Rogue Columnist

The omen

The international news that Rio Verde Foothills has seen its water cut off by the city of Scottsdale is a drama in miniature for how the Arizona Ponzi scheme is going to play out on a larger stage in the coming years.

From the BBC and New York Times, to the Washington Post and local media, Rio Verde Foothills is invariably described as a "town," "suburb," or using typical sales language, "community." The Times even gave "Rio Verde" its own dateline.

In fact, it is a subdivision in the desert of about 2,000 houses ("homes" is sales language) north of Scottsdale. It's a wildcat subdivision, built by several developers who never had to comply with the Groundwater Act, with a "100 year guarantee" of water (itself an elaborate hoax).

As I've warned you for years, the developers are gone to more hospitable climes, leaving the foolhardy owners of these houses holding the bag.

Living with drought

My new Gene Hammons Novel (a mystery due out in the next year or two) is set in 1936. In my research, I found that much of the Midwest and South suffered from a terrible drought, which claimed thousands of lives (separate from the Dust Bowl). But Arizona had plenty of rain that year — temperatures were also lower than today — and Phoenix was protected by the dams and reservoirs on the Salt River. And therein lies a tale.

 The population of Arizona was around 443,000 — fewer than live in today's Mesa. Phoenix clocked in at 55,000 or do, double that for the metropolitan area (remember, the city then was only around 17 square miles). Had today's mega-drought hit then, Phoenix would have been fine. Even with climate change.

But population growth has long been the primary driver of Phoenix's leadership. On the flag of the Arizona Republic in 1936 was a bug headlined "How Phoenix Grows!" listing population increases and building permits (The "flag" is the name of the paper atop the front page; the "masthead" lists the newspapers leadership, typically on the editorial page). So as of 2020, Arizona's population is 7.2 million, with Phoenix the nation's fifth most populous city — though far from No. 5 in other measures of quality and influence.

What did I miss?

Carl Muecke illustration

Thanks for your patience. The novel is now completed and will be soon sent to the publisher. A few quick thoughts:

• It's astounding that the former local Fox newsreader Kari "Trump in a Dress" Lake stands a good chance of becoming Arizona's next governor. Or not. I've been skeptical of Arizona becoming a purple, much less blue state. For one thing, the GOP-controlled Legislature passed voter suppression laws, as I warned. And Hispanics are not a monolithic voting bloc. They don't want police defunded. Many are suspicious of woke Democratic virtue posturing.

• It's astounding that Republicans — the Party that Broke America with the Iraq war, Great Recession, and Trump — remain not only relevant but favored to win control of one or both houses of Congress. Trump could win the presidency again, in our last election. When Herbert Hoover and the GOP were blamed for the Great Depression (where I've been living writing the second Gene Hammons novel), the Republicans didn't win the White House for 20 years, and then under the moderate Ike. Not now.

• Similar astounding that Trump and his enablers have faced no consequences for the January 6th attack on the U.S. Capitol. Lake is an election denier.

Read on about this blog and its future:

 

Death and life of Sunbelt cities

 

By Soleri

Guest Columnist

 

I hadn't been to Phoenix in several years, so my trip a couple of weeks ago was animated as much by curiosity as it was the desire to see old friends. I did know the city had more than recovered from the previous housing crash. Indeed, it was booming again. A dozen years ago, I predicted Phoenix would never recover from the crash. I don't like eating crow but if it's the sole item on the menu, so be it.

 

Much of what I did see made that crow taste better. Phoenix looked much healthier than when I moved to Portland in 2013.  The downtown had filled in with new high-rise apartment buildings and crowded clubs. The activity at night, in particular, was heartening to see.

 

What I didn't see were the thousands of "unhoused" mentally ill drug addicts who have turned much of Portland into a dystopian hellscape. Yes, street people were on the sidewalks of downtown Phoenix, but without the trash, tents, and drug paraphernalia that have so deeply damaged Portland. Phoenix is relatively litter-free and unmarred by graffiti.

 

Maybe it's the weather, or maybe it's because its political center of gravity is simply not in far-left field.

Year of living dangerously

Illustration by Carl Muecke

Everything that's good is at risk. Everything bad spreads and gets worse. 

It's difficult to avoid that conclusion, from my personal experience to the nation and the world. In Phoenix, Central Methodist Church — the "Mother of Arizona Methodism" for all the other congregations it established — is now just "Central Church." First it took away such comforting staples as the Apostles Creed, then ran out  the choir and excellent music program, shut the inspiring sanctuary and eliminated the traditional service with the glorious hymns — and has only a contemporary "Jesus, Java, and Jazz" service. I know all you smart agnostic and atheist readers don't care. I do.

The city keeps throwing down gravel and pavement, gutting shade trees, landscaping, and grass. It's ahistorical in the natural oasis of central Phoenix and adds to the deadly heat island. Newcomers lecture me that "we live in a desert" and "there's a drought." They don't care that investments in natural cooling such as shade trees keeps that water away from being wasted on more sprawl. I do.

And little indicates it will change in 2022. It will get worse. This is how we live now.

A Christmas letter

Illustrations by Carl Muecke

Here we are, hurtling toward a Democratic shellacking in 2022. And based on the voter suppression laws being passed by Republican-controlled legislatures around the country, they may never be in power again. For example, the Arizona Legislature has stripped the Secretary of State of the ability to certify elections. Now the Legislature itself will decide electors — here comes Trump in 2024.

Electoral success depends on quick results by the Democrats, not only on infrastructure (which Trump never delivered) but also rebuilding the social-safety net and addressing climate change. Instead, the monstrous Sen. Joe Manchin has torpedoed much of President Biden's agenda. West Virginia is among the poorest states in the nation. It one of the biggest beneficiaries of Biden's Build Back Better programs, but no. Manchin revels in being essentially shadow president. The razor-thin Senate Democratic majority that leaves so much power in the hands of Manchin and Arizona's Sen. Kyrsten Sinema. Both should be Republicans for the damage they did. They are anything but centrists. But let's not forget the Democrat's self-inflicted wounds.

These are nicely encapsulated on Andrew Sullivan's Substack column. (It's well worth a subscription). Here's some of the salient points Sullivan makes:

The Interstate 11 boondoggle

I don't know why they call the agency the Arizona Department of Transportation. It's the highway department, it's historic name. All it does is plan, build, expand, and maintain highways. No trains – Phoenix is the largest city in North America without intercity passenger rail. No commuter rail or light rail or transit. ADOT is all about highways. Behold its new creation.

Interstate 11 is planned to eventually run from Nogales to Reno, cutting the above swath through hundreds of miles of virgin desert as it winds to the west of Phoenix. I-11 could cost as much as $10 billion to build from Phoenix to Las Vegas alone. But this doesn’t include externalities: Air pollution, emissions that worsen climate change, loss of desert habitat, bladed desert plants, including increasingly vulnerable saguaros.

Kristen Mosbrucker in New Times reported on how the route will benefit Mike Ingram's holdings in Maricopa, as well as Douglas Ranch, acquired for $600 million by the Howard Hughes Corp. with Ingram and Jerry Colangelo as partners. Without freeways, this is worthless empty desert north and west of the White Tanks. With I-11, a goldmine — even though gold mines of the West play out quickly.

Writing off the news

I know some friends of the blog are unenthusiastic when I post galleries of Phoenix history. But history is one of Rogue Columnist's missions. And the traffic goes through the roof. People love the photos. But back to the serious stuff.

The New York Times did an in-depth look at the astonishing lack of care in advance of the deadly crowd trampling at the rapper's concert on Friday. It says in part:

Concert organizers and Houston city officials knew that the crowd at a music festival planned by Travis Scott, a favorite local rapper turned megastar, could be difficult to control. That’s what happened two years earlier, the last time Mr. Scott held his Astroworld Festival.

For months, they braced themselves, adding dozens more officers from the Houston Police Department and more private security hired by Live Nation, the concert organizer.

The Houston police chief, who knows Mr. Scott personally and felt the musician had been trying to do good for his hometown, said that he visited Mr. Scott in his trailer before his show on Friday and conveyed concerns about the energy in the crowd, according to a person with knowledge of the chief’s account.

But I urge you to read the whole thing here. I'll wait.

Grant Woods, an appreciation

The spontaneous outpouring of grief on news of Grant Woods' death at 67, too too young, is a measure of the man. We'll never see the same for Doug Ducey or Kyrsten Sinema or almost any Arizona pol you can name. Something similar might happen for Janet Napolitano or Terry Goddard, but this is an elite club.

Woods and I became friends when I returned to Phoenix in 2000 as a columnist for the Arizona Republic. A graduate of Mesa's Westwood High, we had long-running jokes because I had graduated from rival Coronado High in Scottsdale. He was a valuable off-the-record source and I knew the score. He'd already been ridden out of the Republican Party as a RINO. The state party had been radicalized since he was Attorney General from 1990 to 1999.

He was an outlier from the start, forcing the eccentric Bob Corbin from the primary and emphasizing civil rights, including a Martin Luther King Jr. holiday. Gov. Evan Mecham had repealed his predecessor, Bruce Babbitt's holiday proclamation in 1987. The holiday didn't become state law until 1992.

How to read the news

Penelope Abernathy at the University of North Carolina has been tracking the expansion of "news deserts" in the United States — counties with no local newspapers at all, and those with only one. Even the survivors are hanging on.

U.S. newspapers lost 48 percent of their journalists between 2008 and 2018, and the losses are now accelerated by the pandemic. More than 1,800 newspapers have closed since 2004. Arizona newspaper circulation dropped by 37% between 2004 and 2019. The Arizona Republic's circulation fell from nearly half a million at the turn of the century — 10th largest daily in the country — to 82,861 at the start of 2021.

Much of this this is because of the collapse of the old business model because of Craig's List and self-inflicted wounds. The trends reach further back. Circulation of all dailies peaked at more than 63 million in 1989. It was down to 46 million by 2009, then 26 million by 2020.

Many newspapers are now being sucked dry by hedge-fund owners. As a result, the most experienced journalists are being pushed out. What's left are cub reporters while institutional knowledge is lost. The alternative is television news/entertainment, which is typically a shooting, an auto collision, and Heather-with-the-weather. (An honorable exception is Brahm Resnik at 12 News, a newspaper-trained newsman).

Meanwhile, a gray area of news also exists. In Phoenix, this includes Cronkite News out of ASU, KJZZ, and AZ Big Media. Flagstaff and Tucson are served by Arizona Public Media. Each of these have plusses and minuses.

This situation has profound implications for a self-governing society. Only real journalism exposes corruption, shines a light on self-serving politicians, explains complicated issues, and knits together civil society. Let's look at how to read the news — I've been a reporter, editor, and columnist for nearly four decades.

The Census

So Phoenix is officially the nation's fifth most populous city, surpassing Philadelphia in the 2020 Census. Much information and analysis awaits unpacking.

Phoenix grew 11.2% over the decade, the biggest increase of the 10 largest cities. Yet this was the second-slowest percentage growth rate in the city's history; only the 9.4% from 2000 to 2010, hobbled by the housing bust, was slower. By contrast, the city grew by more than 34% in the 1990s.

The contest with the City of Brotherly Love was close. Phoenix clocked in with 1,608,139 only 4,342 more than Philly. The latter also continued to reverse its population loss, growing at 5.1 percent. Philadelphia benefited from the "back to the city" movement, where talented millennials and empty nest boomers chose vibrant, high-quality cities and corporate headquarters followed.

Ground zero

Have you noticed how many stories are generated out of Phoenix and Arizona by big national news organizations, including the New York Times, Washington Post, and Los Angeles Times? This is a big change from the days when we operated in relative obscurity. It is also no coincidence.

For one thing, the state is so different from the one I grew up in: 1.3 million population in 1960 vs. 7.2 million in 2020. Arizona was the 35th most populous state in the union in 1960. Now No. 14 — the third largest in the West — and Phoenix is the fifth most populous city. With size comes scrutiny.

But more important is that many of the crises of the future are being played out here. Climate change. Border pressures. Demographic shifts. The crisis of political legitimacy and our experiment in self-government. We have a front-row seat and are players. Yes, I'm happy for the Suns (and that the arena contract requires the team to keep the city name) and for the center-city infill. Happy for light rail (WBIYB).

But all is not well. Indeed, it's shocking how dark the future looks — and Arizona is ground zero.

The state of the state

Carl Muecke illustration

For all the talk about Arizona being flipped from red to blue, or at least purple, the reality on the ground is far different. That's because the most powerful branch of government, the Legislature, remains under Republican control — as it has for decades. The same situation is at work in the governor's office, where Doug Ducey is in his (term-limited) final stretch.

The most obvious result has been the "audit" of Maricopa County ballots, ordered by the Republican-run state Senate. Even if it eventually "validates" the election of Joe Biden as president, it has become a template for Republicans around the country and for any future elections they lose. It's hard to overstate the menace this presents to our experiment in self-government.

At the same time, the Legislature pressed two dozen voter suppression bills, intended to ensure that they continue to rule — widespread voting is the enemy of Republicans. One crafty measure will automatically purge by-mail voters who do not vote every two years. This happened even with mail voting widely popular in the state. Ducey took only a few hours before signing it into law.

Meanwhile, the body blows keep coming with such ferocity that it's difficult to keep up (see the daily headline links under "Phoenix and Arizona" to the left. The challenge is compounded by the hollowing out of local newspapers.

Signs and wonders

The media love to fixate on the "bathtub ring" of a diminishing Lake Mead. America's largest reservoir, contained by Hoover Dam, is at its lowest level since it first filled in the late 1930s. It's a potent sign of climate change. So is the expected string of record heat broiling central Arizona this week.

It makes me wonder, though. In 1960, Phoenix had a population of 439,170. The city encompassed 185 square miles. Importantly, it was entirely watered by the dams of the Salt River Project, providing a renewable source from snow runoff in watersheds that ran from the Coconino Plateau to the New Mexico border.

Looking back, that was probably peak sustainability for Phoenix. It looked like this:

Washington through the years

No east-west street was more important to early Phoenix than the one named after our first president. It carried streetcars, was the heart of the business district, held important buildings, and was movie-theater row. Washington remains the north-south dividing line for street addresses (Central is east-west). Let's take a tour through time.

1901: A dusty road with horses and mule-drawn streetcars.

1904: The Indian and Cowboy Carnival Parade.

1905: At First Street looking west.

The data center hustle

Data centers becoming dominant force in Mesa," reads the headline on a recent East Valley Tribune story. The lede: "It may never rival Silicon Valley, but Mesa is fast becoming Data Center Alley." 

This "Alley" isn't transforming struggling west Mesa and it's nowhere near the light-rail line. Instead, it's centered on the "Elliott Avenue Technology Corridor" in far southeast Mesa, the location of agriculture, desert, and the former Williams Air Force Base. Now, with abundant concrete, gravel, and asphalt, it will expand the increasingly dangerous Phoenix urban heat island. The "Corridor" is entirely car dependent.

Data centers are lowest on the ladder of the tech economy: necessary, but bringing few jobs — much less high-end jobs — and several headaches. This is why they are usually found in rural areas desperate to replace their lost millwork, manufacturing, or railroad jobs. States and localities shell out huge incentives and disappointment follows.

But to see the proliferation of data centers in a city the size of Mesa (518,000 in 2019), in the 10th most populous metropolitan area in the nation, is curious.

Duke and more Ponzi dreams

The news from my old 'hood is the pending demise of the Duke Photography building on the southwest corner of Seventh Street and Thomas. The Arizona Republic reported the building is set to be demolished and a Raising Cane's Chicken Fingers drive-thru built on the site. Duke is moving to the First Federal Building on Central in Midtown, taking its sign with it.

This is wrong for so many reasons, no wonder nearby neighborhood associations are opposing it ahead of a June 17th virtual public hearing. One big concern is increased traffic, including dangerous turns on Seventh, which has been widened and had "suicide lanes" added for rush hour. A Kentucky Fried Chicken drive-thru on the northwest corner already causes collisions.

Beyond that, while the building is modest it fits into the remaining fabric of the streetscape. The Raising Cane would be another soulless off-the-shelf building, made for cars not for pedestrians. If the company really wanted to be a good neighbor, as it claims, it would build something appropriate to the nearby historic districts. Too many losses have already been allowed, notably the replacement of John Sing Tang's iconic Helsing's at Central and Osborn — right up to the street — by a Walgreens, set back by a surface parking lot and surrounded by a low wall, gravel, and rocks.

Early Phoenix mapped

One of the most interesting sources of information on early Phoenix can be found on the Library of Congress' Sanborn Fire Insurance Maps. The Sanborn Map Co. produced detailed maps of 12,000 U.S. cities and towns, detailing not only buildings but in many their construction materials so insurers could assess their risks.

Below I have some views of Phoenix, one in 1911 and the remainder from 1949, focused on Union Station and the Warehouse District. Click for a larger image.

Russell Lee's Phoenix

In 1940, photographer Russell Lee visited Phoenix. His main task was taking pictures of Farm Security Administration projects in the city. He joined such distinguished federal photographers as Dorothea Lange and Arthur Rothstein.

The FSA was created in 1937 to help ease rural poverty. Among its signature Phoenix operations were Camelback Farms, northeast of downtown and intended to create a stable environment for displaced farm families, and the United Producers and Consumers Cooperative, with about 12,000 members, mostly farmers.

But the trip yielded much more, including some iconic images of Phoenix as the Great Depression was loosening its grip and war was looming. Born in Ottawa, Illinois, in 1903, Lee died in Austin in 1986. 

I've written about Phoenix in the 1940s here. Below is some of his work from the Library of Congress. Click on an image for a larger view.

Welcome sign outside of town, with the meeting days, times, and places of service clubs.

Central and Washington, with Lerner Shops, movie theaters, and streetcar tracks.

The famous saguaro streetlamp across from the Hotel Westward Ho. Only one was made, outside the Chamber of Commerce.

'See me AZ'

This is the name for a new campaign to reduce pedestrian and bicyclist deaths on the streets of metropolitan Phoenix. As KTAR reported, “ 'See Me AZ' aims to educate people on research that indicates most crashes occur when drivers, cyclists or pedestrians don’t see each other."

I'm not hopeful.

However it's counted, Phoenix and Arizona rank high among the most deadly places for pedestrians. Fifth worst in the nation in 2018, according to the Governors Highway Safety Association. Deaths totaled 106 for the first six months of 2020 (Colorado 39; Washington 47). The federal Traffic Safety Administration ranked us fourth worst in 2018. A compilation by the Arizona Republic found a stunning 1,202 pedestrians killed by motorists between 2014 and 2019.

From the late 1940s onward, Phoenix streets were widened, especially to move vehicles quickly out of downtown (collateral damage was the loss of thousands of real shade trees). McDowell Road, shown above in the 1960s, is now two lanes or wider. This remains one of the scariest avenues for pedestrians or watchful drivers, especially between 56th Street and 24th Street, where the night swallows the inadequate illumination from too few street lamps.

The result today is that metropolitan Phoenix is a collection of real-estate ventures connected by wide highways called "city streets." Where Thomas Road crosses Central, it's about twice as wide as a major downtown street in Seattle. The "walk" signal lasts barely long enough to accommodate those wishing to cross and drivers frequently turn without looking. On any given day or hour, the Phoenix Fire online regional dispatch log shows "962 w. pedestrian" (a 962 is the radio code for auto collision with injuries).

Police and fire in early Phoenix

Henry Garfias, the son of a Mexican general, was elected Phoenix's first town marshal in 1881. Already famous for apprehending the stagecoach "ghost bandit" as a county deputy, Garfias (above, courtesy of Duran Lugo) was said to have shot dead several outlaws as marshal and brought order to Washington Street's Whiskey Row (16 saloons and four dance halls). Thus was born the Phoenix Police Department.

The department operated out of the old City Hall until it received a more modern space in the City-County Building in 1929. Call boxes were used throughout the city for officers to check in. Phoenix equipped its squad cars with radios in 1932. You can learn more about PPD's history from the Phoenix Police Museum, located in the 1929 Police Headquarters at 17 S. Second Avenue. My new novel, City of Dark Corners, is set in the Depression-era department.

The Phoenix Fire Department came from passage of a bond issue in 1886 to establish a volunteer fire service with modern equipment and an improved water supply. Still, two hose companies (one Anglo, one Hispanic) competed until Frank Czarnowski joined them together as the Phoenix Volunteer Fire Department in 1888. By 1922, it was a paid, full-time department.

Here are some early photos (click for a larger image):

A Nott steam fire engine, one of Phoenix's first (City of Phoenix).

Horse-drawn apparatus at Fire Station No. 1, First and Jefferson streets, in 1908 (McCulloch Bros. Collection/ASU Archives).

Toward a desert aesthetic

Once upon a time defining beauty in Phoenix was relatively easy. The old city was shady, grassy, and well landscaped. From there moved circles of citrus groves, flower fields, pastures, and farms in one of the most fertile alluvial river valleys in the world, and finally stark beauty and abundance of plant and animal life in the wettest desert in the world. No other city looked like Phoenix. It was magical and lovely.

Now this is largely gone. Even in the historic districts ahistorical desert landscaping is creeping. For most of the metropolitan area, built an acre an hour, the look is concrete, asphalt, gravel, and shadeless palo verde trees. Oh, and "shade structures" that provide little shade. Lookalike faux Tuscan tract houses in "master planned communities" offer postage-stamp lawns and wide driveways (the old driveways in Willo were two strips of concrete). Tens of thousands of shade trees have been felled, whether by diktat of the Salt River Project or to create the six-lane-plus highways called "city streets."

Curiously, these single-family houses are built on the same layout as most American homes. But with gravel instead of a lawn. No wonder the temperature has risen 10 degrees over the past 50 years and the summers last longer. When I was given a tour of Verrado — where David Brooks saw the future — the developers bragged how they had copied Palmcroft, for that was the kind of living their surveys showed buyers wanted. But it doesn't work, for this sunblasted development in Buckeye lacks the real Palmcroft's beautiful trees, grass, hedges, and flowerbeds.

Rural scenes of old Phoenix

Before "master planned communities," freeways, gravel, palo verdes, and endless pavement, Phoenix was closely surrounded by groves and farms, shade trees and virgin desert. It lasted until the 1960s and 1970s. I remember my grandmother taking me for a picnic on a dirt road surrounded by fields and beneath a cottonwood tree. Here are a few of the photos (click for a larger image):

Arizona willows or ash trees line Central and Southern avenues, 1930 (McCulloch Bros. Collection/ASU Archives).

Another view of shady Central at Southern in 1930 (McCulloch Bros. Collection/ASU Archives).

Lincoln Drive west of Scottsdale Road in 1935.

Orangewood Avenue in 1939 (McCulloch Bros. Collection/ASU Archives).

Degrading by degrees

When the Republican-controlled Legislature isn't busy with voter suppression laws or bills to further the National Rifle Association wish list, it can still make time for brilliance such as this: Allowing community colleges to award four-year degrees.

Legislation to make this possible has passed the state House, the furthest it's gotten in years of being repeatedly introduced. It might pass the Senate. Moving the proposal this far required compromises with the Board of Regents. As Howard Fischer of the Capitol Media Service reported:

The colleges can’t just get into the business. Instead, it requires studies to determine if the colleges, supported largely with local tax dollars, can hire the necessary faculty and sustain the programs. There also has to be a determination that the degrees offered will meet needed fields and whether they would “unnecessarily duplicate” programs already offered elsewhere. And there’s no authority for new property taxes.

There’s an extra hurdle in HB 2523 for the colleges in Pima and Maricopa counties. They could initially offer only a limited number of four-year degrees, defined as no more than 10% of total degrees offered for the first four years and 15% for years five and beyond.

Mac

When today's Arizonans think about the state's most important U.S. Senators, they go to Barry Goldwater and John McCain. A few will remember Carl Hayden, one of the longest-serving members of the Senate and, after the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, third in the line of succession to the White House.

Yet Goldwater, although the father of the right-wing takeover of the Republican Party, had a thin layer of legislative accomplishments, and McCain did almost nothing for the state he made his home. Hayden was undeniably the most important figure in winning the Central Arizona Project in Congress.

The Arizona Senator who casts the longest shadow of accomplishments is nearly forgotten: Ernest McFarland. First elected in 1940 when he defeated incumbent Henry Fountain Ashurst, Mac was an important partner with Hayden in fighting for Arizona's share of Colorado River water. His most significant accomplishment was sponsoring the GI Bill, which provided benefits for returning benefits for returning World War II veterans, including educational benefits.

Mac was the father of the GI Bill. He also served as Senate Majority Leader from 1951 to 1953, followed by Lyndon Johnson.

Supersized

It's difficult to find another major metropolitan area where most of the suburbs are as populous as in Phoenix.

Consider: The "town" of Gilbert alone held more than 254,000 people as of 2019. It's only the fifth-largest municipality in metropolitan Phoenix, but larger than all but two cities in Los Angeles County: LA and Long Beach. Mesa is the 35th largest city in America, at more than 518,000 — larger than Cleveland, Cincinnati, St. Louis, Minneapolis and a host of better-known cities.

This is very different from the pattern in most metros. Older eastern and Midwestern areas consist of large numbers of small suburbs and a large center city. That star may have dimmed, as in Detroit or St. Louis, but none of their planets are anywhere close on population. The same is true in Atlanta, with a relatively small city of 507,000 in a metro of 6 million, but no individual suburb comes close. Charlotte, the 15th most populous city in the country (886,000), essentially annexed its entire county.

Phoenix's populous suburbs weren't always this way. These were once individual towns in the Salt River Valley, separate from each other, with different histories, dependent on agriculture and railroads. Above is Main Street in Mesa 1940, when the population was 7,200. This separation was evident well into the 1960s.

When Midtown cooked

Midtown wasn't planned. It simply escaped...any coherent city planning, zoning, or vision. Some say it was Phoenix's attempt at Los Angeles' Wilshire Boulevard, the nearly 16-mile avenue from downtown LA's financial district to Santa Monica. Maybe. But Phoenix never had the economic power or urban assets to support its version of Museum Row on the Miracle Mile, Century City, Koreatown, Beverly Hills, Westwood with UCLA, and subway lines. Wouldn't want to become another LA.

The two are comparable in that both were the sites of a majority of post-1960 skyscrapers. In Phoenix, it began with the building above. A turquoise-skinned International-style box, the Guaranty Bank Building opened in March 1960, designed by architect Charles Polacek and built by contractor David Murdock (who lived a remarkable life). At 252 feet, it dethroned the Hotel Westward Ho as the tallest building in Phoenix and the Southwest. On the top floor the Cloud Club offered a spectacular view.

Over the next thirty or more years, this was the heart of the city. For better and for worse.

The Camelback Towers was also complete in the photo (a mile north at Pierson). Park Central Shopping Center had replaced the Central Dairy in the late 1950s. Del Webb's Phoenix Towers at Central and Cypress Street, one of the few co-ops in the city, opened in 1957. Twin mid-rise office buildings were opened two blocks south of Thomas; they eventually included U-Haul's headquarters. Midtown, still unnamed, was coming together haphazardly. The central business district, including most shops and department stores, were still downtown (Fillmore to the railroad tracks, Seventh Avenue to Seventh Street).

Arizona's pandemic economy

The longest economic expansion in history crashed into recession this spring because of the COVID-19 pandemic. Unemployment skyrocketed to Depression-era levels before recovering...some. Industries such as airlines, hotels, tourism, restaurants, and brick-and-mortar retailers were savaged.

I've written about this extensively in my Seattle Times columns. But let's narrow the lens to Arizona and Phoenix with help from the invaluable data collected by the Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis (FRED). Click on the chart for a larger view.

Unemployment:

 

Population growth (by numbers and year-over-year percentage change:

Phoenix's historic schools

Once upon a time, schools weren't built to resemble prisons with walls and steel fences, along with no shade and heat-radiating concrete and gravel. Even in early Phoenix, most were built to inspire. In 1873 (above) an adobe school at Central and Monroe was the beginning of better to come. Here are a few — click on the photo for a larger view:

Central School, shown in 1899, replaced the adobe structure. The town's population was about 5,500.

Monroe School at Seventh Street and Monroe, 1914. The building was preserved and is now the Children's Museum of Phoenix, alas without the shade trees and grass.

Amtrak's returning to Phoenix

Or so go some headlines and social-media posts I've read. In today's denuded newspaper environment, with thousands of reporters laid off and spreading news deserts, in-depth reporting is hard to find. Anyway, this salutary news was reported by KJZZ, KPHO/KTVK, and other outlets.

As it turns out, Amtrak isn't returning anytime soon. The origin of the stories was a presentation in September to the Rail Passengers Association by an Amtrak official. It proposed establishing new corridors for intercity rail that would potentially reach Phoenix in ... 2035. If that's not bad enough, the plan is mostly aspirational. No funding is available for the expansion. That might change under President "Amtrak Joe." But 2035. Really? Another plan in 2010 went nowhere.

As late as the 1960s, Phoenix Union Station was served by multiple passenger trains of the Southern Pacific and Santa Fe railroads. They gradually died off, the casualty of decades of national transportation policies that subsidized automobiles and airliners while strangling railroads with regulations and high taxes. When the Postal Service ended mail contracts in September 1967, it left Phoenix with only an every-other-day Sunset on the SP Northern Main Line. This continued when Amtrak took over national passenger trains May 1st, 1971 (killing almost 200 trains that still ran).

Superstition Vistas

In 1977, when I was working on the ambulance as an EMT-paramedic, I was temporarily exiled from the city and worked for Aids Ambulance (the former Mesa Ambulance Service). This involved rotating to stations in Mesa, Tempe, Chandler, and Apache Junction. At the latter, two 24-hour units were maintained and the crews could expect major trauma calls, even lake rescues, in largely empty country. We proclaimed ourselves the Junction Medics. Superstition Mountain loomed to the east, not unlike the late 1940s photo above.

In those days, we left behind Mesa around Gilbert Road and were enveloped by massive citrus groves. This continued for about 12 miles, broken only by an occasional trailer park. Not much was out here. AJ's population was closing in on 9,000.

We christened Rossmoor Leisure World, a pioneering gated property, "Seizure World" because of the nature of calls from its elderly retired population. Williams Air Force Base sat miles to the south, down two-lane roads crossing farmland. Completion of the freeway was years away, so Main Street in the Maricopa County part of our territory wasn't even named or part of Mesa. It was four-lane U.S. 60, primevally dark at night, no curbs or sidewalks, lethal to pedestrians. Otherwise, it was empty desert all the way to the iconic mountain.

I couldn't imagine it would be anything else.

Fast forward to the 2000s. Mesa had ballooned from 63,000 in 1970 to nearly 400,000, grown all the way to the Pinal County line. The little suburbs I served had grown supersized and merged together into a sprawling conglomeration called the East Valley. The groves and farms were gone. Superstition's slopes were profaned by subdivisions. And all that empty desert was the most coveted piece of land in central Arizona. The boosters called it Superstition Vistas.

Central through the years

The trouble with Central Avenue is it's not central to anything now." So a real-estate mogul told me in 2001. He was totally bought into endless sprawl at the expense of Phoenix, but he was also wrong. With the metroplex spread from Buckeye to Gold Canyon, Phoenix's most important street is more important and convenient than ever, as has been shown by light rail (WBIYB)  and growing infill.

I've written about Central before. But let's take a photo journey, thanks to Brad Hall's collection, the McCulloch Bros. Collection/ASU Archives, and Library of Congress. Click for a larger image.

When it was Center Street, a southward look at Washington in the 1890s. Construction workers are installing water lines.

Here's a view of the Hotel Adams in 1909. It burned down a year later and was replaced by a "fireproof" hotel.

The Center Street, the first across the Salt River. Completed in 1910, the 2,120-foot-long span was claimed to be the longest reinforced concrete bridge in the world.

Commerce in old Phoenix

The McCulloch Brothers, who have left a priceless archive at ASU, were primarily commercial photographers. Their work, which spans from 1884 to 1947, offers a variety of images of business in the young, growing city. Most of this gallery is thanks to them.

You can read about the decades on these earlier history columns: Phoenix at statehood, the twenties, the thirties, the forties, and the fifties. Enjoy and click on the photo for a larger image.

The McCulloch Brothers photography studio, 18 N. 2nd Avenue, in the 1920s.

A downtown sidewalk scene circa late 1910s with the Arizona Cigar Co. and the Apache Trail Auto Stage Co.

Washington Street, the city's main commercial drag in 1928. Awnings helped keep pedestrians cool.

Floyd Ikhard Household Appliances, 831 N. 1st Avenue, in 1945.

Barker Bakery, 123 N. 1st Avenue, in the 1940s.

Overland Motors at 10 W. Van Buren in the 1920s. These blocks of the city would become the main location of auto dealers.

Phoenix Motor Co., a GM dealership, was at 401 W. Van Buren Street. It's been restored as The Van Buren, a concert venue.

Miracle Mile

I don't know when the stretch of east McDowell from 10th Street to beyond 16th Street received this nickname. It's certainly not the legendary shopping destination of Chicago. But I do know it was Phoenix's first major retail-commercial artery outside of the downtown central business district. (Grand, Van Buren, and 17th Avenue/Buckeye were mostly motels, restaurants, and "curio" shops for travelers).

The Miracle Mile was special because it had an urban fabric missing from any other part of the city outside, even Midtown and Uptown on Central Avenue. The commercial buildings were densely packed, most right up on the sidewalk. McDowell was only four lanes wide. The result was walkability missing in most parts of a city built for the automobile.

McDowell's businesses continued beyond 16th Street and, going west, to Seventh Avenue. However, the Miracle Mile most exemplified urban authenticity. No wonder efforts are under way to reinvent the stretch. Included is a public art arch. Sadly, they face the headwinds of demolished buildings and a six-lane McDowell which is much more dangerous for pedestrians, especially at night.

A footnote: When I was around nine some friends and I rode our bikes along the mile, then turned around and came back — on the sidewalk but against traffic. I raced to catch up with them when a car pulled out from a side street. I hit the fender and tumbled over the hood, landing on the pavement. The terrified driver picked me up from the asphalt (which you shouldn't do) and carried me to the sidewalk. There an ambulance (Phoenix Ambulance, where I would work a decade later) took me to Good Sam to await my mother and grandmother. I got away with a mammoth bruise on my upper leg.

Come with me on a tour of the historic Miracle Mile (click for a larger image):

Arizona in play

Hope springs eternal. Every election cycle since Bill Clinton carried Arizona in 1996, the narrative has gone like this: The state will change politically as newcomers bring their (more liberal) values. And thanks to Hispanics Arizona is on the cusp (always!) of becoming a purple or even deep blue electorate. The 2016 map above shows how that worked out in the most recent presidential race.

Might it finally happen this year?

Before getting there, a little history. Arizona was a solidly Democratic state until Harry Rosenzweig persuaded Barry Goldwater to run against incumbent Sen. Ernest McFarland in 1952. Political fixer Steve Shadegg switched parties to run Goldwater's campaign — and Barry stunned Mac, the Senate Majority Leader and father of the GI Bill, in a close race.

Shadegg was a talented campaign manager and had a good product: Handsome, authentic, charismatic, sexy, ran with a fast crowd (the real Barry was nothing like he was depicted by the national press). But Mac was dragged down by more than this, more even than changing demographics. The Korean War was still dragging on as a stalemate. Americans who had won World War II were angry over a "police action" that didn't yield victory. Whatever glow Harry Truman attained in recent decades, he was deeply unpopular in 1952 and this hurt Democrats.

Still, it wasn't a sea change. Mac came back to Arizona and became highly successful as governor. And for the next three-plus decades Arizona was a competitive state for both parties. Our longest serving Senator was a Democrat, Carl Hayden.

Kenilworth centennial

My name and graduation date are etched in one of these bricks, which were installed to mark the 80th anniversary of my alma mater. I was honored to be one of the speakers. As for the bricks, they looked poorly carved so you might have to look hard to find those of us who paid to have our names on them. But the important thing is that Kenilworth survives, thrives, and this year celebrates its 100th anniversary.

Kenilworth was the grandest of several handsome elementary schools completed in that era, including Monroe, Grace Court, and Booker T. Washington. It was in the neighborhood that initially had the same name, where Phoenix's elite moved. Now it's the Roosevelt and F.Q. Story historic districts. But that, and the ill-considered Papago Freeway inner loop, were far in the future in 1920. Then the streetcar ran along Fifth Avenue.

By the time I came along, in the 1960s, the streetcar was gone. But Third Avenue ran straight in front on the school, no curve for the freeway onramp. Seventh Avenue was only four lanes wide with a friendly crossing guard named Paul. We lived on Culver Street when I was in first and second grades, then moved to Cypress in today's Willo historic district for the remainder of my time there.

Railroads to Phoenix

Tempe History Museum photo

The recent derailment and fire of a Union Pacific train on the Salt River bridge is a reminder that railroads still play a role in Phoenix, even if far less than in the past. As the late David Myrick explained in his seminal Railroad of Arizona: Phoenix and the Central Roads, eight attempts were made to build a line to the Salt River Valley before the Maricopa and Phoenix Railroad's first train arrived on July 4th, 1887.

Among the many impediments — capital, supplies, heat, permission of the Pima Indians to cross their reservation — bridging the fickle Salt River was among the most persistent. The bridge above shows a "ten-wheeler" steam locomotive and two cars on the second iteration of the span. The first saw a flood destroy its approach trestle in 1890, then was severed entirely by the Great Flood of 1891, which also did substantial damage to canals and farmland; adobe structures collapsed from the rain.

In 1902, part of the bridge gave way without warning, dropping the locomotive 20 feet into the riverbed, killing one and severely injuring another, and leaving a passenger car hanging precariously. In 1905, the flooded Salt washed away a segment of this second bridge just minutes after a passenger train had crossed it. Similar washouts plagued the railroad's crossing of the Gila River.

Finally, the current heavy steel truss bridge was built in 1912-1913. UP says it will rebuild it — or at least replace one of the truss spans — which is good news for continued freight and potential future passenger service. Given Wall Street's pressure to suck profits from major railroads and Phoenix's relative unimportance on the system, I'd be surprised if UP built an entirely new and modern bridge.

Such was not always the case.

Phoenix, 1968

Sen. Robert F. Kennedy campaigning at Chris-Town mall on March 30th, 1968, soon after announcing his candidacy for president. He would be dead from an assassin's bullet less than three months later.

Some are comparing this year's unrest to 1968 — unpersuasively, to my mind — so it might be interesting to check in on Phoenix during that tumultuous year. Just what a different world this was is evident in a headline of the Arizona Republic on Monday, January 1st: "All The World Gay As Old Year Dies." Cultural language wasn't the only difference. The overnight low was 35 degrees, common then as Phoenix had several frosts each winter. The low would hit freezing later in the week. These are much more rare today amid the human-caused heat island. The paper carried Today's Prayer on the front page, as it had for years.

The sixties were a period of great change in Phoenix, where the magic of the old city's oasis was very much alive but the suburbanized future was coming — Maryvale and Sun City were abuilding. The city grew 32% during this decade. The city also entered the big leagues of sports in 1968 with the NBA expansion team Phoenix Suns.

Downtown was still a major retail center at the beginning of the decade, but it was in decline by 1968, hollowed out by Park Central and other malls, as well as low-cost retail buildings bulldozed to create Phoenix Civic Plaza with its convention center and Symphony Hall. This also leveled many single-room occupancy hotels and other parts of the Deuce. Critics warned the shattering of the city's skid row would send vagrants to nearby neighborhoods, which it did.

Clickbait, climate, and more

It's no coincidence that I've lately taken refuge in historical photo galleries. This is a dangerous time to write. Yes, my pen is still warmed up in hell, but fearless commentary is risky, as illustrated by the resignation of Bari Weiss from the New York Times and Andrew Sullivan being nudged out by New York Magazine. We're in a time of hysteria and thoughtcrime, made worse by social media.

So, a few nuggets that stay within the guardrails (I have a day job to protect).

• Clickbait news releases fill my mailboxes every day. I don't use most because they're based on questionable premises and shoddy data. Unfortunately, too much struggling media do. Hence, the recent story ranking Phoenix as "the best city in the U.S. for working remotely." It was carried unquestioningly by KTAR and the Phoenix Business Journal, among other local outlets.

The tiny thread of this press release came from an outfit called HighSpeedInternet, claiming to rank cities or metro areas. "We looked at things like internet connectivity, cost of living, and commute time savings. We also looked at cities with access to coffee shops, libraries, and coworking space, which gives remote workers a chance to work from different locations – when a pandemic isn’t occurring." Phoenix was No. 1, followed by Atlanta, Kansas City, Raleigh, and Toledo.

Here's why the "survey" doesn't pass the smell test. If you don't have an economy geared to remote work (e.g. Seattle with tens of thousands of highly skilled Amazon, Microsoft, Apple, Google, and Facebook workers), you couldn't possibly get that rank. Res ipsa loquitur.

David William Foster, an appreciation

David W. Foster in 2016 at a celebration of his 50th year teaching at ASU, in the Old Main building. At left is his wife, Virginia.

My dear friend, David William Foster, Regents Professor at Arizona State University, died peacefully last night at age 79. His ASU bio doesn't begin to capture the man in full, but it's worth quoting at length because of the depth and breadth of his accomplishments:

David William Foster is a Regents Professor of Spanish and women and gender studies at Arizona State University. He has written extensively on Argentine narrative and theater, and he has held Fulbright teaching appointments in Argentina, Brazil, and Uruguay. He has also served as an Inter-American Development Bank professor in Chile. Foster has held visiting appointments at Fresno State College, Vanderbilt University, University of California-Los Angeles, University of California-Riverside, and Florida International University. He has conducted six seminars for teachers under the auspices of the National Endowment for the Humanities, the most recent in Sao Paulo in summer 2013.

In 1989, Foster was named the Graduate College's Outstanding Graduate Mentor, and in 1994 he was named Researcher of the Year by the Alumni Association. He received the 2000 Armando Discepolo Prize for theater scholarship awarded annually by GETEA (Grupo de Estudios de Teatro Argentino y Latinoamericano) of the Universidad de Buenos Aires.In 2010, Foster was honored for his lifetime work on Argentine culture by the Centro de Narratoloia at a program held at the Argentine National Library. He is past president of the Latin American Jewish Studies Association.

We've lost a man of astounding achievements, and this comes atop the crushing loss of historian Jack August in 2017. Arizona, and the world, are less for these passages.

The Groundwater Act

History is written by the victors.

This marks the 40th anniversary of the Arizona Groundwater Management Act. The state Department of Water Resources said in a press release:

The 1980 Act was – and remains -- the most sweeping state law in the Nation governing groundwater use. In addition to creating a coherent, manageable system for helping wean Arizona’s most populous regions from groundwater use, it enacted the framework for long-term groundwater-use reduction that continues to the present.

“In Arizona, we stand on the shoulders of giants — pragmatic, visionary leaders whose achievements have shown us the way and enabled our high quality of life,” said Governor Doug Ducey.

If today's Arizonans know of the landmark law at all, it's via the shorthand that new developments were required to show a 100-year supply of water. But it was primarily intended to stop groundwater depletion, which was frighteningly reducing aquifers that had taken centuries or millennia to fill. The most noticeable sign of this phenomenon is subsidence, the collapse of the earth and opening of fissures as groundwater is pumped away.

Groundwater pumping was particularly problematic in Pinal County, which depended on it heavily for agriculture. The irrigation district from Coolidge Dam wasn't nearly enough for the demands of farming there, rapidly giving way to tract houses. The resulting dead landscape along I-10 between Phoenix and Tucson makes it The Ugliest Drive In America.

What happens now

The 1918-1920 "Spanish" influenza pandemic appeared on the front page of the Arizona Republican on Oct. 5th, 1918. The all-caps headline: INFLUENZA RUNS ITS MAD COURSE THROUGH NATION." By Nov. 18th, the newspaper promised a full local report: 64 cases the previous evening in the Emergency hospital and 74 at St. Joseph's (city population about 28,000). The subhead of the story said, "Steady Progress Made to Halt Spread."

The "Spanish" flu, which likely began at an Army post in Kansas, was the deadliest pandemic since the Black Death in the 14th century. It killed at least 50 million worldwide and 675,000 in the United States. World population was 1.8 billion (vs. 7.7 billion now). That of the United States was about 100 million (vs. 330 million now). The pandemic was spread by the world war and unusual in fatally striking young people. This was before antibiotics, ventilators, or other miracles to come.

Phoenix shut down for six weeks until cases went down in December 1918. Masks, successful in many cities, were "not given a fair chance" here because of Phoenicians' "tendency to revolt." Yet four waves total hit and an estimated 2,750 out of the state's 334,000 people died. Phoenix was too small then to be included in a fascinating University of Michigan study on how the 50 largest cities responded. These measures included shut-downs, lowering crowding, wearing masks, and strict rules against spitting on the sidewalk.

After it burned itself out, as all pandemics do, life went on. Cities didn't die — indeed, America became much more urbanized. Neither did transit or passenger trains or sit-down restaurants or retail shops. Interestingly, for all the recollections from my grandmother — who was 29 in 1918 — she never mentioned the influenza pandemic.

While I was away...

I turned in the manuscript for my new mystery, Sunset Limited, about a private eye in 1930s Phoenix. For a variety of reasons, it was the hardest book I ever wrote. The Poisoned Pen Press, now owned by another firm, Sourcebooks, and this book's publication date is next year.

Inhabiting Phoenix during the year 1933 was a fascinating experience and welcome escape from today, Great Depression notwithstanding. Above is the Monihon Building, at First Avenue and Washington, where my shamus has his office.

• Perhaps the most astonishing thing I learned while I was away from this column came from a seemingly routine story sent along by Rogue's volunteer Phoenix/Arizona researcher Michael Sampson. Headlined "EPCOR cites increase in sewage issues," it's ostensibly about flushable wipes in a sewer system. But as with much Arizona news, reading between the lines is where it gets interesting.

The story states, "EPCOR, which provides water, wastewater and natural gas service to around 665,000 people across 44 communities and 15 counties in Arizona, New Mexico and Texas..."

Wait. What?

20/20 hindsight

A score of things that made today's Phoenix:

1. ASU: In 1920, Tempe Normal School was awarding teaching certificates and providing high-school courses. From there it became Tempe State Teachers College (1925), Arizona State Teachers College (1929), Arizona State College (1945), and finally a university (1958). Today, under the dynamic leadership of Michael Crow, ASU is one of the largest universities in the United States. Among its five campuses/centers is the transformative downtown Phoenix location. The downside: Phoenix is by far the largest metropolitan areas in America with only one real, full-sized university.

2. Agriculture: A century ago, Phoenix was the center of a major agricultural empire thanks to its location in one of the planet's great alluvial river valleys. Anything would grow — just add water, which was abundant thanks to Theodore Roosevelt Dam and its successors. It's almost all gone. At one time, we could feed ourselves and exported produce and beef to the nation. Now Phoenix is almost entirely reliant on the 10,000-mile supply chain. A more foresighted place would have established agricultural trusts to preserve the citrus groves and Japanese flower gardens.

3. Air conditioning: Refrigerated air showed up in movie theaters and new hotels a century ago. Swamp coolers and central air units made Phoenix bearable for more people year-round (no more sleeping porches and wrapping oneself in wet sheets in summer). For awhile after World War II, Phoenix was also a center of air-conditioning manufacturing.

More Phoenix in the 1920s

Here are photographs of Phoenix from 100 years ago — I wrote about the decade in this column. Click on the image for a larger view. Enjoy!

The McCulloch Brothers Commercial Photographers posing in 1928 outside the Arizona Republican offices. ASU preserves the McCulloch archive as an essential resource for images from 1884 to 1947.

A Standard Oil roadmap of Phoenix and vicinity, circa 1925.

Kelly Printing at Third Avenue and Monroe Street, 1928. 

First Street and Washington looking north with the Anderson Building on the left in 1928.

In 1926, Phoenix gained the northern main line of the Southern Pacific Railroad and most of its passenger trains at new Phoenix Union Station. This San Diego Chamber ad promotes a direct route between the two cities on the SP's challenging Carrizo Gorge route. That segment was originally begun by sugar magnate John Spreckels.

Arizona ends and odds

• The Arizona Republic continues to tiptoe around the water issue. Most recent is a story about the uneven water availability for cities in metropolitan Phoenix. A day before, the paper ran a piece headlined "Buckeye is the nation's fastest growing city. But it doesn't have the water to keep it up."

Where to begin? First, Buckeye is not a city except on legalistic paper. It is a far-flung collection of real-estate ventures ("master-planned communities") connected by wide highways. Buckeye has an astounding 393 square miles of area for 74,000 people. As James Howard Kunstler puts it, "the matrix of single-family home subdivisions, arterial highways and freeways, chain stores, junk food dispensaries, and the ubiquitous wilderness of free parking — the last of these implying just one insidious side-effect of this template for living: mandatory motoring."

By contrast, the city of Phoenix consists of 519 square miles and 1.7 million people — that's a city. Buckeye, once tiny stop on the Southern Pacific Railroad was never meant to be a "city."

But the big enchilada is that Arizona doesn't have the water to continue unlimited sprawl. Who will tell the people? Who will stop the Real-Estate Industrial Complex?

• Phoenix opened the "Grand Canalscape" trail along 12 miles of the Grand Canal from Interstate 17 to Tempe. Mayor Kate Gallego said, “People are surprised when I tell them that Phoenix has more canal miles than Venice or Amsterdam. Today we are integrating the canals into our communities to improve neighborhood access, add new public art spaces and contribute to a healthier Phoenix by introducing them as a recreational amenity."

The Grand Canal, one of the original legacies of the Hohokam, once looked like the photo above. The new "safe, convenient route for bicyclists and pedestrians" is a sun-blasted emptiness. Phoenicians don't even know what they lost. Aside from road-widening, the ministrations of the Salt River Project is the biggest killer of Phoenix's once-abundant canopy of shade trees. And more sprawl is not worth the destruction of even one of those trees, much less tens of thousands. In the meantime, enjoy your skin cancer and heat exhaustion. It's heartbreaking to imagine a shaded canal, even in stretches. But, no.

Affordable housing

This is one of those weaponized words whose meaning is made murky by activists. It often means low-income housing. It doesn't mean I am entitled to afford a place on Sunset Cliffs in San Diego making low pay in "sunshine dollars." This is complicated issue.

So first, some definitions. According to the federal Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD), "Families who pay more than 30 percent of their income for housing are considered cost burdened and may have difficulty affording necessities such as food, clothing, transportation and medical care. An estimated 12 million renter and homeowner households now pay more than 50 percent of their annual incomes for housing. A family with one full-time worker earning the minimum wage cannot afford the local fair-market rent for a two-bedroom apartment anywhere in the United States."

A more comprehensive view comes from the Center for Neighborhood Technology's H+T Index, which captures housing plus transportation affordability. Metro Phoenix's H+T costs average 49%, vs. a 68% national average and 46% in pricey Seattle and 55% in San Diego. The research center states, "The traditional measure of affordability recommends that housing cost no more than 30% of household income...However, that benchmark fails to take into account transportation costs, which are typically a household’s second-largest expenditure. When transportation costs are factored into the equation, the number of affordable neighborhoods drops to 26% (nationally).

The National Low Income Housing Coalition's annual Out of Reach report drills deeper. For example, to afford central Phoenix's 85003 ZIP Code requires an average hourly wage of $20.38 for a two-bedroom apartment. Maryvale takes $17.69 an hour (working full time). The once middle-class south Scottsdale's 85257 takes $23.08.

Now we're getting close to the problem in metro Phoenix.

Phoenix in the 'teens'

In 2010, Phoenix and Arizona were stuck in the worst (by most measures) bust since the Great Depression. Unemployment peaked at 10.9% in January statewide and 10.2% in metro Phoenix. Single-family housing starts in the metro area plunged from a monthly peak of 6,000 in 2004 to 854. Construction jobs fell from 183,000 in June 2006 to 81,000 in the summer of 2010. Phoenix was a national epicenter of the housing crash.

It was an eerie time. Freeways that had been clogged with tradesmen's pickup trucks were noticeably empty.

Now, nearly a decade later, the economy has recovered. Metro Phoenix joblessness was 4.1% in October, higher than the 3.6% nationally but still a marked improvement. Building permits clawed out of the 2009 trough but are still at levels of the early 1990s.

Population — the holy of holies worshipped by the local-yokel boosters — bounced back. After falling from 2008 to 2010, it rose by 653,000 by 2018 in the metro area. A much ballyhooed snapshot had the city itself the fastest-growing in the United States from 2017 to 2018. But the percentage rate of change looks to be slower this decade than the 2000s or the record 1990s.

True, the decade doesn't officially end until a year from now. But the "twenties" begin in the popular imagination this New Year's. So let's take stock of the "teens":

Spreading tech innovation

A new report from the Brookings Institution highlights how "Superstar Cities" — Boston, Seattle, San Diego, San Francisco and Silicon Valley — captured nine out of 10 jobs at the headwaters of advanced industries from 2005 to 2017. (See the coverage here and here). And it offers an ambitious plan to spread tech centers to "loser cities" in what is mostly considered flyover country.

An interesting footnote: One of the authors of the Brookings study is my friend Mark Muro, who worked at the Morrison Institute at ASU in the early 2000s.

One can't argue with this reality, particularly set against rising inequality and four decades of mergers that took away the economic crown jewels of hundreds of American cities. But some context is also necessary. In addition to these headwinds, many of the "loser cities" made their own fate.

And I'm not talking about Detroit or Cleveland. A better example can be found in Phoenix. Despite being the nation's fifth-largest city and 13th largest metropolitan area, Phoenix punches well below its weight. And no outside force has done this to Phoenix as much as Phoenix has done it to itself.

Into the wild

When I was about three, my family was driving from Tucson to Phoenix in those pre-Interstate times. I have three vivid memories. The first is the restaurant where we ate breakfast; it had ancient double doors with windows behind ancient double screens. The second is the fierce rainstorm that cut visibility severely, almost the desert version of a whiteout. We headed out of Coolidge, my mother behind the wheel, me between her and my grandmother. No other cars were on the two-lane road.

My third memory is of a vast torrent of fast-moving latte-colored water that suddenly appeared in front of us.

I'm sure it wasn't as wide or as biblical as I recall it. I had never seen water in a river before! But what was undeniable is that the bridge had washed out — perhaps at the Gila River — and only my mother's caution, slow speed, and fighter-pilot reflexes prevented our deaths.

As I write now, searchers are still trying to find six-year-old Willa Rawlings, lost when her father's "military-like truck" was swept away in flooding Tonto Creek. The bodies of her brother and cousin, both five, were found Saturday. Only Willa's shoe has been recovered. Her parents escaped.

The Republic's Laurie Roberts hit the right notes of sympathy and bafflement — that the driver would try to cross the flooded creek, and that the Legislature in its low-tax religion has failed to build a bridge. Yet I suspect little will change. Especially on the common-sense front, for bridges can be overwhelmed as anyone knows who remembers Scottsdale's comic attempts to span Indian Bend Wash in the 1970s.