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28 December 07: All those little things
The Year in Review by Steve Ives
Just by virtue of being the type of person who would visit a website such as this, you're already inclined to be the type of person who notices "the little things". And,
as such, you're aware that the "little things" are never, ever little. The types of things that thousands of our fellow Philadelphians zip, saunter and sashay by on a
daily basis we find worthy of an extra moment of our day. This intended to inform and persuade the uninitiated, the folks who just come and go. You're already inducted
into the faith. So this isn't for you.
Who this is intended for are those zipping, sauntering, sashaying friends, coworkers, family members, bar buddies, baristas and bus drivers who don't notice "little
things"; who don't point out items of note -- "it's just a lamppost" kind of people.
Are you kids listening?
Your friends aren't weirdos. They aren't dull. They don't have some unusual form of OCD (so far as I know). The difference between them and you is that they see the world
through a different lens. They seem to be people who look at the big wide world as composed of parts of a number so vast and overwhelming that our minds and our eyes seem
to stay fixated on the beautiful little pieces.
It's a bit ironic that this situation seems to be so true in Philadelphia, a city so often overlooked and remarkably full of "little things" that sometimes fit so
seamlessly into the urban fabric that you may not ever notice them. Everyone is familiar with the big draws. Our city is known for a decommissioned house of government, a
damaged bell, a weathered stairway and fattening foods. Our answers to Fifth Avenue and The Space Needle. So be it. I'd like to offer that it isn't the big, shiny things
that give any place worth its salt its real appeal. It's not the chocolate chips but what's in the cookie that really gives one that satisfied feeling and it's the kind
of thing that really makes itself evident to those who've walked these streets and noticed the details. What are the little things you may bypass?
Have you ever wasted time in Chestnut Park?
Have you ever taken the time to find every detour off of Locust Walk?
Have you ever sought late night refuge at the Mayfair Diner?
Have you ever spent a Sunday night at Fiume?
Every city has those individual amenities that offer it a flavor unique unto itself and are beyond replication.
You can't manufacture Headhouse Square
You can't recreate Ward Park.
You can't build your own Bainbridge Street.
You can't improve on The Plateau.
Philadelphia has spent so much time looking up at others and down on itself that we collectively not only forget the amazing little things, we can go to great lengths to
minimize their significance -- only to find ourselves wondering why our visiting relatives or those Southern tourists seem so fascinated by Belgian blocks and statuary.
Many of us seem to forget this city's past as a literal showcase of the world. During a time that even many of our parents would remember, Philadelphia was counted among
an elite circle of places in which to see, to learn and to do. This city rose to its great success on things that were valued at the time (roaring industry, community
life, apparently religion) and endured a hard fall as some of those things became less central in American life. What was left behind were artifacts from a time of
excitement, of hope, of hard work. We were left with remnants of a great era and became over the course of fifty years the city of, as a friend once put it, American
Ruins (with only Detroit being able to make as legitimate a claim). This all happened at a time when 'the city' was becoming less important, something to cast off,
shunned and avoided. Those left behind, those relative few who refused to leave and those fewer who never felt the need to created a new identity for themselves over time
and the urban landscape largely suffered for it.
Over the past 15 years or so that mentality began to change in this nation and within the past decade this attitude began to seep its way into Philadelphia, slowly
penetrating mindless bureaucracy, deeply ingrained insularity and a culture totally unfamiliar to and totally unwilling to grasp concepts in design, in planning, in
management that are relatively old thinking to the places Philadelphia always wants to compare itself to. What is fortunate for all of us is that this collision of
circumstances puts our beloved city in a unique situation to at last define itself as the post-industrial hangover finally subsides. We're in the unique position of being
as big as we are, with as much as we have and as little as we've had to work. We're in the unique position of being relatively fertile ground for minds that craft the
'little things' that make up cities at a time of a kind of hand-off from 'the old guard' to people who not only have the drive and the vision to create but who have also
taken the time to understand the place they're putting their hands into. In other words, this city is a most wonderful template. We aren't a scratch-build Sunbelt city
and we aren't a place that gets our every thought and action modeled by every place that's trying to be someplace (and thank goodness for that). We're that old
house with the sturdy stairs, the thick walls and the fireplace. We've got the 'little things'. We haven't yet obtained much of that outward glamour but people are
noticing the new windows. And what I would like for you, the too-busy-in-the-day-to-day type, to do just once (and pick a nice day to do it -- in April when the Phillies
are contractually obliged to suck but before the football draft) is to not ignore the magnificence of your surroundings. Spend an afternoon, pick an area of the city you
never visit and go for a walk. Need a beer? Put it in an iced tea bottle and go out but go out and take the time to observe what's brining all 'these new people' here.
Rediscover the Philadelphia of your parents' day. Much of it is still largely there.
The big slide at Smith Playground is still there.
You can still get ribs at the shack on Weccacoe.
It's possible to take a trolley to The Zoo again.
You can still see the world from the 23.
I'd like for all of us to be a bit more appreciative of all the little things that compose our city. The little things get very little press, draw very few tourists and
make it into very few brochures. It's those little things that are valued by regular people that maintain the soul of a city. It's that soul that gives a city its appeal,
its outward glamour because as its residents feel that they inhabit an important place, even if its only important to them, it begins to rub off. It becomes less
transient or at least leaves a more indelible mark on people who pass through it. Everyone who's ever lived in and left New York -- even if they hated it -- can point out
something unique to their experiences that they'll tell countless times at countless gatherings (even if its roaches). I would hate to think that people who live in and
leave Philadelphia leave with nothing more than memories of sad or ineffectual things. A lot of residents walk around with that same viewpoint and it's a little thing
that doesn't help us much. There are plenty of things about being a Philadelphian that get rightful scorn but the little bonuses can be enough to soothe a sour moment. If
you notice enough of them this will become an easier place to love. It takes time and a patient eye and you'll never cover it all. But take a moment every now and then.
The little things create the day and are what life in Philadelphia is all about.
–Steve Ives
phillytrax@aol.com
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26 July 07: Bullet Time
By Steve Ives
26 July 07
Let's start with a story.
We know that far too many young black men shoot for too many young black men for far too many foolish reasons. Far too many of these young men have lived lives of
want -- sometimes extreme want, the kind of want those of you reading these words may have have difficulty understanding. Too many of these young men grew up with
barely the most basic material needs met. They grew up in a world without a positive male figure, they grew up in a world with a parent who most likely was
ill-prepared to raise a child, being one herself. They grew up in a world where discipline was swift and harsh. They grew up in a world where mainstream morals
applied 'situationally' and in a world where there was little relief for those responsible for them.
Often, parents made a choice between playtime with the kids or food and shelter for the kids -- which means somebody can't be where they are. The responsibility
of being a parent acts a double-edged sword -- the child may have physical needs met but emotional needs left by the wayside. Mom can't always be there, dad most
likely was never there and all that remained much of the time, after overwhelmed or neglectful relatives, were the ever-present streets. Here, this young man can
get the male bonding he has longed for since he could understand his world. Here, this young man can learn the traits of 'being a man' from actual males. Here,
this young man hears from others what he has observed all his life -- that the world is cold, that it is against you and those like you and that all you really
have is your image as a man and the only way to defend your image as a man is to pull that hammer faster than the guy looking at you.
And, lacking any other effective example, this young man cleaves to this philosophy at the most critical juncture of his development personally and socially.
He's put his foot down the path that does not necessarily lead to crime as many of us understand it -- he may, at some point, sell drugs to get the money he
needs to buy groceries or clothing -- but this path does not always lead to a guaranteed felony conviction. What it does lead to is the nearly irreversible
creation of a person driven by some of humanity's worst natures. 'No concern for the future because I could be dead tomorrow.' 'No concern for things larger
society deems important because larger society shows little concern for me.' 'I'll do what I gotta do to keep my stomach full and my house warm.' And it leads,
sooner or later, to coming across the guy who believes in the philosophy a little more than he does. Who lived a little worse off than he had. Who pulled that
hammer a little quicker than he did. And his life is extinguished. And his place on those cold, ever-present streets is filled as swiftly as it was vacated by
the next young man who's seeing life with eyes a little deader, with a heart a little colder, with a mentality a little harsher and harder to shape because he
doesn't want to go out like that.
This story, to various extents, plays out hundreds of times, every day of the week, every month of the year, on the streets of Philadelphia. A generation of young
men comes to find their place in a world that they see as hostile, a greater world lacking realistic opportunities. It is a world that they read and understand
better than they're often given credit for. It is a world they know they lack the skills to join as they currently are and many times it leads the young man who
didn't get that supportive shove, who didn't get that guiding word, to a pivotal fork in the road. Both roads lead to uncertainty but one is lined with trees with
low-hanging fruit. To a person that has had a rough way to go, the temptation often overwhelms reason and personal morality. And it's the fact that such a fork
exists that exemplifies the failures of both society at large and the communities that bore and bred these young men to these young men.
Philadelphia has stood and watched in horror for the past two years as many of our young people have participated in the systematic deletion of the next
generation. Bullet riddled and broken bodies have fallen to cold sidewalks in virtually every corner of this city, the end result of a collusion of numerous
social failings that result in this sinister storm that is coating our streets red and our hearts black. Mothers, girlfriends, wives and grandmothers wail and
wring their hands in agony over the waste of their beautiful babies. Fathers (where found), brothers, cousins, friends and old heads shake their heads in
disappointment because that thing they taught him to watch out for, to outrun, to outsmart since he was small, caught their boy. There is a sense of sadness in
them but it is tempered by their realization of the cold reality that they could as easily have been there. The realization of the fragility of life, often
overlooked or downplayed in a larger culture that celebrates dangerous excess and exalts those who willingly come to the very edge of death and return, is
ironically a stark reality at the bottom and fringes of our society where you find the most people dead for frivolous reasons.
It has become something of an academic pursuit to pinpoint the root causes of our recent surge in gun murders. Over the past months, we've been treated to an
array of in-the-know people, those whom we have elected to ameliorate this kind of problem, those who have survived the streets and have made it their raison
d'etre to ensure as few young people follow that path as possible and those to whom the community looks to for solace and wisdom when this dark cloud creeps over
their piece of the world. And all of them offer truths when asked what are the causes and what are the cures. Better oversight of the sale of guns. Better
schools. Better jobs. More police involvement on the community level. More proactive cooperation from afflicted communities. All of these things will, with time
and dedication, soothe the problem. But nothing will reverse it, nothing will dramatically change its speed or growth short of a total about face on the Second
Amendment.
But every time I hear the solutions and think of what it took to get to this point, I think of three things.
I think of how different the worlds people occupy are. I think of the fact that someone can live a life of true luxury a 20-minute walk away from someone living
in abject squalor, in a state of want that is supremely difficult to assuage and how, in a society that claims to believe so much so in the strength of its moral
convictions that it can send young people by the boatload to deliver it to others -- ironically, at the point of a gun -- that we can abandon those among us who
don't paddle in stride. We, as a society, allow terrible people to dictate terms of the humanity of others -- whether we accept that or not -- based not on the
higher moral standard we like to think we operate by, but simply by who can best keep up with or outdo the group -- who makes the most, who looks the nicest, who
lives the best.
And I think, with all the excuses, we very rarely see blame accepted by or foisted upon the communities that allow members of our future to come in to festering
conditions. How some members of these communities, despite the material resources they often lack, fail to exercise judgment, good sense and neighborly decency --
small things, seemingly, that ultimately separate 'good' neighborhoods from 'bad' ones. How so many people go to bed with the 'snitches get stitches or ditches'
mentality, guaranteeing them maybe a good night's sleep and the promise of uncertainty and instability to greet them with the morning sun. How it got so bad that
Ty from the block holds more sway on the block than a 6,800 member police force with helicopters, dogs, shotguns and the full weight of The United States
Department of Justice behind them should things go really sour.
I think of the culture of fear and violence that is created and strengthened by members of these communities, communities I move through, communities I have
lived in since birth. I think of the simplicity of twenty neighbors who'd like to sit on their front stoops on a warm night without a reasonable fear of catching
a bullet going to their police district, demanding action from the men and women they pay to ensure public security and pledging full eyes and ears cooperation
in return.
And I think of the next young man, who grew up cold and hungry, who decided to never be that way again and declared himself strong, a man. I think 'Will I be
sitting on the wrong side of the bus, will I be walking down the wrong side of the street, will I be coming out the wrong door at the wrong time and find myself
between such a young man and another like him, set for showdown?' I'm sure I'd think a hundred things, few pertinent, before fate does what it would. But the
reasons wouldn't matter then. As they didn't matter 406 times last year and as they haven't nearly 240 times this year. Maybe soon we'll reach the tipping point.
Enough mothers will get tired of funerals. Enough roll dogs will get tired of looking at all those airbrushed shirts. Enough people will grow tired of being
ignored and decide to be proactive and maybe the culture will start to change. No one spark is going to set it off, unfortunately.
Maybe it'll take 240.
–Steve Ives
phillytrax@aol.com
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9 July 07: Fare game
by Steve Ives
July 9, 2007
There are many things about living in this fair city of ours that can be described as both barely tolerable and strangely loveable.
That homeless dude with the ball cap who hangs out under The Clothespin.
Hurricane Schwartz's bow tie.
Loose granite tiles at LOVE Park.
Pat Burrell.
But among all things cosmically imperfect and uniquely Philadelphian, nothing so universally stirs the grits of the average Philadelphian like
SEPTA and like so much that we have come to grudgingly accept about living here, few of us realizes how far reaching its influence is on people who
have never ridden a bus or train and how truly integrated it is with the fabric of our city and just how much the problems it now faces impact the
city and region as a whole.
For many, both individuals and businesses alike, SEPTA is as vital a part of their economic well being as the tools they use and the relationships
they establish. Transportation has always been an essential component of commerce and in the decentralized world we have crafted for ourselves,
efficiency and reliability are the most indispensable qualities of any means of transport.
Unfortunately for those of us who, by choice or by chance, have made SEPTA an integral part of our lives, the dedication we give to the system --
our time, our money, our concern -- is often poorly reciprocated and the result of this one-sided relationship has been a riding public that is
fiercely critical of the system itself and intensely mistrustful of the people charged with seeing that it runs efficiently and reliably. The
latest example of this perceived lack of respect comes in the form of the 16th edition of SEPTA vs. Harrisburg: The Money War.
On any random train or bus during any random afternoon commute, eliciting the opinions of merely a handful of people could result in enough horror
stories and justified complaints to fill tomes. And virtually every one of the complaints would find its origin in the system's funding -- or the
lack thereof. We use a system that is perpetually underfunded, that is perpetually unable to fully execute its charge because the resources that it
needs to do so are never fully supplied and that which it does receive has to do more for more with every passing year and this is not a new
problem.
1991 saw the ratification of Act 26 in Pennsylvania's General Assembly, an act establishing a dedicated revenue source for mass transit in The
Commonwealth. Although looking good technically when written, the execution of the measure failed to collect all the funds originally promised.
1997's Act 3 failed to fill the gap because it failed to keep pace with inflation. Even capital projects such as system expansion and modernization
have fallen by the wayside in many regards because of SEPTA's inability to match federal funds, a situation caused by Harrisburg's continued
clenching of the purse strings. The portion of SEPTA's operating expenses that comes directly from the farebox -- what you and I pay for tokens,
tickets and passes -- is far greater than the national average. Combine that with SEPTA taking in considerably less from state subsidies than most
large transit systems and you have the perfect storm to sink a public transit authority. All of this despite the fact that ripple effect public
transit has in the commonwealth financially can be measured with the word billion.
This situation has led to the annual Capital circus and it's only gotten worse with each passing year and despite the obvious approach of solving a
problem outright as opposed to continually placing a band-aid on a shark bite, we've all been -- year after year -- watching the whole mess emerge,
grow to crescendo and end, anti-climactically, with an eleventh-hour reprieve and nothing more but the promise that the exact same show would repeat
itself within a year's time. This scenario has played out every year for the better part of a decade now and though it has hardened the senses of
many Philadelphians and the wills of many who have added hundreds, maybe thousands, of vehicles to our roads because SEPTA simply became an
unviable option to them, it has not became a situation of crying wolf. It has not lost the attention of people with the power to affect to the
problem. But it is important for those of us who do not have access to the halls of government that all we see and malign has its origins in
comprehensible, though outrageous, circumstances.
New routes, new vehicles, renovated stations, modernized fare collection and equipment (and possibly, just for my sake, the end of that curiously
Medieval term 'fare instrument') all come about from combinations of will, money and cooperation. For far too long, SEPTA did without money and
cooperation. It cannot be said that the will to make big projects happen is not alive at 1234 Market Street but such will is tempered by the hard
reality that the system simply doesn't have the money, honey. SEPTA, and indeed, all mass transit providers in Pennsylvania, make their annual plea
to a legislature that seems to show them a great deal of ambivalence at best. Sometimes, what occurs can be interpreted as thinly veiled hostility
towards large communities and big cities which are seen as being voids which suck money away from other 'worthwhile endeavors' (all the while
forgetting that the largest city of them all by itself contributes ¼ of the bounty of state coffers) and leaving these places and these
people largely relying on their 'altruism' as if they're providing a favor as opposed to upholding their responsibilities.
When SEPTA says that they've trimmed down operational excess, that they've leaned down to fighting weight and have met the requirements handed down
to them to receive what they need to work with, I believe them. And believe me when I tell you I have no reason to just 'believe' SEPTA. The
Authority has earned the benefit of the doubt from absolutely no one among the general public but the figures and common sense do all the talking.
The simple facts are these: Fares go up, ridership goes down. Fares go up to maintain service levels, which causes ridership to go down, which
causes fares to go up and service to be cut, which causes ridership to go down . . . and so on. It's slow fiscal suicide and even SEPTA
isn't that nihilistic. And this doesn't even include the physical condition and personnel problems of the system which can repel potential and
current riders alike. We all know the problems, we know the solutions but when you look at just how bad the situation is one can't help but wonder
sometimes 'Is it worth it?'
The answer is, of course, yes. And the reasons are simple.
Our transit network, as wanting as it may be, is a planning marvel. Only a handful of U.S. cities operate systems of the same depth and scope. It
is not possible to take transit from one end of a city to another or from one end of a region to another in many places. But it's possible here,
despite what the devil on your shoulder says. Center City's splendid resurgence, the burgeoning growth of University City, the relevance of
neighborhoods that in some cases wouldn't be more than lifeless blocks of brick boxes and the connection of suburban hubs of commerce with the
center of the region would not be as we know them without a viable system to get people around and to them. Customers would have a harder time
patronizing businesses, people who have no choice but to get that job 15 miles from their home, the people who often make up the support structure
of the industries that make this region, have harder times finding or getting to it, quaint and "funky" neighborhood streets become de facto
traffic arteries -- all the same bad things you've heard in the past. So to simplify it -- by killing a transportation network you effectively
sentence a city to death. By not supporting it or never building it you effectively strangle a city's potential for growth and endanger its
sustained well being. Don't believe me? I could point you to a few examples in Michigan.
SEPTA is the X-factor that makes the city I've lived in and loved my entire life and which has enchanted many a newcomer work. Without it, we gain
gridlock and lose ease of circulation. We lose our loveable gruffness and gain frayed ends. We lose both that lively core of ours and neighborhoods
largely devoid of off-ramps, overpasses and sound barriers and gain . . . Robert Moses' opus. These things may sound like points on a worst-case
scenario list but one need only look at cities trying to build the type of network we take for granted daily to see exactly how real and how bad it
gets, particularly cities of the same physical size and scale.
We can needle, we can push, we can prod and we can hope and ultimately that is all that we as citizens can do. We can't sign our names and we can't
enter debate on this most crucial of issues, this issue that, if left unresolved, could see its impact felt in all corners of economic life in this
commonwealth. The people that we have charged to do the right thing know exactly what that is and know exactly how to do it. All that stands
between resolution and impending doom is political will, something we all know can become amazingly malleable when the right people talk loud
enough and long enough. We have allies right where we need them to get this madness to end. Let's hope they don't leave us a dollar short for bus
fare. If they do, we can remind them who pays for their ride to work.
–Steve Ives
phillytrax@aol.com
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29 January 07: In the way of progress
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There was a time in this country, not too long ago, when "new" and "better" were terms that had inseparable meaning with the thinking of the time being "What is" and
"what was" must be put away to make way for "what will be", "what could be". As times changed and mindsets and cities evolved, people started to become more aware of
preserving the unique places and spaces that make their communities unique, that give them a sense of wholeness and familiarity.
Philadelphia's record on maintaining its historic and distinctive structures runs truly hot and cold. This is the city that allowed The Fairmount Waterworks to sit
derelict for years along the banks of the Schuylkill before more visionary minds set it on a path to a new purpose. This is the city that cut away the heart of
America's first business district to construct a failed pedestrian promenade that only very recent efforts finally developed to a state of being anything close to a
"Mall".
And now we stand behind the wrecker's ball once again as the hopes and dreams of those who make a living playing to others' hopes and dreams ride it into the future.
The Pennsylvania Convention Center is about to undertake its long awaited expansion project. Promising to keep Philadelphia in the mix amongst major convention cities,
it will throw the gables and glass another block west to an admittedly less than beautiful stretch of Broad Street, bringing with it more revenue for the city, more
bodies filling hotel beds, more butts in restaurant seats. However, for that to happen, the contents four city blocks will have to be demolished and tucked away on
these four unassuming blocks can be found a historic firehouse, some of Philadelphia's oldest highrises, the working spaces of artists, lawyers, cooks and carwashers.
Even a home that has the look of a Colonial holdout can be found nestled away and it too will have be cleared in the name of progress.
There is no growth without some pain and to advance all of us must, inevitably, shed remainders of the past. This holds true for cities as well as human beings and
like human beings, that act of shedding can mean more to us than we may realize. Here is an honest look at what Philadelphia will be shedding to take another step
towards the future.
GO TO PHOTO ESSAY
–Steve Ives
phillytrax@aol.com
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22 September 06:
I spend more time downtown than I do in my own neighborhood simply because that's where I work, play and do a lot of business. Over the past few years I've seen Center
City change from a place that, in its own way,
reflected the best and worst of Philadelphia, the well-off and the downtrodden, the new and the old into a place that is decidedly reflecting only a vision of the
best, the well-off, the new.
There's nothing wrong with that and indeed Center City, up until the past few years, lacked a certain excitement and luster found in the cores of other big cities.
However, after last week's Center City District forum at The Union League (an
amazingly *inclusive* choice of venue), it seems that some would rather Center City not display any evidence of the greater city - no rough edges, nothing without
gloss - just a sanitized view of the city.
I offer that the sneaker stores and the bistros can co-exist. I offer that big box retail and sidewalk cafes aren't necessarily the magic bullet to enlivening a
commercial stretch that has truly had its fortunes tied to the city at large and like it seen many a great promise evaporate into nothing but a large grassy
void.
No one with Philadelphia's best interests at heart could say that Market East and its environs don't need improvement, major overhaul and The Gallery, being the
biggest and most visible symbol of what the area now is, is
the most important element. If Chris Rock were a Philadelphian he'd call it "The Mall White People Used To Go To".
It seems that much of downtown, which heralded the promise of what The Gallery would bring to Center City,
now see it as an embarassment, as a liability, something to deter tourists from and deny the existence of to new Philadelphians. However The Gallery represents a major
challenge in the revitalization of Market East - how
do you balance the needs of Philadelphians who are accustomed to the mall and make it a destination of their own versus the needs of more well-to-do Philadelphians who
by conditioning avoid anything that resembles The
Gallery we have today and tourists who expect to find the exact same mall in Center City as they do in any leafy hamlet outside any Beltway in America?
It's important for any party taking future action that changes, renews, improves the face of East Market Street to remember that exchanging one profile for another
ultimately does not give you what you say you want - a lively, diverse and intriguing streetscape. We already have a 69th Street. We already have a King Of Prussia.
Center City would do very well to avoid attempting to imitate either. Center City is the nucleus of the region and should reflect that stature.
The Gallery is in the middle of it all so why don't we take a quick peek at what the fuss is all about?
GO TO PHOTO ESSAY
–Steve Ives
phillytrax@aol.com
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Other photo essays by Steve
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30 December 06: 2006, a photographic review
28 January 06: Haddington, (Steve's home) West Philly neighborhood tour
9 September 05: Mantua, West Philly neighborhood tour
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