Those who live in Richmond have probably heard the issue of Sixth Street Marketplace beaten to death already, so they may want to skip today’s rant. On the other hand, the saga of that piece of forlorn frippery is sadly emblematic of the chaos that has faced downtown Everycity, U.S., for the past thirty-odd years.
For those who do not live in Richmond: The epicenter of Richmond’s old shopping district was the 200 block of north 6th Street. Nothing was really on 6th, but it connected the two main shopping streets — Broad and Grace — right between the two mammoth department stores, Miller & Rhoads and Thalheimers. When downtown started to get a bit tatty in the ’80s, the city sought something new that would breathe some life into downtown and, seeing the spectacular success Baltimore had experienced with its Harborplace, obliterated 6th Street’s right of way for three blocks, including a pedestrian bridge over Broad.
The noise the 6th Street Marketplace made while flopping could be heard in Akron. It was a desperate idea that was poorly planned and never really had the factors to succeed. The “anchors” were the big department stores — but both were located at the southern end of the project, so there was no earthly reason to walk through to the other end. The design of the place is the patently awful, pseudo-Victorian frilly style endemic to all such Festival Marketplace efforts — all of the over-done-ness with none of the sense of balance and aesthetic of an actual Victorian structure. It had a food court at one end, rendered irrelevant by the excellent restaurants in both of the department stores.
When the department stores closed — Miller & Rhoads in 1990, Thalhimer’s in 1992 (that crash would ultimately send your faithful correspondent unwillingly back to Maryland) — the last nail was hammered into Sixth Street Marketplace’s coffin. Unfortunately, it’s taken another ten years for the city to get around to burying the benighted thing.
Almost every city, except those few that still have healthy downtowns, has tried a similar desperate ploy to get people back to the old retailing area. Baltimore and Norfolk both tried making pedestrian malls out of one street — Norfolk even went so far as to try the trick with its main drag — and it didn’t work. The success of Harborplace, which Richmond was trying to emulate on 6th street, was actually a different animal. Baltimore’s waterfront was never the retail area; the project was designed to rehabilitate a no-longer-useful industrial and shipping zone. Countless solid city buildings across the nation were replaced with barren, windswept plazas that ostensibly would draw hundreds of shoppers back downtown, only to end up populated solely by pigeons.
The common misconception is what exactly shoppers seek. What do the suburbs have that downtown doesn’t? In too many cases, the cities seek to reproduce the look and feel of the suburbs. It’s not the look that matters; in fact, most people would probably prefer the corniced and corbelled majesty of Miller & Rhoads to the concrete nonarchitecture of Regency Mall. What the suburbs have that downtown doesn’t is the perception of safety and convenience. Even above safety, the first thing out of any Richmonder’s mouth when queried about downtown is, “But there’s no place to park.” (Actually, with everything closed, there’s plenty of parking now but nothing left to park for.)
After ten years of complaining about it, many Richmonders are now waxing nostalgic over Sixth Street Marketplace. Not I. I will jump for joy when that ill-begotten monstrosity tumbles down and people can actually walk down 6th Street again without having to go through a dead and ugly mall. The argument seems to be that the Marketplace could work if given another chance. I don’t think so. It didn’t work when downtown still had a lot going for it; now that almost all retail is gone it certainly won’t work. Sixth Street Marketplace is yet another entry in the list of desperate, poorly-thought-out urban renewal efforts.
At this point there is no “saving” downtown Richmond, because there’s virtually no retail left to save. What should be saved are the buildings, which are equal or superior to the architecture in much larger cities. Downtown cannot be saved, but it can be restored, and its remaining amenities could be made attractive to new tenants. Why not a Target store in the Miller and Rhoads building? Barnes and Noble in the Thalhimer’s building? Touring Broadway shows at the National and the Loew’s returned to first-run movies (which God knows is the only thing it’s really good for)? There’s no reason this can’t happen, but if people are going to come downtown, the city has got to stop blowing millions on half-baked renewal schemes and provide the only things people really want in a shopping area: parking and security.
Maybe then my friends won’t all have aneurysms when I try to get them to go for an Apollo pizza.
For those who do not live in Richmond: The epicenter of Richmond’s old shopping district was the 200 block of north 6th Street. Nothing was really on 6th, but it connected the two main shopping streets — Broad and Grace — right between the two mammoth department stores, Miller & Rhoads and Thalheimers. When downtown started to get a bit tatty in the ’80s, the city sought something new that would breathe some life into downtown and, seeing the spectacular success Baltimore had experienced with its Harborplace, obliterated 6th Street’s right of way for three blocks, including a pedestrian bridge over Broad.
The noise the 6th Street Marketplace made while flopping could be heard in Akron. It was a desperate idea that was poorly planned and never really had the factors to succeed. The “anchors” were the big department stores — but both were located at the southern end of the project, so there was no earthly reason to walk through to the other end. The design of the place is the patently awful, pseudo-Victorian frilly style endemic to all such Festival Marketplace efforts — all of the over-done-ness with none of the sense of balance and aesthetic of an actual Victorian structure. It had a food court at one end, rendered irrelevant by the excellent restaurants in both of the department stores.
When the department stores closed — Miller & Rhoads in 1990, Thalhimer’s in 1992 (that crash would ultimately send your faithful correspondent unwillingly back to Maryland) — the last nail was hammered into Sixth Street Marketplace’s coffin. Unfortunately, it’s taken another ten years for the city to get around to burying the benighted thing.
Almost every city, except those few that still have healthy downtowns, has tried a similar desperate ploy to get people back to the old retailing area. Baltimore and Norfolk both tried making pedestrian malls out of one street — Norfolk even went so far as to try the trick with its main drag — and it didn’t work. The success of Harborplace, which Richmond was trying to emulate on 6th street, was actually a different animal. Baltimore’s waterfront was never the retail area; the project was designed to rehabilitate a no-longer-useful industrial and shipping zone. Countless solid city buildings across the nation were replaced with barren, windswept plazas that ostensibly would draw hundreds of shoppers back downtown, only to end up populated solely by pigeons.
The common misconception is what exactly shoppers seek. What do the suburbs have that downtown doesn’t? In too many cases, the cities seek to reproduce the look and feel of the suburbs. It’s not the look that matters; in fact, most people would probably prefer the corniced and corbelled majesty of Miller & Rhoads to the concrete nonarchitecture of Regency Mall. What the suburbs have that downtown doesn’t is the perception of safety and convenience. Even above safety, the first thing out of any Richmonder’s mouth when queried about downtown is, “But there’s no place to park.” (Actually, with everything closed, there’s plenty of parking now but nothing left to park for.)
After ten years of complaining about it, many Richmonders are now waxing nostalgic over Sixth Street Marketplace. Not I. I will jump for joy when that ill-begotten monstrosity tumbles down and people can actually walk down 6th Street again without having to go through a dead and ugly mall. The argument seems to be that the Marketplace could work if given another chance. I don’t think so. It didn’t work when downtown still had a lot going for it; now that almost all retail is gone it certainly won’t work. Sixth Street Marketplace is yet another entry in the list of desperate, poorly-thought-out urban renewal efforts.
At this point there is no “saving” downtown Richmond, because there’s virtually no retail left to save. What should be saved are the buildings, which are equal or superior to the architecture in much larger cities. Downtown cannot be saved, but it can be restored, and its remaining amenities could be made attractive to new tenants. Why not a Target store in the Miller and Rhoads building? Barnes and Noble in the Thalhimer’s building? Touring Broadway shows at the National and the Loew’s returned to first-run movies (which God knows is the only thing it’s really good for)? There’s no reason this can’t happen, but if people are going to come downtown, the city has got to stop blowing millions on half-baked renewal schemes and provide the only things people really want in a shopping area: parking and security.
Maybe then my friends won’t all have aneurysms when I try to get them to go for an Apollo pizza.
posted by Daniel | 5:43 PM
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