Urbane Planning

Whenever I’m called upon by municipal magistrates to fix whatever ails their middling metropolis, I come prepared. You may be astonished that my name finds its way onto the short list of pro bono urban planners, but it’s too weird to be true. Since urban planning is a last gasping profession, barreling towards vocational extinction, I’m one of the few people on earth who’s read The Power Broker, putting me in a highly desirable position. While the percentage of journalists who own Robert Caro’s master tome is in the nineties, the number of people who’ve actually sat down and leafed through the thousand-page volume is, mathematically speaking, zero. All you need to do is repeat the same old story to throw folks off your case. And like Ulysses, since no one else has really read the thing, there’s no one to poke holes in your oft repeated yet quite dubious claims.

But when building a city, it helps to know what you’re talking about. Knowing that, it’s important to accept that urban planning as it was once done is outdated, outmoded, and altogether overrated. What’s missing in many of our biggest cities isn’t a better grid or bigger bike lanes, but a certain indescribable charm. What I like to call urbane planning is slowly becoming the norm – adding little things that bring smiles to the faces of pedestrians and drivers. Without sending the latter off the road and into a muddy, snake-filled gulch. 

Every city should have twice as many majestic boulevards and stunning thoroughfares as it has lowly streets and boring roads. Sophistication starts with language. Cities deserve more citizens with bowties – and not merely religious fanatics handing out wordy pamphlets. How about arming crossing guards with more than just the flare from their reflective vests? There’s no reason why suspenders can’t be safely sewn into striking phosphorescence. I want walking, talking tennis balls with the debonair attitude of a 19^th century butler. Throw in a bowtie or a top hat and no one’s ever jaywalking again. Why would they? You might miss getting a complimentary mint or a scalding hand towel. 

I accept the necessity of parking meters as a town’s primary source of revenue. But why so staid and inelegant? Let’s doll them up a bit with glitter and glitz. Exit parking meters, enter poetic meters with driving-related epigrams covering the pole. Which, I would add, should be made from gold ingots. 

What about flowers? Well, what about them? If there’s a hole somewhere in town, throw a few bouquets inside. This goes for drainpipes, gutters, potholes, recycling bins, trash cans, and dumpsters. Anything to spruce up the place. Paint is always so expected and unimaginative, too. How about repainting the department of corrections in polka dot or, better yet, black and white stripes, as a nod to the old-timey jailbird’s classic uniform?

There are other things like hosting weekly parades, building confetti cannons for any impromptu celebration, or piping in gentle Jazz on every street corner. Even paper boys are welcome here. While newspapers are rotting, there’s no reason why these little kids on tricycles can’t deliver any number of other paper-related items. Like notepads, straws or napkins. As long as they toss them from the street to the front door, the village pride is exactly the same. 

It’s about time we brought back these charming aspects of city life, encouraging the suave and refined to lay down some cultured roots. While the word “metropolis” derives from a dead language, in this town, the citizenry would know that. 

It’s all Ancient Greek to me.