Above It All

Each day, as I drive home from work, I have the pleasure of looking off in the distance, and eyeing the odd beauty that is the New York City skyline. Anchoring it in the middle of it all is the venerable Empire State Building, rising to the clouds, holding down the fort as the tallest structure in the city -- at least until the Freedom Tower is completed within the next decade. Ever since the Woolworth and Flatiron Buildings ushered in the age of the skyscraper, other cities have followed suit to use height as a way to define their image and power on the world stage. The Sears Tower wrestled the reins of the world's tallest from New York in the '70's. Although a coup, it was really the current wave of skyscraper construction, started in the '90's with the Petronas Towers of Kuala Lampur, Malaysia, that shifted the epicenter out of America, and towards other places that are seeking to define themselves in the global marketplace with attention-grabbing megastructures.

For instance, in South Korea, cities are battling each other for supremacy in the race to build ever higher. Incheon, better known as an important landing spot during the Korean War, is now seeking to put itself on the map in a bigger way with the Songdo Incheon Towers, a double-towered complex planned to rise over 2,000 feet into the air. Seoul, the capital, is seeking to answer its less illustrious neighbor with a ridiculous 3,200-foot behemoth. The Empire State Building would stand in their shadows, rising a mere 1,250 feet. Currently, the tallest building in the world lies in Taiwan, the Taipei 101, at 1,667 feet. Sure, the tallest man-made structure is an American radio tower, but it's in North Dakota. Generally, tall structures are meant to be located in the context of a growing, optimistic place. The recent rash of building is no different, as most of the new buildings have, or will rise in cities in Asia and the Middle East. As one observer has noted, "Chinese cities that I've never heard of are building skylines that rival New York's."

Despite the massive scale of these projects, which tend to dwarf the pedestrian-scale communities so often sought after by modern land use planners, places still see the value in building high. Even New York and Chicago have planned tall buildings for their near future. The answer not only lies in the original motivation to build up -- rising urban land prices -- and the modern technological advances that have enabled engineers and developers to propel ever higher. The deeper reason lies in the psychology of place, and the need for inhabitants of a certain town to feel as if they belong in the "big time." If they can build these technological marvels, the argument goes, then they are capable of anything. The same motivation that drove the likes of Chicago to escape its image as the world's slaughterhouse on the heartland's prairie drives Dubai to rise above the desert floor and foster its place as the financial center of the Middle East.

Take a moment to scan SkyscraperPage.com, and it's hard to not be taken in by the flashiness that tall buildings bring. Lined up one against the other, it becomes even clearer the power that they produce for a place. You can even look at the inventory of each major city, to see how each stacks up against one other. It is the simple awe that these structures produce that keeps city leaders and engineers seeking to build the next greatest building. Interestingly, this weekend, TCM will begin running a series of films under the banner of "Celuloid Skyline," that capture the majesty of New York City. Not surprisingly, skyscrapers will play an important role. It is the fascination in our imaginations that make skyscrapers so powerful, and why they are so important for a place -- especially when they are no longer there. Every evening I peer out over the New York skyline, it is hard to ignore the thoughts of the missing Twin Towers, standing with the Empire State Building, anchoring lower Manhattan. Tall buildings are erected with the belief they will stand forever. Even if no longer there, they will not be forgotten.

A River Runs Through It

Who can resist a waterfront view? The closest I've come thus far is an obstructed glimpse of the top of the towers that support the George Washington Bridge when I lived in New Jersey. Right now, I stare out over a lovely community garden (if you ignore the fruit flies that converge on the site, and infiltrate our apartment). But it's not the same. I still have fond memories of the places my fiance and I stayed in Hawaii when we visited a few years ago. At one locale we stared out over the beaches of Kapalua, on Maui, with the volcanic humps that make up modern-day Molokai off in the distance. On the Big Island, we were literally on the water, looking out over the western horizon, allowing us the chance to watch the sunset from the comfort of our lanai. As we head to Portugal for our honeymoon next month, we wait in anticipation for the resort we have lined up in Madeira, the island off the coast, where we will have unobstructed views of the Atlantic Ocean below. When available, waterfront property still reigns as one of the most sought after places to locate. But who wants to risk being under water in a few years once the polar ice caps cross over the tipping point? In the interest of global warming-minded folks out there, it seems that in lieu of those treacherous, and potentially costly ocean views, vantage points overlooking a river seem like a welcome alternative.

For instance, in the St. Louis region, 28,000 homes on over 6,000 acres have been built near the majestic Mississippi in the last fifteen years. One little tidbit that should be mentioned is that this same area was under water during the massive floods that hit the region that year. In light of the recent flooding in the region, where the nearby Missouri River jumped its banks, it seems that maybe even rivers aren't safe from the upheaval happening in the Earth's climate. Nonetheless, people cannot resist the innate urge to be by the water. As one resident in the threatened area noted, "'It's not going to flood here for another 100 years and I won't be around by then.'" Not exactly the best attitude, but one that appears to carry the day for the people that have decided to tempt fate and live near the river.

How about Knoxville, Tennessee, where optimistic developers are investing in projects along the Tennessee River. On the south banks, where the manufacturing base of the community once hummed, a new residential neighborhood is sprouting to offer people the chance to live near the central business district, have access to the burgeoning arts scene in the city, and, you guessed it, live near the water. Part of the vision by Mayor Bill Haslam to bring people back downtown, it has the strong draw of the river to entice people away from their McMansions in the suburbs. As one proud, recent buyer into the area noted, "'It's all about being on the water. It's a great investment.'" (See, "Reviving a No Man's Land Along the Tennessee River," by Keith Schneider, New York Times, May 13, 2007).

Another feel good story is Newark, New Jersey, a place I called my workplace for several years. Bordered by the Passaic River, people are returning to the city best known for the 1967 riots. Not just about the Ironbound now, other areas of the city are seeing growth in new residential projects. Attracted by the beach heads of the New Jersey Performing Arts Center, the aforementioned Ironbound district, so named for the railroad tracks that surround it, and today a hotbed of Portuguese restaurants and appreciating residential units, young professionals working in New York City see it as a welcome alternative to the high costs of Jersey City, Hoboken, and the City itself. Maybe the river is a stretch in this case, particularly since no one aside from the intermittent rowing teams seem to use it for recreational purposes (with good reason). Nonetheless, a view of the Passaic is still a view of the water.

But a river won't guarantee a place's success. Take the example of Cairo, Illinois, at the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers. At first blush, it seems like an ideal location. But Cairo has fallen on hard times, combined with bad soil, the end of the riverboat era, the Great Depression and civil strife. Nonetheless, the new mayor, the city's first African American chief executive, Judson Childs, at 73, is looking to turn the corner. Although he has a long way to go, he certainly has one thing going for him: that highly sought after location next to two mighty rivers. Someday someone no doubt will see the gold mine hidden at the bottom of Illinois, once many of the other waterfront views are no more. Perhaps this is an unduly dire prediction, but it is one that should be in the calculation of regions looking to expand "along the water."

What's That Outside My Window?

A few days ago, the powers that be within our building posted an advertisement for a vacant lot. Upon closer inspection, it was not meant to attract interested buyers -- quite the contrary, in fact. The flyer was for the parcel behind our building, which right now appears to be a makeshift mini-storage facility. Behind the chain link fence is a long-outmoded streetcar or bus (at this point it's hard to tell), crammed with all sorts of miscellaneous items that are shoved so tight they block passersby from viewing inside the windows. Every now and then there's a car parked inside the gates -- perhaps the owner spending some quality time on his otherwise abandoned lot. Surrounding the site, along with our building, are other residences and a local spot for artists and music shows. Asking price: over seven million dollars. Whether it's a fair price or not, the reason our neighbors brought this tidbit of news to our attention is because the advertisement insinuates that the local zoning requirements would permit a 10-story building to rise next door to us. There goes the neighborhood. Or then again, maybe not.

Of course, being so often on the other side of these squabbles, I understand the sensational nature of our fellow building residents' assertions. The numbers of course came from the announcement itself, prepared by the real estate agent for the owner, which no doubt ignores the gap between the maximum permitted buildout and what realistically would get past the applicable land use board. I mean, really, if there's one lesson I've learned over the course of my time in the land use arena is that if you have to trust anyone, try avoiding finding yourself choosing amongst a collection of real estate agents. I always think back to the days of the shady land speculators that sold and sold again a good chunk of the West, or when people would successfully sell a portion of the Brooklyn Bridge, or perhaps when someone could unload a prime tract of swampland in Florida. Or look around today.

For instance, in remote Box Elder County, Utah, local officials have had to notify 3,000 unsuspecting individuals who bought parcels of land from smarmy developers that their purchases were illegal and invalid. The culprits in this sham never bothered to get subdivision approval from the county, which would have allowed them to legally carve up and dispose of their tracts. The sad folks who fell into these schemes are proud owners of investments which amount to little more than mirages that appear in that desert region. Using eBay and other willing Internet providers, the sellers have netted millions, from such far away sources as Germany and Australia. Even if the new owners wanted to see their lands, they would have no right, because they have no access from public rights-of-way.

Okay, so we're talking about a simple case of fraud, committed on people who in a lot of ways have no one to blame but themselves for their stupidity. Apparently many of them didn't even bother to take a look at their new little slice of heaven before they plopped down the asking price from afar. But underlying this episode, along with the matter outside my window, is the way in which land use so often gets lost in the shuffle, or gets twisted in a way to become unrecognizable from the truth. As they say, the truth is out there, and doesn't take much to find the answers. In a way I want to jump into the fray, and help guide my neighbors on their path to NIMBYism. On the other hand, it's almost more worthwhile to let them jump in and fend for themselves. Not only will they learn about the land use process, they'll realize that the next time they require the services of a real estate agent, or are thinking about buying into a desert oasis, they may want to do a little independent research to make sure they know the facts.

Free Stuff!

Walking back from the gym over the weekend, I came across an odd sight on the side of the sidewalk. Hanging from the iron fence guarding a brownstone were various articles of clothing, suspended from hangars originating from a local dry cleaners, as if to lend the impression of cleanliness to the offerings. Boxes sat underneath the clothes, filled with books and other knickknacks. I've seen this sort of display before out in the neighborhood, but what changed it for me was the modest, handwritten sign accompanying the wares that read "Free Stuff!" I suppose that made things more appealing for my neighbors, as I watched them scavenge through the goods for that gem amongst the roughness. I wanted to look, but in the back of my mind, I imagined the impromptu sidewalk sale could have been for all sorts of reasons. My favorite was imagining it as a spurned lover trying to get back at the one who rejected him or her. In any event, I kept walking.

But another tidbit of interest struck my fancy that brought me back to the wares on the street -- at least in my thoughts. Back in December, Sao Paulo, Brazil, in response to perennial offenders of their restrictions, and in an effort to combat "visual pollution," imposed a ban on all outdoor advertising throughout the city. Not only would billboards and signs have to come down, but all forms of public advertising, including paper flyers and streamers fluttering from planes, were eliminated from the 11-million strong city. Living in a place where Jameson's can splash ads for their Irish whiskey across the insides of subway cars ridden by schoolchildren, I was astonished to learn the extreme steps the Brazilian metropolis has taken to relieve the populace from information overload. Having spent hours of my life reshaping and haggling over every imaginable aspect of commercial signage for projects on my file list, I can almost appreciate the simplicity in Sao Paulo's efforts.

But putting aside the First Amendment issues, particularly since Sao Paulo is not subject to the U.S. Constitution, the question becomes who controls the public domain? Sure, billboards have been the bane of many a municipality's existence, particularly those that have highways passing through them. Zoning ordinances commonly attempt to keep them out. But what about those places that have turned advertising into inherent parts of their identity? In New York, Times Square has turned the cacophony of sight and sound that is eyesore advertising into an art. The Pepsi-Cola sign in Long Island City became a historic landmark. For those fans of The Sopranos out there, how could Tony Soprano drive through Jersey without passing by the "Drive Safely" signs posted on the Citco oil tanks along the New Jersey Turnpike, or Pizzaland once he makes it to the local streets. And what about my former home, where the Hollywood sign started as an ad for a housing development. Don't these icons have a place in our places?

I can certainly understand the source of Sao Paulo's frustration. Commercial enterprises have long sought to stretch the bounds of decency in order to gain attention for their goods and services. Fast-food restaurants rely on huge signage to draw in the impulse buyers who make up a large percentage of their customers. Even the City of San Francisco went too far last year when it tried to scent its bus stops with the warm goodness of cookies to push milk. But the absence of all signage and advertisements would in a way denude the very things that define a community, not to mention make it kind of difficult to pick out where you're trying to head when you don't know exactly where you are. Sao Paulo's honorable plan will most likely end once the litany of lawsuits work their way through the Brazilian legal system. But once the dust settles, it sure is interesting to think about a world without the daily bombardment of our commercial world. Would it be kinder and gentler? Probably, but then how would we know when someone's giving away free stuff?

To Pay or Not to Pay

In my first month back on the job, I've been reacquainting myself with Long Island. After having been away on a day-to-day basis for over a decade, I'm discovering the changes that have occurred in the interceding years. On my seemingly frequent trips thus far out to the Eastern End, I'm spotting a slew of development projects that did not exist in my memories. I'm not exactly surprised, as the push had commenced way before I left for the "mainland." But aside from relearning the geography, I'm also engaging once again in the daily realities that comprise the land use process. At the top of this list, as it is no doubt for many land use practitioners, is the contact one has with the decision makers and administrative officials filling the seats and positions at the municipalities within which one operates. By and large, these folks are committed public servants who, despite the travails of working with us professional types (and the not-so-professional applicants from the residential realm), perform their duties amiably and competently.

Of course, every now and then, as in any social realm, there will be conflict and personality clashes. I try to avoid such messiness, as it serves to only muddle an already muddy process. But every now and then, I scratch my head at the operation of things. Over the past month or so, Newsday, the Long Island newspaper, has been running stories that have exposed the practice of granting land use board members generous perks in furtherance of their duties. For instance, in the Town of Hempstead, the Town Council, despite outside pressure, preserved full medical benefits for the members of the zoning board of appeals for their part-time work. This fabulous compensation supplements the $38,000 a year each member already makes. Incidentally, one of the board members happens to be Katuria D'Amato, wife of former Senator and power broker Alfonse D'Amato.

Coming from New Jersey, where the vast majority of land use board members serve for nothing in return except a pat on the back, or maybe a paltry stipend, the news made me question any fond memories I may have had in connection with a bucolic Long Island of yore, or even the shopping centers that replaced it. But looking past the obvious shock value which Newsday sought to exploit, I thought deeper on the subject to consider whether these thankless public servants should get more than a sense of satisfaction. Why not pay board members to listen to application after application, until the clock contorts to the wee hours of the night? Why not attract people to the process who aren't just friends of the politicians who happen to control Town or Village Hall? If this were a formal study, it would first be intriguing to find out what the current state of affairs is across the country. The next step would be to analyze how the various approaches have fared. But at this inquiry's core, if the process is meant to be one of peers judging peers, like a jury, or each individual voter, how does money change the process? Sure, jurors get paid, but not enough to pay for an addition to the house. They also aren't covered if they happen to require medical attention during their service.

Where do I fall on all this? Well, for me, it's about the system working. Take the Hempstead example again. In the Village of Hempstead, an incorporated area within the Town of the same name, progress continues ahead to rebuild the municipality after years of decay. One such example, the renovation of Cedar Valley Apartments, has attempted to attract homeowners back to the Village by offering low-income buyers assistance through federal grants to buy back into the community. Spearheaded by Mayor Wayne Hall, County Supervisor Thomas Suozzi and the developer, ABC Properties, the plan is to use this success as a springboard for others. This is what the process is all about -- everyone working together. The question is, how much should it cost to get something like this done?