I have chronicled the tireless migration of retail across
metropolitan landscapes several times in the past; it formed the central topic
of one of my earliest blog posts. Unfortunately, most of my posts have
focused on the blight left by outdated retail typologies: the dead malls,
pockmarked parking lots, blighted strip malls, or (at the very best) the once widely
coveted destinations that are now dominated by check cashing centers and pawn
shops. I’m not trying to dwell on
the negative, but the fact remains that focusing on the less prosperous retail
centers helps to substantiate an already manifest assertion: retail in the US
is more or less always soft. The
supply of new retail options always far exceeds the demand; some have even
argued that developers’ ambitions to construct retail has become completely
untethered from consumer demand, to the point that they are no longer related. Retail locates where the investors see
fit, and those investors can range from experienced developers to an elderly
couple hoping to build a strip mall to provide a nest egg for the grandkids.
Thanks to the almost exponential proliferation of shopping
centers over the last half century, the rules for straight-line depreciation of
a retail outlet tend to employ estimations of about 15 years, meaning that the
average commercial plaza will need a thorough renovation in that time frame if
it is to retain a lucrative market.
In fast-growing metropolitan areas, that number could even be
smaller. But suburban growth
patterns, where decentralization is the primary force acting upon new
settlements, are fairly predictable in nature: an auto-oriented shopping plaza
that still lures top-dollar tenants after 40 years is the exception, not the
norm. I have covered the topic of
metropolitan retail periodically over the years, and at the moment I’m not sure
I have anything new to offer.
But smaller communities are another story altogether. Many of them are static in population;
quite a few are shrinking.
Presumably their retail landscapes would echo these patterns by
demonstrating very little change, right?
An evaluation of the small Louisiana city of Houma (50 miles to the
southwest of New Orleans) would suggest that this is not the case. The region itself is not particularly
depressed; consistent growth in the fishing and petrochemical industries kept
the unemployment rate among the nation’s lowest in the spring of 2009, during
the peak of the Great Recession. It’s unemployment has inched up to above 5.0% since then, but it still remains well below both the state and national rate. It’s relatively vigorous economy, however, is exerting only a
modest impact on population change. Houma itself grew 4.1% from between the
2000 and 2010 Census, and the surrounding parish of Terrebonne grew 7.04%—not
bad, considering Houma suffered through four hurricanes in the last decade, and
even better considering Louisiana’s anemic population growth of 1.4% over this
time frame. But these figures
hardly indicate an oil boomtown comparable to the many that have sprouted like
mushrooms in Texas, or the more recent equivalents in Williston, ND and
Gillette, WY.
Despite relatively modest growth, the retail developments
have relentlessly shifted away from Houma’s town center. This pattern isn’t merely referring to
the hegira of downtown businesses to auto-oriented shopping centers—that
obviously happened decades ago.
The latest phase shows a move from those neighborhood strip malls to a
marginally different automobile oriented typology. The side of Houma west of the Intercoastal Waterway that
bisects the city is both higher income and more heavily populated. Nonetheless, most of the shopping
centers that hug the main street look a bit like this:
Granted, this isn’t an altogether fair example, since this
tired old shopping center sits just a half-mile west of downtown Houma, in what
is visibly the lowest income part of town. But a mile further down State Road 24 is wealthier, and the
strip malls still look the same.
The hobbled giant K-Mart has been in decline for decades
now, to the point that surviving branches only occupy that faded strip malls
that Wal-Mart would have jettisoned from its portfolio long ago. (I blogged about this trend in K-Mart a
few years ago.) The only other major retail
neighbor to K-Mart?
A boarded-up dollar store.
Continuing further down State Road 24, the subdivisions are
conspicuously middle class, but tenants suggest low leasing rates in all the
strip malls. The Southland Mall is hanging on and still boasts
some major chains like American Eagle and Bath and Body Works, but it’s not
exactly thriving:
From my observations during an August visit, the mall is
barely 60% occupied, with particularly high vacancy levels in the wing adjacent
to the long-atrophied department store Sears (a frequent occurrence in malls
with Sears that I blogged about earlier). Many of the other
remaining tenants are mom-and-pop stores; nothing wrong with this in theory but
clearly an indicator that the mall isn’t commanding high rents. The outside strip mall across the
street looks better from a superficial visit; at least it’s heavily occupied.
But the tenant mix is hardly lucrative: temp agency, tax
filing, gold/silver exchange, and not one but two Armed Forces Career Centers. (Both are in operation.) I have no objections to any of these tenants, but Michael
Moore observed almost a decade ago the tendency for military recruiters to seek
low-rent retail space. This
relatively large strip mall does not host a single nationally recognized
tenant.
East Houma, with a mostly older housing stock and a smaller,
less affluent population, predictably shows much of the same trend in terms of
its shopping centers:
Most of the centers are either surviving in poor repair,
struggling with high vacancies, or completely abandoned. East Houma residents still have access
to several reasonably large grocery stores, fast food restaurant chains, a
smaller Wal-Mart, and a handful of basic services, but not a single strip mall
would could be considered flourishing.
My favorite example, however, is the old shopping center
just a few blocks from Houma’s partially revitalized Main Street. It’s proximity to city and parish government
offices fostered an idiosyncratic reinvention:
Yes, a former shopping center with one large anchor has
transformed into administrative offices for city government. However, the City of Houma does not
seem to have renewed its latest lease:
This photographic array of shopping centers at various
levels of neglect does not intend to paint a negative portrait of Houma. Frankly, few onlookers have
demonstrated much sentimentality about the decline of automobile-oriented shopping
centers from the 1960s to the 1980s.
But up to this point, nothing I’ve revealed has suggested a small
metropolitan area with unemployment far below the national average. A map of Houma is essential to
distinguish the Houma’s flourishing retail corridor from its various struggling
pockets.
Almost all of the shopping centers photographed up to this
point have rested within the Houma municipal boundaries; if they haven’t, they
at least were close to large residential developments. (The last photo series, showing the
grocery store converted to City Hall, sits almost exactly where the Red “A”
stake rests on the map.) But the
thriving retail corridor does not intersect with any major subdivisions; it is
removed from the grid. It largely
sits on what was probably cheap land outside the city limits, and it
represented by the red ellipse on the left side of the map: State Road 3040,
called either Tunnel Boulevard or Martin Luther King Boulevard, depending on
the location. Along this arterial,
the commercial landscape looks more like this:
It doesn’t win any awards for aesthetics or pedestrian
accommodation, but it is a prosperous retail corridor by almost every
measurement. It carries some of
the most ubiquitous national brands: Books a Million, Target, Applebee’s,
Chili’s, Best Buy, Hobby Lobby, as well as some emerging brands that
fastidiously avoid sub-par locations, such as a Charming Charlie’s. Predictably, the corridor also contains
a Wal-Mart. I counted only one sizable (over 20,000
s.f.) vacant storefront across the entire strip of more than a mile in
length. This stretch of State Road
3040 has become the official commercial/retail hub for the 100,000 residents of
Terrebonne Parish.
What this proves is that a city with the size and relative
prosperity of Houma can sustain a diverse array of retail that befits its
status as a minor metropolitan area.
(It earns this label through shared economic activity with the smaller
city of Thibodaux, in Lafourche Parish 20 miles to the north; the Houma-Bayou
Cane-Thibodaux Metropolitan Statistical Area contains around 200,000 people.) Empirical evidence suggests that the retail
typology has shifted significantly over the years; using definitions provided
by the Urban Land Institute’s Dollars andCents of Shopping Centers, the standard in Houma has evolved from several smaller neighborhood centers
(averaging 60,000 s.f. in Gross Leasable Area) to a more metropolitan
scale. Like beads on a string, a
series of loosely connected community centers (averaging 150,000 s.f.) function
in aggregate as a regional center of well over one million square feet,
allowing all the national names to stand rank-and-file in an easy display as
motorists cruise by in their vehicles.
Meanwhile, any smaller shopping center that doesn’t fall along this
corridor has kissed national names goodbye, with the exception of perennial laggards
like K-Mart.
While I’d hardly assert that a single community like Houma
can operate as a microcosm for similarly sized metros across the county, it is
not entirely difficult to find other examples in otherwise culturally unrelated
municipalities. My home state of
Indiana has two smaller cities, neither of which can boast an economy as strong
or stable as Houma but are more populous (at least for now). Anderson and Muncie have witnessed a
similar migration of all major retail: in Anderson, most all retail hugs a
two-mile stretch along Scatterfield Road, running just to the east of the older
parts of the city. And the smaller
shopping centers not abutting Scatterfield are typically dying or dead. In Muncie, the commercial main street
is McGalliard Road, an arterial north of the old city center.
Houma and Muncie at least share indications of a reawakening
interest toward specialty retail in their historic downtowns; Anderson cannot
claim such a renaissance at this point.
While the trends on display in these smaller cities may not shed much
light on what’s happening in metros over one million inhabitants—metros with an
extensive network of discretely incorporated suburbs—they at least provide some
added texture to our understanding of the omnipresence of decentralization
forces at work. Automobile
dependency is ostensibly so great that neighborhood shopping isn’t necessary;
in a small city, it is just a convenient to line all the retail up in a row on
a busy high way on the more prosperous side of town. One could critique the thriving commercial corridor of Houma
as mindless sprawl for its appearance and utter disregard for transportation
alternatives, not to mention its apparent avoidance of municipal boundaries
that would require it to contribute to the city’s tax base. But retail supply has long pursued the
latest locational trends to save money and capture a broader clientele, while
leaving the blight of obsolete older typologies in its wake. Whether the shift in Houma is sprawl or
part of a broader regionalist way of thinking (opening the visibility of these
storefronts to all of Terrebonne Parish and not just those who live in Houma),
really depends on how planners and economists contextualize their data.
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