Phoenix 101: Maryvale

Maryvale58
In the late 1950s, my uncle bought a house from John F. Long in Maryvale — and I mean he bought it from John Long himself sitting in a trailer on land that would become Phoenix's first major post-war suburb. My uncle was pretty much Long's target demographic: A veteran of World War II and Korea, young with a family and a good job. Tens of thousands more did the same thing. His house was a sparkling new ranch with an "all electric kitchen" and a pool. Every time we visited, I felt inferior, us living in a down-on-its-heels Spanish period-revival house, built in the 1920s with a gas range, just north of downtown. My mother sniffed that his commute faced the sun coming and going. But how I wanted to live in Maryvale. It was the future. Except it wasn't. Now our old house is restored and valuable in one of the state's most desirable historic districts. Maryvale is a linear slum.

It wasn't supposed to turn out that way. Long named the district after his wife and loved it until he died. He was unapologetic about building affordable starter homes for ex-GIs and his company tried to support Maryvale even as it began an inexorable decline. He took the model of Levittown, the "planned communities" built by William Levitt in the northeast in the last 1940s and 1950s. But Long added his own twists, such as the distinct Phoenix ranch house and abundant pools. Like its model, Maryvale was defined by curvilinear streets with cul-de-sacs and walls, providing a sense of privacy. Sometimes the newness could be jarring: I remember walking with my uncle through cabbage fields — across the street (until these were obliterated by more houses).

Phoenix 101: Sun City

Phoenix 101: Sun City

SunCity

The curvilinear streets and golf courses of Sun City.

Fifty years ago, Del Webb began Sun City. It was just south of Grand Avenue and the Santa Fe railroad amid the flat farm fields of Maricopa County and near the tiny railroad sidings at Surprise and El Mirage. I first saw it from the train — there was no Sun City station, for this was a development built for the automobile. For most Phoenicians, it was a curiosity — or a joke. Pat McMahon's misanthropic, demented Aunt Maud character on Wallace & Ladmo was from Sun City. Photos of oldsters riding around in their golf carts provoked much mirth. When an older lady asked my grandmother if she was going to move out there, this daughter of the frontier was aghast. "Why would I want to be stuck out there with all those old people?" she asked. The older lady was shocked.

Yet Sun City would prove to be one of the most influential events in the history of modern Phoenix, setting in train a series of business, demographic and social changes that have proven to be very mixed blessings. Before Sun City, Phoenix was something like a real city. Tourism and snowbirds were part of the mix. But so was a huge agricultural economy, along with a large — for its population larger than today — and growing number of technology, aerospace and defense businesses. Resorts were limited. The artist colonies in Scottsdale and Carefree were more important than retirees. After Sun City all this would change.

Del Webb had been building in Phoenix for decades before Sun City. Go to the iconic Phoenix Towers at Cypress and Central and you'll see his name on the building, erected in 1956. Downtown sidewalks from years before had it etched in the concrete (although here Webb competed against "Frenchy" Vieux). He grew rich in the New Deal. In World War II, he built military facilities, as well as the concentration camp — there's no polite way to put it — at Poston to hold interned Japanese-American citizens and other Japanese living in America. By the time he envisioned Sun City, he was no longer "ole Del," but a very rich man, friend of celebrities, part-owner of the New York Yankees — and, among Phoenicians in-the-know, trailed by the odor of associations with organized crime and war profiteering.

Peak oil — nevermind

One way to remain popular as a hip, iconoclastic media brand in America is to reinforce the conventional wisdom — in a hip, iconoclastic way, of course. I've learned this from Freakonomics. Take the recent blog post entitled, "Has 'Peak Oil' Peaked?" Author Stephen Dubner asserts that with oil prices way down from their 2008 highs, the media "frenzy" over peak oil has faded away — but without the media doing a reality check on this hysteria they were peddling to a gullible public.

Huh?

My memory of that time is quite a bit different. The mainstream media did little on peak oil and Freakonomics' partner, The New York Times, was nearly silent on the issue. All the air in the media bubble was being taken up by shrill blaming of the major oil companies (even though they were delivering a commodity prized by the world to American gas pumps with no lines or interruptions). Or it concerned sinister futures traders somehow gaming the market. Most of the discussion on peak oil was confined to sites such as The Oil Drum, the "doomer blogs" — and inside the oil industry itself.

Palin’s ‘small-town’ scam

Sarah Palin is trying to play the small-town card. Her handlers even had her quoting the infamous hater and anti-semite columnist Westbrook Pegler: "We grow good people in our small towns, with honesty and sincerity and dignity." The point, of course, is that she was a "small-town mayor," an "average folks" product of a "small town." Just like you folks hurting in Ohio and other battleground states.

Trouble is, Wasilla, Alaska, is not really a small town in the Disneyland Main Street USA way she’s trying to conjure. This railroad camp turned into an exurb of Anchorage with all the attendant flotsam: big boxes, no downtown, car dependent, sprawling. It’s also in a state that is America’s welfare queen of federal handouts. So we’re not talking Harry Truman’s Independence here.

She’s trying to conjure the town that has been largely destroyed by sprawl, Interstate highways, economic and cultural shifts, and the predatory, monopolistic practices of Wal-Mart. As Thomas Frank pointed out in his new Wall Street Journal column, policies that kill small towns have been an intregal part of the Republican Party of John Sidney McCain III.

Yet the exurb vs. small town issue doesn’t stop there.

Speculators and oil prices: an idea running on empty

Some Democrats and even Republicans would have us believe that speculators are to blame for higher gasoline prices. A bill has been introduced to close the so-called Enron loophole that allowed some energy trading on unregulated "dark" markets. That and other "dark market" loopholes should be closed. But the affect on gas prices will be minimal.

Americans have often railed against speculators — the Revolution and Civil War come to mind — and sometimes with good reason. Unfortunately, you can’t have capitalism without speculation. The key is sound regulation. But the idea that speculation is the major cause of higher oil prices is evidence of the magical thinking going on in much of America. It’s deep denial about the real reasons for more expensive oil.

Thus, a war against speculators will be useless at best and could do real harm, both by gumming up the efficient mechanisms of the market — of which speculators are an important part — and distracting us from the real tasks at hand.

John F. Long, a builder of modern Phoenix, dies at 87

John F. Long, a builder of modern Phoenix, dies at 87

John_F_LongIt is a sign of the cluelessness of the children hired by the Arizona Republic that its headline online says, “Valley philanthropist John F. Long dies at 87.” It’s a little like saying “Former cowboy actor Ronald Reagan dies.” Fortunately the obituary is in the hands of one of the few graybeards that haven’t been run out by “the information center,” Chuck Kelly.

John F. Long was a towering figure among the giants who built Phoenix from a small farm town into the nation’s fifth largest city. With Maryvale, he not only brought affordable, pleasant suburbia to post-war Phoenix, he paved the way for thousands of ex-GIs to own their homes. He was an innovator of national consequence, but unlike some who followed him in Phoenix development, he stayed close to his roots. He was a civic steward, city councilman, a man who loved to tend his burros in retirement and whose life was rich in stories and lore. And yes, he was also a philanthropist.

Long’s life also paralleled the rise and decline of the post-war automobile suburb.