Rogue Columnist

November impressions

As I write, Kyrsten Sinema has pulled ahead of Martha McSally in the Senate race. Republicans are suing to stop counting of ballots that have already been cast. Similar shameful gambits are underway in Georgia and Florida. The Party of Lincoln Trump will do anything to hold power. This is authoritarianism, dear readers.

If Sinema holds on, and the rule of law survives the Ducey appointed state Supreme Court, it would be an astonishing accomplishment. Sinema would have an insurmountable lead of not for the wasted votes of the Greens. As long as the Nader-Jill Stein-Bernie Bro faction insists on its purity, the Republicans will keep winning. No revolution will come from the left. It's already come from the right and is succeeding quite nicely.

Before Democrats take control of the U.S. House in January, Trump and the Republicans are capable of anything. Make sure your seats are in their full upright position and your seatbelts fastened. The survival of the republic is at stake.

Other notes:

• November feels like late September and early October in old Phoenix. This is on track to be the hottest year in recorded Arizona history, yet the booster magical thinking continues about what climate change means for Arizona.

• As much as I'm happy about the infill of the Central Corridor, I'm sad to lose the special view from Third Street looking south to the mountains. This was especially enchanting passing through Alvarado, where much of the lush old oasis still prevails.

• I am baffled by "shade structures," which are little more than ribs of steel or other designs that provide little shade at all. Not smart in the skin-cancer capital of America. Old Phoenix was covered with shade trees, as well as businesses that had awnings and overhangs to protect from the sun.

• We are at the centennial of the Armistice than ended the Great War. Our world was made by that conflict and its aftermath. Phoenix, too: Demand for cotton caused farmers to switch wholesale to the crop, reducing the diversity of agriculture in the Salt River Valley. After the war, cotton prices crashed, with hard times here.

Now I'll leave the comments section as an election open thread.

 

 

 

 

 

The next Phoenix mayor

I know that I should have a firm conviction about the mayoral election, but I don't. We can ignore the Republican and Libertarian candidates — their dogmas are totally unsuited to the needs of the nation's fifth-largest city. That leaves Kate Gallego and Daniel Valenzuela.

Both are supported by people I respect. According to the Arizona Republic, Gallego's backers include former U.S. representatives Harry Mitchell, Sam Coppersmith, Ron Barber and Anne Kirkpatrick, as well as former state Attorney General and Phoenix Mayor Terry Goddard. Valenzuela's big names include retired U.S. Rep. Ed Pastor, former Phoenix mayors Paul Johnson, Skip Rimsza and Phil Gordon, councilwomen Laura Pastor and Debra Stark, and business leaders Jerry Colangelo and Sharon Harper.

That makes a choice tough. Gallego may get a tilt in her favor because she represented central Phoenix on City Council. But I'd be interested in what commenters say.

Neither Gallego nor Valenzuela were on the transformative City Council of the 2000s that helped land T-Gen and supported light rail (WBIYB), the downtown ASU campus, Phoenix Convention Center, Sheraton and other civic goods that led to today's downtown revival. 

Saving the mountains

Phoenix punches below its weight on almost category compared with its peers. But it has one amenity that places it above nearly every other big city: the mountain preserves and parks. They are a majestic and defining accomplishment.

The city has about 37,000 acres, or 58 square miles, of mountain preserves and parks. These range from South Mountain Park and Papago Park to the Phoenix Mountains Preserve and the Sonoran Preserve in far north Phoenix.

This also inspired suburbs, especially Scottsdale with its McDowell Sonoran Preserve. As I write, this is the subject of a big fight over Proposition 420, which would allow a tourist center — and potentially other development — to be built in this pristine land. Scottsdale preservationists are wise to be on guard. Phoenix's experience shows that saving the mountains didn't come easy — and is always at risk.

Preservation began with two federal initiatives. First was the Papago Saguaro National Monument, established by President Woodrow Wilson in 1914 at the urging of Rep. Carl Hayden (Hayden actually wanted a National Park). Second came the Coolidge administration's sale of the 13,000 acres of the future South Mountain Park to the city in 1925, again with the urging of Hayden, by then a Senator. Phoenix paid $17,000 ($248,000 in today's money) for the ranges of what were then known as the Salt River Mountains and surrounding desert. 

Carolyn Warner, an appreciation

I still subscribe unfashionably to the Great Man and Great Woman school of history. But history also carries cruel contingencies. Carolyn Warner, who passed away Monday night at 88 was a towering figure who might have saved Arizona from the Kookocracy, saved Arizona from itself.

Instead, Democrats split the gubernatorial vote in 1986, giving us Evan Mecham, then Fife Symington, and, with the Big Sort bringing ever more right-wingers and the old stewards passing, the die was cast.

Along with her ex-husband Ron, Warner ran the furniture and interior design store that bore their name at 28th Street and Osborn. It was for years the fanciest furniture store in town. A native of Ardmore, Okla., she came to Arizona in 1953.

As Superintendent of Public Instruction for 12 years, Warner oversaw the last period of great public schools in Arizona, long before the shameful charter-school racket. Although a Democrat, she worked well with pragmatic Republicans such as Burton Barr, in an era of both bipartisan compromise and competition. 

Brains, trains, and automobiles

The biggest local story of the week is the unanimous (!) decision by the Rump City Council to raid funding intended for light-rail extension to Paradise Valley Mall and use it for street maintenance. As disheartening is that, as far as I know, neither major candidate for mayor has spoken out against it.

This comes soon after the Council (6-2) bucked an aggressive astroturf campaign by the Koch interests to kill that south Phoenix light-rail line (yes, the Wichita billionaires are deeply involved in destroying local transit). One step up and one step back. What's going on? A few observations:

The Council has changed from the consensus of the 2000s that brought some of the most constructive measures in decades. These include light rail (WBIYB), the downtown ASU campus, T-Gen and the downtown biomedical campus, and the new convention center. In recent years, the Council is less visionary and more divided — a situation made more difficult by the departure of Mayor Greg Stanton, and mayoral candidates Kate Gallego and Daniel Valenzuela.

Phoenix's size and means are wildly unbalanced. The Arizona Republic reported that city staff estimated that "4,085 of the city's 4,863 miles of streets will fall below a ‘good’ quality level in the next five years and require maintenance. Currently, 3,227 miles are already in fair, poor, or very poor condition. Bringing all of the streets up to a 'good' level in five years would cost $1.6 billion that the city does not have." 

'No hurricanes in Arizona!'

This piece of boosterism is not technically true — the state has been hit by the remnants of powerful Pacific hurricanes. Indeed, Arizona should take stock of Hurricane Florence and its effects in North Carolina. Let me explain.

Hurricanes are nothing new to the Carolinas. What is new is their severity, in part caused by climate change, combined with population growth and development.

Hurricane Florence was only a Category 1 storm when it made landfall, yet it caused historic levels of flooding. This came only a year after flooding damage caused by Hurricane Maria. In some cases, the very same areas saw severe flooding. Parts of South Carolina saw some damage, too.

North Carolina's population grew by more than 21 percent in the 1990s and nearly 19 percent in the 2000s. In 2017, it had more than 10.2 million people. South Carolina added more than 15 percent in those same decades.

A good part of that came in vulnerable coastal areas. For example, Wilmington's New Hanover County, an epicenter of Florence flooding, stood at 227,000 last year, more than double from its 1980 population. Horry County, S.C., another hurricane target, held more than 333,000 last year, more than three times its 1980 numbers. 

Ten years after

Newspapers are full of retrospectives on the Panic of 2008, the financial crisis that led to the Great Recession. Phoenix and Arizona were one of the ground zeros of the housing crash, the result being the worst recession here since the Great Depression.

True, its effects were buffered by the safety net of the hated Franklin Roosevelt, including the copious amounts of Social Security checks that kept coming from the hated federal government. Still, unemployment shot up to nearly 11 percent statewide by 2010, slightly less in Phoenix and Tucson. The main industry, housebuilding, had been shot in the head. Prices fell 50 percent in many cases. Recovery was much slower than peer metros.

A decade later, single-family building permits are back at early 1990s levels. Construction employment is not only not recovered from the 2000s bacchanal but far below historic trend. This would be good news for conservationists but for the fact that much of existing and planned construction involves suburban pods in bladed desert, farmland, or forest.

So let others discuss Lehman Brothers, the Federal Reserve, how close we came to a second Great Depression, the good and bad of the response and recovery. What's so striking in Phoenix is how little was changed by this tectonic event. 

Retiring in Arizona

Arizona is only the 29th "best state to retire in," according to a new survey by Bankrate. The consumer financial services company ranked cost of living, crime, culture, health-care quality, taxes, weather, and "well being." No 1? That would be South Dakota, followed by Utah, Idaho, New Hampshire, and Florida. The Grand Canyon State didn't even make the top 10 in weather.

If this is true, it's bad news for the retirement industry, which has been a lynchpin of the state's economy since Del Webb began Sun City in 1959. Social Security payments accounted for an astounding $1.4 trillion for nearly a million retirees in Arizona as of last year alone — not to mention the savings and other assets they bring from back home.

The survey is highly suspect, of course. South Dakota is a fascinating place, with Mount Rushmore and Deadwood, but between immense snowfall and isolation and being downwind from the ICBM fields of North Dakota should World War III erupt, it doesn't sound like the best place to spend one's sunset years.

Because of savage cuts that have destroyed 40 percent of newsroom jobs over the past decade, PR people now outnumber reporters by 5-1 or more. Every day at the Seattle Times, I get scores of pitches. Many are click bait such as this. I rely on more gold-standard information, such as that from the Federal Reserve, universities or authentic think tanks.

But that doesn't mean Arizona is quite out of the woods on retirement desirability. 

Why 'haboob' makes me stormy

Daniel Bryant photo

My friend, the talented Richard Ruelas, wrote a diligently argued article in the Arizona Republic explaining why some dust storms here should properly be called "haboobs." He cites a 1972 article in the Bulletin of the American Meteorological Society and its use by the popular weatherman Dewey Hopper, among others. It's hard to argue with Ruelas' conclusions — but the term still drives me crazy.

The original haboob is native to the Sahara Desert, a completely different environment than the Sonoran Desert (until climate change works its sinister magic in the decades ahead). They're heavy on sand, unlike our situation, and of even more massive proportions. And sure, monsoon, another Arabic-origin word, has use worldwide and is a longstanding expression for the rainy season in Arizona.

Still, nobody besides Hopper used haboob when I was growing up. My grandmother, with memories back to the 1890s, never used it. These were called dust storms, a classic of the Old West. They weren't haboobs. They were dust storms. The phenomenon is especially prevalent in the Gila River basin between Phoenix and Tucson. When Interstate 10 was completed, the state installed a system of signs to alert drivers to an impending dust storm.

What makes me come off sounding like Gampa Simpson is that the widespread use of haboob seems like another out-of-town imposition on Phoenix. The city has lost so, so much of what made it unique and magical in all the world, why more? The influx of millions of newcomers left us with people who don't even know the location of downtown, fools who hike the mountains in high summer, often with fatal results. Sprawl has destroyed our citrus groves and farms, torn apart the civic fabric, left the enchanting Japanese flower gardens under miles of schlock development. The oasis has been paved over, with gravel and skeleton trees and a few heat-stressed plants dying amid the output of the Arizona Rock Products Association. People don't even realize what's been needlessly lost in this frenzy of vandalism. (Ruelas, a careful and fair journalist, is a Tempe native).

In this Phoenix, knowledge of history and customs is not merely ignored but scorned by too many. "Home" is where they came from. They only love Phoenix when they get defensive about any valid criticism of the place. There's not even consensus on what to call this sunscape. So instead of the magnificent and distinctive Phoenix, we get "the Valley." This even though there's Silicon Valley, the San Fernando Valley, the Red River Valley (of the North and of the South), and the Valley of the Jolly (Ho-Ho-Ho) Green Giant. Way to position yourself in the global economy. 

Mayors you should know

With Councilwoman Thelda Williams being a placeholder (for the second time) until a new Phoenix mayor is elected in November, it's a good time to reflect on her predecessors. Here is my admittedly subjective list of the most consequential:

John Alsap was Phoenix's first mayor, serving for a year in 1881 after incorporation. Dying five years later, age 56, Alsap, left, nevertheless compiled impressive accomplishments in the Territory. Kentucky born, Indiana raised, and a physician by training, he came to Prescott as a prospector and saloon operator. He began farming in the Salt River Valley in 1869 and was one of three commissioners who established the Phoenix townsite. In the territorial Legislature, he led the successful effort to create a new county — Maricopa — out of Yavapai County. He's buried in the old Pioneer Cemetery (now the Pioneer and Military Memorial Park, although its historic grass was removed).

Emil Ganz was the young town's first Jewish mayor and a two-term chief, serving from 1885-86 and 1899-1901. Ganz was born in Germany, emigrated to America and training as a tailor, seeing heavy action in the Civil War on the Confederate side, and moving to Phoenix in 1879. He ran the Bank Exchange Hotel, the town's first substantial hostelry. As mayor he pushed to establish a fire department and improve the water supply (his hotel burned in 1885 and the town was hit by a severe blaze a year later). 

Kooks and Kochs try to derail south Phoenix light rail

It appears that the six mile light-rail line to south Phoenix is on life support. I say "appears" because much of the reporting on the issue has been inaccurate. The Arizona Republic's Jessica Boehm reported the immediate news correctly, but plenty still needs to be filled in.

If I understand correctly, the City Council — with transit-backers Mayor Greg Stanton gone and Councilmembers Kate Gallego and Daniel Valenzuela set to resign in August to run for the seat — voted to "redesign" the south line along Central Avenue. This is to address a "grassroots" opposition complaining that Central would lose two of four lanes for automobile traffic.

Redesign may well mean death and loss of federal funding, especially with the rump Council after August. Skillful/shameful maneuvering by Councilman Sal DiCiccio, an ardent light-rail opponent, even took hostage City Manager Ed Zuercher, threatening his job and the city budget. This is the shorthand to a very complex moving drama.

It's no secret that the Koch brothers and other dark money groups are working to kill transit projects around the country. The anti-rail fetish on the right has always puzzled me. The "You Bastards" part of WBIYB is intended for them and their thuggish opposition to the starter line. And it's always possible to find a few discontents for a "grassroots" front group. But south Phoenix voters approved this line by 70 percent. If the likes of Better Call Sal prevail, this would be a blunder of historic proportions. For the facts and context, please read on. 

Ten and no change

A decade ago, Arizona and metropolitan Phoenix became an epicenter of the Great Recession, brought on by Wall Street hustles and Sun Belt overbuilding. Statewide unemployment reached a high of 10.9 percent, slightly less in Phoenix and Tucson. The speculative real-estate economy, which had become the economy, collapsed. House prices fell 50 percent or more, with historic levels of foreclosures or people being underwater on their mortgages. For many, this meant financial ruin. The overall damage was far worse than 1990 and both the state and metro area trailed their peers by years in recovering. Even now, the number of construction workers is at 1999 levels, even though population has grown considerably.

Ten years later, what's most remarkable is how little has changed. The one exception is real progress with central Phoenix infill, but it's a smidgen of the overall situation.

Sprawl development-driven economy? Check. Dependence on lower-skilled, lower-paid back office jobs? Check. The economic center in the car-dependent office "parks" of the East Valley? Check. Poorly-funded schools, more Big Sort Republican newcomers, Kooks in control of state government? Check, check, and check. Phoenix is the only major metropolitan area in North America that's building extensive new freeways, including the corruption-ridden South Mountain loop.

In other words, the vulnerabilities that drove Phoenix into a ditch a decade ago have been sustained and reinforced. No lessons learned. Nothing to see here, it's sunny with championship golf, so buy a tract house or move along. As Talleyrand said of the Bourbon dynasty, "They had learned nothing and forgotten nothing." 

Phoenix 101: Canals

Beneath all the concrete, asphalt, and gravel of today's metropolitan Phoenix is some of the richest soil on earth. No wonder early settlers called it the Nile River Valley of the United States, or, with more aching pathos given what's happened, American Eden. Add water and anything will grow here. Getting the water from the Salt River was the challenge — one solved with canals.

The Hohokam (750-1450 AD) built at least 500 miles of canals in the Salt River Valley. The mileage might have been in the thousands. They created the most advanced irrigation civilization in the pre-Columbian Americas.

The genius of Jack Swilling — Confederate deserter, Indian fighter, prospector, drunk, opium addict, brawler, first town postmaster and justice of the peace, adoptive father of an Apache boy, cherished friend of many — was that he understood the significance of the Hohokam canals, which laid dormant for more than 400 years. They were not mere prehistoric curiosities. They were the means of building a modern empire, where a new civilization would arise from the ashes of its predecessor. (Why would you use the amorphous word "Valley" when you have the magical and appropriate name: Phoenix). 

Filling in

In the 2000s boom, central Phoenix saw many proposals and promises — including 60-story towers in Midtown — but hardly any private development happened. It took years of heavy lifting to get WilloWalk/Tapestry and One Lexington. Finally, even though the local economy has yet to fully recover from the Great Recession, the central core is seeing major infill. One prime example is Lennar's Muse apartments, built on the long dormant empty lot at the northwest corner of Central and McDowell, once home to AT&T's offices.

Just south, and also near the light-rail (WBIYB) station is a massive apartment complex under way near the Burton Barr Central Library. The north side of Portland Park has a tall condo building. More apartments are complete around Roosevelt and Third Street, while a crane hovers over the former site of Circles Records, erecting Empire Group's 19-story apartments. South of One Lexington, the long construction of the Edison condos is nearing completion.

This is transit-oriented development and it's finally happening.

An aside: Why does the announcement on trains say, "McDowell and Central, cultural district" instead of "Phoenix Art Museum, Phoenix Central Library," and "Roosevelt and Central, arts district" instead of "Roosevelt Row arts district"? 

What is Grand Canyon University?

The university is one of the foundations of liberal Western Civilization. The concept of academic freedom originated at the University of Bologna in 1158. The University of Paris and University of Oxford were among the earliest institutions of higher learning. In America, Harvard was established in 1636. The United States typically had three types: private, church originated (the University of Southern California was affiliated with the Methodist Church), and those established by states. A very different Republican Party passed legislation in the 19th century for land-grant colleges and universities.

This landscape existed through most of American history. In addition, states created normal schools to train teachers — most became universities, the most notable being Arizona State University. Many also created institutions of higher learning for African-Americans. Beyond this, communities had junior colleges — Phoenix College was founded in 1920 — which morphed into community colleges. And entrepreneurs set up business schools or "colleges" to teach such basic skills as typing and bookkeeping. But this latter operation was a trade school, not a university.

When I was young, Grand Canyon College was a small liberal-arts Southern Baptist institution. It was the only other four-year or higher institution in metropolitan Phoenix besides ASU. Phoenix is by far the largest American city with so few real colleges and universities. This is a major drag on the metro's intellectual, research, and talent-attracting life. One cause is that Phoenix came of age after the era when wealthy patrons established universities (E.g. the University of Chicago, backed by John D. Rockefeller in 1890). The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints bought land for a Brigham Young University in Phoenix in the 1960s but it was never built.

Now the Baptist affiliation is long gone and we have Grand Canyon University. But, as a former editor of mine was fond of saying, what does that mean? 

The stand

John Loredo photo

I'm the beneficiary of Arizona public schools. At Kenilworth in the 1960s, we never suffered textbooks falling apart or holes in the ceiling. No, this elementary school whose alumni included Barry Goldwater, Paul Fannin, and Margaret Hance, which was integrated and taught everyone from poor kids to the scions of the Palmcroft elite, had superb teachers. It had a library and a verdant playing fields — the monstrous freeway only a line on a planning map — presided over by a magnificent, inspiring building.

At Coronado High School in middle-class Scottsdale, the story was much the same. Some of the finest teachers anywhere, one of the top fine-arts departments in the country, and Ralph Haver's inspired mid-century architecture. None of my teachers at either school were forced to buy supplies. Neither school was surrounded by a prison-like fence — and the '60s and '70s were hardly peaceful decades. There was even a brief teachers' strike in Scottsdale in 1971.

Now a statewide walkout is occurring. It is about much more than some of the lowest teacher pay in the nation. More even than gutting a billion dollars from public schools while dolling out tax cuts to the wealthy and politically connected. More than teachers seeing through Gov. Doug Ducey's cynical promise to raise wages 20 percent — something that wouldn't even bring their pay to the national average, and would require the Legislature to take money from other critical needs. Because...tax cuts. Taxes must always be cut.

Teachers have finally made a stand.

I have no idea whether it will be successful. I doubt it can change Arizona's trajectory. But the stand needs to be made. 

Where to go in my Phoenix

Readers frequently tell me where to go, so it's my time to return the favor. Seriously, I get so many requests for restaurant and sights to visit from out-of-towners, especially Seattleites visiting for Mariners Spring Training. It will be easier to put it in a column and direct them here.

My suggestions don't focus on north Scottsdale or the asteroid belt of supersuburbs. Instead, I send them to my Phoenix, a vanishing place to be sure.

Restaurants:

Durant's: The legendary steakhouse, on the light-rail line in Midtown. If you drive, you can enter through the kitchen like a made man, as Jack Durant intended. The interior (above) is a 1950s throwback, the food is excellent, and the service is classy. Durant's features prominently in my David Mapstone Mysteries. Be sure to try a martini.

Also on light rail (WBIYB) and not to be missed: Fez, Forno 301, Switch, Lenny's Burgers, Wild Thaiger, Honey Bear's BBQ, and Macayo's.

Chef-driven Mexican food is big now, a trend started with Barrio Cafe. But I still love throw-down authentic Sonoran cuisine. My new fave, especially since Macayo changed its menu, is La Piñata on north Seventh Avenue, where Mary Coyle's used to be. Also be sure to check out the taco trucks you'll find all over. My enduring love is Los Olivos in Old Scottsdale, which has been there since before I was born.

Other favorites: The Persian Garden across from Phoenix College. Downtown, don't miss the historic Sing High Cafe on Madison Street, which once operated in the Deuce. The best pizza is Cibo at Fifth Avenue and Fillmore.

For fancy old Phoenix resort dining, I suggest Lon's at the Hermosa, T-Cook's at the Royal Palms, and any of the restaurants at the Arizona Biltmore.

You can breakfast like David, Lindsey, and Peralta at the First Watch at Park Central. The Farm at South Mountain offers a fine breakfast (as well as lunch and dinner). You can get a taste of the Eden that was once my hometown. 

'Do I return to my home state?'

I received a very articulate note from a young man who left to attend a well-regarded Midwestern university. He wrote in part:

I  lived in Phoenix my entire life, until I left ... to study environmental engineering. I was going to learn as much as I could about the ecological problems facing Arizona, especially the inevitable water shortages that come from placing millions of people in the middle of the desert in an era of rapidly changing and warming climate, and then triumphantly return and solve them. At least, that was my naïve goal at 17 years old. 

Now, I’m about to graduate, and I see myself at a crossroads, as one often does at this age of relative innocence. Do I return to my home state and try to make it a better place, or do I abandon it for a better place?

This is what I wrote back:

Thank you for your heartfelt and compelling note. The answer, I'm sorry to say, is don't come back.

 

Of course, many factors come into play. Whether you want to be near family or thirst for endless sunshine, for example. But your idealism would be ground to dust by the reality that is Phoenix and Arizona. You might be able to get a job helping developers get around environmental regulations. Or, for a pittance, working for one of the few environmental advocacy groups.

 

But you can't change the place. It's a lesson I and so many others have learned. Phoenix breaks hearts. There is the illusion of the blank slate — I've watched so many architects, academics, artists and designers come there with this sense. In a few years, they leave in frustration.

 

Life is short. I was your age just yesterday, or so it seems. Your talents and training could be more rewardingly applied in a place that has an environmental ethic and has livability high on its agenda. And there are so many wonderful cities in America for a young person to grow, encounter new ideas, thrive. Alas, that's not our home state. I wish you the best.

 Allow me to explain further. 

When a light goes out

“It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.” — John Steinbeck

I was baptized in Central Methodist Church, so many decades ago. I remember Sunday school, attending services with my mother and grandmother. My mother had a glorious contralto and, a child prodigy trained as a concert pianist, sometimes played the immense pipe organ, with its 4 divisions, 28 stops, and 41 registers. In the 1960s, it was common for each service to see a thousand people or more, filling the sanctuary and its three balconies. Central was a prime posting for veteran ministers — only doctors of divinity reached the senior rank — and the choir was superb. I was confirmed there, age 13.

When I returned to Phoenix in 2000, I started attending Central again, this time with Susan. Getting a hundred people in the pews was a victory by that time. The quality of preaching was uneven, as individual ministers came and went (long gone from the days of a senior minister and others). But the music program was very strong under Don Morse. The core, including the corps of ushers, was committed. Important for us, Central still offered a traditional service, with the wonderful Methodist hymns. Christmas Eve could see five services in the soaring sanctuary, with luminarias in the courtyard. We continue to attend. When I lived in Charlotte, people would ask me if I had found "a church home." No — in that hotbed of religion, the question irritated the secular me. "I have a bar home," I would respond. But the truth was different. My church was here. It always was. Always will be.

But this year brought heartbreaking news. First, the music program was downgraded, with Morse and seemingly most of the choir gone. Finances were an issue; the church and Morse, who had already taken a pay freeze/cut, couldn't come to terms. But respect also seemed an issue, the lay leaders wanting to downgrade his position to "choirmaster." A botched remodel of the sanctuary was probably another cause, including the loss of the pipe organ and removal of two of the balconies. I don't claim special insight. I spent many years in United Methodist choirs, but tried to avoid church politics whenever possible. Next came word that the sanctuary would only be used for special occasions. A traditional service would be held in the small Pioneer Chapel and a contemporary one in Kendall Hall.

Arizona's 'boom' (in charts)

To hear the boosters tell it, Arizona is enjoying one of the most competitive economies in the nation. Let's take a look, using authoritative sources.

Median household adjusted for inflation income is up, with its second-best showing since 2000. Unfortunately, it trails the national average and peer competitors in the West:

The workforce is at a record near 2.8 million. Unfortunately growth has been sluggish, along with the national average. It is well below the level of growth for this point of an expansion compared with previous cycles:

Population growth, the holy grail of the state's economy is at its lowest levels since the Great Depression, even as Arizona passed 7 million people.

 

'Another Los Angeles'

It surprised me to still hear Phoenicians say, "We're becoming another Los Angeles" or "We don't want to become another LA." This vox local yokel reminds me that people in Phoenix don't get out much. To be fair, I used to think the same thing. That was until I was 10 years old, when my mother took me to the City of Angels on Southern Pacific's Sunset Limited, and we arrived at LA Union Passenger Terminal (above). I had never seen a building so grand — and the rest of the city was just as stunning. This was the first big city I'd been in, and it was nothing like little Phoenix.

I judge a city by its trains. Union Station has been restored to its grandeur and actually hosts more arrivals and departures than when it opened in 1939. In addition to Amtrak intercity trains to Chicago, Houston, New Orleans, and Seattle, it is the hub for LA Metrolink's six commuter rail lines, plus three subway and light-rail lines. All around it, downtown LA is undergoing a stunning renaissance — not only with new buildings such as the 1,099-foot Wilshire Grand but rehabbing its stock of majestic architecture from the early 20th century. It was never true that Los Angeles "didn't have a downtown." It had several, including Century City, Westwood, Hollywood, and downtown proper. All of them leave Phoenix looking like Hooterville by comparison. LA made a terrible mistake in tearing out the extensive Pacific Electric Railway, but it's making amends fast.

Phoenix becoming another Los Angeles? It should be so lucky. LA is one of America's three world cities, as defined by sociologist Janet Abu-Lughod's famous book of the same name. The influential Globalization and World Cities Network ranks it as an Alpha city, the third highest level of global power (only New York is Alpha ++ among North American cities). Phoenix is gamma, the ninth category. Phoenix peers Denver, Seattle, and San Diego rank Beta-minus. The LA metropolitan area's gross domestic product totaled more than $931 billion in 2017, second only to New York City in inflation-adjusted dollars. Phoenix, although the nation's fifth-largest city and 13th most populous metro ranked 17th, at $220 billion (again, behind peer metros). If LA were a nation, its output would rival Australia.

 

Lessons from Denver

One went to Denver and the other went wrong

— American folk ballad.

Last fall, we took the train from Seattle to my favorite adopted hometown, Denver. This form of travel is worth the trip — vacation begins when you settle into your seat. Arriving in Denver, I found the city much changed from when I lived here in the 1990s, working for the Rocky Mountain News, and all for the better. Getting off the California Zephyr, the restored Union Station greeted us. Not only is it the hub for Amtrak, but also for the light- and heavy-rail trains on the 122-mile network funded by the 2004 FasTracks referendum. Light rail preceded FasTracks, with the first line from downtown to suburban Littleton opening in 1994. As in Dallas, once people saw how light rail worked, everybody wanted it. Now an electric-powered commuter line also connects to Denver International Airport, along with six light-rail lines and more coming.

Union Station, which recently underwent a $200 million renovation, is breathtaking. The exterior, with its iconic "Travel by Train" neon sign, is cleaned up and the center of vast amounts of mixed-use development. Inside, the once grimy waiting room, has been opened up into a wifi-equipped common area surrounded by shops and restaurants. We stayed at the Crawford Hotel in the station, named after the pioneering downtown developer Dana Crawford. It's a miraculous makeover from when I was among a small number of downtown residents and I would ride my bicycle around the deserted railyard behind the depot. Union Station is the anchor of Lower Downtown, or LoDo, where imposing warehouses from the 19th and early 20th centuries were renovated into lofts, offices, and restaurants. An early brewpub was started here by John Hickenlooper, who went on to become Denver mayor and Colorado governor.

It was a near-run thing. Although preservationists led by Crawford scored a win by saving Larimer Square in the 1960s as a tourist destination, many people were prepared to tear down the majestic but obsolete warehouses of LoDo. Only thanks to mayors Federico "Imagine a Great City" Peña and Wellington Webb, along with developers such as Crawford who had the skills to save and rehabilitate old buildings, was LoDo saved. Railyards made redundant by mergers were turned into a campus for Metropolitan State University, the Community College of Denver and the University of Colorado at Denver. LoDo and nearby areas also attracted Coors Field of the Colorado Rockies and the Pepsi Center where the NBA Denver Nuggets and NHL Colorado Avalanche play. What was mostly abandoned railroad property when I first arrived has been completely rebuilt and knitted into the city.

It's no surprise that Denver is among the 20 finalist cities for Amazon's HQ2, with 50,000 high-paid jobs and $5 billion investment. Denver is a comer, win or lose.

 

Distressed Arizona

It's tough all over. Well, not really.

In the latest Distressed Communities report, which digs down to the ZIP Code level nationally, Gilbert ranks as the least distressed among America's 100 largest cities. It has zero distressed ZIP codes and 99 percent of them are considered "prosperous." The report, by the Economic Innovation Group, considers seven metrics to rank areas "distressed," "at risk," mid-tier," "comfortable," and "prosperous." It's become one of the gold-standard reports as America struggles with sharply different economic and social outcomes.

Chandler also did very well, No. 4 nationally, with zero distressed and 65 percent prosperous ZIP codes. Scottsdale ranked No. 10, again with zero distressed and 61 percent prosperous. These showings are no mystery. All three jurisdictions are overwhelmingly higher-income Anglos, along with the preponderance of the state's high-end economic assets. (Someone once sniffed that he lived in south Chandler, as if this would impress me. My Chandler is circa 1977 and south Chandler is alfalfa fields.). Scottsdale has plenty of extremely rich retirees and part-year residents. Gilbert, and to a lesser extent Chandler, also benefits from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Yet Tucson ranks a shocking 91 out of 100. Nearly 59 percent of the city's ZIP codes are distressed and less than 8 percent are prosperous. This is the kind of calamity more likely seen in famously troubled places — and indeed the other bottom 10 include Detroit, Buffalo, and Newark. 

Phoenix 101: the nineties

The new decade came upon a Phoenix beset with crisis. Charlie Keating, the most lionized Arizona businessman of the previous dozen years, was facing federal fraud and racketeering charges. His palatial Phoenician Resort was seized by a platoon of U.S. Marshals, lawyers, regulators, and locksmiths in November 1989. American Continental Corp., flagship of Keating's complex web of businesses, was forced into Chapter 11 reorganization. Among the casualties was his ambitious Estrella Ranch project south of tiny Goodyear.

Behind much of the trouble was the savings and loan scandal and collapse, a financial crisis that cost taxpayers about $132 billion. It also took down some of the Sun Belt's biggest institutions, including Phoenix's venerable Western Savings, controlled by the Driggs family, and Merabank, a subsidiary of Pinnacle West Capital Corp. meant to make big bucks for the holding company of Arizona Public Service. It would take the federal Resolution Trust Corp. years to sort out and dispose of all the properties and hustles. The worst of the S&L wrongdoing was the Keating Five scandal. Its U.S. Senator members, who leaned on regulators on behalf of Keating, included Arizona's Dennis DeConcini and John McCain (Disclosure: John Dougherty and I were the first to break this story at the Dayton Daily News).

The local trouble had been predicted in a December 1988, Barron's article about Phoenix's overheated real-estate market, fueled by S&L money. The headline: "Phoenix Descending: Is Boomtown USA Going Bust?" The boosters had been outraged. Barron's had been right. In an ominous foreshadowing of the future, the city hit a record 122 degrees on June 26, 1990.

For individuals, the worst was yet to come. Unemployment in Arizona rose from 5.3 percent in May 1990 to a peak of 7.8 percent in March 1992. This seems modest compared with the Great Recession (11.2 percent for the state); it was painful enough. State and city leaders committed to establishing a more diverse economy, weaning Arizona off its dependency on population growth and real estate. Economic development organizations were set up across the state for this purpose, including the Greater Phoenix Economic Council, led by the brilliant Ioanna Morfessis. It established goals to build strategic clusters around high-technology sectors with high-paying jobs.

Tragically, the effort failed. The 1990s, when the U.S. economy enjoyed its longest, strongest, most innovative economic expansion in history, saw Phoenix and Arizona double down on "growth." The state's population grew by a staggering 40 percent, 45 percent for metropolitan Phoenix. The cluster strategy lacked sustained focus. Yet none of this was obvious or inevitable as the decade began. 

Phoenix's lost gems

We spend much time on this site discussing urbanism, including the architectural losses and disasters of Phoenix. More than history or sentimentality is at stake. Much of the economic power in cities such as Seattle, Denver and even Los Angeles has come from the "back to the city" movement and restored historic masterpieces.

Phoenix was smaller and poorer at the zenith of Art Deco. But it did have a real cityscape before the post-World War II automobile era, subsidized sprawl, and municipal malpractice of massive teardowns created today's suburbanized mess. It had some saves, including the Orpheum Theater, Orpheum Lofts, San Carlos Hotel, Luhrs Tower and Luhrs Building, old Post Office, Kenilworth School and the County Courthouse/City Hall.

Thanks to Rob Spindler and the ASU archives, along with the collecting by the indefatigable Brad Hall, we're getting more photographs of the old city. I realize some of this is familiar  territory for regular readers, but the images tell more than words about what Phoenix lost (click for a larger image). They include:

The Fox Theater:

 

Regrets? I have a few...

In 1999-2000, I was offered the business editor jobs at the San Diego and San Francisco papers. I also had feelers about coming to work at the New York Times and the Los Angeles Times. After nearly five years at Knight-Ridder's Pulitzer-winning Charlotte Observer, I was more than ready to leave a city where they ask if you've found a "church home," wanted to get back to the West. That was when John D'Anna at the Arizona Republic called and offered me a columnist job at my hometown newspaper.

Warning signs abounded: Downtown Phoenix was dead, corporate Arizona had moved out to north Scottsdale, and the Republic had recently been purchased by Gannett, known for its small newspaper mentality, suspicion of serious journalism, and obsession with fads (I had worked for the company as assistant managing editor for business news at the Cincinnati Enquirer and saw its bad and OK sides). On the other hand, downtowns were making impressive comebacks elsewhere — I had seen them first-hand in Denver and even Charlotte. Brahm Resnik, the business editor at the Republic, assured me the changes had been minimal. After years as a turnaround specialist editor, I longed to be out of management. And every journalist's dream is to write a column in his hometown.

So I took the job, following in the footsteps of the fine business columnist Naaman Nickell.

Susan and I bought one of the most beautiful historic houses in Phoenix, in Willo a block from where I grew up. And for the next nearly seven years I wrote one of the most popular columns in the paper. "Never thought I would read this in the Arizona Republic," was a common reader accolade. I enjoyed a position of prominence, leadership, and celebrity totally out of proportion with the job — at least in other cities. The parties we hosted at the 1914 bungalow on Holly Street attracted a who's who of Arizona. And then, in 2007, it was gone. We had to sell that beloved house as no other local jobs materialized and make our primary base in Seattle (we still have a Midtown condo and some lifelong friends).

Could I have found a way to stay?

Hollering past the graveyard

I get it that the "journalism" practiced by business journals is supposed to be celebratory and "positive." That it lacks the rigor, context, experience, and skepticism required by real journalism. So I hesitate to do a beat-down. But a story in the Phoenix Business Journal requires some pushback.

The headline is: "Does Arizona's Heat, Climate Change Hurt Business Attraction?" (pro tip: Don't write heds that end in question marks — you're the journalists, why are you asking me, the reader). And the bulk of the story goes on to say, no. Everything's fine!

Some lowlights:

Economic developers who work to bring businesses and jobs to the state and Phoenix region contend the desert heat doesn’t work against them in site selections.

They also say climate change doesn’t come up at all.

Instead, they tout the narrative of Arizona’s lack of natural disasters in appealing to data centers, back-office operations and other businesses concerned about potential disruptions.

 

Phoenix 101: The great stores

Phoenix was too small and too poor to have the grand department stores that graced mostly eastern cities. But it had some beloved stores, nonetheless. They were part of a dense, walkable downtown business district that also included scores of specialty shops, as well as national chain department stores. Here are a few of the most prominent locals: 

Goldwater's: Born in Russian Poland, Michel Goldwasser traveled to Paris, then London, changing his name to Michael Goldwater and becoming a successful tailor. In 1852, "Big Mike" and his brother Joe set off for San Francisco. He eventually ended up in the mining town of Gila City, Arizona Territory., in Yuma County. He mostly worked as a peddler. After many ups, downs and wanderings, the brothers opened a store in Phoenix in 1872. It closed only three years later and the brothers focused on their store in the territorial capital of Prescott. Big Mike's son Morris was manager and the enduring slogan "The best always" was born. Morris, a Democrat, was also elected Prescott mayor.

A store returned to Phoenix in 1896, thanks to the pushing of Big Mike's younger son, Baron. As a Washington Post story said, "The Phoenix store offered not only reliable merchandise at low prices but the latest fashions from New York and Europe. Baron decided that pleasing the ladies was the way to economic success. Once he had the new store running smoothly, Baron became active in the civic life of his adopted town.

"He was soon elected a director of the Phoenix Chamber of Commerce and saw the Sisters' Hospital (now St. Joseph's) through some financial difficulties. He helped establish the Phoenix Country Club, the Arizona Club and was a founder of the Valley National Bank. In his late thirties, still trim and good-looking, Baron became the town's most eligible bachelor. His parents hoped that all their children would marry in the Jewish faith, but Mike's death in 1903 followed by Sarah's death in 1905 allowed them to marry whomever they wished." Baron married Episcopalian Josephine Williams, on January 1, 1907. Barry Morris Goldwater was born two years later.

Goldwater's soon became the swankiest department store in Phoenix. For decades it was located on First Street between Washington and Adams streets in the Dorris-Heyman Building. It moved to Park Central Shopping Center, two miles north, in the late 1950s. Above is a photo from a Goldwater's display window in the 1940s, from the McCulloch Brothers collection of the ASU archives. Goldwater's eventually grew to nine stores, including locations in Scottsdale, Tucson, Las Vegas and Albuquerque. The family sold it to Associated Dry Goods in 1963, but that didn't stop Barry from being pilloried as a "department store heir" in the following year's presidential election. In a famous Herblock cartoon, Barry towers over a poor family huddled in a doorway. "If you had any initiative, you'd go out and inherit a department store," he says. The Goldwater's name endured until the late 1980s.

Diamond's: Jewish immigrants Nathan and Isaac Diamond founded this Phoenix icon as the Boston Store in 1897. A big draw in 1931 was the installation of air conditioning. It wasn't renamed until 1947. Located at Second Street and Washington, the store featured women's and men's clothing, shoes, outerwear, housewares, and much more. It, too, made the move to Park Central in 1957, with a 200,000 square foot store. Other locations followed, including Thomas Mall, Tri-City Mall, Scottsdale Fashion Square, and Metrocenter. The Diamond family were among the founders of the Phoenix Symphony. The chain was sold to Dayton-Hudson, then Dillard's.

Phoenix Confidential: OCB

The Organized Crime Bureau of the Phoenix Police Department was created in the 1974 when Chief Larry Wetzel sent Detective Sgt, Oscar Long to clean up the old Intelligence Bureau, full of place-holders and shady types compromised by the mob. His goal: Replace the old "subversive surveillance squad" with top investigating officers to dig into organized and white collar crime for prosecution purposes. The old squad just gathered names to put in the intelligence files. The new one intended to put made men and corrupt pols on the defensive in one of America's gangland playgrounds. Lt. Glenn Sparks requested a federal grant to fund the OCB and it was approved in a very short time.

OCB attracted some of the most gifted detectives and supervisors in the department, indeed in the nation, including Long, Sparks, Lonzo McCracken, Jim Kidd, Cal Lash and A.J. Edmondson. I leave out some names at the request of the detectives — safety is still an issue. Over the next several decades, the OCB was involved in the most important investigations in the state, from the murder of Arizona Republic reporter Don Bolles to corruption of high city officials and the depredations of the New Mexican Mafia (New Eme). Lash went on to serve as Administrative Sergeant for two police chiefs.

In a city where, as the blurb for my new novel goes, "gangsters rubbed elbows with the city’s elite amid crosscurrents of corrupt cops, political payoffs, gambling, prostitution, and murder cloaked by the sunshine of a resort city," the Organized Crime Bureau was Phoenix's Untouchables. And this was real, not fiction.

'Smart city'

I see that the local-yokel boosters bamboozled Popular Mechanics into doing a story claiming that Bill Gates wants to build a "smart city" in the Phoenix exurbs. This lacks any corroborating evidence, any skeptical journalism. It is, as the old newsroom joke goes, a story too good to check. What we do know is that Gates' investment arm plinked down $80 million for a stake in the speculative "master planned community" called Belmont. The promoters want to built 80,000 tract houses, along with industrial, office, and retail space.

The whole thing strikes me as dodgy. Water availability, especially in the long-term, is one of the two biggest issues facing Phoenix. A game of musical chairs is being played thanks to the complexity and opaqueness of Arizona's water law and enforcement. But the outlook is not good. The metro area and state are past population overshoot, especially for the one-trick-pony of building single-family detached tract houses in an ever-widening footprint of sprawl. The other unpleasant reality is climate change, which bodes very ill for the state. More sprawl destroys the unique, lovely Sonoran Desert.

The ghost of Ned Warren is looking on the spectacle of taking $80 million in Bill Gates' chump change with envy. As I wrote in a Seattle Times column, being one of the world's cleverest men in one field — bringing enormous riches — does not make you smart in everything else. Maybe he'll make a quick buck if the project is ever built. The suckers left holding the bag won't be so fortunate.

Similar sad hilarity came from a New York Times Magazine piece about Doug Ducey making Arizona the capital of self-driving cars. No regulations, come on down! The problem is that the companies will neither have their well-paid design and engineering jobs nor make the vehicles here. They will merely use our abundant freeways and wide streets to experiment. What could go wrong? 

Bruno

Everyone who was blessed to know Alan Brunacini, who passed away in October at age 80, has a Bruno story. I'll tell two about Phoenix's long-serving Fire Chief.

At the 2005 going-away party for Sheryl Sculley, the deputy city manager who was leaving for the top job in San Antonio, I was talking to Bruno when a man walked up. He was a promoter on the make and wanted me to write about his project. I stepped a quarter turn and said, "Do you know Alan Brunacini?" The guy instantly (thought he) assessed the short, unprepossessing man in the Hawaiian shirt, said, "Howya doin', Alan," and rudely turned to face to me.

I thought: You just turned your back on the most powerful man in the city of Phoenix. Needless to say, his project never happened. His lack of discernment about Bruno was a tell. On the other hand, Bruno was accustomed to such reactions from those not in the know. "Most people think Bob Khan is the fire chief," he told me once with a broad grin, speaking of his ubiquitous public affairs officer (and successor). Bruno had little ego in the game. I suspect he also understood the advantage in being underestimated, especially in the perilous landscape of municipal politics. 

Years later, after he retired and I left the Republic, Bruno and I were enjoying one of our periodic meet-ups in the shady inner courtyard of Fair Trade coffee. A gifted raconteur, he told me about a pivotal moment in his early career.

Assessing Greg Stanton

Now that he's announced he will resign as Phoenix mayor to run for Congress, it's not too early to at least make a preliminary evaluation of Greg Stanton's tenure.

Whether they like it not, all Phoenix mayors since the mid-1980s have been judged on what we could call the Goddard Scale. Terry Goddard was a transformational Phoenix leader who swept away the last of the Charter-Margaret Hance status quo, led the change to a district system of council representation, saved the historic districts, and began to salvage downtown. He was bold! He was visionary! He got cities and had a clear-eyed view of Phoenix's situation!

And this is actually true. But even Terry Goddard wasn't Terry Goddard at first, or how he would mature as a leader and urban thinker after he left office (it was a terrible loss for Arizona that he didn't become governor). So on the Goddard scale, even Terry wasn't a 10. Let's say 9.1. Give Paul Johnson a 6.5 — Goddard was a hard act to follow, and Johnson faced the worst recession in decades here, up to that point. Skip Rimsza, who served from 1994 to 2004, gets a solid 8 in my book, although some would disagree. The same for Phil Gordon, especially his more productive first term.

And Stanton, who assumed office in 2012? I'd also give him an 8. Phoenix has been fortunate in its mayors.

The light-rail divide

Glendale's city council killed an extension of light rail into the suburb, even though a majority of voters want it. Even though We Built It, You Bastards (WBIYB) — the epithet referring to the hysterical, thuggish opposition to the starter line, metropolitan Phoenix remains divided over mobility. The city, Tempe, and Mesa have embraced light rail. The other suburbs remain against it, crazy-so in the case of Scottsdale.

Phoenix did not benefit from the "Dallas effect." There the suburbs wanted nothing to do with light rail — until they saw the first line in action. Then they were clamoring to be included. Today, Dallas has the largest light-rail system in the United States.  Similar success stories are found in Denver, San Diego, Portland, and Los Angeles. The closest we came was Mesa. There, then-Mayor Keno Hawker convinced a skeptical council to pay for the starter line to go to Sycamore Street. Otherwise, Mesa would have been cut off — Tempe was only going to build to McClintock — and facing a costly future connection. Instead, Mesa saw the benefit and has extended the line to Mesa Drive with plans to go beyond.

Otherwise, the divide remains solid. It is driven in no small measure by racism and classism. The suburbs don't want "those people" coming on trains. And it's true that the poor and minorities heavily use transit in Phoenix. The criminal element of "those people" drive cars, but the white-right apartheid that defines metro Phoenix decisively defines the light-rail resistance. Another problem is the Republican fetish against rail of all kinds. It keeps us stuck with a 1971 transportation system when other advanced urbanized nations have high-speed rail and subways abuilding. Considering that the Republican Party began as the advocate of transcontinental railroads, this is an astounding but not surprising turnabout. It goes along with denying settled science on climate change. Anything, anything, to keep happy motoring going. Anything to keep the tax-cut scam going.

Light rail succeeded in Phoenix differently than in most cities. For example, in Seattle, where a majority of people use transit, light rail connects people to the major employment, retail and entertainment center of downtown, as well as the airport, sports venues, and the University of Washington. It's packed all the time and more lines are under construction despite efforts by Republicans in the Legislature and the suburbs to kill it. Most jobs in Phoenix are out on the freeways, especially in the East Valley. Instead, Phoenix's light rail found the sweet spot connecting the downtown and Tempe ASU campuses, as well as hauling people to Suns and (for now) Diamondbacks games. It helped reestablish downtown as a center of activity.

The water Ponzi scheme

Arizona has a sordid history of fraud, predating the predations of Ned Warren, whose land frauds in the 1960s and 1970s bilked hundreds of millions of dollars from gullible Americans. It continued through with the East Valley mafia's "alt fuels" scandal of the early 2000s and the big blowup with the Ponzi scheme of the housing bubble.

The relatively new racket, on a trajectory for crisis, concerns water. Last month, Arizona Republic reporter Rebekah L. Sanders produced a blockbuster about "water haulers" apparently stealing city of Phoenix water from hydrants for delivery to hundreds of residents in New River. Meanwhile, this entire area is seeing the ground water in its meager aquifers diminish as more people move in. New River grew by more than 40 percent, to 15,000, from 2010 to 2015.

Earlier this month, the Republic's Dustin Gardiner reported a fascinating story about Pinal County's complex but unsettling water situation:

So far, according to the Arizona Department of Water Resources, 15 proposed projects in the Pinal County area have received letters from the state notifying them that groundwater necessary for their projects could be in short supply.

It's likely the first time the state has sent such letters, but state officials say there is no reason to panic.

Of course officials would say that. And they're right, after their fashion. Panic isn't enough. 

The Chinese Cultural Center

In the late 1990s, a couple of years before my fateful and in retrospect foolish decision to come home and write a column for the Arizona Republic, I noticed a freeway sign for the "Chinese Cultural Center" and took the exit.

The location, on 44th Street, was strange. It was far from the original locations of Phoenix's Chinatown in downtown. The central core was dead then and the only memory of Chinatown was the Sing Hi Cafe, relocated to west Madison Street from its original site in the Deuce. There was also the Sun Mercantile building, a former warehouse, beside the basketball arena. Land was plentiful and more of the warehouse district was intact. Why not put a Chinese Cultural Center here?

But, no. And although the sign was one of the brown historic markers that usually went with something public such as the Desert Botanical Gardens, the Cultural Center appeared to be a private, mixed-use real-estate development. Yes, it had some Chinese-influenced architectural features, garden, restaurants, and Asian market, but it wasn't really a museum or cultural center. Wikipedia says it was developed by the Chinese state-owned COFCO group, but I don't know if this is accurate.

Lately, the center has been in the news because of the building's purchase by a Scottsdale private-equity outfit which intends to redo it as a corporate headquarters. Most of the center is emptied out and it's surrounded by a chain-link fence. Protests from the Chinese community brought a temporary restraining order protecting the garden statues and roof — but it runs out Nov. 3rd. Then a new hearing will be held and demolition could begin. The Republic and New Times have slightly different takes on the state of play.

In all, it is so Phoenix: Disregard for history, car-dependent far from light rail (WBIYB) or the central core, and ultimately just another a real-estate play.

Phoenix and Amazon HQ2

More than 100 cities are contending to win the economic prize of the decade, Amazon's second, "equal in every way" to its Seattle home, headquarters. Some $5 billion in investment and 50,000 high-paid jobs are possible. Both Phoenix and Tucson are among them. Above is a photo of the Day One tower, part of Amazon's massive downtown Seattle footprint.

I've written about this highly unusual development in my Seattle Times columns here and here. In "Dear Amazon, we picked your new headquarters for you," the Upshot team narrows down cities based on the company's request for proposals (RFP) and comes up with Denver. That jibes with my top three candidates, the others being Toronto and Dallas-Fort Worth.

In the Upshot piece, Phoenix (and Tucson) is quickly eliminated: job growth isn't strong, plus lack of a highly skilled tech workforce, high quality of life (that attracts young, educated workers), strong mass transit, and willingness to "pay to play."

But let's not give up just yet. At the least, this could be an educational experience.

Returning to Rogue Columnist

The book is not quite done, but I'm 90 percent there and at least know, finally, how it ends (probably). I promised readers that columns would return in mid-September.

Coming back isn't an easy decision.

I know that nothing I write will change Phoenix's trajectory. It will bring more of the "Talton hates Arizona" claptrap. Nothing I write will alter the nightmare that began after Election Day 2016. I'm so tired of losing so much of the time.

As much as I hate "both sides" false equivalency, I feel increasingly alienated from the loud left, while "conservatism" is not only nihilistic and destructive but in power. It's tempting to watch the past few months and think Trump and the GOP are the gang who can't shoot straight and will soon be swept away. Don't fall for it.

Also, I tend to write what is now put in the genre ghetto of "long-form commentary," so you won't find quick hits, videos, and digital "storytelling" here, either. The photos tend to be limited and mostly as historical galleries.

Being Number Five

I remember in 2006, when Phoenix passed Philadelphia in a Census estimate to become the nation's fifth most populous city. As a columnist for the Arizona Republic, I accompanied then-Mayor Phil Gordon and a delegation to Philly. The Philadelphians were very gracious. At one event, they talked about visiting Phoenix where City Hall "looked like a building where honest business was being done." The City Hall that the statue of William Penn stands atop had seen its share of big-city corruption. Not knowing Phoenix's abundant history of criminality, they sounded envious.

Even so, it was obvious wandering around Philly, with its great urban bones, energy-filled downtown, corporate headquarters, extensive rail transit and commuter-train system, and world-class cultural and educational institutions, that any comparison with Phoenix was apples to gravel. Still, even though I had begun to assemble powerful enemies writing about the city's reality and pushing verboten projects such as light rail (WBIYB), I felt proud. My hometown was America's fifth-largest city!

You can take the boy out of Phoenix but you can't take Phoenix out of the boy. For much of its existence Phoenix wanted above all to get big. And now it was.

The city fell back to sixth place in the 2010 Census, but with the latest numbers it's back to No. 5, probably to stay. Many dreams and ambitions have been realized over the past near-decade. Downtown is filling in, thanks to the ASU campus. It sports a handsome convention center and new hotels. Roosevelt Row is a destination, not a handful of Resistance members fighting to survive. T-Gen and the biomedical campus are there and growing, although not at the speed I had wished. We built light rail (you bastards) and it will be extended. All this in the face of thuggish opposition by the right and the city's worst economic crisis since the Great Depression.

The Confederacy and us

It would be most misguided to try to erase Confederate monuments and memory from Arizona, as some black leaders are suggesting. We need more monuments to African-Americans in Arizona, more African-American history taught about Arizona and the nation, more about all the rich strands of e pluribus unum — not today's neo-Soviet attempt to rewrite and eradicate the actual past.

As it happens, the Civil War and the Confederacy are critical elements of Arizona history. The CSA created the first Arizona Territory, claiming the lower half of New Mexico Territory which at the time contained both future states. The Stars and Bars flew above Tucson. An Arizona delegate sat in the Confederate Congress throughout its existence. When Union forces pushed most Confederate units out of Arizona, Abraham Lincoln took Jefferson Davis' clue and created a separate Arizona Territory.

Before secession, Davis played an important role in Arizona. As U.S. Secretary of War, he was instrumental in the Gadsden Purchase, acquiring land south of the Gila River, including Tucson, from Mexico. Davis supported a southern route for the transcontinental railroad that eventually became the Southern Pacific. The SP was essential to the development of the territory and state, connecting it to the nation. It is hardly surprising that Davis was memorialized with a stretch of highway. Cases can be made for all six Confederate monuments in the state. Phoenix, especially, was as much a Southern as a Western city for much of its existence. This accounts for a pleasant friendliness that's sometimes found, like the citrus blossoms. But with that also came segregation for the first half of the 20th century. Such is history.

Jack Swilling, the most important of Phoenix's founders because he understood the true significance and potential of the prehistoric Hohokam canals, was a Confederate officer. He deserted after Richmond demanded that he confiscate supplies from his neighbors. He helped the Union as an Indian fighter and discovered gold, which was sent to Lincoln to show the importance of Arizona. In Phoenix after the war, he became fast friends with John Y.T. Smith, a former Union officer who was growing hay near the Salt River to supply the Army at Fort McDowell. Such was the reconciliation, replayed countless times across the land, that made a new united nation possible. Like it or not.

Big Town

Big Town was a brand of melons and vegetables shipped by MBM Farms and Zeitman Produce from the Salt River Valley in its days as American Eden. One of scores of colorful labels on wooden crates, it had a stylized version of the Phoenix skyline in the background.

But I can't help wondering if it also caught a bit of the moment in 1950, when Phoenix entered the ranks of America's 100 largest cities. It was No. 99, with 106,818 people in 17 square miles. Phoenix landed 62 people ahead of No. 100 Allentown, Pa. But it was behind Scranton, Wichita, Tulsa, Dayton — not to mention its Southwest rival El Paso, No. 76.

In 1950, the nation's fifth most populous city was Detroit. According to new Census data, Phoenix has once again surpassed Philadelphia to claim the No. 5 spot it had by estimates in 2006 but lost in the 2010 count. I'll have more to write about this later.

For now, I want to linger on that moment when the Census Bureau made it official: Phoenix had crossed 100,000. The big town was definitely a city now, if not a big one (Even now, Phoenix has many characteristics of a small town, especially in power and power relationships).

As you can tell from the geographic size of the city, this Phoenix was convenient and walkable, with a true urban fabric. At 6,714 people per square mile, it was much more dense than today's 2,798. Surrounding it were citrus groves, farms, and small towns mostly dependent on agriculture (Tempe 7,684, Mesa, 16,790, Glendale 8,179, Gilbert 1,114, Scottsdale 2,032, and Buckeye 1,932). Arizona's total population was 756,000. Phoenix boasted an abundant shade canopy from the narrow streets to the enchanting canal banks. Downtown was the busiest central business district between El Paso and Los Angeles. As many as 10 passenger trains served Union Station in the golden age of streamliners.

Phoenix 101: Maryvale begins

Through the first decades of Phoenix's history, housing was built on an almost artisanal level. Sometimes one at a time. Other times a dozen or two. Along with such fashions as the bungalow and period revival style, this is what gives the historic districts north of downtown their unique quality. It took decades, for example, for today's Willo to be filled with homes.

After World War II, heavy demand for housing — hardly any had been built during the Depression and World War II — and federal loan guarantees sparked a nationwide residential building boom. This was especially true with new suburbs, built on the Levittown mass-production model. With builders such as Ralph Staggs and John Hall in the lead, subdivisions just outside the 17 square miles of the city began to grow. By the mid-1950s, subdivisions averaged 180 houses, according to historian Philip VanderMeer.

In 1954, John Frederick Long began quietly buying nearly 70 farms west of Phoenix. A Phoenix native, Long worked on the family farm, spent four years in the Army Air Forces during World War II, and came home to several failures as an aspiring businessman. In 1947, he married Mary Tolmachoff, who also grew up on a farm in the Valley. With a GI loan and some savings, they built a house on a lot on north 23rd Avenue.

Before even moving in, the Longs received an offer to sell the house for almost double the cost of $4,200 in materials. This launched him as a homebuilder, first on a very small scale. But with Phoenix growing — a sharp post-war recession had been reversed by the infusion of Cold War defense spending — Long had a vision for something much bigger.

Great expectations

The local media have paid much attention to a nascent technology cluster in downtown Phoenix. Most recently came an Arizona Republic story headlined, "What's Driving a Downtown Phoenix Tech Boom." It reads in part:

A San Francisco tech company that announced an expansion from Silicon Valley to downtown Phoenix last week cited a lively business climate and a light-rail stop as primary factors in choosing the city.

Representatives of a semiconductor packaging company moving its corporate headquarters in May from California to south of Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport said the city is cost-effective and has the workforce they need. These recent examples are part of what Phoenix leaders say is a flood of tech industry leaders and startups looking to open in the city. Mayor Greg Stanton highlighted the growth in his State of the City speech on April 25.

Stanton said the number of tech companies downtown has nearly quadrupled in the past five years. He credited adaptive reuse projects in the Warehouse District and new tech hubs as a source of the success.

Good for Phoenix. I hate to be the one who suns on the parade, but a reality check is necessary. For one thing, the top of the story lacks that basic of journalism, "How big is big"? As in, a quadrupling of companies from a baseline of one leaves us with not too many firms. Also, what is "tech"? When metropolitan Phoenix gets credit for technology jobs, they usually turn out to be call centers or back-office operations. Most pay poorly. By contrast, Seattle's tech jobs are actually undercounted because the tens of thousands of well-paid Amazon headquarters positions are classified under retail by statisticians.

Phoenix 101: the architects

One of the troubles with Phoenix is that most of the metropolitan area has been built up over the past two decades or so. The result is a deadening sameness of off-the-shelf architecture for house-builders and retailers, the boxes you'd find in newer parts of anywhere, with some faux Spanish-Tuscan crap attached. This is added to plenty of boring cookie-cutter buildings erected from 1960 through the 1980s. And Phoenix has more than its share of prominent architectural disasters.

That's too bad because Phoenix was once known for its great architecture, from office and government buildings to the magical period-revival homes of the historic districts, and especially its effervescence as a capital of Mid-Century Modernism.

Frank Lloyd Wright (1867-1959) established his Taliesin West architecture school and home far out of town in 1937. A few Wright houses are left here, although contrary to popular myth he didn't design the Arizona Biltmore. The great Wright commission executed here was intended as the Baghdad opera house. You know it as Grady Gammage Auditorium (above), built after Wright's death.

But many more applied their calling here. This is an incomplete list, and I'm sure our smart commenters will have more:

The Deco masters and classicists:

Royal Lescher (1882-1957) and Leslie Mahoney (1892-1985) are responsible for some of Phoenix's most majestic public buildings, especially the 1929 Art Deco Phoenix City Hall (Edward Neild of Shreveport worked with them on the Maricopa County Courthouse portion). Lescher & Mahoney also designed the Orpheum Theater, Brophy College Chapel, the U.S. Post Office at Central and Fillmore, El Zariba Shrine Auditorium (former home to the Arizona Mining and Mineral Museum), the Phoenix Title and Trust Building (today's Orpheum Lofts), Hanny's, St. Joseph's Hospital, the Phoenix Civic Center, Veterans Memorial Coliseum, the tragically lost Palms Theater and many schools and landmarks.

Lee Mason Fitzhugh (1877-1937) and Lester Byron (1889-1963). The firm of Fitzhugh & Byron was the architects behind such landmarks as First Baptist Church (finally being renovated), First Church of Christ, Scientist, George Washington Carver High School, and the Lois Grunow Memorial Clinic.

Albert Chase McArthur (1881-1951), a protege of Frank Lloyd Wright, moved his practice from Chicago to Phoenix in 1925. Here he designed his most famous work, the Arizona Biltmore. Less well known is that McArthur also was the architect for several houses in the Phoenix Country Club estates and elsewhere.

The ideology of the cancer cell

Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell — Edward Abbey

The closed-loop belief system of the local-yokels is that as long as Phoenix is adding people, it can't be that bad. End of discussion. Thus, when the Census Bureau announced that Maricopa County was the nation's fastest growing for the year ending July 1, 2016, it set off earth-shaking, sheet-clawing growthgasms. The gain of 81,000 was still below the pre-recession trend line — even accepting the yokel "logic" — but there we have it. Everything's fine!

Phoenix has operated by this hugely subsidized Ponzi scheme for decades and there's no indication anything will change until the roof really falls in.

As in, when overshoot makes it impossibly costly to sustain such a large population in a frying pan. When the Republicans make retirement a pre-New Deal cruelty so that people don't have the means to retire, much less to the hot climes of "the Valley." When the GOP succeeds in cutting so much federal funding that welfare queens such as Phoenix slink to the national homeless shelter. When climate change makes the place unbearable. The recent calamities of the Great Recession, where Phoenix was an epicenter, did nothing to give a moment of clarity. Even an outmigration wouldn't change things. The boat-rockers who advocated a different city and state were long ago run off or silenced.

Phoenix 101: streetcars

Moses Hazeltine Sherman was a teacher from Vermont who made his way to Arizona Territory in 1874. While teaching, he also made money in land and mining. Later, he would move to Los Angeles and become a millionaire. But before that, he and M.E. Collins founded the Phoenix Street Railway in 1887.

Originally the streetcars were pulled by mules. But electric cars took over in 1893. The new Territorial capital had a little more than 3,000 people. By 1925, the system boasted nearly 34 miles of track on six lines. It had two major spines. One ran west to the Capitol and on to 22nd Avenue, and east to the State Hospital along Washington Street. The other operated north and south from downtown to the Phoenix Indian School.

A long addition ran east from the Indian School to 12th Street, then cut north and west, eventually terminating in Glendale. Other routes went to the Fairgrounds; north through the new Kenilworth district to Encanto Boulevard, and over to the east side ending at 10th Street and Sheridan. Most of the streetcar lines ran down the middle of the streets.

Through the middle of the 20th century, most American cities and large towns had extensive streetcar networks. Numerous electrified interurban railways were also build, competing with the steam railroads of the time. They carried freight in addition to passengers on larger cars. The largest system was in Los Angeles, the Pacific Electric, known for its iconic red cars. Owned by the Southern Pacific Railroad, it operated more than a thousand miles of track in the LA basin.

Overshoot

Exurban sprawl in the Verde Valley, which competes for water resources with the Salt River Project.

"Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell" — Edward Abbey
I was reading an Arizona Republic story about the state seeking ways to "prop up" Lake Mead to "forestall painful and chaotic shortages for at least a few years." The number that sat me back was that Arizona draws 40 percent of its water from the Colorado River.

For an old-timer like me this is an astounding statistic. In 1960, Arizona took very little water from the river. Greater Phoenix, which constituted 50 percent of the state's population, received all its water from the dams and reservoirs on the Salt and Verde rivers. The rest of the state was heavily dependent on ground water, the pumping of which was already a longstanding problem, with a few other renewable river sources. But the entire state held 1.3 million people — less than the population of today's city of Phoenix.

What nobody wants to discuss is when does Arizona hit population overshoot? With more than 6.8 million people, a population that places it in the ranks of such states as Massachusetts and Washington, one could argue it already has. This is particularly true considering the combination of an over-subscribed Colorado and the growing stress of climate change.

It's virtually a forbidden topic. Even after the housing collapse, Arizona's economy remains a one-trick pony dependent on adding more people, building more sprawl, creating a Sun Corridor from Benson to Flagstaff. The local-yokel boosters mounted up to attack Andrew Ross' superbly researched and well argued book, Bird on Fire: Lessons From the World's Least Sustainable City, precisely because he crossed the line. He asked the existential questions about the vast Ponzi scheme. I did the same as a Republic columnist, despite being warned from the most powerful levels: Don't write about water. I did and I was out.

Jack August, an appreciation

At the 2004 launch party for my novel Dry Heat, I'm with Jack August, center, and his wife Kathy Flower August. Jack passed away on Friday.

When I was a popular columnist at the Arizona Republic, it felt as if everyone outside of the Kookocracy (I coined the term), including many of the most prominent people in Phoenix, became my friend. "I never thought I'd read this in the Republic!" they would say about my writing, truth-telling about the Ponzi-scheme economy, the crash to come, the lost beauty, policy blunders, and Phoenix's forgotten and ignored past. "Don't worry, you'll have a place with us" if you get fired, some promised. I was not fooled.

When the pressure became too much and the Republic kicked me out as a columnist, they almost all melted away. Instantly. Like drops of water on a high-summer sidewalk. I was not only dropped but shunned. Later, some would resurface if they needed something, but that's human nature not friendship. I can count the genuine friends who stuck with me on two hands. Jack August stuck. He was that kind of man. Crisis reveals character.

His death at age 63 is a staggering loss for Arizona, for all who knew him. He was a towering figure as a historian of a state that suppresses its past, where so many newcomers keep the home of their heart in the Midwest and crow, "There's no history here." He was an irreplaceable counterweight to these toxins. He was a mensch who gave full measure to the term "a gentleman and a scholar."

I first ran across Jack long before, in an appropriate way, pulling one of his books out of the shelves at Flagstaff's sadly lost McGaugh's bookstore and newsstand downtown. This was on a visit, showing my girlfriend my home state with no expectation I would ever live here again. A title caught my eye, Vision in the Desert, by Jack L. August Jr. The book chronicled Carl Hayden's leading role in the long fight for the Central Arizona Project. Susan bought it for me and I read it on the plane as we crossed the country.

My mother had spent a decade working on the Arizona v. California lawsuit and the CAP, mostly for the Arizona Interstate Stream Commission but also for the lead attorneys, Mark Wilmer and Charlie Reed. I knew my water history. One of my dreams was to write a history of Arizona's fight for the Colorado River, especially the outsized personalities, back stories, and intense days-and-nights of work fueled by uppers and booze as David took down Goliath. Vision was impressive and I wondered: Who is this Jack August?

Innovation district

The City of Phoenix has smartly engaged Mary Jo Waits to help craft an innovation district plan for downtown. For newcomers, Waits was the driving force behind the Morrison Institute's most consequential reports in the late 1990s and 2000s, especially 2001's Five Shoes Waiting to Drop. It was prophetic. So was her warning that Arizona would become the "Appalachia of the 21st century" if it didn't change course. I collaborated with her in the "meds and eds" strategy to build off TGen, and later did some work for her when she was at the Pew Center on the States. The city could not have chosen a better, more knowledgeable and visionary person.

She asked me to write a case study on the innovation district in South Lake Union, adjacent to downtown Seattle. So this is what follows, with some parting observations for Phoenix.

When I first started coming to Seattle in the early 1990s, the South Lake Union neighborhood was a run-down collection of low-rise commercial buildings and the remnants of industrial structures from when it was laced with railroad tracks. This was once a gritty maritime district — logging, ship repair, canneries — around the south edge of the lake, which was connected to Puget Sound by the ship canal.

Aside from having the headquarters of the Seattle Times, SLU as it became known, had little to recommend it. The area had been wounded in the 1960s when Interstate 5 was rammed through, tearing it apart from Capitol Hill. And blocks of car dealerships, parking lots, and the occasional seedy bar separated it from the downtown core.

In the early 1990s, Seattle Times columnist John Hinterberger suggested turning part of SLU into a large central park, something the city's core lacked since voters had rejected a visionary 1911 civic plan. The 60-acre "civic lawn" would be framed by high-tech companies, condos, and restaurants. The Seattle Commons attracted widespread business support, including from Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen, who was accumulating property there. But the famous "Seattle Process" intervened. Many feared it was a giveaway to Allen. Voters rejected the Commons in 1995 and 1996.

In the doldrums

Back in the 2000s, Phoenix was always at or near the top of the Milken Institute's list of best-performing cities. The local-yokel boosters made much of this. In reality, the metric was based on job growth and Phoenix looked pretty good, powered by the housing boom.

What a difference does the housing crash, Great Recession, and better measurements make. A few years ago, Milken retooled its survey. Now Milken uses a wide variety of yardsticks to present a more accurate and comprehensive look at how metropolitan areas are doing. In the new 2016 Best Performing Cities, metro Phoenix comes in at 46th.

Going deeper, Phoenix's five-year job growth ranked 40th; five-year wage and salary growth 63rd; short-term growth 76th; five-year high-tech GDP growth 56th (one-year was 110th); high-tech location quotient 56th, and the number of highly concentrated tech industries 63rd. It's not a pretty picture, especially when we're talking about the sixth-largest city and 13th most populous metropolitan area

At the top were Silicon Valley, Provo-Orem, Utah, Austin, San Francisco and Dallas. Among other Western peers was Seattle No. 10, Denver No. 13, and Portland No. 14. Blue "socialist" California won six of the top 25 spots among major metros. By comparison, Tucson was No. 155. Among small metros, Prescott was No. 33, Flagstaff 81, and Yuma 146. Bend, Ore., led the small metros.

Phoenix 101: the twenties

If this photo shows a busy little city from the Roaring Twenties, that's exactly what you found in Phoenix during this transformative decade. Town to city, horses to cars, less Wild West and more sophistication — Phoenix had been moving this way for years. But in the 1920s, they became solidly entrenched — even Town Ditch was covered. The first "skyscraper," the seven-story Heard Building, right, opened in 1920. By the end of the decade, it had several taller and more impressive siblings that remain some of the city's most treasured and beautiful buildings. Central Methodist Church (ME South) on the near right would move to a handsome new structure at Central and Pierce.

The nation entered the decade with Woodrow Wilson as president. But he was incapacitated by a stroke and his wife, Edith, was protecting him from most visitors and essentially carrying out most of his executive duties. America was disillusioned by the outcome of the Great War, the Palmer Raids and the "Red Scare," what was seen as Wilson's overreaching, and two decades of the Progressive Era. Voters (including women, for the first time) eagerly embraced Ohio's Warren G. Harding as the next president. He promised a "return to normalcy," forever wrecking the correct word "normality." Harding freed the Socialist Eugene Debs, who Wilson had imprisoned for opposing American involvement in the war.

The Great War had brought changes to the Salt River Valley, especially with the booming demand for cotton. By 1920, it had turned into a bust and Phoenix was suffering through the national recession. Things would soon turn around as the economy expanded and America embarked on, as F. Scott Fitzgerald put it, "the greatest, gaudiest spree in history." It was the Jazz Age, with the experiment of Prohibition sidestepped with speakeasies. Prohibition was hardly observed at all in the non-Mormon towns of the West. In Phoenix, bars, borthels, and gambling dens operated in the open, sometimes making payoffs to the city. This wide-open environment soon attracted the Mafia, including Al Capone.

The Phoenix of the 1920s was expanding out of the half-mile footprint of the original township. In the previous decade, the city had surpassed Tucson to become the most populous place in Arizona. With more than 29,000 people in 1920, Phoenix would grow nearly 66 percent over the next 10 years. Residential neighborhoods expanded a half mile north of McDowell, west of the Santa Fe tracks at 19th Avenue, and east as far as 16th Street. These were gradually incorporated into the city limits, which expanded from five square miles in 1920 to 6.5 square miles a decade later.

The mansions of "Millionaire's Row" still graced Monroe Street, but the central business district was moving north. Elegant bungalows lined the streets north of Van Buren into the fancy new Kenilworth District north of Roosevelt Street and eventually the Period Revival neighborhoods just beyond McDowell, including Palmcroft. Many of these were reachable by the streetcars.