In my last post, I began to list urbanist
observations from a recent trip to the Pacific Northwest. After spending a large chunk of my life in the
Northwest, I found it insightful to return years later and to look at familiar
places with different acuity.
My first two
observations were about Highway 97 in Bend, Oregon. For my next observation, I remain in Bend.
Observation
#3: Missteps can have long-range implications – If there was a signature
project of my time in Bend, it was a large residential/recreational project on
the west edge of the city. I’ve
previously offered anecdotes about the project, including the sapping of
urbanism from the project plan, the allocation of space to non-vehicular users of the roadways,
and the opposition to having on-site employee housing.
But there was
story that predated those.
The project
that was eventually built was far smaller than had been originally
proposed. The initial plan included almost
1,700 acres of land. I don’t recall the
exact number of proposed residences, but it must have been 3,000 or more, along
with several golf courses. But the key
element, at least to me, was a mixed-use town center. The plan called for several stories of
residential, including lodging, over streetfront retail. It would have been an unusually walkable development
for its era.
The plan was
rolled out in 1989, at the dawn of the new urbanism movement, so was well ahead
of its time. It was also a key moment in
my education as an urbanist.
Unfortunately,
neither the Planning Commission nor fate were as willing to be educated. The proposal became stalled at the Planning
Commission, although several meetings were devoted to its consideration. Then, in August 1990, a forest fire burned
much of the site.
Although no
lives were lost, more than fifty homes were burned elsewhere in Bend. But of at least equal importance to me, the
project and its mixed-use core were dead.
Financing wasn’t available for a project on a burned-over site. Nor would buyers have lined up to be in the
path of the next fire. More than 15
years would pass before development was again considered.
In its place
of the larger project, a smaller, although still sizable, project was proposed,
tucked into a mostly unburned corner of the larger property. The development activities for the smaller
project consumed the next few years of my life.
But there
was a key mistake in the layout of the smaller project. It lay astride the obvious route from the
city to the full site. But its web of
surface streets was intended solely for internal traffic. It failed to provide good access between the
city and the remainder of the site.
With my
still underdeveloped sense of urbanism, I didn’t note the seriousness of this
omission. Nor did anyone else. I was just happy to get the project approved
and to move into the myriad tasks of subdivision and engineering design.
But I was
smarter a few years later. When the
developer proposed extending the project to the south, into another portion of
the site that had escaped the fire, I argued for a strong access road into the
remainder of the site, including the half-forgotten mixed-use core. The road I proposed wouldn’t have been a
perfect solution, but would have been an improvement over the initial
development plan.
The
developer rejected my suggestion. For reasons
involving separate land ownerships and monetary incentives, he had no interest in
the larger property, only the immediate expansion. And he could see no reason to spend money on
the future of the community if it didn’t provide a return to him.
A
state-issued engineering license makes engineers responsible for public
safety. If a developer asks an engineer
to design a bridge that would collapse under heavy loads or to size a sewer
line that would overflow under high usage, the engineer has the legal
obligation to refuse.
But that
legal duty doesn’t extend to poor land-use decisions that may harm a
community. Even though fixing a bridge
or a sewer line would be less expensive than fixing a bad land-use pattern,
engineers are under no obligation to be whistle-blowers on land-use issues. Indeed, raising the concern would likely
violate a fiduciary responsibility to the developer. It’s an unfortunate aspect of the law that
often troubles me.
Thus, I was
without recourse when the developer chose not to pursue a more robust access
route into the remainder of the property.
I could have surreptitiously mentioned my concern to city staff. Or I could have raised my voice at a public
hearing. But either would have been
unprofessional and grounds for termination.
And so the
expansion was built without the stronger access.
Years later,
after my departure from Bend, a different developer acquired the remaining land. For a number of reasons, presumably including
the lack of good access into the city, dense development wasn’t possible. Instead, the land was developed into ten-acre
lots and rolling golf courses.
It’s a
nicely done development. If one must do
ten-acre lots and golf courses, one could hardly do better. The plan was solid and well executed, with
careful and appropriate details. But
it’s not the highest and best use to which the land could have been put.
During my
recent visit to Bend, I dined with an old friend. Afterwards, she gave me a tour of the
westside of Bend, including the ten-acre lot project. She retains a role in Oregon land use and
shared my chagrin over the result. But
her disappointment was muted, as she’d had several years to become accustomed
to the land use.
My disappointment was more acute. I knew the ten-acre lot project had been
built, but it was hard to look out over the swale where the mixed-use core was
to have been built without wondering what I could have done differently. I hadn’t necessarily failed, but I’d failed
to succeed.
In my next
post, I’ll write about what happened in place of the mixed-use core noted
above. It’s another unhappy tale.
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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