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I haven’t watched it in years, but I still remember the (somewhat sentimental) introductory scene of “American Pickers,” a History Channel show about two antique dealers who “travel the back roads of America looking for rusty gold.” Much of the show was probably staged or prearranged, but the antiques were real, as were the bits of historical trivia.
One of their “picks” I distinctly remember was a barn full of the molds for a famous brand of pottery. Not pieces of the pottery; the molds that had been used to make them, meaning that with the right materials and setup, it would be possible to precisely reproduce discontinued items. (Which makes me think about our old cities, which I’ll get to in a minute.)
I’ve always liked old things, and I’ve always had the sense that we can and should learn from them. I also find it interesting how “antique” is an accident, a perception we make about a thing and not something inherent in the object itself. An antique or a collectible is, in many if not most cases, merely a once-ubiquitous thing. I think our beloved historic towns and cities are like this: ordinary things that are, for some reason(s), no longer made.
If you’ve read much of my writing before, you’ll probably know that “urbanism” [ [link removed] ] is my primary beat: Broadly, that refers to land use, urban policy, housing, zoning [ [link removed] ] and transportation [ [link removed] ]—the issues pertaining to how we live and get around. Related to this is my interest in retail [ [link removed] ], restaurants [ [link removed] ], commerce [ [link removed] ] and how we do business [ [link removed] ]. Altogether, I’m interested in how we—urbanists and housing advocates, but really all of us—can cultivate a greater sense of place, a sense of being a member of a community, a way to understand and explain how places can grow and change and yet retain their character. The through lines and continuities are as important as the innovations and alterations. As Paul Simon (sometimes) sings, “After changes upon changes, we are more or less the same.”
And all that is what this column will broadly be about. Finding the joy and wonder and uniqueness in a common place, seeing the continuities through time, seeing places with fresh eyes and appreciating the history we walk by every day. G.K. Chesterton once said, “The world will never starve for want of wonders; but only for want of wonder.” I think it’s healthy, and maybe more importantly delightful, to find ordinary things interesting.
And, contrary to what you might think “urbanism” would suggest, most of the places I explore and write about are not cities. They’re suburbs and old small towns and country roads. Those are the places I’ve lived, so that’s partly why; I’m familiar with them. But I also think many of these places are every bit as culturally interesting in their own ways as the big cities. The earliest suburbs are getting old; it would be a shame if we allowed an outmoded narrative about boring, conformist bedroom communities to get in the way of seeing how many of these places have grown into themselves.
An underappreciated reality, for example, is that today more immigrants initially settle in suburbia than in large cities. The unselfconscious diversity of a place like New York City can be found in a lot of places that don’t look like much, or that perhaps you’ve never heard of: many of the old suburbs in eastern Montgomery County, Maryland; the Buford Highway corridor outside Atlanta and many others.
Another underappreciated reality is that America’s quaint small towns have far more in common with larger cities than either sort of place does with suburbia. I remember seeing an old newspaper clipping someone posted on my hometown’s Facebook page, from the 1920s or 1930s. It described how everyone from the surrounding township came down to Main Street when they needed anything. In most small towns today, which are often either emptied out or boutiqueified, it’s the opposite—even the people who live in town drive out to the surrounding areas for everyday errand-running.
But I think a lot about why these small communities actually existed in the first place. I think about their train stations and hotels and mixed-use buildings that wouldn’t be out of place even in New York City’s outer boroughs. Our small towns aren’t there to be museum pieces for suburbanites. They’re a legacy of a time when urban and rural places were more distinct and also more complementary. For one of the few cities where this is still true, look at Lancaster, Pennsylvania, a small city surrounded by a working agricultural landscape.
You can expect a lot of these sorts of musings. You can also expect me to be earnest. I don’t “unironically” think an old diner or motel or dime-a-dozen Main Street is awesome and particular and unique; I just think it’s awesome and particular and unique. I’m not subtly making fun of the things I write about, or making arguments that I don’t believe because they might convince someone I don’t agree with.
I once saw a jokey comment on Reddit [ [link removed] ] about what was thought to be a vacant Pizza Hut becoming a new Pizza Hut once again (it wasn’t, unfortunately; the vacant one was demolished). The comment read: “Beautiful! the circle of life continues. Soon it will cocoon into a mom and pop buffet only to emerge a beautiful Gyro/wing stop with an edgy name. Then it enters its final form of foreclosure and sits dormant until re-birthed again as a baby pizza hut! Nature is amazing.” That’s kind of how I see the story of change over time in the built environment. But, you know, unironically.
And in closing, I’d say that I think sometimes, we expect too much. It’s possible to choose to be more easily impressed. You can decide to not Yelp a restaurant and just give it a go. It’s possible to shrug and sit in traffic and not get frustrated. (Or take the back road.) Let your mind be engaged. There’s as much, almost anywhere, as you’re willing to see. So let’s go see it all.
In my first topical column, I’ll be writing about the two towns I visited most often growing up in New Jersey, and how the network of old rail and river towns gives a kind of order to the newer suburbs and a sense of belonging to those of us who grew up there. Stay tuned!
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