The Planners: Preserving English Heritage

I’ve previously written thrice about the BBC show “The Planners”, here, here, and here.  With today being Boxing Day, with the afterglow of Christmas still lingering, and with further family activities perhaps still planned, it seems a good day to return to “The Planners”.  At least, it seems like a better idea than tackling a new and mentally challenging topic.

So, we’re onto the fifth episode of season one of “The Planners”.

I’ve heard from at least one reader who’s puzzled by my fondness for the show.  All I can say is that the favorite part of my career was the entitlement dance, the careful sculpting of a land use application, trying to balance the desires of the developer with the wishes of the community as expressed through its zoning code, the parry and thrust as the planning staff and review boards consider the application, and the final result, with its unexpected twists.  Take all of that, add English accents, and what’s not to like?

Relative to the earlier shows, the fifth episode breaks little new ground.  But the storylines are sufficiently interesting to be worthy of your attention.

A moderately affluent family sells their long-time family home to buy a unit in crescent-shaped block of homes that date from the Regency period.  Although listed as a historic resource, the two-centuries-old unit has fallen on hard times, most recently serving as a nursing home.  Inexplicably, the family assigns the project management to their 22-year-old daughter who, although she appears more adept than might have been expected, seems unqualified for the task.

The family’s plan requires the approval of the local historic conservation office, who several of the family members describe as “scary”.  The conservation officer takes a particular dislike to a new deck proposed for the rear of the house and the eventual result of the remodel project is uncertain.

A developer, who we never see, proposes three new homes at the end of an existing cul-de-sac, a textbook infill project.  A neighbor initially argues that the car maneuvering space is inadequate.  Emboldened by winning a concession on that point, the neighbor goes on to argue that any construction at all would potentially endanger neighborhood children, an argument that a planning councillor correctly notes could potentially stop almost all new home construction.

A fisheries advocate proposes a dramatic home of modern architecture in forested rural land near the border with Scotland.  The planning staff notes that the regulations require all new rural homes to be part of a cluster of at least four homes, in an attempt to avoid a scattering of single homes.  In this case, there are only two other homes nearby, so the proposed new home fails the test.

The potential homeowner, unwilling to surrender, notes that his land includes a portion of a grand carriageway that led to an 18th century country home.  He offers to restore the carriageway and the adjoining rolling, grassy hills to their 18th century grandeur if the authorities allow his home.  It seems an odd offer, with the possibility that restoring acres of manicured grass to its 18th century state isn’t even a good idea in the 21st century, but the review board seems willing to consider the offer.

A developer prefers to honor the past by tearing down aging buildings and constructing new buildings on the same sites, with the new building giving homage to the older architectural styles.  The local historic officer isn’t impressed by the demolition and rebuild strategy.

If you find a spare hour in your Boxing Day, please partake of episode five.  I hope you find it at least half as enjoyable as I did.

Next up, I’ll advantage of an improving weather pattern and finally return to my great streets mission, likely with a look at Calistoga and St. Helena.

As always, your questions or comments will be appreciated.  Please comment below or email me.  And thanks for reading. - Dave Alden (davealden53@comcast.net)

Saving the Good Stuff

A few months back, the Petaluma Planning Commission was forced to make a regrettable decision about a building for which the community had great fondness.  The French Laundry was a well-known and photogenic landmark on the west side of town, with a history that extended far back into Petaluma’s past.

But, although the building was on a local historic list, it had remained in private ownership with little tangible community support for its restoration.  As a result, it deteriorated over time.  Eventually, there was little of the building that could be retained.  The Planning Commission was compelled into the sad duty of removing the French Laundry from the historic list and approving its demolition.

The deed done, the Commission Chair turned to the audience (all three of us) and anyone watching on television and opined that the community had to work harder and smarter to preserve historic buildings or more would be lost to the wrecking ball and bulldozer.

Since that time, Petaluma has put forth a $300 million tax increase without historic preservation anywhere close to the intended funding priorities.   It would appear that few were listening, or cared, when the Commission Chair made his plea.

This story came to mind because I’ve been part of an effort over the past few weeks to restore a fine old building in a North Bay city, a building that a city planner called the “crown jewel of the community”.

I’m not always enamored of historic preservation, finding sometimes that the needs of the city must outweigh the value of saving history.  But this isn’t one of those times.  The building with which I’ve become involved is a grand building for which new uses, fitting within the needs of the community, can be readily envisioned.

(Note: The building in the photo isn’t the building of which I’m writing.  Instead, the building in the photo is one of a number of well-preserved buildings in downtown Saratoga Springs, New York.  But it illustrates the value that historic preservation can bring to a community.)

My involvement with the North Bay building has given me new insights about what we, as represented through our government and directly, can do to help return useful older buildings to their glory.   In this case of the North Bay building, the story is fairly good, although perhaps not quite good enough

To begin, the building is on the National Historic Register, which means that tax credits are available for qualified building renovation costs.   Many historic specialists point to this provision as sufficient to ensure historic preservation.  However, the tax credits are bundled with the obligation to conform to historic preservation standards, which can sometimes add as much cost to the projects as the tax credits provide relief.  As a result, sometimes developers are thrilled to have their buildings on the Historic Register and other times they would prefer for the designation to disappear.

In this case, the tax credit is anticipated to provide a net benefit, although perhaps not a huge one.

Likely of more importance were representations made by City staff during an initial coordination meeting.  Staff suggested the possibility of an expedited entitlement process along with favorable interpretations of impact fees.  Not relief from the fees, but a willingness to interpret grey areas in favor of historic preservation.  Both suggestions were welcomed.

In a subsequent meeting with a possible financial partner, he suggested another way in which a municipality can assist in historic preservation, which is through becoming a building tenant.

One of the hurdles in historic preservation is convincing lenders that there is a market for the new and often unique space that will result.  Having a tenant committed to a lease as early as possible can provide a critical boost to construction financing.  The municipality needn’t pay a high rate for the space, but only market rate.  It’s the early commitment that can be key. 

We haven’t yet pursued this possibility in regard to the North Bay building, but will be doing so.

Lastly, citizens needn’t always act through government to assist with historic preservation.  The city of Fergus Fall, Minnesota has been looking for a developer to rehabilitate Kirkbride, an enormous and abandoned state hospital.  The selected developer asked for the city to provide $700,000 of the $21 million cost, but the city balked.  (The refusal wasn’t surprising.  Few cities of 13,000 can muster a $700,000 tab, regardless of the value to the community.)

To fill the gap, a citizens group instead pledged the $700,000 and immediately began a fundraising effort, reporting within days that $500,000 had already been collected.  (Although one fundraising makes the amount look closer to $5,000.)

There is no single magic bullet for historic preservation, but there is a collection of tools that can be used in various combinations.  The proposed preservation of the North Bay building hasn’t yet come together, but we’ll continue to work to find the right combination.  The Petaluma Planning Commission Chair would be pleased.

As always, your questions or comments will be appreciated.  Please comment below or email me.  And thanks for reading. - Dave Alden (davealden53@comcast.net)

Historic Preservation versus Demolition: Insights from Case Histories

Three months ago, I offered my thoughts about historic preservation in urban settings.  I’m generally supportive of preservation as long as the structures or places being preserved are consistent with a coherent vision of urban vitality.  Spending a few days in Buffalo at CNU 22, surrounded by outstanding buildings from an earlier age which are only now returning to gloriously full use, only reinforced that opinion.

The earlier post referenced a meeting, then upcoming, of the Petaluma Planning Commission at which several demolition permits would be discussed.  I’ve continued to monitor those applications.  Each offers insights about the role of historic preservation versus demolition in urban settings.

French Laundry: Petaluma’s French Laundry (which is very different from the famed Yountville restaurant) was a westside laundry that became an icon of an earlier day, with the building eventually gaining historic recognition.  (Forty years ago, a classmate at Cal was married to the granddaughter of the former operator of the French Laundry, so I knew about the French Laundry many years before finding myself in Petaluma.)

Even when the building fell into disuse, rendered obsolete by changes in the laundry industry including home washing machines, it remained an instantly recognizable element of the westside, the subject of many photos and watercolors.

But being instantly recognizable didn’t pay the bills.  The building owners, unable to afford, or perhaps to justify, the expenses needed to maintain the building, allowed it to lapse into dereliction.  Storm damage also contributed to the deterioration.

Eventually the owners approached the City, arguing that the building couldn’t be saved and should be removed from the historic list and demolished.  The Planning Commission reluctantly agreed.  

But the Planning Commission Chair, after the vote, opined that the loss of the French Laundry was a loss for the entire Petaluma community and that if further losses were to be avoided, the City would need to take a bigger stake in historic preservation.

He was correct in his assessment, although I rate the prospects of City action to be low.

Having sat in meetings with historic preservationists, I know that much weight is given to the availability of tax credits to maintain historic structures.  But someone I met at CNU, who had carefully studied preservation in the Buffalo area and was looking about for a project, explained the conundrum well.  Tax credits may help with the restoration of the building, but rent from effective post-restoration use is needed to pay the mortgage, maintenance, and property taxes.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to conceive of a tenant who could have made use of the French Laundry building.  It’s on a busy street, has little parking, and is surrounded by low-density residential.

So City funding would have likely been required to keep the building maintained.  But for what use?  A museum is a frequent suggestion, but most cities already struggle to support the museums they have.  And using City dollars to maintain the building as a picturesque but empty space while lacking the funds for other pressing city needs seems unlikely.

Consigning the French Laundry to history was the apparent correct, although lamentable, decision.

Beck House: The Beck House was located in a parcel of land that Petaluma has forgotten.  Seven acres in size, a walkable distance from downtown, and the site of much early Petaluma activity, including the first trading post, hotel, and amusement park, the site is now surrounded by development, a railroad track, and the Petaluma River, making future access expensive and uncertain.

There were numerous homes on the property including the Bloom-Tunstall House which had previously been granted historical status, several more recent homes for which demolition had been previously approved, and the Beck House, newer than Bloom-Tunstall, but older than the other homes and on the cusp between the two.

Given the uncertain historical status of the Beck House, the City had directed the owner to secure it against unlawful trespassing, but he had failed to follow the direction and was now requesting approval to demolish the house, in part because of the damage of continued intrusions.

Two spirited hearings were conducted, with preservation proponents arguing that the home was older than the initial historical analysis indicated and that the house should be preserved to provide services for the homeless on the site.

They won the first argument, but the second argument was unwinnable given the private ownership of the house and the absence of funding for the re-use they sought.

And so the Planning Commission gave approval to the demolition.  But they combined that decision with a suggestion of sanctions against the owner for failing to secure the house against intruders and a sense of frustration that they had been forced to make the demolition decision now instead of when a development proposal for the land was received, with the hope that the house can have been integrated into a future land-use.

Scerri House: The Scerri House (pictured) is yet a third set of circumstances.  It’s an existing home in a fully-established residential neighborhood within a walkable distance of downtown.  However, previous owners had made awkward additions, such the house didn’t meet the needs of the new owner, who proposed complete demolition and replacement with new construction, which would be approved in a separate process.

Several Commissioners expressed discomfort with demolition of a livable home, but the Commission approved the demolition regardless, noting that the lot would soon be reused.

But when the owner then returned to the Community Development Department with construction plans for the new home, it was found to exceed the height standard for the zone.  The Planning Department couldn’t find justification for a variance, nor was the owner able to reverse that denial at the Planning Commission or City Council.

And so the replacement home sits in limbo, while the owner ponders his options.  Luckily, demolition of the existing home hadn’t yet begun, so the unsightliness and risk of a gap in the neighborhood fabric was avoided.  But it was avoided by chance, not design.

Lessons: There are several lessons from these three case histories.  First, wishing for historic preservation isn’t enough.  In these financially-constrained times, there must also be a good future use for a preserved building.  Failing that, demolition is probably the only option.

Second, while we shouldn’t force owner to undertake expensive preservation efforts if there isn’t a good future use yet determined, it seems reasonable to require the owner to secure the building so efforts can continue to find that use.

Third, although the worst case was avoided on the Scerri House, there is a potential for neighborhood disaster if demolition proceeds in advance of replacement.  At a minimum, demolition approvals in fully-developed settings should be conditioned such that demolition can’t proceed until all approvals and financing are in place for the replacement.

In my next post, I’ve previously written that urban development often requires committed city/developer coordination.  From my history, I’ll offer a couple of examples where that didn’t happen.

As always, your questions or comments will be appreciated.  Please comment below or email me.  And thanks for reading. - Dave Alden (davealden53@comcast.net)

Thoughtful Balancing Better than Rigid Rules

My last three posts might have projected a curmudgeonly air.  I didn’t feel curmudgeonly when writing them.  But when I read back over them, I realize that I may have come across as grumpy by challenging the civic value of some parks, by suggesting that the environmental elements of a road design might have been incorrectly valued more highly than walkability, and by arguing that historic preservation can sometimes go awry.

But upon looking deeper, there’s a connection between the posts that was decidedly not cranky.

Parks?  Love them, as long as they’re well-used and building a better community.

Environmental-sensitive roadway design?  Great idea, as long as we don’t put it on a pedestal above a greater civic good such as walkability.

Historic preservation?  Absolutely supportive.  It’s always painful to lose an older building, especially when it’s architecturally interesting or historically relevant.  But historic preservation must be within the context of building a better city.  If a building can’t be made to fit with a city that is evolving in a healthy direction, then perhaps it should be demolished, for the greater good.

So I’m not a curmudgeon.  It’s just that I believe in a higher good.  That higher good being a well-functioning, environmentally-sustainable, and financially-stable city.

In “Walkable City”, author Jeff Speck writes about how wide Main Street would become if we allowed every specialist to claim his or her optimal width.  Between two lanes of travel in each direction, left turn pockets, landscaped medians, wide bicycle lanes, diagonal parking, etc, our downtown streets would become wide enough to serve as runways.  The vastness of the street would inhibit walkability because of the daunting task of crossing the street and because of the exposed feeling of being on a sidewalk where the building across the street is more than 150 feet away.

Speck uses that example to argue that we can’t allow specialists to design our streets.  Instead, we should rely on generalists who understand the concern and desires of the specialists, but are capable of finding reasonable balances between the competing demands.  I think it’s one of the best points that Speck makes in his book.

I also feel that the point about specialists versus generalists can be extended to standards such as park requirements and historic preservation.  In the abstract, those requirements may seem absolute positives.  But the real world can often undermine what seems unassailable in the abstract, resulting in logical absurdities.  We need processes that allow us to find reasonable balances.

When I was younger, I was a fan of objective rules.  I thought that, if we’d only work a little harder, we could write objective rules that would cover every situation, making land development completely straight-forward and predictable.

I was wrong.  Reality has the unerring ability to find ambiguities, loopholes, and grey areas in any development standard that we write.  It was hubris to think that we could anticipate the myriad of possibilities that the real world could throw at us.

I’m not arguing that objective standards are never needed.  There are elements of land development where objective standards are an absolute necessity, such as water pressure, fire protection, and safe exits.

But there is also a need to admit that some development standards should be more subjective and to acknowledge that judgment, hopefully tempered by common sense, is needed to balance desirable but incompatible goals.

Those with a sense of land-use history may raise an objection at this point, noting that allowing more subjectivity into a hearing room would also allow more opportunity for decision-makers to be inappropriately influenced.  Those critics would be right.

I suspect that one of the reasons behind the rise of objective standards was to reduce the possibility of officials making decisions based on campaign contributions or other favors.  I also believe that objective standards have largely met that goal.

(For all of the complaints I hear about city hall being the lapdog of developers, there has probably been no time in history when that was less true than today.  There are certainly still pockets of undue influence, but the promulgation of transparent processes and objective rules have greatly reduced the opportunities.)

But excessive reliance on objective standards may result in worse decision-making than relying on the sometimes slanted subjective judgment of public officials.  The example I offered in my last post about the possibility of delaying a public housing project for reasons of historic preservation is only one example.

Compared to the rote application of objective standards, a little subjective balance can be a good thing, even if it comes with a risk of increased bribery or graft.

I understand that the fringes of the internet are populated by folks who will willfully misinterpret content so they can attack with contrived outrage.  So I’m sure that someone will read what I’ve written above and argue “Wow, this guy thinks that graft is a good thing.”

I’ve said nothing of the sort.  Instead, I’ve suggested that, in a headlong effort to eradicate bribery and graft, we’ve imposed rules that sometimes lead to deeply flawed land-use decisions.  Compared to the cost of those land-use mistakes, risking a little graft might be acceptable.  Although we should remain ever alert to malfeasance so it can be quickly rooted out.

Before closing, I should turn this conversation back toward urbanism.  Subjective balancing of land-use goals is more important to walkable urban development than it is to drivable suburban.  On a typical drivable suburban site, there’s room to move elements around to meet objective standards.  But a typical walkable urban site doesn’t have that flexibility.  And yet urban sites are more likely to have conflicts with objective standards such as historic preservation.

The trend over the past decades toward objective standards in place of subjective balancing is yet one more piece of evidence that our land-use processes were developed during a time when drivable suburban was the default land-use pattern.  It’s also another example of the subtle but effective systemic biases against urbanism.

As always, your questions or comments will be appreciated.  Please comment below or email me.  And thanks for reading. - Dave Alden (davealden53@comcast.net)

Historic Preservation in a 21st Century City

As someone who cherishes the feel and walkability of a historic downtown, it’s reasonable to expect that I also embrace historic preservation.  To a large extent, that expectation is correct.  But there are times when I find that historic preservation goes awry.

The Marina Vista and Alder Grove public housing projects are near the west end of Broadway in Sacramento.   Totaling 750 units, they retain a pleasant, almost pastoral exterior appearance.  But with over seventy years of use, the buildings are worn and the Sacramento Housing and Redevelopment Agency (SHRA) is facing the task of developing a plan for their future.

In addition to building age, the location of the housing is unfortunate on at least two levels.  For one, shopping options aren’t convenient, with most residents facing a walk of a half-mile or more.  A population that, more than many, could benefit from walkable urbanism is in a car-dependent location.

Second, and even more distressing to me, the elementary school that serves the housing has a boundary that is exactly the same as the housing.  All of the school children from the public housing are sitting in classrooms surrounded only by other children from public housing.

I’m sure there any many good people living in Marina Vista and Alder Grove who will rebuild their lives to move onward to market housing elsewhere, raising happy and successful children in the process.  And I’m equally sure that there are children in those classrooms who will progress to effective and productive lives despite a challenged start.  But children learn from examples.  If all they experience on a daily basis is other lives in public housing, they have a harder time learning of other lifestyle possibilities.  And their chances for higher life trajectories, if not extinguished, are at least reduced.

To me, the elementary school that serves Marina Vista and Alder Grove is the 21st century version of segregation.  And it needs to be remedied now.

Faced with the situation at Marina Vista and Alder Grove, the SHRA has decided that demolition and complete redevelopment of the site was the best solution.   Their vision includes more residential units, retaining the same number of public housing units plus adding market rate housing into the mix.  They also envision retail elements in the new plan, moving the site closer to walkable urbanism.

I haven’t seen conceptual site plans, but agree with the direction.  I also wish luck to the SHRA.  It’s always been difficult to assemble funding for a project like this and the difficulty is increasing.  SHRA will face a number of challenges.

 But one of the challenges was completely unexpected, at least to me.  A citizens group threatened to file suit, claiming that the housing is historic and should be preserved.  I find that offensive.

I’m neither equipped nor motivated to argue the fine points of historic preservation law.  But, as much as I love older buildings and the downtowns that they often anchor, I’m convinced that there are times when they must be removed.  There are times when historical preservation just doesn’t make sense.

And this is one of those times.

If we allow the children of Marina Vista and Alder Grove to sit in their demographically-segregated classrooms for even one day longer than necessary because adults are arguing about whether 1940s housing is “historic”, then we have failed the children and ourselves.

A Week of Being Grumpy

Looking over my posts of this past week, I find an unexpected pattern.  Early in the week, I questioned the civic worth of some suburban parks.  Mid-week, I challenged a road design award that seemingly gave more value to vegetated swales than walkability.  And above, I impugned a historic preservation stance that apparently ignored a greater good.

It was as if I was aiming for promotion from urbanist to Curmudgeon Laureate.

But there’s a unifying theme between the posts.  And that theme is more hopeful than grumpy.  I’ll explain in my next post.

Schedule Note

This rumination on historic preservation was triggered by an upcoming meeting of the Petaluma Planning Commission.  On Tuesday, March 25, the commission will consider demolition permits for a pair of sites that may qualify as historic.  (The initial agenda for the meeting listed a third possible demolition permit, one that was likely to be more controversial than the first two, but that project disappeared from later versions of the agenda.)

The hearings on Tuesday should offer insights into current historic preservation standards.  I’ll attend and encourage others with an interest in the subject to join me in City Hall at 7pm.

As always, your questions or comments will be appreciated.  Please comment below or email me.  And thanks for reading. - Dave Alden (davealden53@comcast.net)