Here in Upstate New York, there are a lot of (potentially) beautiful old Main Streets, lined mostly or completely with handsome old brick buildings from a bygone era. These vintage buildings tend to have retail storefronts on the streetside first floor, complete with ample display windows, and one, two, or more floors of apartments above and often a basement for storage below. Once upon a time, I presume, all available space was used or occupied and the town was bustling. Not anymore. 
This past weekend, I met a friend for lunch in one such town, Canajoharie. If you’ve traveled east or west on the New York State Thruway between Albany and Utica, you have passed Canajoharie. From the highway, you can see a huge sign for and the brick buildings of the now-defunct Beechnut Foods factory. If you take this exit in search of fuel or a meal, you will find a pretty Main Street. In the past few years, from what I understand, with a lot of determined organizing and some state-grant money, this main street has been repaired and spruced up.
But, alas, in an at-best ironic touch, the big factory — which was easy walking distance to Canajoharie’s main street — is closed down. (Last year, production and jobs moved 20 miles east to an industrial park, where the new pre-fab building has experienced problems like an entire corner of it bowing under a heavy snow load last winter.) I was a bit early and as I waited for my friend, I walked around and was struck by the attractiveness of the town center and the extent of the factory “campus.” I also observed empty storefronts, along with a couple of restaurants and a few small, quiet retail shops. I don’t know if there are any plans for that abandoned factory, but it goes without saying that if you let such buildings sit empty long enough, they fall into disrepair and lose value.
In the town where I live, there are also empty storefronts on Main Street. Residents were interested and excited when, this past summer, signs were posted in the windows of one of these, “Coming soon! Cake shop!” I stopped by when I noticed someone working inside and had a chat. I learned that the landlord evidently had given the entrepreneurs a fair deal: clean up my vacant building and I will not charge you rent until you open. Win-win, you might think. Evidently not. Work stopped after a while and disappointed cake lovers pressed their noses to the grimy windows to view a partial cleanup but no imminent signs of opening. What happened? This being a small town, I learned the probable reason from another merchant: in the course of cleaning up, structural problems were discovered. Serious, expensive problems that the landlord needed to know about and address.
In defense of the landlord, such a project can be daunting. Suppose the building is damaged by (just to name a few potential problems) aging beams and supports, the weight of snow on the roof, water seeping in the cracks and old windows, sewage pooling in the basement, or even by a fire? What if it has totally outmoded and dysfunctional electrical, plumbing, or heating systems? Is a bank, or anyone for that matter, going to loan someone a lot of money to pour into such a place? Think about an old car you once owned — how much would you be willing to put into it and how much could you insure it for? Not very much and not very much, right? And if it faltered, developed too many problems, or was in an accident, you probably didn’t feel like fixing it/investing in it any more. Nor would insurance replace it. In the car world, at least, old things are used for as long as they can, and then we discard them.
But back to real estate. Long-term neglect and decay of old buildings is a serious challenge in this part of the world. Even if one could be purchased cheaply, is it a good investment? Is there sufficient incentive to fix it up and fill it once more with a shop or two, and renovate and rent out the apartments? How much money will you need or can you get? Can state grants help, will they be enough? After you do all this, where will the people (tenants, customers) come from? Will your project repay what you put into it, never mind turn a profit?
And so, all too often, our old and unloved buildings slowly fall apart. Codes are not enforced, building permits are either not applied for or not issued. Sometimes such buildings are vandalized or used by vagrants and drug dealers. Sometimes an absentee landlord ends up abandoning their building and their tax debts along with it. The county or town seizes it for non-payment and eventually it may be demolished at taxpayer expense.
It seems to me that a landlord without much funds or a plan could at least minimally protect their building by repairing or tarping the roof, sealing the windows, and/or running the furnace during the winter months just enough to keep the pipes from freezing.
I met a long-time resident hereabouts who was a boy when several blocks along the south side of Main Street were demolished during the 1960s “Urban Renewal” fervor. He and his friends went down to watch as the wrecking ball slammed against the old buildings. He remembers being amazed at how many blows it took for the brick-block-and-beam structures to finally buckle and fall. “They were so solidly built,” he marveled, shaking his head. “Not like the cheaply constructed mini-mall that replaced it,” he added dourly.
The poor economy that continues to plague small towns in this part of the country — Beechnut Foods was only the most recent factory to depart, many more preceded it, believe me — ironically spared some other Main Streets from misguided destruction. There is no money to raze entire blocks; the trend of replacing the solid old with cheap new appears to have been a passing phase.
Revitalizing the solidly built buildings that we do have holds out hope for an attractive, historically preserved streetscape. And yet, although Canajoharie’s Main Street appears to be physically rejuvenated, the town does not appear very vibrant and I have to admire the residents and investors for persevering. And yet, although my town has similar handsome architecture and potential along the north side of its Main Street, and has not suffered the recent economic blow of a departed factory, we are far from vibrant ourselves. The probably-fizzled cake shop is not an isolated problem.
I am not sure what the answers are, but I see preserving and investing in presumably sturdy and potentially charming historic buildings as “working with what we’ve got.” As we all know from dealing with our personal financial struggles in these trying times, I believe that remains the most sensible option. If anyone is aware of any success stories around this challenging issue, please share!
