Early every Friday morning of the spring semester, my friend
Debbie and I left our respective houses and walked briskly toward
each other’s, meeting somewhere near Monterey and Sixth.
Early every Friday morning of the spring semester, my friend Debbie and I left our respective houses and walked briskly toward each other’s, meeting somewhere near Monterey and Sixth.
We then would proceed west and north at random, on the old streets, Sixth through Third, Eigleberry, Church, Rosanna, Hanna, Dowdy, Carmel, and Princevalle, ending up on Miller. At Miller, we would reverse our direction, and quarter east and south, always ending at Garlic City Coffee and Tea, where Karen Covington served us cappuccinos breve in ceramic mugs: delicious.
We walk this neighborhood because it is visually interesting. No two front yards are alike. No two houses are alike. There are a few Victorians and many Craftsman bungalows, some Spanish mission-style houses with adobe walls two feet thick, and many houses of no style I could name.
Some houses are big and gracious, some small and quaint, most well-kept, a few neglected. All are different, yet the general effect is harmonious.
One specific Friday afternoon, May 7, 2004, to be precise, columnist Doug Meier published his annual Uglification Awards, a mere six months late. His first annual awards had chastised downtown.
His May awards targeted the northwest quad, specifically the Santa Teresa Soundwall Corridor, the lack of a Green at the Village Green, the human-unfriendly layout of Eagle Ridge, and the monolithic big homes on small lots off Sunrise Drive.
Mr. Meier assigns blame in only two of these cases: the soundwall is the fault of a City of Gilroy ordinance, and “Shappell Industries and the city of Gilroy share the blame for creating a gated community with such a human-unfriendly layout.” I hope it is fair to say that Mr. Meier thinks that developers should design and the city should mandate more beautiful neighborhoods, not ones deserving of Uglification Awards.
My morning walks lead me to a slightly different conclusion.
This old west-side neighborhood was built piecemeal at a time when a family would buy a lot and build a house. They built them well, because they were going to live in them. A rich family would build a big mansion. A poor family would build a small bungalow. A poorer family would rent a saltbox. “Affordable housing” was thus sprinkled in amongst the larger, more well-to-do houses.
Thus, without zoning, without burdensome regulations, a harmonious, beautiful charming, diverse neighborhood was built.
Such houses and such neighborhoods are not unique to Gilroy. My aunt and uncle own the most beautiful house in the world. It stands on the rocks of Carmel. Three wings enfold a small sheltered garden on the landward side. On the ocean side, huge windows give endless views of granite and gulls, surf and seaweed, clear to the horizon.
My great-aunt was not rich. But she bought the land and built the house at a time when regulations were non-existent, when common sense and personal taste decreed what would be built and what would not. The house is sturdy and sound as well as lovely. It has withstood the occasional earthquake and the annual Pacific storms for 40 years. The house would be illegal to build under today’s more stringent regulations.
Today, of course, only developers and the extremely rich can afford to build inside city limits, in accordance with city ordinance. Therefore, most people live in developments. A developer has to go before city council, hat in hand, and allow council to micromanage his project to death. To make some kind of a profit, he sacrifices individuality and creativity. The result: conformity and Uglification.
Obviously, if we really want beautiful neighborhoods, the easiest, most straight-forward, most sensible thing to do would be to scrap our zoning and building regulations. I am not holding my breath.
Were Malva Reynolds writing her immortal song today, she would have to modify the words a little. With apologies, then:
Big boxes on the hillside,
Big boxes made of ticky-tacky.
Big boxes on the hillside,
Big boxes just the same.
There’s a pink one, and a pink one,
And a pink one, and a pink one,
And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.
