In Paris, with miserable weather, in thousands of outdoor drinking and eating places, the generations gather to talk and stare.
Even this late in the century in many crossroad-country-junction American towns, Saturday night finds pumpkin boy rolling in from farms to hold up cigar storefronts with their shoulders and paw the sidewalk with their hooves as the girls go laughing by.
Which is what life is all about.
Gathering and staring is one of the great pastimes in the countries of the world. But not in Los Angeles. We have forgotten how to gather. So we have forgotten how to stare.
And we forgot not because we wanted to, but because, by fluke or plan, we were pushed off the familiar sidewalks or banned from the old places. Change crept up on us as we slept. We are lemmings in slow motion now, with no nowhere to go.
How did we lose it all? How can we bring
it back?
Well, I have plan for a whole
city block where we might meet as in the old days, and walk and shop and
sit and talk and simply stare.
And not just one block. But
80 or 90 city blocks spread over the entire freeway - junket-run of all
80 or 90 of the separate lonely Ohio - Illinois - Kansas - style towns,
which is what Los Angeles truly is.
But to show you my L.A. tomorrow,
I must first show you what L.A. was like when I grew up here.
In the thirties, with TV unborn,
you listened to radio or walked to the movies. Who could afford a car?
No one. And, going to the movies, you stopped at the sweet shop next door
for candy and popcorn, and after the show you came back to the same sweet
shop for a malt or the corner drugstore for a Coke, and you lolled at those
soda fountains until midnight with all your friends.
For, you see, in those days
there a microscopic community in every neighborhood: the theatre, the sweet
shop, the drugstore fountain. Your friends? Why, they were always
there!
Well, that dear drugstore
and its hissing fount, through economics, has vanished. The few that are
left have no fountains at all. the few with fountains close at six each
night. The sweet shop? That was shot dead when theatre installed their
own lobby popcorn and candy stalls.
So, there go two of your most
important social halls. Today, 50 years later, as if by proclamation, we
have all been told: Move On! So we climb in our cars. We drive … and drive
… and drive …and come home blind with exhaustion. We have seen nothing,
nor have been seen. Our total experience? Six waved hands, a thousand blurred
faces, seventeen Volkswagen rears and some ripe curses from a Porsche and
MG behind.
And when we do occasionally
get somewhere, the Strip, or Hollywood Boulevard, what do we find? Ten
thousand other Dante’s Inferno Souls, locked in immovable ice floes ahead,
irritably inhaling, unwanted by them selves and the traffic police. So
the exasperated madness and the inhumanity grow.
Where can we go that isn’t home? What can
we see that isn’t TV?
Here is my remedy. A vast,
dramatically planned city block. One to start with.
Later on, one more for each
of 80 towns in L.A..
My block would be a gathering
place for each population nucleus. A place where, by irresistible design
and purpose, of such a block, people would be tempted to linger, loiter,
stay, rather than fly off in their chairs to already overcrowded places.
Let me peel my ideal shopping
center an onion:
At the exact center: a round
bandstand or stage.
Surrounding this, a huge conversation
pit. Enough tables and chairs so that four hundred people can sit out under
the stars drinking coffee or Cokes.
Around this, in turn, would
be laid the mosaics of a huge plaza walk where more hundreds might stroll
at their leisure to see and be seen.
Surrounding the entirety,
an immense quadrangle of three dozen shop and stores, all facing the central
plaza, the conversation pit, the bandstand.
At the four corners of the
block, four theatres. One for new films. A second for classic old pictures.
A third to house live drama, one-act plays, or, on occasion, lectures.
The fourth theatre would be a coffee house for rock-folk groups. Each theatre
would be hold between three hundred and five hundred people.
With the theatres as dramatic environment,
let’s nail down the other shops facing the plaza: Pizza
parlor. Malt shop. Delicatessen. Hamburger joint. Candy shop. Spaghetti
cafe …
But, more important, what
other kinds of shops are most delicious in our lives? When browsing and
brooding, what’s the most fun?
Stationary shop? Good. Most
of us love rambling among the bright papers in such stores.
Hardware shops? Absolutely.
That’s where men rummage happily, prowling through the million bright objects
to be hauled for use some other year.
Two bookstores, now. Why not
three?
One for hard covers, one for
paperbacks and the third to be an old and rare bookseller’s crypt, properly
floundered in dust and half-light. This last should have a real fire-hearth
at its center where, on cool nights, six easy chairs could be drawn about
for idling bookmen / students in stance with Byron’s ghost, bricked in
by thousands of ancient and honorable tomes. Such a shop must not only
spell age but sound of its conversation.
How about an art supply shop?
Fine! Paints, turpentines, brushes, the whole lovely smelling works. Next
door? An art gallery, of course, with low- and high - price ranges for
every purse!
A record shop, yes? Yes. They’ve
proven themselves all over our city, staying open nights.
What about a leather shop,
and a tobacconist’s … but make your own list from here on! The other dozen
or two dozen shops should be all shapes, sizes and concepts. A toy shop.
A magic shop, perhaps, with a resident magician.
And, down a small dark cob-webbed
alley a ramshackle spook theatre with only 90 seats where every day and
every night a different old horror film would scuttle itself spider-wise
across a faintly yellow parchment-screen …
There you have my remedy. There’s my plan
to cure all your urban ills.
Good grief! You cry, what’s
so new about that?
Nothing, I replay, sadly.
It’s so old it now must become new again. Once it was everywhere in some
form. Now it must be thought of and born all over again.
It has existed in the arcades
surrounding St. Mark’s Square in Venice, Italy, for more than five hundred
years. It exists in the Galleria in Milan where, one hundred years ago
Mark Twain fell in love with it and wanted to stay on forever at its "tables
all over these marble streets, people sitting at them, eating, drinking,
smoking -- crowds of other people strolling by -- such is the Arcade. I
should like to live in it all my life. The windows of the sumptuous restaurant
stand open, and one dines and enjoys the passing show."
If we could summon Mark Twain
back from the dead he might well point out, ironically, that we already
have many such plazas in Los Angeles, which have languished and
fallen into disuse. We have forgotten why Pershing Square and the Olvera
Street Plaza were built: as center about which to perambulate souls and
refresh existence.
Life really begins at dusk in Rome. In
the blue hour, and late on through the idle evening, shopping continues,
mixed with time to wander, linger, sit and stare.
The Plaza I have constructed
here should never be built unless it opens for business at three each afternoon.
Week nights it should stay open until at least 11:30. Friday, Saturday
and Sunday nights the closing hour should be 1 or 2 a.m..
Will this take some real doing?
Yes. Because your average small American businessman is locked into a nine
to five schedule. No news hours are worth considering. So, thousands of
new customers are ignored and your small business flounders for seemingly
inexplicable reasons.
Your small businessman has
many reasons to affiliate himself in such as amiable environmental plaza
as the one I propose, where he will be guaranteed a fresh river of pedestrians
every hour. And being situated on the north, south, east or west side of
the plaza will not affect his business by so much as a cent.
Bring this small businessman
in, into this effort to recenter our live. Give the community back to the
community, to build a base for young and old, and discourage the endless
miles of mindless driving as millions of people pass other millions looking
for Somewhere To Go.
But, the Somewhere To Go will
only work, I repeat, if it opens late and closes late.
Which brings us round to a final description of my Plaza:
Let’s start with one plaza such as this, and build more. Needless to say, the ones that follow must not duplicate the first in texture or color or sense of drama.
Just as in the great cities of the world, there is only one Eiffel Tower for Paris, one Tower of London, one St. Peter’s for Rome, so, on a lesser level, each plaza in all 80 lost and needful Los Angeles small town should in some way strike individual chords of the backgrounds they arise from. In West Hollywood, of course, you would let the crazy fine Greenwich Village spirit that runs wild there work your design for you.
We have been yelling for years against
the Orwellian world 1984, and at the same time have been busy building
such a world and walling ourselves in.
Now we must remember that
drama and theatre are not special and separate and private things in our
lives. They are the true stuff of living, the heart and soul of any city.
It follows we must begin to provide architectural stages upon which our
vast population can act out their lives.
The hour grows late. We must
give us back to ourselves.
For what finer gift is
there in all the world?
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