An Embarrassment of Riches

In a nation where everything has to be bigger and better, especially around this time of year, it's novel to see the things going on around the nation to attempt to curtail our voracious appetites, especially when it comes to devouring the land. One recent story that struck my fancy came out of Los Angeles, where the land of sprawl is coming to terms with its increasing density. The city's Planning Commission is contemplating a measure to curtail the McMansion effect that has plagued many of the metropolis' communities over the last few decades. In some camps, the measure falls short of what they are looking for to end the age of monstrosities on tiny single-family lots, what one City Councilman calls "Mansionization." First, the measure will only effect homes falling within a single type of zoning district, and would still permit homes to be half the square footage of the size of their respective lot. In addition, architectural requirements have not been added to the proposal, which effectively would allow the same "box" construction that many hope the revision to the zoning ordinance would end. Nonetheless, in a city where the average new home measures out at 3,250 square feet, it's a start.

How about in New York City, where the crush of cars that clog the 1950's style highway system has brought on the congestion pricing scheme that continues to work its way through the lengthy approval process. For the unindoctrinated, the plan would charge for all cars seeking to enter the island of Manhattan below 86th Street during peak times. In particular, tolls would be charged at the inbound Brooklyn, Manhattan, Williamsburg and Queensborough (59th Street) Bridges. Tolls were originally charged on these bridges (the ones that were around) up to 1911. The issue has been considered in various forms since the '60s, but has never been implemented. This week, the state commission charged with the hot potato continues to evaluate the proposal. It must issue its recommendation to the New York State Legislature and New York City Council for their approval.

In the same arena, which likewise impacts the congestion around New York, the U.S. Transportation Department plans on imposing limits on the number of flights coming in and out of John F. Kennedy Airport to alleviate the clogged skies above the Big Apple. An auction process may be instituted to distribute the coveted slots. The airlines see the measure as nothing less than a Kelo-like taking of property. As one spokesman noted, "We would oppose any auction process that seizes the existing assets of the airlines that have invested hundreds of millions, if not billions, over the years. . . ." Either way, the plan suggests that we need to safeguard our precious space -- even if it's 30,000 feet above our heads.

Finally, a spirit of sharing has emerged from the latest landmark agreement to redistribute the resources of the Colorado River amongst the states of the Western U.S. With dropping reservoirs met by increasing growth in the states of California, Nevada, Arizona, Colorado, Utah, New Mexico and Wyoming, the new plan fosters conservation and encourages scaling back the growth. As is unavoidable with any agreement, there will be grumbling. Environmental groups say it doesn't go far enough. The plan calls for decreasing water deliveries in times of drought. But nothing stops thirsty locales from sucking the river dry to those levels. Nonetheless, the realization has begun that maybe the era of America' embarrassment of riches may soon be over.

The Big Picture

Last time we looked at ways that municipalities are using simple tweaks to their local processes to end up with good results for their inhabitants. Even the seemingly most minor choices can have a significant impact. What about choices that can have metropolitan-wide effects on the perception of a community? Oftentimes, this is more important for a community than the reality. From the items I've been finding this week, which prompted my thoughts on such big picture issues, one can see the effect that such decisions can have on an entire region. Take for example the news out of Los Angeles (which doesn't have to do with the writer's strike), where the LA County's Metropolitan Transportation Authority has voted to install turnstiles into their nascent subway and light-rail system. How is this a macro issue, you ask? As one talking head has opined in responding to the news, "Unfortunately, as L.A. gets to be more urban, it has these breakdowns in trust that happen in big cities." Author Joel Kotkin's comment misses the real point to be gained from the move. The result of this seemingly minor policy choice is that LA's transit system has moved into the big time, offering legitimacy by shifting from a little-enforced honor system to one that formalizes the fare-collection process. By investing millions in a seemingly minor aspect of the transit infrastructure, the MTA has established its facilities as a realistic way in which people can move about the seemingly endless metropolis.

Another curious phenomenon has been reported from the edges of Las Vegas, Nevada. In 1998, the U.S. Congress passed legislation that shifted money earned by the federal government in selling land in and around the Las Vegas region from a general Treasury account to one strictly devoted to the needs of the State of Nevada. What this has meant in the ensuing decade is that the State has partaken in a massive slush fund that has in turn been used to fuel the explosive development in the Las Vegas region. Intended to replace the sold land with the purchase of environmentally sensitive land, the expenditures from the fund have also gone to projects that foster the metropolis' growth, such as water facilities and community park amenities. As the Mayor of North Las Vegas has admitted, "We've gotten a bit greedy. . . . When your neighboring cities are asking for five times what you are, it tends to make your staff run around looking for projects." What's good for Nevada, is, well, good for Nevada. In the way that the federal government fostered suburban sprawl in the 1950's with FHA-backed mortgages and highway building, this new policy seems to be growing Las Vegas even further into the desert. But just like the LA decision is, the seemingly simple scheme in Las Vegas serves to increase the region's relevance, and thus the perception that it is continuing to grow at staggering rates -- which is also the reality.

Some other curious reports have come out recently, that also attempt to demonstrate how single choices shape the perception of regions. For instance, a recent Brookings Institution report ranked Washington, DC, as the most "walkable" region in the country. The top ranking was largely attributed to the Metro transit system that criss-crosses the region, allowing for transit-oriented development to crowd around the system's stops, creating active streetscapes that people want to perambulate through. Who knows how accurate the DC-based Brookings' study is, but it does again show how one decision can go a long way for a region.

Out of these slices of America comes the realization that public decision-making is no easy task. In addition, no one can predict for certain the impact of policy choices on big picture beliefs amongst the populace. But either way it goes, the perception will become reality. People can, and do, devote their lives to such efforts. Take the recent passing of advocate Eugene Jacobs, a California lawyer dubbed "the father of redevelopment law," who devoted his life to revitalizing downtowns. After a 60-year career, it will be easy to see the victories and losses of his efforts. But spending one's life on such issues points to the fact that the army out there pushing ahead today much take one's pursuits as seriously as the ones that have come before. As long as we follow this approach, we can only hope that the results will be as good, and big, as envisioned.

Hot Spots

As with the rest of America, I've been keeping a passing eye on what's happening in Southern California these days with the fires ravaging swaths of land across the region. Hundreds of thousands of people have been forced to flee their homes to escape the flames. The effects are catastrophic, with over a 1,000 homes destroyed to date, and the region being turned upside down. Having just moved from the Los Angeles area at the end of last year, my thoughts turn to the places that I've been that are now either in trouble or have already faced the wrath of the fires. My wife attended Pepperdine, which was on the brink of being engulfed. In Lake Arrowhead, about an hour and half to the east of downtown, friends of mine have a home. Down in Orange County, where more fires rage, other friends live and work. Further down around San Diego, the conflagration has forced the likes of golfer Phil Mickelson to leave his home. The San Diego Chargers were forced to fly to Arizona, to practice for their game this weekend. Their home, Qualcomm Stadium, is being used as an emergency shelter. Even north of Los Angeles, the television show "24" had to suspend shooting in light of the advancing flames.

The sheer size of the fires more than anything else highlights the sheer surface area engulfed by the Los Angeles/San Diego megaplex. And in some ways, this geographic reality, and the land use choices that have been made in creating the Southern California behemoth, have set the stage for such disasters to happen. Essentially an extension of the Mohave Desert, the Los Angeles Basin has pumped in its water, and thus its livelihood, to create the artificial metropolis. Similar to the ways in which 1871 Chicago, and 1666 London suffered the "Great Fires" of the pre-modern world on account of certain practices and land use choices, the same is true of modern day Los Angeles. Whereas Chicago and London lacked sufficient fire fighting techniques and departments, not to mention suffered from overcrowding and unchecked hazardous activities within their city centers, Los Angeles and San Diego has succumbed to being sited on a spot susceptible to drought and unfavorable Santa Ana winds.

There is no place for "I told you so"s in a time like this. In addition, in the course of human events, no matter what we do to prevent bad things from occurring, there will always be a finger to point that suggests it's our own doing. Look to any major metropolitan area in the nation, and each faces some sort of potential for massive calamity. Miami and New Orleans must withstand the ever-growing strength of hurricanes. San Francisco faces the threat of the impending "big one." Even my current home of New York faces the risk of being under water as the polar ice caps continue to melt. And then there's the impending threat occurring in the Southeast, where the water supplies are dwindling to nothing. States, and all sorts of governmental agencies, are fighting over reserves, as the sizes of reservoirs shrink. And slowly the drought conditions going on "down South" are creeping north and west. Are our wasteful land use practices to blame here as well?

At the bottom of it all is the more disturbing hypothesis that no matter how we live, all that our species can really do to stem the tide is to slow down the inevitable, rather than eradicate it completely. Sure, the fires will be extinguished, and the droughts will end. But then what? There are hopeful types out there like recently-minted Nobel laureate Al Gore who believes we can turn things around. But do we really have it in us? And when it comes to our approach to land use, is there really anywhere we can go to prevent us from suffering some level of calamity as a result of where we decide to settle and build? There may be answers, but perhaps the discussion has to grow louder and more sustained.

You Want to See an Eyesore?

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.

Bring on the Gloss

My fiancé, perfectly happy with our new location in Park Slope, Brooklyn, nonetheless has begun thinking about the next home. I don’t blame her, of course, since it’s time we start planning to join the ranks of homeowners. Predictably, our current neighborhood is not in our price range – at least for the type of home in which we envision ourselves. With that reality, my fiancé has explored other places that may fit our needs at a more affordable price. The neighborhood she has pinpointed, and thus become enamored with, is Red Hook, an area rough around the edges along the Brooklyn waterfront. It’s what realtors like to call a “transitional area,” a place at the edge of New York’s line of gentrification. We find ourselves over in Red Hook from time to time, to enjoy one of those outposts in the trend towards glossiness – the Fairway specialty supermarket. As we drive through the changing landscape of Red Hook, my thoughts often stray towards the matter of neighborhood upheaval, and the constant change areas face as the needs of a metropolitan region shift and morph.

Back in our former home of Los Angeles, Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa has unveiled two ambitious plans to revitalize the city’s moribund downtown. The Grand Avenue Project, comprising three acres across from the Frank Gehry-designed Walt Disney Concert Hall, will include residential units, retail and commercial space, all designed by Gehry. Along with the development, the project calls for a 16-acre park to stretch through the heart of the downtown district. Gehry has called the plan an “attempt to find” a downtown for the sprawling metropolis. On the southern end of downtown, work continues on the Los Angeles Sports and Entertainment District, which will expand and integrate with the existing Staples Center and Los Angeles Convention Center next door to create a mega-complex of entertainment spaces, residential units, hotels and restaurants. Together, the two projects seek to polish the image of Los Angeles’ "downtown," an elusive concept in a region of decentralized nodes scattered across a vast basin.

Amongst this chaos is the trend of people moving into the L.A. downtown area, adding a significant number of residents over the last several years. Out of a more organic movement, people have decided to populate this once desolate area after dark and form a viable community. Also included in the equation is “Skid Row,” the stretch of homeless service centers downtown that has created a colony of homeless persons occupying the area, not to mention the place for hospitals to dump destitute patients. On top of these realities is being placed the glossy image of the mythical downtown, which creates a question as to what will define this intricate neighborhood a decade from now. Predictions point to a Skid Row squeeze, and the rise of another area oozing with “desirability.” Granted, all types of neighborhoods are required in a bustling, thriving metropolis, including a grand nexus of commerce and open space, to celebrate and define the place. And who doesn't like glossy things to look at and enjoy? But are these the kind of projects to which public entities should devote its resources, and support in their efforts towards viability? Los Angeles has devoted tens millions of dollars in support for the two construction projects, mostly in the form of below market leases and tax rebates. This question is particularly acute considering downtown Los Angeles has already seen an evolving trend towards community without the proposed mega developments. Wouldn't it still be economically profitable to build as proposed without the added incentives?

On the other side of the proverbial tracks, in the Lower Ninth Ward of New Orleans, a neighborhood is rising above the floods – at least it’s trying. Last week, the nonprofit organization Acorn, in conjunction with loans from a California bank and support from Andres Duany, a Miami-based New Urbanist architect and planner deep in the Gulf reconstruction process, completed the first new homes in the neighborhood since Hurricane Katrina. Although admirable, the hopes of these pilot projects stimulating a return of the rest of the neighborhood are guarded at best. There are significant commitments from government funds for the Gulf region, but it is still unclear whether any of these resources will reach the Lower Ninth Ward. Without fancy towers or theater spaces, the reality of a neighborhood rebirth seems far out of reach.

When it comes to revitalizing a neighborhood, there are many avenues to follow across a spectrum of public and private support. Sometimes it makes good sense for localities to stimulate development using various incentives at their disposal. But regardless of how it's done, the simple matter of green must be present for a project to proceed. Be it downtown Los Angeles or Red Hook, Brooklyn, it takes the will of money to get anything done, and only then will the development follow. Money doesn’t flow towards projects that only serve to house people who work hard for little in return. At least, not enough. This isn't exactly a new problem, but it certainly hasn't been solved. And the bottom line reason behind it all is that such projects simply aren't glossy enough. The prestige of landmark level construction or of creating "the next Park Slope" is what draws the support. So while downtown Los Angeles and Red Hook, Brooklyn see bright futures, Skid Row and the Lower Ninth Ward face gloomy outlooks – until, of course, the will of money pushes into these neighborhoods, no doubt seeking a way to bring in the gloss and clear away their “undesirable” pasts.

L.A. Story

This week, after a stay of just over a year, my fiancé and I are packing up and leaving Los Angeles. Based on many factors that work themselves into such an equation, we have decided to move back to our place of origin – New York City. We turn back towards the east, knowing that New York is where we want to be. But as we tape up the final box, I look back at our time here with great affection. I came out here to try my hand at writing for television and film. Although I see it as a success, meeting a number of wonderful people, and I intend to continue my pursuit in New York, I did not “make a sale” while here. But the other learning experience I had while living in Los Angeles was the ability to enjoy a first hand experience of one of the most intriguing metropolitan regions on earth from a land use perspective. Los Angeles has always been the model of what not to do when it came to land use planning. Smoggy, sprawly and just plain ugly, pundits, politicians and professors have relegated it to one of the most ill-conceived settlements on earth.

Having driven the freeways, breathed the air, walked the beaches and explored its canyons, I leave this place better educated about why people continue to move here and grow this behemoth of a metropolitan area. Sure, the driving is terrible. The drivers, in fact, are even worse. There are days when it’s difficult to breathe (especially if you’re sensitive to bad air like I am). When it rains around here, the television meteorologists declare a state of emergency. Not having seasons does make you got nuts. The Los Angeles Times devotes a week’s worth of front page space to a celebrity (oh, let’s say Mel Gibson for instance) who gets stopped for having a few too many drinks. And yes, there is more silicone here than the Sahara Desert. But underneath the lunacy that defines Los Angeles is an environment that adds up to an oddly, but extremely, livable place.

Any observer of the urban condition will tell you that the key to a successful community is creating pedestrian-scale neighborhoods patched together by a collective sense of ownership. The very old joke in L.A. is that no one walks. For the most part, this is true. But nonetheless, “Los Angeles,” as constituted, is a patchwork of neighborhoods, one that blends into the next. If you travel down Sunset Boulevard, moving from the water inland, you weave through a multiplicity of different and distinct areas. Pacific Palisades leads to Brentwood. Cross over the 405 freeway and enter Westwood, which passes along the entrance to Bel Air, which evolves to Beverly Hills, which morphs into West Hollywood, which changes over to Hollywood, and so on, and so forth. You can take any path across the gigantic Los Angeles basin and find yourself traversing through a constant turnover in neighborhood after neighborhood, each with its own character and collection of denizens. The beach is very different from the Valley, the Hills provide a vast departure from Pasadena. The list and comparisons are like an old Love Connection episode, where each pair discusses how far apart the two of them live, all in the interest of dinner and a movie.

Depending on which numbers you believe, the Los Angeles metropolitan region is the densest area in the United States. The sprawl has morphed into really dense sprawl. In the process, the inhabitants have forged for themselves a place to live comfortably, for the most part. Los Angeles offers the wonderful escapes of beaches and forest, winter and summer sports all at the same time. And the places where people spend most of their time in a given year, although clogged with traffic, still provides a spot on an individual level, even to walk around once in awhile. Therefore, even though it’s time to leave, our time in L.A. was extremely well spent.