Community Essay : Real Neighborhoods Welcome Walkers : Urban Planning: How can we feel a sense of community on a street that turns a forbidding concrete face to pedestrians?
I am a walker. I like to walk in my neighborhood. I like to walk in the city. I like to walk in the mountains.
A walker is not like a jogger, a runner or other exercise buffs. There is no goal to meet, no time constraints imposed, no performance comparison to be made. A walker wishes to see and be seen, to be involved with his surroundings. A walker notices the uneven texture of the sidewalk, the sound of leaves rustling in the wind, the smell of a fireplace on a cool autumn evening. A walker can stop to admire a view, browse a store or to talk with a neighbor. There are no requirements to be a walker except time and patience.
The adversary of the walker is the automobile. Cars do not like to slow down to allow the walker to cross the street. They do not like having to wait to make a turn while someone is in the crosswalk. Cars need to keep moving ahead, to reach a destination in the shortest time.
The battle between walkers and the automobile has been a long one that the walkers are probably losing.
Recently, while walking along the ridges of Santiago Canyon in Orange County, I glanced down at a new subdivision. Each house was two stories high, and they marched in long, tightly spaced rows. But the most dominant feature appeared to be front yards that consisted primarily of concrete. A small patch of green with a token tree separated the yards.
This was not a cheap development. The homes were large and apparently well-built. Certainly the site, adjacent to the foothills, seemed very desirable. The expanse of concrete was not for the humans in the house--it was for their cars.
If there is one feature that distinguishes the age of a neighborhood, it is the way in which the walker is accommodated. In older neighborhoods of Los Angeles, Pasadena and Long Beach, typical “California bungalow” houses were oriented toward the front yard, with large porches. Once, people sat on their porches to watch the world go by and talk with neighbors. Walking wasn’t an afterthought, it was part of a daily routine. Sidewalks were constructed away from the street, with grass and trees separating the two. Driveways, if they existed, were narrow and long, with the garage out of sight in the back or turned around and facing an alley.
It was after World War II when the demand for low-cost housing began to change the design of neighborhoods. When the first tract homes were built, space requirements mandated a smaller porch and a garage closer to the street. But the big change came in the late 1950s and early ‘60s, when the private automobile became the dominant method of travel. Houses were built with the garage prominent in the front or side. Some added a wide, curving driveway to give the feeling of opulence and wealth. At least the sidewalks remained for children to play on or for mothers to take babies out in a stroller.
By the late ‘70s, land values soared and developers needed every square inch of land. Something had to give, so the sidewalk was pushed out to the edge of the street, if not done away with. The walker now had to compete with street lights, signs, mailboxes and the indignity of having to cross every sloping two-car driveway. The prospect of walking two abreast had to be abandoned. In the ‘80s, houses grew much larger and many adopted the three-car garage as standard. The front yard had to be nearly eliminated, replaced by a small patch of landscaping.
Perhaps the biggest impact on the design of new houses was the need to convey a sense of security. People fleeing deteriorating neighborhoods flocked to new developments in outlying areas. “Master-planned” communities sprung up in rural areas of Orange and Riverside counties. Having to endure a two-hour commute each way seemed a small price to pay for the chance to start a new life.
The newest houses seem more like fortresses, their garage doors drawbridges over perilous concrete moats. The front pedestrian entrance is hidden well back on the side of the garage--a secure passage that can be well-defended. With most tract homes placed on cul de sacs, the walker has no place to go except the “master planned” green spaces--long, green lawns with a few trees. We are asked to accept this as an alternative to a friendly street scene.
Ironically, many of these communities now suffer the same problems as the older neighborhoods from which residents fled. Crime, graffiti, even gangs are occurring in areas that are only a few years old. There may be many reasons for this, but a neighborhood is only as good as the people who live in it. A good neighborhood is not judged by the location or price of homes, but by how well the people who live in it get along. The best way for neighbors to meet and get to know each other is by walking.
Still, there are many fine neighborhoods around. They are easy to spot. Just look for people who are out taking a walk.
