New Geography

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  • The Dawn of a New Age in the War on Poverty

    An article published in the Chicago Tribune on June 29, 1992 is entitled “The Great Society’s Great Failure.” It profiles the Inez, Kentucky family that appeared in the famous front porch photo that launched LBJ’s War on Poverty in 1964. Suffice it to say without revealing the particular gory details of their thwarted lives, the family’s fate was as dismal as the outcome of the War on Poverty. Mike Duncan, an Inez banker and now chairman of the Republican National Committee – battling to retain his position – put it mildly: “The War on Poverty did not succeed.”

    In 2009 where do we stand with America’s War on Poverty? Inez and the rest of Martin County were described in the article as “one of the poorest counties in a poor state. Of its 12,526 people, all but 27 are white.” The image stuck and Inez has been digging out ever since.

    The community’s lack of progress over the past several decades has been particularly ironic: until recently, the rest of America has been experiencing one of the greatest economic expansions in history.

    Now we have elected our first African American to the office of the presidency, a man who cut his political teeth working among the black poor of Chicago’s Southside. Barack Obama’s election has no doubt raised hopes around the Southside and other predominately African American distressed communities. But can the same be said for the more numerous, equally intractable neglected communities – labeled poor, white, aging, and rural (PWAR) – like Inez?

    This line of thinking has become even more popular as evidenced by the racial overtones, masquerading as satire, included on a CD released by a challenger of Mike Duncan for the RNC chair position. Politicos say there is a divide within both of the major political parties – appeal to the PWAR and die or reach out to gather more under the tent. PWARs are rarely spoken of in the media except in pejorative terms

    So far, there is little evidence that poor rural whites – epitomized by Appalachia – have any strong advocates in the new administration. There is not a single cabinet officer from anywhere in the deep or mid-south nor any important figure in the majority party from the region.

    So, what happens to the fortunes of the regions – the South in particular – in the new order? Will the battle of red versus blue gain new ground or will other rivalries and labels rise up? Will a region whose economy revolves around coal have a chance in a “new green world?”

    Right now places like Kentucky – decidedly red – could well be marginalized. The media enjoys painting our citizens as ignorant rubes (how else could they have voted against Obama?) This was implied in the mainstream news. (CNN had particular fun with it while profiling Clay County, Kentucky before the election and conducting a trailer escapade in Carlisle, Kentucky after the election).

    Seventeen years after the Tribune’s article, Inez and the rest of Martin County have chosen to declare their own war to overcome the endemic national stereotype that the War on Poverty placed upon them. This new spirit of localism was born first among the community’s young professionals who left Inez as high school graduates and have now returned as educated professionals seeking to earn their own piece of the American Dream. Their hope has been burnished in the fire of experiences gained as they saw and experienced the rewards of hard work and determination in other places. They concluded that Inez and Martin County could be something different, and they have returned to make it so.

    It is clear that President-elect Obama has a choice: be a great president and a uniter, or not. They say FDR was great because he reached out to those who were not for him. The times now are eerily similar. One hopes that a man who grew up as an outsider might realize that the “hill” people of Appalachia or the deep South aren’t all pathetic as portrayed in the news media; perhaps they don’t understand the message of hope because they have been betrayed before by “outsiders” attempting to convert them to the “mainstream.” The failures of the ‘war on poverty’ are still well remembered here.

    Not all 100 or more million new Americans who will be here by 2050 will head for the eight supercities. The vast majority won’t find work that will allow them to settle in the so-called “creative” hotbeds. Many will head for small to mid-sized towns with more affordable lifestyles, and perhaps more durable values. Perhaps others will begin to believe in the old adage that we can live and work anywhere and will do so, taking the opportunity to bring change to our communities.

    For its part, Inez, Kentucky has decided to rewrite its story and believes it can do so. As an Appalachian native, I believe it too. Their story is one of grit, determination, and sheer willpower to change the course of the future in a positive way. At a recent public meeting, an African American woman who had moved to Inez from D.C. stood up and provided a testimonial of faith and belief in her newfound home. She hoped others would come and begin to appreciate the lifestyle of a small town in hill and coal country. I had to ask afterward – is she for real? “Yes” came the reply, “she is very real.”

    A recent Esquire magazine feature called on “natives” to describe each of the 50 states. Actor Harry Dean Stanton, in the midst of philosophical ramblings, said: “There’s no answer to the state of Kentucky.” I don’t believe that’s entirely true.

    Sylvia L. Lovely is the Executive Director/CEO of the Kentucky League of Cities and the founder and president of the NewCities Institute. She currently serves as chair of the Morehead State University Board of Regents. Please send your comments to slovely@klc.org and visit her blog at sylvia.newcities.org.

  • Sylvia L. Lovely

  • The Mobility Paradox: Investing in Human Capital Fuels Migration

    China has an interesting urban development strategy. The government bypasses those areas that it considers backward and plagued by poverty and entrenched political corruption. Instead, the investment goes into those areas it presumes to be new boomtowns.

    Now imagine if that Darwinian approach was used here in the United States. A report (“City Beautiful”) authored by two economists at the Federal Reserve Bank of Philadelphia advocates pushing federal infrastructure dollars – which could soon be flowing in the hundreds of billions – not towards our tired, hard-pressed urban areas but those that have experienced the greatest extent of gentrification.

    If you don’t want to slog through the published paper, then you can read about the controversial findings in a recent Boston Globe article. The journalist, not surprisingly, sensationalizes the conclusions and the choice quotes do a great job of provocation: “‘If you have sun and a beautiful beach and 300-year-old buildings, it’s no wonder that you’re going to attract people,’ said [co-author Albert Saiz]. ‘But that’s no use for Detroit or Syracuse.’”

    The author of the Globe piece goes on to question the coming urban bailouts: “Why send another federal dollar to bolster manufacturing in Akron when it could support a golf course in sunny Phoenix?”

    I get the sense that the economists in question aren’t making such a stark distinction. But I can understand why the press would go down that road. I’ve read the research and there are concerns about the wisdom of investing in cities that currently don’t attract tourists or Richard Florida’s elite Creative Class.

    The Federal Reserve Bank of Philadelphia report attempts to reconfigure the understanding of urban geography. People are congregating in urban centers for a new purpose: leisure. The old school of thinking identified the central business district (CBD) as the economic heart of the metropolis. Higher densities were the result of a more efficient way of doing certain types of work (e.g. financial, insurance and real estate).

    The new school sees the city as a special playground and the study tries to capture this effect by looking at tourist Meccas. In short, jobs are following talent to pleasant places to live.

    Gerald A. Carlino and Albert Saiz try to figure out if the geographically mobile are indeed heading to sunnier climes or if the leisure amenities follow the talent. They claim that quality of life comes first. The best and brightest are not chasing top employment opportunities. They are keener on finding a “cool” place to hang out.

    Other research suggests this approach may be limited. For example, although job growth has been very strong in some sun belt cities that are cited, growth rates in other amenity-rich cities – Boston, New York, San Francisco – have been well below par. Although often attractive to twenty-somethings, these areas also suffer a persistently strong net outmigration.

    Perhaps more to the point what use is any of this to those living in the heartland cities? Should Akron start putting more money in skateparks or global warming?

    There are huge problem in spending money in order to attract the geographically fickle. Fads fade and the mobile – largely people under 30 – will move again. And what about the people who can’t move? We’ve yet to address the mobility paradox.

    Moving to a better place might be one of the most distinguishing features of American culture. However, less and less people can manage to do so. There are considerably more “stuck” than there are “mobile.” The nomads of the knowledge economy comprise the global elite. They can live wherever they like and, particularly when young, can move at the drop of a hat.

    Where does that leave the postindustrial cities currently failing to attract the twenty-something demographic? One suggestion is to better educate people tethered to their neighborhood. The rub is that greater investment in your human capital will make your young adults more likely to leave. This is the mobility paradox. Regional workforce development has the unintended effect of increasing out-migration.

    A common response to the mobility paradox is the transformation of a downtown area into a “cool city.” The theory is that the best and brightest won’t leave if there are more fun things to do. Tying up the urban budget with projects aimed at retaining the creative class has its own perils. There is little, if any, evidence indicating that this policy will decrease the geographic mobility of the well-educated. Many cities stuffed with cultural amenities also sport high rates of out-migration. Furthermore, tastes change. ”Best places to live” lists change quite a bit from one year to the next.

    We should learn from the bust of hot destinations such as Florida or even California. Today’s paradise is tomorrow’s backwater. Meanwhile most of the population will continue to live in “Forgottenville.” Should we just forget about them?

    Globalization would seem to reward such an approach. Some cities will cut it, most won’t. Good luck dealing with the political instability. China gets away with ignoring its “old” cities thanks to robust growth and iron-fisted control. Given the current economic slowdown, things may be getting tense there, particularly in the left-behind industrial towns in the interior.

    So should amenities drive President Obama’s economic strategy? These days, the Sunshine States also are in dire need of a bailout. Alabama fights Michigan for federal attention. If the Rust Belt benefits from the Chicago President, let’s hope it’s for its own sake – not just the creative class.

    Read Jim Russell’s Rust Belt writings at Burgh Diaspora.

  • I am glad to be a citizen of the Republic of the United States of America. I like geography.

  • Class and the Future of Planning

    Economic segregation may be a foregone conclusion, as studies have long suggested. For one thing, our first tendency is to buy the best place we can afford, intentionally locating to those parts of a region that appeal to others with similar buying power. Secondly, we tend to buy something most suitable to our tastes, which steers us into areas populated by those with similar viewpoints.

    The implications for contemporary planning processes are profound, especially since current best practices revolve so much around form and style and take so little measure of economics, choice, and consequence. It troubles me that my own decisions purchasing houses in the past – made after careful scrutiny of what evidence I could gather about the people living in the neighborhood – showed me that even a planner aware of attempts to integrate could choose segregation.

    But if planning is anything, surely it is the idea that what seemed inevitable can be bypassed with careful consideration, sequencing, and reorganization of inputs. Why plan for a different future if the results are the same as when you started? The idea of inevitable segregation narrows the planning options considerably.

    As a result, planners and community developers have focused not on enlarging the pie, but on figuring out how to appeal to those residents who show up for meetings. Whether these groups are affluent NIMBYs or poor advocates for low-cost housing, the status quo remains completely undisturbed.

    There are two main ways I’ve seen this occur. First is through the comprehensive planning process. The comprehensive planning process attempts to bring together connected but distinct elements – housing, transportation, the environment, the economy – and reassemble them into a cohesive, publicly vetted whole. But what really happens during such efforts?

    Planning staff assembles data. The contours of the process get articulation. Citizens get to describe their vision of their community. Flavor of the day ingredients dominate the discussion – pedestrian malls, node development, open space, wetlands preservation, smart growth, and now green collar jobs, sustainability, and social equity (whatever that is).

    The strong neighborhoods show up in force, working the system to their advantage. They often transform any land use or zoning issue into a referendum on the impacts on property values. The water treatment facility gets sited far away from such neighborhoods. Low-income housing becomes an articulated virtue, so long as its located elsewhere. This occurs in supposedly enlightened and ‘progressive’ neighborhoods like mine – Rosemont in Alexandria, Virginia – and places like Kensington near Berkeley, or in Fairfield County, Connecticut, where addressing homelessness is a rising priority – if it’s handled in Bridgeport and not Danbury or Shelton or Norwalk. Planning nearly always yields good results for neighborhoods like mine.

    In contrast, residents of struggling areas are skeptical of processes that have not benefited them very much in the past. In places like low-income parts of Norfolk, Virginia, “planning” has come to mean either 1950s style urban renewal or 1990s style gentrification. New Urbanism in Norfolk has often meant the very opposite of practical economic inclusion for low-income working households. The very idea that real change could both come and be beneficial to them is laughable. Their issues are not about landscaping with native plants: their concerns are jobs, crime, services, and housing affordability. Astute (cynical) planners soon discover that “respect” is also in play in these neighborhoods; merely listening with sincerity becomes a stand in for actual change. Listening requires no real work, certainly not compared to the heavy lifting of actually improving these areas for their current residents. Planning rarely adds much to these places.

    Middle-class neighborhoods want to preserve what they have. They don’t want their small claim on prosperity threatened by those from the troubled areas in town. They want nothing more than to preserve their safety and the small patch of grass they mow on the weekends. For families in these neighborhoods, the suburbs have for decades been a bastion from a changing urban setting that appears to always grant the rich a pass and provide unearned opportunity to the poor.

    Unable to migrate into the ranks of the upper middle class and penetrate the neighborhoods of lawyers and accountants and physicians, middle neighborhood residents often simply leave and form a place of their own. Plumbers and carpenters dislodged from Del Ray (an old blue collar neighborhood in Alexandria, VA) drive their pick-up trucks to Springfield, where they have a mall and plenty of ranch houses, and where they can safely raise their family while holding a job that does not require a college education.

    Planners generally dismiss these areas since they often come from the upper echelons and maintain a theoretical concern for the poor. But there are consequences when these middle income residents leave. Indeed the migration of these households out of the urban core and inner ring suburbs may be the most pressing social challenge facing planners. Unsexy as the housing concerns of the plumber may be, they are often the critical ones in terms of maintaining strong neighborhoods.

    Take a look at what has happened in the City of Geneva, New York, which is emblematic of so many communities in the middle of a city-county struggle for the middle class. The City’s pre-war manufacturing and agricultural history was sufficient to build a sophisticated infrastructure going into World War II. The arrival of the Depot and Naval Base in nearby Seneca brought overcrowding and congestion and triggered something of a building boom to Geneva. When the base closed, the city’s middle class left for newer housing and retail outside the city.

    As middle income residents have fled, the city itself has become a place of many have-nots and a few haves. Rather than invest to engender pride, safety, and a sense of community in the city’s neighborhoods – the small unstylish work of organizing – the doctrine sought to make downtown attractive, livable and appealing by applying the “edifice complex” or the “Field of Dreams theory”: if you build it they will come. Then the planners and developers get to stand around and wonder why downtown still feels empty.

    Along the way the city opened its doors to a raft of social service providers, inviting them to locate their business and clients downtown. The middle class watched, grew frustrated, and left for the periphery. Despite some of the most glorious – and reasonably priced – architecture in America, the middle class has left, taking with them much of the urban tax base. This creates a hole out from which few cities emerge.

    This is not at all unique to Geneva, as any planner and community developer knows. Its the case in my hometown of Alexandria, Virginia and in neighboring Arlington where programs do an admirable job of enabling some of the working poor to remain, while the middle has found greater comfort in leaving for other counties.

    There may be a way out of this dilemma. The central aim of community development should be to work the system in ways that generate wealth-building probabilities – both for individual households and for neighborhoods. The central aim of our work should be to expand the zone of acceptable and livable neighborhoods: to make more places more worthy of affection, not some extremely worthy and others barely so.

    Planning efforts must concern themselves less with process and more with outcome. Every block in every city can be objectively scored in terms of livability, as defined locally. In this approach, the community development process may be judged a failure if in service of a few individuals concentrated poverty and economic segregation grows. Marin County would no longer be able to balance its affordable housing ledger on the backs of Marin City and a few parts of San Rafael. Montgomery County, Maryland would no longer be able to use Prince George’s County as its de facto affordable housing policy. And genuinely struggling places like Ontario County, NY would not be able to look to the City of Geneva as their repositories of poor families and the hub of the area’s social service network.

    In the last thirty years, planners have reduced our field of vision. We have fostered an exodus of our middle class and focused on creating environments for the rich and poor. If we really want social equity, growing the middle is the best place to start.

    This means we have to change our priorities. We should stop trying to reinforce concentrations of wealth. Poor neighborhoods should not be defined solely as places and people who primarily “need” and never exercise choice. Instead our priority should be to help plan for an expanding middle class – even if it ruffles the feathers of some gatekeepers in both poor and affluent neighborhoods.

    Charles Buki is principal of czb, a Virginia-based neighborhood planning practice.

  • Yes, Sylvia, there is a Santa Claus

    My mother died seven years ago on December 19, 2001. Simon Walter (named for my father Walter) Lovely, my grandson, was born to my son Ross and his wife Emma on December 19, 2008. A strange coincidence you might say, but there is more.

    My mother was diagnosed in July 2001 with advanced cervical cancer, a particularly cruel form of a cruel disease – robbing its host of all dignity along its monstrous path of destruction. It doesn’t help if its victim is bewildered by the world in general and given to bouts of depression. And, so it was with my mother.

    She was born poor in Appalachian Kentucky. Like many girls in Appalachian families, she left school early to go to work to support and educate the others. It seemed better that way – perhaps one or two could “make it out” of poverty. She was the one who always seemed to be left out. Christmas didn’t come often to the hills. One year when gifts were sent home from the cousins who had gone on to work in the factories up north – she was the only one not to get one. No one could explain the mix up – an incident she never forgot.

    She and my father left Kentucky in the early ’50s like thousands of others for what must surely have been the “Promised Land.” They gave up dirt farming, packed up the beat up old pickup with all their possessions – my brother and I – and headed to Dayton, Ohio. My father tells of “running, not walking” to a foreman he knew to beg for a job after being turned down by “personnel.”

    However, at age 55 he was laid off. There was time when a man could get a good job in the early ’50s with an 8th grade education. However, those times had run out. My mother and father applied for and got the only job they could get – being nanny to our boys, Ross and David.

    Her sudden illness in the midst of my charmed life brought on some reconsideration about the hectic pace of my life. My parents’ sacrifices had allowed me to become educated, not stopping at undergraduate school, but going on to law school. Later, I landed my dream job working to build great communities all over the world. As my mother lay increasingly stilled in her hospital bed in my parents’ tiny home I would be on my way to some “important” meeting and be called back by my father. “I can’t take care of her today – you’ll have to come home.”

    Together at her hospital bed, I reconnected with my father. I heard his stories of being uprooted from a strong culture of community and family life and ties to the land – and of my mother’s particular sadness at her being later disconnected from those things. I learned that big important meetings would go on without me just fine, and that the needs of “little people” like my parents made my work in building opportunity important not only philosophically but in the most personal way.

    Towards the end, my mother grew particularly reliant on Ross, our 20-year-old son. The most spiritually oriented of our immediate family, he was the only one with whom she would discuss death – that she knew was imminent. “Are you afraid to die?” he would ask her. “Yes,” she replied quickly. In addition, then hesitating, “Well, in a world where 20-year-olds die, how can I be afraid?” In addition, yet she was. For my part, I grew bitter at a world of suffering where someone shy, modest and kind could suffer so much. How could this happen and what did it portend? How could there be a God in such a world?

    She finally died on December 19, 2001, to our relief.

    However, the story does not end there. When he arrived, Simon Walter Lovely surprised a reluctant grandmother. I was after all, a hard-driving executive – not given to pausing for much of anything, much less cooing at babies.

    However, in his coming, he also brought a message. Two weeks late, he decided to show up on, of all days, December 19. I held Simon and then watched as my 88-year-old father, Walter, for whom Simon is named, awkwardly take his turn. I grabbed onto something at that moment. Call it hope; call it belief or something else. Perhaps, I can believe in what my mind, my education and my rational mind can’t explain – that maybe, just maybe … there is a Santa Claus.

    Sylvia L. Lovely is the Executive Director/CEO of the Kentucky League of Cities and the founder and president of the NewCities Institute. She currently serves as chair of the Morehead State University Board of Regents. Please send your comments to slovely@klc.org and visit her blog at sylvia.newcities.org.

  • Postindustrial Strength Brain Drain Policy

    In the discussions of the stimulus and infrastructure problem, little attention has yet been paid to addressing brain drain. Yet for many regions – particularly in the old industrial heartland – no issue could be more critical.

    Perhaps the most important investment in regional human capital occurs at local schools. Enterprise looks to the secondary and post-secondary institutions within the area for labor. In this regard, it makes sense to fund better learning with local and state taxes as long as that talent remains within that geography.

    Older industrial age cities and states are particularly dependent on a parochial labor pool. That’s the political legacy of the industrial economy. Workers tended to put down deep roots and this lack of geographic mobility made unions the only means to fight depressed wages.

    But the conventional solution for regional decline has been greater ‘investments’ in education. Yet increasingly high local and state taxes for education no longer make sense. In fact it can be argued that Rust Belt cities such as Pittsburgh have often been victims of their own success. Excellent schools – particularly in the suburban periphery – increased the geographic mobility of the next generation. When tough times hit in the late 70s and early 80s, these young adults were ready to embrace opportunity wherever it may be. When they left for Houston, Phoenix or Tampa, they took all those tax dollars with them.

    Out-migration isn’t a problem when your region is benefiting from some other place’s investment in human capital. But if no one is moving to your city or state, then retention of talent becomes a matter of economic survival. This is difficult to accomplish when your graduates are smart enough to know about greater opportunities that exist all the way across the country. It is also made worse when your local businesses are loath to pay the prevailing national market rate for the labor it needs.

    In this sense then, plugging brain drain can help depress wages and make a place like Charlotte that much more attractive to Rust Belt graduates. Remember, captains of industry made a lot of money exploiting captive labor markets.

    The dependence on local talent also disrupts network migration. Cities that must attract “foreign” workers develop pathways that make it easier for future workers to move there. It also helps connect the local economy to the global one, as has occurred on the west coast, with Asian immigrants opening connections to Pacific Rim economies and in south Florida, where Cuban migration has created a dynamic international business sector.

    Furthermore, getting newcomers helps outsource the costs of cultivating human capital. Low tax regimes bank on in-migration. Poor local schools don’t really matter when the best and brightest from the Rust Belt are moving into your brand spanking new crystal palaces. In this sense, the “legacy economy” is subsidizing Sun Belt boomtowns.

    The Rust Belt needs to learn from the Sun Belt. The game is all about attraction. The geographic mobility of talent within the Rust Belt would be a good place to start. Instead of squeezing the local labor pool, pave a new path to a fellow postindustrial city with a similar tax burden and effectively starve the boomtowns. Your neighboring legacy economy feels the same pain you do. Talent churning between the two locales beats the futility of fighting brain drain.

    Even growth states such as Georgia are overly concerned with who leaves. Sun Belt (i.e. growth) states obsess the out-migration of native graduates as much as Rust Belt (i.e. shrinking) states do. The same policy boondoggle in Ohio exists in Georgia. Across the board, there is a prejudice for homegrown talent.

    In contrast, I think older, now shrinking cities must embrace out-migration and focus more on growing the numbers of newcomers. These people will bring the new ideas and connections regions like ours need. Leave the self-destructive nativism to the Sun Belt.

    Read Jim Russell’s Rust Belt writings at Burgh Diaspora.

  • Hyde Park, St. Louis: Are We Almost There Yet?

    Among potential titles for this article about the Hyde Park neighborhood of St. Louis, I played with The Archaeology of Stasis. My husband suggested It’s Not Happening Here. But neither seemed right. Both were too depressing to describe a place where people are working hard for change. I wanted a title that suggested a lot of hard work, but hope nonetheless.

    I recently toured the neighborhood on a chilly Sunday morning with a former graduate student of mine, Dan Gaeng. Hyde Park is in north St. Louis, near downtown. Its roots extend to the 1830s and ‘40s, when large numbers of German Americans settled there. Today, it is predominantly African-American. Dan, whose dad grew up in Hyde Park, had written a paper about the neighborhood, and it captured much of what I feel about the city of St. Louis in general. All the ingredients are here for a city that can turn the corner and make urban living a reality for a wide swath of folks – a few solid industries, devoted locals, an ideal location for communication and transportation with the rest of the nation, beautiful old housing stock, at least the bones of a viable public transportation network, ongoing local traditions, and affordable living. Yet St. Louis never seems to get there.

    There are some neighborhoods that have done it, to be sure. And downtown looks a lot better than it did when it served as the post-apocalyptic setting for “Escape from New York.” But there’s still a sense that St. Louis is stalled, moving neither toward recovery nor toward total desolation.

    The negative tinge to my headline candidates no doubt owed something to Kenneth Jackson’s 1985 Crabgrass Frontier. The author traces the construction of interstates, federal housing programs, mortgage lending practices, and white flight to explain the abandonment of urban cores for increasingly distant suburbs. St. Louis is a poster child of the phenomenon. Jackson quotes former St. Louis mayor Raymond Tucker, who explained in frustration, “We just cannot build enough lanes of highways to move all of our people by private automobile, and create enough parking space to store the cars without completely paving over our cities and removing all of the economic, social, and cultural establishments that the people were trying to reach in the first place.”

    Excoriating a 1973 RAND study that suggested that St. Louis could become “one of many large suburban centers of economic and residential life,” Jackson suggests that “such advice is for those who study statistics rather than cities. Too late, municipal leaders will realize that a slavish duplication of suburbia destroys the urban fabric that makes cities interesting.”

    And he paints a grim picture of neighborhoods like Hyde Park, as he notes St. Louis’s declining population. “Many of its old neighborhoods have become dispiriting collections of burned-out buildings, eviscerated homes, and vacant lots. Although the drone of traffic on the nearby interstate highways is constant, there is an eerie remoteness to the pock-marked streets. The air is polluted, the sidewalks are filthy, the juvenile crime rate is horrendous, and the remaining industries are languishing. Grimy warehouses and aging loft factories are landscaped by weed-grown lots adjoining half-used rail yards. Like an elderly couple no longer sure of their purpose in life after their children have moved away, these neighborhoods face an undirected future.”

    Twenty-three years after Jackson’s words, Hyde Park’s perseverance suggests that his portrait, while apt, misses a remarkably resilient local pride. Indeed, one title I considered was On the One Hand, On the Other Hand. It’s not that Hyde Park hasn’t suffered from the very trends that Jackson describes. In the mid-1950s, I-70 split the residential side of the neighborhood from its industrial workplaces. Pedestrian traffic virtually stopped. The decline of industrial employment in the city and white flight followed. The neighborhood appeared to hit bottom in the late 1960s, when youths began stealing from elderly residents.

    Since then, a series of revitalization efforts have made their own mark. The result is a patchwork of hope and despair. Renovated nineteenth-century homes mix with recently constructed townhouses, shuttered and crumbling row houses, and piles of burnt-out bricks. Some owners clearly take pride in their houses and yards (many yards still proudly displayed Obama signs on my post-election tour), while other properties appear barely occupied. The traces of old business names are visible on the bricks. It’s just the kind of local color that proponents of gentrification are fond of preserving, but there are few local businesses in operation now. An artist has purchased a former library, which he hopes to turn into a gallery, but it’s not yet open, and there’s no public art in the neighborhood.

    There is a full grocery store on the northern edge, but it’s a hike from the most vibrant part of Hyde Park, the cluster of homes that surround the still-active Holy Trinity Catholic Church and parish school. The church has bought up some of the area’s property and encouraged resettlement, much of it in Section 8 housing, but three of the most recent homes are shuttered because no one has purchased them. Former locals and parish school graduates do return to church on Sundays, but the neighborhood is now mainly non-Catholic.

    A local developer, who calls his company Blue Shutters (to contrast with the ubiquitous red shutters that signal the city’s purchase of a desolate building), has renovated several houses. He also has plans for the Turnverein, a one-time German exercise hall, which could serve as a community center. Dan mentioned that his parents held their wedding reception there. Unfortunately, the Turnverein had a serious fire in 2006. As the St. Louis blog “Ecology of Absence” noted, the fire received hardly any attention in the St. Louis Post Dispatch. The neighborhood received historic district status in the 1970s, but when I mentioned to my co-workers, students and neighbors that I had toured Hyde Park, none of them knew where it was.

    And maybe that doesn’t matter. I see no way that Hyde Park could become the kind of gentrified neighborhood that lures hipsters and boutiques, and makes city council members salivate. Moreover, the folks who have committed themselves to the slow and steady efforts of revitalization don’t seem to want their home to be such a place. As one of the residents whom Dan interviewed said, “Other people have wondered why I haven’t left, and I say, ‘Why should I? I’m fine here’. The neighbors look out for each other, and I like the house and neighborhood. There is a nice mixture of people, from the poor to the college educated and well-off. That’s important to me. I don’t want to live in just a homogeneous upper-middle-class area.”

    A remarkably diverse selection of institutions and people are involved in Hyde Park’s revitalization: “Ecology of Absence” blogger Michael Allen (also the Assistant Director of the Landmarks Association of St. Louis), Holy Trinity Church, and the Friedens Neighborhood Association, which is training local high school drop-outs in construction trades and providing G.E.D. preparation. Of course, there are also the dedicated folks who patiently turn out for one redevelopment meeting after another to plot the painstaking steps – the creation of an entry monument, for example, or streetscape enhancements – that could turn Hyde Park into a place that feels fully inhabited.

    It’s possible that twenty-three years from now Hyde Park will make me think not about Crabgrass Frontier, but about another book I read with my graduate students: Charles Payne’s I’ve Got the Light of Freedom, a study of the grassroots efforts behind the Civil Rights movement in Mississippi. Activist Ella Baker called the day-to-day efforts behind the movement “spade work.” It’s not glamorous and it doesn’t get a lot of credit, but there’s no real movement without it. There’s a lot of spade work going on in Hyde Park. It just might build a place.

    For more on Hyde Park, see:
    Ecology of Absence Blogspot, Friedens Neighborhood Foundation, Landmarks Association of St.Louis, St.Louis Development Corp.

    Flannery Burke is an assistant professor in the Department of History at St. Louis University. Originally from Santa Fe, New Mexico, she writes about the American West, the environment, Los Angeles, and St. Louis.

  • Bailing out on the Dreamland…And Returning Home

    My father, who was from eastern Kentucky, headed with millions of other Appalachian people for the “promised land” after the great depression. The promised land in that day consisted of cities such as Dayton, Detroit, Gary, and Cincinnati, out of which rose great factories that employed thousands on giant “campuses.” They thrived through the vigor of this transplanted workforce – uneducated like my father but full of gumption, tenacity and work ethic.

    My father tells of begging for a job: when turned down by Personnel, he went running, not walking, to see the foreman who put him “right to work that night.” It was in those factories that my dad and other “immigrants” found good middle-class pay…if little in the way of inspiring work. But, he and the others were not picky, as necessity was the mother of this invention.

    Today the world is different. Many of the workers who left for jobs in other cities are returning home to Appalachia – and not entirely by choice. Many of them are being laid off from the auto factories with little else to turn to but family and ties to “place”.

    This creates a new challenge to areas like Appalachia and my region, eastern Kentucky. These are no longer inevitable geographies of distress; certainly they are no more challenged that those of the former dreamscapes up north around the Great Lakes.

    The media will be slow to see this change. Recently CNN focused on the poorest of the poor in Clay County, Kentucky in ways that fit the media stereotype as a home to the ignorant, the racist and the sexist. They even quoted a Clay County woman who observed that “Hillary’s place was in the home.”

    The media is not the only group stuck on the old images. From Kennedy’s famous tour to LBJ’s announcement of the War on Poverty in 1964 from a front porch in Inez, Kentucky to John McCain’s visit during the primary, the region has proven to be an enigma to presidents and policy makers who abhorred the intractable poverty they saw there. It just wasn’t right that an America of plenty would have that “other” “third” world so resistant to the policies and dollars designed to provide transformation.

    In the past, policies were implemented that alternately featured the fundamental nature of the people – not always flattering – to absentee ownership and the exploitation of its rich minerals by outside interests. Or they reflected radical policies and programs that did not take into account the unusual ties to local culture and the strong sense of place and community – attributes that are not often in line with of the culture of consumerism and national mega-corporate prominence.

    Have we reached a turning point where the peeling away of the onion reveals not a past assessment of red America as epitomized by sound bite depictions but one of lessons that can be learned? We were surprised if not alarmed by a Greenspan who admitted that he too was caught off guard by the crash of 2008. We were lulled into believing that Harvard and Yale graduates really do know more and are smarter than the rest of us. We were lulled into believing that just one more plastic Santa or TV set made in China was going to fill the void in our busy lives.

    Have we turned a corner? My father tells of his father making mandolins to supplement his small income as a dirt farmer. He also tells of crops failing and of meager, if existent, Christmas presents. But each spring this man with ties to the land and place reminds me to “plant my corn when tree buds are the size of squirrel ears.” Now I don’t know the first thing about planting corn or even what a squirrel ear looks like. But as we move through the current crisis and a reassessment of the American Dream, I hear echoes of a desire here not to embrace modernity but to seek a return of front porches; local foods and farms; a desire for something beyond the cold flickering computer screen in the middle of the night; and an understanding that we may have, if not more information, perhaps more wisdom than those who hold themselves out as experts.

    All this will be critical as we consider people returning from the Great Lakes and the big cities back to Appalachia. Rather than seeing them as new victims, or unreconstructed red staters, the Obama Administration needs to regard these people as assets for renewing a part of the country that, always close to last, can begin to fulfill its own potential on its own terms.

    Sylvia L. Lovely is the Executive Director/CEO of the Kentucky League of Cities and the founder and president of the NewCities Institute. She currently serves as chair of the Morehead State University Board of Regents. Please send your comments to slovely@klc.org and visit her blog at sylvia.newcities.org.

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