A Tale of Two Cities: Why St. Louis’ History of Clear-Cutting Neighborhoods Should Be a Cautionary Tale for Baltimore

A Tale of Two Cities: Why St. Louis’ History of Clear-Cutting Neighborhoods Should Be a Cautionary Tale for Baltimore

St. Louis Place urban prairie. Photograph by Chris Naffziger Various-252.jpg
Various-252.jpg

“It became necessary to destroy the town to save it.”

These words began another article by this author two weeks ago, and while he is loath to begin another with the same words, it seems all the more relevant in light of recent “solutions” proposed for what ails St. Louis’ East Coast sister city, Baltimore. Having lived in Baltimore back in 2004–2005, admittedly a short time, this author has realized that both cities share similar characteristics, strengths and weaknesses. What can Baltimore and St. Louis learn from each other in regards to the utilization of the built environment? Apparently a lot.

Writing in the Washington Post last week, Eugene Robinson (whose writing this author usually highly respects) proposed the time-honored solution to West Baltimore’s problems: tear it all down. Robinson dismisses Baltimore’s robust housing stock, “This oppressive inventory of unused—and mostly unusable—housing is both dangerous and depressing.”

This author begs to differ. Baltimore housing is some of the strongest built in the nation, for the simple fact that each individual house in that city’s iconic row after row of buildings is actually just part of one long building. The combined strength of the front, back and party walls make for a strong, cohesive mass, one that can be easily rehabbed since the most expensive aspect of any rebuilding are the structural elements. In Baltimore, the structure is already sound.

Yes, these long rows of houses could be seen as depressing, but this author sees amazing opportunity and versatility. Due to the traditional small size of the average inner city Baltimore row house, it is relatively easy to combine two or three row houses into one new residence, as can be seen in the revitalized Canton neighborhood along Baltimore Harbor. Since the interior fabric of these buildings is lost, the possibility of inventive and versatile new floorplans is endless.

And more importantly, St. Louis shows that demolishing whole neighborhoods has never resulted in the desired effect of increased development. One need only look to St. Louis Place and other North Side neighborhoods where annihilation of the historic fabric of the city has failed to produce any benefits for local residents. Likewise, one must always remember that Soulard, Lafayette Square, and many other South Side neighborhoods were once in the crosshairs of redevelopment. Can anyone with a straight face say that the proposed clear-cutting of those now healthy (and tax-generating) neighborhoods would have benefited the city?

One must also assume that the demolition of the historic environment of Baltimore and St. Louis also results from the belief that “suburbanizing” the urban environment will make it more desirable. The suburbs will always produce more desirable auto-centric environments than the city; why bother trying? This author has been disappointed to see the proliferation of pointless, and often weed-choked front lawns popping up in the front of new commercial construction throughout St. Louis. Demolishing the once and future thriving environment of a city such as Baltimore is short-sighted and defeatist.

Likewise, abandoned buildings are not the cause of urban blight; they’re the manifestation. Demolishing them will not cure the problems that spawned them in the first place. And once they’re gone, they’re gone forever. This author recently gave two visitors from Cedar Falls, Iowa a tour of North St. Louis last weekend. They were inspired and moved by the beauty of St. Louis architecture, even in abandonment and decay. They were not inspired, but rather confused, by the acres of vacant, weed and litter-choked lots interspersed between those same beautiful houses. An abandoned building always represents even the tiniest hope of revival, even if it’s only a 1 percent chance of salvation. In contrast, a vacant lot represents 100 percent failure. Baltimore and St. Louis would be best served to wager on their history in order to create a better tomorrow.

Chris Naffziger writes about architecture at St. Louis Patina. Contact him via email at [email protected].