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When the trade towers fell, New Yorkers shunned Times Square and gravitated to traditional urban places.
By Roberta Brandes Gratz
February 2002
When the World Trade Center towers fell and New Yorkers felt the need to
come together--to share pain, seek comfort, feel connected--they didn't
go to Times Square, the spontaneous gathering spot of earlier eras captured
in so many iconic photographs. Instead they gravitated to traditional urban
places: parks, brownstone stoops, sidewalks, the steps of public buildings,
local coffee shops. Even though too much of New York has been turned over
to mall culture, the city remains a world-class model of the old urbanism.
That is the secret of its resilience, the reason for its endurance, and
the heart of the spirit that had the world in awe after the WTC calamity.
With its chain stores, sterile office towers, and formula hotels, Times Square
no longer represents the old urbanism. What once made the neighborhood
appealing to New Yorkers and visitors is gone --that combination of large and
small businesses, rehearsal studios, musical instrument stores, photographers,
costume makers, and scenery designers that were part of the surrounding theater
district. The remaining historic theaters--saved from demolition only a few
years ago--are the only things left there that are truly New York, and even
they need a scheduled event to bring people together. Indeed Times Square is no
longer an authentic New York place, even if all the digitally dazzling lights
and signage give the impression from a distance that it is.
Union Square Park, at 14th Street and Broadway, is where so many gathered
after the disaster. Some came just to be with other people; others to express
rage, display their patriotism, or protest the nation's emerging warlike
posture. A statue of George Washington served as a shrine where candles,
flowers, and photos could be left in memory of those lost. And yet
30 years ago Union Square Park was given up for lost and taken over by petty
criminals. The surrounding area had fallen out of favor. Then in 1976 a
farmers' market opened, drawing from small regional farms. The Greenmarket,
as it's now called, was the vision of one man, Barry Benepe. Now an international
model (and there are more than two dozen around the city), it was met with
official skepticism and resistance when it opened.
The Greenmarket was the catalyst for neighborhood revival, bringing a cross
section of people to mingle in old urban ways, attracting first-class
restaurants thrilled to have easy access to fresh produce, and stimulating
the upgrading of many buildings for residential and commercial use. The
city government redesigned the park back to its pedestrian-friendly roots,
and new businesses of all kinds opened in the surrounding district. Today
the neighborhood encompasses a healthy mishmash of uses. An intricate multifaceted
life exists here, where the varied components are interdependent in complex
ways and not overly dependent on any one use. This is the kind of diversity
that sustains urban districts. Nothing is static.
So in crisis New Yorkers didn't retreat in isolation behind gates and high
fences. They sought each other's comfort and congregated in impromptu ways.
The tight-knit fabric of a city makes this feel natural. This coming together
is made easier because we live so close together: the density is critical.
The street theater in and around Union Square Park even on an ordinary day
reaffirms the strength of traditional cities.
Before September 11 hotel occupancy was already way down and the tourist
economy was hurting. In the boom economy we had become dependent on visitors,
but the city's real economy is showing resiliency. Hundreds of displaced
offices are relocating into the easily convertible spaces found in
cities. A hotel has been turned into business suites; apartments serve as
offices. Space that emptied as the economy slowed is filling up--6.3
million square feet in only one month. Residents are making extra effort
to support their neighborhood businesses (the ones that had not closed during
the recent economic downturn, as so many chain stores have). Local restaurants
are busy, whereas those catering to expense accounts and deep-pocketed visitors
are less so. The streets of the theater district are filled with people.
The subways--the city's lifeblood--are serving us as well as they did before
the disaster.
Conceived in the 1950s and '60s, the World Trade Center was based on an
erroneous view of how to strengthen cities. The twin towers were New York's
ultimate Corbusian design. A vital predominantly electronics- and produce-based
economic district was wiped out to make way for their creation. The WTC
never became a real trade center, nor did it anchor a downtown revival.
With their 10 million square feet, the towers depressed the Manhattan real
estate market for 15 years, until city growth caught up with them. Government
offices filled space there for years. The city gained no significant
new revenue from this real estate--in fact, a $100 million city tax abatement
helped keep it afloat.
The debate about how to rebuild is currently in high gear. What architectural
form emerges is an open question. It won't be seven buildings on top of
a shopping mall designed to create the impossible: a public space on the
second floor. Everything must start at street level. This debate should
be followed carefully by all cities. Isolated "mixed-use" projects
with interior plazas and second-story "public spaces" have been
built across the country. They don't connect to their surroundings or reweave
torn urban fabric damaged by decades of the kind of urban renewal that produced
the twin towers. It should not take a calamity to bring these issues to
the forefront.
Maybe this time Rockefeller Center--perhaps New York's best example of old
urbanism--will be the model. A tightly knit concentration of 13 tall and
short multifunctional buildings designed cohesively by almost as many architects,
the center has a pedestrian street down the middle that is the focus of
an extraordinary public place. Stores and restaurants face the street on
the ground level. The elements that made Rockefeller Center a model of old
urbanism can be applied on any scale on vast sites in other cities.
The truth is that the twin towers were the city's backdrop, not its heart.
But their minimalist boxlike form dominated the skyline, overpowering the
Empire State, Chrysler, and Woolworth buildings--the truly great New York
skyscrapers. The true loss in this disaster is human. Even without the towers
New York's skyline will again become its own best icon--one that celebrates
the ingenuity, entrepreneurship, individuality, and urbanism that are the
city's greatest assets.
Roberta Brandes Gratz is author of Cities Back from the Edge: New Life for
Downtown (John Wiley).
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