Darlings

Out of an unfortunate moment where we were a little too giddy with one another, my wife and I exchanged pleasantries in which both of us referred to the other as "darling." Unfortunately, this moment was also witnessed by my in-laws, who have ever since deemed us as "the darlings." This week I actually picked up a bottle of wine, with "Darling" on the label, mostly because of our nickname. The way in which we have been branded by my wife's family got me to thinking about the way in which certain places are treated in such fashion -- i.e., where media outlets and the population at large have certain perceptions of places as "darlings," or at least places that receive more attention, to the exclusion of others, when it comes to being the "hot" place, or being "up and coming."

Take for instance the love affair that continues unabated for Las Vegas. Starting with the boom in the late '80s ushered in by the Mirage, the metropolitan area has grown unabated as the fastest-growing settlement in America. Now the talk surrounds the next round of construction on the northern Strip, particularly in connection with the new resorts and new condo developments rising from the desert floor. "The building on the Strip is mind-boggling. There's more construction going on here than anywhere else in the world except Dubai and China," touts one local booster, a title insurance representative. It's still so hot, that owners of certain vacant lots are opening temporary casinos, for no more than a day, in order to preserve the properties' zoning designations permitting gambling on the premises. I have to admit -- I've been a follower of the trend for over a decade, and I've just put down more words devoted to the subject. But why do we choose to focus on these type of phenomena?

The same type of love extends to beloved landmarks. Take for instance Major League Baseball parks, where fans and city officials alike cannot wait to see the likes of Shea Stadium in Queens, New York, to be eradicated from the face of the earth. But the love continues for such places as Fenway Park in Boston, and Wrigley Field in Chicago. Not too long ago the City of Chicago, the caretaker of hallowed Wrigley, permitted the construction of seventy "bullpen box seats" to be added to the local landmark, but not without careful consideration. As a representative from the City's Department of Planning and Development made clear, "landmark buildings aren't frozen in time,[but] need to be maintained and can be improved while respecting their history." Separately, the Governor and Mayor are considering whether to have the State of Illinois' Sports Facilities Authority acquire and renovate the structure, as requested by the Cubs' current owner, the Tribune Co. Certainly a deal more about economics than preserving history, the government is nonetheless buying into the "darling" designation of the stadium.

But just as their are "darlings," there are perpetual punching bags as well. Not the least aided by another scathing season of HBO's "The Wire," which just began a few weeks ago, news came out of the real-life city of Baltimore, Maryland, that the municipality is suing Wells Fargo Bank for allegedly contributing to the massive number of foreclosures in the wake of the subprime scandal still leveling the housing industry. Similarly, in Cleveland, where the foreclosure nightmare has hit hard, rumblings continue to mount, even in its more affluent suburbs, like Shaker Heights, where some news accounts almost try and bait its residents to go along with what the writer seeks to argue. Another popular whipping place these days is Beijing, where the air quality is painted as being not exactly up to Olympic quality.

But finally, there are those places where people are trying to root for change for the better. In Newark, New Jersey, plans are underway to bring in high-end apartments into the downtown area. Sure, the usual artist stalwarts in the neighborhood bemoan the coming change. As one complained, "We've clearly become part of the strategy of using artists to turn areas into luxury enclaves." This may be true. But at least, until it gets to the point of being called a "darling," people are talking about Newark, without including the obligatory reference to the riots that happened there forty years ago. This may be a small step, but one hard-earned for the long-maligned city.

In With The Old . . .

This week, I’m returning to the practice of law and the land use process, settling in at a firm out on Long Island. I’ve never really left, but being back “in it” every day reminds me of the dynamic way our landscape morphs to the changing needs of metropolitan areas. Even from my office window, high atop the flatness of Long Island, I’ll be able to watch the evolution of the local built environment. As I look forward, it makes me think a lot about time, and its supreme power. My mood takes me to the time gone by, and how it can, for some, cause cruel fates to unfold. Despite its preciousness, it can also be a curse for those who let it get the better of them. Take the current, horrific trend towards foreclosures, particularly for those unfortunate souls who found themselves in the fast-crumbling subprime mortgage market. Sure, these borrowers signed the paperwork that got them in their respective messes, but news continues to trickle out about the predatory nature of some of these loans.

In Shaker Heights, Ohio, where my mother grew up, there is growing trend of vacant houses resulting from foreclosure actions. Once one of the more affluent addresses in the country, it has become tarnished by the proliferation of vacancies. But Shaker Heights, like Euclid, another nearby inner ring suburb of Cleveland, is fighting the trend by keeping up these properties, down to fixing windows and mowing lawns, until the entanglement of the foreclosures can be resolved. Cleveland proper has been fighting this trend of mass vacancies for quite some time. Scavengers and squatters take the place of homeowners. But now the problem has jumped over the city lines to the suburbs, particularly those directly on the other side of those lines. Cuyahoga County, within which lies Cleveland, has seen a huge climb in foreclosures, from 2,500 in 1995 to 15,000 last year. The appalling numbers portend increases to continue. Mayor Judith Rawson of Shaker Heights warns, “It’s a tragedy and it’s just beginning.” The trend not only proves the depths of the subprime mortgage industry’s woes, it also speaks to the larger concern over America’s treatment of its built-up environment, and the difficulty in holding on to the stability of affluence. Affluent Americans are a mobile sort, and continue to seek out the “new.” But what about the “old”? Is there any place for it in our eternal search for the next thing?

The answer of course is yes, if those same affluent types find a reason to get behind the place at risk. One such locale is the Van Dyke farm in South Brunswick, New Jersey, near the New Jersey Turnpike. Threatened by the sprouting of sprawling warehouse complexes along the nearby transportation corridor, the farm and its house, built in 1713, faces extinction. A group called the Eastern Villages Association has embraced the fight for the farm. The threatened tract includes historically significant markers such as a preserved slave quarters, Revolutionary-era gravesites and other artifacts. As one member of the Association explains, “The Van Dyke farm is the proverbial line in the sand, and the state and local government must make sure that no one crosses it.” Of course this is a worthwhile cause – we need to preserve our history. But what of the history of our own lives, and the places where they were lived? Where does the “line in the sand” exist for the suburban ghost towns in between our central cities and the newer, glossier outer suburbs?

Ohio, facing the foreclosure phenomenon, has committed $100 million in bonds to fight the trend of people losing their homes. But as lawmakers note, it is only a “dent” in the problem. Without true commitment from people to just stay put, or actually consider reusing a community or two, it will be a steep hill to climb to hold onto the past. Oddly enough, my mother's childhood home has emerged on the market. Whether it is one of those vacant, foreclosed homes is unclear. But it does stand as an opportunity to hold off the relentless forces of the land use process, if only a buyer will give it chance.