Last Harvest: From Cornfield to New Town Read online

  To limit choice, Duany and Plater-Zyberk created a set of rules that they called an architectural code, to distinguish it from the building code. On certain subjects, the Seaside code is unequivocal: the exact slope of principal roofs is fixed; white picket fences on the street side are mandatory; so are front porches. At the same time, the code leaves latitude for personal expression: it does not spell out the precise design of fences and porches, there is no limitation on architectural style, and houses can be painted any color. Although the height of buildings is strictly controlled, owners who want a view of the Gulf of Mexico can add a small lookout. Since their height, location, and design are unrestricted, the assortment of picturesque towers has become one of Seaside’s characteristic architectural features.

  Duany and Plater-Zyberk understood that Americans are attached to traditional architectural forms, such as pitched roofs and front porches. There is some scientific evidence for this cultural bias. Anton C. Nelessen, a New Jersey architect and urban designer, has developed a technique for assessing people’s reactions to their surroundings. He calls it a Visual Preference Survey. Participants in the survey are shown a series of images and asked to rank them on a scale from most desirable to downright undesirable. The images include views of streets, houses, parks, and shopping areas. Ratings by different social groups in different parts of the country show a remarkable consistency.5 Commercial strips, convenience stores surrounded by parking, and new residential developments on large lots in open land are always given negative ratings. Shopping streets and older residential areas with sidewalks and shade trees are always positively rated. “Adding landscaping to streets and parking lots, always results in a more positive rating,” Nelessen observes.6 He often uses paired images, and while people give low ratings to apartment complexes with large parking lots and bland buildings, they rate apartments with porches facing on-street parking highly. In short, Nelessen’s survey shows that design matters.

  Having an architectural firm write guidelines is expensive. At Fairstead, Arcadia’s canceled project in Lancaster, the guidelines and the architectural plans cost $200,000. For New Daleville, a much smaller project, Jason Duckworth is saving money and writing the guidelines himself. “Londonderry Township has expressed a desire for New Daleville to have a distinctive local look,” he tells me, “although I’m not sure that they, or we, know exactly what that will be.” He photographs farmhouses in the area that could serve as models and includes the photographs in his first draft of the guidelines. Jason admits that he isn’t sure how much “authentic” details are valued by home buyers, but he thinks a more traditional appearance will be an important marketing tool, since it will set New Daleville apart from competing developments.

  When Tom Comitta reviews the draft, he points out that Jason’s photographs are all from Montgomery County. He suggests that examples closer to New Daleville would be more appropriate. Jason agrees, but he is concerned about two things: the old houses in the hamlets near Londonderry are considerably smaller than what will be built at New Daleville, and they are rather plain. “We know that high-end Philadelphia buyers in the six-hundred-thousand-dollar range like houses that look like modified farmhouses, with interesting Colonial-style details,” Jason says. “For less than half the price at New Daleville, we can’t deliver the same thing, but I hope we can come up with something attractive and consistent.”

  The guidelines come up at the next monthly meeting of the planning commission. Tim Cassidy, who leads the discussion on the design of the houses, wants to know what input the township is going to have. “Basically, very little,” answers Dave Della Porta. “We know what we’re doing.” He usually speaks his mind and sometimes sounds brusque. Cassidy is not satisfied with this answer. He wants the township to be involved. One of the other commissioners disagrees and says that, as a rule, they don’t review the architectural design of residential developments. “But this is different,” says Cassidy heatedly. “The architecture is an important part of the new concept that we’ve accepted. We need to know it’s going to come out right.” It’s obvious that he feels strongly about this, and most of the commissioners seem ready to support him.

  Della Porta isn’t sure how to respond. Arcadia has convinced the township about the importance of design, so he can’t really back away now. Seeing his colleague at a loss for words, Jason joins in the discussion. “It’s the planning that is the most important issue,” he tells the commission; “getting the architecture right is just icing on the cake.” Cassidy strongly disagrees. He says that the houses will have to be top quality for the village idea to work. Then he reads from a draft of the guidelines. “It says here that houses should have classical proportions and show the architectural heritage of Pennsylvania. I agree with the general idea, but terms like classic and heritage are pretty fuzzy. So is the requirement that roofs should have steep slopes. The guidelines need to be much more specific.” He quotes a section that lists synthetic stone, vinyl siding, and brick-textured concrete as acceptable “high-quality building materials.” He says that he doesn’t consider synthetic stone and brick-textured concrete to be high quality, and if vinyl siding is going to be used, it should be very limited. Cassidy hates vinyl.

  Della Porta continues to argue that issues dealing with design should be left to the developers. “You don’t want to get involved in architectural questions,” he tells the commissioners. “You’re not experts.”

  “Oh, but I am,” Cassidy answers quickly. “And I care.”

  Unwittingly, Della Porta has blundered. Although Cassidy works in the Comitta office chiefly as a landscape architect, he is also a trained architect; in fact, he has a doctoral degree in the subject. So if there’s an architecture expert in the room, it’s Dr. Tim.

  For the first time, there is a strong difference of opinion between Arcadia and the township. Cassidy refuses to budge, and he puts the Arcadia people on the defensive. The meeting ends without any clear resolution of the guidelines issue.

  “I don’t want the township to review every building permit application,” Cassidy tells me afterward. “I just want the developers to build what the guidelines describe. I can’t believe that Jason said that if the plan was good, mediocre architecture would be okay. In reality, anything they build probably will be mediocre. But if they shoot for mediocre, it will just be terrible!”

  The vagueness in the guidelines that Cassidy objects to is not accidental. “Since I started to work on this, I’ve talked to a dozen different design professionals,” Jason tells me. “I’ve asked them which are the three most important design rules, the real levers. Some say proportions, some windows, others say trim and moldings, or porches. Nobody agrees. There’s no consensus on what is key.” Is he having doubts about traditional neighborhood development? “I still think it’s a better way to develop and build,” he says. “But early on I wasn’t sufficiently skeptical. The enthusiastic proponents of TND are often the people who are farthest from its implementation. I now have some questions about buildability and consumers’ receptivity to the idea. TND doesn’t satisfy every market, and it’s not as easy to build as they say.”

  Jason has decided to leave the builders plenty of leeway. “The rules are vague because we don’t really know how to specify good design,” he says. “We asked people at the meeting to tell us what they wanted or didn’t want, but we didn’t get any clear answers. Tim doesn’t like vinyl, but the kind of houses we’re building will definitely have vinyl siding, so that’s not very useful. Ultimately, it’s the builders who understand what sells houses, and we don’t want to tell them what to do.”

  Jason is in no rush. Nothing can happen until the engineers finish revising the preliminary drawings to reflect the new street layout. In the meantime, he receives a four-page letter from Cassidy with a long list of suggestions about how to tighten up the guidelines, and a heavily marked-up copy of the guidelines themselves. “No plastic fences!!!” reads one of the notes. Jason adjusts some of the langu
age, but mostly he ignores Cassidy’s suggestions. He’s not worried about the planning commission at this point, since he’s showing it the guidelines strictly as a courtesy. While there might be some modifications as a result of these informal discussions, he doesn’t feel obliged to take Cassidy’s advice.

  A year earlier, when the subject of the design guidelines first came up, Comitta suggested that they should be formally adopted by the township. Jason resisted the idea and pointed out that the municipal planning code does not require such ratification.7 Comitta agreed, but he now thinks he may have made a mistake. John Halsted, the township solicitor, says that, despite the county code, the new Londonderry ordinance is quite specific: the design guidelines must be adopted by a formal vote of the board of supervisors.

  Jason has no choice but to agree. Halsted tells him that he doesn’t want the township involved in overseeing detailed design issues — all that is needed is a simple “black and white” document that can be made a part of the ordinance. Since the guidelines will be a legal part of the ordinance, compliance will be determined by the supervisors, who will also have authority to approve — or disapprove — any future modifications. Thus, from Jason’s point of view, the simpler the guidelines are, the better. He deletes a lot of the descriptive and photographic material and distills the twenty-three pages into eight. Comitta thinks the planning commission will be able to approve the guidelines at its next meeting.

  Things do not go smoothly. “I thought that we had an understanding, but we basically got a lot of push-back from the commission,” Jason tells me. “Tim Cassidy feels strongly that the guidelines should be very specific, and the people in the audience rallied around him. One person even suggested that we should bring in samples of building materials, such as siding, and roofing shingles, for approval. That would be a disaster! Tim’s position is that the township is taking a risk by giving us a density bonus, and in return it should have a greater say in design matters. Our argument is that the density bonus has nothing to do with the design of the houses. We’re spending a lot on site improvements, granite curbs, trees, and so on. That should be enough.”

  The expected vote on the guidelines does not take place. Instead, Jason agrees to bring drawings of typical houses to the next meeting. He’s getting boxed in, and he’s not happy about it. “We’ve been going back and forth on these guidelines for several months,” he says. “It’s now sixteen months since the New Daleville ordinance was approved, and the project is more than a year behind schedule.” Because of the delay, Arcadia has had to negotiate another extension with the landowner, pushing the option deadline from spring to the end of the year.

  Jason sends a new draft of the guidelines to the township. At the last minute he includes illustrations of typical neotraditional houses, hoping to mollify the commission. Cassidy isn’t impressed. “There are no dimensions, materials are not labeled, and there are no notes or specifications of any kind,” he writes in response. “Many of the examples look just like typical suburban ‘products.’ What makes them better?” Jason deletes the illustrations.

  When the engineers complete the preliminary plans, Arcadia formally resubmits the drawings, together with the new sewage planning module and the revised guidelines. At the planning commission meeting, Comitta presents a long list of comments and suggestions by the township engineer and various township consultants: the storm water consultants, the lighting consultants, and the traffic consultants. Della Porta, who is there with Jason, says he’s willing to go along with all suggestions. “I think we’re ninety-five percent in agreement. We’re almost there.” He wants to wrap things up.

  But a new issue is introduced. Londonderry transportation consultants have recommended traffic lights and road widenings to handle the extra traffic generated by New Daleville and another new subdivision. Traffic lights are expensive — $100,000 each — and the township wants the developers to pay for a part of the so-called off-site improvements. This amounts to an impact fee, that is, a fee charged to a developer to cover the financial “impact” of his development. Local governments in many states use impact fees to pay for a variety of improvements to roads, parks and recreation facilities, public works, fire companies, and police forces. Sometimes, the improvements may be only remotely connected to the developer’s project and amount to a development tax. In Pennsylvania, however, thanks to intense lobbying by developers and builders, the state planning code requires that, before an impact fee can be levied, the municipality has to carry out a study to assess actual costs. Since Londonderry has not done a traffic study, it’s on shaky legal ground. Della Porta, who knows this, says he will contribute to traffic improvements, but he cagily does not specify an amount. He leaves the delicate subject of the design guidelines until last. He says that, since everyone is in basic agreement — which is not quite true — there should be no problem ironing out the details. It looks as if he hopes to bluff his way through.

  From the ensuing discussion, it’s obvious the commissioners are divided. One group is ready to approve the project tonight, while the other, led by Cassidy, wants all the details — including the guidelines — resolved first. At one point, it looks as if the motion will be shelved. Then Richard Henryson, the chairman of the commission, weighs in. “We have to have a little faith,” he says. He suggests that a vote be taken on the preliminary plans, contingent on the various details being worked out. This is reasonable, and Cassidy doesn’t object. Everyone falls in line, and the vote in support of New Daleville is unanimous.

  When I later speak to Joe Duckworth, he is relieved. The project is running behind schedule, but that’s normal. They are still not out of the woods. State approval of the drip irrigation scheme is a major hurdle. He thinks Jeff Miller has done a great job preparing the sewage module, but the Department of Environmental Protection is unpredictable. Still, it looks as if his first impression of Londonderry was correct — with the exception of Cassidy, the township has been cooperative, and the chances for New Daleville look good. Duckworth is also very pleased with his son. “He can really handle things on his own now,” he says. “My only worry is that he sends me e-mails at two forty-five in the morning. He works too hard.” Duckworth speaks to Jason’s wife, Angela. “Jason has worked equally hard in all three of the jobs he has had since graduating,” she says. “But this is the one that he likes the best.”

  “I do like it,” says Jason when I tell him. “It’s not just working with my dad, which I enjoy, but the job itself. It’s a business, but it’s also a creative endeavor. There are so many sides: political, aesthetic, environmental, even personal.” Is there anything about it he doesn’t like? “I was raised to be a good kid, to do the right thing and try and please people. What I don’t like is being the bad guy. Sometimes I have to make people unhappy to get the result we need.” I ask him what has surprised him most about being a developer. “The most valuable skills in my previous jobs were analytical. Real estate development values pragmatism and the ability to quickly solve problems in a commonsense way. I’m not sure what the value of an Ivy League degree is in all this. In real estate you have to get the big things right, like acquiring the land and getting permits, but to actually cross the finish line you have to deal with a hundred small details.”

  14

  Locked In

  A recent Virginia study found that homes that were part of a community association “typically sold for 5 percent, or $14,000, more than a similar home nearby not governed by a homeowner association.”

  Municipal zoning was not widespread until after the nineteen twenties, so the builders of the early garden suburbs needed a way to guarantee the implementation of their plans — and to preserve property values. They adopted two legal mechanisms: the deed restriction and the home association. Deed restrictions, also called restrictive covenants, were clauses attached to private lot deeds that were binding on the original buyers and on all subsequent owners. They controlled what could be built on the lot, in terms of size,
use, and quality.* The home association, to which all owners belonged, enforced the deed restrictions and also owned and maintained common areas in the development, such as parks and other public spaces.

  Although all the classic garden suburbs — Riverside, Forest Hills Gardens, Mariemont, and Palos Verdes Estates — were gov129 erned by home associations, for a long time such organizations remained upper-middle-class rarities.* Today, 30 million Americans belong to home associations, called homeowner or community associations, and it has been estimated that, in the largest metropolitan areas, more than half of all new homes are governed by an association.1 Modern community associations are the products of a single event. In 1978 California taxpayers approved a statewide amendment — Proposition 13 — that reduced local property taxes and limited future increases. The initiative spread nationally, and within five years over half of the states had adopted similar legislation. “Twenty-five years ago, we’d build parks, green spaces, and retention ponds, and when the project was finished we’d deed all these public spaces to the municipality,” says Joe Duckworth. “The taxpayer revolt changed all that. Municipal governments everywhere refused to take responsibility for maintaining public spaces in new developments. They basically told us, ‘Take care of it yourselves.’” Henceforth, public amenities would remain the responsibility — and the property — of homeowners. According to Duckworth, before Proposition 13, community associations were rare in Pennsylvania. “Now, all our projects include community associations. The local municipal governments insist on it.”