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The street runs between the handsome mid-rise buildings of the Garment District, with their elegant cornices and deep-set windows. At ground level, more than half the available space is given over to a long vest-pocket park, well-shaded by mature trees.
The actual street is only wide enough for two narrow lanes of traffic, which upends the normal arrangement: This isn’t a street with a park adjacent; it’s a park with a street adjacent. The area has a quiet grace that evokes some parts of London — a place of refuge in the heart of the city, yet still part of the urban fabric.
On a recent visit I heard a momentary clash of metal from a nearby loading dock, and the sound of construction equipment farther away. But there was also the steady chirping of birds, and the occasional whoosh of a breeze.
A year ago, I wrote about the opening of the Power & Light District, which I praised to the sky. Then came notes from several readers suggesting I had been too effusive.
Perhaps a reassessment is in order — or a partial reassessment. The visit to the quiet block on Eighth Street provided a clue to what’s missing from the P&L District.
Yes, it’s an apples-and-oranges comparison. Much of the area around Eighth Street is residential. The Power & Light District is laid out for entertainment.
I still think the P&L is a fine example of effective urban design. It has wide sidewalks; narrow, traffic-calming streets; overhangs and awnings; nooks to draw the visitor in; multiple entry points; proportions that don’t overwhelm. It’s an excellent example of pedestrian-friendly architecture.
But like the Country Club Plaza, it shares the quality of commercial homogenization. There’s a sameness wherever you go. The ambiance varies little from venue to venue. The tenant mix is as tightly controlled as any suburban mall.
That sends a message of safety — essential for any center-city district such as this — but there’s a price to be paid.
On Eighth Street, despite the tranquil air, there’s a greater sense of spontaneity and possibility. It is fully integrated within the city, meaning the space is fully public: It’s ours.
In the Power & Light District, you’re not really occupying public space. You’re occupying the space of the developer, the Cordish Co.
On the Plaza, the message is similar and in the past it has been explicitly enforced. Charlie Wheeler recalls that during one of his races for Kansas City mayor he briefly tried to campaign on the Plaza but was told to move along.
I’m not arguing that the Power & Light District should be held up to some notion of perfection and discounted on that basis. (Earlier this month, it was one of 10 North American projects to receive an Award of Excellence from the Urban Land Institute.)
A single-ownership entertainment district may well have been the most feasible course for the city, given the grim reality before Cordish began construction. The area was severely dilapidated, thanks to the postwar flight of businesses and capital.
That outflow was encouraged by some poor planning moves, such as the decision to isolate the central business district within a freeway loop, and the transfer of development rights for a swath of the area to entities that did nothing for decades. Everyone knew the Big Plan — whatever it might be — would sweep existing businesses away, so investment ceased and properties declined.
The Power & Light District is still unfinished. It’s heavily subsidized. We’ll probably be paying a share of its costs for many years.
An important test of that investment’s value is whether Power & Light — like the Plaza — proves able to trigger spinoff development along its edges. If so, then the subsidies may well prove worthwhile. On that, the jury is still out.
To reach E. Thomas McClanahan, call 816- 234-4480 or send e-mail to mcclanahan@kcstar.com.
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