July 8, 1949

Syracuse has always had a bit of a retail fetish. I mean, who needs DestiNY when tourists already flock to the area due to its elite status among dead mall cities? But long before the DestiNY saga, there was a similarly drawn-out battle for a shopping mall in DeWitt. Fifty-nine years ago today, an architect who wished to build a $500,000 shopping center on a 46-acre parcel of land opposite DeWitt Cemetery (the Dadey farm) for a then-unnamed developer submitted his plans the DeWitt Town Board. The shopping center would be a one-story, half-circle shaped building housing twenty-four stores, with enough parking for 650 cars. Also included in the deal was a plan to construct 45 homes on the site, which would sell for about $15,000 each. The plan drew quick protest from Orvilton Park residents, who brought the matter to court, citing that they built their homes when the area was zoned residential, and the change in zoning would cause the value of their houses to drop. If you find it hard to imagine Erie Boulevard as a residential street, so did the judge who ruled in favor of the shopping center on May 27, 1950: "It is found that Erie Boulevard by reason of heavy vehicular traffic with resulting noise, dirt, odors and hazards is unsuited for residential purposes. One is not required to theorize to reach this conclusion." Furthermore, as the judge pointed out, five of the plaintiffs weren't even disgruntled homeowners, but rather businessmen who had recently sold their property located on the corner of East Genesee and Erie Boulevard to a competing shopping center developer (what would become the "DeWitt Stop and Shop Shopping Centre"). A shopping center on the site would be "in accord with a well-developed plan to promote the general welfare of the community," the judge stated.

With this decision, in June 1950, Eagan Real Estate announced their plans to begin construction of the Town and Country Shopping Center on the disputed site, though the year of legal battles had given Eagan the opportunity to expand their vision. The center would now contain 40 stores, and cost an estimated $3 million. These days, this shopping center is not only better known as Shoppingtown, but also as a favorite stop on the Dying Mall Tour. Plans are being discussed to redevelop the mall into a "lifestyle center," i.e. a strip plaza, not unlike the Dewitt Stop and Shop Shopping Centre (now better known as 4473 East Genesee Street), which still has storefronts to this day. In fact, all of the earliest shopping centers/strip plazas in Syracuse --Nottingham Plaza (1951), Valley Plaza (1952), Shop City Plaza (1952), Westvale Shopping Plaza (1950) and Mattydale Plaza (1950)--have remained intact and occupied, even while the neighborhoods around some of them have (sharply) declined. So as Syracuse continues to be seduced by new shopping centers, perhaps we should look at why these vintage plazas may be much more valuable.

When it comes to city revitalization, those who subscribe to the Richard Florida theory suggest that transformation begins with members of the "creative class" inhabiting--and rehabbing-- the city's downtown. 40 Below would not only like me to Come Home to Syracuse, but preferably move into a renovated loft or condominium downtown. But what does a call to live in a luxury condo in the abandoned blight of downtown Syracuse rather than an older house in an established neighborhood--albeit a neighborhood that has seen far better days--really say about the city that you're trying to revitalize? When Nottingham Realty Corporation built Valley Plaza in 1952 (with Eagan Real Estate serving as managing agents), the site was selected "after a detailed survey revealed that 55,000 persons in the immediate area can be conveniently served" (The Post-Standard, November 16, 1952). As Eugene W. Kilts stated in a letter to the Post Standard on January 17, 1972, when he moved to Syracuse in 1920, he "made many inquiries as to the best sections of the city to make my residence and 9 out of 10 recommended the South Side." His walk home from work (at 2 am!) involved "walk[ing] home via the then beautiful West Onondaga St. with its maple trees on both sides of the street...down South Ave. to Bellevue to Hudson Street." Mr. Kilts then adds "In those days you never feared being mugged at that time in the morning, but as of today...I would be frightened to walk that section in the daytime." Thirty-six years later, this sentiment has not changed. Given that the Syracuse of today is a direct result of the urban renewal actions of the 1960s, how exactly does establishing a neighborhood of young professionals and empty nesters downtown address the problems of these historic neighborhoods that are in desperate need of revitalization themselves? Is it perhaps easier to settle in condos in the abandoned downtown, because you are creating a neighborhood where none exists?

Also significant is that all of the above-named shopping centers were originally anchored by a supermarket (or in some cases, two supermarkets - but that's a whole other blog entry). Most still contain a grocery store today. While perhaps not aesthetically pleasing, these strip plazas did provide all of the amenities - food, pharmacy, department store - for the immediate neighborhoods surrounding them. And because each of these suburbs was located on the early trolley lines (which had all become bus lines by the time the shopping centers were built), sidewalks made the area walkable. If Syracuse is trying to "go green," then why not promote these neighborhoods with smaller houses (less energy/heat), sidewalks and short distances to the supermarket (less gas)? There is usually the assumption that "downtown living" means less driving than the suburbs. However, given that not only is Syracuse years away from a real mass transit system, but also has most of its offices currently based in the suburbs, downtown living in Syracuse is probably less of a green choice than settling in one of the inner-ring suburbs.

Lastly, it is important to note is that the sites for these older plazas were considered in relation to the proximity to the top Syracuse employers at the time. A January 25, 1955 Post-Standard article discussing the proposed expansion of Shop City mentions that the center "has ample parking space, an attractive feature to the thousands of workers from plants at Industrial Park...Carrier Corp., General Motors, General Electric Co. and other firms have plants in the area, one of the most rapidly developing sections in the U. S." L.T. Eagan of Eagan Real Estate cited the rapid growth of Syracuse as the main factor for JCPenney's 1952 decision to open a store in Shoppingtown:

"East, west, north, south, Syracuse grows beyond its borders...Carrier Corporation, Bristol Laboratories, U.S. Hoffman, Oberdorfer Foundries and other Digney interests, the new Western Electric upstate service and supply center to employ 500, mean nearly 10,000 industrial employees along one axis developed largely since the war...small wonder that national concerns look to Syracuse for outlets and Syracuse interests think in terms of branches around the great golden circle of the city." (The Post-Standard, October 12, 1952)

In other words, the jobs in Syracuse created the shopping centers; the shopping centers did not create the jobs in Syracuse.

June 30, 1949

As a marathoner, I am obsessed with times. Unfortunately, as a slow marathoner, I am also obsessed with figuring out how my times fall apart. For some marathoners, it is "the wall": a sudden and dramatic energy loss around mile 20. Yet for me, it is a gradual decline: a one-minute walk through the water stop at mile 5 turns to two minutes by ten, and before I know it, I'm walking the entire distance from mile 22 to 23. But where did I go wrong? Did I start too fast? Did I not hydrate properly? Am I just not genetically cut out to run marathons, and therefore always be doomed to this ending?

On a similar note, whenever I look at the history of Downtown Syracuse, I want to know: when did it unravel? Was it a sudden hit like the marathoner's wall; a banner headline that instantly spelled out the demise of the area? (Such as the front page news of October 15, 1990, when the opening of the Carousel Center sealed the fate of the area's remaining enclosed suburban malls?) Or was it a creeping fatigue, a year-by-year slow down that eventually left the formerly thriving city at a complete standstill? Was "Realistic Planner from Fayetteville" being prescient or obvious when he stated "the city is on its way out" in a May 12, 1957 letter to the Syracuse Herald American editorial page? ("I suggest instead of urban renewal you have urban displacement...that's the handwriting on the shaky city walls which I read.") While nostalgia makes me think the former, the reality is probably closer to the latter: Realistic Planner already had five years to chew on a July 1, 1952 Post Standard editorial which decried the rapid growth of the Syracuse suburbs, communities such as DeWitt and North Syracuse that were "choking [themselves] with growth...too many people, too soon." With every request for a zoning change, with every house advertised in relationship to the nearest shopping center, there had to be an awareness that downtown Syracuse was losing its relevance. But was there one day, one moment when the handwriting was on the then-sturdy city of Syracuse walls for all - and not just late-to-the-table Realistic Planner-- to see?

I'm still searching for an answer to this one, so in the meantime, let's look at the history of the abandoned building at 321 South Warren Street, the construction plans for which were announced fifty-nine years ago today.

The land on which 321 South Warren Street sits was once home to the circa-1889 Warner Building, owned by Charles Warner, head of the Warner Sugar Refining Company nd the Warner-Quinlan Asphalt Company. Warner leased part of the building to the Syracuse Herald (as well as Dakin's Business Institute). In 1903, the Syracuse Herald moved out, and the Post-Standard moved in. The newspaper bought the building three years later, and it remained its headquarters until the Post-Standard relocated to a newly constructed building on East Fayette and Montgomery Streets in June, 1940. In typical downtown Syracuse fashion, the Warner/Post-Standard building was demolished, and the site was turned into a parking lot.

The rapid growth of the post-WWII Syracuse suburbs led to increased business for the city's banks, all of which were (ironically) headquartered downtown. Industrial Bank of Central New York was no exception to this explosion, quickly outgrowing its office space at 221 East Fayette Street. The Bank announced its plans to construct a two-story, 14,000 square foot, $500,000 building on the parking lot purchased from the Post Standard, complete with the new rage in banking at the time: the drive-thru window. (Although due to the building's location, the drive through looked more like the entrance to a loading dock, with cars entering on South Warren, and exiting in an alley in the back which led to East Fayette). Space on the second floor was leased to Dun & Bradstreet, as well as two insurance companies. Construction began in fall of 1949, and in January, 1950, the bank advertised its plans to bury a time capsule* beneath the building. With a scheduled unearthing date of January, 2050.

To be honest, I don't know what's sadder: the knowledge that artifacts representing the pride and enthusiasm of a generation are (currently?) buried underneath this building that has barely made it fifty, let alone one hundred, years, or that bank president Warren R. Bentley was so naive to believe that his building's fate would be any different than that of the fifty-year old Warner/Post-Standard building which had been razed a mere decade earlier. To wit: less than three years after the grand opening of 321 South Warren Street, the Industrial Bank of Central New York merged with Lincoln National Bank & Trust Company. Lincoln Bank kept the office in operation until December, 1969, when it sold the building to First Federal Savings and Loan Association (which itself had been forced to find a new location due to the Edwards-Lincoln urban renewal project, which entailed demolishing standing structures in the Clinton Square area so that a new Edwards department store and 22-story headquarters for Lincoln Bank--the current One Lincoln Center --could be constructed). Most recently, the building housed the off-site data storage (read: no humans) for a financial services company. And in 2006, when Excellus BlueCross BlueShield demanded more parking as a condition to keep their offices downtown, the city found its answer by looking to its past. Of course, they did not remember the June 30, 1949 Post-Standard editorial which enthusiastically declared the bright future of South Warren Street business signified by the Industrial Bank land purchase, but instead fondly recalled the grand old days when 321 South Warren Street best served the city as a parking lot.

In 2006, Warren Parking Associates bought the building from Cadaret, Grant, & Co. Inc. with a plan to demolish it as well as several other neighboring properties for a new parking garage. Less than a year later, when Excellus decided to move to DeWitt, the group of developers attempted to sell back the blighted properties back to the city. The city one again readily agreed, and though the purchase has yet to be finalized, the reported price that the city will pay for the building - as well as two other properties-- is $1.05 million, which works out to approximately $350,000 for 321 South Warren Street. Adjusting for inflation, the 1949 $500,000 construction price of the Industrial Bank of Central New York headquarters equals $4.5 million in today's dollars. Yet the city of Syracuse will be balancing out that number a bit more, after they spend an estimated $345,950 for asbestos removal and, yes, $100,000 for demolition costs. After all, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and in Syracuse, parking lots to parking lots.

*As far as I know, the 4.5-foot copper time capsule is still buried in concrete beneath 321 South Warren Street. One can only hope that if/when the building meets the wrecking ball, the contractors will take note to locate and remove the capsule. If you don't want to wait that long, here's a list of what's included in the capsule:

According to a Sunday, January 22, 1950 Post-Standard article, the bank wanted to assemble a collection of items that best represented mid-century life in Syracuse. These artifacts include:

(SPOILER ALERT!)

· pictures of city officials · copies of the city's newspapers · "modern" drugs · WSYR and WHEN films showing the progress of television as well as 1949 news highlights · news and style magazines · plastic items and a note describing the importance of plastic · coins and currency · 1950's style woman's hat, specially designed for the capsule · list of Onondaga county manufacturers · pictures and bulletins from Syracuse University and LeMoyne College · pictures of the Centennial Program of 1918 · pictures of a 1950 car · pictures of athletic teams · pictures of Syracuse Symphony Society orchestra · pictures of Syracuse architecture at the time, including homes, apartments and buildings · 1945 postwar report by the Syracuse Onondaga postwar planning council · a baton (and photo) from the Syracuse University majorette · a recorded commentary by E.R. Vadeboncoeur of WSYR about the trends in Syracuse · recorded messages from community members to the Syracusans of 2050 · recorded messages from bank employees to the employees of the bank in 2050 · plans and specifications of the building · photos of the time capsule event, taken with a Polaroid Land Camera

As you can see, there is a remarkable historical archive of 1950 Syracuse buried beneath the current blight at 321 South Warren Street, worth more than the building itself. Which only proves that when contemplating the future of Syracuse, the answers may quite literally be in the foundations of the city.