Posts about Chicago

I analyzed the 11 heavy rail systems in the United States. Some of these cities also have light rail, commuter rail, or other transit systems, but I didn't count those. That means in Boston, I looked at stations on the Red, Blue, and Orange lines, but not Green. (Why?)

I also combined heavy rail stations from multiple operators in the same region. For example, the Philadelphia score counts both SEPTA and PATCO heavy rail stations. New York's includes PATH and the Staten Island Railway (SIRT).

And the winner is... Los Angeles?

I was surprised by the results. Los Angeles scored the highest! I certainly did not expect that. Though in hindsight, it makes a good deal of sense.

Los Angeles has only 2 heavy rail lines, the Red and Purple lines. Those lines are confined to a relatively small area in the LA Basin, with the exception of 2 stations on the Red Line in the San Fernando Valley. And while Southern California has a reputation for being sprawling, the LA Basin is actually fairly dense, especially where the Metro has been built. As a result, its score isn't dragged down by suburban park and ride stations.

In the same respect, I was surprised that BART scored better than WMATA. Large portions of the DC system serve areas that are urban or urbanizing. In contrast, BART's system is much more suburban-oriented and has very little in the way of urban circulation.

Also surprising is that New York is not an outlier. It does come in a close second to Los Angeles, but I really expected it to be off the charts compared to everyone else. The New York City Subway alone scores 90.47 without PATH and SIRT, still just below LA; SIRT averages 71.45 while PATH is higher, 92.23, but its relatively small size (13 stations) means it doesn't change the New York average even a tenth of a point.

What is not very surprising is that the sunbelt cities (except LA) score more poorly than the more urban older cities (except for Cleveland). Cleveland is at a disadvantage because of the structure of its transit system. The system only has one stop in the central business district, and that station's score isn't that impressive anyway, which harms the average.

Distribution matters

The chart above shows how Walk Scores for stations in each system are distributed. The green bars give the average score. The rectangle shows the 25th and 75th percentiles, and the lines with dots at each end show the highest and lowest Walk Scores for any station in that system.

At the high end, several cities had at least one station (sometimes several) with perfect 100-point scores. The lowest score for any station nationwide was 28 points. Two stations in the Washington region—Arlington Cemetery and Morgan Boulevard—and one station in San Francisco—North Concord/Martinez—had that score.

The distribution is important in understanding how well distributed the well-scoring stations are in the system.

In Washington, the distribution is weighted more toward good-scoring stations, but there are still a lot of poor-scoring stations, too.

Compare that to San Francisco's BART, where there are fewer poor-scoring stations. Instead, there are a large quantity of stations in the middle of the distribution.

New York and Cleveland offer contrast to each other. While most New York stations score very well, Cleveland's don't rank above medium.

Limitations

The Walk Score algorithm is not perfect. It works by calculating the quantities and distances of various amenties. There are other factors which it does not measure that help to define the walkability of an area.

For example, a street grid makes an area much more walkable than a sprawling network of superblocks and culs-de-sac. The quality and proliferation of sidewalks also influences walkability. But these factors aren't currently part of Walk Score; there's no good data file for Walk Score to use that shows where there are and aren't good sidewalks, for example.

Regardless, Walk Score gives us a standard and fairly good measure to compare transit stations (and systems) to each other.

Chicago
Aaron Renn is the Urbanophile, a nationally recognized expert on urban issues, who lives and works in Chicago.

Chicago's Soldier Field is a bit unique among US football stadiums. It exists in the urban center, but not as part of the urban fabric. Rather, it is located in the lakefront park, just south of Roosevelt Road where the Grant Park restriction on buildings is lifted. Because of this restriction, the area actually has several buildings, including the so-called Museum Campus of the Field Museum, Shedd Aquarium, and Adler Planetarium.

Soldier Field has long been cut off from the city by Lake Shore Drive and the Illinois Central Railroad. In fact, the stadium at one point was in the median of the roadway, which split around it. The railroad now provides transit access to the stadium via the Metra Electric line, as do multiple nearby CTA rail and bus lines.

Soldier Field was actually opened in 1924 and while it was used for football games, the Bears actually did not start playing there until 1971. Prior to that they played at Wrigley Field. So whatever the merits or lack thereof of the stadium's location, it has little to do with pro football.

The stadium was extensively reconstructed to be a long term home for the Bears in 2003. As with most teams, they said they could not make enough money in the old stadium. After the typical local debate, it was decided to renovate Soldier Field. But perhaps the term obliterate is more appropriate. The new stadium retained the classical colonnades, but little else.

There is now a completely modern seating bowl that is quite nice. However, the exterior architecture is all modernist glass that presents a jarring contrast with the old stadium, leading some to brand it the "UFO that landed on Soldier Field." This was decried by preservationists but to no avail. Ultimately, the US government stripped Soldier Field of its status as a National Historic Landmark—the highest designation of historic site given by the feds—as a result of this project.

Some might say that a stadium is inappropriate on the lakefront. The classical elegance of the old stadium fit right in gracefully, however. The same cannot be said of the new. However, the lakefront has ample open space, and there's no per se problem with using that land for a stadium. Also, the parking that normally blights stadiums in downtowns is limited to one parking garage used also by the museums, so doesn't go to waste as in so many other cities. Some urbanists might decry it, saying hulking stadiums belong in the suburbs, but Soldier Field has been an integral part of Chicago's lakefront for decades, and few would likely choose to remove it. The new modernist bowl will remain an architectural blight for years to come, however.

Cincinnati
Randy A. Simes earned a Bachelor of Urban Planning degree from the University of Cincinnati in 2009. He is a master planner at CH2M HILL and writes about urban public policy and planning issues for the Cincinnati Business Courier and UrbanCincy.

Through its history, Cincinnati has seen a typical evolution of urban sports venues for American cities. The intersection of Findlay and Western, in Cincinnati's West End neighborhood housed the Cincinnati Reds from 1864 through 1970 in three iterations of ballparks—League Park, Palace of the Fans, and Crosley Field—until the team moved with the Cincinnati Bengals football team to Riverfront Stadium.

The Bengals also spent their first two years playing at Nippert Stadium on the University of Cincinnati's campus uptown. But when the two teams moved to Riverfront Stadium, they followed a national trend of cookie cutter stadiums in urban environments meant to serve as economic development generators. The problem was that the promise never came to fruition in the cities that went after the golden egg.

Most of those same cities have rebuilt their professional sports venues, many in the urban core. But the question still remains whether the return on investment is worth the valuable land for these lightly-used behemoths.

In Cincinnati, the Reds host more than 81 games every year drawing tens of thousands of fans to each event. Additional events are held at the ballpark, and its related attractions, throughout the year that also create a draw. Four blocks away, Paul Brown Stadium, home of the Bengals, hosts 10 games each year in addition to the smattering of high school events and concerts held there annually.

The result is a larger football stadium with far fewer events and a ballpark with more events but smaller crowds. The winner in this case is the ballpark, and the new generation of urban ballparks appears to be as successful as the original wave of urban ballparks in the late 19th century.

The problem with urban football stadiums can be both a structural issue and a programmatic issue. In the case of Paul Brown Stadium it is more about the program. The large, tailgating-bound crowds demand available parking for their pre- and post-game festivities.

In Cincinnati, developers are currently constructing The Banks, a mixed-use urban entertainment node wedged between Great American Ball Park and Paul Brown Stadium and will eventually house thousands of new residents. Before each phase of development begins, it must first have two-floors of underground parking built before it even begins to satisfy the parking demands for the new residents and workers to be housed above.

Once complete, The Banks may set the stage for a truly unique urban sports and entertainment area, one that would have no surface parking and force tens of thousands of sports fans, visiting the area, out onto the streets for live music, food, drink, and festivities. This may end up being Paul Brown Stadium's saving grace.
The beautiful thing about professional sports venues is that they can turn what is otherwise worthless land into something economically productive and thus improve land values in nearby areas. But most often franchise owners often want their venues to be located in prime real estate so that they can maximize their visibility. In Cincinnati that meant handing over prime waterfront property to two large concrete masses that only stay active a fraction of the year.

When other cities examine plans for an urban sports venue of their own, they should keep more in mind than the wishes of the franchise ownership and the promise of skyline shots on national television once or twice a year. Less is more. You want the venue to blend in so that it does not detract from its surroundings when it is inevitably non-active. You want the venue to be versatile so that it can serve other functions beyond that of playing baseball or football. And most importantly, get rid of the parking so that venue's support facilities do not kill what you want the venue to create—economic development.

Seattle
Martin H. Duke is the Editor-in-Chief of Seattle Transit Blog. An Electrical Engineer who grew up in the DC area, Martin has lived in Seattle since 1997.

Seattle, a city of 600,000, is somewhat unique in having not one but two big-time football stadiums within its city limits. One is seldom used, but not in an urban neighborhood; the other is on the edge of downtown but is combined into a bustling event district.

Husky Stadium, home of the University of Washington Huskies, is used for only seven major events a year. However, it is bordered by a lake, the University campus, medical center, and the rest of the athletic complex. Opening in 1920, nothing around it could be remotely described as an urban neighborhood.

However, Husky Stadium also sits on a transportation chokepoint. At one end of only two bridges that provide connectivity with the prosperous eastern suburbs, in the peak dozens of buses pass by each hour on their way to campus, and one of Seattle's few light rail stations will open in its parking lot in 2016. There is a strong case that the land should be used more intensively and the Huskies should share a home with the Seahawks. Regardless, many people treasure an emotional and historical connection with Husky stadium, and the Athletic department has zero interest in such a move. They are privately raising $300 million to renovate the stadium after being rebuffed by a broke state legislature.

Qwest Field was only opened in 2002, but lies on the site of the old Kingdome, built in 1977 upon Seattle's entry into the NFL. The densest part of the downtown core is only blocks away; in between lies the historic Pioneer Square district, dense but low-rise. Beyond Qwest is the Mariners' Safeco Field and industrial-zoned land. Qwest also lies amidst the greatest transportation hub in the Pacific Northwest: light rail, Amtrak, commuter rail, ferries, hundreds of local bus routes, and three freeways all converge there.

Because the Mariners also provide 81 home dates, and the MLS Sounders have had freakishly high attendance at Qwest (36,000 a game!), it's difficult to separate the impact of the NFL from everything else going on. Pioneer Square is a particularly active nightlife district, which meshes pretty well with the sports bar scene. There is a pretty large chunk of social services there, which tends to attract transients and drive off the more squeamish among us.

One promising trend is the disappearance of surface parking. When one stadium turned into two, several surface lots were replaced with two stadium garages. The last remaining major surface lot is slated to become 950 condos and apartments, doubling the number of residents in Pioneer Square to join the jobs, shops, and recreational options already there.

It would be difficult to say that Pioneer Square is thriving, but equally difficult to say that having adjacent regional attractions is hurting it. I think the key lesson is that taking away the moat of parking allows the stadium to be properly integrated into the neighborhood.

Playwright Bruce Norris weaves together many layers besides the main racial plot and the zoning and historic preservation. In fact, the play doesn't even get to race until well into each act, with the characters instead trading entertaining repartee about topics like demonyms while giving the audience a deep insight into the various characters.

In fact, the characters spend more time avoiding difficult subjects than confronting them. Clybourne Park is perhaps more a play about the ways people avoid talking about race, family relationships, and other painful topics, along with the evident discomfort that then arises once circumstances force the issues to the fore. Most of the time, the audience can laugh at, and with, the characters' discomfort; at other times, it becomes so great as to make the audience clearly uncomfortable as well.

There are no clear heroes or villains in Clybourne Park. In the second act, for example, a black female character follows up a moving statement about her family with a reference to conspiracy theories about gentrification, while one of the white male characters replies with an abstract demographic argument that exhibits a real insensitivity to the feelings of those displaced. Everybody is imperfect, sometimes right, sometimes wrong.

I went to the play expecting a thought-provoking investigation of gentrification; I found myself pondering many other subjects as well and thoroughly entertained along the way.

The Woolly Mammoth also reached out to a number of neighborhood blogs like And Now, Anacostia, Borderstan and U Street Girl to discuss the question, "Is your neighborhood Clybourne Park?" Though the play resonates with modern-day gentrification in many neighborhoods across DC, And Now, Anacostia makes the most convincing case that that neighborhood is the closest analogue:

Like Clybourne Park, Anacostia (Historic Anacostia / Uniontown) was an all-white neighborhood until the 1960s. Its businesses and housing stock saw major declines in the second part of the 20th century. And like in Clybourne Park, today there are many people and organizations here in Anacostia that are interested in seeing the neighborhood develop into something that recognizes history, respects its buildings, and fuses new with old.

The theater also is offering $15 discount tickets through those blogs; I'm sure they won't mind if you use the same code, especially since you ought to read those blogs anyway. Use the code 789 to get tickets online, on the phone at 202-393-3939, or at the theater itself at 641 D Street, NW.

Update: Some have reported the code not working online, but still being able to use it over the phone. Or, just pay full price and support the arts if you can afford it.

As Stephen Smith argues in Market Urbanism, the LA deal lets the partner manage the garages, but only for the purpose of parking cars. There's considerable additional value in the properties if they're used as housing or offices, perhaps with underground or internal parking, but the contract prohibits it.

LA's contract would last for 50 years. Should the city decide 25 years from now that it would rather use the space for something better, they're stuck. They might be able to renegotiate the contract or include options for termination (details aren't available, or are not yet decided), except for the second big flaw in this privatization plan: they'll spend almost all the money up front.

This isn't a deal where the private operator runs the garages at a greater profit and shares the proceeds with the city. Instead, this deal has the operator paying about $189 million in one lump sum payment, along with small revenue shares in future years. If the city decides it's ready for something other than parking, they'll presumably have to repay the initial payment. Maybe the land would fetch so much money that it could cover the debt, but what if they want to build a school, or affordable housing?

Chicago's 75-year parking meter deal also promised the vendor revenue from all existing parking spaces. If they decide to conduct some construction or hold a street fair, they have to reimburse the vendor, with even greater penalties if they want to remove parking spaces to create a bicycle facility, bike racks, wider sidewalks, bulb-outs, sidewalk cafe space, or anything else.

Chicago's deal also provided a single lump sum, and as you might expect, the city couldn't resist spending it. 2/3 is already gone after the first year. That saddles all future leaders with the debt from the past constraining their choices about their own public space. They can't make choices freely, because officials long dead chose to solve the past's budget problems with the future's money.

Elected leaders seem to find more and more ways to borrow from their children and grandchildren. We finance construction and transportation projects with bonds, transfer preventative maintenance dollars to operating expenses, sell off public facilities and lease them back, and more. Financing actual infrastructure and economic development can make sense because it facilitates greater economic growth in the future to make back the investment. But using future parking meter or garage revenue for today's budget hole doesn't grow the pie one bit. Instead, it just adds new obstacles to making the pie sweeter in the future.