AN URBAN HIGH

 HOW ONE MAN’S VISION REVITALIZED NEW YORK REAL ESTATE

and PROVIDED A PERPETUAL URBAN HIGH

It's almost as if the whole of 20th century architectural form -- from early brick geometries to glass-paneled perpendiculars to undulating choruses of banding -- convened to pose for this picture which I took (with my iPhone!) from New York City's High Line. Would that the visionary of this great elevated park, Peter Oblenz, had lived to see the beauty and vitality his grand scheme has contributed to New York life --  a park in the sky, pastoral, futuristic, yet accessible to everyone. Obletz lived alongside the abandoned elevated Tenth Avenue train track that ran down the middle of the street (and, with distressing frequency, ran down pedestrians; The street was nicknamed Death Avenue.) His vision would be hard won, require decades to manifest, and would transform an industrial derelict a paramount  example of urban reclamation and a signature New York destination.

 The original High Line was built in the thirties to service the warehouses along the West Side. No sooner was it built, however, than train traffic slowed to a trickle, thanks to the familiar death blow of the Depression and the popularity of truck transport. The last train ran on the High Line in 1980 (carrying, it is said, a load of turkeys on Thanksgiving morning), leaving the artery to rust and grow wild with weeds. Conrail, the railroad that owned the High Line, wanted it gone, as did a consortium of local property owners, led by one of the area’s largest interests, Edison Parking, and the City. The only reason it remained in place is that, essentially, no one wanted to pay to take it down. And so the High Line languished. Then, Peter Oblenz began rallying for the site's reclamation.

 It would be a decade and half before a not-for-profit group of neighborhood residents, business owners, design professionals and civic groups formed Friends of the High Line to carry forth Oblenz's mission. They garnered notable and powerful New Yorkers in the art, architecture, and civic world to support the vision of an elevated park. These efforts, of course, pleased no one who’d been entangled in the long battle to topple the High Line. For 20 years, local property owners were the main opponents to the park-conversion plan. At the height of the battle with Friends of the High Line, Edison Parking launched a propaganda campaign. One flyer read, “”Money doesn’t grow on trees, and last we checked, it isn’t growing in the weeds of the High Line.”

 Ultimately, the possibilities of the High Line caught the public imagination, and movers and shakers were able to persuade all the property owners to sign over their rights using the tool of allowing the owners to transfer their development rights to surrounding properties. They then rezoned parts of West Chelsea to allow for new, larger developments.

 Today the High Line is one of only two elevated parks in the world (the other, in Paris).  A Standard Hotel, built to straddle it, is among the City's fashionable, and a new branch of the Whitney Museum of American Art has come to the neighborhood. The landscaped walk-in-the-sky is planted with wild flowers, carving its way for  miles through the urban fabric two to three stories above ground.  Framed mostly by the backs of buildings and billboards, with occasional views opening out to the Hudson or across Manhattan, it is a voyeur's paradise, a nature-lover's retreat, an urban oasis.  Its uncanny isolation is magical, for  the park is integrated into the urban fabric so seamlessly as to be nearly invisible.

 As a result of the Peter Obletz' vision, its articulation, and the forbearence of those he motivated, even the humblest civic undertaking in New York today has become viewed as a potential gold mine. What the High Line achieved for pedestrian pleasure, it also accomplished for the future of urban design. City planners who once had to coax developers to build in rundown neighborhoods are groping for strategies to keep them at bay.

THE VISIONARY’S IMPACT

HOW ONE MAN’S VISION REVITALIZED NEW YORK REAL ESTATE
and PROVIDED A PERPETUAL URBAN HIGH

It's almost as if the buildings convened to create a portrait of 20th century architectural form -- brick geometry, perpendicular glass paneling, undulating choruses of banding. Such a view! I took this photo (with my iPhone!) from one of New York City's greatest civic sites, the High Line, the elevated garden walkway linking three Manhattan neighborhoods with acres of open space atop an abandoned rail deck. Would that the visionary who conceived it, Peter Obletz, were still alive to rejoice in its pleasures and success.

Part of the High Line's allure is its physical isolation, carving its way for miles through the urban fabric two to three stories above ground. It is framed mostly by the backs of buildings and billboards, with occasional views opening out to the Hudson or across Manhattan. It has provided Manhattan with a park in the sky (one of only two in the world -- the other being in Paris), pastoral, futuristic, yet accessible to everyone.

Obletz lived in the then-dilapidated neighborhood where the Tenth Avenue train track ran down the middle of the street and, with distressing frequency, ran down pedestrians. (The street was nicknamed Death Avenue.) He began rallying for his reclamation idea nearly 30 years ago, but it was not until 1999 when a not-for-profit group of neighborhood residents, business owners, design professionals, and civic groups formed Friends of the High Line to engage the city's notables in its cause.

The original elevated railway track was built at the turn of the century to serve the warehouses along the West Side. Train traffic soon slowed to a trickle, however, thanks to the familiar death blow of the Depression and the popularity of truck transport. The last train (said to be carrying a load of turkeys on Thanksgiving morning) ran on the High Line in 1980, leaving the artery to rust and grow wild with weeds. Conrail, the railroad's owner, wanted it gone, as did a consortium of local property owners led by one of the area’s largest interests, Edison Parking, and the City. At the height of the battle with Friends of the High Line, Edison Parking launched a propaganda campaign. One flyer read, “”Money doesn’t grow on trees, and last we checked, it isn’t growing in the weeds of the High Line.” And so the High Line languished for decades.

But once the cause became invested with a certain intangible downtown sexiness -- -- a landscaped aerie planted with wildflowers, an urban oasis, a scenic retreat --  the possibilities for the long-neglected piece of industrial detritus began to excite the potential donors needed to fight for its cause. Movers and shakers of the art and architecture worlds, civic powerhouses, and celebrities such as Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick got involved, and the vision began to take root.

Property owners were persuaded by the Department of City Planning to sign over their rights using the tool of allowing the owners to transfer their development rights to surrounding properties. Then parts of West Chelsea were rezoned to allow for new, larger developments.  In fact, the partnership between city planners and High Line advocates was one of the most sincere efforts in recent memory to protect the public interest from an onslaught of commercialization. The final zoning regulations for the area require setbacks to protect some major view corridors; at other points, buildings are allowed to shoot straight up to maintain the sense of compression that is part of the High Line’s charm. The core of several blocks, meanwhile, remain zoned for manufacturing in the hope of maintaining some of the area’s character.

Today, a dozen or more luxury towers and a new branch of the Whitney Museum of American Art have claimed the High Line neighborhood. The Standard Hotel actually straddles the Line. The surrounding neighborhood, too, has been  revitalized, and real estate prices, which have escalated more than 30 percent,  are now among the highest in the city. Because of Obletz' vision and the efforts of those he motivated, even the humblest civic undertaking has now become viewed as a potential gold mine.