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THE REST IS HISTORY

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The first class of Urban Park Rangers, with Mayor Koch and Gordon Davis at the center. In the lower right, with the tie, is my friend, neighbor, collaborator and future Parks Commissioner Adrian Benepe.

“New York, New York, New York; Four Decades of Succuss, Excess, and Transformation” Thomas Dyja (Simon & Schuster, 2021)

The great goal of social science is to amass large amounts of data relating to a social phenomenon, and then organize and synthesize that data in order to explain how that phenomenon works – essentially separating the out the signal from the noise. In “New York, New York, New York; Four Decades of Succuss, Excess, and Transformation,” Thomas Dyja sets out for himself that extremely high bar. He pulls together an overwhelming amount of information about the governance and culture of New York City from 1978 to the present and attempts to tease out what actually happened. It is nearly impossible to believe that one author could accumulate and one mind could retain and come to an understanding such an avalanche of facts. In telling this story, he succeeds beyond any reasonable expectation. 

I came to New York in 1978 and have lived here continuously ever since. I began working in the public sphere in 1991. So, in a very material sense, this is my (along with a great many other peoples’) story. I was in, or near, the room where some of the stuff he describes happened. I worked with or knew a significant double-digit percentage of the people he talks about. I generally come out where he does in his broadest conclusions, but as is absolutely inevitable in the blizzard of information Dyja has digested, some of the “facts” and figures he cites either are incorrect or can’t be right (There have never been 50,000 people sleeping on the streets of New York. There have been 50,000 people receiving services for the homeless from the City – mostly living in shelters, most of them families – and not the single adult men who most New Yorkers have in mind when they think of the homeless. While he cite’s Kaiser’s The Gay Metropolis, can it be true that 50% of gay baby boomers died of AIDs?). Dyja also accepts as true a number of the basic assumptions that constitute the conventional wisdom regarding public policy in the city over the last forty years, some of which are just aren’t true or are gross over simplifications (gentrification leads to displacement, homelessness is caused by lack of housing). But, certainly, Dyja’s heart is in the right place, and he is willing to call “bullshit” on a good many self-serving and false claims. I certainly can’t argue with his placing our work on the Bryant Park restoration, and the thinkers we relied on like Holly Whyte and George Kelling, at the dead center of his epic. 

The book relies on press reports and interviews with high profile players for much of its factual foundation. Unfortunately, the New York press often gets the details of local coverage wrong (and more than occasionally gets the entire story wrong), taking the press releases of public officials at face value – and while newspaper reporting may be the first draft of history, it constitutes an unreliable basis on which to write its later versions when it comes to New York City government. It has also been my experience that folks in public life in New York tend to gild their lilies – they take credit for stuff they didn’t do and they seem to remember that positive results they stumbled into were things they planned. Relying on those sources without questioning them will lead to false positives. But when bringing together so many stories, checking them all out would be a lot to ask. 

The book’s great accomplishment is to highlight the policies of the Koch administration that laid the groundwork for New York’s revitalization (particularly in housing and public space) that continues through today, and the cadre of smart, effective professionals that Koch attracted to government the like of which has not been seen since (unfortunately). My personal recollection of third term Ed Koch was of a bullying narcissist. As the New York Times recently reported on at length, Koch remained in the closest during the AIDs crisis and actively worked to cover his personal tracks. Koch also deployed racially inflammatory rhetoric, amping up the city’s most debilitating division. To put it mildly, he consciously failed to attempt to understand, and even dismissed, the concerns of New York City’s large Black community. But, at the end of the day that didn’t drive Koch Administration policy, which, using clever financing mechanisms, built tens of thousands of new affordable housing units (which over decades ultimately became hundreds of thousands), transforming the city’s most neglected, abandoned and disinvested neighborhoods into desirable places. And speaking of places, Parks Commissioner Gordon Davis thought up the idea of private non-profit entities to secure resources for and improve the management of parks – leading to the restoration of Central, Bryant (in which I was directly involved) and Prospect Parks. I am convinced that those two programs, in housing and parks, were the key elements that changed the perception of cities and sparked the return to urban centers across the country – a force so powerful that it has continued through 9/11, the financial turbulence of 2008, hurricane Sandy and the COVID-19 pandemic. 

Dyja’s writing about 9/11 is particularly beautiful; capturing the moment perfectly. He avoids the solipsism and self pity that infects so many other attempts to describe that horrific day. It was a primary election day, on which I was working the polls for mayoral candidate Mark Green in the northeast Bronx. I ended up in a four hour walk to the Upper West Side, with a non-functional transit system, limited information and an inability to get through to home on the phone. All along the walk home I had a view of smoke rising from lower Manhattan as I moved south. When I got home and turned on the television, the video of the time between the planes’ flying into the buildings and their collapse was the worst thing I have experienced before or since. Dyja bravely and frankly identifies the forces that made the return to normal at the former World Trade Center site impossible and that have left us with a permanent, disheartening gash in New York’s side (which will never be remedied), and a collection of inhumanely scaled towers. 

It was interesting to read of the yin and yang during the Bloomberg Administration of Amanda Burden and Dan Doctoroff, which I didn’t understand at the time, while I was toiling ten miles away from City Hall in the neighborhood development fields of Jamaica, Queens: Burden having worked for William H. (Holly) Whyte, the advocate for small scale urbanism and close observation, and Doctoroff being the purveyor of grand plans (like the failed New York Olympics) and big ideas (like the failed Hudson Yards). The bastard child of this dynamic is the hugely popular tourist attraction of the High Line, which isn’t really a successful public space (because it is mostly a place to walk through, rather than linger in) but has been a powerful engine for real estate development along its flanks, and a model for similar projects across the country.

There is a lot in the book about the commercial worlds of hip hop and the art market, which may be useful scene setting – but about which I, personally, don’t very much care and think aren’t particularly culturally important. The New York of the late 1970’s and early-to-mid 1980’s may have been one of urban decline, but it was also a uniquely yeasty and important era for high culture here – particularly in music and dance. To me, it would have been much better to use the work of people like Phillip Glass, Steve Reich, Trisha Brown and Twyla Tharp as the cultural yard stick against which to measure changes in the city over the period. The transformation of Carnegie Hall from an overheated place where paint chips fell from the ceiling on to your head during classical concerts to the glamourous outpost of European high culture fostered by Sandy Weill is a story worth telling. The book has no mention of other cultural innovators like Stephanie French. But, Dyja wrote his book, not mine. 

On the homelessness front, Dyja only briefly quotes Rosanne Haggerty, my social entrepreneurial heroine, and instead relies on testimony from the crafty, sly fox of the unhoused, Bob Hayes. I would like to know more about the Haggerty’s departure from the path-breaking Common Ground and that organization’s transformation into Breaking Ground, now a central institution in what Haggerty calls the homeless/industrial complex. The current state of services for the homeless in New York is the result of bad data, misinformation and worse public policy, which Dyja doesn’t clearly explain. 

Oddly, NY x 3, provides more detail and moves more slowly through the early Koch years and accelerates the narrative pace during DeBlasio Administration. It’s the opposite of how history is usually recounted – with the past receding and the present in the forefront. As a result, the beginning of the book is a rewarding slog, and the end of the book feels rushed and less detailed. There is a great deal about David Rockefeller (Chase) and Walter Wriston (Citi), but nothing about Jamie Dimon (Chase) and Dick Parsons (Citi) (another one of my heroes). That, notwithstanding, Dyja provides the most telling analysis of the eight years of DeBlasio’s mayoralty of which I am aware; which is impressive, given that we’re it is only months behind us. While I was a middling official in City government during DeBlasio’s last four years, I wasn’t sure of what was hitting me. I was a believer in DeBlasio’s attempts to improve the situation of the city’s worst well off, but was mystified by the chaos, lack of direction and just plain bad decision making that seemed to be trickling down from above. Dyja sympathetically explains DeBlasio’s lack of managerial skills, diffidence and indecisiveness.  

Typical of the kind of small inaccuracies that creep into daily journalism, I was counsel to all three BIDs. Taken by the Times at a City Council hearing in 1996.

The book made me long for the New York of my youth. Not because the era was more fun or interesting, but because City government during the 80’s effectively implemented policies that made a difference – and the Mayor and Deputy Mayors (like Ken Lipper, Nat Leventhal and John Zuccotti) backing up risked taking innovative managers like Gordon Davis at Parks and Paul Crotty at Housing. What we are now left with is a sclerotic, risk averse local government that is strangled by its outdated, dysfunctional personnel, legal and contracting procedures. What we have inherited is ineffectual public administration by press release. I was privileged to be a part of the private sector effectiveness of New York’s largest business improvement districts, which Dyja also focuses on (although, in a small detail that perhaps only matters to me, he glancingly misses why Rudy Giuliani had Dan Biederman and me fired from Grand Central Partnership). So, I don’t really have much to complain about on that score.

The book’s epigraph is a quote from the wonderful and underappreciated Whyte, whom I also knew and tremendously admired. Whyte was the father or godfather of Bryant Park. Perhaps Dyja’s recognition of Holly, whom he cites through out the book, and Richard Rein’s revelatory recent biography, will give Holly his day. As Deja makes clear, Holly Whyte has given us the tools to create create great urban places. I, for one, will ever be grateful to Dyja for his superhuman research and telling this story with so much elan and passion. I’m assigning New York, New York, New York to my children, who take a safe and vibrant New York City for granted, so that they can get something of a feel for what Dad was doing while they were growing up. 

THAT’S ALL RIGHT, YOU CAN HAVE HIM – LOS ANGELES

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The Grand Center, LA

Gustuvo Dudamel has never done much for me. I’m actually more a fan of his avatar played by Gael García Bernal in the TV series “Mozart in the Jungle” (which, admittedly takes place in NYC). I’ve also long thought that the Los Angeles Philharmonic is at best a second rate band, which is remarkable because it’s recent conductors have included top shelfers Simon Rattle and Esa-Pekka Salonen (not to mention the storied Carlo Maria Guilini in the more distant past) and its managers have been industry legends Ernest Fleischman and Deborah Borda. Why are those people so well-recognized when the orchestra has never been better than pedestrian?

We were in LA for Du Yun’s “Our Daughter’s Eyes” presented at REDCAT by Beth Morrison Projects and the LA Opera. We also took in Fidelio at the Philharmonic while we were there. I will tread lightly about the LA Phil, as the house professional critic has written about both for the Wall Street Journal. It was also interesting to be in Disney Hall after recently experiencing its acoustic doppelganger in Kansas City. While we were settling in to seats about three quarters of the way back in the hall, the bassoonist was warming up on stage and sounded like he was sitting in our laps. But once the performance started it seemed really far away. Not that the orchestra offers much to hear. The strings of the LA Phil can be accurately described as scrappy for a supposedly world class band, and the ensemble was almost disorganized. Maybe because of Gustavo’s jetting around (he’s also the cappo di cappo at the Paris Opera) rehearsal time may have at a premium for a complicated production, but that seems unlikely given the show’s high profile. 

Gustavo Dudamel - YouTube
This photo of Maestro Dudamel appears several stories high on the facade of Disney Hall.

The New York critical fraternity spent a good deal of time this spring panting for Dudamel to replace the unsuccessful Jaap van Zweden at the New York Philharmonic after van Sweden’s contract comes to an ignominious close next year. Dudamel spent two weeks with the NY orchestra in March playing Schumann, and the New York press went into a frenzy. OK, the guy has terrific hair, a gleaming smile and an interesting life story. But, to these ears, he just isn’t that interesting a musician. In any event, my money is on the exciting Finn, Susanna Mälkki taking the reins at the NYP (you read it here first). 

The show’s raison d’être was the involvement of deaf actors doubling the singers and the involvement of a signing chorus from Dudamel’s home of Venezuela. The musical aspects of the evening were disappointing from top to bottom, except for the fine performance of Ryan Speedo Green, who this year has become the Met’s reliable all round utility bass. Dudamel pushed the band to break-neck speed, at which they were incapable of playing beautifully. Once upon a time, the LA Phil was known as an outstanding group of LA studio musicians, moonlighting as classical players. Now, as a full-time orchestra with a 52 week contract, they aren’t even that. I’d rather watch reruns of MITJ. 

I would be remiss not to crab about how Disney Hall doesn’t relate to the street and is anti-urban. I will also please my readers by avoiding the opportunity to once again crab about Pershing Square which continues to suck.

A Bacchanalian Revel before a Term, about 1632–33, Nicolas Poussin, oil on canvas. The National Gallery, London. Bought, 1826. Image © The National Gallery, London
A Bacchanalian Revel before a Term, about 1632–33, Nicolas Poussin, oil on canvas. The National Gallery, London. Bought, 1826. Image © The National Gallery, London.

But here is the headline – Downtown LA has become almost walkable over the course of the pandemic. Across the street from the loathed (by me) Disney Hall, Gehry has designed a nearly completed massive mixed-use development (1.2 million sq ft, 500 apartments, 20% affordable) that DOES relate well to the street and is massed in a fascinating manner that breaks up its bulk. The building is broken up into two towers of offsetting rectangular forms that humanize it’s scale. It’s mixed uses, including a good deal of street level retail, should seriously animate that stretch of Grand. A hearty bravo to Mr. Greenburg and his patrons at Related. There is lots of other residential development activity that has been recently completed within walking distance. 

I chose not to rent a car for the first time in a trip to La La Land. We took Ubers from Manhattan Beach to Downtown, as well as round trip to The Getty Center from our downtown hotel. All three trips were shit shows. I just can’t understand how Angelenos can put up with it. The trip back from Malibu to DTLA was almost two hours. The Getty Center is magnificent – and its public spaces are uplifting (which is surprising given the extensive use of hardscape. Water features and movable chairs and table soften the experience. The special exhibit of Poussin we visited was lavishly presented. While it goes without saying, it is good to have unlimited money.). But how am I ever going to go there again unless I sleep over or take a helicopter. 

The rest of the visit we walked around downtown. We breakfasted at Grand Central Market and walked along Broadway in historic DTLA. Broadway has made only some progress since the onset of the pandemic. It’s still more than a little rough around the edges. Yes, there is considerable loft conversion, and lots of interesting architecture. The many former movie palaces convey a sense of what tinsel town once was. However, there are still many, many empty, or underutilized, poorly maintained architecturally significant structures. The potential is tremendous. 

By contrast, the Arts District near downtown appears to be a happening place (who knew that LA had an arts district?). The neighborhood is small, and the amount of adaptive reuse is patchy, but apartments are being developed there and there are some cool other uses. We had an excellent meal at a rooftop restaurant, with a rather obscurely marked door at street level. The place (La Cha Cha Cha) was large, entirely outdoors, comfortable and landscaped with cacti. Next door was a club ominously named Death & Co. that we were assured was super cool and had great drinks. The neighborhood was walking distance from downtown. 

I should note that, yes, downtown Los Angeles has a noticeable homeless population, like many other American cities. There are interesting signs around downtown designating special enforcement zones, prohibiting camping and sleeping on the sidewalk. I can’t say the issue appears to be worse than other big U.S. cities or that we ever felt overwhelmed or unsafe. I suppose this has become something of the new urban normal. But by no means did we feel that DTLA was apocalyptic or a set for a new installment of Bladerunner (as I have argued elsewhere, this is a problem that is not principally about housing and is solvable if the political will and data driven social services can be mustered). 

A view down Grand Avenue. The Broad is on the left.

Downtown is brimming with newly built and converted residential developments. The streets still aren’t very active, but the plazas at 1 and 2 Cal have water features, retail, movable chairs and tables and lots of potential. Grand Avenue now has an attractive string of cultural institutions (including Disney Hall, the newish Broad Museum, the Museum of Contemporary Art and the expanding Colburn School facilities), even if nobody appears to much walk between them. You can have a pleasant walk from the towers of Bunker Hill through the Civic Center, El Pueblo de Los Angeles, Little Tokyo through China Town. On my first trip to LA in about 1976, Olvera Street in the Pueblo was regarded as a tourist trap. Today it is rather charming. We had lunch at El Paseo (which has been there for decades) and the other diners were wearing Dodger regalia and appeared not to be tourists but locals pre-gaming (it was opening day, albeit not for five hours). 

A note to Christopher Hawthorne, LA’s Chief Design Officer (and the Time’s former architecture critic): how about paying some attention to the landscaping in the area around City Hall? There are decrepit planters and garden beds among the brutalist 60’s municipal buildings. The plazas are strewn with trash and poorly maintained. I’m sure the Mayor, being a serious Angeleno, never gets out of his car when going between municipal structures, but if LA is serious about design, it really ought to start with its front yard.

Notwithstanding the foregoing, as we lawyers say, DTLA is actually getting to be walkable. Who have thunk it. Joel Kotkin must be shocked. Between the cultural institutions, the street level retail, the varied neighborhood offerings and the improved landscaping, someone might actually live downtown and rarely need access to their car (which, under the circumstances, would be advantageous). Grand Avenue is a happening place. And you can go hear Gustavo Dudamel conduct the LA Philharmonic as often as you want – which is fine with me. 

Musical Group on a Balcony. Gerritt van Honthorst. 1622. The Getty Center. A theorbo and two lutes.

ABOVE THE FRUITED PLAIN – KANSAS CITY

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After parking my car at the Kauffman Center for the Performing Arts and leaving the elevator from the garage to go to Helzberg Hall to hear the Kansas City Symphony, I noticed something that I found odd. The outdoor temperature was in the mid 40’s and yet none of the men going to the concert were wearing overcoats. How could that be? It was cold. I was wearing a coat, a hat, a scarf and gloves. At intermission it dawned on me – people went from the garages in their homes in the suburbs, into their cars, to the garage at the Kauffman Center and up into the concert hall via escalator. Why would they need a coat? They never went outside to get from home to the concert. It was all very comfortably and conveniently arranged. This, in nutshell was my experience in Kansas City, Missouri. 

An entrance to an office building parking garage. Note the roll down gate, which rolls up when you put your ticket in the gate.

Kansas City defied my expectations of what successful cities are supposed to be all about. The city seems to work for most of its citizens. The downtown, while dense, has no street life. The downtown’s public spaces were deserted when I visited. There is hardly any street level retail downtown. And yet, the city, the largest in the state, has consistently grown over the years to a population of 500,000, its highest ever; in a metro of about 2.3 million. It is the country’s 31st largest city and its 26th largest metro. It has a symphony, an opera company, a ballet, a notably well funded public library and an important art museum (the Nelson-Atkins). Unlike most other successful cities, it does not have an important university or medical center. Notwithstanding its representation in the U.S. Senate by the loathsome anti-government, Joshua Hawley, its largest employer is the Federal Government. It’s the home of Hallmark, Commerce Bank, and T-Mobile is a major employer. 

It isn’t the way an Upper West Sider would choose to live, but it appears to be very pleasant. Certainly, it is tough to make an argument that waiting for a subway, crowding into a train car and being hustled for money by someone on every ride from my apartment to Lincoln Center is a superior way of life. What’s wrong with living comfortably, prosperously and conveniently? (The Helzberg family, after whom the hall is named, by the way, sold their regional jewelry store chain twenty years ago to Berkshire Hathaway in an all stock transaction. That tells you what you need to know about the hall’s name. Mr. and Mrs. Helzberg were at the concert I attended, and I am pleased to report that they are hale and hardy.)

A typical Country Club Plaza block.

Before my first visit, I knew very little about the city. What I did know was that it is the home of Country Club Plaza, built by the legendary J.C. Nichols and considered to be, perhaps, the most visionary real estate development project in American history. Country Club Plaza is an open air shopping mall, allegedly designed in the Moorish Revival style covering 55 acres and completed in 1923. Country Club Plaza is whimsical in design and high end in its retail offerings. While it is sort of walkable, it has copious free structured parking, wide streets (more like boulevards) and narrow sidewalks. It is echt Kansas City – in that it is a shopping experience not in the downtown, designed to be driven to. The architecture and landscaping (with many fountains) is however completely entertaining. Unfortunately, COVID has had a seriously deleterious impact on its retail leasing. It appeared to me about 15% of the storefronts were vacant. I was told that the stores that closed were the international high end brands. The stores that remain are familiar national high middle market chains.

Downtown Kansas City has dozens of blocks of office towers, ranging from art deco to glass and steel. There are block after block of high rise buildings, with little to no street level retail. It was not clear to me where office workers grab lunch. Whatever single story or less than, say, ten story structures ever existed in downtown were demolished long ago. The most high end suburbs are about a half hour drive from downtown. It appears that the city’s commercial center was designed to be driven to. You park in a garage, most conveniently in the office building in which you work, you spend your day toiling in that building, and you drive home at the end of the day. 

From 2007 to 2017, downtown residential population in Kansas City quadrupled and continues to grow. The area has grown from almost 4,000 residents in the early 2000s to nearly 30,000 as of 2017. A significant number of office towers of all vintages are empty (including, unlike in most other cities, some post war buildings) and are being converted to residential lofts. There is strong demand for downtown living – even without much street life, downtown restaurants or shopping. The appeal must be large, light spaces with views, and not having to worry about shoveling the snow or fixing the roof. 

Main Street, which traverses the downtown, has a futuristic looking streetcar, which I didn’t see many people riding. Main Street had almost no pedestrian activity on the early spring day of my trip. I visited two large downtown public spaces, one in the civic center and the other across the street from the convention center. Both were unprogrammed and entirely devoid of people. The civic center lawn featured rows of movable chairs (perhaps for an event). It is the only occasion on which I have been in a space with movable chairs with no one sitting in them. The convention center space was entirely comprised of concrete surfaces, with some very stern signs about behavior at the entrances. It was March. It was cold. But still, no people? Not one?

The Kansas City Convention Center

Same deal with other urban functions. The city has a humongous convention center, a number of downtown theaters, as well as the ten year old, Moshe Safdie designed, Kauffman Center. All of these amenities were designed to be driven to. At the Kauffman Center, I couldn’t find a major entrance to the street. Everyone appeared to enter and exit though the garage. The lobby faces a more than triple height wall of windows with an expansive view south (not of the downtown). When you look immediately down out of those windows, you see a line of parked, high end vehicles. There is no relationship between the Center and the street, and Kansas City residents seem to like it that way. 

The Kansas City Symphony pays its players for 42 weeks of service and has a budget of almost $20 million. It is in solid financial shape, with a substantial endowment, and generous annual giving (about 40% of total revenue). It plays fourteen pairs of classical concerts a year, with the balance of its season made up of pops concerts and pit band duty for the ballet and opera. Its music director for 18 years has been the avuncular Harvard and Curtis educated Michael Stern, son of legendary violinist and man of the world (and Upper West Side resident), Isaac Stern. The orchestra plays in a 1,600 seat hall with “vineyard seating,” much like Disney Hall in Los Angeles, and, indeed, shared Disney’s acoustician.  The stage juts out into the auditorium, and the seats are steeply raked – from the front of the stage to the back of the hall is apparently less than 100 feet. The audience member certainly feels like he or she is in on the action. The sound of the orchestra in the space is forward and bright – not necessarily ideal for this group of talented and rambunctious young players. The program I heard included This Midnight Hour by British composer Anna Clyne as well as two crowd pleasers, Debussy’s La Mer and the Brahms Violin Concerto, with Midori as soloist. 

Music director Stern projects the affect of a regular guy. To my effete eye, his jacket and trousers didn’t match, and the jacket most obviously didn’t fit properly. Some (many) might find that endearing. He also wore a yellow tie and started the concert with a few appropriate words and the Ukrainian national Anthem. The Clyne piece was an atmospheric curtain raiser based on two poems, by Juan Ramón Jiménez and Charles Baudelaire, which were printed in the program. The most effective moment of the work featured two mournful antiphonal trumpets on either side of the stage. Stern conducted the Debussy from an obviously well-used study score, with yellowed-brittle pages, some of them ragged. This is one of the most difficult pieces in the orchestral repertoire to get right. There are temptations galore for the brass (particularly trombone and tuba) to go for the gold, which are best avoided. The piece depicts the restless churning of ocean water and the constant rhythm of surf, with an overlay of a broad range of orchestral colors. It demands restraint and subtlety, as I heard last fall in San Francisco under Esa-Pekka Salonen. The KCS caught the bright colors and pounding rhythms (but, as Richard Strauss once said, “Schauen Sie sich niemals die Posaunen an, es ermutigt sie nur”).  

I haven’t heard Midori play in decades. She has long been one of the most popular and acclaimed artists in the classical music world, and while there were surprisingly quite a few empty seats in Helzberg Hall (given the soloist’s popularity and celebrity), Midori delivered. This is one of the two or three most played violin concertos, and Midori must have been called on to perform it in public hundreds of times during her career – but her performance was fresh, committed and perfectly beautiful – in the best sense. The more classical sized orchestra (read: no trombones) provided a supportive accompaniment. The concert was enjoyable experience.

The orchestra must be something of a way station for orchestral musicians on the way up, as a number of the principal chairs were open, and most of its members appeared to be early in their careers. The concertmistress was a visitor from Dallas, trying out for the position. That the country’s 31st largest city sports an orchestra of this quality, speaks (generally unspoken) volumes about classical music and culture in this country. I would guess that the Staatskapelle Halle (founded in 1852) in Halle, Germany (it’s 31st largest largest city), doesn’t play nearly at this level. 

There was one black player in the orchestra, and I only noticed one black attendee at the concert. The city is 30 percent black and 10 percent Hispanic. I had a very nice chat with the black woman who runs the city’s visitor’s center, who was upbeat about issues of diversity in the metro. I was, therefore, unable to get a sense of the reality of life for people of color and lower income folks in Kansas City, so my observations are presented with that caveat.

The place where I tried Kansas City BBQ in Country Club Plaza (which was recommended to me by the staff at the terrific nearby Raphael Hotel) wasn’t quite up to the standard of the BBQ at St. Louis’ Pappy’s. I found the pork and beef tips dry (I did think the potato salad was outstanding). But Pappy’s, in my book, is the ne plus ultra of BBQ.

I drew from my trip a broad lesson about the divisions in our national politics. [Missouri is a red state, while Kansas City, like St. Louis, is something of a blue stronghold within that conservative culture. Interestingly, the folks who live on the Kansas side of the state border within the metro, I was told, tend to be even more liberal and Democratic than the rest of the area. That border isn’t one of the two large rivers (Missouri and Kansas Rivers) that runs through the region. I couldn’t figure out where it was.]. Many Americans like to drive. They like houses with yards. They prefer a short commute. They like to shop and eat at national chains (most Americans don’t remember what a crap shoot eating on the road was before the standardization of chains. I remember some pretty terrible food when traveling as a kid. Howard Johnson’s was a reliable oasis.), and to have convenient parking for their shopping (as for their working). It is unsurprising if they feel judged and treated disrespectfully by those of us on the coasts (all three of them), who think cities should be walkable, people should ride bikes and take transit, and that restaurants should be local and vegan. [And alienating, grandiose, high volume lectures about the imminent threat of climate change caused by a car-based life style don’t win any friends or influence any people, no matter how urgent and important the issue may be.] Kansas City works – and while it doesn’t feature most of my personal touchstones for a successful downtown – it would be outrageous for me to be judgmental or make recommendations for improvement based on my experiences, since many people there obviously enjoy how they have chosen to live and the city’s economy seems to be prospering. We coastal elites need to get with the program on that or we are going to be seeing a lot more of Ted Cruz and Josh Hawley, whose political success is drawn from channeling such resentment. And, next time I go to hear the KCS in March, I’m going to leave my coat in my hotel room. 

UNCONVENTIONAL SUCCESS 1

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American Urbanist: How William H. Whyte’s Unconventional Wisdom Reshaped Public Life, Richard K. Rein, Island Press, 2022.

Richard K. Rein has written a much needed, well researched, beautifully composed biography of William H. Whyte. That, I hope is a clear, declarative sentence of the sort which Rein tells us Whyte would have encouraged and approved. Rein not only skillfully relates the story of an important, if much neglected, thinker on a wide range of social phenomenon, but also puts in the hard journalistic work of drawing together the many seemingly disparate strands of his life’s varied work to highlight its significance. Of course, Whyte was the mastermind of the revitalization of Bryant Park and the careful observer of human behavior in public spaces. But he did so much else. He was the author of one of the most influential books of the 1950’s in the U.S., The Organizational Man, which described the social forces within the new, post-war, highly successful American corporations (and other large institutions) then dominating life in the West. Whyte, according to Rein, created the vehicle of the conservation easement, a key tool in preserving not just open space, but also structures of historic and architectural significance. He enlisted in the Marines, saw action at Guadalcanal and went on to do important strategic thinking for the military. He was influential in shaping the character of Fortune Magazine, an important cultural force in America in the 1940’s and fifties. And, perhaps, most unrecognized, Whyte encouraged and published the work of Jane Jacobs who, while acknowledging Whyte’s contribution to her work, thinking, writing and career, obscured recognition of Whyte’s major cultural, social and political impact.

Whyte worked quietly. He rejected being the leader of any kind of movement.  His work was based on careful observation of social phenomenon, notably using time-lapsed photography in his research in seeking out patterns of human behavior in public spaces. Also key to his technique was listening. He placed a high value on encouraging and heeding what citizens contribute to public decision-making processes about local issues.  He was, unusually, a highly disruptive thinker, without being a disruptive person. He was culturally part of New York’s establishment – a denizen of the prestigious and exclusive Century Association on West 43rd Street for fifty years.  He was supported by Rockefeller related organizations and Laurence Rockefeller personally for decades. Fortune Magazine was a bedrock institution of the mid-20th Century American corporate establishment. But in his good humored, wry way, he didn’t hold back. He shared with the world the conclusions he drew from the data he reviewed, even if they seemed incredible and at odds with the prevailing conventional wisdom. His work from the 40’s on was about making social institutions more effective by challenging their first principles, without threatening their powerful principals. His insights were usually spot on, and not just intelligent – but useful. His personal example, philosophy and modus operandi remain highly relevant and important, even more important, today. His self-abnegation, kindness, thoughtfulness and seriousness of purpose are exactly what our public realm needs more of. 

            Whyte came from the world of WASP privilege (St. Andrews School, Princeton University), enlisted to serve his country in combat and made major contributions to the American quality of life, particularly the return to the City of the 1990’s signified by the success of the reopening of Bryant Park. But, unfortunately, Whyte ended his life in semi-obscurity and not-so-genteel poverty. There seem to me to be two lessons from this arc. First, is the decline of WASP culture in America, and second the ascension of an American “meritocracy” that rewards aggression and attention seeking – qualities that WASP culture famously (and probably not actually entirely) rejected.[2] Rein, a Princetonian both by education and by current residence, gets this precisely right.

While a white, male Episcopalian, Whyte did not come from particularly great wealth. For years, according to Rein he was reliant on Rockefeller largess. He did not seem to desire fame or money – but did appear to enjoy operating at a high level – testifying before Congress, consulting with important government entities and writing in important publications. He, unlike Jane Jacobs, was not a rabble rouser. My sense is that Janites, who are particularly protective of the legacy of a woman whose professional accomplishments were remarkably ahead of her time, see recognition of Whyte as casting shade on Jacobs. It has also been in the particular professional interest of a number of strong-willed, skilled, self-promoting individuals who owed their success in large measure to Whyte’s ideas and support, to, while crediting Whyte for thought leadership, minimize his contributions to their own success. For example, Rein tells the story of how Whyte was excluded from the dais at the 1992 re-opening of Bryant Park, while Whyte’s work was absolutely the bedrock of that revitalized space’s extraordinary success. Rein sadly recounts how when Whyte’s health and finances were failing in the 90’s, unlike some others, he received little by way of financial benefit from that success. While the Rockefeller family provided him with philanthropic resources, given Rein’s recounting, it seems hard to describe that support as generous. 

In addition, the simplicity and counter-intuitiveness of many of Whyte’s ideas (like the deployment of movable chairs in public spaces, to which the poo-bahs of Princeton University, according to Rein, continue not to get) make the essence of his thinking a difficult sell, particularly to the politically attuned. Urban planners and policymakers still see the implementation of Whyte’s ideas as risky, requiring the surrender of control, and subject to derision upon failure. While every major city seems to want a Bryant Park, few are willing to give themselves up to Whyte’s wisdom – of which Pershing Square in Los Angeles is a prime example. 

Rein’s research is comprehensive and impressive. His journalism is impeccable. Whyte’s life history is recounted including many telling details. Rein, probably wisely, doesn’t attempt to sort out the current state of affairs among Whyte’s acolytes and evangelists. The complete history of the founding and recent changes at Project for Public Spaces remain to be fleshed out. Rein talks also about Whyte’s influence over the “New Urbanist” movement, which has, however, unfortunately focused for much of its history on greenfield development outside of major cities and has had little impact on improving historic downtowns. There is no getting around the fact that the public space improvements encouraged by Whyte’s ideas lead to what many now characterize negatively as gentrification, making people pointed to by Rein in the book as keepers of the Whyte flame, including at Project for Public Spaces, uncomfortable with Whyte’s legacy (and happier with citing Jacobs as an influence). The current situation of Whyte’s immediate legacy is unfortunately complicated by competing egos and personal agendas, which is ironic, but perhaps unsurprising, given Whyte’s personal modesty and soft-spoken manner. 

As Rein makes clear, the power of Whyte’s ideas may ultimately prevail. Richard Florida, perhaps the most influential urbanist of our time, has begun to say that he recognizes that no writer and thinker in urbanism has had more influence over his work than Whyte. Whyte’s message of the importance of maintaining an open mind, listening to community members and the value of disruptive thinking based on factual evidence presented with humility and a willingness to be found incorrect present a clear path forward to addressing the most important problems facing the U.S. and other Western democracies. The need for the toleration of risk taking, and even idiosyncrasy with organizations is, perhaps, Whyte’s most universal lesson[3]. Whyte’s was a quiet but imperative voice to which we would be well advised to listen, as Rein so persuasively makes clear. 

[1] With apologies and thanks for swiping his title, to the late, great David Swensen. 

[2] The novels of Centurion, Louis Auchincloss, describe this process in detail.

[3] Whyte, himself, was occasionally described as idiosyncratic – usually by establishment types. 

THE BEST OF TIMES

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San Francisco/San Francisco Symphony

San Francisco is one of the most desirable places on the planet to live, both because of its climate and because of its amenities. As a result, many, many people want to live there. A good many of those people have substantial resources. A lot of those people are also highly skilled and/or unusually creative. That is why real estate in San Francisco is expensive. High demand. Step-function availability of supply. Basic economics: demand outstrips supply. Result: high prices. It is just not very complicated. And, more importantly it is a good, rather than a bad, thing.

            Admittedly, my recent visit was on spectacularly beautiful, cloudless days. The adjective “Mediterranean,” often used to describe the climate, could not have been more apt on this trip. We went to North Beach for a classic cioppino at Sotto Mare, we took the bus to the Pacific and sat on a park bench in the sun facing the ocean (with no sign of the generally ubiquitous “Carl the Fog”), reading the wonderful new, posthumous La Carré novel. We took in the Symphony and the Opera. We lingered at the new Salesforce Park. I was ready to start shopping for a new place to live. San Francisco, another city, like New York, is often described by the punditocracy as an astronomically priced hellscape; inhabited only by trustafarians, over-paid young techies and the wild-eyed, violent homeless. Sorry: not.

            We stayed at the wonderful Intercontinental in SOMA. The hotel has over thirty stores and floor to ceiling windows, with spectacular views of the City (many older San Francisco hotels are short and dark, with small rooms). However, the location, at Howard between Fourth and Fifth, exposes the walker to the epicenter of San Francisco’s un/under-housed population, which appears to be at 7th and Mission. The walk through the Civic Center on a Saturday night after a concert by the Symphony, while not dangerous, required passing through large groups of individuals sleeping on the sidewalks, selling things from blankets, with some acting out and appearing to be seriously mentally ill, surrounded by piles of stuff. Avoiding feces on the sidewalk was a non-trivial endeavor. There were pairs of men who appeared to be a private unarmed security force labeled “Urban Alchemy,” who appeared to be ineffectual. We also passed people sleeping in doorways in The Castro and other folks who pitched tents around highway ramps near the Embarcadero. My rough estimate is that the total number of individuals occupying public space we passed was more than 500 and less than 1500. Notably, in most other neighborhoods we visited, people visibly living in public spaces or behaving in obviously unpredictively ways were not present (Richmond, Sunset, North Beach, Glen Park).

            It’s worth observing that it is individuals visibly acting out who most contribute to a perception of physical danger. People yelling at passers-by or even to themselves, punching the air, kicking the sidewalk or zigzagging along the sidewalk appear unpredictable. They create for many pedestrians the possibility of unwanted physical contact. These, perhaps clinically psychotic folks, can also be the most difficult to engage and reach for professional outreach workers.

            While this sounds like a large population, it is by no means beyond addressing. Walking down Market Street, and particularly at 7th, it is apparent this is not a problem primarily about housing – there is social activity taking place among these San Franciscans that is part of what draws them to these locations, and their issues need to be addressed socially. At the same time, despite what I have been reading in the national media, there is new multiple dwelling unit residential construction happening all around the downtown, and lots of recently completed projects – even on Market Street itself. We spent an intrigued hour watching the process of the erection of an enormous construction crane across the street from our hotel.

We went for a walk in the expanding Mission Bay community, just south of the baseball stadium (the Giants lost the playoffs to the Dodgers our first night in town); a midrise, mixed-income, mixed-use neighborhood being built from the ground up. All the right moves seemed to have been made. While eating lunch in a parking space shed (kombucha soda, falafel sandwich — $45 dollars for two), I was reminded of our West End Avenue mid-rise neighborhood in New York, a highly desirable and successful product type. THIS is what Hudson Yards should have been. A vital, human scale place to live.

San Francisco needs to get past its politics and adopt a data driven, client centered approach to addressing the needs of its citizens living in public spaces. It should recognize that the issue ISN’T (just) housing and come to terms with that it’s never a rational life choice to sleep on the sidewalk. It needs Built for Zero and Community Solutions (https://community.solutions/built-for-zero/). It’s also important for the community to come to a consensus that people living in shared public space are monopolizing places that belong to everyone and should be available to be used in common. Someone playing loud music, engaging in commercial activity or even laying in a sleeping bag on the sidewalk, is EXCLUDING other folks from enjoying the experience of public space that, particularly post-COVID, we have learned is absolutely essential to urban living. No one should have the right to exclude others from quiet enjoyment of the limited resource of urban public space.

Creating a data base that includes a record for each client, working with them as individuals to get a medical and person history, building a trusting relationship with (potential) clients, and then linking them up with the benefits to which they are already entitled and the services they require. This is difficult, time-consuming work. But it can succeed, as Community Solutions is demonstrating across the country. In a city of 900,000, reaching a couple of thousand of people in distress, while important, is by no means a monumental task. It also doesn’t define the city.

Given the breadth of cultural offerings available in San Francisco, it is easy to forget that it a relatively small city. The depth of cultural and social resources is just remarkable. During our visit we took in an intellectually and visually overwhelming show of the paintings of Joan Mitchell at the SF Museum of Modern Art, a production of Fidelio at the Opera and a fascinating and engaging program at the Symphony. While I will leave to those more knowledgeable than myself to comment on the Mitchell show (Jed Perl has a long essay in the New York Review: https://www.nybooks.com/articles/2021/11/04/joan-mitchell-painting-colors-conversation/) and to my spouse to review the Beethoven (staying in my conjugal lane), I would like to talk a bit about the Symphony concert. In fact, over the coming months, it is my plan to visit a different city every month, hear its orchestra and spend some time visiting and thinking about its downtown. Next month I’m planning to visit Cleveland. I’m particularly eager to go to Kansas City and Indianapolis – places to which I’ve not previously been.

The San Francisco Symphony has been widely admired in recent years both for its sound, as well as for its unique programming under its music director of two decades, Michael Tilson Thomas (now, unfortunately, recovering from surgery to remove a brain tumor). Most critical observers agree that the orchestra is the most interesting one, certainly west of Chicago, and perhaps in the country. With MTT’s retirement last year, he was succeeded by Essa Pekka Salonen, the former music director in Los Angeles – and long the object of desire of the New York Philharmonic, of which he has made clear he wants no part. The program that the SFO presented was a knock-out, including Debbusy, Messiaen and Saariaho, following an important stream of French composition from the late 19th through the early 20th Century – a current of compositional thought to which I am particularly drawn. Under Salonen’s baton the orchestra sounded, sharp, bright and tightly disciplined. While it didn’t particularly convey that characteristically mellow, French sound for which the Boston Symphony, for example, was once known, the performances did great justice to the music presented, and at the conclusion of the concert, I was delighted not to have to peel myself out of my chair as a result of the enthusiasm of the brass section as is so often the case at the end of Debussy’s La Mer. Debussy also kicked off the concert with Prelude à L’Après-midi d’un faune, showcasing the distinctly personal playing of the woodwind soloists.

But the concert’s featured events were (Oberlin alums) Jeremy Denk playing Oiseaux Exotique and Claire Chase playing Saariaho’s 2001 flute concerto Aile du Songe. Both were outstanding. Worth remaking on is that the Messiaen dispensed with the ensemble’s string sections and the Saariaho was played without winds other than the soloist, setting up an engaging contrast. Both performances made compelling arguments for each of the works. Denk, playing this rhythmically non-intuitive piece from memory, demanded attention – highlighting the contrasts with orchestral writing, and stressing the exotic nature of the bird calls that form the inspiration of the work. Chase’s performance was theatrical and intense. In both cases the orchestra was a committed and skilled partner, making the most of the coloristic writing of these composers, without blurring their impressionistic edges. The playing in La Mer sounded highly rehearsed and polished, reserving dramatic power for the appropriate places. One might argue, after hearing this concert, that the harmonically complex, French impressionist compositional style has ultimately proved a more productive path for composers than the spiky, audience alienating Second Viennese School – which seems to have proved to be something of a dead end.

This engaging program is one, unfortunately, we would be unlikely to ever hear in New York, and it must be said that about a quarter of the auditorium was unsold. This was the sixth concert in a big auditorium we had attended this fall (two at the Met in New York, one at Carnegie, one at Chicago Lyric and one at St. Ann’s warehouse), and while masking is certainly a suboptimal experience, all of those other shows played to full or nearly full houses and I have lived to tell the tale (so far). Fidelio at SFO also appeared to be fully sold.

We visited San Francisco’s newest public space, Salesforce Park, which is on the fourth-floor roof of the new downtown transit center. The transit center is actually a surprisingly appealing bus station – a more unlikely application of an adjective I can scarcely imagine. The loading platforms are airy and bright – as different from New York City’s Port Authority Bus terminal as one might possibly conjure! The park is six acres (the same size as Bryant Park), and most distinctively features a fabulously wide array of plant species from Mediterranean climates around the globe. The creation of roof soil and irrigation conditions to support this biosphere, particularly mature tree specimens of considerable height, is absolutely remarkable.

The operation of the park by BRV Redevelopment Ventures is nearly flawless. The “B” in BRV is Dan Biederman, my former Bryant Park boss, who has outdone himself, fixing a number of the problems we faced on Sixth Avenue, with the possibilities presented by ground-up new construction – particularly an attractively designed and appropriate performance area, something that Bryant Park lacked from day one. The park incorporates the successful Bryant Park tropes – movable chairs, well maintained restrooms, a complete slate of daily programs, a working water feature, meticulous trash removable and discreet security. The sinuous path around the space is often flanked by shaded benches facing the continuously varied gardens. The maintenance of those complex planting beds has to be a major undertaking. Bravo to Dan, his staff and to the design team for a massively, magisterially successful collaboration.

Certainly, the park can only be accessed by a one-way gondola from the Salesforce Plaza and a reasonably large number of elevator banks (and we thought Bryant Park was set off from the street!), making it somewhat inaccessible. I visited on a quiet Saturday – so I didn’t experience the park with a large crowd. But simply the idea of a quiet Saturday in the park is a luxury no longer afforded by Bryant Park, even on a rainy day. That inaccessibility presents the challenge for the park of becoming only an amenity for workers in the Salesforce Tower (now San Francisco’s tallest). But, unlike New York’s High Line, Salesforce Park is a real park (rather than a tourist attraction) which can be enjoyed in a multitude of ways (rather than being principally the experience of walking from one end to the other). It is a triumph for San Francisco and will likely increase in viability and strength as food and other concessions are developed over time.

San Francisco is a great, livable, vibrant city – and its real estate is expensive as a result. It has some serious problems, particularly its underperforming school system. Our reaction to San Francisco as urbanists shouldn’t be to denigrate or bemoan its success, but to work for the creation of more great places in order to enable more people to enjoy the benefits of living in a vital city.

ROCKIN’ THE CANADIAN ROCKIES

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Olympic Plaza with no skaters

It is truly wonderful how many beautiful and great places there are in North America. Calgary, Alberta sits an hour from the Rockies and enjoys spectacular mountain views. Calgary is a little like Dallas, after having morphed into Houston. It started as a cow town (and I had a fantastic shell steak during my visit) and became an oil and gas city – the fourth largest city in Canada with a population of well over a million. It has eight buildings of over 40 stories in the downtown. The city was very much built around the car – with numerous parking structures in the center. You can drive downtown from the suburbs, park downtown and as a result of the extensive skyway system (called locally the “+15”), your feet never have to touch the ground in getting to and from your office.

My visit was sponsored by the downtown business improvement area (BIA), Calgary Downtown Association (CDA), as part of an exercise to revitalize Stephen Avenue, one of the city’s principal shopping streets. Several blocks of Stephen Avenue have been pedestrianized and are mostly made up of low-rise late 19th and early 20th century buildings. The street is shadowed by the surrounding office towers – which, at present, have in excess of a 30% office vacancy rate. The street abruptly “Ts” smack into the superblock containing City Hall.

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Crossing Brooklyn Ferry

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02-crossing-brooklyn-ferry

This blog only represents the views of the author and does not reflect the policies of the City of New York or its Department of Information Technology and Telecommunications. 

Is urban “revitalization” a mere expression of cultural preference – reflecting white, upper-middle class predilections? Was the pre-revitalization 42nd Street somehow a more authentic expression of something before it, and Bryant Park, became “Disney-fied.” Essays in “Deconstructing the High Line: postindustrial urbanism and the rise of the elevated park,” edited by Christoph Linder and Brian Rosa (Rutgers, 2017), suggest that prior to its re-visioning as an urban public space, the High Line of gay cruising and wild, invasive plants was authentic, organic and more correct. In an essay in Deconstructing the High Line, Darren J. Patrick even argues that the pervasive and self-seeding, but non-native, Ailanthus altissima, had more of a right to live and thrive in the along the abandoned elevated rail line than the artificial more native, highly curated plant selection that distinguishes the High Line now.

When we were working at Grand Central Partnership and Bryant Park Restoration Corporation, we were occasionally surprised to learn that there were academics, like Sharon Zukin, who thought that we were engaged in a misguided attempt to destroy the complex, authentic social ecology of “The Deuce.” We couldn’t understand how someone might prefer the porn theaters, prostitution, unpicked up trash and three card monte of 42nd Street of the 70’s and early 80’s to what we were envisioning. Continue reading →

Landing in Flyover Country

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330px-CirrusSR20Landing

A Cirrus SR 20

Our Towns: A 100,000 Mile Journey into the Heart of America

By: James and Deborah Fallows

432 Pages

http://www.anrdoezrs.net/click-8373827-11819508?sid=PRHEFFDF5A7F1&url=http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/?ean=9781101871843

Owning and being able to fly your own plane creates a tremendous opportunity to learn about what is happening in communities across the country. There are thousands of landing strips outside cities large and small, and while a small plane is highly subject to the vagaries of the weather and only travels at a speed of about 200 mph, it sure seems to beat driving – and the views can be both amazing and illuminating.

James and Deborah Fallows have a Cirrus SR 20 (retail price $329,000, in case you’re asking), and Mr. Fallows knows how to fly it. The SR 20, a reader learns from the book, is the most popular single engine propeller plane on the market – and it comes with its own parachute – for the plane. They took advantage of this resource to travel around the United States, from northern Maine to southern California, to explore non-gateway cities and their progress towards revitalization. The largest of the places visited was Columbus, Ohio (now the largest city in the state). But most of the towns were much smaller: Duluth; Greenville, South Caroline; Bend, Oregon.

I’ve often heard speak of James Fallows as a fellow traveler of the placemaking movement, and his writing for the Atlantic and its City Lab reflect that. The book’s acknowledgements cite Fred Kent, Bruce Katz, Amy Liu and Richard Florida, names we know. But James and Deborah Fallows bring a particular perspective to their odyssey. First they are people who can afford to buy and keep that plane! Second, it’s clear from the text that they are members in good standing of the “inside-the-beltway” establishment. Not only does Mr. Fallows write for the Atlantic, but he was, early in his career, a White House speech writer (for President Jimmy Carter). While an SR 20 can’t fly much higher than 10,000 feet, and generally flies at lower altitudes, the D.C. native perspective tends to be from 30,000 feet. Indeed the Fallows’ attempt to take the same approach in gathering information about each of the two-dozen towns they visit (starting with visiting the editor of the local paper) and try to draw out patterns among what they find. Continue reading →

Book Project: Learning from Bryant Park: Placemaking in Bryant Park. Revitalizing Cities, Towns and Public Space

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BP After

I have just contracted with Rutgers University Press for the publication of Learning from Bryant Park: Placemaking in Bryant Park. Revitalizing Cities, Towns and Public Spaces in the Spring of 2019. I am so fortunate to be working with the experienced publishing professionals Peter Mikulas and Micah Kleit on this project.