Downtown & central Phoenix

I flew down to Phoenix this past week for a book signing. Here are a few observations, make of them what you will.

— As my fictional character David Mapstone is given to saying, “Phoenix is beautiful at night.” Unfortunately, during the day the uglification of the garden city of my youth continues. Gravel has replaced grass with desert plants dying from the radiated heat. Few shade trees can be found (when one does, the temperature drops 10 degrees). This was an extraordinary warm January, a sign what’s to come. I can’t count the number of times I’ve told people that the Salt River Valley experience several hard frosts every winter — that’s why we didn’t have West Nile Virus.

— Denial is widespread. Denial of the damage done to Phoenix. Denial of history. Denial of climate change. Denial of the peril our experiment in self-government faces in November. People live in their own tribes, with their distinct tribal beliefs. Very intelligent people I spoke with were shocked that I think Donald Trump will win the presidency again. It’s highly likely and the Republicans might win control of both houses of Congress.

Our cynical retired Front Page Editor argues that the Democrats should dump President Biden (or “Bye-done” as he says) in favor of Michigan Gov. Gretchen Whitmer. She’s impressed me, too. But this is magical thinking. When incumbents are challenged they always lose the nomination, such as Reagan vs. Ford in 1976 and Ted Kennedy vs. Carter in 1980. The internecine conflict within the party only weakens it.

Downtown Cincinnati at night, seen from across the Ohio River.

A reader asked me to write about what Phoenix might learn from cities in the Midwest. It’s a challenging assignment, also one freighted with paradox considering so many Phoenicians come from the same region. Nevertheless, I’ll put my shoulder to the wheel.

I lived in Cincinnati when I worked for the Cincinnati Enquirer in the 1990s. Churchill called it America’s most beautiful inland city decades before and I found it the same when I was there. So, this puts me in a position to examine advantages, challenges, and lessons. Like all Midwestern cities, Cincinnati is much older than Phoenix. It was founded in 1788, named after the Society of the Cincinnati, Revolutionary War veterans honoring the Roman general offered the dictatorship of Rome, but went back to his farm. He was an apt comparison to George Washington. Cincinnati was the Queen City of the West, although the West moved on.

It has numerous advantages. Cincinnati is built on hills rolling down to the Ohio River, distinctive neighborhoods, a dense downtown, architecture jewels such as Union Terminal (above right) — now mostly a museum center but also served by Amtrak — Over the Rhine which is a National Urban Historic Landmark, and major corporate headquarters, including Procter and Gamble whose offices are downtown.

Cincinnati’s numerous cultural institutions are crowned by music: The Cincinnati Symphony, Cincinnati Pops, Chamber Orchestra, May Festival, and the University of Cincinnati’s College-Conservatory of Music. In addition to UC, Cincinnati offers other universities in and near the city, including Miami, my graduate alma mater and one of the original “Public Ivies.”

So Phoenix is officially the nation's fifth most populous city, surpassing Philadelphia in the 2020 Census. Much information and analysis awaits unpacking.

Phoenix grew 11.2% over the decade, the biggest increase of the 10 largest cities. Yet this was the second-slowest percentage growth rate in the city's history; only the 9.4% from 2000 to 2010, hobbled by the housing bust, was slower. By contrast, the city grew by more than 34% in the 1990s.

The contest with the City of Brotherly Love was close. Phoenix clocked in with 1,608,139 only 4,342 more than Philly. The latter also continued to reverse its population loss, growing at 5.1 percent. Philadelphia benefited from the "back to the city" movement, where talented millennials and empty nest boomers chose vibrant, high-quality cities and corporate headquarters followed.

The news from my old 'hood is the pending demise of the Duke Photography building on the southwest corner of Seventh Street and Thomas. The Arizona Republic reported the building is set to be demolished and a Raising Cane's Chicken Fingers drive-thru built on the site. Duke is moving to the First Federal Building on Central in Midtown, taking its sign with it.

This is wrong for so many reasons, no wonder nearby neighborhood associations are opposing it ahead of a June 17th virtual public hearing. One big concern is increased traffic, including dangerous turns on Seventh, which has been widened and had "suicide lanes" added for rush hour. A Kentucky Fried Chicken drive-thru on the northwest corner already causes collisions.

Beyond that, while the building is modest it fits into the remaining fabric of the streetscape. The Raising Cane would be another soulless off-the-shelf building, made for cars not for pedestrians. If the company really wanted to be a good neighbor, as it claims, it would build something appropriate to the nearby historic districts. Too many losses have already been allowed, notably the replacement of John Sing Tang's iconic Helsing's at Central and Osborn — right up to the street — by a Walgreens, set back by a surface parking lot and surrounded by a low wall, gravel, and rocks.

Once upon a time defining beauty in Phoenix was relatively easy. The old city was shady, grassy, and well landscaped. From there moved circles of citrus groves, flower fields, pastures, and farms in one of the most fertile alluvial river valleys in the world, and finally stark beauty and abundance of plant and animal life in the wettest desert in the world. No other city looked like Phoenix. It was magical and lovely.

Now this is largely gone. Even in the historic districts ahistorical desert landscaping is creeping. For most of the metropolitan area, built an acre an hour, the look is concrete, asphalt, gravel, and shadeless palo verde trees. Oh, and "shade structures" that provide little shade. Lookalike faux Tuscan tract houses in "master planned communities" offer postage-stamp lawns and wide driveways (the old driveways in Willo were two strips of concrete). Tens of thousands of shade trees have been felled, whether by diktat of the Salt River Project or to create the six-lane-plus highways called "city streets."

Curiously, these single-family houses are built on the same layout as most American homes. But with gravel instead of a lawn. No wonder the temperature has risen 10 degrees over the past 50 years and the summers last longer. When I was given a tour of Verrado — where David Brooks saw the future — the developers bragged how they had copied Palmcroft, for that was the kind of living their surveys showed buyers wanted. But it doesn't work, for this sunblasted development in Buckeye lacks the real Palmcroft's beautiful trees, grass, hedges, and flowerbeds.