Rogue Columnist

Phoenix in the nineties

The new decade came upon a Phoenix beset with crisis. Charlie Keating, the most lionized Arizona businessman of the previous dozen years, was facing federal fraud and racketeering charges. His palatial Phoenician Resort was seized by a platoon of U.S. Marshals, lawyers, regulators, and locksmiths in November 1989. American Continental Corp., flagship of Keating's complex web of businesses, was forced into Chapter 11 bankruptcy reorganization. Among the casualties was his ambitious Estrella Ranch project south of then-tiny Goodyear.

Behind much of the trouble was the savings and loan scandal and collapse, a financial crisis that cost taxpayers about $132 billion. It also took down some of the Sun Belt's biggest institutions, including Phoenix's venerable Western Savings, controlled by the Driggs family, and Merabank, a subsidiary of Pinnacle West Capital Corp. meant to make big bucks for the holding company of Arizona Public Service. It would take the federal Resolution Trust Corp. years to sort out and dispose of all the properties and hustles. The worst of the S&L wrongdoing was the Keating Five scandal. Its U.S. Senator members, who leaned on regulators on behalf of Keating, included Arizona's Dennis DeConcini and John McCain (Disclosure: John Dougherty and I were the first to break this story at the Dayton Daily News).

The local trouble had been predicted in a December 1988, Barron's article about Phoenix's overheated real-estate market, fueled by S&L money. The headline: "Phoenix Descending: Is Boomtown USA Going Bust?" The boosters had been outraged. Barron's had been right. In an ominous foreshadowing of the future, the city hit a record 122 degrees on June 26, 1990.

For individuals, the worst was yet to come. Unemployment in Arizona rose from 5.3 percent in May 1990 to a peak of 7.8 percent in March 1992. This seems modest compared with the Great Recession (11.2 percent for the state); it was painful enough. State and city leaders committed to establishing a more diverse economy, weaning Arizona off its dependency on population growth and real estate. Economic development organizations were set up across the state for this purpose, including the Greater Phoenix Economic Council, led by the brilliant Ioanna Morfessis. It established goals to build strategic clusters around high-technology sectors with high-paying jobs.

Tragically, the effort failed. The 1990s, when the U.S. economy enjoyed its longest, strongest, most innovative economic expansion in history, saw Phoenix and Arizona double down on "growth." The state's population grew by a staggering 40 percent, 45 percent for metropolitan Phoenix. The cluster strategy lacked sustained focus. Yet none of this was obvious or inevitable as the decade began. 

The geography of madness

In 1994, James Howard Kunstler's The Geography of Nowhere was published. It remains the best critique of suburbia out there and I highly recommend it. But something Kunstler didn't touch on was the psychological effects of the isolation and thinning out of America in car-dependent subdivisions.

I thought about this when I read the horrific story of 13 siblings held captive and tortured by their parents in Perris, Calif., a piece of sprawl in Riverside County. Look at a photo of the house and it could be anywhere in metropolitan Phoenix outside of the real historic neighborhoods.

The 1999 Columbine High School massacre happened not in downtown Denver, or the city at all. Instead, the shooting that killed 12 students occurred in unincorporated Jefferson County. It is an upper-middle-class area, but filled with lookalike single-family houses, walls, totally dependent on the automobile. Same landscape with the murder of 12 and wounding of 58 at an Aurora, Colo., movie theater in 2012.

When 58 were shot to death last year at a concert on the Las Vegas strip, the shooter lived in Mesquite, Nev., a spread of lookalike tract houses off Interstate 15 near the Arizona line. Newtown, Conn, site of the Sandy Hook shooting, was founded in 1705 but is mostly sprawl residential pods. Dylann Roof grew up in suburban Lexington County, outside Columbia.

On and on. Many reasons drive America's increasing pathologies, but the spatial element shouldn't be ignored.

Phoenix's lost gems

We spend much time on this site discussing urbanism, including the architectural losses and disasters of Phoenix. More than history or sentimentality is at stake. Much of the economic power in cities such as Seattle, Denver and even Los Angeles has come from the "back to the city" movement and restored historic masterpieces.

Phoenix was smaller and poorer at the zenith of Art Deco. But it did have a real cityscape before the post-World War II automobile era, subsidized sprawl, and municipal malpractice of massive teardowns created today's suburbanized mess. It had some saves, including the Orpheum Theater, Orpheum Lofts, San Carlos Hotel, Luhrs Tower and Luhrs Building, old Post Office, Kenilworth School and the County Courthouse/City Hall.

Thanks to Rob Spindler and the ASU archives, along with the collecting by the indefatigable Brad Hall, we're getting more photographs of the old city. I realize some of this is familiar  territory for regular readers, but the images tell more than words about what Phoenix lost (click for a larger image). They include:

The Fox Theater:

 

Regrets? I have a few...

In 1999-2000, I was offered the business editor jobs at the San Diego and San Francisco papers. I also had feelers about coming to work at the New York Times and the Los Angeles Times. After nearly five years at Knight-Ridder's Pulitzer-winning Charlotte Observer, I was more than ready to leave a city where they ask if you've found a "church home," wanted to get back to the West. That was when John D'Anna at the Arizona Republic called and offered me a columnist job at my hometown newspaper.

Warning signs abounded: Downtown Phoenix was dead, corporate Arizona had moved out to north Scottsdale, and the Republic had recently been purchased by Gannett, known for its small newspaper mentality, suspicion of serious journalism, and obsession with fads (I had worked for the company as assistant managing editor for business news at the Cincinnati Enquirer and saw its bad and OK sides). On the other hand, downtowns were making impressive comebacks elsewhere — I had seen them first-hand in Denver and even Charlotte. Brahm Resnik, the business editor at the Republic, assured me the changes had been minimal. After years as a turnaround specialist editor, I longed to be out of management. And every journalist's dream is to write a column in his hometown.

So I took the job, following in the footsteps of the fine business columnist Naaman Nickell.

Susan and I bought one of the most beautiful historic houses in Phoenix, in Willo a block from where I grew up. And for the next nearly seven years I wrote one of the most popular columns in the paper. "Never thought I would read this in the Arizona Republic," was a common reader accolade. I enjoyed a position of prominence, leadership, and celebrity totally out of proportion with the job — at least in other cities. The parties we hosted at the 1914 bungalow on Holly Street attracted a who's who of Arizona. And then, in 2007, it was gone. We had to sell that beloved house as no other local jobs materialized and make our primary base in Seattle (we still have a Midtown condo and some lifelong friends).

Could I have found a way to stay?