In a week divided
between the two cities, it was impossible to achieve a comprehensive
perspective of the city park systems.
But I can speak to the parks which tourists, such as my wife and I, are
likely to encounter.
Indeed, in
Savannah we could have hardly missed Forsyth Park. We choose a hotel directly across the street
from the 30-acre park. And we took
several walks in the park, even eating one meal there.
The park has
two distinct functions, with passive enjoyments in the north end and active
participation in the south. The north is
anchored by a large fountain from which paths radiate in six directions,
offering a wide choice of oak-shaded and Spanish moss-draped allees.
The walking
paths offer numerous benches for quiet observation or casual conservation. One evening, we listened to a young man play
the didgeridoo, although not particularly well.
On another, we chatted with a homeless person, Sammy Davis Tucker, Jr.,
who was happy to take our picture and to offer his tourism thoughts on Savannah,
all the while staying just on the safe side of the city panhandling law. We rewarded him for his advice and even
followed some of it.
The south is
more open and largely configured as sport fields, which are well-used.
The park is
surrounded by the features of urban life.
On the east is the hotel in which we were staying. To the north is the original home of a local
state college. To the south is a small
collection of counter-culture stores where I met a friend for lunch one
day. And every side was the graceful
residences of the old-line urban South, some now serving as bed-and-breakfasts
or other businesses.
Forsyth Park
was reportedly conceived by James Oglethorpe as the termination of his land
plan for Savannah. And the fountain in
the north end of the park is in alignment with Bull Street, perhaps the best
example of Oglethorpe’s plan for neighborhoods and public squares. However, as if often the case with urban
planning, Savannah didn’t stop when it reached Forsyth Park. Instead, it continued marching south, enfolding
the park into the urban fabric.
And that’s
the strength of Forsyth Park. It’s
engrained into its neighborhood and gaining strength from the embrace. During our stay, we saw exercise classes, a
wedding photo session, and youth soccer.
And there was a continual stream of people walking or jogging about the
park. Forsyth Park is an essential part
of Savannah, without which the city would be less.
Which takes us to Charleston. I visited two parks during our time in that city, Marion Square near the heart of downtown and Waterfront Park along the Cooper River estuary.
In its location anchored in the urban grid, Marion Square is similar to Forsyth Park. But its history and ownership yielded a very different result. It originally served as the parade ground for the Charleston Arsenal and then filled the same role when The Citadel occupied the arsenal building. To this day, it remains the property of the Washington Light Infantry and the Sumter Guard. Although it is leased to the City of Charleston to serve as a public park, much of the site retains the appearance of a parade ground, a broad and empty expanse of green lawn.
I understand
that there are community events, such as farmers markets, that use the space
well. But between those events, Marion
Square seems to sit largely fallow.
During my
mid-morning visit, the park was virtually unused. There was a knot of youths hanging out in one
corner, a couple of older men lounging, and a young woman on the diagonal walk,
perhaps heading to classes at the nearby College of Charleston. Whereas Forsyth Park appeared to be loved,
Marion Square was the recipient of only mild disinterested affection.
Waterfront
Park has a similar shortfall, although for apparently different reasons. The park is marvelously designed and constructed. A long pier extends through the coastal
grasses and into the estuary, giving my wife and me our closest looks at Fort
Sumter. Along the pier are
well-conceived swings, in which couples can idly sway back and forth while
enjoying the cooling breezes.
Along the length
of shoreline, there are well-constructed walking trails, delightful fountains,
and benches positioned to take advantage of both sun and shade.
To my happy
surprise, the park backed directly up to condominiums, framing the park with a
better backdrop than a busy street and giving the residents an attractive, if
public, backyard.
But despite
all everything that was done well at Waterfront Park, it is largely
unloved. When my wife and I visited in
the midday, the swings and pier were in nearly full use, but the remainder of
the park was mostly empty. When I
revisited in the early morning hours, it was even quieter. Perhaps the only other people there were a
pair of homeless who were awakening from their slumbers on the benches.
When I look
for a reason as to why Waterfront Park fails to attract more use, I can only
point to its location at the edge of a city, rather than surrounded by a city.
Thinking
back to all three parks, Forsyth, Marion, and Waterfront, only Forsyth is seems
full actualized, the result of a location in the heart of a city and of the many
years during which the city learned how to make good use of it.
To bring
these lessons back to the North Bay is disappointing, at least in the
short-term. I have a friend who often
asks about building a North Bay equivalent of New York City’s Central
Park. After observing Savannah and
Charleston, the answer is obvious, but unhelpful. One would need to go back a hundred years and
set aside a half-dozen or more city blocks before the city flowed around and
embraced the site.
Absent a
time machine, that isn’t useful information.
But even if we set ourselves to the more possible task of building
strong urban parks for the 22nd century, we are almost equally stymied. What makes Forsyth Park work is the way it
was embraced over time by the continuation of a land-use grid. But we don’t build our towns in grids
anymore. With the land development rules,
we effectively require developers to construct stand-alone, barely connected
neighborhoods, not a land-use pattern that would ever embrace an existing park.
So if your
goal is to build a Central Park in a North Bay city, you must do three things. Change the development pattern so we return to
the logical grids of the 19th century, set aside several blocks to serve as the
park, and pull up a chair to wait for a century. Good luck.
As always, your questions or comments will be
appreciated. Please comment below or
email me. And thanks for reading. - Dave
Alden (davealden53@comcast.net)
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