Impeded by byzantine zoning regulations, compliance with historic
preservation standards, or anti-density community activists (aka NIMBYs), infill
development is typically challenging enough to implement in an urban setting. Auto-dependent cities in America—which
are the majority—remain littered with parking lots wedged between two older, surviving
structures that pre-date the car.
Those lots serve as a reminder of the venerable old buildings that once
stood in their place. When cars emerged
as the primary means of getting around by mid 20th century, finding an
easy place to park often became more critical to downtowns than retaining the
buildings that had long been the primary downtown destinations. Today, after much maneuvering and
militant compromises from the original vision, developers have succeeded in
filling in some of the gaps in the downtowns of the more economically healthy
cities, particularly those that have recrafted their city centers as a hub for
entertainment and fashionable urban living.
But what about the small towns? Most of their downtowns suffered at least some of this spot
demolition in order to accommodate car parking and to compete with the mega-markets
that ran roughshod across the cheap land near the outer highway (Wal-Mart being
the favorite culprit). But only a
select few of these small downtowns have enjoyed any sort of economic
renaissance; even fewer have stimulated new infill development. Will these towns ever fill in the gaps,
and, if so, how?
The community of Oberlin, Ohio, about 35 miles southwest of
Cleveland and with a population of 8,200, might offer a solution. It seems to have defied conventions. It’s not the seat of Lorain County, so
it cannot ascribe to the Midwest prototype of a central courthouse square
surrounded on all sides by commercial buildings. But it does have an easily identifiable old commercial
center.
The shape of Oberlin’s downtown demonstrates another method by which it bucks the trends. Unlike most towns of its size, it does not consist exclusively of a linear-oriented main street. The map below highlights the presence of commercial buildings in the town, using the purple outline.
While the epicenter of Oberlin’s small downtown clearly sits
at the convergence of College Street and Main Street, the configuration is unusual. The commercial buildings like the one
featured in the top photo do not spread evenly in each direction to form a
cross or a plus sign; rather, the buildings only stretch to the south side of
the College Street axis, essentially forming a T-shape. One block of South Main Street contains
commercial and civic buildings on both sides of the street, as seen in the
photo below:
Meanwhile, College Avenue’s commercial corridor only rests
on the south side of the street, which includes buildings such as these:
But a pivot to the northwest at the intersection of College
and Main presents the following view:
It’s Tappan Square, a centrally located park. The Google Streetview provides a wide-angle perspective which
shows the main-street typology depends exclusively on one side of the street. It wouldn’t be the first
pedestrian-oriented commercial corridor to succeed despite a lopsided axial
development pattern: Bexley, Ohio, which I explored extensively in the past,
features a thriving commercial artery on the north side of East Main Street and,
along much of the south side, the greenery of Capital University. So does Nassau Street in Princeton, New
Jersey, from where I have written much of this essay: the north side is a very
upmarket retail district; the south side is Princeton University’s primary
campus.
If isn’t obvious already, Oberlin’s tiny downtown offers a
similar dichotomy. In this case,
the north side of College Street hosts the campus of Oberlin College, the esteemed
liberal arts school that assures this municipality a high-profile cultural role
belying its small size. And single-loaded
commercial corridor phenomenon might also explain this streetscape about a
block east from the town’s core intersection, along College Street:
The building in the center of the above photo caught my
attention, because it was clearly much newer than the adjacent building (to the
right in the pic), as well as pretty much every other building in Oberlin’s central
commercial “T”. What was its
story? I made my first assessment
based on its appearance alone. As
buildings in downtown Oberlin go, it’s big.
It smartly abides by the urban design typology of its
kindred downtown buildings, encouraging retail on the ground floor through the
accommodating fenestration, while reserving upper floors for other uses. The photos above confirm the considerable
width of the building along the College Street frontage, but it extends
southward as well:
The back of the building could easily have assumed the
obvious butt-end function reserved for parking, mechanics, or garbage
collection, all presided over by a featureless wall. But it doesn’t. The architects have programmed the alley
space behind the building into an interior courtyard.
A smaller, ancillary building featured in the second of the
two photos helps enclose the space, shielding it from the unsightly parking
lots that predominate the backsides of neighboring buildings, like this example:
I also appears that the designers have cushioned the space
between the sidewalk and the street with some enhanced landscaping.
Judging from those thick thirsty grasses, the greenery here
should help capture and absorb stormwater runoff, putting it to more productive
use than in the municipal storm sewers and preventing it from flowing back to
the watershed in a more polluted form.
The landscaping offers both street-level aesthetics and an environmentally
sensitive alternative to all the paved imperviousness around it. Lastly, the building’s retail frontage
seems to welcome bicyclists…
...though perhaps still not quite enough, since the myriad
bikes parked on the day I visited almost evoked Copenhagen more than an
American college town.
From my own non-expert evaluation, this is a smartly
designed complex, not out of place in a trendy district of a major metropolitan
area. But somehow it ended up in
little Oberlin. And, to top it off,
it is obviously an infill project.
I patronized Café Sprouts, a vegan deli, bakery and juice bar on the first floor, to see if I could get
more information. One of the
employees informed me that the site had hosted a drive-thru Rax Roast Beef
restaurant in the past, but it had been vacant for years and had reduced that
arm of the downtown “T” to a dead zone. The current Google Streetview, from September 2008, perfectly captures the “before” vision, when site planning
for the infill development had just begun. The employee also pointed me to a sign I had up to this point
somehow overlooked:
This told me everything else I needed to know. It took no time at all to find a bevy
of articles, such as this one, to get even more background on the project. Three relatively recent Oberlin grads formed a
development partnership called Sustainable Community Associates just blocks from
their alma mater. Their goal was
to inject life into a long dormant corner of downtown with a high-density,
mixed-use, mixed-income development that also employed environmentally
sustainable practices. The $15
million result, with 33 condos and 20,000 square feet of retail, is seeking
LEED-Neighborhood Development Gold status and hopes to stimulate further
densifying infill in Oberlin where the opportunities arise.
Needless to say, I was taken by this project, which I had
inadvertently stumbled upon during an impromptu first-time visit through the
town. It’s enough to marvel at how
it achieves a superior urban design configuration to 90% of the new
developments that have taken place in my hometown of Indianapolis in recent
year. (To an extent, that is a
subjective judgment call on my part.)
What’s less open for dispute is that such infill is virtually unheard of
in towns of Oberlin’s size.
Surrounded by cornfields in all directions, it is close enough to
Cleveland to fall within the metropolitan area, but still too far to qualify as
a suburb or even a reasonable exurb.
But the town owes most of its idiosyncratic character to its adjacent
college, whose history of left-leaning political activism competes broadly with
its reputation for academic excellence.
While it certainly helps that the brains behind Sustainable Community
Associates went to school there and no doubt forged strong connections to the
community, it’s not every Ohio town that can muster support for a sizable new
LEED certified building, let alone one that accommodates bicycles more visibly
than cars. But most small towns in
Ohio also wouldn’t support a vegan bakery/juice bar called Café Sprouts.
The symbiosis between the developers and the small,
like-minded community helped transcend zoning stipulations or
not-in-my-back-yard obstructionists.
It is hardly surprising that college towns like Oberlin, regardless of
their size or the character of their rural purlieus, often prove the most
successful laboratory for experimentations in infill. They might offer a smaller canvas on which to operate, but
they generally benefit from a more homogenous population and a smaller
artillery of regulations to thwart the savvy designers’ visions. I am fully confident that another five
years will introduce to Oberlin a similarly chic infill project. And I won’t be at all surprised if I
find a Kabbalah Center in the retail on that first floor.
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