Brandon Donnelly — Daily insights for city builders. Published since 2013 by Toronto-based real estate developer Brandon Donnelly. — Page 984

On the cover of the July 2018 issue of Harper’s Magazine is a picture of New York City – with Rafael Viñoly’s 432 Park Avenue as the focal point – and the title: Death of a Great American City. New York and the Urban Crisis of Affluence.

The long-form article is by Kevin Baker and it is an account of how New York City has transformed itself over the past few decades from a place of culture and character (and of cockroaches and discarded crack vials) into a place for the ultra-wealthy to buy ultra-luxury real estate that may or may not sit empty for more often than it is occupied.

“As New York enters the third decade of the twenty-first century, it is in imminent danger of becoming something it has never been before: unremarkable. It is approaching a state where it is no longer a significant cultural entity but the world’s largest gated community, with a few cupcake shops here and there. For the first time in its history, New York is, well, boring.”

This narrative and/or phenomenon is of course not unique to New York City, though it is surely more pronounced when you are one of, if not the, preeminent global city. In fact, I was sent this article by a reader who was wondering about the possible parallels here in Toronto. Thank you Natasha.

The desire, which is how Baker ends his article, is that New York City should be a city of “workers and eccentrics” as well as “visionaries and billionaires.” It should be a place for “street photographers” and “hedge fund operators.” That sounds like a pretty cool place to me.

But we all know how challenging this has proven to be for cities.

Photo by Dean Rose on Unsplash

David Levinson , who is based Sydney and authors the Transportist – a blog you should follow if you don’t – has a recent post up about signalling inequity and “how traffic signals distribute time to favour the car and delay the pedestrian.” In it he provides some background into traffic signal coordination (introduced in New York City in 1922), as well some some suggestions for how we could and should be prioritizing pedestrians.

Here is an excerpt from the article:

There is a reason that traffic engineers don’t automatically allocate pedestrian phases. Suppose the car only warrants a six second phase but a pedestrian requires 18 seconds to cross the street at a 1 meter/second walking speed. Giving an automatic pedestrian phase will delay cars, even if the pedestrian is not there. And there is no sin worse than delaying a car.  But it also guarantees a pedestrian who arrives just after the window to push the actuator passes will wait a full cycle.

Sometimes pressing the walk button appears to do nothing. I suppose that’s why some cities call it the “placebo button.” And in other cases if you don’t press the walk button you’ll never get a walk sign. That’s usually a strong indicator that you are located in an environment not intended for pedestrians. David’s article also has me curious about the relationship between traffic signals/pedestrian phases and urban form. I bet you could tell a lot about the latter simply by understanding the former.

Image: Transportist

I must have been sick for this lesson in architecture school, because I just discovered, through Curbed , that there is a subset of mid-century modern architecture known as Googie . It originated in Southern California in the 1940s and was all about the future, car culture, the Space Age, and the many other things that dominated the postwar years. Think starbursts, curvaceous geometric shapes, and bright colors. We all know the architecture. But did you know it was called, Googie?

Supposedly the Googie movement was given its label by architecture critic Douglas Haskell, who used it in a derogatory way to describe  criticize the architectural fashion at the time. Googie was the name of an actual coffee shop in West Hollywood designed by John Lautner . And that’s something that is noteworthy about Googie. It was a form of architecture for average buildings: coffee shops, gas stations, motels, and those sorts of things.

There will always be critics who eschew that which is fashionable at the time. I suppose one could argue that if you’re being fashionable, then you’re not being timeless. Because fashion is about what’s current. And good architecture should be timeless, right? But there’s something so fascinating about a kind of built form that perfectly captures a particular time and place. Middle of the 20th century. Car-oriented Southern California. 

Sometimes good architecture and design also needs a bit of time and distance in order to fully appreciate it. What was once garish may one day become treasured. Just give it a generation or two.

Photo by ian dooley on Unsplash