urban

A Small Town Perspective on City Growth

bo.white — Sat, 04 Jun 2011 14:44:54 -0700

A May 2007 article from the Economist still seems like one of the better surveys of urban growth that I have read.

With that said, let me give a bit of a personal perspective and see if this resonates with anyone. Until I was 17 years old, I lived in a town of less than 5000 people in Northern Illinois. No one asked what school I went to, there was only one option. The only major fast food chain was Hardee's and Main Street was truly the main street. Over the years, I have seen the exodus of people my age and younger leave to head to Chicago, the nearest big city or to the four cornes of the earth. Why? First, two major factories shut down. The General Electric and Ethan Allen factories, which used to employ about a third of the town, each closed. Secondly, the surrounding areas were also hit with not lack of people, but lack of opportunity. Cities kept changing; small towns, well, did not. And it's this dynamic that haunts my hometown.

What makes any small town fun to be from is the fact that not much changes. It's reliable and in my case, it's home. Parades down Main Street display the homecoming queen and returning Veterans from international wars. Most of the town still shows up for high school football games and the pace of life is still more in line with the farm community than any of the local doctors or lawyers. In the morning, you can see restaurants packed with farmers discussing politics, religion, and the town gossip over coffee and some kind of biscuit drenched in gravy. That's important, by the way, both the coffee (because farm work starts way too early for most sane people) and the biscuit drenched in gravy (what else is going to soak up the sausage grease after the hash browns are gone?).

In a recent trip to see my parents, some of the Main Street shops are boarded up and the small businesses are struggling. I can still catch up on most of the town news by lingering at the front of the only grocery store in town, but life is getting to be more and more difficult. The hope of youth is not as prevalent and the security of living one's whole life in familiar territory is also fading. The relational beauty of a small town is being tested by the economic realities of our globalizing culture. Interestingly, I find that many people in cities want to be connected as if they were in a small town. They want predictable, reliable relationships and a culture that embraces them from day one. They want to come 'home' and not simply be one of the millions that walk the streets in search of a home. Yet, no city will return to former days. No, we're on the fast paced track of heading toward the future, whatever that future may be.

Small towns, though, are not in a rush toward anything, rather they often resemble a long walk with friends where the journey is more fun than the arrival. And to me, small towns are being left behind not simply because of business decisions to outsource or relocate, but because a certain pace, a certain lifestyle is also being left behind. It's not enough to be a thriving farm community that produces a good crop, today you must raise chickens who have been accelerated way beyond what any normal bird should endure and you must produce enough corn, not simply to eat, but to utilize for corn syrup, ethanol, and a host of other, well, convenient uses. Are their problems in a thriving small town? Sure. When my parents divorced it took no time at all for news to travel and the awkwardness with some neighborhoods still lingers for all involved. Some friends have never left, nor will they ever leave, so to try to explain why I have moved around a bit and have traveled to over 15 countries is sometimes irrelevant.

City growth is here to stay and it's doubtful that there will be any flight to return to small town life or a slower pace of life, unless, of course, that becomes prosperous or economically advantageous. Of course, I am part of the engine that drives this change or at least I have temporarily bought into the lie that progress is more urban than a small town. I do wonder, though, if urban growth can truly sustain our relational need to know and be known? Will we take the time to truly be present with one another and not simply walk on by on the way to somewhere else? Surely, only time will tell. How much time you have? Well, that's probably up to you.

thanks...

What Urban Outfitters Reveals About Their Customers

Nick Bogardus — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 11:08:12 -0700

In the same way you can learn about what someone values by what they buy, you can learn about a group by looking at what a store sells them.

URBN

Urban Outfitters has 130 stores in the US, Canada, and Europe. On January 31st, Urban Outfitters Inc. reported $1.94 Billion in annual revenue (nearly doubled in the last 4 years). Their website claims that their "established ability to understand our customers and connect with them on an emotional level is the reason for our success." They also claim to offer a "lifestyle-specific shopping experience for the educated, urban-minded individual in the 18 to 30 year-old range".

Whenever Kim and I are down in the University District I like to stop by Urban Outfitters and look at their displays. The most basic thing I noticed a few months ago were that their non-clothing items can be broken into a few categories: books, photography, music, toys, household, and drinking.

Toys, Bowl Movements, & Me

Yesterday, after a trip to the dentist we did a quick run-through and here's the glimpse of what connecting with the educated, urban-minded individual on an emotional level looks like.

Toys

Pee, Poo, & Bongs

Which is probably why I'm curious about what my poo is telling me.

A theologian and media-ecologist I read recently made the point that in a society immersed in the trivial and inconsequential, the only responses most of our culture are left with are irony and cynicism. When nothing matters, when everything feels fleeting and insignificant, how can people not be sarcastic and disenchanted? Similarly, in a recent article, the Atlantic described Omega Males like this: "He can be sweet, bitter, nostalgic, or cynical, but he cannot figure out how to be a man."

Maybe that's where this section comes in...

Labeled pint glasses and flasks.

The glasses aren't just labeled, they're labeled with titles like slut, pimp, ho, bitch, and hot mess, and slogans like "My Life Sucks". Someone could say that they're supposed to be ironic but that's my point. If nothing matters, if everything is trivial and transitional, why not label oneself a slut, study my poop, and play with nostalgic toys from our childhood. Maybe you don't own any of the above products but think about how those attitudes might pervade your friends or those around you.

When Urban Outfitters began, they were criticized for selling thrift store clothes back to hipsters for exorbitant prices. Somehow we missed that they've morphed into a corporation that sells our own cheap irony, cynicism, self-absorption, triviality, and nostalgia back to us at a far greater cost.

THE WIRE: Small Screen, Big Picture

Craig Detweiler — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 18:54:46 -0700

Looking for a TV series to dig into this summer? Check out the five seasons of THE WIRE on DVD. Several of my friends have been blow away by the depth of characters and compassion generated by this riveting series. I write about it in a new book, SMALL SCREEN, BIG PICTURE, edited by Diane Winston. It chronicles how religious impulses are lived out on shows like The Sopranos, Lost, Deadwood, and Battlestar Galactica. I deal with David Simon’s acclaimed series, The Wire. Here is a small excerpt from my chapter:

Once upon a time, I cared about the inner city. Back in the 1980s, I started an urban Young Life program in my hometown, Charlotte, North Carolina. Our team of volunteer leaders joined the efforts of Progressive Baptist Church. Each afternoon, Reverend Charles Mack opened his church’s doors to the teenagers from Dalton Village, the public housing project across the street. We offered tutoring, games, and occasional field trips. The teens wore out the carpet and broke a few chairs, but Reverend Mack considered that a small price to pay for offering a safe haven from the street corners.

For a wealthy city with a booming economy, Charlotte had an alarming murder rate amongst the black community. I crossed over the tracks to tutor teens at Progressive Baptist in an effort to put my faith into practice. I remember joining a casual game of pick up basketball in the middle of Dalton Village. Beepers lined the court, signs of the players’ trade. When they weren’t shooting hoops, they were slinging drugs, just a beep away from their boss or a hungry client. They all seemed too young to be in business. They were flunking math in school, but practicing the economic law of supply and demand.
Yet, amidst such active drug dealers, I never feared for my safety. An assault or robbery of a white male would bring inordinate attention to the drug trade in Dalton Village. But how could an after-school program combat the systemic roots of a complex problem? Did I merely serve as a conduit for white guilt, an easy way for donors to feel like they were supporting the inner city? I positioned myself as a youth minister who demonstrated a different side of ‘the man.’ The teens feared the police, but welcomed me. While many in the white community considered my efforts to offer tutoring and friendship ‘brave’, the true courage came from young men and women who dared to get up in the morning and face another day on the court of life.
The endangered species on that basketball court was the young black male, guys like James Owens, who admitted, “I don’t expect to reach sixteen.” The basketball players shot fast, played hard, aware that this game of hoops was only a temporary respite from a much more brutal game they were playing in Dalton Village. Reverend Mack’s best efforts to shelter James proved ineffective. James never celebrated his sixteenth birthday. He may have played a prank on the wrong person, acted a bit too much of ‘the fool.’ Or James may have been guilty of nothing more than growing up in the crossfire of west Charlotte. He was the first of far too many Dalton Village teens I befriended and Reverend Mack buried. Success proved elusive.
The acclaimed television show, The Wire, delves into a similar neighborhood, rooted in the experiences of white cops and Anglo reporters, who covered the streets of Baltimore in the late 80s. It is an examination of the failed war on drugs, told with passionate, prophetic rage. It offers moments of genuine humanity amidst a sea of hopelessness. Religion offers scant comfort compared to the crippling effects of ‘the game’, the drug trade that threatens to swallow cops and robbers. Viewers searching for signs of life must look closely amidst a culture of death. Yet, the individuals treading the wire between law and order press on, despite the odds.

Variety suggested that, “When television history is written, little else will rival The Wire.” Slate magazine went even further, calling The Wire “surely the best TV show ever broadcast in America.” So, why has it failed to develop a broad following? Despite nearly universal critical acclaim, The Wire has attracted comparatively few viewers and no Emmys. Perhaps its vision of the American city is perceived as too angry, too negative or too hopeless. The Wire explores America’s shifting priorities from the costly ‘war on drugs’ to the post 9/11 ‘war on terror’. The Wire examines the collateral damage of these un-winnable wars amongst America’s underclass, specifically within Baltimore. The Wire chronicles the collapse of Baltimore’s ports, the rise of drug barons, the ineffectiveness of the educational system and the complicity of the media.

So get the book. And for a compelling introduction to the HBO series, check out Bill Moyers’ interview with series creator, David Simon here.