Principles of Sidewalkery: Public v. Private

[Sesame Street is a bad model for public space. This degree of intimacy and community would be insufferable for just about anybody.]

Often, when I talk to people about the value of sidewalks, I will get into arguments about how much intimacy is appropriate in cities. People assume that, because I want to see more public spaces where different kinds of people ‘share space’ with each other, that I want everybody to hang out and be friends, chatting, singing songs, playing games, and sharing stories. You know, like a Sesame Street episode.

For example, I was talking to my sister the other day about why skyways suck. As we walked along 7th Place in Downtown Saint Paul, I pointed out how cool it was that the homeless people hung out at one end of the block, and café diners hung out at the other. They were sharing space, I said, and it was good for both groups to be coexisting with each other.

“So, why didn’t you stop and talk to the homeless people?” my sister asked.

“That’s not the point.” I replied after a pause. “I’m sure that would have been terribly uncomfortable for both of us.”

The point is that sidewalks, parks, and squares are good public spaces precisely because you can learn about different kinds of people without actually talking to them. That’s exactly what public life is about. Different kinds of people can watch each other, present themselves to each other, interact or not interact as they choose.

[Jan Gehl's excellent (and hard to get) book, Life Between Buildings, is all about the importance and maintenance of these impersonal, public contacts.]

Similarly, when I talk about the importance of ‘neighborhood’, I don’t mean that everyone on the block should be best friends, hanging out with each other all the time. No, that would be a commune or a cult, and would surely end in some sort of FUBAR reign of terror.

Rather, public life and public space are kinds of interactions where you communicate in ambient, diffuse, and subtle ways. You can learn a lot about people just by watching them. And when enough people start to share the same streets, parks, grocery stores, libraries, etc., you begin to create neighborhoods and communities. This is particularly useful if these communities include different kinds of people, from homeless to haberdashers, from vagabonds to Vulcans. It doesn’t happen because people are all friends, sharing names and stories and intimate details. Rather, ideally, it happens when people share space.

[The fountain in Saint Paul's Rice Park is a great public space because it allows people to share space without interacting.]

Principles of Sidewalkery: Density

It's time once again for another POS (Principles of Sidewalkery)! Having already covered increasing returns, and walkability . . .

Today we're going to look at density, what it means, and what density can do for you.

Density has long been the urban unmentionable, the one thing everyone shuns, fears, runs from . . . For example, we had a city civil engineer in our planning class today talking about the interesting (and not so interesting) parts of his job doing infrastructural planning for cities out on the Western edge of the metro, and he never got more animated then when he was describing city council meetings about increasing density. Apparently, out on the rural fringe, increasing density is the moral equivalent of throwing a puppy off a cliff. It's not something you want to do if you're a city planner or a marine.

And it's not just exurbanites who detest density. This is America! This is the least-dense country on the planet.* It's almost a universal proposition, like death and taxes, that nobody wants more density in their neighborhood. It's been true for every demographic in America ever since the first ship came over filled with people trying to get away from it all.

And ever since cities started growing exponentially during the industrial revolution, moralizing do-gooders have been trying to figure out ways to decrease density, de-concentrate, and decentralize the big bad city. A good example is this quote from Lewis Mumford, probably the most famous 'urbanist' in American history, who wrote early in his career in a letter to Patrick Geddes that his work was for "the purpose of establishing the conditions upon which decentralization may effectively take place" (from this book, p. 93). Given the squallor and cramped conditions of turn of the century US cities, it's hardly surprising to want to alleviate poverty, slums, or public health concerns. But density is viewed as a problem no matter where you live -- from North Dakota to the Lower East Side, nobody likes it when a family of fourteen moves in next door.

Little is said, though, to defend density. Sure, the engineer that talked to our class liked density because it represented the "most efficient use of infrastructure", but that can hardly serve as density's rallying cry. Rather, I'd like to tell two recent anecdotes about the greatness of density in my life . . .

The first is from Jay's Cafe, the tiny little (delicious) restaurant on Raymond Avenue in Saint Paul. I went there with a bunch of my family one weekend morning a few weeks ago, even though I'd warned my aunt that it would be hard to get a table, and we arrived (seven of us, including a cane-wielding octogenarian) to a crowded, pleasant little room.

Unfortunately, there was only one free table with four chairs and nowhere to wait, and my heart was heavy until my cousin asked if we could share a table with a woman sitting alone. It turned out she said "yes," and we joined her. I've since forgotten her name, but she, my two cousins, and I had a wonderful conversation with her about Taoism, world travel, living in the US South, poetry, and the nature of random events as we all ate omelets. She was into what I'd call new age philosophy, and believed a great deal in chance, being "present", and openness to new experiences. And there's no doubt that density brought us together for breakfast that morning.

The same thing happened to me last weekend at the Kitty Cat Klub, where I'd gone to meet some friends for a drink. There was a pretty damn good band playing (Black Blondie), and the place kept getting more and more crowded. Eventually, three people ended up sharing the quartet of couches with my friends and I, and we chatted with the strangers for at least an hour about moving to the Twin Cities, the excellent local music scene, life in Bemidji (v. Bangor, Maine), and the challenges of our different workplaces. Again, a completely random encounter, making friends with new people, made possible through density. (As Crispin Glover once said, "you are my density.")

I've had very similar experiences at places like Al's Breakfast, the dining car on the Empire Builder, at parties, on dance floors, and even on the filthy, filthy bus. Of course, I wouldn't want all of my life to be like that, but in today's individualized age we often forget how, through most of human history, people lived together in dense groups. And these kinds of minglings can be very productive. It's how people meet each other. It's how we get new ideas. These comings together, the encounters between disparate, different, diverse people and words and ideas and images . . . it's only when they meet and concentrate and affect each other that new organizations, organisms, movements, and change emerge and make real differences in the world.

And density was one of the main reasons why Jane Jacobs was so roundly castigated by her 1960s contemporaries, most especially Mumford. Jacobs believed that density was a crucial function of cities, one of its "generators of diversity," and that dense urban neighborhoods were often the most "alive" parts of cities. Unlike others who argued that overcrowding was the cause of poverty and crime, Jacobs believed that:

people gathered in concentrations of city size and density can be considered a positive good, in the faith that they are desirable because they are the source of immense vitality, and because they do represent, in small geographic compass, a great and exuberant richness of differences and possibilities, many of these differences unique and unpredictable and all the more valuable because they are"

(from this book, p. 120-1)

This kind of message was the exact opposite of that preached by architects, planners, government folks, and sociologists of the time. Even though today's cities have far less distinct neighborhoods than they did in 1958, I think its worth thinking about the ways that density creates diversity and new experiences, not just at restaurant tables, but on city streets, in neighborhood stores, in vacant buildings, in the recesses of your dusty head, and in political and everyday life.

Out with the crowd . . . In with the dense agglomeration! Embrace less space! Cram into the elevator! Fill the aisles! Share a table! There's standing room only.

[Al's Breakfast, probably the highest density spot in the entire Upper Midwest. And also one of the most fun. h/t referencelibrary]

*Not actually true. I think it'd be like Mali, or something.

UPDATE: Actually it is true, according to this totally inadequate chart. At least, we have the least dense cities in the world.

Principles of Sidewalkery: Increasing Returns

Today its time for another POS -- or Principle of Sidewalkery (POS). This time we're going to look at increasing returns, or the idea that 'Sidewalks Aren't a Zero Sum Game'. What is increasing returns?

Well, the first thing to think about is why certain types of businesses cluster together in cities. For example, New York City is famous for having 'districts' in certain parts of the city, where, for example, fifty different industrial lighting shops cluster together along a certain stretch of a street (The Bowery). Why do businesses that compete with each other (ethnic restaurants, antique shops, nightclubs, &c.) often end up in the same kinds of neighborhoods when classical competitive economics dictates that they should create unique identities by locating themselves far from one another?

That's one of the puzzles of increasing returns. At the same time, increasing returns points to the notion that good businesses create good sidewalks, which in turn create good businesses, and so on and so on (and scooby dooby doo) in a catalytic cycle of positive feedback. Increasing returns means that street corners create their own street corner audience, that not only does neighborhood specialization decrease the effect of direct competition, but that vibrant pedestrian traffic can grow itself along contiguous stretches of sidewalk like a grapevine on a fencepost, or like mold on old bread.

Last week's Sidewalk of the Week, Raymond Avenue, is a good example of the idea of increasing returns. While the University Avenue area has many corners boasting one- or two-story mixed-use buildings, for some reason only this particular stretch along the Northwest corner of Raymond has shop after shop after shop with (relatively) thriving pedestrian flow. According to classical economic principles, restaurants might just as well move to some of the empty-ish buildings around the corner, or across University Avenue, capitalizing on their low rent and separate geographic identity. The last thing two restaurants would want to do is bunch together and directly compete with each other for business. But for some reason, the two most successful restaurants in this area are on the same block. Its because instead of competing over the same cafe-going pie, by locating next to each other Key's and Jay's Cafes increase their returns and grow the Saint Paul dining public. This part of town becomes known as the 'Cafe Corner,' and twice as many people show up to eat.

Similarly, on Saint Paul's Selby Avenue the success of Lula Vintage Wear (a vintage clothes store) catalyzed a two new vintage stores (Up Six on Snelling Avenue, and Go Vintage 54 across the street on Selby) opening up less than one block away, so that now there are three vintage stores forming a vintage clothes district on this little part of town. [image from lulasvintage.com]

Or to offer another example, one popular nightclub in Minneapolis's warehouse district spawns another across the street, until the entire area becomes known for its nightclubs. So instead of competing for the same pool of club-goers, the neighborhood's identity grows the total number of club-goers, and everyone comes out ahead.

At the same time, increasing returns creates a generalized, overall neighborhood prosperity. In other words, customers to one successful business create pedestrian traffic which can support other unlike businesses in the immediate vicinity. The more people you have walking around a certain area, the more easily a hardware store or a grocery can grab and extra customer or two, so that vibrant walkable sidewalks tend to grow and thrive in tightly contiguous clusters. Sidewalks aren't fighting over a set amount of retail business, but instead can increase their retail return by encouraging neighboring businesses.

So increasing returns to sidewalk vitality works in two ways -- first (1) by allowing for neighborhood specialization to create a unique identity for an entire sidewalk corner, rather than a single business, and second (2) by increasing overall pedestrian flow so that other nearby businesses benefit from added traffic flow. And unlike cars, which are a pain in the tuchas to start, stop, and park, people on foot can amble, stroll, and meander their way along a stretch of sidewalk, whiling away their days gazing in shop windows. Increasing returns is one of the big reasons that sidewalk vitality so often comes in tightly compacted stretches. Good sidewalks make good neighbors, and streets take on lives of their own.

Also:

The increasing returns of sidewalk specialization is certainly nothing new. I'm reading The Continuing City, by urban morphologist and geographer James Vance Jr., and he describes ancient Greek cities thus:

We cannot establish a detailed picture of the commercial geography of Athens or other classical cities, but we can reasonably accept the idea that one did exist. The segregation was horizontal, into the [merchant] quarters already mentioned; it also seems to have been vertical to a small degree. Foundations remain that suggest the existence of upper-story storage of goods, as well as "living over the shop." ... The geographic anchor of all this internal structuring of commercial areas was an agora. Traders first congregated there; from there, they came to occupty more differentiated craft and traders' districts. [p. 55]

Principles of Sidewalkery: Walkability

Hi, and welcome to the first installment of a new segment here at TC Sidewalks... Principles of Sidewalkery (POS). For today's POS, we're going to springboard off of a number of new happenings in the sidewalk community and look at walkability . Earlier this week I learned about a new website, WalkScore, that uses Google Maps to measure the walkability of neighborhoods according to how many commercial locations are nearby.

While its seems the website is having a few technical problems, it's a neat idea. And it broaches the question: What exactly is Walkability?

I also wanted to share with you a snippet from a recent comment thread on local clearinghouse gristmill, MnSpeak, the other day that caught my eye, having to do with Minneapolis's new downtown transportation plan, and the federal dollars that are coming our way:

There are problems with the plan, I'll admit, but I don't think that more mega-ramps are the answer. The mega-ramps are an idea stuck in the 80's, when downtown was conceived of primarily as a 9 to 5 workplace.

Now, when we think of downtown as a round the clock destination, and when we look to developing the neighborhoods surrounding downtown, it's important that people using all modes of transportation be able to move in and through town.

Also, I'm not sure exactly where the idea that cars make a street unwalkable comes from. What makes a street unwalkable is terrible streetscape, poorly timed pedestrian crossings, too many curb-cuts, etc. Cars really don't have much to do with it.

And taking the buses off of Nicollet Mall is a bad idea propogated by people who don't ride the bus. Hennepin Avenue doesn't have the capacity to handle all of those buses, as evidenced by the condition of bus traffic during Nicollet Mall reconstruction (and will have even less capacity when they convert it to two way traffic). Moving the express buses to Marquette/2nd and shifting the rest of the buses to Hybrid is a reasonable compromise.
»» Submitted by »»» MunsingW at 1:24 PM on July 10

Surely walkability means different things to different people. To some, it signifies simplicity. For others, it means the very opposite, and connotes a dash of chaotic din. Particularly for those with crutches, or without legs, walkability is something altogether different. According to "On Foot: A Brief History of Walking," a great little tome written by Minnesota writer Joseph Amato

The eleventh-century Anglo-Saxon word walking meant "to roll about and toss" as the sea does. Moving from shore to land (as earthly travel so often does), by the thirteenth century the world broadened to mean "to move about" or "to go on a journey". At this time of emerging commerce and expanding pilgrimages, it acquired its contemporary meaning of 'going on foot'.

Walking has been around a long time, and there's a undeniable magic to the stroll, to the alternating rhythm of feet. Music is based on walking. Health comes from walking. Even though it might seem slow, Walk-Rate (1.5 mph) is still the ideal speed for experiencing the world: you can think, you can notice things, you can stop and smell the flowers.

It's only recently, during the last generation, that we've begun to replace feet with other sorts of technology. (Segway!) Just think of all the drive-in and drive-through options we have today. You can see a movie, go to a restaurant, get coffee, get your medication, go to the bank, and shop for groceries (in certain towns anyway, like the Dairy Barns in Long Island) all without leaving your car. One might argue that walking is at an all time low, at least in this country, as we staple our asses to the driver's seat.

But, one of the big problems with increasing per capital walking in the USA is that so few of our neighborhoods are actually walkable. Its really difficult to walk , even you have your nice new pair of New Balance sneakers ready to go.

So, what are the principles of walkability? Well, this isn't rocket science. The first thing you need is something to walk upon... something on the side of the road... something like a sidewalk. Sidewalks are brilliant. They're little places made especially for people, but where I grew up in the suburbs (Mendota Heights) we didn't have many sidewalks. People, if they wanted to walk anywhere, would walk on the road's shoulder, and let me tell you that no self respecting mother would left her kids walk on the 40 mph shoulder of the street where I grew up. Sidewalks should be a no brainer, but sadly many of today's new neighborhoods still today lack even the most basic building block of pedestrianism.

The second vital component is that you need somewhere to walk to. This is the problem that the WalkScore website focuses on -- namely that most new developments are homogeneous masses of residential housing in which, even if sidewalks and density made it possible to walk through a neighborhood, it'd still be pointless because there are no destinations. Where I live now, I'm lucky enough to have two grocery stores within a block of my house, and it allows me the luxury of walking for two minutes to buy a stick of butter, a can of pop, or a fresh homemade bratwurst if I get the inclination.

Only once we have these two crucial bits -- the sidewalk and the destination -- can we start to look at Advanced Walkability. These are the kinds of things that I usually think about on TC Sidewalks: Is the street wide and comfortable? Is it interesting to look at? Are there windows in which to gaze? Does the sidewalk separate the people from the cars? Perhaps some nice-smelling flowers?

Good, walkable neighborhoods are easy to spot simply because they feature pedestrians. And by that standard, probably the most walkable place in the Twin Cities is the State Fairgrounds during two weeks in August: There's tons to look at and do, there's plenty of space, and its just about impossible to get hit by a car. The only downside to the State Fair is that parking is a nightmare. If only there were some way to walk to it...