Building From Scratch

In a week where one of the last remaining original copies of the Magna Carta was purchased at auction, it seems fitting to return to the beginning of things, to a time when the built-up environment left a scant mark on the landscape, or even when places still had that stamp of newness that seems so long ago. The story item that caught my attention, and brought me to this topic, was the news out of the Chinese/Vietnamese border, where Asian Highway No. 14 is on its way to fruition. In an attempt to create a modern surface transportation network throughout the continent, plans are in the works for an 87,000-mile highway network across Asia. The 152-mile stretch from Hanoi to Lao Cai is meant as a gateway from China's Yunnan Province to the seaports of Vietnam, all in the interest of expanding the global reach of Asia's growing economic strength. As if drawn on a clean sheet of paper, the highway will change things, hopefully for the better, for the residents and businesses in this neck of the world. It will dirty things up further, and displace around 25,000 people, so hopefully it will all be worth it.

Another tidbit that got me to thinking about drastic changes to once untapped regions actually comes from the middle of the Chicagoland metropolitan area. How the heck are revolutionary changes supposed to happen on the well-tread shores of Lake Michigan, you ask? Well, in Evanston, the city nestled along the northern border of Chicago proper, they are looking to open up the door to a whole new kind of place from what it is now. Home to Northwestern University (which I called home for four years) and the Women's Christian Temperance Union movement, the current leaders of the city are welcoming in a proposed 523-foot tall building into the relatively modest skyline its downtown now musters. Nothing now existing in the suburb rises within 200 feet of the proposed tower. It would be seen miles away. A recent 4-3 vote of the Evanston Plan Commission has sent the process to the next step, but there are still significant hurdles to redefine the community. As one opponent noted, "Evanston is a little university town. It seems out of character to have a skyscraper here." We'll see which camp's vision for Evanston's future will win out.

And how about down in New Orleans, where the work to rebuild the city from the ground up continues to face daily battles as to what the vision will be. This week city politics have been ensnarled in a massive protest from citizens angry that the federal government plans to demolish thousands of low income housing units, with no real assurances that these units will be replaced. Brad Pitt's lofty plans aside, New Orleans struggles each day with these issues where complex, competing forces make the task almost impossible. People don't want to return to the past, but they do want to return to the home they remember. The real issue seems to be whether the vision for New Orleans actually foresees the inclusion of the residents that lived there prior to Katrina. As one of these stalwarts noted, "They don't want this city to be for the poor, working-class people. . . . Everyone else, kick them to the curb." Even though in some ways starting from scratch, there's a lot of history, resentment and suspicion planted on the banks of the Mississippi.

As we approach the time to put up a new calendar on the wall, it's another chance to start over. But for those out there celebrating Christmas (or even those who just get a few extra days off), this is the time to hold onto and enjoy a bit of the current state of things, before it is time yet again to forge ahead, and start anew. Enjoy!

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."