Rethinking the Office Park

For my Contemporary Architecture class this semester, every two weeks I write a response to our readings and the topics in class.  I've found the assignments interesting, so I'm sharing my writings with you.

Every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoons, en route to Boston’s North Station via the Commuter Rail, I pass by a most dreadfully soulless corporate office park in Cambridge.  I wonder who ever decided to call some unadorned brick, concrete and glass structures surrounded by a sea of asphalt in the middle of no place distinctive a “park.”  A new T station opened in the 1980s and some companies decided to plop a few mid-rise buildings nearby with little attention to context, the human scale, or any measure of livability.  Unfortunately this is the postmodern architecture, in all its blandness and lack of social consciousness.  Recently a high-end condominium developer has constructed a dense complex called CambridgePark (what else?), but why would anyone want to live there?  Sure, you have access to the T, but only if you’re willing to walk past the monster of a parking garage across the street.  The reading in our first two weeks of class that interested me the most was "Architecture and Politics in the Reagan Era: From Postmodernism to Deconstructivism" by Mary McLeod for explaining this architecture. 

The link between the politics of the Reagan presidency and the postmodern architecture of the time makes a great deal of sense.  The office buildings at CambridgePark have no social vision and aspire to no universal social order other than the 9-to-5 workday of the professional.  The McLeod reading points out the spike in commercial property completions in the early eighties, enabled by the deregulation of business in America by Reagan.  At the same time, the modernist desire to provide housing for the poor waned, with fewer apartments built under the Section 8 low-income housing program each year from 1982-87.  The change in values from social aims to material aims is architecturally evident at CambridgePark as well.  Across the Alewife Brook Parkway are the Rindge Towers—high-rise public housing buildings constructed in typical modernist tower-in-a-park fashion.  Today buildings like these are plagued with rodents and roaches, but they stand for a noble aim of housing those less fortunate in a decent building with plenty of sunlight and space outdoors.   

In the Eighties, architecture was used by corporations for grabbing attention.  The office buildings of CambridgePark, while bland now, were probably considered quite slick in their day, with glass atriums and alternating horizontal bands of glass and stucco, brick, or concrete.  Companies that lacked the capital to build skyscrapers downtown could construct a larger building with an abundance of parking outside the city.  The Reagan administration, preferring a limited government approach in virtually all matters, lacked a policy to strengthen America’s cities, so the suburbs prospered.  Although the two main buildings at CambridgePark were constructed in 1985 and ’86, they lack the decoration that refers to traditional American architecture and characterizes much postmodern architecture, as also stated by Diane Ghirardo in Architecture After Modernism. 

I believe that this discrepancy points to a transitionary period in the 1980s into which many buildings like the CambridgePark offices exhibit the negative qualities of both modernism and postmodernism.   From modernism they take the poor urban contextualization, anonymous appearance, and lack of regional characteristics in design.  From postmodernism they take the lack of social aspiration, materialist corporatism, and meaninglessness.  While AT&T could afford to hire Philip Johnson to design his famous Chippendale-topped skyscraper for New York, most corporations could not afford such bold postmodern statements.  The result was a boring mix of modernism and postmodernism.  However, poststructrualism is creeping into the area around this corporate office “park.”  Today it’s not so sure about its identity as a single-use commercial zone.  With the new condominiums next door you can live right next to work and not miles away—so sometimes it’s a residential neighborhood.  The Alewife Bike Path connects the T station to neighboring communities, and it’s in the process of expansion—so sometimes it’s an active recreation park.  These modern-postmodern straddling buildings may soon become much more unsure about their identities and drift into the realm of the confused postmodern.

Color is Better: A look at transit maps

Here in the Boston area we have what is, by American standards, a good commuter rail system.  It runs on weekends and holidays, it has a decent on-time performance, it can work for reverse commuting (trains run out of the city in the morning and in to the city in the evening, and it runs at off-peak hours for non-work related trips.  It's also really big.  I don't think its size is appreciated enough.  Why does this matter?  I believe it can affect ridership, even if only a little bit.  It's also a matter of pride and ownership.  If Boston area residents have pride in their rail system as a valued and vital resource linking their communities, then I believe they will be more likely to invest in it.  What's my suggestion?  Re-work the maps.

Here we have the standard MBTA system map.  Each purple line is a commuter rail line, running in and out of Boston through either North or South Station.  The thin, colored lines are the subway and light rail lines.  You can see how the lines relate to the bay, but the other three sides of the map might as well lead to an empty abyss.  Why not include an inset map showing how the MBTA Commuter Rail provides service to a large piece of the state?




Here we have a map of the commuter rail system from Wikipedia.  It shows the lines in purple and the area the MBTA services in pink.  The core city is a darker shade and the closer suburbs are in a middle shade.  It's not essential to the traveler, but it gives the viewer a better idea of the area the trains service.  Add a few major cities and it might give people a good impression of the system's size and all the people it can potentially service. 

This is the Copenhagen metro area transit map.  The subway lines are the thick yellow and green lines.  The regional trains are the gray lines, and the local trains are dark blue.  The most colorful lines on the map represent the S-Tog lines, the suburban train system most comparable to the Boston's Commuter Rail.  In my opinion, the spectrum of color gives you a better sense of the number of lines and their distance.

You could argue that the MBTA Commuter Rail lines shouldn't be colored because they're part of a secondary system of lesser quality than the "T" subway lines.  It's true that the S-Tog trains run every 20 minutes all day, except for peak-hours when they run every 10.  It's also true that the S-Tog is all-electric (no nasty diesel fumes).  Still, my hypothesis is that change can work differently.  Instead of using colors to show the investments we've made, use colors to increase support for investment.

Here's an MBTA Commuter Rail system diagram in many colors, created by a Wikipedia user.  It's not a map, but it shows the lines and stations.  Doesn't it make the system seem larger?  Look at all those lines and stations!  As a Brandeis student, my station isn't just some place on a purple web.  It's a station on the red rail line.  I can look at the map and better identify the stops along my line (aka all the places the train can take me).  It's unique, it's my line.

For a fair comparison, I've provided the closest official example I could find, the MBTA zone diagram.

Couple coloring the lines with thickening them (make them look important, like the primary means of getting around) and you've got a better map, in my opinion.  Include some more lines to show the trains that don't run the full lines (e.g. North Station to South Acton rather than Fitchburg) and it's even better.

The colors will have a different psychological effect on each person, but I believe that one thing most everyone could take from it is a greater appreciation for the wonderful resource we have in Eastern Massachusetts known as the MBTA Commuter Rail.

Could you see Boston making changes like these?

Expanding on the last post about the conservatism in urban design in the Commonwealth, I found this video about shared streets in Auckland, New Zealand.  They're based on successful designs in Denmark by Gehl Architects.  I had the amazing privilege to learn from two architects of that firm last semester. Perhaps someday I could bring streets like these to Holyoke or Cambridge, but not to Boston.

Massachusetts: Too Conservative?

Sure, Massachusetts leads when it comes to civil rights or protecting the environment, but I've learned during my time as a planner-in-training that when it comes to transportation, the Commonwealth is quite conservative.

Yesterday at work, I spoke with a colleague about the state and possible reconstruction of Longfellow Bridge, also known as the Salt-and-Pepper-Shaker Bridge due to the shape of its central towers, between Boston and Cambridge.  The current configuration of the bridge, the cross-section of which you can view here, includes the MBTA Red Line running in 27' down the middle, two vehicle travel lanes on each side taking up between 48' and 51'8", a 3'-3'6" shoulders doubling as bicycle lanes, and a sidewalk of 10' on one side and 6' on the other.

The first problem is the narrower sidewalk, which while at some points has 6 feet of width, narrows down to about 2 feet at one point with a light pole right in the middle.  The second problem relates to the cars.  The bridge, considering its location, carries very few cars.  Around twice as many people pass over the bridge using mass transit than private automobiles.  This begs the question, why are there four vehicle travel lanes?  Not only is such a mix unsustainable, it's also unnecessary.  I understand that there needs to be enough room for one vehicle to pass another in emergencies, but that does not necessitate another whole travel lane.

Make less room for cars and what do you get?  Fewer cars.  Longfellow desperately needs to be reconstructed, so let's transform Longfellow Bridge into a 21st century travel way, with one vehicle travel lane each way, wide bicycle lanes and wide sidewalks.  None of the proposed alternatives include closing vehicle lanes permanently.  However, as my co-worker pointed out, vehicle travel will be reduced to one lane each way for prolonged periods during construction--why not just leave it like that?

The Red Line will also require shifting during the rebuild, which will be very expensive.  Instead of shifting the tracks multiple times to get it back in its original position, shift them just once or twice and use the opportunity to  change the configuration.  Change one side of the bridge into a dedicated way for pedestrians and bicyclists and leave the other side for cars.  The Longfellow already offers the best view of Boston--you'd even be able to turn it into a tourist attraction!  Unfortunately the City of Boston and the Massachusetts Highway Department lack the vision to make the change.  It makes me wonder whether I could do transportation planning in the Commonwealth without becoming horribly frustrated in trying to fight the culture. 

Other examples of conservative transportation planning: PVTA won't consider light rail, the MBTA insists on bus rapid transit instead of new subways and won't electrify the commuter rail, and the legislature won't consider raising the gas tax.  Boston still lags on bicycle policy & action, and I'm not sure that the idea occurs to a single public official to substitute street parking for real bicycle lanes or even to restructure street parking pricing.

Bicycling to the Grocery Store, Take II

Today I made my second fossil fuel-free grocery-getting trip using my bicycle. I'd like to give five reasons why doing my shopping by bicycle is working and five reasons why it isn't working.

How it works:

1. It's great for the environment. Bicycling is the most efficient mode of transportation humans have ever invented.
   
2. It contributes to better physical health and makes me feel good.
3. Round trip, it's only 2.2 miles and mostly flat.
4. Hannaford, the supermarket I frequent, is located on Main Street in Waltham, so I can stop at CVS and other local businesses in the same trip.
5. The busiest road I take (South St) is wide enough and the traffic goes slowly enough that I feel fairly comfortable bicycling.
   

How it doesn't work:

1. I can only carry one (large reusable) bag of groceries on my rear rack. Even with just the one bag, the situation is rather precarious because it fits into a cardboard box I rigged onto the rack.
   
2. My rear rack is attached only to my seat post and not the rear hub. Under the weight of all the groceries, the bottom of the rack rubs the rear tire on even the smallest bumps in the road.
3. South St, while having relatively slow-going traffic, does not have bicycle lanes or even a marked shoulder. Drivers feel like they own the entire road.
   
4. The weather is great now (70 degrees and sunny), but in a month or two the conditions won't be so great for bicycling.
5. Most times when it occurs to me that I need to shop for groceries I'm at least a little hungry. It's not so great bicycling on an empty stomach.
   

My Gas Tax Donation

This June, out of frustration over that sad state of public transit in America, I decided to charge myself $0.50 on every gallon of gasoline I bought for the summer and donate the money to a pro-transit organization. At the time I wrote:

Do you think America needs better public transportation? Me too, but our local, state, and federal governments lack the vision to plan it and the political will to fund it. I'm not talking about maintaining current service levels during the recession, nor am I referring to a 10 or 20 percent increase in funding. I'm talking about investment in the system we need for our future. Currently the federal gas tax is 18.4 cents, a figure which hasn't risen since 1993. Massachusetts adds an additional 41.9 cents. In Europe, taxes can amount to over 70% of the cost of fuel, but in America they make up only around 25% of the cost. Unless we pay more at the pump, we cannot reduce the collective miles we drive, nor can we afford bicycle lanes, trams, trolley buses, or trains.

In light of my representatives' inaction, I have created my own gas tax. For every gallon of gasoline I buy, I will contribute 50 cents--nearly doubling the taxes I currently pay--to an organization that promotes more sustainable transportation options. I haven't chosen the group yet, but I am thinking of Reconnecting America, the National Complete Streets Coalition, and the LivableStreets Alliance. I invite you to join me in my small effort towards creating a more sustainable and liveable America.

The summer has now ended, and I saved $49.18 for my cause. I decided to round that up to an even $50 and donate the money to the LivableStreets Alliance. It was at the top of my list along with WalkBoston for Massachusetts-based organizations promoting more sustainable transportation. I'm working for WalkBoston starting this September, so it seemed to make more sense to donate to LivableStreets.

From the LivableStreets Alliance website:

LivableStreets Alliance is a non-profit organization that believes urban transportation has the power to make Metro Boston more connected — and more livable. We challenge people to think differently and to demand a system that balances transit, walking, and biking with automobiles. We promote safe, convenient, and affordable transportation for all users in urban Boston. Streets that are enjoyable to use will better support neighborhoods and business districts.

Now that's an organization worthy of the money from my gas tax. Hopefully in the future we can get our elected representatives to raise the state and federal gas taxes to benefit our public transportation agencies directly.

The Saab Returns

I'd say it was about due. I hadn't paid for a costly repair on my Saab for two years. Last Friday it overheated and blew a coolant hose with a big "POP!" in my lucky spot--right across from the AIC campus in Springfield. It spewed green coolant all over the road and the engine compartment. Although I won the Model Congress competition on the campus, on the opposite side (State St) I was robbed and nearly carjacked three and a half years ago. I should probably avoid that area in the future. My friend Emily was visiting me, too, so it was rather embarrassing. At least it happened during the day, because the abandoned house at the spot where I pulled over was marked on the sidewalk with "CRIPS" and the 6-pointed star. Oh, Springfield... Thankfully my folks pay for AAA membership, so I had a free tow.

After a few days with Walts Brothers Auto in West Springfield, the Saab is back with me! I really do love my car... I just wish I could live without it. I've owned it since I was 16, when it gave me my freedom from suburbia. I have a special emotional bond to my Saab (her name is Suzy). There's nothing like turning a corner and hitting the accelerator at 25mph in second gear for a huge boost from the turbo, making a shot for 50. I doubt that you could find a car of the same age (14 years) that's just as much fun and still gets 32mpg on the highway. Despite my strong bond with Suzy Swede and all of the fun she gives me, owning a car is still a big headache. It's also not environmentally-friendly. I dream of living car-free in a truly walkable neighborhood, where I can walk to everything including my job. For any place not within walking distance, I want to be able to ride my bike or take the train. I talk a lot about selling my car. I might actually do it when I go to grad school. Still, I face the emotional dilemma of most any other American who might want to give up their car because of the money, the hassle, the environment, or any other reason but has a hard time going through with it because in our culture we love our cars.