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English Summary 109/110

Von J. S.

Paris La Défense

Rem Koolhaas (p. 44)

We consider La Défense to be a kind of strategic reserve which not only ensures that Paris will remain intact but also offers a privileged zone of expansion with enormous potential. It serves as a stage for progress which will enable the city and the countryside to continue to develop with success.

If the idea of starting at point zero has become completely unfeasible today, the principle of tabula rasa proving impossible once and for all, then the duration of a „modern building" itself becomes much more limited. Not just that the „modern building" consists of materials which are hardly fit for eternity, it is also subjeet to the logic of the economy which deals with time frames of 20, 25 or, at the most, 30 years, thus rendering it profoundly provisional.

Once we accept that the existence of all modern buildings is highly precarious, it becomes apparent that modern existence itself follows the logic of an invisible tabula rasa. It suffices to simply wait - quite a difficult thing to do these days - for its mode of existence to reveal itself.

In a limited way, this effect of renewal can be inscribed in a classical tradition of construction, deconstruction and reconstruction.

In order to be able to solve this fundamental paradox - society's Obligation to continually transcend that which has preceded and the impossibility of starting all over - we have used this competition to demonstrate that it is quite possible to imagine the critical mass of urban renewal in the shape of a strategy of modern urbanism which would transcend the myths of tabula rasa and utopia and translate the piain economic realities into new coneepts. Based on the terrain that is available today we have analyzed what the additional Potentials would be - thinking in terms of five-year periods - and discovered a vast realm of theoretical possibilities.

We propose to conceptually extend the System of La Defense to this new field and to provide it with a new infrastrueture including freeways, high speed trains etc.

The proposed grid is at the same time practical and speculative without being subjeet to the absolute of its extension. It serves as a kind of fllter which on the one hand isolates the elements whose existence is not questioned - Nanterre, the university, the prefecture, the part etc. - and on the other hand proposes the most efficient orientation for an urban future in this area.

The omnipresence of this grid does not imply a homogeneous density; rather, this System serves to regulate the coexistence between mass and void. In order to attain coherence in the future, it lends an antieipatory identity to the still isolated fragments. All around the new „injeetions" of infrastrueture, the grid can be adapted to varying densities, achieving a kind of fusion with the existing „historical" fragments. The axis becomes an „ineident" within the grid. Thus the Defense as it exists today will assume a less isolated meaning.

English translation: Hans Harbort

 

Pedestrian Pockets

Peter Calthorpe (p. 56)

Traffic congestion in the suburbs signals a strong change in the structure of our culture. The computer and service industries have led to the decentralization of the work place, causing new traffic patterns and „suburban gridlock". Where downtown employment once dominated, suburb-to-suburb traffic now produces greater commuting distances and time. Throughout the country, over forty percent of all commuting trips are now between suburbs. These new patterns have seriously eroded the quality of life in formerly quiet suburban towns. In the San Francisco Bay area, for example, 212 of the region's 812 miles of suburban freeway are regularly backed up during rush hours. That figure is projeeted to double within the next twelve years. As a result, recent polls have traffic continually heading the list as the primary regional problem, with the difficulty of finding good affordable housing running a close second.

Moreover, the basic criteria for housing have changed dramatically as single occupants, single parents, the elderly, and small double-income families redefine the traditional home. Our old suburbs were designed around a stereotypical household which is no longer prevalent. Over seventy-three percent of the new households in the 1980s lack at least one component of the traditional husband, wife and children model. Elderly people over 65 make up 23 percent of the total number of new homeowners, and Single parents represent an astonishing twenty percent. Certainly the traditional three bedroom, single-family residence is relevant to a decreasing segment of the population. The suburban dream becomes even more complicated when one considers the problem of affordability.

In addition to these dominant questions of traffic and housing, longer ränge consequences of pollution, air quality, openspace preservation, the conversion of prime agricultural land, and growing infrastrueture costs add to the crisis of post-industrial sprawl. These issues are manifested in a growing sense of frustration - placelessness - with fractured quality of our suburban megacenters. The unique qualities of place are continually consumed by chain-store architecture, scaleless office parks and m onotonuous subdivisions.

The Pedestrian Pocket is defined as a balanced, mixed-use area within a quarter-mile or a five minute walking radius of a transit Station. The functions within this 50- to 100-acre zone include housing, offices, retail, day care, recreation, and parks. Up to two thousand units of housing and one million Square feet of office space can be located within three blocks of the transit station using typical residential densities and four-story office configurations.

The Pedestrian Pocket accommodates the car as well as transit and walking. Parking is provided for all housing and commercial space. The housing types are standard low-rise, high-density forms such as threestory walk-up apartments and two-story townhouses. Only the interrelationships and adjacent land use have changed. People have a choiee: walk to work or to stores within the Pedestrian Pocket; take the light rail to work or to shop at another Station; car pool on a dedicated right-of-way; drive on crowded freeways. In a small Pedestrian Pocket, homes are within walking distance of a neighborhood Shopping center, several three-acre parks, day care, various Services, and two thousand Jobs. Within four stops of the light rail in either direction (ten minutes), employment is available for 16.000, or the amount of backoffice growth equivalent to that of one of the nation's highest-growth suburbs over the last five years.

This mix of uses supports a variety of transportation means: walking, bus, light rail, car pool, and Standard automobile. The goal is to create an environment that offers choiees.

The Pedestrian Pocket is located on a dedicated right-of-way which evolves with the development. Rather than bearing the large cost of a complete rail System as an initial expense, this right-of-way facilitates mass transit by providing exclusively for car pools, van pools, bikes, and buses. As the cluster matures, transit investments are made for light rail in the developed right-of-way. But the growth of this landuse pattern is not dependent on this investment; the system is designed to support many modes of traffic and to phase light rail into place when the population is great enough to support it.

The Pedestrian Pocket System would eventually act in concert with new light rail lines, reinforcing ridership and connecting existing employment centers, towns and neighborhoods with new development. Light rail lines are currently under construetion in many suburban environments, such as, in California alone, Sacramento, San Jose, San Diego, Long Beach, and Orange County. They emphasize the economies of using existing right-ofways and a simpler, more cost-effective technology than heavy rail. In creating a line of Pedestrian Pockets, the public sector's role is merely to organize the transit system and set new zoning guidelines, leaving development to the private sector. Much of the cost of the transit line can be covered by assessing the property owners benefiting from the increased densities.

The light rails in current use provide primarily a park-and-ride system to connect low-density sprawl with downtown commercial areas. In contrast, the Pedestrian Pocket system is decentralized, linking many nodes of high-density housing with many commercial destinations. Peak-hour traffic is multidirectional, reducing congestion and making the system more efficient. Bus Systems, along with car-pool Systems, can tie into the light rail. Several of the Pockets on a line have large parking facilities for park-and-ride access, allowing the existing suburban development to enjoy the Services and opportunities of the Pockets.

 

Edge of a City

Steven Holl (p. 60)

On the fringe of the modern city, displaced fragments sprout without intrinsic relationships to existing organization, other than that of the camber and loops of the curvilinear freeway. Here the „thrown away" spreads itself outward like the nodal lines of a stone tossed into a pond.

The edge of a city is a philosophical region, where city and natural landscape overlap, existing without choice or expectation.

This zone calls for visions and projections to delineate the boundary between the urban and the rural. Visions of a city's future can be plotted on this partially spoiled land, liberating the remaining natural landscape, protecting the habitat of hundreds of species of animals and plants that are threatened with extinction. What remains of the wilderness can be preserved; defoliated territory can be restored. In the middle zone between landscape and city, there is hope for a new synthesis of urban life and urban form.

The exponential changes brought about by air travel over this Century exemplify how experiences of space and time change from city to city. Within hours we are transported from one climate and time zone to another. Formerly, entering a city occurred along the earth via a bridge or a portal. Today we circle over, then jet down to an airstrip on a city's periphery. Consequently, in making plans and projections for new city edges, it is necessary to discard old methods and working habits and begin with basic research.

In the yet-to-be-built city, notions of passage must be addressed. Consider the city as it might appear in a series of cinematic images: zoom shots in front of a person walking, tracking shots along the side, the view changing as the head turns. At the same time, the city is a place to be feit. Notions of space, shifting ground plane, plan, section, and expansion are bound up in passage through the city. Consider movement through the city framed by vertical buildings. Each change of positions reframes a new spatial field. This parallax of overlapping fields changes with the angles of the sun and the glow of the sky. Premonitions of unknown means of communication and passage suggest a variety of new urban spaces.

In the modern city the voids between buildings, not the buildings themselves, hold spatial inspiration. Urban space is formed by vertical groupings, terrestrial shifts, elongated slots of light, bridges, and vertical penetrations of a fixed horizontal. Urban space has a vertical Z dimension equal to, or more important than, the horizontal X-Y plane.

The experience of parallax, the change in the arrangement of surfaces defining space due to the changing position of the viewer, is transformed into oblique planes of movement. Spatial definition is ordered by angles of perception. The incredible energy in such cities as New York, Milan, and Paris is related to programmatic diversity and juxtaposition. Modern metropolitan life is characterized by fluctuating activities, turbulent shifts in demographics, and changing desires of restless populations.

We do not call for a new disordered architecture to match the disorder of culture; such duplication simply affirms the chaotic, and achieves no other dimension. Rather, we propose experiments in search of new Orders, the projections of new relationships. Consider the experience of reading a comprehensive morning newspaper, an ordering of life in society. The following untenable juxtapositions might be paralleled in urban terms: an article describing a billion-ton floating island of ice that is drifting around the North Pole is next to an article about the construction of a twentyfour-foot-diameter water tunnel and a piece on the austerity program of a religious cult. Alongside a column on insomnia and the sleep movement of plants is a huge diagram of the „Pacific Rim" trade network.

To precisely translate thoughts and feelings sparked by incredulous relationships is as problematic as translating an English word into all of the world's 2.796 languages. Precision of the rational gives ways to intuition; subjective dimensions establish physical dimensions.

A spatial arrangement, an aroma, a musical phrase may be imagined simultaneously. Depending on the awareness and imagination of the perceiver, an initial visual field can provoke subject matter and imply programs. The perceiver's angle of vision and preconception are potentially open to the adhesion of unforeseen associations. Rather than allowing prejudice to be a primary subjective determinant, one can induce associations by increasing the possible number of programs to occupy an urban setting.

Isolated buildings of a Single function, the suburban norm, typical at the modern city's periphery, give way in these projects to hybrid buildings with diverse programs. An effort toward programmatic richness an open association of Spaces to program suggestions (action images) - is fertilized by gathering and juxtaposing a variety of activities.

 

 

Edge of a City

Steven Holl (p. 63)

Five Xs spaced along the inland edge of Cleveland (the northern edge is formed by Lake Erie) define precise crossover points from new urban areas to a clarified rural region. These newly created urban Spaces are girded by mixed-use buildings.

At one X the crossover is developed into a dam with hybrid functions. The urban section contains a number of buildings including a hotel, a cinema, and a gymnasium. The rural section contains public programs related to nature, including a fish hatchery, an aquarium, and botanical gardens.

The artificial lake formed by the dam provides a large recreational area and extends the crossover point into a boundary line. Taken together, the Xs imply an urban edge.

 

Dallas - Fort Worth

Steven Holl (p. 64)

Protected Texas prairie is framed by new sectors that condense living, working, and recreational activities. Future residents are transported to new town sectors by a high-speed MAGLEV transit from the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport.

A new hierarchy of public spaces is surrounded by armatures knotted in a continuous space-forming morphology. Various public passages along the roof afford a shifting ground plane, invigorating the interconnected experience of the sector's spaces.

The coiling armatures contain a hybrid of macroprograms: public transit stations, health clubs, cinemas, and galleries, with horizontal and vertical interconnected transit. Micro-programs of domestic activities are in smaller adjacent structures. The smallest spiroids form lowcost courtyard housing in experimental thin/thick wall construction.

 

Megalopolis Unbound: America's New City

Robert Fishman (p. 73)

Since 1945, the relationship between the urban core and the suburban periphery has undergone a startling transformation especially during the past two decades. Where suburbia was once an exclusive refuge for a small elite, U.S. Census figures show that 45 percent of the American population is now „suburban", up from only 23 percent in 1950. Allowing for anomalies in the Census Bureau's methods, it is almost certain that a majority of Americans live in the suburbs. About one third remain in the central cities. Even more dramatic has been the exodus of commerce and industry from the cities. By 1980, 38 percent of the nation's workers commuted to their jobs from suburb-tosuburb, while only half as many made the stereotypical suburb-to-city trek.

Manufacturing has led the Charge from the cities; the industrial park, as it is so bucolically dubbed, has displaced the old urban factory district as the headquarters of American manufacturing. Commerce has also joined the exodus. Where suburbanites once had little choice but to travel to downtown Stores for most of their clothing and household goods, suburban Shopping malls and Stores now ring up the majority of the nation's retail sales.

During the last two decades, the urban peripheries have even outpaced the cores in that last bastion of downtown economic clout, office employment. More than 57 percent of the nation's office space is now located outside the central cities. And the landscaped office parks and research centers that dot the outlying highways and interstates have become the home of the most advanced high-technology laboratories and factories, the national centers of business creativity and growth. Inc. magazine, which tracks the nation's emerging industries, reported in a survey earlier this year that „growth is in the ,edge cities'." Topping its list of „hot spots" were such unlikely locales as Manchester-Nashua, New Hampshire; West Palm Beach, Florida; and Raleigh-Durham, North Carolina.

The complex economy of the former suburbs has now reached a critical mass, as specialized Service enterprises of every kind, from hospitals equipped with the latest CAT Scanners to gourmet restaurants to corporate law firms, have established themselves on the fringes. In all of these ways, the peripheries have replaced the urban cores as the heartlands of our civilization. These multi-functional late-20th-century „suburbs" can no longer be comprehended in the terms of the old bedroom communities. They have become a new kind of city.

The „new city of the 20th Century" is not some fantastic city of towers out of Fritz Lang's celluloid Metropolis (1926) or the visionary architect Paoli Soleri's honeycombed Arcology. It is, rather, the familiär decentralized world of highways and tract houses, Shopping malls, and office parks that Americans have built for themselves since 1945. From coast to coast, the symbol of this new city is not the jagged skyscraper Skyline of the 1920s metropolis but the network of superhighways as seen from the air, crowded in all directions, uniting a whole region into a vast super-city.

Familiar as we all are with the features of the new city, most of us do not recognize how radically it departs from the cities of old. The most obvious difference is scale. The basic unit of the new city is not the street measured in blocks but the „growth corridor" stretching 50 to 100 miles. Where the leading metropolises of the early 20th Century - New York, London, or Berlin - covered perhaps 100 square miles, the new city routinely encompasses two to three thousand Square miles. Within such „urban regions", each element is correspondingly enlarged. „Planned unit developments" of cluster-housing are as large as townships; office parks are set amid hundreds of acres of landscaped grounds; and malls dwarf some of the downtowns they have replaced.

These massive units, moreover, are arrayed along the beltways and „growth corridors" in seemingly random order, without the strict distinctions between residential, commercial, and industrial zones that shaped the old city. The new city, furthermore, lacks what gave shape and meaning to every urban form of the past: a dominant single core and definable boundaries. At most, it contains a multitude of partial centers, or „edge cities", more-or-less unified clusters of malls, office developments, and entertainment complexes that rise where major highways cross or converge. Even some old downtowns have been reduced to „first among equals" among the edge cities of their regions. Atlanta has one of the most rapidly growing downtowns in the country. Yet between 1978 and 1983 - the years of its accelerated growth - the downtown's share of regional office space shrank from 34 percent to 26 percent. Midtown Manhattan is the greatest of all American downtowns, but northern New Jersey now has more office space. If no one can find the center of the new city, its borders are even more elusive.

Low-density development tends to gain an inevitable monumentum, as each extension of a region's housing and economy into previously rural areas becomes the base for further expansion. When one successful area begins to fill up, land values and taxes rise explosively, pushing the less affluent even farther out. During the past two decades, as Manhattans „back Offices" moved 30 miles west into northern New Jersey along interstates 78 and 80, new subdivisions and town-house communities began sprouting 40 miles farther west along these growth corridors in the Pocono Mountains of eastern Pennsylvania. „By the time we left New Jersey," one new resident of eastern Pennsylvania told the New York Times, „there were handymen Specials for $ 150.000 you wouldn't put your dog in." Now such formerly depressed and relatively inexpensive areas as Pennsylvania's Lehigh Valley are gaining population, attracting high-tech industries and office employment, and thus stimulating further dispersion.

Indeed, as the automobile gives rise to a complex pattern of multi-directional travel that largely by-passes the old central cities, the very concept of „center" and „periphery" becomes obsolete.

Although a few prophets like Wright foresaw the downfall of the old city, no one imagined the form of the new. Instead, it was built up piecemeal, as a result of millions of uncoordinated decisions made by housing developers, shopping-mall Operators, corporate executives, highway engineers and, not least, the millions of Americans who saved and sacrificed to buy single-family homes in the expanding suburbs. The new city's construction has been so rapid and so unforeseen that we lack even a commonly-accepted name for what we have created. Or, rather, we have too many names: exurb, spread city, urban village, megalopolis, outtown, sprawl, slurb, the burbs, nonplace urban field, polynucleated city, and (my own coinage) technoburb.

Building on their growing base of population and jobs, suburban entrepreneurs duing the 1950s and 1960s began transforming the new city into a self-sufficient world. „We don't go downtown anymore," became the new city's motto. Shopping centers displaced downtown department Stores; small merchants and repairmen deserted Main Street for Stores „along the highway" or folded up shop under the competitive pressure of the growing national chain Stores. Even cardiologists and corporate lawyers moved their Offices closer to their customers.

By the 1970s and 1980s, the new city found itself at the top of a whole ränge of national and even international trends. The movement from snowbelt to sunbelt meant a shift toward urban areas that had been „born decentralized" and organized on new-city principles. The new city, moreover, moved quickly to dominance in the most rapidly expanding sections of the industrial economy - electronic, chemicals, pharmaeeuticals, and aircraft - leaving the old city with such sunset industries as textiles, iron and steel, and automobiles.

Finally, during the 1970s, the new city successfully challenged the old downtowns in the last area of their supremacy, office employment. The „office park" became the locale of choice for many businesses, new and old. Jaded New Yorkers looked on in stunned disbelief as one major Corporation after another pulled up stakes and departed for former commuter towns like Stamford, Connecticut, or more distant sunbelt locations. By the 1980s, even social scientists could not ignore the fact that the whole terminology of „suburb" and „central city", deriving from the era of the industrial metropolis, had become obsolete. As Mumford had predicted, the single center had lost its dominance.

Not urban, not rural, not suburban, but possessing elements of all three, the new city eludes all the conventional terminology of the urban planner and the historian. Yet it is too important to be left in conceptual limbo. The success or failure of the new city will affect the quality of life of the majority of Americans well into the 2 Ist Century. In a few scattered locales today, one can discern the promise of a decentralized city that fulfills its residents' basic hopes for comfortable homes in sylvan settings with easy access to good schools, good jobs, and recreational facilities of many kinds. More ambitiously, one might hope for a decentralized civilization that finally overcomes the old antithesis of city and countryside, that fulfills in daily life the profound cultural need for an environment that combines the machine and nature in a new unity.

But are the sprawling regions cities? Judged by the standards of the centralized metropolis, the answer is no. As I have suggested, this „city" lacks any definable borders, a center or a periphery, or a clear distinction between residential, industrial, and commercial zones. Instead, Shopping malls, research and production facilities, and corporate headquarters all seem scattered amid a chaos of subdivisions, apartment complexes, and condominiums. It is easy to understand why urban planners and social scientists trained in the clear functional logic of the centralized metropolis can see only disorder in these „nonplace urban fields", or why ordinary people use the word „sprawl" to describe their own neighborhoods.

Nevertheless, I believe that the new city has a characteristic structure - one that departs radically not only from the old metropolis but from all cities of the past.

To grasp this structure we must return to the prophetic insights of Frank Lloyd Wright. From the 1920s until his death in 1959, Wright was preoccupied with his plan for an ideal decentralized American city which he called Broadacres. Although many elements of the plan were openly utopian - he wished, for example, to ensure that every American would have access to at least an acre of land so that all could reap the economic and psychological benefits that he associated with parttime farming - Wright also had a remarkable insight into the highway-based world that was developing around him. Above all he understood the consequences of a city based on a grid of highways rather than the hub-and-spokes of the older city. Instead of a Single privileged center, there would be a multitude of crossings, no one of which could assume priority. And the grid would be boundless by its very nature, capable of unlimited extension in all directions.

Such a grid, as it indeed developed, did not allow for the emergence of an „imperial" metropolis to monopolize the life of a region. For Wright, this meant that the family home would be freed from its fealty to the city and allowed to emerge as the real center of American life. As he put it, „The true center, (the only centralization allowable) in Usonian democracy, is the individual Usonian house." (Usonia was Wright's name for the United States). In the plans for Broadacres - a city he said would be „everywhere or nowhere" Wright foresaw what I believe to be the essential element in the structure of the new city: a megalopolis based on time rather than space.

Even the largest of the old „big cities" had a firm identity in space. The big city had a center as its basic point of orientation - the Loop, Times Square - and also a boundary. Starting from the center, sooner or later one reached the edge of the city. In the new city, however, there is no Single center. Instead, as Wright suggested, each family home has become the central point for its members. Families create their own „cities" out of the destinations they can reach (usually travelling by car) in a reasonable length of time. Indeed, distance in the new cities is generally measured in terms of time rather than blocks or miles. The supermarket is 10 minutes away. The nearest Shopping mall is 30 minutes in another direction, and one's job 40 minutes away by yet another route. The pattern formed by these destinations represents „the city" for that particular family or individual. The more varied one's destinations, the richer and more diverse is one's personal „city". The new city is a city à la carte.

It can be seen as composed of three overlapping networks, representing the three basic categories of destinations that define each person's city. These are the household network; the network of consumption; the network of production.

The household network is composed of places that are part of family and personal life. For a typical household of two parents and two children, this network is necessarily oriented around childrearing - and it keeps parents scurrying frantically in station wagons and minivans from one place to another. Its set of destinations include the homes of the children's playmates (which may be down the street or scattered around a country), the daycare center, the schools, a church or synagogue, community centers, and the homes of the parents' friends. Although this network is generally more localized than the other two, it is almost always wider than the traditional urban neighborhood.

The two-parent family with children is the archetypical household, but, especially since 1970, the new city has made a place for others. For single or divorced people, single parents, young childless couples or older „empty nest" couples, widows and widowers, the new city offers a measure of familiarity and security that many find lacking in the central city. Its housing is increasingly diverse. No longer confined to single-family homes, it now includes apartment towers, town homes and condominiums, and various kinds of retirement housing, from golf-oriented communities to nursing homes. There are more places to socialize. The same mall that caters essentially to families on weekends and evenings may also serve as an informal Community center for older people in the morning, while its bars and restaurants play host to a lively Singles scene after the Stores close.

The network of consumption - Mallopolis, in economist James Millar's phrase comprises essentially the Shopping centers and malls which, as Wright predicted, have located themselves at the Strategie crossroads of the highway System. It also includes movie theaters, restaurants, health clubs, playing fields and other recreational facilities, and perhaps a second home 30 to 100 miles away.

Although this network serves much the same funetion as the old downtown, it is scattered, and each consumer is free to work out his particular set of preferences from the vast menu of offerings presented by Mallopolis.

Finally, there is the network of production. It includes the place of employment of one or both spouses. It also includes the suppliers - from computer-chip manufacturers to janitorial services - which these enterprises rely upon. Information comes instantaneously from around the world while raw materials, spare parts, and other necessities are trucked in from the firms that cluster along nearby highways. This network minimizes the traditional distinetion between the white-collar world of administration and the blue-collar world of production. Both funetions coexist in virtually every „executive office park". Its most successful enterprises are those where research and development and specialized techniques of production are intimately intertwined: pharmaceuticals, for example, or electronics. Conversely, its most routinized labor can be found in the so-called „back-offices", data-processing centers that perform tasks once done at a downtown corporate headquarters.

Each of these networks has its own spatial logic. For example, primary schools are distributed around the region in response to the school-age population; shopping malls reflect population density, wealth, and the road system; large firms locate where their workers and their suppliers can easily reach them. But because the networks overlap, the pattern on the ground is one of juxtaposition and interpenetration. Instead of the logical division of funetions of the old metropolis, one finds a post-modern, post-urban collage.

When Frank Lloyd Wright envisioned Broadacre City, he failed to consider the role of the old centralized industrial cities in the new world of the future. He simply assumed that the old cities would disappear once the conditions that had created them were gone. The reality has not been so simple. Just as the industrial metropolis grew up around the older mercantile city, so the new city of our time has surrounded the old metropolis. What was once the sole center is now one point of concentration among many.

In general, the skyscraper cores of the central cities have adapted to this change and prospered. Even a decentralized region needs a „headquarters", a place of high status and high rents where the movers-andshakers can rub shoulders and meet for power lunches. By contrast, the old factory zones have not found a funetion in the new environment. As a result, the central city has reverted to what it was before industrialization: a site for high-level administration and luxury consumption, where some of the wealthiest members of society live in close proximity to many of the poorest.

The recent boom in downtown office construetion should not conceal the fact that downtown prosperity rests on a much narrower base than it did in its heyday during the 1920s. Most of the retail trade has fled to the malls; the grand old movie palaces and many of the nightspots are gone. Only the expansion of corporate headquarters, law firms, banks and investment houses, advertising agencies, and other corporate and governmental services has kept the downtown towers filled, and even in these fields the re have been major leakages of back-office employment to the new city. Nevertheless, this employment base has enabled most core areas to retain an array of specialized shops, restaurants, and cultural activities unequaled in their region. This in turn encourages both the gentrification of surrounding residential neighborhoods and the „renaissance" of the core as a tourist and Convention center.

Yet only blocks away from a thriving core like Baltimore's Inner Harbor one can usually find extensive poverty, decay, deindustrialization, and abandonment that Stretches out to encompass the old factory zone. The factory zones have found no new role. Their working-class populations have largely followed the factories to the new city, leaving a supply of cheap, old housing which has attracted poor black, Hispanic, and other minority migrants with no other place to go. If the industrial city in its prime brought people together with jobs, cheap housing in the inner city now lures the jobless to those areas where employment prospects are dimmest. The old factory zone is thus doubly disadvantaged: The jobless have moved in, the jobs out.

Public transportations retains its traditional focus on the core, but the inner-city population generally lacks the education to compete for the high-level jobs that are available there. By contrast, the new city usually has an abundance of entry-level jobs, many of them already going begging as the supply of women and students seeking jobs diminishes. Unfortunately, residents of the new city have generally resisted attempts to build low-income housing in middle-class areas and have discouraged public transportation links. They want to keep the new city's expanding tax base for themselves and to avoid any direct fiscal responsibilty for the urban poor. The new city has thus walled itself off from the problems of the inner city in a way that the Social Darwinists of the 19th Century could only envy.

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