I can’t resist the occasional opportunity to showcase egregious
impediments on sidewalks, particularly in locations where it seems like the
arguments for pedestrianism are strongest, like in the downtown of this country’s
29th largest metropolitan area, Kansas City, Missouri.
The east side of Grand Boulevard just north of East 10th
Street offers a continuous, urban street wall abutting a generous sidewalk, but
what’s going on with those planters to the left of the two pedestrians in the
distance? It’s possible that in
early October when I took these photos, the seasonal plantings had already
retreated, but it does seem strange that it’s hard to find even a blade of
grass in any of them. They’re
bulky and imposing on their own terms, but the lamps spaced between every other
planter box—bearing a passing resemblance to the emergency lighting commonly
seen on university campuses—are the real puzzler here. The lighting narrows the gap among the
already meager intervals between planter boxes, discouraging all but the skinniest
pedestrians from squeezing through at the spaces that are still free of
lamps. In short, it forms a wall
separating the street from the sidewalk.
It’s a safe bet that the planters are more of a deterrent to
jaywalking than a decorative object.
As this Google Streetview from June 2011 indicates, even during more
verdant times, the investment in maintaining the
shrubbery is minimal. The more
recent photo suggests that whoever manages these planters has extirpated most
of the bushes altogether. I’m not
such a pro-pedestrian ideologue that I believe jaywalking should be acceptable
under any circumstances, but this big of a partition between the sidewalk and
the road serves to inhibit lateral movement even when there is very little
vehicular traffic—like 5:45 pm when I took this photo. It vaguely resembles the curbside fences
one finds in authoritarian Singapore to prevent jaywalking.
Stepping back to the other side of 10th Street
reveals that the impediment is even more elaborate than the first photo
indicated.
Right at the crosswalk sit four more cylindrical planters,
ostensibly squeezed in almost as an afterthought. Did the boxes along the sidewalk prove insufficient? My suspicion is that these corner
plantings intend to discourage “curb jumping”, when a vehicle a large hitch
turns the corner too tightly. Last
year, with the help of photographer Nicolette English, I pointed out a numberof rural examples where semis had clearly jumped the curb
with their hitches, causing damage
to infrastructure (and, most likely, to their hitch). In many older downtowns, the narrowness of the road already
imposes a certain degree of caution among truckers, but many of Kansas City’s
streets are wide enough that they depend on other obstructions in order to
protect crosswalk signs, streetlights, and other sensitive streetscape devices. In addition, the small radius created
by the design of the curb already requires a sharp turn to maneuver here, so
it’s hard to imagine a large vehicle could turn right onto Grand Boulevard from
10th Street at high speed.
Whatever the intent of the concrete planters in terms of
separating transportation modes, they create an unambiguously negative effect
at this intersection. Again,
Google Streetviewdepicts the intersection during sunnier skies, but meager greenery only does so
much to mitigate the appearance of a small fortification surrounding this
already imposing building (with metal bars on all the windows, no less). Bear in mind, at this corner the
sidewalk’s junction with the intersection allows for a crosswalk—traversing the
road would not qualify as jaywalking under any circumstances. But the design of these planters
obscures the access from an already faded crosswalk, so that a pedestrian
unfamiliar with the environment may question whether he or she is allowed to
cross. Wheelchair dependent persons
would likely find it particularly difficult to negotiate from the street up the
curb, since the grade change seems big enough potentially to violate ADA
standards—it’s not a perfectly smooth ramp up to the sidewalk—and may help to
explain a puddle during an otherwise dry period. But then the wheelchair still has to maneuver around those
curvy planters. Just look at how
unaccommodating it is from this angle:
If anything, this enhancement to the streetscape carries
with it an ancillary goal: to deflect attention from the fact that Grand
Boulevard is alarmingly devoid of life.
After all, I took these photos just after the close of the workday. My suspicion is that most downtowns can
claim far more street trees, benches, planters, decorative lights and
informational signage than they ever did in the 1940s, for example—those days
when downtowns were still the hub of commerce. In an era when downtown Kansas City was the epicenter for
agribusiness across a broad swath of the Great Plains, these sidewalks would
have been flooded with people, and the installation of planters would not just
have seemed unnecessary, it would have been a downright irritation. These days, although the city’s center
has benefited from heavy investment in an attempt to enliven the downtown and
encourage residences (most notably through the high profile Power and Light District), many of the historic buildings in the northern half remain underutilized if
not altogether vacant. The notion
that a throng of pedestrians will need to cross 10th Street at Grand
Boulevard is a pipe dream, so impediments like these survive, both to endow
some deliberate sidewalk clutter in the absence of pedestrians and also because
so few pedestrians are there to flag this as an obstacle.
By no means am I intended to denigrate Kansas City
exclusively here—urban settings share this same self-defeating dichotomy across
the country and at a variety of scales.
For example, I pointed out a costly streetscape enhancement project inthe small town of Edinburgh, Indiana a few years ago, which helped populate the main street with trees, lights, hanging
flowers—everything but people.
Sometimes the nuanced placement of these enhancements is all it takes to
morph them from an enticement toward street life to a repellent. Many cities in developing countries
will strike the typical American eye as far more vibrant in terms of busy
sidewalks, yet their impecunious municipal governments rarely have the money
for all those fancy benches, trees, or landscaping. But they do have obscene traffic, exacerbated by the glut of
jaywalking pedestrians. No doubt
the aesthetic distinctions between densely populated chaos and sterile order
owes a great deal to individual preferences, but just imagine if each one of
those planters along Grand Boulevard were transformed into a person: the
character of the street would change dramatically. It’s not just that it would host organic life—it already
does that when the plants are in season and maintained—but the street would
host mobile, volitional living things, just like it does at the Power and Light
District a few blocks away. All
the concrete-encased landscaping in the world can substitute for that.
4 comments:
My guess is that the planters are there not to discourage jaywalking, but as counter-terrorism infrastructure to protect the Federal Reserve Bank of Kansas City. The anti-pedestrian qualities, though very real, are likely incidental.
Thanks for the clarification, DB--not knowing much about the building I photographed during my very brief visit downtown, I suspect you're right. Those planters would certainly work better at fending off a truck bomb than your average benches and street trees. Given that standoff distances for counter-terrorism usually require much, much more distance between the right-of-way and the building itself, these planters are probably the best they can do given the urban setting...a complete relocation of the Federal Reserve Bank notwithstanding.
This is a test of such: http://dictionary.reference.com/
Test again of hyperlinking
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