#high rises

[eopederson]

Bryant Park in Winter, Manhattan, 1972.

[2000ghosts]

april 5, 2005

[eopederson2]

Seattle high rises, 2019.

Seeing this picture, I realized that I have not been in Seattle, my native city and home for a number of years, since 2019. A combination of other trips, COVID-19, and obligations elsewhere in the PNW can be blamed. A planned 2024 Spring trip had to be cancelled when we discovered our 17 year old cat had hyperthyroidism and needed radioactive iodine treatments. He seems to be recovering, but now we have a long planned trip to Eastern Europe on the horizon, so it will be October before a visit is possible. As all who have lived in the Puget Sound region know well, October can offer wonderful weather or 31 days of rain and gloom, so we are undecided about a trip.

[odinsblog]

High Rises - Chika

[life-spire]

@barbararodiles_

See more.

[gettothedancing]

Minoru Yamasaki, the famed architect who designed the World Trade Center with its iconic Twin Towers, found out how hard it can be to design society.

But what a time to study architecture! This was the high modernism era: Walter Gropius, Frank Lloyd Wright, and Le Corbusier were rethinking everything. Breakthroughs in glass, steel, and concrete created new possibilities.

Le Corbusier, or Corbu as he was known, was a major influence for Yamasaki. Corbu was perhaps the most extreme of the high modernists. He had unyielding faith in the power of rationalism and efficiency to improve every facet of society. He believed homes should be “machines for living.” The master planner could create literal utopias by exerting his expert will from the top down.

The Housing Act’s provision of government-backed mortgage insurance meant suburban housing was cheap and getting cheaper. So were cars. President Eisenhower’s interstate highway project, which (arguably) began with the paving of I-70, connected St. Louis with the blossoming suburbs of St. Charles just across the river. Despite the decision in Brown v. Board, white families were taking that same FHA money that funded Pruitt-Igoe and buying homes in the suburbs, and many jobs went with them.

This fundamentally changed the city. De facto segregation soared; the city shrank and suburbs swelled. If St. Louis’ leaders realized their assumption of continued economic growth and population growth was wrong, they kept it to themselves.

It quickly got worse from there.

Planners expected the working poor to live in the complex. Instead, many unemployed families took the apartments, which meant—because families receiving welfare paid the lowest rents—the rent revenue wasn’t enough to sustain the building.

Also, under Missouri’s welfare laws at the time, you could receive welfare only as a single parent. This left many mothers and fathers with the grim options of staying together without the state benefits, or separating in order to receive benefits. Many fathers left their families to search for work wherever they could find it. They often didn’t return. Soon Pruitt-Igoe was mostly populated with large, single-parent families. The lack of fathers in the building (and social workers ran regular checks to ensure dad really wasn’t living there) had dangerous ripple effects for Pruitt-Igoe children. Crime quickly became common, and children joined gangs, vandalizing and damaging the buildings. Maintenance workers had trouble keeping up and occupancy dropped rapidly.

The day President Lyndon Johnson gave his famous “Great Society” speech in 1964, residency in the complex hovered around 25%.

And what of Yamasaki’s innovative skip-stop elevators? His wide hallways? Did they foster a sense of community as he intended? Amity Shlaes paints a bleak picture:

[The] elevators… were muggers’ traps. Poor maintenance meant the elevators often jammed, leaving gangs’ victims in with them for long extra minutes. The gangs lurked in the halls and made tenants “run the gantlet” to get to their doors.

Young men threw bricks and rocks at windows and street lamps; the activity was a regular sport. There were no good playgrounds. Because there were no toilets on the ground floor, children had accidents there, and the elevators gradually became public toilets. The community area was a sorry joke; its only function ultimately was as a place for collecting Housing Authority rents. No one seemed able to stop the decay.

ST. LOUIS QUICKLY realized that Pruitt-Igoe was a problem. But it was unclear who, if anyone, could fix it. The federal government, the St. Louis Housing Authority, the state, and the City of St. Louis itself all shared responsibility for the complex. When a problem belongs to everyone, it belongs to no one.

Within five years of its launch, Yamasaki was regularly apologizing for his role in the project. Though the final design of the complex differed from his original vision, he came to question the core assumption behind the project: that people’s lives could be effectively engineered through urban design. He expressed regret for his “deplorable mistakes” with Pruitt-Igoe. By the late 1950s, he was giving eloquent speeches about the “tragedy of housing thousands in exactly look alike cells,” which “certainly does not foster our ideals of human dignity and individualism.”

To the Detroit Free Press, he put it more simply: “Social ills can’t be cured by nice buildings.”

By the early 1970s, the 33 concrete tombstones lining St. Louis’ skyline were a cautionary tale for utopian housing schemes. It was a den of crime and misery, rather than anything anyone could call home. When the decision came to demolish the complex, occupancy was only 10 percent.

[jmurhop]

[bauzeitgeist]

Kikui Plaza, downtown Honolulu. DMJM architects, 1976. 

Photo January 2020 Bauzeitgeist.