A Peaceful Stretch of Road

Imagine a Street That's Not a Combat Zone 

Spruce at 17th.

A few days ago, my wife and I were at the beach. I had a 9 a.m. teleconference that went well (that doesn't always happen), and after that we hopped in our car and drove back to Philly. When we got across the Ben Franklin Bridge, we drove down Fourth street. Ordinarily we would go to Lombard and then drive west across town, but just for a change we took Spruce. It was easily the most pleasant part of our trip.

There was a fair amount of traffic, but it was, as we say, "calm." With only one lane for moving motor vehicles, there were none of the abrupt lane changes that are so common on two-lane streets like Lombard. If a delivery truck was stopped in our lane, we simply swung around it, borrowing a few feet of asphalt from the bike lane. If a car was parking at the curb, and the bike lane was fenced with flex posts, we simply stopped and waited. It all flowed, without honking or swearing.

I was wondering a bit what planet I was on, but then I had the image of a quiet, tree-lined country lane. Of course, we weren't in the country. There were all these pretty nineteenth-century houses to look at. And the trees of course, all donning their springtime green. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and I got to enjoy it.

I think we tend to overlook the benefits to cars and their occupants that have come from the redesign of Pine and Spruce. The addition of a bike lane, and subtraction of a motor-vehicle lane, have created an unusual and, I think, very positive space for motorists. A street does not need to be a combat zone. Who knew?

Same spot, different transportation modes.

See also The Traffic at J'aime; Looking and Not Seeing, Listening and Not Hearing; Flex Posts on Pine and Spruce.

Campaign Poster Number Two

I finally found a picture to go with this text. (Click on the poster to make it larger.)

The photograph is an Agfachrome from 1978. I took it at the Bronx Zoo in New York City.

See also A Campaign Poster, How the Ship Sinks, What Happened in Ferrara?

What Came Before the Laurel

There Was a Fire Thirty Years Ago

Walnut street on a tough day.

"On the morning of Dec. 14, 1994, a fire broke out at 1913 Walnut Street. Before it was over, six alarms had been sounded, the building - a pleasant 1897 brownstone with several commercial tenants - had been destroyed, and the neighboring buildings, including the Eric Theater, had been damaged." 

That's from an article I wrote that appeared in the January 25, 1995, edition of the Welcomat (pp. 31-32). The Welcomat later became the Philadelphia Weekly. The switch was the right thing to do, but a tiny part of me misses that marvelously idiosyncratic name.

Most of the article is a critique of the coverage provided by the Inquirer and the Daily News, and I confess that I probably hadn't given a thought to it for several decades. Then, one day last year, I was looking at old 35 millimeter slides - digitizing some of my Kodachromes is, by this point, a multiyear project - and I picked up yet another little yellow box. On this one I had written "december 1994 walnut street fire." What fire, I thought.

As I went through the slides in the box, it slowly came back to me, and I also remembered the Welcomat story. It took me a while to find it (it was mouldering in the basement).

The slides have never been published. I think they tell the story. Great art? No. But decent documentary work, in my opinion.

The photo at the beginning of this article was as close as I could get to the fire on Walnut Street. The fire department had very properly properly closed off the block, and I didn't have press credentials. You can see the Eric Rittenhouse sign on the right. I'm standing on Walnut just west of 19th street.

Here's another shot of Walnut, from the 20th street side. The firefighters are squirting into 1913 Walnut, the source of the fire. Note the firefighter on the roof. The movie theater is the white building to the right of 1913.

The firefighters used a lot of water. Here's where all that water comes from - first a hydrant, then a pumper. This pumper is on Walnut just west of 20th, with the back of the Rittenhouse building visible across the parking lot that's just behind the Church of the Holy Trinity. 

(There are two steam vents in the sidewalk here. I think the white cloud is just steam. Steam clouds on the sidewalk used to be fairly common,)

Here's another pumper, on 20th just south of Moravian.

Much of the fire-fighting actually took place on the Sansom street side, with equipment marshaled in the large parking lot at 20th and Sansom. This lot is now occupied by a relatively low-rise building that is part of the Laurel complex.

On a good day, the commanders at the fire scene coordinate the various vectors of approach so the firefighters don't, for instance, squirt too much water on one another. Not every day is excellent, but then that's one of the reasons firefighters wear raincoats.

Here's a shot down Moravian, looking west from 19th.

And yes, there was a lot of smoke. Going over these slides, I regularly found myself getting disoriented. I can only imagine what it's like to stand in thick smoke on the roof of a burning building.

I think maintaining situational awareness in a situation like this must be very difficult.

And above all remembering to make sure you know where your comrades are. This is dangerous, difficult work.

Rittenhouse Square - note the Church of the Holy Trinity in the background. 

Why are these men smiling? They have been in peril, and now they're out of it, and they're elated.

So that's the back story for the enormous, and may I say very attractive building that has finally succeeded the Eric Rittenhouse, 1913 Walnut, the parking lot, and a bunch of other parcels of land on this block. Personally, I am very happy about the Laurel. It's big, but they've done a lot to try to keep an intimate feel at the street level, and by and large I think they've succeeded. As the construction barriers have come down, I feel better and better. I'm not sure why it took thirty years, but at this point, why quibble?

See also Quo Vadis, Philadelphia?

In Defense of Disgusting Alleys

Actually There Is No Defense

2000 block of Moravian.

I've clearly spent too much time in Philadelphia's alleys. Now the dumpsters are talking to me. This one is saying Don't Gentrify My Alley.

I always just assumed that the dumpsters would prefer a snug, secure little space out of the weather and away from the rats.

I understand that the garbage haulers like things the way they are. After all, it's easier for them. And I understand that many of the business owners prefer to treat their garbage literally as an externality and stow it out in the commons, aka the alley. But I never expected the dumpsters to line up with the bosses.

It's not like anybody treats them very nicely or shows them respect. Does anybody ever wash a dumpster?  And yet this dumpster has clearly drunk the Kool-Aid.

Oh well. Despite the massive opposition arrayed against me, I will continue my crusade to turn every alley in Philadelphia into a clean, well-lighted place. But I think I'll start in the 1400 or 1700 block of Moravian. That dumpster in the 2000 block scares me.

Back in 2018 I ran a story entitled Streets Without Joy, which was largely a rant against razor wire but also encouraged the 1800 block of Cypress, which was neat and clean and dull, to think of some color. Here's a parking pad in that block today.

It doesn't take a lot. People just have to care.

See also A Few Deft Touches for Back Streets, Small Streets Are Like Diamonds, This Isn't Just Any Alley, My New Favorite Alley, Alleys, What Should We Do With the Humble Dumpster?