Monday, November 27, 2006

Unchained Anchor:Why We Don't Visit Our Historic Town Center

I'm fortunate to live in a town that can claim to have a historic 'downtown' in the form of a courthouse square. Our county courthouse is dressed in a refined art-deco style, framed by streets lined with facades most of which are more than 90 years old or so. There are a couple of retailers, antiques and cafes. Since pedestrian traffic is almost non-existent in this part of town, most of the space within the buildings framing the square has been leased as professional offices such as law firms and dentists as well as housing municipal and county services. Compared to other suburban communities in the Dallas Metroplex that resemble each other and is almost impossible to locate its core, my town possesses an authentic sense of place with the courthouse and a handful of surrounding streets containing old Victorian cottages.

For several years I worked for an architecture firm that specializes in historic preservation. What mostly kept us busy was an endless pipeline of historic courthouses that could afford to be renovated thanks to a program pushed by that governor who was known to be such a friend to architects, George W. Bush (???!!!). Texas has over two hundred counties, and many of them contain beautiful courthouses that span in from Richardsonian Romanesque to Second Empire to Neo-Classical, to Art-Deco. Although I've always had a soft-spot for historic architecture, I realized in that job that I wanted to create rather than restore someone else's work. But even with all that knowledge and insight I gained from this job, there is one thing I never got around to doing: I have never actually visited the historic square in my town.

I've driven through it from time to time, mostly on my way to places near the square. But I never walked past the storefronts, nor even spent an afternoon at the few arts and crafts fair held on the lawn around the courthouse. I've always told myself that I will get around to making a quick trip to the square but so far, I've had no good reason to do so.

In college I did not own a car, and thus I was relegated to walking to the courthouse square of the town to accomplish the most basic errands. My experience made me aware of how stagnant these places were, how difficult it was to get the most basic things (for example there was a drug store which only would sell Tom's brand toothpaste, when all I really wanted was Crest). The quality of the services were not better in inverse proportion to all the convenience of chain stores. The square during my college years was in relatively healthy shape, with several restaurants, a soda fountain, an independently-owned coffee house, a small department store, a bank and even a hardware store. And yet there was nothing that compelled me to want to return to the square other than that I couldn't drive to the town's outskirts near the main highway to frequent the big-box retailers.

What will make me come to these architecturally handsome urban places on a regular basis? In one word: anchors. This term is more commonly used in the realm of real-estate development, which describes a any kind of major attraction, whether a major store or a non-profit leisure destination (such as zoos, museums, municipal water-parks, performance halls, school campus) that can generate a high volume of pedestrian traffic from which smaller nearby enterprises can benefit. The problem with a lot of town squares is that they have no real anchors to draw people. A government office building or any other non-retail business will not generate enough foot traffic to supply a rich variety of services and stores. That's why across the street from the courthouse there might be one or two delis and none more, since that is all the demand from the workers in the vicinity can muster. The equation changes considerably when the anchor functions as an irresistible magnet for people. This is usually achieved when an establishment offers a diversion unavailable at a relatively close distance elsewhere.

People will always want to enjoy themselves by going somewhere. Catching a movie, watching theatrical performance, or even observing captive wild animals is something people do repeatedly for fun. But in this day and age of extraordinary material wealth, most people spend their time outside work or home at stores and restaurants. We especially like to visit with greater frequency stores with lots of selection, ever-changing inventory and efficient service. One doesn't find these amenities in historic town squares. The beauty of the architecture doesn't breath life to a space; it requires the engine of commerce powered by the motor of an anchor.

Chain stores serve the anchoring purpose well and are extremely prized by municipalities who crave the sales tax revenue. They tend to occupy new structures that generally charge higher rents, and because of the strength of their brand can generate lots of revenue quickly compared to mom-and-pop stores. As chains, they are by nature not original to the place in which they are located, but rather makes them serve as reminders of the world outside the community, with all of its universality, its sameness and standardization and alien-ness to local color. It is precisely these attributes that appeal to most town residents. Chains offer an expansive selection of goods that keep local residents from having to leave town to find them, meaning there is a greater likelihood for chance encounters with fellow towns folk. Chains command brand loyalty, guaranteeing that people will return much more frequently than the half-dozen or less times townspeople convene at the historic square or street block. It is therefore not very surprising to find the most bustling area of town to be right at the intersection of a major state road and the interstate highway. Every major big-box retailer and chain restaurant under the sun seems to be represented, and the parking lot is streaming with pedestrians.

Although the town in which I live can't compare to the cache and urban richness of the country's greatest cities, it is nonetheless quite fascinating to monitor its growth at the local level. Each time I drive by familiar streets I notice a new structure emerging out of nowhere or a grand opening to a new business being advertised. There is lots of local excitement around the arrival of a major chain store, as if it gives the town some much-needed stature. One of my favorite chain restaurants just opened last weekend, "La Madeleine", which now gives our town instant credibility among other rival towns in the area. I realize that such enthusiasm for this or that chain may sound shallow and devalue the historic heritage of our small towns. Yet the reason the arrival of chains to the town generates so much interest is that their existence is a testament to our town becoming more livable.

Dallas' very own Virginia Postrel writes about this particular feature of retail chains that have come to dominate the American landscape. She argues that while chain stores have sapped the uniqueness of towns, they have made them more livable and its citizens better off overall. Although tourists remark than traveling from one city to the next has lost its allure due to the homogeneous commercial landscape brought on by chain stores, these towns in essence function to serve the needs of their inhabitants, and in particular their needs as consumers. Although having elegant landmarks add distinctiveness to the town's image and attracts outside visitors, they do not help retain a town's population nor attract newcomers. Postrel summarizes well why cities should exist for livability than for historic charm:

Contrary to the rhetoric of bored cosmopolites, most cities don’t exist primarily to please tourists. The children toddling through the Chandler mall hugging their soft Build-A-Bear animals are no less delighted because kids can also build a bear in Memphis or St. Louis. For them, this isn’t tourism; it’s life—the experiences that create the memories from which the meaning of a place arises over time.

I'm not arguing that chain stores are the answer reviving the historic town centers across the country. Rather, I think city leaders and planners have to consider ways to draw in repeat customers; that is, townspeople who satisfy their wants and needs within city limits. Whether that is done by more institutional anchors or more commercial ones, a constant and diverse flow of traffic is crucial. Successfully achieving this first goal enables more fruitful re-developments to follow. Once this generator of pedestrian traffic is retained, it is fundamental that city leaders preserve the conditions helpful to the success of that anchor. To implement policies cracking down on anchors just because they are not authentic to the town will kill town centers much quicker than the time it took to lure them in. It is just as critical that towns should diversify businesses and multiply the number of anchors to cope with the fluctuating nature of business activity.

Looking at my town's masterplan for its historic core, I see little to no evidence that a strategy to lure a major anchor of a sort has been articulated. Indeed, the proposed building typologies are quite attractive, and will likely add charm to our town's image that even its residents will find appealing. But just to write that certain blocks or parts of buildings will accommodate desirable restaurants and cafes does not mean that they will come by virtue of the attractive street-scapes described in the masterplan. Certain ideas, like that of inserting a clock tower and a band-shell on the grounds surrounding the courthouse, while potentially achieving a sense of place by providing an attractive backdrop to festivals, will do little to contribute to regular pedestrian traffic. My impression from having worked on a few of these masterplans is that they intend not to re-energize the historic core of the town as a central economic engine, but to turn them into glorified living museums that are mildly commercially sustainable. They admirably find new uses for the old urban fabric, but they don't restore these places to nearly the level of prominence they once played in the lives of townspeople. They become forever consigned as just another leisurely distraction that you may take out-of town guests over to see, but nothing remotely as important as the local strip shopping center.

Ironically enough, my town is investing lots of its own resources to build a brand new town-center along its waterfront, far from its historic town square. Why do our city leaders think this a good idea? For one thing, the new town center, while looking and feeling like a traditional urban street, is more optimally planned for accommodating major commercial anchors. There is a cinema complex at one end of the development and a brand new hotel/conference center at the opposite end, with "blocks" of retail, chain restaurants with views of the lake, and elegant fountains and walkways. There's even a landscaped amphitheater for open-air concerts, and the new town center has recently proved to be effective in gathering large numbers of people to watch fireworks.

Such "lifestyle centers" are growing in popularity in suburbs across the country. They are basically unenclosed shopping malls, and their thematic architecture makes little attempt to relate the authentic vernacular of historical areas of the towns near which they are located. Our new instant town center by the lake resembles an Italian fishing village with cardboard cutout detailing, instead of the much more native Texas lakehouse style found in nearby rural areas. Still, they manage to restore a sense of place, regardless of how instantaneously they are conceived. Our older, and often more tastefully built town centers of yore could apply lessons from the success of lifestyle centers.

Maybe then I'll actually patronize the businesses of the local town square.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Ken Roberts Memorial Delineation Competition: And the Winners Are...

The 2006 Ken Roberts Memorial Delineation Competion been a great success. On November 8th, the winners of the competition were announced during a special ceremony at the Dallas Museum of Art. Architect Randy Brown, whose work has been published nationally and even internationally, was the main juror of the competition and explained to the public in attendance the merits of the winning entries. There were overall 4 winners, 4 juror's awards, and 25 or so finalists in which all the entries were presented at the reception on plasma screens as well as inside the auditorium. You can view the winning work at the Ken Roberts Competition website,

There was a seven-fold increase in the number of entries submitted compared to the year before, and the quality of the work in general was on average much higher as well. More than just mere projections of a building's plans and elevations, the drawings crossed into the realm of art and in some incorporated techniques often found in graphic design. Compostion, color, and overall expression were more important the merit of the building's design. The KROB finalists demonstrate that architects are more than mere technical designers of structures; they are attentive to aesthetic expression, in pleasing the eye and making something that moves the soul, even in the form of a sketch. Maybe putting all this attention to detail on such artistic pursuits explains why architects are underpaid compared to other professions, but it's also why our profession attracts so many bright young people to it.

Although a solidly consistent set of plans help assure the completion of a building as smoothly as possible, it is often architectural renderings that will give a project the financial go-ahead. They are crucial in marketing the proposed design, generating interest among potential tenants, and inspire owners to persist in seeing the job through. Floor plans invite a client to point to flaws in a building's functions, but renderings of a project are often immune to functional criticism. They instead set the tone of the project, the desired moods of a future place. When a rendering becomes more an "objet d'art" than just a pretty picture, it infuses an evocative quality to the building.

In my opinion, a large part of what architectural design comprises of is a a careful meditation of three dimensional forms in light. There's only so much importance that can be given to technology, as such matters don't contribute much to a building's meaningfulness within its cultural context. As a creative endeavor, architecture should strive to surpass fulfilling programmatic requirements and actually produce something beautiful, something that moves us. Le Corbusier encapsulates this ideal so clearly when he wrote:

"The Architect, by his arrangement of forms, realizes an order which is a pure creation of the spirit; by forms and shapes he affects our senses to an acute degree and provokes plastic emotions; by the relationships which he creates he wakes profound echoes in us; by the relationships which he creates he wakes profound echoes in us, he gives us the measure of an order which we feel in accordance with that of our world, he determines the various movements of our heart and of our understanding; it is then that we experience a sense of beauty."

Take the time to visit the Ken Roberts website and keep in mind Le Corbusier's notions when viewing the winning entries.

Monday, November 13, 2006

The Limitations of the Word "Christian"

Over the years, I have grown more and more uncomfortable defining myself as a "Christian". Not because I no longer confess the faith; rather, because the faith I confess seems a little limited by this exact word, in this context. Maybe because all the recent political debate, maybe because of a growing awareness that Christianity's plurality makes the term too vague. For whatever reason, the word has become a banal description of what I seek to be, and what I think "Christians" should seek to be. (Often failing, but still seeking.)

It strikes me that the Christian response to Postmodernism should be one of careful delineation from the culture. In this sense, the term "Christian" doesn't help much as it is just another of many cultural labels. At least to those of us from European backgrounds. Obviously, for Christians in Asia or the Middle East, the label would suffice to let everyone know the religion of that person, and I should note here that a majority of the world's Christians are not from Western traditions.

It's not our fault that the word has lost its bite. The history of Christianity is one that involves a virtually incestuous church/state association. Bishops were princes, Medici's were popes, church attendance was often mandatory, and the church was geographically and figuratively the center of city/town life. So to be a "Christian" was an assumption. Not that millions weren't genuinely faithful; it was just a way of life. My understanding of the origin of the term was that it was derogatory. Those who were followers of Jesus were called "Christians" in the Roman context, and there was nothing complimentary about it in such a context. It was a slight, a sign of inferiority or weakness, sort of a, "Oh, there go those Christians again." Characteristically, early Christians took on this term of derogation and delighted in it. After all, the humble shall be exalted and the exalted shall be humbled.

When Constantine became a Christian in 312, however, everything changed. For the next 1,700 years, the faith would become virtually synonymous with the West's political and cultural identity. The advantage, obviously, was that many people over the centuries were Christian. This is, in some ways, a good thing from my perspective. Christianity as part of the culture led to advances in education (universities), healthcare (hospitals), and it provided a backbone of morality for millions.

The flip side was (is) that the faith was diluted at best, and corrupted at worst. The faith life of the believer was a state matter for many Europeans. Indeed, it still is. In many nations, to be able to receive the sacraments of the church, one must admit to being a believer to the state and then proceed to pay a hefty tax. It's a lot cheaper to simply say you're not a believer, if you think you can live without the sacraments. Yet, most of Europe would still say that they are "Christian".

I wonder if Americans were asked in a census if we were Christian what our response would be? Would it be the same if we were asked if we were "Followers of Jesus"? How about "Disciples"? "Apostles"? These are the options of which the New Testament is full. Jesus never asks those around him to become Christians. (The Greek equivalent is never mentioned that I know of.) Jesus frequently asks those who are healed by him or those who come to him for advice to follow him, to be his disciple, or to be an apostle sent out on behalf of the faith.

Yet, we are able to say, and very safely at that, that we are Christian without doing any of the things Jesus actually demands simply because the label "Christian" has become such an accepted part of the culture. This is not necessarily a bad thing. None of us deserve the other three titles either. I merely want to propose a change in language so "Christians" can be clearer about who they are. I worry that this sounds like a litmus test or judgement, but it seems right to me that this is a helpful way to reclaim the original meaning of "Christian."

Saturday, November 04, 2006

Will There Ever Be Another Bach?

Every time I attend a Bach Concert at Saint Luke Lutheran in Chicago, I find most every one of my senses stimulated. My hearing, of course, by the brilliance and beauty of Bach. My eyes by the space itself. My smell by the incense (which they use for evening prayer). If they served communion, my taste and touch would be equally employed. I also find myself wondering, "Will there ever be another Bach?" It seems a fair question to ask. Wasn't Bach just a genius, the kind of aberration that is entirely likely to appear again? And isn't the world of classical music due another such iconic figure? It has been a few hundred years, after all.

By no means could the discussion be limited to Bach. Others might site Beethoven, Mozart, Brahms, or any other set list of composers. For me, none compare to Bach in brilliance of counterpoint, soul and sheer volume. But will there be another? I say no, for at least 3 reasons.

It's become kind of a cliche in the classical music world, but if eccentric geniuses like Beethoven or Mozart lived today, they'd be stuffed so full of anti-depressents or downers that their creative output would be greatly diminished. There is some truth to that; I think we simply have less tolerance for eccentricity and seek to medicate and stifle difference as soon as possible. (This is especially true in the West.) The reality is that eccentrics take a lot of patience. If the reports about Beethoven and Mozart are true, they can be unpleasant to be around. (They were also capable of incredible warmth and depth, which is often overlooked.) While Bach seems to have been a little cranky, he doesn't come across historically as eccentric, which is one more reason he is so rare.

Second, another Bach seems unlikely because of today's pervasiveness of media. Whereas Bach was largely able to work in obscurity (except for his fame as an organist, not composer, which wouldn't come until 1829), a genius today would probably be paraded on television, written about in books, and have his own blog that would occupy precious creative time. In spite of his 17 children and directing the pesky children's choir, Bach was able, forced even, to produce almost inhumane amounts of music because of his duties of Kapellmeister at Saint Thomas Church in Leipzig. No genius would have such a luxury today. There are simply too many distractions in today's world, too many temptations. Besides his enormous family, Bach had relatively few, to his advantage.

Third, and most importantly to me, Bach was a highly spiritual person. His enormous output, and the works themselves, were done with a higher purpose in mind. To say the least. And Bach was no theological slouch who just accepted the theology of the day. It turns out he had a pretty impressive theological library, and he was quite capable of theological insight. All of his works, even his secular works, famously bore the initials SDG for "soli deo gloria," or "To the glory of God alone." I realize my religious bias, but it is impossible for me to consider that anyone could create so much of anything so brilliant for so long without a firm understanding of humility, grace, and thanksgiving. God was the fuel for Bach's creativity, and in God revealed through scripture Bach found a never-ending supply of strength, sustenance, and ideas.

Allow me to contextualize all of this. I recently heard Cameron Carpenter play, who is simply unbelieveable as an organist, probably this generation's Virgil Fox and then some. But what I found lacking was a sense that his was a gift from God to be used for the glory of God. He is a product of a culture that says individuality and personal expression are more celebrated than humility, so it seems his career will be more about performing accomplishments than prolific output. The media temptation for him is also there, and not without good reason. He feels there is a huge market for his skills, and he wants to capitalize. Generally speaking, I can't blame him for that. He is refreshingly eccentric, I have to give him credit there. The irony is that he played a lot of Bach as well as I've ever heard it on the organ, with wonderful interpretative skill.

But will there be another Bach? I just don't see it. Unlike other great composers after him, or even great thinkers, writers or artists, the guy simply didn't produce any (and "any" is no exaggeration) bad music. He is the father of western music for so many reasons, and thankfully he is more popular now than ever. We should cherish him especially because no one will ever be able to compete.