area is Suburban Nation: The Rise of Sprawl and the Decline of the American Dream by a trio of planners: Andres Duany, Elizabeth Plater-Zyberk and Jeff Speck (North Point Press, 2000). (Ms. Plater-Zyberk is also the Dean of the School of Architecture at the University of Miami.) Amidst an impressive array of pertinent observations and recommendations, the trio takes part of chapter 9 to inveigh against "pedestrian bridges." This struck me forcefully, because as I've already told you, I love love love Cedar Rapids's Downtown Skywalk System.

Duany et al. argue that skywalks work against urban vitality. Cities, to succeed, must be designed to do what cities do best: provide "a public realm, with the vibrant street life that phrase implies" (p. 156). That means city neighborhoods, particularly downtowns, must offer a mix of eating, shopping, working and socializing, so that there is activity at any hour of the day and night. And in the center of this is, not streets full of cars, but sidewalks full of pedestrians. Skywalks, they say, are designed to achieve two goals, both of which work against urban vitality: (1) get pedestrians out of the way of cars so they can move more freely and quickly through downtown streets; and (2) get professional people up and away from icky poor people on the street. They discount factors related to adverse weather that might make walking unpleasant during long hot summers in Dallas or long cold winters in Minneapolis (or Cedar Rapids): "Only in the most extreme conditions has bad weather proved capable of eliminating pedestrian traffic along a properly designed street. There is more sidewalk-fronting retails space in Toronto than in all the cities of the Sun Belt combined" (p. 159n).

In that same footnote, they quote a 1992 article by Trevor Boddy: "Precisely because downtown streets are the last preserve of something approaching a mixing of all sectors of society, their replacement by the sealed realm overhead and underground has enormous implications for all aspects of political life. Constitutional guarantees of free speech and of freedom of association and assembly mean much less if there is literally no peopled public space to serve as forum in which to act out these rights."

Before I respond, I'll pile on with more consideration: In a stretched city budget, would I rather see Cedar Rapids (a) expand the Skywalk System; (b) extend our rudimentary trails system; (c) build sidewalks on Prairie Drive NE and Memorial Drive SE; (d) reclaim some of our endless acres of surface parking for some more useful purpose? Well, I'd like to do all of those things, but I must admit "(a)" is at the bottom of the priority list.

So why do I love the Skywalk System so much. (Gee, after writing the above paragraphs, maybe I don't!) Part of it has to do with the frequently hostile weather in our town, and yes, the fact that drivers are not conditioned to look for pedestrians. Just yesterday, a woman turning right onto 4th Av, eyeing a parking space on the far side of the street and enjoying a vigorous conversation with her passenger, got uncomfortably close to your author. But I can do better than that.

One thing I love about the Skywalk System, and which somewhat redeems it from the criticisms made by Duany, Boddy and others, is its utter impracticality. Walking the skywalks is an adventure. Far from paralleling the sidewalks, the skywalks twist and turn all over the place. Last week I overheard one of the public library staff telling her colleague, "On the skywalks it takes you four blocks to go two." They're better signposted than they used to be, but back in the '90s it was a well-known challenge to get from one end to the other without getting lost. It's not quite an autonomous ramble through uncharted territory, but it can feel pretty close.

Secondly, the Skywalks put me in buildings I'd never be in otherwise, at least not up to the second or third floors. Some of the most venerable architecture remaining in Cedar Rapids, a city that has long loved to tear itself down, is in the downtown commercial district. The skywalks run you through the American Building (1913, pictured below), the Higley Building (1918), the Dows Building (1930), and other places that exude history and where I'd have no other business being. I'm not sure the staff of Scherup Blades or United Fire and Casualty need me to walk down their hallways, but I'm grateful for the chances to do so.

The skywalks were already here when we moved to Cedar Rapids in 1989, so I wasn't around for the discussions around building them. But I'm glad they're there, and now I've got my sons into them, too!

(Below: the American Building, completed in 1913, is one terminus of the twisted and confusing and totally lovable Skywalk System)

A couple programming notes:
 1. I'm doing a talk at church this weekend on "third (in-between) places." I'll summarize the discussion next week.
 2. "World Cafe," a public radio program out of Philadelphia has an occasional series called "A Sense of Place." Next week they're featuring Nashville.

The Place Where I Live

I live in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, a small city of 110,000 population (metro area: 150,000). Our house is about two miles east of downtown, in a well-kept neighborhood with lots of trees and sidewalks. We are close to Bever Park, a large multi-use city park; Brucemore National Historic Site; and Washington High School, which my two boys attend.

Cedar Rapids has a lot to recommend it. Our cultural amenities are modest, compared to a large city like Chicago or Minneapolis, but they are plenteous and accessible. My family are members of Brucemore, the Cedar Rapids Museum of Art, Friends of the Cedar Rapids Public Library, Indian Creek Nature Center, and the National Czech and Slovak Museum, which gives you an idea of the breadth of activities available. There is also minor league baseball, hockey and football, and an emerging trails system.

Downtown is slowly recovering from the flood of June 2008. It is almost entirely commercial; there are few places to shop, and even fewer places to live. There are some nice restaurants, though, along with the art and history museums, and the Czech and African-American History museums are not far off. There are two theaters, one hosting the drama group Theatre Cedar Rapids, and the other the Eastern Iowa Symphony Orchestra. The main branch of the library is due to open August 24 on 4th Avenue SE. My favorite part of downtown is the Skywalk system, which runs about two circuitous miles through office buildings. The ends are cut off due to reconstruction; I hope they eventually get reconnected. There are three outstanding coffee shops attached to the Skywalks, and another directly adjacent. About a mile south of downtown is New Bohemia, an area where there's been a lot of development post-flood, and which has developed an active night life.

Another strength of the town is the parks system, which includes several large parks as well as local "pocket" parks. Bever Park, about 3/4 mile east of our house, comprises several acres including a playground, petting zoo, duck pond, picnic areas, a large swimming pool (one of five in town), and some woodsy trails in the back of the park where it's hard to believe you're still in a city. Noelridge and Cherry Hill Parks are flatter and more open, and (to me) less interesting, although Noelridge's gardens are exceptional. Ellis Park, on the west side along the river, is larger than Bever and almost as diverse but harder to lose yourself in.

Because we're a small city in a sparsely-populated state, we've felt rather free to sprawl. I've heard Cedar Rapids covers more square miles than San Francisco, California, which is absurd if true. It's very difficult to get anywhere in town without a car. Grocery stores are few and tend to be enormous, surrounded by enormous parking lots. The sidewalks in our neighborhood are nice, and the city has undertaken a sidewalk construction project. There are plans to build a sidewalk along Prairie Drive NE, which desperately needs it, if the number of people walking in the street are any indication. I hope Memorial Drive SE is also on the list. But there's nothing within a five-block walk of our house except more houses and Brucemore. A lot of bars, restaurants and stores are concentrated in hellish strips on Mount Vernon Road SE, 33rd Avenue and Edgewood Road SW, and Collins Road NE, as well as around the two malls.

Historic preservation in Cedar Rapids is a struggle. A lot of our older commercial buildings have been torn down for parking lots, or newer uglier buildings. The area east of downtown, say between 6th and 10th Streets, is pretty much a dead zone except for the two medical complexes. I'm not sure what the answer is: the older buildings tend to get pretty run down before they get torn down. A case in point was the People's Church (Unitarian-Universalist), 600 3rd Av SE, built in 1878. By 2011, the congregation despaired of making the necessary repairs, and sold the property. Now the address is occupied by this:

Bruce