Driving down to my parents' place over the weekend, my wife and I drove past the enormous complex of heavy industrial facilities that line the New Jersey Turnpike located at the foot of the Goethals Bridge. Belching noise, smoke and smells unlike just about anywhere else on earth, the epicenter of why New Jersey got the reputation of being New Jersey got me to pondering the way in which land use choices can produce an uncomfortable and unsightly place to be. Luckily, only the people who travel past lucky Exit 13 of the New Jersey Turnpike are exposed to what is an ungodly place to be. Let me just say that I enjoyed the time I spent in New Jersey as a resident, and have nothing bad to say about the state. And the Garden State is not alone in having its share of eyesores that litter the landscape. The question becomes how state and local officials contend with them, and attempt to incorporate them into the prettier parts of the landscape.
Take for instance the situation in Florida, where there is a growing attempt to regulate phosphate mines that spread across the state. Near the Peace River estuary, three counties are attempting to block a 20,675 acre phosphate mine from opening in their territory. Concerned with the loss of forest land and wetlands over the last few decades, the counties are challenging permits that were granted by the State Environmental Protection Department. Sure, the environmental and economic effects of these huge open mines seem to be sufficient factors to drive the opposition. However, it seems strange that there is no discussion of the operation of phosphate mining itself, and the way in which it scars the landscape. There are regulations that require mine operators to refill the affected areas when the sought-after materials have been extracted. Yet, just like their counterparts in New Jersey, the locals around the phosphate mines appear to accept the existence of the intensive activity, for some form of a "greater good," provided there are no ancillary effects on their way of life.
Shifting away from Florida, what about the eyesore that has defined America over the last half-century: I'm talking about the omnipresent suburban commercial strip lined with garish signage, fast food restaurants, roadside motels and big box retailers. In a place where they know a thing or two about garish decor, there is an attempt to spruce up one such strip for the better. In Memphis, Tennessee, the immediate area around Graceland, the former home of Elvis Presley, has deteriorated over the years into a run-down stretch of Americana that could certainly use a facelift. As the anchor of the community, the new controlling owner of Graceland, CKX Inc., is looking to invest $250 million in upgrading the facility. Plans have been announced, just before the 30th anniversary of the King's death, to add a new visitor center, a hotel and a high-tech museum on 100 acres next to the tourist destination. The head of Elvis Presley Enterprises, which is now a subsidiary of CKX, boils down the issue. "We've continued all these years to be a major destination attraction with a busy, pretty unattractive street running right through the middle of it." Having visited recently, I can vouch for this assessment. The tourist center is located across the street from the actual home -- plans are to put everything on one side. However, the intention is not to insulate the facility from the community. "We don't want to create an island," the head continues," "We want to be a catalyst for the right kind of growth and the right kind of revitalization of the commercial corridors." Seeing the need to remove the eyesore, which oddly enough isn't Graceland, the people running the facility have a keen sense how to eradicate it from the area.
In a world where we're all being forced to get a little closer to our neighbors (take for example a recent article talking about the greater Los Angeles region), the threat of constructing something that will offend one of the neighbors grows ever greater. There are many ways to go about it, but as is clear from above, the fight to eliminate them is on. Something like the New Jersey industrial complex may be difficult to remove. But for those that have either fallen out of favor, or fallen out of style, the tide marches on towards something new. Of course, as is true for anything built in America, this "new" proposal will no doubt face its fate as the eyesore of the next generation.
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