How To NOT Clean Up A City

This past week, The New York Times published an article celebrating the "end" of the process of "cleaning up" Times Square.  No doubt it has been cleaned up, in the sense that it is no longer a vice zone.  But, as I stated in the Comments section of this article, the end result is decidedly a mixed bag.

Of course, the focus here is not on Times Square as a whole, but on the block of 42nd Street between 7th and 8th Avenues--"the Deuce," in the street-speak of another era.  But it's understandable that this block would be the focus, since it was the epicenter, in every measurable way, of the depravity of the district in the mid-to-late 20th century.  If you lived in New York, as I did in the early 1980s, you need no one to explain that to you.  But walking down the block today, one sees a (to borrow a phrase from another contributor to the Comments section) a different kind of pornography--the pornography of a corporate theme park, where chain stores have created a kind of Anywhere U.S.A. outdoor mall in midtown Manhattan.

I'm not one of the ones who waxes nostalgic about the lack of "grit" (whatever that is) or excitement that typified the block as it was.  I don't miss the vice, and the neighborhood, with its iconic Broadway theatres and other landmarks (the Brill Building and Colony Records, anyone?).  But, like much of the rest of life, it's not something that lends itself to an either-or analysis, either, as attractive as that dynamic may be to a certain type of mind.  Looking at 42nd Street as it is now, I'm left with three nagging questions:

1.  The vice--where did it go?  Was it really somehow magically removed from the face of the earth, or was it simply pushed into other parts of the city, parts that didn't command the same level of tourist attention, or that otherwise lacked the social and political clout to fight back?  My own observations of the city, as a former resident and frequent tourist, lead me to suspect the latter, and that the "cleaning-up" has been largely a case of sweeping the "dirt" under other portions of the municipal rug.

2.  The small businesses--where did they go?  Not all of the business on the block were porn shops.  There were a lot of truly local small businesses--game parlors, lunch counters, the Times Square Gym and so forth--that thrived by catering to people of limited means.  Oh, that's right.  We now sit in judgment on those people.  In America in the early years of the new millennium, if you're not a multimillionaire, you're just a loser who, according to Rush Limberger, shouldn't even have the right to vote.

Seriously, there's no reason some place couldn't have been found for at least some of these businesses among the new skyscrapers that have shot up along the block.  And that leads to ...

3.  The theatres--why in the bloody hell did THEY have to go?  I'll qualify this a little bit.  I don't have a problem with Disney taking over the New Amsterdam; it's a theatre with a tradition of spectacle going all the way back to Ziegfeld, and Disney does spectacle as well as anyone.  I was pleased that the Roundabout Theatre Company took over the Selwyn, although I could have done without its corporate renaming.  (Interesting irony:  American Airlines abandoned Manhattan for Dallas in 1979; I guess they view renaming the Selwyn as a form of atonement.)  And I was especially pleased that the New 42nd Street Corporation took over the Theatre Republic--the oldest Broadway theatre still standing--and turned it into the New Victory Theatre for children.  (Footnote:  this happened during the administration of David Dinkins; keep that in mind when you hear Rudy Giuliani take all of the credit for the "new" Times Square.)

But this street, and this block in particular, owe their fame to their connection to live American Theatre.  And the three success stories I just mentioned do not outweigh the fact that their were once 11 theatres on the street, 10 of which were still standing in 1978, when plans for the street's renewal were first made.  Sadly, the remaining 7 have, for the most part, been wholly or partially demolished.  For example, the Lyric and Apollo Theatres, two mid-sized theatres perfect for plays or musicals, were largely demolished and have been replaced by a big barn of a theatre (with some recycled elements of their predecessors) that nobody wants to book, and has been the site of large, expensive failures.  Its current tenant, "Spider-Man:  Turn Off The Dark," looks like it may continue that trend.  The Harris Theatre, another house that was perfect for plays, has been completely demolished (except for its facade) and is now the site of a wax museum.  And the list goes on.

The main point here is this:  saving the theatres was publically announced as the primary goal of reclaiming the street.  And, for the most part, the theatres were not saved, though there were certainly way to do it, physically and financially, in a city that has the financial and artistic resources of New York.  In the process, the city has lost something unique to its character, and the nation has lost an important landmark in its cultural history.

An urban renaissance?  Perhaps.  A renaissance both urban and cultural in nature would have been even better.  We could have had it on 42nd Street.  We can't, now.