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?

Trainspotting

On our way back from Los Angeles in December, my fiance and I drove up the Pacific Coast to Seattle before we headed east. A part of the draw (at least for me) was the chance to see Portland, Oregon, the subject of a few papers I wrote during my student days, and the source of my early interest in land use policy. One of the hallmarks of the city, which I got to see in operation, was the MAX light-rail system that criss-crosses through the city and deep into its suburbs. As I watched the trains roll through the center of Portland, I imagined those sleek contraptions as the trolleys of yesteryear, long gone from the streets of America before I ever would have had the chance to dodge them in Brooklyn. But aside from adding color to the mid-sized Pacific Northwest city, the MAX has brought public transportation to a place once seen as a haven for the automobile. I can't exactly claim to be a daily public transport practitioner, as my commute amounts to a 45-minute car ride each way. But the power of public transport extends beyond the people that ride.

In the greater Salt Lake City area, the derivatively-named TRAX light-rail system has brought great change to the way in which the metropolitan area has chosen to grow. Around several of the twenty-three stations that comprise the fledgling system started in 1999, developers have responded to a market for housing and amenities accessible without the need of a car. Several projects have gone up, or are in the process of being constructed, around the transit hubs, bringing new life to inner-ring suburban neighborhoods. As always, there is a buzz word to describe the phenomenon. In this case, it's "transit-oriented development," or TOD, which centers around public transportation to allow people to live, work and play without the need to drive. For instance, ground breaking will commence soon on the Birkhill at Fireclay project, a thirty-acre, $140 million project next to the Murray North TRAX station. Other similar mixed-use projects are in various stages of completion along the line. Of course, this sort of living isn't for everyone, but the developers of these projects are seeing brisk sales of their offerings.

New York City long ago went the route of investing heavily in public transport systems. Mayor Michael Bloomberg reinforced this vision when he announced this week that as part of his PlaNYC proposals to make New York City a green city, he would be proposing an $8 "congestion pricing" plan, requiring all drivers entering Manhattan below 86th Street to pay the fee. (See "That Infernal Car," post dated 2/21/07, for more on congestion pricing). Of course, drivers are horrified by the prospects. Coincidentally (or not so coincidentally), my oldest and dearest friend (God bless him), who also lives in Brooklyn, currently finds himself needing to buy a new car after his current one failed. In the interim, he decided to take the subway to get where he needs to go. The experiment lasted a day, after which he rented a car. As he told me, "some people are subway people, and some aren't." He falls in the latter category.

What this all amounts to is that public transportation is an oddly divisive issue. But kind of like how most First Amendment arguments go, you have the choice to listen or ignore what's being offered. Sure, taking a subway, or a bus or a sleek light-rail train has its inconveniences. But what cannot be denied is how transit shapes land use. Whether it be a light rail line or a parkway to the residential area of your choice, the fact is that where the exits are dictate where the houses are. The nearest subway stop is right outside my door, and yet I drive to work. Nonetheless, I am certainly glad to have that "exit" at my convenience, for the times I don't want to drive. As I watched those light-rail trains go past me in Portland, I knew wherever they went, the people, and particularly, the developers, followed. I also knew my time spent with the trains of Portland would have another incidental effect -- the purchase of a winter coat (luckily vintage) for my fiance who had to put up with my bizarre obsession.

Water, Water, Everywhere -- Or Not

This past week, I attended a presentation on nutrition (it's better not to know the details), and the wonderful things we should and should not put into our bodies. One of the important points that resonated amongst the attendees was the need to drink water -- on the order of half your weight in ounces each day. Among many of the other recommendations we heard that day, this one seemed to make sense. It sure beats soda (or pop, or Coke, or however you like to refer to carbonated concoctions), which apparently can dissolve a nail in a matter of days. Frightening considering how much I drink of the stuff. So predictably, the informative seminar got me to thinking about the larger issue of water in the land use context, especially since I need to know where all this water is going to be coming from. When it comes to considering H2O, there's a clear divide between the West and East, as the West must not only keep its sources clean, it must scramble to make sure there will be enough of it to go around to the thirsty hordes that continue to add to the soaring populations that swell the metropolitan areas of the region.

In the West, a series of increasingly audacious plans are sweeping the region in order to quench the thirst of such established metropolises as Denver and Las Vegas, and budding areas like Yuma, Arizona and St. George, Utah. Calling to mind Los Angeles' stealing of Owens Valley water a century ago, Las Vegas, the new Los Angeles, is plotting to construct a 280-mile pipeline from northern Nevada to pump water down south to Sin City. In Yuma, a federal program aims to resuscitate a dormant plan to operate a desalination plant, cleaning the underground water reserves near this Arizona city for use as drinking water. Montana and Wyoming will soon face off in the Supreme Court, contesting claims over use of the Tongue and Powder Rivers. Where is all this lunacy coming from? Well, the answer is simple. The West is dry -- drier than ever. With the aid of omnipresent global warming, the Colorado River, and the snowpacks of the Rockies, both essential suppliers of the West's water, are drying up, supplying less and less to more and more living in the West. As time marches forward, and people continue to move westward, these battles will only grow in intensity.

We tenderfoots in the East don't have it much better. Sure, we get bombarded by northeasters that help to keep the water flowing, and portend global warming sinking us under the sea. But water quality continues to grow in importance. For instance, in the Chesapeake Bay region, policy makers contend with the refuse of one of its most successful industries -- dairy farms. The byproducts of the "machines of industry," the cow, produce vast quantities of manure that largely end up in the Bay. In the suburban and urban areas of Virginia and Maryland, well, another animal contributes its waste to the sea. One program in Pennsylvania takes the concept of pollution credits and puts it to work in the runoff context. Although getting off to a slow start, it is aided by a company called Red Barn, run out of the home of a couple living in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Trained in agricultural engineering, Peter and Molly Hughes' aim is to help farmers and other polluters trade for credits amongst each other, and create a functioning market for the right to deposit nitrates into the water. They are applying their knowledge of water for the gain of its survival.

Water fuels the world around us, and dictates where development goes, and where it goes to die. Westerners are trying to fight for the flow, while Easterners must manage it. Which ever side of the line you find yourself, the fight for clean water will only intensify in the coming decades, as less and less of it is around to use. What's the answer? Like any question revolving around land use, it's hard to say. Especially when I have to get back to drinking my water to stay on pace for my 90-odd ounces each day.

Amateur Hour

Starting to settle in to the world of land use on Long Island, I stumbled across a story from the hamlet of Fort Salonga, the more affluent section of the school district in which I spent my formative years. Nestled along the northern coast of the island, about halfway out (meaning halfway from "the City," and halfway from "the Hamptons"), the Town of Smithtown Board of Appeals recently denied the Angel's Gate animal hospice an existing-use variance to continue its operation in a private home. Prior to this decision, the Town had rezoned the home, along with the area around the subject residence, in an attempt to push Angel's Gate out of business. The hospice, owned by Susan Marino and Vic LaBruna, are not taking the news like a scared kitty. Designed to offer terminally-ill animals the ability to live out their lives to term, as opposed to suffering the fate of euthanasia, Angel's Gate has garnered an unlikely advocate in its corner. LeBoeuf, Lamb, Greene & MacRae, the gigantic international law firm, has come to the rescue. Filing a lawsuit in March, LeBoeuf has taken up Angel's Gate's cause, as a pro bono case, performing the legal work all on its own dime.

Let's start with this: I would never question the value of LeBoeuf's mission, an honorable task to preserve a seemingly noble enterprise. But honestly, how the heck did this happen? According to Newsday, Long Island's newspaper (which obviously understood the noteworthy quality of the story by printing essentially the same article two days in a row), LeBoeuf undertakes animal rights causes as part of its pro bono platform. Sure, animal rights is an important cause in several circles, but is this the best use of LeBoeuf's ample resources? As one of the most powerful collections of legal minds in the world, where's the support for political types seeking asylum, or wrongly accused inmates sitting on death row? Instead, they throw their very expensive attorneys into a relatively straightforward land use case? According to LeBoeuf's website, they count three of their 700-plus attorneys as working in the arena of land use, and neither of the three appear to devote all of their time in this area. I'm certainly not looking to get LeBoeuf on my bad side, but isn't it a little disingenuous to take on "noble" causes in realms where they barely devote their "real" time? Is land use typically not "quality" enough work to require a department larger than three people? Or is it that in the eyes of LeBoeuf, land use is considered on par with ambulance chasing?

Maybe it's that LeBoeuf has come to realize that land use encompasses the "big issues" of America. Just as Kelo highlighted the point almost two years ago, to ignore land use is to ignore what's going on around you. If it takes an animal hospice to show the LeBoeufs of the world that land use ponders the fundamental legal questions impacting people on a daily basis, well so be it. Sure, they prefer to be involved on the big deals happening in the world of real estate. Such Long Island mega projects as the entertainment and hotel concept in Calverton, out on the east end, appear to be more the speed of the big law firms. But maybe this matter of an animal hospice will open the eyes to more people out there that land use boards around the country shape the way we live day after day after day. If the first thing you hear in the morning is a brood of sick felines wailing on the other side of the fence, it becomes quite important who is in control of determining how to make it stop. Likewise, if your livelihood is to conduct a home business, and a board is threatening your way of life, land use plays a large role in your day-to-day existence. Bringing more novices into the fold of this strange world only furthers the process of demystifying the land use arena, and ultimately strengthens the quality of the decision making for the people impacted.

Affordable Housing, New York Style

Over this past weekend I was walking the streets of Park Slope, Brooklyn, trying to finish all the things that one needs to do on the weekend when he returns to the working world. In the middle of my errands, a young woman handed me a flyer, offering as an explanation, "Support affordable housing in Brooklyn." Always wanting to be in touch with my surroundings, I rejected my better judgment and took the flyer. As promised, it was an advertisement for a local advocacy group called the Fifth Avenue Committee, and one of their proposals -- a new "affordable housing" project at 575 5th Avenue, intended to cater towards seniors, soon-to-be released foster children who have reached the age of maturity and homeless adults looking to turn the corner. A noble endeavor indeed, but what raised my eyebrows was something considerably more mundane -- the cardstock of the handout. I'm a little more mindful of such details these days, as my wedding invitations will be going out the door in the next few weeks. A few blocks further up the street, another civic-minded type offered me another cause with another accompanying sheet -- this time involving a drive to recycle used electronic equipment. Besides the fact that the fellow was handing me paper in an effort to promote recycling (which seemed counterproductive), he wanted me to take a flimsy white sheet of paper, unlike the fancy, substantial, off-white offering from the affordable housing people. That professionally-prepared advertisement, complete with a picture of the proposed structure, got me to thinking about how (and why) such an outfit could (and would) spend such time, money and effort on such luxurious disposable pleas for help.

The answer got a little clearer when I learned that over in Manhattan, around Columbia University, another unusual proposal is circulating through the grapevine for a potential future rezoning that would impact the neighborhood. Columbia is in the midst of proposing a massive $7 billion expansion into 17 acres of West Harlem, on the current edge of the school's campus. The plan would bring as many as 18 new towers that would dwarf the other surrounding buildings in the otherwise lower-income neighborhood. The Borough President's answer to this infiltration into one of the last "affordable" areas in Manhattan is to rezone the area so as to mandate the preservation of the current scale of the neighborhood. Right now, the area is populated mostly by four- to six-story buildings. Despite the likewise laudable approach, which includes protections against tenant harrassment to vacate their homes and businesses, the plan would not impact Columbia's vision. In addition, developers would be able to build larger-scale structures as long as they provide street-level space to locally-based retail businesses. One current landlord has characterized the plan as "throwing the community a bone so that Columbia can bulldoze the neighborhood."

As in the Park Slope case, how far have these communities really gone to preserve some semblance of "affordability" in New York City? Is this a goal that's really just a lost cause? Of course, all metropolitan regions must contend with the issue of attracting capital to more cost-effective housing and retail options. Even New Orleans, which is facing the problem of attracting capital to any part of the city outside the French Quarter, has tried again to raise the profile of its plight by designating 17 areas in the city as "development areas." With $1.1 billion in financing, which still must be approved, Mayor C. Ray Nagin and the other supporters of the plan, hope that this more modest approach will receive support, and serve as spurs to development for the rest of the city. Sure, without some effort to hold onto that elusive "affordable housing," the cause is completely lost. But what is the true impact of such half-hearted efforts? Have New Yorkers, and those Americans fortunate enough to be able to retain a good home, simply turned their thoughts elsewhere, and given up on the cause? Or is it that it's so hard for the overwhelming majority of Americans to find and hold onto that good home that "affordable housing" itself is just an illusion? When the subject is left to a few like-minded folks, they are forced to focus on fancy fliers, trying to sell to the community the "bones" that are all that is politically feasible.

The answer to these queries, like most involving land use, depend on who you ask. As for me, my solace came a few blocks after the fellow who wanted me to recycle my computer, where I found a pack of Girl Scouts selling their addictive cookies, allowing me the chance to lose myself from such heady subjects in the comfort of a handful of Thin Mints. At least for a little while.