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Why do I hate this place?

Category: Ramblings

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Written by Teri Dunn Chace

There is a new shopping center in town. Its location was never really controversial—the developer chose a wooded, rocky spot just off one of our main roads, and I did notice that a well-regarded local ecologist told the local paper “there really is no unusual or special plant, animal, or habitat in that spot.” Its mix of stores, still evidently a work in progress (there are quite a few empty storefronts remaining), caused some concern, as our already struggling Main Street didn’t want or need competition. Not to worry, folks, thus far all the tenants of the new mini-mall are big corporations with headquarters out of town. Whether the development would get a tax break, how much, and for how long was hotly argued, but the mayor and those in her corner prevailed because the local economy so badly needs a bigger base. One item seems never to have been debated: the design. The developer and his design team pledged to be “sensitive,” which meant not only that the storefronts would have a somewhat-New-England-ish look, but that there would be hills and dales and green swathes. I notice even vintage-looking streetlamps were installed here and there.

“Gloucester Crossing,” as it was dubbed, is now open for business.

Because its biggest tenant is the popular discount grocery store Market Basket, we have been flocking there. Other tenants, spread out over a few acres, include a Dollar Tree (selling discounted junk made mostly in China), a Marshall’s (selling discounted clothing, shoes, housewares, and inexpensive gifts, ditto I imagine), and a Five Guys burger franchise. Sidewalks are in short supply and the prospect of walking from one of these stores to another is daunting; you are likely to be mowed down by motorists navigating the curving, a-little-bit-too-tight parking lots and “lanes” amid wedged-in landscaped islands and curb strips. The only sounds you hear are squealing tires, the occasional horn, and grocery carts doing back-to-my-car derby. There are no smells, from grilling burgers or plants.

Why do I hate this place? I am not trained in urban design, I don’t know any more about commercial design than most of the rest of us. But I know what I like, as a human and a consumer, and I know what I do NOT like. This place is offensive.

Let me see if I can find the words; let me count the ways. “Gloucester Crossing” conjures up a quaint country crossroads, not this cynical or half-assed effort. (I admit, I am a little oversensitive about names—I grew up in Southern California, where rampant and heedless construction bulldozed the orange groves, replacing them with cookie-cutter housing developments dubbed “Orange Blossom Acres.”) Unlike a town square or a main street, Gloucester Crossing cannot be easily reached by walking or bicycle and cannot be easily navigated on foot. There is no place to sit outdoors. There are no trashcans (so litter appears to be a problem). It is not friendly meet-and-greet your neighbor. Spacing is really a problem; the place feels compact and stingy, even though there are buffers of grass and gravel on all sides and presumably a little more elbowroom would have been possible. (Call it buffering if you want, but the net effect is that the place is baldly isolated from its surroundings.) And, thus far, nothing is locally owned, and once again we Americans are merrily filling our carts with junk outsourced to overseas factories.

The new village-themed shopping center is not public space—which, for the record, main streets and town squares decidedly are; gathering is not welcomed or part of the plan, whether for a Santa Claus, 4th of July parade, politicking, or any other imaginable civic use. Though it is not an enclosed mall, its efforts to create a comfy wee-village feel are poorly executed and look phony. I am not fooled by the awkwardly placed light posts (no useful illumination), the faux “town hall clock” on the front of the grocery store, the pseudo-Federal-style storefronts, or the perfunctory landscaping. I don’t want to go, and I don’t want to stay. The place is cheap, hasty, tacky, and unfriendly: spend and be gone, folks, it seems to blare in a hectoring, unfamiliar voice.

I am not anti-development per se; I did understand the mayor’s arguments and the resident ecologist’s assessment. I know Gloucester Crossing has provided local jobs, and a boost to the local economy is expected and will be hailed. But just as it successfully drains rainwater down its fake designed streambeds, it drains away all local character, convivial human interaction, and ease of movement. It is essentially hidden from the rest of our town like an industrial park and in the same way, it is a slave to the car culture, outside suppliers, and business without personality or warmth. There’s got to be a better way.