Wednesday, May 16, 2018

A Certain Ramshackle Appearance


Who's in charge here?

Recently I've been having a look at the route of the old 23 trolley in Center City, mainly the southbound piece on 12th Street. And I've been having a number of thoughts. Including, who's in charge here? Have a look at these sign poles at 12th and Chestnut. Is there anyone who actually looks at this stuff and has the power to say, Wait a minute?

Don't get me wrong. In the modern world, I think we need more signs than they had years ago. For instance, the sign up on the building that says "Chestnut Street" is probably a bit subtle for today's world.

 It says Chestnut Street, if you can find it.

But do we, for instance, need two signs at Sansom Street telling us that we're at Sansom Street?

Trolley mast good. Second street sign bad.

I originally went to 12th Street, not to follow the trail of the trolley but to follow up on the news that, years ago, the Academy of Natural Sciences was located here - somewhere around 12th and Sansom. Good luck on finding any sign of that.

Once I was there I started looking around, and the archaeological remains of the 23 trolley are everywhere. I actually felt like getting a pith helmet so I'd look like some intrepid Englishman looking for dead Egyptians.

The most obvious remains are the tracks, of course. There's a long and tortured history. The tracks are a serious hazard for bicyclists. Motorists don't like them because a car tire on a rail acts like it's hit a patch of ice. Bicyclists have it worse; they can catch a wheel in the flange groove (or flangeway, if you want to be a stickler). At any rate, good things do not flow from that. After some unhappiness, the Philly Streets Department and Septa undertook to remove or pave over the rails at a bunch of intersections - these are the spots where bicyclists are most likely to "catch a crab," as rowers put it.

Disabled track, Sansom St. Filling the groove with asphalt helps.

That still leaves a bunch of track out there, and frankly a lot of it is not in very good shape. There are those who still are waiting for the 23 trolley service to be restored, and I like trolleys, so I don't want to get into an argument on that. But it seems clear that restoration of the line will involve replacement of a high percentage of the track (not to mention dealing with some gnarly ADA issues), so here's my compromise. Let's neutralize the track that's there - remove it or pave it over - and dramatically increase the usability of 12th Street - and 11th Street, which carried the northbound trolleys in Center City. Later on, if actual momentum arises for restoring the 23 trolley route, I'm prepared to be a very sympathetic listener.

The threat from the remaining track is very real. I was talking with an acquaintance who lives near Jefferson Hospital, and he described what it was like to go flying after his mountain bicycle's wheel dropped into the slot. Fortunately he wasn't seriously injured, but if Septa and the City think they've dealt successfully with the safety issues on 11th and 12th streets, they're mistaken.

One thing I didn't realize until I was looking for the old Academy of Natural Sciences site is that the tracks are not the only extant remains of route 23. There are masts. There are wires, up in the air, supported by the masts. My initial reaction was rip it out. It's just cluttering up the landscape. But I got some pushback from friends who like old things, and my view has evolved.

Frankly, I like the masts. Yes, they add to the clutter, but they are cool - I occasionally think of them as the big stone heads on Easter Island. A Philly version, of course. And I think they make the streets safer. They're sort of like bollards on steroids. I've seen a lot of light poles knocked over onto the ground. I've never seen a trolley mast knocked onto the ground.

Trolley mast at Locust and 12th. Needs more than paint.

It's true that many of the trolley masts could use some TLC, and in some cases perhaps they should be removed, but I now think that should be on a case-by-case basis. And maybe we could look at some colors other than pea-soup green.

Trolley wires, 12th and Sansom.

That brings us to the wires, which do tend to walk into a picture and take over. I was initially annoyed by this - there's some very nice architecture on 12th Street. But again my thinking has evolved. I'm okay with the wires. Let's keep them. Maybe string lights - LEDs of course. That could be quite festive, and help 12th Street compete with 13th as a restaurant venue.

But let's get rid of the tracks. And let's hire someone to sort out all the stuff we're sticking onto our streets. If you think of a block as an outdoor room, the idea of a designer who can curate the street seems a natural evolution.  At any rate, someone needs to extract some order and perhaps even elicit some quality from the cacophony we see so often on our streets.

Is anybody asking, Does this work for people?

See also Gordon Cullen and the Outdoor Floor.

Sunday, May 6, 2018

Striping Webb Street



Webb at Deal Lake Drive. The yellow boxes mark the setback required by state law.

Webb Street is a five-block street in the northern part of Asbury Park. It is in a mixed-income neighborhood and runs north-south, two blocks from the beach. On the south end it is anchored by The Asbury, a new hotel, and on the north end it stops at Deal Lake.

The northern four blocks of Webb were recently repaved, and more recently the paint crew showed up and worked its magic, trying to help cars and people find their proper places.

Webb does have an issue. Lots of people live here, and many of them have cars (this is New Jersey, after all). Then in the summer the "New Yorkers" show up to go to the beach, and they're very fond of Webb because it's close to the sand, and there are no meters (for now). So the striping didn't just include individual parking stalls and zebra stripes for the pedestrians - there are oceans of yellow stripes, carefully arrayed within yellow box borders, designed to protect the sight lines at intersections, and also to protect driveways.

Try telling the judge you didn't know it was a driveway.

It's well known that New Yorkers are not great respecters of clear space, whether at the corner or in front of driveways. (The locals tend to refer to all visitors as "New Yorkers," regardless of what the license plate says. I took ten minutes the other day and noted Auslander license plates from Maine, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia, North and South Carolina, Georgia, and Tennessee.  Oh, and New York.)

The stripes get curvy so motorists can turn without agita.

Curiously, there have been complaints that all this paint is marring the beauty of a historic neighborhood, and detracting from the attention that should be paid to the lovely old buildings in the area. I have two thoughts. One is, nobody ever seems to complain about parked cars doing the same thing. Second, as regular readers of this blog probably know, I find asphalt to be extremely boring. I think the white and yellow stripes add visual interest to a road surface that looks essentially like a black hole is space. And I think the white and yellow also go very well with the green of the many lawns in the area.

Victorious by the Sea. That's the building's name.

Here's an 1883 Victorian, surrounded by white and yellow stripes. I think it's doing just fine. For Asbury Park, this is a really old house. The town wasn't founded until 1871. (This house recently moved from the east side of Webb to the west side, but that's another story.)

See also The Pavements of Asbury Park, What Streets Can Learn From Boardwalks, Pop-Up Railings for Crosswalks, A Poor Man's Bumpout, Gordon Cullen and the Outdoor Floor.

Monday, April 2, 2018

Which Side Are You On?

Sometimes It Comes Down to This

2100 block of South Street.

I'm on the left. And I hope you are too. Call it eye candy. Call it visual interest. My eye goes to the facade on the left. There's something to look at. The one on the right looks like it's basically trying to disappear, and it's doing a pretty good job.

As urban guru Jan Gehl puts it, "If ground floor facades are rich in variation and detail, our city walks will be equally rich in experience." (See his book Cities for People, p. 41.) Gehl goes on to suggest that thriving commercial streets all over the world tend to have a new shop or booth every 16-20 feet, which means that someone strolling along will see something new every five seconds or so (p. 77).

Stretches of certain Philadelphia streets do pretty well at this test - Walnut and Chestnut of course, parts of South Street, both east and west, East Passyunk. There are others.

Residential Streets
But what about residential streets? Are we doing enough to keep the walk interesting? I'd say yes and no. Some blocks in Center City are so beautiful that I don't mind a certain sameness. Take the 1800 block of Delancey, with its facing rows of gorgeous Georgians. Even here, though, not all the buildings are in the Georgian style, and if you look a second time you'll notice that the Georgians are not all identical. There is a pleasing variation in the details of the facades. And it doesn't hurt to have a Frank Furness building plopped at each end of the block. Two very different buildings, both very different from the Georgians.

Other blocks can be more diverse and still read as a coherent and pleasing whole, with buildings of different size and use and age finding a way to meld together. It's a balancing act, but to my mind a touch of chaos is preferable to dead conformity.

As Jane Jacobs notes, this is the way cities lived before the clear-cutting of urban renewal: "A successful city district becomes a kind of ever-normal granary as far as construction is concerned. Some of the old buildings, year by year, are replaced by new ones - or are rehabilitated to a degree equivalent to replacement. Over the years there is, therefore, constantly a mixture of buildings of many ages and types. This is, of course, a dynamic process, with what was once new in the mixture eventually becoming what is old in the mixture." (See The Death and Life of Great American Cities, p. 189.)

If you're looking for an example of what a street like this can look like, take a stroll down the 1900 block of Panama.

And if the architects are having trouble getting the mix right, we can always bring in the artists. A blind wall can bring life to a whole street with the help of a mural (walk by 17th and Waverly), or a mosaic by Isaiah Zagar (see this story on the 800 block of Pemberton).

Or street furniture like trash cans and utility boxes can become accent points: Send in the Mural Arts Program or students from the University of the Arts. (See What Should We Do With the Humble Dumpster?)

I have one more idea. Let's take a cue from the abstract expressionists and try some color field painting.

Yellow Houses
Oops. It looks like we're already doing this. Have a look below. Without the yellow facade, this would probably be a car ad. With the yellow, architecture wrests back primacy from the automobile.

And, as an added treat, just this once, the building owns the street down to its toes. Normally, parked cars drown the bottom half of the ground floor. I think this state of affairs does untold damage to the pedestrian experience, and I think we're so used to it we don't even notice what we don't have.

11th Street at Waverly.

As Jan Gehl notes, the ground floor is overwhelmingly what pedestrians look at. But they do look up occasionally; Gehl suggests the person on the street can relate pretty well to the first five floors of a building (p. 40). Think about the Sistine Chapel ceiling, which is 68 feet above the ground. People can see it just fine. Michelangelo made sure of that.

So our new corps of color field painters should treat the whole facade as their canvas. Let's pull back a bit from this building and see what it looks like from Waverly.

The whole building.

Now let's pull a bit more back up Waverly, even though it's trash day. An accent point can pull together a whole lot more than itself.

From Waverly near Jessup.

Here's another yellow building. I've been passing it for years, and a few days ago, for the first time that I know of, the parking spot in front of the building was empty. And I had my camera with me.

2100 block of Locust.

And here's another.

2000 block of Waverly.

One more. You'll notice that the street trees can be much more than bit players, if you can see them.

25th at Panama.

Let's look at some other colors.

Other Colors
Blue, for instance. This one is across the street from Frank Furness's Thomas Hockley house. (For more on Frank Furness in the Rittenhouse area, click here.)

21st Street south of Walnut.

I call this one the Jolly Green Giant.

Naudain at 24th Street.

I really like this one. It's a little hard to find. Addison Street in this block is a stub that doesn't open onto either 10th or 11th. You need to walk down Waverly and then turn onto a little north-south stub called Alder, and a few steps will take you to Addison.

1000 block of Addison.

Plenty of Painted Buildings
At the risk of stating the obvious, there are plenty of painted buildings in Philadelphia. Very few of them look like the house on Addison Street above. I'm trying to make the case for a bolder use of color. And the good news is that I can do it by walking around and taking pictures of stuff that's already there.

Don't get me wrong. There are a lot of lovely pastels around town - two of the yellow houses above are pastels. I particularly like them when they use features like doors, windows, and the cornice as accent points.

Red: A Special Case
Years ago S. Weir Mitchell wrote a novel about Philadelphia called The Red City. It's still red. We've got plenty of red brick buildings, including the new Museum of the American Revolution.

So why would you paint a red brick building with brick red paint? Do you really think we don't notice the difference?

Painting red bricks red displays, to my mind, a certain lack of imagination. I understand the desire to fit in, and I understand that the paint may be covering a myriad of flaws, and I'm not opposed to painting brick. But really, that color? You're not fooling anyone. The facade lacks the texture of brick and the variety that comes with the contrasting color of the mortar. Next time, have a look at chrome yellow.

Plaque remembering S. Weir Mitchell, 1500 block of Walnut.

See also City Beautiful Sprouts on Cypress Street, Gordon Cullen and the Outdoor Floor, Putting Some Park into Old Parking Lots, Do We Secretly Want Ugly Cities and Dangerous Streets? 

Monday, March 5, 2018

Streets Without Joy


A happy street: Smedley between Spruce and Pine.

There was a highway in Vietnam called The Street Without Joy. Actually the French gave it the name - La rue sans joie.  The phrase dates back at least to a 1925 movie starring Greta Garbo, which in turn was based on a 1924 novel, Die freudlose Gasse by Hugo Bettauer. Bernard Fall, with his 1961 book Street Without Joy, brought the phrase to a wide American audience.

Too many of our alleys in Philadelphia have earned this name. One of the reasons is razor wire, which continues to show up in places that I would not expect it.

Let's talk for a minute about the semiotics of razor wire. I don't know what it says to you, but here's what it says to me: war zone. And while its owner may view it as a defensive device, preventing access by unwanted visitors, it also clearly has an aggressive function - to intimidate. Not just potential burglars, but anybody walking down the street.

If you're simply interested in protecting your home, modern technology provides a veritable cornucopia of products that are both discreet and effective. Sensors, cameras, the ability to berate an intruder while seated in front of your computer at work - I won't do the alarm company's sales job here, but really, if you're willing to give up the mine's bigger than yours thing, you're wasting your time with razor wire.

And if your psyche really cries out for some physical barrier to lacerate someone trying to come over a gate or wall, maybe it doesn't need to intimidate every passerby. Maybe it could even be funny. You could tear a leaf out of the Book of Isaiah Zagar. The presentation below is not particularly intimidating, but anybody trying to go over it is likely to lose some blood - maybe not enough to bleed out, as sometimes happens with razor wire, but certainly enough to enable identification. So it depends a bit on how much damage you really want your defenses to do.

900 block of Waverly.

I understand the romantic appeal of razor wire. The fact is, there was a war in our cities. As Adam Gopnik puts it in a recent New Yorker article, "it's hard for those who didn't live through the great crime wave of the sixties, seventies, and eighties to fully understand the scale or the horror of it, or the improbability of its end."

But that war is over, and maybe, just maybe, it's time for us to demobilize. I understand that the murder rates in Baltimore and Chicago are unacceptable - frankly, the murder rates in Philadelphia and New York are unacceptable - but this is no longer a war. Kaboni Savage is behind bars, and he's going to stay there. The same with Rudolph McGriff. Beyond Philadelphia, there's Whitey Bulger. He's behind bars too, at long last.

As Bertolt Brecht's Mother Courage cried out in panic during a lull in the Thirty Years' War,  "Peace has broken out!" Some people may be irreconcilable, but I suggest that perhaps it is time to turn our swords into plowshares and think about what a city at peace would look like.

Maybe we should think about streets with joy, rather than streets without joy. I think this may be a stretch for some people. It's not just a question of removing negatives, like razor wire. We need to think about what sparks joy.

Here, for example, is the 1800 block of Cypress. It's a nice street - no razor wire that I can find, clean, orderly, even reasonably well organized from a design point of view, at least for a service alley.

1800 block of Cypress.

But I'm just not feeling it. A while ago I put together a rating scale for our alleys, ranging from F to A. I'll give this one a C.

With the amount of money that's available on this block, we simply have to do better than a gentleman's C.

You don't have to go crazy. For instance, take Smedley Street, pictured at the beginning of this story. If Grandma Moses had lived in Philadelphia, she would have painted Smedley Street. Of course Smedley has the advantage of having the homes face on the street rather than being a service alley with a parade of garage doors.

So maybe you need to shift from Grandma Moses to Isaiah Zagar, or even Piet Mondrian. (Hint: Garage doors don't have to be boring. It's a choice.)

There's more in the bones of Philadelphia than the Federal style; we should recognize that and build on it.

Smedley again.

See also
Alleys, My New Favorite AlleyDo We Secretly Want Ugly Cities and Dangerous Streets?

Monday, February 19, 2018

What Should We Do With the Humble Dumpster?


1600 block of Moravian.

I've been thinking we should worry about making an alley neat and clean as a first step, and then we can dream about making it pretty. But the folks at Alma de Cuba seem to have had a different idea, and I confess they may be on to something.

Let's have some fun! We'll paint our back facade yellow, the same as the front on Walnut Street.

It's possible I've been spending too much time in these alleys, but I really like this presentation. All they did was slap on some yellow paint, but the pigment pulls the whole motley assemblage together and makes a coherent, and even attractive, statement.

Don't get me wrong. We're still looking at a mess. But it's an attractive mess. It's talking to me, pulling me in.

But let's look again. What's pulling me in? The yellow on the wall is carrying the whole picture. The street furniture is just along for the ride.

On the left you have a mildly abused dumpster, a two-yarder, and on the right you have a grease container. (It turns out there's a bunch of money in used cooking oil - see this story in the New Yorker - hence the sturdy construction.)

What could we do to get these two objects to step up and say a few lines, visually - you know, actually participate in the performance? Well, maybe we should decorate them.

Okay, you say, Bill has finally gone round the bend. He's talking about decorating a dumpster. Forget it, Bill. It's a dumpster.

But wait. Philadelphia, in its wisdom, and with some help from the Mural Arts Program, decorates trash trucks. Here's one strutting its stuff at the 2016 Philly Free Streets event.

South Street at Broad.

In addition, Mural Arts decorates the occasional Indego bike. The Barnes Foundation has also been working with the Indego bike share program, and frankly I'm not sure whose bicycle we're looking at here, but I like it. Note that the decorated bike is an accent point in a sea of blue.

1900 block of Walnut.

Trash cans? Sure, why not. Mural Arts again, mainly around South Street, east of Broad.

South Street at 7th.

And here's one of a bunch of utility boxes decorated mostly by University of the Arts students, again mainly east of Broad. I frankly have no idea what goes on in these boxes, but this one sure looks nicer than the usual drab hexahedron so beloved in the world of utilities. Even fits in with its surroundings. (For a story from UArts, click here. For a PlanPhilly story, click here.)

Lombard Street at 10th.

So let's do the same thing with all the two-yard dumpsters rambling around the byways of the city. They should be a part of the performance.

Taming the Wild West
City Council has over the years made a number of moves to improve management of the city's dumpsters. In 1989, according to the Streets Department website, City Council passed an ordinance requiring the licensing of dumpsters and regulating their use.

Then in 2016 Councilman Squilla got an ordinance passed that bans new dumpsters in Center City. (For a story, click here. For the legislative history, click here.)

This is fine as far as it goes, but of course it doesn't do anything about the dumpsters currently lining Moravian Street. The obvious thing is to get them off the street. I have a feeling that's going to take a while.

Camouflage
If you don't feel like decorating your dumpsters, and you're disinclined for now to take them inside, here's another option - hide them in plain sight. There are a number of ways to do this.

First, let's look at a minimalist approach. The screen below separates a bunch of dumpsters from the area to the left, which is used for outdoor seating by the neighboring restaurant during good weather. It's surprisingly effective for such a minimal intervention. Call it the bikini approach to coverage.

Moravian at 18th.

Next we have what I will call a corral. I can't call it a shed because it doesn't have a roof. Also it's corraling the dumpsters against the wall, keeping them from bumbling around in the middle of the street as they are wont to do. Kind of like cattle in Dodge City, in the old days.

Stock Exchange Place at 18th.

Finally we have an actual shed. This one almost disappears, it's so quiet. And yet it's in a good location and functions well. An organic part of a thoughtful design.

Lombard at 18th.

See also Alleys, City Beautiful Sprouts on Cypress StreetThis Isn't Just Any Alley.

Tuesday, January 16, 2018

Outflanking City Council

Sunset Avenue Pavilion, Asbury Park.

Jane Jacobs had a lot of interesting ideas. Here's one of them.

"Thus, although in many cities councilmen are apt to be local 'mayors', this is unusual in New York, where city councilmen's constituencies (about 300,000 people) are too big for the purpose; instead, local 'mayors' are more frequently state assemblymen who, purely because of the circumstance that they have the smallest scale of constituencies in the city (about 115,000 people) are typically called upon to deal with the city government. Good state assemblymen in New York City deal much more with the city government on behalf of the citizens than they do with the state; they are sometimes vital in this way as city officials, although this is entirely aside from their theoretical responsibilities. It is an outcome of district political make-do."

This is from The Death and Life of Great American Cities, 1961, p. 423 fn.

I started thinking about what such an arrangement might mean in Philadelphia today. Currently City Council is pretty much impervious to the pleas of constituents that it does not want to hear. Councilmanic prerogative - the ability of a district Council member to stop pretty much anything in his or her district - essentially gives the possessor of a district a position that is unassailable by frontal attack. Here in the city of brotherly love, the Quakerly influence means that such an attack would not generally entail brickbats or rotten tomatoes, but rather attempts to change the council member's mind - appeals to reason, appeals to emotion.

This means that proponents of change on a variety of issues - including my two favorites, parking and bicycling - are basically dead in our tracks. Our representatives are sitting on the parapets of their castles, looking down at us and laughing.

It would be nice to think that we could turn them out at the next election, and in a number of cases that may be possible in 2019, but many of the most problematic are in safe seats. Indeed, the Council seat in West Philadelphia looks like it has become a hereditary office. Perhaps we should start calling it the Duchy of West Philadelphia.

Jacobs, however, seems to be showing us another way - a flanking attack.

If state legislators started weighing in on neighborhood issues, what would that do? I don't think Councilmanic prerogative would evaporate overnight, but it might embolden our mayor to say, "Look, buddy, I know you're absolutely opposed to bike lanes, even though you claim to be in favor of them, but I have an Assemblyman who says he is speaking for the constituents you refuse to represent, and he says go ahead with the lanes. So I'm going ahead."

A dream, perhaps. But here's another way a state legislator could help. I got this idea from my brother. We were talking about Jacobs and her idea of the assemblyman mayor, and he mentioned that the City Club of New York had allied itself with a state senator on an interesting project. (John does a fair amount of volunteer work for the City Club.)

A long time ago, a new baseball team needed a new ballpark, and so the Mets got Shea Stadium. This took an act of the state legislature because Shea Stadium is built on city park land, and, without putting too fine a point on it, park land is supposed to be for parks.

Along with the stadium there came various ancillary uses, including parking lots.

A few years ago, the forces of Mammon decided to build a shopping mall on one of the lots. Quite a few people thought that the state legislation only authorized a stadium and related facilities, and using the law to build a shopping mall was a bit of a stretch. The City Club and a number of other groups decided to sue, and State Senator Tony Avella, who represents quite a bit of this part of Queens, agreed to be the lead plaintiff, or petitioner.

The case was called Avella v. City of New York. In June 2017 the New York State Court of Appeals ruled in favor of the petitioners. (For a story in the New York Times, click here. For a story in the New York Law Journal, click here.)

I'm thinking of the recent lawsuit in Philadelphia, which sought to end parking in the Broad Street median. The suit was dismissed. I wonder whether the case would have gone further if the lead plaintiff had been an elected official.

I'm also thinking of a number of other places around the city where a similar approach might work. Currently uppermost in my mind: Washington Avenue.

Sunset Avenue Pavilion, Asbury Park.

See also At Least It Makes People Laugh, My Life in Fairmount Park, Vision Zero in Philadelphia.

Wednesday, January 3, 2018

Small Streets Are Like Diamonds

It Depends on How You Look at Them

1500 block of Moravian.

Temple alumni may be familiar with the Acres of Diamonds story, which the university's founder and first president, Russell Conwell, included in a speech that he delivered 6,152 times, by his own reckoning. (In the days before the Internet, you got the word out by traveling around and giving speeches.)

The story concerns a farmer in the middle east (Conwell was well-traveled). One day the farmer was giving his camel a drink at a small brook that ran through the farm, and he noticed an unusual black stone that reflected light in interesting ways. He picked the stone up and took it home and put it on his mantel and forgot about it. A while later a visitor noticed the rock on the mantel, looked at it closely, and announced it was a diamond.

The basic moral of the story is that you should look for riches close to home, and not be put off if the opportunity comes dressed in rags.

Enter Philadelphia's alleys, one of the city's greatest and most neglected resources. Some of them sparkle today, but others are diamonds in the rough, needing a bit of polishing.

2000 block of Panama. Acres of diamonds.

3 Key Functions
People will immediately object that the sparkling alleys tend to be residential, and the grimy ones are usually service alleys, where people stow cars and stash trash. What, these people will ask, is the point of trying to put Cinderella into a party dress?

In both residential and commercial areas, our alleys perform important functions, but often they don't perform them well. When this happens, the culprits are normally our old friends neglect and mismanagement.

Templates exist for better handling of trash and car parking. What seems to be lacking is any political will to address these issues. (For more on ways to improve trash management, click here. For a brief primer on improving our approach to parking, click here.)

There is a third issue where alleys could do a lot more. They are simply not pulling their weight when it comes to deliveries. Our larger streets suffer a lot of congestion from delivery trucks that stop and unload in traffic lanes. If we used our alleys better, they could significantly reduce the stress on our high-traffic streets. (For more on delivery management, click here.)

2000 block of Addison. The garage is going away.

Another Use - Walking
But let's face it. The people who like ugly cities are going to come back and say, well these alleys can perform all three of these functions without being neat and tidy. And we're a poor city, so really what's the problem with a coating of oily muck, strewn remnants of dinner from an expensive restaurant, perhaps a dead rat the size of a small dog, squished by something he didn't see coming.

Well, here's my answer. We're going to need the space. Perhaps we don't need it today, but we will need it very soon. As the population in Center City increases, and the number of people walking increases, our current supply of pleasant sidewalks is going to be swamped.

I don't see us widening the sidewalks on Walnut Street anytime soon, so maybe it's time to look at Moravian, the little alley between Sansom and Walnut. Why, for instance, is the 1700 block of Moravian such a no man's land? It's directly between two of the premier shopping blocks in Center City.

1700 block of Delancey. This wall no longer looks like this.

Form: Human Scale
And why do I think people will be willing to walk down these streets? Many people tend to avoid them today. After all, some are quite disgusting, and most of the others have very little traffic, so folks may not feel particularly safe.

But these streets are intrinsically attractive to humans because they are of a human scale. In a good one - say the 1800 block of Addison - people feel at home in a way that they will never feel at home in a traffic sewer like Market Street. It's their size.

Add people - the residents of 1800 Addison are frequently sitting on their stoops, watching their children play, and that attracts others who are simply passing through and don't mind walking on a street that has almost no cars and actually feels a lot like an outdoor room - and all of a sudden you have a street that is alive.

2200 block of Rittenhouse Square Street.

Nostalgia for Wide Streets
I detect, in various quarters, a certain nostalgia for the good old days - say the 1950's - when Interstates were new and perfectly good neighborhoods were destroyed to make room for ever-wider streets and ever-wider lanes on those streets to accommodate ever more and ever bigger cars. I hear it from transportation engineers who probably know better, and from politicians who probably don't.

Let's set aside the obvious failures like Roosevelt Boulevard and its carnival of death, and look instead at Philadelphia's nicest big street, the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, which runs from City Hall out to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Along the way, in the middle, is Logan Square. It's breathtaking at night. Go into the center, by the fountain, and look down to City Hall and up to the Art Museum, and around the square at the Free Library, the Barnes, the Franklin Institute. A bit of a challenge to get out into the middle of the square, by the fountain, but worth it. This is a beautiful street. All it lacks are people.

Well, most of the time. Occasionally, the people take the street over from the many, many cars, and instead of a carnival of death we have a festival of life. I've run several Philadelphia marathons, and the stretch down the Ben Franklin Parkway at the start never failed to thrill me as I and a few thousand fellow runners elbowed our way along toward City Hall.

The Parkway really comes into its own when the people own the space. Most of the time, though, this street has about as many pedestrians as North Dakota.

Sydenham just south of Walnut.

Maybe Streets Are for People
It comes back to this: If you want lively street life, build your streets for people. Everything should align to that goal. Then you will be headed toward a city of the future - not one mired in the mud of the past.

1900 block of Panama. A little alley between two houses.

See also Alleys, My New Favorite Alley, This Isn't Just Any Alley, A Tale of Three Alleys, Putting Some Park into Old Parking Lots, City Beautiful Sprouts on Cypress StreetUnblocking the Bus Lane on Chestnut.