“They paved over Paradise and put up a parking lot.”—Joni Mitchell
Even as the living remnants of Gainesville’s sixties/seventies counterculture gathered last week to celebrate the old Hogtown remembered in Marty’s Jourard’s new book, Evil Forces advanced ever further in their attempt to erase all vestiges of the city’s colorful past. Six-story buildings—and worse—have been popping up everywhere, blocking out the sun and replacing signature structures and businesses which made the place unique. We may not be buried in the canyons of Manhattan but it’s a lot nicer to be able to see a modest distance to the left and right as you amble down the avenue. We were spoiled for decades by the dearth of such monstrosities, amused by the singular eleven-story Seagle Building, which stood guard over the far more historically significant one-story Alan’s Cubana sandwich shop.
Oh, eventually the University of Florida might build a taller-than-usual dorm in the middle of campus or some real estate maven could throw up a skinny apartment building in an out-of-the-way location like Biven’s Arm, but in Gainesville not much ever got beyond two stories. It stayed like that forever and we liked it that way. I guess we thought it would never change. We were wrong.
One day, about ten years ago, I got a letter from my Austin, Texas friend, Pat Brown, a calm woman, an artist by trade, not a person easily untracked by calamities. Pat was apoplectic over “the demise my home town. They are razing historical buildings, demolishing city blocks in the interests of progress, whatever the hell that is. They are raising hideous apartment buildings high as the sky. Throngs of people are moving here, searching for the Austin of the sixties and seventies. Guess what? It’s not here anymore. And what’s left of it is disappearing by the day.” The population of Austin in 1962 was 201,762. By 2015, it was over 900,000. There is a net population increase there of 110 people a day. You don’t want to hear about the traffic.
So now it is Gainesville’s turn to go under the knife. Real Estate plunderers like Nathan Collier sail in on their pirate ships and start spinning funky old buildings into gold. Captain Hookorbycrook is planning, among other nightmares, yet another five-story apartment building “catering to professionals” (i.e., anyone who’s got the cash to live there). The thing will include 292 units and the requisite parking garage, which would stretch over three parcels in the 200 block on the north side of University Avenue. Other changes for the Avenue aren’t far away. Three other multi-story apartment complexes are in various planning stages, including one in the 1100 block, where the building which housed The Independent Florida Alligator newspaper will be no more.
Collier and his fellow seawolves call this sort of thing “urban infill,” considering it a boon to the city. Local restaurant owner Steve Solomon begs to differ. “It’s one-size-fits-all,” he complains. “With this gentrification, you’ll be able to go to all these college towns and they’ll all be the same, the same look. There’ll be nothing like the old Gainesville look.” People move to cities like Austin and Gainesville because they like what they currently see. Unfortunately, so many of them move in that what they see will not likely be what they get. The chambers of commerce of virtually all American towns avidly seek growth. More people, more money. Uniqueness is sacrificed at the altar of Greed. First, we lose Grand Funk Railroad, now we lose grand Funk. Ah, but that’s progress, right? Nothing we can do about it, say the city fathers. But there is something they can do about it. Something called Zoning.
The Alternative
Have you ever been to Kennebunkport, Maine? It’s a lovely little place, even though the Bush Complex is just around the corner. Scores of tiny little shops and restaurants selling everything from kites to wind sculptures to lobster rolls, all of them available via a short walk in a delightful atmosphere. If there are any chain stores in Kennebunkport, I haven’t seen them and nobody is complaining. The town is thriving, crammed with happy tourists and uncompromising in its look. There are other towns on the coast of Maine but this one took a wise path and is much the better for it.
Ever been to Estes Park, Colorado or Bar Harbor, Maine? Sure, they’re right next door to enticing national parks, they have the added allure of terrific scenery, but they also have the wisdom to remain attractive, unsullied by the overbuilding blight. Estes Park has chains but they’re located just outside the charming downtown area, a nest of little shops and eateries on very walkable streets, many of them backing up to the small Fall River which cuts a pleasant path through town.
Ever go to Soho in its infancy? Some wise administrator in New York City decided it might be a good idea to rent extremely cheap lofts there to artists in hopes these creative people would daub some color on the place and resurrect the vacant buildings. That’s exactly what happened. From the year 1970 to the early 2000s, Soho was a young and vibrant quarter, artists, sculptors and photographers sold their work on the streets, musicians played on the sidewalks on weekends. Unlike in the towns mentioned above, however, as the crowds increased, the rents skyrocketed. The artists and small entrepreneurs who made the place a success were displaced and the larger vendors arrived. When an Apple store shows up in your neighborhood, the thrill is gone. The same thing happened in Georgetown, D.C. It isn’t as though these places aren’t successful any more, It’s just that we’re no longer interested in going there. It’s like the mall. Why bother, there’s one everywhere.
The American blight is worldwide. Now we have chain eateries in Paris. Any wonder why the French don’t like us? “Pardonnez-moi, monsieur, but your friggen golden arches are blocking my view of Le Tour Eiffel!” It’s a universal nightmare. Pretty soon, they’ll have American Chinese Restaurant chains in Beijing. Can anything be done? Sure. Will anything be done? Probably not.
It’s up to you. If you want to keep your little town looking like Old Gainesville or Athens, Georgia, you’ve got to fight the battle. Otherwise, as usual, the money will prevail. The good news is that the best opportunities for success in these wars remain in the small cities where local politics still presents viable “smaller-is-better” candidates. It doesn’t take impossible numbers and outlandish budgets to make the changes required to preserve a modicum of history, to make a place for tiny local businesses to spawn, to install keepers of the flame. It’s not impossible, hardly a pipedream. Many people in these places are elected to office with a small percentage of the popular vote. Maybe you should be a candidate yourself. I’d do it personally but for some unexplainable reason they almost never elect ex-head shop proprietors. They do elect head shop accountants, however. Ex- Subterranean Circus CPA Harvey Budd is now a Gainesville city commissioner. Hey, Harvey—your constituents are calling. This gentrification business is getting out of hand. We need an influential man, a champion, a white knight to nip it in the….well, you know.
Martymania
Last week’s release of Marty Jourard’s Music Everywhere—The Rock and Roll Roots of a Southern Town, a book celebrating sixties/seventies Gainesville, livened up The Auld Home Town. Marty’s Thursday book signing and talk at the Matheson Museum brought out a capacity crowd and Friday’s Road Turkey (Jourard’s band) performance at High Dive was a smash hit. It was All-Marty, all the time. Everyone wants a piece of The Man, even book fairs in Savannah and Miami, where he’s been beckoned to speak soon. And now, just released, prominent agrarian/artist/photographer Chuck Lemasters has presented us with renderings from the clandestine Big Marty Dinner of April 20.
This collection of photos will be part of a travelling show of iconic Marty paraphernalia, together with, among other fascinating prizes, his first baby booties and a peppery audio interview with his first middle-school girlfriend, who has plenty to say. The entire collection will then be presented at the Marty Museum of Modern Art, now abuilding on lovely Wacahoota Road in rural Micanopy.
Gentlemen, the photographs please!
Michelle Ganeles, Steve Soar, Marty Jourard, Bob Sturm on the far side; Stan Lynch, Ricky Stano looking across the table.
Bill with 18-year Circus employee Ricky Childs.
Bill & Siobhan in the foreground.
Marty checks his book for relevant information.
Ex-Circus troublemakers Lemasters and Sturm.
Bill and Marty check out Sturm’s old Circus photos.
Left: Jen and Richy Stano, Stan Lynch; Right: Sturm and Marty.
Marty pontificates for Richy, Bill and Bob.
Bill & Michelle discuss cosmic events.
Steve, Marty and Bob consider the cuisine.
Stan Lynch beams; Steve Soar eats.
Stan, Siobhan, Jen, Richy and late-arriving Natalie, fresh in from the airport.
Previews Of Coming Attractions
The annual pre-Kentucky Derby Flying Pie arrives next week with portraits of the candidates and predictions for the finish. As everybody is well aware, the wise old sages at Pie Horse Central have predicted the winner of this race for three straight years and never mind that the favorites have dominated. There’s a lot of scientific gobbledygook that goes into these selections, long nights of poring over Past Performance Charts and watching old race films, all so we can make you look good to your water-cooler buddies at work. “Yep, boys, there’s no doubt about it—Old Seabucket will prevail by a length or two, you heard it here first.”
And, of course, the gala Bill & Siobhan nuptial event marches ever closer, now just two piffling months away. The wedding dress is being spiffed up, the shoes are just in after a lonely trip from China and the plane and hotel reservations are all made. A Vegas photographer has been enlisted to travel with us to the Valley of Fire for post-wedding pix and the Grand Canyon mules are prepping for the honeymoon trek to the Phantom Ranch. If we get out of there alive, there’ll be visits to Sedona and a lot of poking around in Monument Valley on the Arizona-Utah line.
Later, in July, our pals Barbara and Bruce Reissfelder will, for some arcane reason, fly off to Iceland for a chilly vacation. We’ll probably never make it to Iceland and neither will you, so we’re asking them to bring back scads of photographs to look at. Bruce usually likes to snap 5000 or more because he doesn’t want to miss anything so let’s hope there’s a little pre-editing before we get the final group. While in Reykjavik, the Reissfelders will stop by the sparkling new Marty Jourard Monument to lay the traditional wreath.
That’s all, folks….
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