A Pattern Language Towns Buildings Construction Christopher Alexander Sara Ishikawa * Murray Silverstein WITH Max Jacobson Ingrid Fiksdahl-King Shlomo Angel This hook provides a language of this kind. It will enable • person to make a design for almost any kind of huilding, or any part of the built environment. "Patterns," the units of this language, are answers to design problems ( How high should a window sill be? How many stories should a huilding haver How much space in a neighborhood should be devoted to grass and trees? ). More than 250 of the patterns in this pattern language are given: each consists of a problem statement, a discussion of the problem with an illustration, and a solution. As the authors say in their introduction, many of the patterns are archetypal, so deeply rooted in the nature of things that it seems likely that they will he a part of human nature, and human action, as much in five hundred years as they are today. About the authors: Christopher Alexander, winner of the first medal for research ever awarded by the American Institute of Architects, is a practising architect and builder, Professor of Architecture at the University of California, Berkeley, and head of the Center for Environmental Structure. Sara Ishikawa is a licensed architect, and Assistant Professor of Architecture at the University of California. Murray Silverstein also teaches at the University of California and has written several articles on pattern languages. Max Jacobson has a Ph.D. in architecture and also teaches at the University of California. Ingrid Fiks-dahl King is an architect and painter. Shlomo Angel has a Ph.D. in city planning and now teaches at the Asian Institute of Technology, Bangkok. The six of them, together with others, have worked for eight years to write this book. Book design by HarUan Rk)iardson Jacket design by Sigrid Spaeth A Pattern Language TOWNS • nUILDINCS • CONSTRUCTION Christopher A lexander, Sara Ishikaiva, and Murray Silverstein zcith Max Jaeobson, hi grid Fiksdahl King, and Shlomo A ngel You can use this book to design a house for yourself with your family; you can use it to work with your neighbors to improve your town and neighborhood; you can use it to design an office, or a workshop, or a public building. And you can use it to guide you in the actual process of construction. After a ten-year silence, Christopher Alexander and his colleagues at the Center for Environmental Structure are now publishing a major statement in the form of three books which will, in their words, "lay the basis for an entirely new approach to architecture, building and planning, which will we hope replace existing ideas and practices entirely." The three books, The Timeless Way of Building, The Oregon Experiment, and this book, A Pattern Language, are described on the back cover. At the core of these books is the idea that people should design for themselves their own houses, streets, and communities. This idea may be radical (it implies a radical transformation of the architectural profession) but it comes simply from the observation that most of the wonderful places of the world were not made by architects but by the people. At the core of the books too is the point that in designing their environments people always rely on certain "languages," which, like the languages we speak, allow them to articulate and communicate an infinite variety of designs within a formal system which gives them coherence. CENTER FOR ENVIRONMENTAL STRI rC II IRE si R1ES Volume I, The TitHtitSS Way of Huitiling, lays the foUTKUtlOfl of the series. It presents a new theory ol architct ture, build ing, and planning which forms the basis for a new traditional post-industrial architecture, created by the people . . "Read it for inspiration; as a practicing plannei, an edui.itoi , ora student, you cannot help hut he challenged and stimulated by this book." Dennis Michael Ryan, Journal «f the Ameriean Planning, Association Volume 2, .1 Pattern Language, is a working document lot such an architecture. It isan archetypal language w hit h ,ill"« lay persons to design for themselves. "I believe this to be perhaps the most important book on architectural design published this century. Kver\ library, every school, every environmental action group, even n chitect, and every first-year student should have a copy Tony Ward, Areliitei final l> Volume 1, The Oregon Experiment, shows how this ll.....) may be implemented, describing a new planum;1 |t. > rot the University of Oregon. "Tit Oregon Experiment is perhaps this decade's Iw.t CM didate for a permanently important book." Robert Campbell, f/ar\l solving the problem different from the one which we h IVe given. In these cases we have still stated a solution, .....rdcr to be concrete—to provide the reader with at least one way of solving the problem—but the task of finding the true invariant, the true property which lies ;it the heart of all possible solutions to this problem, remains undone. We hope, of course, that many of the people who read, and use this language, will try to improve these patterns—will put their energy to work, in this task of finding more true, more profound invariants—and we hope that gradually these more true patterns, which are slowly discovered, as time goes on, will enter a common language, which all of us can share. You see then that the patterns are very much alive and evolving. In fact, if you like, each pattern may be looked upon as a hypothesis like one of the hypotheses of science. In this sense, each pattern represents our current best guess as to what arrangement of the physical environment will work to solve the problem presented. The empirical questions center on the problem—does it occur and is it felt in the way we have described it?—and the solution—does the arrangement we propose in fact resolve the problem? And the asterisks represent our degree of faith in these hypotheses. But of course, no matter what the asterisks say, the patterns are still hypotheses, all 253 of them—and are therefore all tentative, all free to evolve under the impact of new experience and observation. Let us finally explain the status of this language, why a pattern language we have called it "A Pattern Language" with the emphasis on the word "A," and how we imagine this pattern language might be related to the countless thousands of other languages we hope that people will make for themselves, in the future. The Timeless Way of Building says that every society which is alive and whole, will have its own unique and distinct pattern language; and further, that every individual in such a society will have a unique language, shared in part, but which as a totality is unique to the mind of the person who has it. In this sense, in a healthy society there will be as many pattern languages as there are people—even though these languages are shared and similar. The question then arises: What exactly is the status of this published language? In what frame of mind, and with what intention, are we publishing this language here? The fact that it is published as a book means that many thousands of people can use it. Is it not true that there is a danger that people might come to rely on this one printed language, instead of developing their own languages, in their own minds? The fact is, that we have written this book as a first step in the society-wide process by which people will gradually become conscious of their own pattern languages, and work to improve them. We believe, and have explained in The Timeless Way of Building, that the languages which people have today are so brutal, and so fragmented, that most people no longer have any language to speak of at all—and what they do have is not based on human, or natural considerations. a pattern language We have spent years trying to formulate this language, in the hope that when a person uses it, he will I" lo impressed by its power, and so joyful in its use, fli.it he will understand again, what it means to have a living language of this kind. If we only succeed in that, it is possible that each person may once again embark on the construction and development of his own language— perhaps taking the language printed in this book, as a point of departure. And yet, we do believe, of course, that this language which is printed here is something more than a manual, or a teacher, or a version of a possible pattern language. Many of the patterns here are archetypal—so deep, so deeply rooted in the nature of things, that it seems likely that they will be a part of human nature, and human action, as much in five hundred years, as they are today. We doubt very much whether anyone could construct a valid pattern language, in his own mind, which did not include the pattern arcades (119) for example, or the pattern alcoves (179). In this sense, we have also tried to penetrate, as deep as we are able, into the nature of things in the environment: and hope that a great part of this language, which we print here, will be a core of any sensible human pattern language, which any person constructs for himself, in his own mind. In this sense, at least a part of the language we have presented here, is the archetypal core of all possible pattern languages, which can make people feel alive and human. SUMMARY OF THE LANGUAGE A pattern language has the structure of a network. This is explained fully in The Timeless Way of Building. However, when we use the network of a language, we always use it as a sequence, going through the patterns, moving always from the larger patterns to the smaller, always from the ones which create structures, to the ones which then embellish those structures, and then to those which embellish the embellishments. . . . Since the language is in truth a network, there is no one sequence which perfectly captures it. But the sequence which follows, captures the broad sweep of the full network; in doing so, it follows a line, dips down, dips up again, and follows an irregular course, a little like a needle following a tapestry. The sequence of patterns is both a summary of the language, and at the same time, an index to the patterns. If you read through the sentences which connect the groups of patterns to one another, you will get an overview of the whole language. And once you get this overview, you will then be able to find the patterns which are relevant to your own project. And finally, as we shall explain in the next section, this sequence of patterns is also the "base map," from SUMMARY OF THE LANGUAGE Wfhich you can make a language for your own project, l\ Jioosing the patterns which are most useful to you, .mil leaving them more or less in the order that you find them printed here. + + * We begin with that fart of the language which defines a town or community. These patterns can never be "designed" or "built" in one fell swoop—but patient piecemeal growth, designed in such a way that every individual act is always helping to create or generate these larger global patterns, will, slowly and surely, over the years, make a community that has these global patterns in it. I. INDEPENDENT REGIONS within each region work toward those regional policies which will protect the land and mark the limits of the cities; 2. THE DISTRIBUTION OF TOWNS 3. CITY COUNTRY FINGERS 4. AGRICULTURAL VALLEYS f. LACE OF COUNTRY STREETS 6. COUNTRY TOWNS 7. THE COUNTRYSIDE summary of the language through city policies, encourage the piecemeal formation of those major structures which define the city j 8. mosaic of subcultures 9. scattered work 10. magic of the city i i. local transport areas build up these larger city patterns from the grass roots, through action essentially controlled by two levels of self-governing communities, which exist as physically identifiable places; 12. community of 7OOO 13. subculture boundary 14. identifiable neighborhood 15. neighborhood boundary connect communities to one another by encouraging the growth of the following networks; 16. web of public transportation 17. ring roads 18. network of learning 19. web of shopping 20. mini-buses establish community and neighborhood policy to control the character of the local environment according to the following fundamental principles; 21. four-story limit summary of the language 22. nine per cent parking 23. parallel roads 24. sacred sites 25. access to water 26. life cycle 27. men and women ^oth in the neighborhoods and the communities, and in between them, in the boundaries, encourage the formation of local centers; 28. eccentric nucleus 29. density rings 30. activity nodes 31. promenade 32. shopping street 33. night life 34. interchange around these centers, provide for the growth of housing in the form of clusters, based on face-to-face human groups; 35. household mix 36. degrees of publicness 37. house cluster 38. row houses 39. housing hill 40. old people everywhere xxi summary of the language between the house clusters, around the centers, and especially in the boundaries between neighborhoods, encourage the formation of work communities; 41. work community 42. industrial ribbon 43. university as a marketplace 44. local town hall 45. necklace of community projects 46. market of many shops 47. health center 48. housing in between between the house clusters and work communities, allow the local road and path network to grow informally, piecemeal; 49. looped local roads 50. t junctions 51. green streets 52. network of paths and cars 53. main gateways 54. road crossing 55. raised walk 56. bike paths and racks 57. children in the city xxii summary of the language in (lie communities and neighborhoods, provide public I 1 11 hind where people can relax, rub shoulders and h new themselves; 58. carnival 59. quiet backs 60. accessible green 61. small public squares 62. high places 63. dancing in the street 64. pools and streams 65. birth places 66. holy ground in each house cluster and work community, provide the smaller bits of common land, to provide for local versions of the same needs; 67. common land 68. connected play 69. public outdoor room 70. grave sites 71. still water 72. local sports 73. adventure playground 74. animals within the framework of the common land, the clusters, and the work communities encourage transformation of xxiii summary of the language the smallest independent social institutions: the families, workgroups, and gathering places. The family, in all its forms j 75. the family 76. house for a small family 77. house for a couple 78. house for one person 79. your own home the workgroups, including all kinds of workshops and offices and even children's learning groups; 80. self-governing workshops and offices 81. small services without red tape 82. office connections 83. master and apprentices 84. teenage society 85. shopfront schools 86. children's home the local shops and gathering places. 87. individually owned shops 88. street cafe 89. corner grocery 90. beer hall 91. traveler's inn 92. bus stop summary of the language 93. food stands 94. sleeping in public This completes the global -patterns which define a town or a community. We now start that part of the language which gives shape to groups of buildings, and individual buildings, on the land, in three dimensions. These are the patterns which can be "designed" or "built"—the patterns which define the individual buildings and the space between buildings; where we are dealing for the first time with patterns that are under the control of individuals or small groups of individuals, who are able to build the patterns all at once. The first group of patterns helps to lay out the overall arrangement of a group of buildings: the height and number of these buildings, the entrances to the site, main parking areas, and lines of movement through the complex; 95. building complex 96. number of stories 97- shielded parking 98. circulation realms 99. main building 100. pedestrian street 101. building thorough fare 102. family of entrances 103. small parking lots XXV SUMMARY OF THE LANGUAGE fix the position of individual buildings on the site, within the complex, one by one, according to the nature of the site, the trees, the sun: this is one of the most important moments in the language; 104. SITE REPAIR 105. SOUTH FACING OUTDOORS 106. POSITIVE OUTDOOR SPACE 107. WINGS OF LIGHT 108. CONNECTED BUILDINGS 109. LONG THIN HOUSE within the buildings' wings, lay out the entrances, the gardens, courtyards, roofs, and terraces: shape both the volume of the buildings and the volume of the space between the buildings at the same time—remembering that indoor space and outdoor space, yin and yang, must always get their shape together; 110. MAIN ENTRANCE 111. HALF-HIDDEN GARDEN 112. ENTRANCE TRANSITION 113. CAR CONNECTION 114. HIERARCHY OF OPEN SPACE 115. COURTYARDS WHICH LIVE I 16. CASCADE OF ROOFS 117. SHELTERING ROOF 118. ROOF GARDEN SUMMARY OF THE LANGUAGE hi n the major parts of buildings and the outdoor areas lutvi been given their rough shape, it is the right time to more detailed attention to the paths and squares I.. 1 wcni the buildings; I 19. ARCADES 120. PATHS AND GOALS 121. PATH SHAPE 122. BUILDING FRONTS 123. PEDESTRIAN DENSITY 124. ACTIVITY POCKETS 125. STAIR SEATS 126. SOMETHING ROUGHLY IN THE MIDDLE now, with the paths fixed, we come back to the buildings: within the various wings of any one building, work out the fundamental gradients of space, and decide how the movement will connect the spaces in the gradients; 127. INTIMACY GRADIENT 128. INDOOR SUNLIGHT 129. COMMON AREAS AT THE HEART 130. ENTRANCE ROOM 131. THE FLOW THROUGH ROOMS 132. SHORT PASSAGES 133. STAIRCASE AS A STAGE 134. ZEN VIEW 135. TAPESTRY OF LIGHT AND DARK XXV i xxvii SUMMARY OF THE LANGUAGE within the framework of the wings and their internal gradients of space and movement, define the most important areas and rooms. First, for a house; 136. COUPLE'S REALM 137. CHILDREN'S REALM 138. SLEEPING TO THE EAST 139. FARMHOUSE KITCHEN 140. PRIVATE TERRACE ON THE STREET 141. A ROOM OF ONE'S OWN 142. SEQUENCE OF SITTING SPACES 143. BED CLUSTER 144. BATHING ROOM 145. BULK STORAGE then the same for offices, workshops, and public buildings; 146. FLEXIBLE OFFICE SPACE 147. COMMUNAL EATING 148. SMALL WORK GROUPS 149. RECEPTION WELCOMES YOU 150. A PLACE TO WAIT Ifl. SMALL MEETING ROOMS 152. HALF-PRIVATE OFFICE add those small outbuildings which must be slightly independent from the main structure, and put in the access from the upper stories to the street and gardens; SUMMARY OF THE LANGUAGE 153. ROOMS TO RENT 154. TEENAGER'S COTTAGE 155. OLD AGE COTTAGE 156. SETTLED WORK 157. HOME WORKSHOP 158. OPEN STAIRS prepare to knit the inside of the building to the outside, by treating the edge between the two as a place in its own right, and making human details there; 159. LIGHT ON TWO SIDES OF EVERY ROOM 160. BUILDING EDGE 161. SUNNY PLACE 162. NORTH FACE 163. OUTDOOR ROOM 164. STREET WINDOWS 165. OPENING TO THE STREET 166. GALLERY SURROUND 167. SIX-FOOT BALCONY 168. CONNECTION TO THE EARTH decide on the arrangement of the gardens, and the places in the gardens; 169. TERRACED SLOPE 170. FRUIT TREES 171. TREE PLACES xxviii xxix SUMMARY of the language summary of the language 172. garden growing wild 191. the shape of indoor space 173. garden wall 192. windows overlooking life 174. trellised walk I93. half-open wall 175. greenhouse 194. interior windows i76. garden seat I95. staircase volume 177. vegetable garden I96. corner doors 178. compost go back to the inside of the building and attach the necessary minor rooms and alcoves to complete the main rooms; 179. alcoves 180. window place 181. the fire 182. eating atmosphere 183. workspace enclosure 184. cooking layout 185. SITriNG circle give all the walls some depth, wherever there are to be alcoves, windows, shelves, closets, or seats; 197. thick walls 198. closets between rooms 199. sunny counter 200. open shelves 201. waist-high shelf 202. built-in seats 203. child caves 204. secret place 186. communal sleeping 187. marriage bed 188. bed alcove 189. dressing room fine tune the shape and size of rooms and alcoves to make them precise and buildable; 190. ceiling height variety At this stage, you have a complete design for an individual building. If you have followed the patterns given, you have a scheme of spaces, either marked on the ground, with stakes, or on a piece of paper, accurate to the nearest foot or so. You know the height of rooms, the rough size and position of windows and doors, and you know roughly how the roofs of the building, and the gardens are laid out. The next, and last part of the language, tells how to xxx xxxi summary of the language make a buildable building directly from this rough scheme of spaces, and tells you how to build it, in detail. Before you lay out structural details, establish a philosophy of structure which will let the structure grow directly from your plans and your conception of the buildings} 205. structure follows social spaces 206. efficient structure 207. good materials 208. gradual stiffening within this philosophy of structure, on the basis of the plans which you have made, work out the complete structural layout; this is the last thing you do on paper, before you actually start to build; 209. roof layout 210. floor and ceiling layout 211. thickening the outer walls 212. columns at the corners 213. final column distribution put stakes in the ground to mark the columns on the site, and start erecting the main frame of the building according to the layout of these stakes; 214. root foundations 215. ground floor slab 216. box columns summary of the language 217. perimeter beams 218. wall membranes 219. floor-ceiling vaults 220. roof vaults within the main frame of the building, fix the exact positions for openings—the doors and windows—and frame these openings; 221. natural doors and windows 222. low sill 223. deep reveals 224. low doorway 225. frames as thickened edges as you build the main frame and its openings, put in the following subsidiary patterns where they are appropriate; 226. column place 227. column connection 228. stair vault 229. duct space 230. radiant heat 231. dormer windows 232. roof caps put in the surfaces and indoor details; 233. floor surface 234. lapped outside walls xxxii xxxiii SUMMARY OF THE LANGUAGE 235. SOFT INSIDE WALLS 236. WINDOWS WHICH OPEN WIDE 237. SOLID DOORS WITH GLASS 238. FILTERED LIGHT 239. SMALL PANES 240. HALF-INCH TRIM build outdoor details to finish the outdoors as fully as the indoor spaces; 241. SEAT SPOTS 242. FRONT DOOR BENCH 243. SITTING WALL 244. CANVAS ROOFS 245. RAISED FLOWERS 246. CLIMBING PLANTS 247. PAVING WITH CRACKS BETWEEN THE STONES 248. SOFT TILE AND BRICK complete the building with ornament and light and color and your own things; 249. ORNAMENT 250. WARM COLORS 251. DIFFERENT CHAIRS 252. POOLS OF LIGHT 253. THINGS FROM YOUR LIFE xxxiv CHOOSING A LANGUAGE FOR YOUR PROJECT All 253 patterns together form a language. They create u coherent picture of an entire region, with the power in generate such regions in a million forms, with infinite variety in all the details. It is also true that any small sequence of patterns from 1 liis language is itself a language for a smaller part of the environment; and this small list of patterns is then Capable of generating a million parks, paths, houses, workshops, or gardens. For example, consider the following ten patterns: PRIVATE TERRACE ON THE STREET (140) SUNNY PLACE (l6l) OUTDOOR ROOM ( 163) SIX-FOOT BALCONY (167) PATHS AND GOALS (l20) CEILING HEIGHT VARIETY (190) COLUMNS AT THE CORNERS (212) FRONT DOOR BENCH (242) RAISED FLOWERS (245) DIFFERENT CHAIRS (251) This short list of patterns is itself a language: it is one of a thousand possible languages for a porch, at the front of a house. One of us chose this small language, to build CHOOSING A LANGUAGE FOR YOUR SUBJECT a porch onto the front of his house. This is the way the language, and its patterns, helped to generate this porch. I started with private terrace on the street (140). That pattern calls for a terrace, slightly raised, connected to the house, and on the street side, sunny place (161) suggests that a special place on the sunny side of the yard should be intensified and made into a place by the use of a patio, balcony, outdoor room, etc. I used these two patterns to locate a raised platform on the south side of the house. To make this platform into an outdoor room (163), I put it half under the existing roof overhang, and kept a mature pyracanthus tree right smack in the middle of the platform. The overhead foliage of the tree added to the roof-like enclosure of the space. I put a wind screen of fixed glass on the west side of the platform too, to give it even more enclosure. I used six-foot balcony (167) to determine the size of the platform. But this pattern had to be used judiciously and not blindly—the reasoning for the pattern has to do with the minimum space required for people to sit comfortably and carry on a discussion around a small side-table. Since 1 wanted space for at least two of these conversation areas—one under the roof for very hot or rainy days, and one out under the sky for days when you wanted to be full in the sun, the balcony had to be made 12x12 feet square. Now paths and coals (120): Usually, this pattern deals with large paths in a neighborhood, and comes much earlier in a language. But I used it in a special way. It says that the paths which naturally get formed by people's walking, on the land, should be preserved and intensified. Since the path to our front door cut right across the corner of the place where 1 had planned to put the platform, I cut the corner of the platform off. The height of the platform above the ground was determined by ceiling height variety (190). By building the platform approximately one foot above the ground line, the ceiling height of the covered portion came out at between 6 and 7 feet—just right for a space as small as this. Since this height above the ground level is just about right for sitting, the pattern front door bench (242) was automatically satisfied. There were three columns standing, supporting the roof over CHOOSING A LANGUAGE FOR YOUR SUBJECT tin old porch. They had to stay where they are, because they hold i In H«>f Up. But, following columns at the corners (212), ill' platform was very carefully tailored to their positions—so that ■I' Miluinns help define the social spaces on either side of them. I ni.dly, we put a couple of flower boxes next to the "front door bench"—it's nice to smell them when you sit there—according to | i i n flowers (245). And the old chairs you can sec in the porch arc different chairs (251). You can see, from this short example, how powerful nul simple a pattern language is. And you are now, perhaps ready to appreciate how careful you must be, when you construct a language for yourself and your own project. The finished forcA The character of the porch is given by the ten patterns in this short language. In just this way, each part of the environment is given its character by the collection of patterns which we choose to build into it. The character of what you build, will be given to it by the language of patterns you use, to generate it. xxx vii choosing a language for your subject For this reason, of course, the task of choosing a language for your project is fundamental. The pattern language we have given here contains 253 patterns. You can therefore use it to generate an almost unimaginably large number of possible different smaller languages, for all the different projects you may choose to do, simply by picking patterns from it. We shall now describe a rough procedure by which you can choose a language for your own project, first by taking patterns from this language we have printed here, and then by adding patterns of your own. 1. First of all, make a copy of the master sequence (pages xix-xxxiv) on which you can tick off the patterns which will form the language for your project. If you don't have access to a copying machine, you can tick off patterns in the list printed in the book, use paper clips to mark pages, write your own list, use paper markers— whatever you like. But just for now, to explain it clearly, we shall assume that you have a copy of the list in front of you. 1. Scan down the list, and find the pattern which best describes the overall scope of the project you have in mind. This is the starting pattern for your project. Tick it. (If there are two or three possible candidates, don't worry: just pick the one which seems best: the others will fall in place as you move forward.) 3. Turn to the starting pattern itself, in the book, and read it through. Notice that the other patterns mentioned by name at the beginning and at the end, of the pattern you are reading, are also possible candidates for your language. The ones at the beginning will tend to be "larger" than your project. Don't include them, unless choosing a language for your subject u have the power to help create these patterns, at least in ■ small way, in the world around your project. The ones at the end are "smaller." Almost all of them will be important. Tick all of them, on your list, unless you have some special reason for not wanting to include them. 4. Now your list has some more ticks on it. Turn to the next highest pattern on the list which is ticked, and open the book to that pattern. Once again, it will lead you to other patterns. Once again, tick those which are relevant—especially the ones which are "smaller" that come at the end. As a general rule, do not tick the ones which are "larger" unless you can do something about them, concretely, in your own project. 5. When in doubt about a pattern, don't include it. Your list can easily get too long: and if it does, it will become confusing. The list will be quite long enough, even if you only include the patterns you especially like. 6. Keep going like this, until you have ticked all the patterns you want for your project. 7. Now, adjust the sequence by adding your own material. If there are things you want to include in your project, but you have not been able to find patterns which correspond to them, then write them in, at an appropriate point in the sequence, near other patterns which are of about the same size and importance. For example, there is no pattern for a sauna. If you want to include one, write it in somewhere near bathing room (144) in your sequence. 8. And of course, if you want to change any patterns, change them. There are often cases where you may have a personal version of a pattern, which is more true, or xxxviii xxxix choosing a language for your subject more relevant for you. In this case, you will get the most "power" over the language, and make it your own most effectively, if you write the changes in, at the appropriate places in the book. And, it will be most concrete of all, if you change the name of the pattern too—so that it captures your own changes clearly. THE POETRY OF THE LANGUAGE <• Suppose now that you have a language for your project. The way to use the language depends very much on its scale. Patterns dealing with towns can only be implemented gradually, by grass roots action; patterns for a building can be built up in your mind, and marked out on the ground; patterns for construction must be built physically, on the site. For this reason we have given three separate instructions, for these three different scales. For towns, see page 3; for buildings, see page 463; for construction, see page 935. The procedures for each of these three scales are described in much more detail with extensive examples, in the appropriate chapters of The Timeless Way of Building. For the town—see chapters 24 and 2j; for an individual building—see chapters 20, 21, and 22; and for the process of construction which describes the way a building is actually built see chapter 23. xl Finally, a note of caution. This language, like English, am be a medium for prose, or a medium for poetry. The difference between prose and poetry is not that different languages are used, but that the same language is used, differently. In an ordinary English sentence, each word has one meaning, and the sentence too, has one simple meaning. In a poem, the meaning is far more dense. Each word carries several meanings; and the sentence as a whole carries an enormous density of interlocking meanings, which together illuminate the whole. The same is true for pattern languages. It is possible to make buildings by stringing together patterns, in a rather loose way. A building made like this, is an assembly of patterns. It is not dense. It is not profound. But it is also possible to put patterns together in such a way that many many patterns overlap in the same physical space: the building is very dense; it has many meanings captured in a small space; and through this density, it becomes profound. In a poem, this kind of density, creates illumination, by making identities between words, and meanings, whose identity we have not understood before. In "O Rose thou art sick," the rose is identified with many xli the poetry of the language the poetry of the language greater, and more personal things than any rose—and the poem illuminates the person, and the rose, because of this connection. The connection not only illuminates the words, but also illuminates our actual lives. O Rose thou art sick. The invisible worm, That flies in the night In the howling storm: Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy: And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy. william blake The same exactly, happens in a building. Consider, for example, the two patterns bathing room (144) and still water (71). One defines a part of a house where you can bathe yourself slowly, with pleasure, perhaps in company; a place to rest your limbs, and to relax. The other is a place in a neighborhood, where this is water to gaze into, perhaps to swim in, where children can sail boats, and splash about, which nourishes those parts of ourselves which rely on water as one of the great elements of the unconscious. Suppose now, that we make a complex of buildings where individual bathing rooms are somehow connected to a common pond, or lake, or pool—where the bathing room merges with this common place; where there is no sharp distinction between the individual and family processes of the bathing room, and the common pleasure of the common pool. In this place, these two patterns xlii . rift in the same space; they are identified; there is a Iunprcssion of the two, which requires less space, and which is more profound than in a place where they are merely side by side. The compression illuminates each OJ the patterns, sheds light on its meaning; and also illuminates our lives, as we understand a little more about the connections of our inner needs. But this kind of compression is not only poetic and profound. It is not only the stuff of poems and exotic statements, but to some degree, the stuff of every English sentence. To some degree, there is compression in every single word we utter, just because each word carries the whisper of the meanings of the words it is connected to. Even "Please pass the butter, Fred" has some compression in it, because it carries overtones that lie in the connections of these words to all the words which came before it. Each of us, talking to our friends, or to our families, makes use of these compressions, which are drawn out from the connections between words which are given by the language. The more we can feel all the connections in the language, the more rich and subtle are the things we say at the most ordinary times. And once again, the same is true in building. The compression of patterns into a single space, is not a poetic and exotic thing, kept for special buildings which are works of art. It is the most ordinary economy of space. It is quite possible that all the patterns for a house might, in some form be present, and overlapping, in a simple one-room cabin. The patterns do not need to be strung out, and kept separate. Every building, every room, xliii THE POETRY OF THE language every garden is better, when all the patterns which it needs are compressed as far as it is possible for them to be. The building will be cheaper; and the meanings in it will be denser. It is essential then, once you have learned to use the language, that you pay attention to the possibility of compressing the many patterns which you put together, in the smallest possible space. You may think of this process of compressing patterns, as a way to make the cheapest possible building which has the necessary patterns in it. It is, also, the only way of using a pattern language to make buildings which are poems. xliv IIV begin with that -part of the language which defines a town or a community. These patterns can never be "de-\tgnid" or "built" in one jell swoop—but patient piece-iii,;il growth, designed in such a way that every indi-i,lHal act is always helping to create or generate these larger global patterns, will, slowly and surely, over the scars, make a community that has these global patterns in it. ❖ * * The first 94 patterns deal with the large-scale structure of the environment: the growth of town and country, the layout of roads and paths, the relationship between work and family, the formation of suitable public institutions for a neighborhood, the kinds of public space required to support these institutions. We believe that the patterns presented in this section can be implemented best by piecemeal processes, where each project built or each planning decision made is sanctioned by the community according as it does or does not help to form certain large-scale patterns. We do not believe that these large patterns, which give so much structure to a town or of a neighborhood, can be created by centralized authority, or by laws, or by master plans. We believe instead that they can emerge gradually and organically, almost of their own accord, if every act of building, large or small, takes on the responsibility for gradually shaping its small corner of the world to make these larger patterns appear there. In the next few pages we shall describe a planning 3 towns process which we believe is compatible with this piecemeal approach. I. The core of the planning process we propose is this: The region is made up of a hierarchy of social and political groups, from the smallest and most local groups —families, neighborhoods, and work groups—to the largest groups—city councils, regional assemblies. Imagine for example a metropolitan region composed very roughly of the following groups, each group a coherent political entity: A. The region: 8,000,000 people. B. The major city: 500,000 people. C. Communities and small towns: 5-10,000 people each. D. Neighborhoods: 500-1000 people each. E. House clusters and work communities: 30-50 people each. F. Families and work groups: 1-15 people each. 2. Each group makes its own decisions about the environment it uses in common. Ideally, each group actually owns the common land at its "level." And higher groups do not own or control the land belonging to lower groups—they only own and control the common land that lies between them, and which serves the higher group. For instance, a community of 7000 might own the public land lying between its component neighborhoods, but not the neighborhoods themselves. A cooperative house cluster would own the common land between the houses, but not the houses themselves. 3. Each of these groups takes responsibility for those patterns relevant to its own internal structure. Thus, we imagine, for example, that the various towns 1 1 cups we have named might choose to adopt the following patterns: A. Region: independent regions distribution of towns city country fingers . . . B. City: mosaic of subcultures scattered work the magic of the city . . . C. Community: community of 7000 subculture boundary . . . 4. Each neighborhood, community, or city is then free to find various ways of persuading its constituent groups and individuals to implement these patterns gradually. In every case this will hinge on some kind of incentive However, the actual incentives chosen might vary greatly, in their power, and degree of enforcement. Some patterns, like city country fingers, might be made a matter of regional law—since nothing less can deter money-hungry developers from building everywhere. Other patterns, like main gateway, birth n aces, still water, might be purely voluntary. And other patterns might have various kinds of incentives, intermediate between these extremes. For example, network of paths and cars, accessible greens, and others might be formulated so that tax breaks will be given to those development projects which help to bring them into existence. 5. As far as possible, implementation should be loose and voluntary, based on social responsibility, and not on legislation or coercion. Suppose, for example, that there is a citywide decision •I 5 towns to increase industrial uses in certain areas. Within the process here denned, the city could not implement this policy over the heads of the neighborhoods, by zoning or the power of eminent domain or any other actions. They can suggest that it is important, and can increase the flow of money to any neighborhoods willing to help implement this larger pattern. They can implement it, in short, if they can find local neighborhoods willing to see their own future in these terms, and willing to modify their own environment to help make it happen locally. As they find such neighborhoods, then it will happen gradually, over a period of years, as the local neighborhoods respond to the incentives. 6. Once such a process is rolling, a community, having adopted the pattern HEALTH CENTER, for example, might invite a group of doctors to come and build such a place. The team of users, designing the clinic would work from the health center pattern, and all the other relevant patterns that are part of the community's language. They would try to build into their project any higher patterns that the community has adopted—nine per cent parking, local sports, network of paths and cars, accessible green, etc. 7. It is of course possible for individual acts of building to begin working their way toward these larger communal patterns, even before the neighborhood, community, and regional groups are formed. Thus, for example, a group of people seeking to get rid of noisy and dangerous traffic in front of their houses might decide to tear up the asphalt, and build a green street there instead. They would present their case to towns In traffic department based on the arguments presented hi the pattern, and on an analysis of the existing street Bittern. Another group wanting to build a small communal tvoikshop, in a neighborhood currently zoned for resi-• I' hi id use only, can argue their case based on scattered wokk, settled work, etc., and possibly get the city or /uning department to change the zoning regulation on this matter, and thereby slowly work toward introducing patterns, one at a time within the current framework of 11 >iIts and zoning. We have worked out a partial version of this process ai the Eugene campus of the University of Oregon. I hit work is described in Volume 3, The Oregon Experiment. But a university is quite different from a town, because it has a single centralized owner, and a single source of funds. It is inevitable, therefore, that the process by which individual acts can work together to form larger wholes without restrictive planning from above, can only partly be put into practice there. The theory which explains how large patterns can be built piecemeal from smaller ones, is given in Chapters 24 and 25 of The Timeless Way of Building. At some time in the future, we hope to write another volume, which explains the political and economic processes needed to implement this process fully, in a town. 6 7 o what you can to establish a world government, nitli a thousand independent regions, instead of i quntries; i. independent regions I INDEPENDENT REGIONS** I Metropolitan regions will not come to balance until each • mi is small and autonomous enough to be an independent iphere of culture. Tlicrc are four separate arguments which have led us to this .....elusion: i. The nature and limits of human government. 2. I |" iiy among regions in a world community. 3. Regional planning considerations. 4. Support for the intensity and diversity of human cultures. 1. There are natural limits to the size of groups that can govern themselves in a human way. The biologist J. B. S. Haldane has remarked on this in his paper, "On Being the Right Size": . . . just as there is a best size for every animal, so the same is II ii<- for every human institution. In the Greek type of democracy .ill 1 lie citizens could listen to a scries of orators and vote directly on questions of legislation. Hence their philosophers held that a small in was the largest possible democratic state. . . . (J. B. S Haldane, • in Being the Right Size," Tlie World of Mathematics, Vol. II, |. K. Newman, ed. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1956, pp. 962- «7). It is not hard to see why the government of a region becomes leu and less manageable with size. In a population of N persons, there are of the order of N2 pcrson-to-person links needed to keep (funnels of communication open. Naturally, when N goes beyond » certain limit, the channels of communication needed for democracy and justice and information are simply too clogged, and loo complex; bureaucracy overwhelms human processes. And, of course, as N grows the number of levels in the hierarchy of government increases too. In small countries like Den-ni.irk there are so few levels, that any private citizen can have access to the Minister of Education. But this kind of direct access is quite impossible in larger countries like England or the United States. We believe the limits are reached when the population of a region reaches some 2 to 10 million. Beyond this size, people become remote from the large-scale processes of government. Our estimate may seem extraordinary in the light of modern history: the nation-states have grown mightily and their governments hold power over tens of millions, sometimes hundreds of millions, of people. But these huge powers cannot claim to have a natural size. TOWNS I INDEPENDENT REGIONS They cannot claim to have struck the balance between the needs of towns and communities, and the needs of the world community as a whole. Indeed, their tendency has been to override local needs and repress local culture, and at the same time aggrandize themselves to the point where they are out of reach, their power barely conceivable to the average citizen. 2. Unless a region has at least several million people in it, it will not be large enough to have a seat in a world government, and will therefore not be able to supplant the power and authority of present nation-states. We found this point expressed by Lord Weymouth of Warminster, Kngland, in a letter to the New York Times, March 15, «973: world federation: a thousand states . . . the essential foundation stone for world federation on a democratic basis consists of regionalization within centralized government. . . . This argument rests on the idea that world government is lacking in moral authority unless each delegate represents an approximately equal portion of the world's population. Working backward from an estimate of the global population in the year 2000, which is anticipated to rise to the 10,000 million mark, I suggest that we should be thinking in terms of an ideal regional state at something around ten million, or between five and fifteen million, to give greater flexibility. This would furnish the U.N. with an assembly of equals of 1000 regional representatives: a body that would be justified in claiming to be truly representative of the world's population. Weymouth believes that Western Europe could take some of the initiative for triggering this conception of world government. He looks for the movement for regional autonomy to take hold in the European Parliament at Strasbourg; and hopes that power can gradually be transferred from Westminister, Paris, Bonn, etc., to regional councils, federated in Strasbourg. I am suggesting that in the Europe of the future we shall see England split down into Kent, Wessex, Mercia, Anglia and North-umbria, with an independent Scotland, Wales and Ireland, of course. Other European examples will include Brittany, Bavaria and Calabria. The national identities of our contemporary Europe will have lost their political significance. 3. Unless the regions have the power to be self-governing, they will not be able to solve their own environmental problems. The mbinary lines of states and countries, which often cut across MCural regional boundaries, make it all but impossible for people 10 "he regional problems in a direct and humanly efficient way. An extensive and detailed analysis of this idea has been given 1.1 the French economist Gravicr, who has proposed, in a series of booki and papers, the concept of a Europe of the Regions, a I uiope decentralized and reorganized around regions which cross present national and subnational boundaries. (For example, the 11 r. I-Strasbourg Region includes parts of France, Germany, and Switzerland; the Liverpool Region includes parts of England and parts of Wales). See Jean-Francois Gravier, "L'Europc des ngioru," in 1965 Internationale Regio Plancrtagung, Schriften dcr Regio 3, Regio, Basel, 1965, pp. 211-22; and in the same h.lutnc see also F.mrys Jones, "The Conflict of City Regions and Administrative Units in Britain," pp. 223-35. 4. Finally, unless the present-day great nations have their power greatly decentralized, the beautiful and differentiated languages, cultures, customs, and ways of life of the earth's people, vital to the health of the planet, will vanish. In short, we believe lli.it independent regions are the natural receptacles for language, Culture, customs, economy, and laws and that each region should Ik separate and independent enough to maintain the strength and vigor of its culture. The fact that human cultures within a city can only flourish when they are at least partly separated from neighboring cultures is discussed in great detail in mosaic of subcultures (8). We arc suggesting here that the same argument also applies to regions —that the regions of the earth must also keep their distance and their dignity in order to survive as cultures. In the best of medieval times, the cities performed this function. They provided permanent and intense spheres of cultural influence, variety, and economic exchange; they were great communes, whose citizens were co-members, each with some say in the city's destiny. We believe that the independent region can become the modern polis—the new commune—that human entity which provides the sphere of culture, language, laws, services, economic exchange, variety, which the old walled city or the polis provided for its members. TOWNS Therefore: Wherever possible, work toward the evolution of independent regions in the world; each with a population between 2 and 10 million; each with its own natural and geographic boundaries; each with its own economy; each one autonomous and self-governing; each with a seat in a world government, without the intervening power of larger states or countries. each region id million population iooo regions * * * within each region work toward those regional policies which will protect the land and mark the limits of the cities: 2. the distribution of towns 3. city country fingers 4. agricultural valleys 5. lace of country streets 6. country towns 7. the countryside Within each region encourage the population to distribute itself as widely as possible across the region—the distribution of towns (2). . . . 14 15 2 THE DISTRIBUTION OF TOWNS (otisiJcr now the character of settlements within the region: li H li.il.mcc of villages, towns, and cities is in keeping with the Independence of the region—independent regions (l)? II the population of a region is weighted too far toward mall villages, modern civilization can never emerge; but 11 i he population is weighted too far toward big cities, 'li< earth will go to ruin because the population isn't where ii needs to be, to take care of it. I wo different necessities govern the distribution of population hi ■ legion. On the one hand, people are drawn to cities: they are drawn by the growth of civilization, jobs, education, economic .....-ih, information. On the other hand, the region as a social and ecological whole will not be properly maintained unless the Mople of the region are fairly well spread out across it, living in many different kinds of settlements—-farms, villages, towns, and cities—with each settlement taking care of the land around it. Industrial society has so far been following only the first of these >i' i 'ssities. People leave the farms and towns and villages and pack mi" the cities, leaving vast parts of the region depopulated and imdcrmaintained. In order to establish a reasonable distribution of population within a region, we must fix two separate features of the distribution: its statistical character and its spatial character. First, we must be sure that the statistical distribution of towns, by size, is appropriate: we must be sure that there are many small towns and few large ones. Second, wc must then be sure that the spatial dis-Irihution of towns within the region is appropriate: we must be lure that the towns in any given size category are evenly spread out across the region, not highly concentrated. In practice, the statistical distribution will take care of itself. A large number of studies has shown that the natural demographic and political and economic processes at work in city growth and population movement will create a distribution of 17 TOWNS 2 the distribution of towns towns with many small towns and few large ones; and indeed, the nature of this distribution does correspond, roughly, to the logarithmic distribution that we propose in this pattern. Various explanations have been given by Christaller, Zipf, Herbert Simon, and others; they arc summarized in Brian Berry and William Garrison, "Alternate Explanations of Urban Rank-Size Relationships," Annals of the Association of American Geographers, Vol. 48, March 1958, No. 1, pp. 83-91. Let us assume, then, that towns will have the right distribution of sizes. But arc they adjacent to one another, or are they spread out? If all the towns in a region, large, medium, and small, were crammed together in one continuous urban area, the fact that some arc large and some are small, though interesting politically, would have no ecological meaning whatsoever. As far as the ecology of the region is concerned, it is the spatial distribution of the towns which matters, not the statistics of political boundaries within the urban sprawl. Two arguments have led us to propose that the towns in any one size category should be uniformly distributed across the region: an economic argument and an ecological argument. Economic. All over the world, underdeveloped areas are facing economic ruin because the jobs, and then the people, move toward the largest cities, under the influence of their economic gravity. Sweden, Scotland, Israel, and Mexico are all examples. The population moves toward Stockholm, Glasgow, Tel Aviv, Mexico City —as it does so, new jobs get created in the city, and then even more people have to come to the city in search of jobs. Gradually the imbalance between city and country becomes severe. The city becomes richer, the outlying areas continuously poorer. In the end the region may have the highest standard of living in the world at its center, yet only a few miles away, at its periphery, people may be starving. This can only be halted by policies which guarantee an equal sharing of resources, and economic development, across the entire region. In Israel, for example, there has been some attempt to pour the limited resources with which the government can subsidize economic growth into those areas which are most backward economically. (See "Urban Growth Policies in Six 18 , I .i. Countries," Urban Growth Policy Study Group, Office I.....lutional Affairs, HUD, Washington, D.C., 1972.) ' . . u al. An ovcrconcentrated population, in space, puts a ln.|M Uiiilfii on the region's overall ecosystem. As the big cities |nm, 1 hr population movement overburdens these areas with air |hiIIiii....., strangled transportation, water shortages, housing short- •«>•, ml living densities which go beyond the realm of human immmmI'Iiiicss. In some metropolitan centers, the ecology is per-' hi ly close to cracking. By contrast, a population that is spread .....n 1 ii nlv over its region minimizes its impact on the ecology 1 1 In' environment, and finds that it can take care of itself and Ihl I ind more prudently, with less waste and more humanity: I bin is because the actual urban superstructure required per in-1..1I..1 nit goes up radically as the size of the town increases beyond a 1 lain point. For example, the per capita cost of high rise flats is Ntui li greater than that of ordinary houses; and the cost of roads • ml other transportation routes increases with the number of com-.....h n carried. Similarly, the per capita expenditure on other facili- 111 h as those for distributing food and removing wastes is linn li higher in cities than in small towns and villages. Thus, if IVtrybody lived in villages the need for sewage treatment plants Himlil lie somewhat reduced, while in an entirely urban society they • rr essential, and the cost of treatment is high. Broadly speaking, it 1« only by decentralization that we can increase self-sufficiency— .mil wlf-sufficiency is vital if we arc to minimize the burden of social systems on the ecosystems that support them. The Ecologist, Blueprint ' 1 Survival, England: Penguin, 1972, pp. 52-53.) Therefore: Encourage a birth and death process for towns within the region, which gradually has these effects: 1. The population is evenly distributed in terms of different sizes—for example, one town with 1,000,000 people, 10 towns with 100,000 people each, 100 towns with 10,000 people each, and 1000 towns with 100 people each. 2. These towns are distributed in space in such a way that within each size category the towns are homogeneously distributed all across the region. 19 towns This process can be implemented by regional zoning policies, land grants, and incentives which encourage industries to locate according to the dictates of the distribution. • ■ towns of 1,000,000 - 250 miles apart towns of 100,000 - 80 miles apart towns of 10,000 - 25 miles apart towns of 1,000 - 8 miles apart As the distribution evolves, protect the prime agricultural land for fanning—agricultural valleys (4) ; protect the smaller outlying towns, by establishing belts of countryside around them and by decentralizing industry, so that the towns are economically stable—country towns (6). In the larger more central urban areas work toward land policies which maintain open belts of countryside between the belts of city—city country fingers (3). • • « I IV COUNTRY FINGERS** to 21 ... the distribution of towns required to make a balanced region—distribution of towns (2)—can be further helped by controlling the balance of urban land and open countryside within the towns and cities themselves. + * + Continuous sprawling urbanization destroys life, and makes cities unbearable. But the sheer size of cities is also valuable and potent. People feel comfortable when they have access to the countryside, experience of open fields, and agriculture; access to wild plants and birds and animals. For this access, cities must have boundaries with the countryside near every point. At the same time, a city becomes good for life only when it contains a great density of interactions among people and work, and different ways of life. For the sake of this interaction, the city must be continuous—not broken up. In this pattern we shall try to bring these two facts to balance. Let us begin with the fact that people living in cities need contact with true rural land to maintain their roots with the land that supports them. A 1972 Gallup poll gives very strong evidence for this fact. The poll asked the question: "If you could live anywhere, would you prefer a city, suburban area, small town, or farm?" and received the following answers from 1465 Americans: City Suburb Small town Farm 13% '3 32 23 And this dissatisfaction with cities is getting worse. In 1966, 22 percent said they preferred the city—in 1972, only six years later, this figure dropped to 13 percent. ("Most don't want to live in a city," George Gallup, San Francisco Chronicle, Monday, December 18, 1972, p. 12.) It is easy to understand why city people long for contact with CITY COUNTRY FINGERS unintrysidc. Only 100 years ago 85 percent of the Ameri-|MI lived on rural land; today 70 percent live in cities. Ap-, ... nil; s\c cannot live entirely within cities—at least the kinds .1 .....1 we have built so far—our need for contact with the .........>side runs too deep, it is a biological necessity: Unique as we may think we are, we are nevertheless as likely to I. , ft netically programmed to a natural habitat of clean air and a v .....I preen landscape as any other iimiiimmI. To be relaxed and |.. I healthy usually means simply allowing our bodies to react in id. w.iy for which one hundred millions of years of evolution has •quipped us. Physically and genetically, we appear best adapted to a tropical savanna, but as a cultural animal we utilize learned adapta- ii. 11 in cities and towns. For thousands of years we have tried in our I..... ei to imitate not only the climate, but the setting of our evolu- iM.11.11y past: warm, humid air, green plants, and even animal com-Mniont. Today, if we can afford it, we may even build a green- I...... or swimming pool next to our living room, buy a place in the Kiiintry, or at least take our children vacationing on the seashore. The specific physiological reactions to natural beauty and diversity, to the shapes and colors of nature (especially to green), to the motions and sounds of other animals, such as birds, we as yet do not Comprehend. But it is evident that nature in our daily life should be thought of as a part of the biological need. It cannot be neglected in the discussions of resource policy for man. (H. H. litis, P. Andres, and O. L. Loucks, in Population Resources Environment: Issues in Human Ecology, P. R. Ehrlich and A. H. Ehrlich, San Francisco: Freeman and Co., 1970, p. 104.) But it is becoming increasingly difficult for city dwellers to come into contact with rural life. In the San Francisco Bay Region 21 square miles of open space is lost each year (Gerald D. Adams, "The Open Space Explosion," Cry California, Fall 1970, pp. 27-32.) As cities get bigger the rural land is farther and farther away. With the breakdown of contact between city dwellers and the countryside, the cities become prisons. Farm vacations, a year on the farm for city children, and retirement to the country for old people are replaced by expensive resorts, summer camps, and retirement villages. And for most, the only contact remaining is the weekend exodus from the city, choking the highways and the few organized recreation centers. Many weekenders return to the city on Sunday night with their nerves more shattered than when they left. 21 TOWNS When the countryside is far aviay the city becomes a prison. If vvc wish to re-establish and maintain the proper connection between city and country, and yet maintain the density of urban interactions, it will be necessary to stretch out the urbanized area into long sinuous fingers which extend into the farmland, shown in the diagram below. Not only will the city be in the form of narrow fingers, but so will the farmlands adjacent to it. The maximum width of the city fingers is determined by the maximum acceptable distance from the heart of the city to the countryside. We reckon that everyone should be within 10 minutes' walk of the countryside. This would set a maximum width of i mile for the city fingers. The minimum for any farmland finger is determined by the minimum acceptable dimensions for typical working farms. Since 90 percent of all farms are still ;oo acres or less and there is no respectable evidence that the giant farm is more efficient (Leon H. Keyserling, Agriculture and the Public Interest, Conference on Economic Progress, Washington, D. C, February 1965), these fingers of farmland need be no more than I mile wide. The implementation of this pattern requires new policies of three different kinds. With respect to the farmland, there must be policies encouraging the reconstruction of small farms, farms that fit the one-mile bands of country land. Second, there must be policies which contain the cities' tendency to scatter in every direction. And third, the countryside must be truly public, so that people can establish contact with even those parts of the land that are under private cultivation. Imagine how this one pattern would transform life in cities. 3 CITY COUNTRY FINGERS 1 city dweller would have access to the countryside; the open Country would be a half-hour bicycle ride from downtown. Therefore: Keep interlocking fingers of farmland and urban land, ■ Mil at the center of the metropolis. The urban fingers thou Id never be more than 1 mile wide, while the farmland fingers should never be less than 1 mile wide. country fingers, at least 1 mile wide city fingers, at most 1 mile wide Whenever land is hilly, keep the country fingers in the valleys .mil the city lingers on the upper slopes of hillsides—agricultural valleys (4). Break the city fingers into hundreds of distinct self-governing subcultures—mosaic of subcultures (8), and run the major roads and railways down the middle of these city fingers—web of public transportation (16), ring roads (17)---- 25 4 AGRICULTURAL VALLEYS* l in number. A loose network of interconnected roads, •i one-mile intervals with little encouragement for through-II .Hi. Id pass through them, is quite enough. J. Lots. Situate homesteads, houses, and cottages along these ......try roads one or two lots deep, always setting them off the riM—v v>< VtJ-^ '•• \ • \ na,ura' preserves ___V. - ■' \ stewards r"^ free public access through city policies, encourage the piecemeal formation of those major structures which define the city: 8. MOSAIC OF SUBCULTURES 9. SCATTERED WORK I O. MAGIC OF THE CITY I I. LOCAL TRANSPORT AREAS Within each natural preserve, we imagine a limited number of houses—house cluster (37)—with access on unpaved country lanes—green streets (51). . . . 40 41 MOSAIC OF SUBCULTURES** I he most basic structure of a city is given by the relation of nil in land to open country—city country fingers (3). Within 1 lie mvaths of urban land the most important structure must come from the great variety of human groups and subcultures which idn co-exist there. *$* *S* *3* The homogeneous and undifferentiated character of modern cities kills all variety of life styles and arrests the |TOWth of individual character. Compare three possible alternative ways in which people may I" There are few people who do not enjoy the magic of .1 Rreat c>tv' But urban sprawl takes it away from everyone except the few who are lucky enough, or rich enough, to live close to the largest centers. This is bound to happen in any urban region with a single high density core. Land near the core is expensive; few people can live near enough to it to give them genuine access to the city's life; most people live far out from the core. To all intents and purposes, they are in the suburbs and have no more than occasional access to the city's life. This problem can only be solved by decentralizing the core to form a multitude of smaller cores, each devoted to some special way of life, so that, even though decentralized, each one is still intense and still a center for the region as a whole. The mechanism which creates a single isolated core is simple. Urban services tend to agglomerate. Restaurants, theaters, shops, carnivals, cafes, hotels, night clubs, entertainment, special services, tend to cluster. They do so because each one wants to locate in that position where the most people are. As soon as one nucleus has formed in a city, each of the interesting services—especially those which are most interesting and therefore require the largest catch basin—locate themselves in this one nucleus. The one nucleus keeps growing. The downtown becomes enormous. It becomes rich, various, fascinating. But gradually, as the metropolitan area grows, the average distance from an individual house J 8 59 TOWNS 10 MAGIC OF THE CITY to this one center increases; and land values around the center rise so high that houses arc driven out from there by shops and offices—until soon no one, or almost no one, is any longer genuinely in touch with the magic which is created day and night within this solitary center. The problem is clear. On the one hand people will only expend so much effort to get goods and services and attend cultural events, even the very best ones. On the other hand, real variety and choice can only occur where there is concentrated, centralized activity; and when the concentration and centralization become too great, then people arc no longer willing to take the time to go to it. If we arc to resolve the problem by decentralizing centers, we must ask what the minimum population is that can support a central business district with the magic of the city. Otis D. Duncan in "The Optimum Size of Cities" (Cities and Society, P. K. Hatt and A. J. Reiss, eds., New York: The Free Press, 1967, pp. 759-72), shows that cities with more than 50,000 people have a big enough market to sustain 61 different kinds of retail shops and that cities with over 100,000 people can support sophisticated jewelry, fur, and fashion stores. He shows that cities of 100,000 can support a university, a museum, a library, a zoo, a symphony orchestra, a daily newspaper, AM and FM radio, but that it takes a population of 250,000 to 500,000 to support a specialized professional school like a medical school, an opera, or all of the TV networks. In a study of regional shopping centers in metropolitan Chicago, Brian K. Berry found that centers with 70 kinds of retail shops serve a population base of about 350,000 people (Geography of Market Centers and Retail Distribution, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1967, p. 47). T. R. Lakshmanan and Walter G. Hansen, in "A Retail Potential Model" (American Institute of Planners Journal, May 1965, pp. 134-43), showed that full-scale centers with a variety of retail and professional services, as well as recreational and cultural activities, are feasible for groups of 100,000 to 200,000 population. It seems quite possible, then, to get very complex and rich urban functions at the heart of a catch basin which serves no more than 300,000 people. Since, for the reasons given earlier, it is óo |i n.ilile to have as many centers as possible, we propose that the • mi u-gion should have one center for each 300,000 people, with 1 inters spaced out widely among the population, so that every Mrton in the region is reasonably close to at least one of these hi ijor centers. I'n make this more concrete, it is interesting to get some idea til the range of distances between these centers in a typical urban m gion. At a density of 5000 persons per square mile (the density of the less populated parts of Los Angeles) the area occupied by 100,000 will have a diameter of about nine miles; at a higher !■ mity of 80,000 persons per square mile (the density of central Paris) the area occupied by 300,000 people has a diameter of I bout two miles. Other patterns in this language suggest a city mu. h more dense than Los Angeles, yet somewhat less dense than irlllt.il Paris-four-story limit (2l), density rings (29). We therefore take these crude estimates as upper and lower liiiuiuls. If each center serves 300,000 people, they will be at least two miles apart and probably no more than nine miles apart. One final point must be discussed. The magic of a great city • iiines from the enormous specialization of human effort there. Only a city such as New York can support a restaurant where you can eat chocolate-covered ants, or buy three-hundred-year-old books of poems, or find a Caribbean steel band playing with American folk singers. By comparison, a city of 300,000 with a iccond-rate opera, a couple of large department stores, and half a dozen good restaurants is a hick town. It would be absurd if the new downtowns, each serving 300,000 people, in an effort to capture the magic of the city, ended up as a multitude of second-1 l.iss hick towns. This problem can only be solved if each of the cores not only nerves a catch basin of 300,000 people but also offers some kind of special quality which none of the other centers have, so that each core, though small, serves several million people and can therefore generate all the excitement and uniqueness which become possible in such a vast city. Thus, as it is in Tokyo or London, the pattern must be implemented in such a way that one core has the best hotels, another the best antique shops, another the music, still another has the fish and sailing boats. Then we can be sure that every person is 61 TOWNS within reach of at least one downtown and also that all the downtowns are worth reaching for and really have the magic of a great metropolis. Therefore: Put the magic of the city within reach of everyone in a metropolitan area. Do this by means of collective regional policies which restrict the growth of downtown areas so strongly that no one downtown can grow to serve more than 300,000 people. With this population base, the downtowns will be between two and nine miles apart. two to nine miles apart . catch basins of 300,000 downtowns © specialties Treat each downtown as a pedestrian and local transport area— local transport areas (ll), promenade (31), with good transit connections from the outlying areas—web of public transportation (16); encourage a rich concentration of night life within each downtown—night life {33), and set aside at least some part of it for the wildest kind of street life—carnival (58), dancing in the street (63). . . . LOCAL TRANSPORT AREAS** 62 63 . . . superimposed over the mosaic op subcultures (8), there is a need for a still larger cellular structure: the local transport areas. These areas, 1-2 miles across, not only help to form subcultures, by creating natural boundaries in the city, but they can also help to generate the individual city fingers in the city country fingers (3), and they can help to circumscribe each downtown area too, as a special self-contained area of local transportation-macic of the city (to). Cars give people wonderful freedom and increase their opportunities. But they also destroy the environment, to an extent so drastic that they kill all social life. The value and power of the car have proved so great that it seems impossible to imagine a future without some form of private, high-speed vehicle. Who will willingly give up the degree of freedom provided by cars? At the same time, it is undeniably true that cars turn towns to mincemeat. Somehow local areas must be saved from the pressure of cars or their future equivalents. It is possible to solve the problem as soon as we make a distinction between short trips and long trips. Cars are not verv good for short trips inside a town, and it is on these trips that they do their greatest damage. But they are good for fairly long trips, where they cause less damage. The problem will be solved if towns are divided up into areas about one mile across, with the idea that cars may be used for trips which leave these areas, but that other, slower forms of transportation will be used for all trips inside these areas—foot, bike, horse, taxi. All it needs, physically, is a street pattern that discourages people from using private cars for trips within these areas, and encourages the use of walking, bikes, horses, and taxis instead—but allows the use of cars for trips which leave the area. Let us start with a list of the obvious social problems created by the car: Air pollution II LOCAL TRANSPORT AREAS Noise Danger 111 health Congestion Parking problem Eyesore I lie first two are very serious, but arc not inherent in the car; lliey could both be solved, for instance, by an electric car. They 11. , in that sense, temporary problems. Danger will be a persistent I .'me of the car so long as we go on using high-speed vehicles I111 focal trips. The widespread lack of exercise and consequent ill health created by the use of motor-driven vehicles will persist unless offset by an amount of daily exercise at least equal to a 20 minute walk per day. And finally, the problems of congestion and luu of speed, difficulty and cost of parking, and eyesore are all direct results of the fact that the car is a very large vehicle which consumes a great deal of space. The fact that cars are large is, in the end, the most serious ttftct of a transportation system based on the use of cars, since it 1. inherent in the eery nature of cars. Let us state this problem in its most pungent form. A man occupies about 5 square feet of •pace when he is standing still, and perhaps 10 square feet when In- is walking. A car occupies about 350 square feet when it is 1.111 ling still (if we include access), and at 30 miles an hour, when cars arc 3 car lengths apart, it occupies about 1000 square (rfading people out, and keeping them apart. The effect of this particular feature of cars on the social fabric is clear. People are drawn away from each other; densities and corresponding frequencies of interaction decrease substantially. Contacts become fragmented and specialized, since they are localized by the nature of the interaction into well-defined indoor places—the home, the workplace, and maybe the homes of a few isolated friends. 64 6 5 TOWNS It is quite possible that the collective cohesion people need to form a viable society just cannot develop when the vehicles which people use force them to be to times farther apart, on the average, than they have to be. This states the possible social cost of cars in its strongest form. // may be that cars cause the breakdown of society, simfly because of their geometry. At the same time that cars cause all these difficulties, they also have certain unprecedented virtues, which have in fact led to their enormous success. These virtues are: Flexibility Privacy Door-to-door trips, without transfer Immediacy These virtues are particularly important in a metropolitan region which is essentially two-dimensional. Public transportation can provide very fast, frequent, door-to-door service, along certain arteries. But in the widely spread out, two-dimensional character of a modern urban region, public transportation by itself cannot compete successfully with cars. Even in cities like London and Paris, with the finest urban public transportation in the world, the trains and buses have fewer riders every year because people are switching to cars. They are willing to put up with all the delays, congestion, and parking costs, because apparently the convenience and privacy of the car are more valuable. Under theoretical analysis of this situation, the only kind of transportation system which meets all the needs is a system of individual vehicles, which can use certain high-speed lines for long cross-city trips and which can use their own power when they leave the public lines in local areas. The systems which come closest to this theoretical model are the various Private Rapid Transit proposals; one example is the Wcstinghouse Starr-car—a system in which tiny two-man vehicles drive on streets locally and onto high-speed public rails for long trips. However, the Starrcar-type systems have a number of disadvantages. They make relatively little contribution to the problem of space. The small cars, though smaller than a conventional car, still take up vastly more space than a person. Since the private cars will not be capable of long cross-country trips, they must be I I LOCAL TRANSPORT AREAS i. itcd as a "second vehicle"—and are rather expensive. They nuke no contribution to the health problem, since people are still tilling motionless while they travel. The system is relatively ........i.il, since people are still encapsulated in "bubbles" while id. i travel. It is highly idealistic, since it works if everyone has a Mji nar, but makes no allowance for the great variety of move-in. ni which people actually desire, i.e., bikes, horses, jalopies, mI.I classic cars, family buses. U i" propose a system which has the advantages of the Starrcar i. in but which is more realistic, easier to implement, and, we I ■ In ire, better adapted to people's needs. The essence of the uticni lies in the following two propositions: i. For local trips, people use a variety of low-speed, low-cost vehicles (bicycles, tricycles, scooters, golf carts, bicycle buggies, hones, etc.), which take up less room than cars and which all I ive iheir passengen in closer touch with their environment and with one another. Many viays of gelling around on local trifs. 2. People still own, and use, cars and trucks—but mainly for long trips. We assume that these cars can be made to be quiet, nonpolluting, and simple to repair, and that people simply con-nidcr them best suited for long distance travel. It will still be possible for people to use a car or a truck for a local trip, either in a case of emergency, or for some special convenience. However, the town is constructed in such a way that it is actually expensive and inconvenient to use cars for local trips—so that people only do it when they are willing to pay for the very great social costs of doing so. 66 67 TOWNS Therefore: Break the urban area down into local transport areas, each one between i and 2 miles across, surrounded by a ring road. Within the local transport area, build minor local roads and paths for internal movements on foot, by bike, on horseback, and in local vehicles; build major roads which make it easy for cars and trucks to get to and from the ring roads, but place them to make internal local trips slow and inconvenient. local roads paths to the center major roads to the outside build up these larger city patterns from the grass roots, through action essentially controlled by two levels of self-governing communities, which exist as physically identifiable places; 12. COMMUNITY OF 7OOO 13. SUBCULTURE BOUNDARY 14. IDENTIFIABLE NEIGHBORHOOD 15. NEIGHBORHOOD BOUNDARY ring road To keep main roads for long distance traffic, but not for internal local traffic, lay them out as parallel one way roads, and keep these parallel roads away from the center of the area, so that they are very good for getting to the ring roads, but inconvenient for short local trips—parallel roads (23). Lay out abundant footpaths and bike paths and green streets, at right angles to the main roads, and make these paths for local traffic go directly through the center—green streets (51), network of paths and cars (52), niKE paths and racks (;6) ; sink the ring roads around the outside of each area, or shield the noise they make some other way—ring roads (17); keep parking to a minimum within the area, and keep all major parking garages near the ring roads— nine per cent parking (22), shielded parkinc (97); and build a major interchange within the center of the area—interchange (34). . . . 68 69 COMMUNITY OF 70OO* the mosaic of subcultures (8) is made up of a great number of large and small self-governing communities and neigh-burlioods. Community of 7000 helps define the structure of the \\iy,< communities. Individuals have no effective voice in any community of more than 5000-10,000 persons. People can only have a genuine effect on local government when the units of local government are autonomous, sclf-govern-111/;, self-budgeting communities, which arc small enough to create the possibility of an immediate link between the man in the street hi I his local officials and elected representatives. This is an old idea. It was the model for Athenian democracy in the third and fourth centuries b.c.; it was Jefferson's plan for American democracy; it was the tack Confucius took in his book on government, The Great Digest, For these people, the practice of exercising power over local matters was itself an experience of intrinsic satisfaction. Sophocles wrote that life would be unbearable were it not for the freedom to iniii.ite action in a small community. And it was considered that this experience was not only good in itself, but was the only way of governing that would not lead to corruption. Jefferson wanted ti> spread out the power not because "the people" were so bright and clever, but precisely because they were prone to error, and it was therefore dangerous to vest power in the hands of a few who Would inevitably make big mistakes. "Break the country into wards" was his campaign slogan, so that the mistakes will be manageable and people will get practice and improve. Today the distance between people and the centers of power that govern them is vast—both psychologically and geographically. Milton Kotler, a Jeffersoni.m, has described the experience: The process of city administration is invisible to the citizen who sees little evidence of its human components but feels the sharp pain of taxation. With increasingly poor public service, his desires and needs arc more insistently expressed. Yet his expressions of need seem 70 71 TOWNS to issue into thin air, for government docs not appear attentive to his demands. This disjunction between citizen and government is the major political problem of city government, because it embodies the dynamics of civil disorder. . . . (Milton Kotler, Neighborhood Foundations, Memorandum #24; "Neighborhood corporations and the reorganization of city government," unpub. ms., August 1967.) There are two ways in which the physical environment, as it is now ordered, promotes and sustains the separation between citizens and their government. First, the size of the political community is so large that its members arc separated from its leaders simply by their number. Second, government is invisible, physically located out of the realm of most citizens' daily lives. Unless these two conditions are altered, political alienation is not likely to be overcome. 1. The size of the political community. It is obvious that the larger the community the greater the distance between the average citizen and the heads of government. Paul Goodman has proposed a rule of th umb, based on cities like Athens in their prime, that no citizen be more than two friends away from the highest member of the local unit. Assume that everyone knows about 12 people in his local community. Using this notion and Goodman's rule we can see that an optimum size for a political community would be about I23 or 1728 households or 5500 persons. This figure corresponds to an old Chicago school estimate of 5000. And it is the same order of magnitude as the size of ECCO, the neighborhood corporation in Columbus, Ohio, of 6000 to 7000, described by Kotler (Committee on Government Operations, U.S. Senate, 89th Congress, Second Session, Part 9, December 1966). The editors of The Ecologist have a similar intuition about the proper size for units of local government. (See their Blueprint {or Survival, Penguin Books, 1972, pp. 50-55.) And Terence Lee, in his study, "Urban neighborhood as a socio-spatial schema," Ekistics 777, August 1970, gives evidence for the importance of the spatial community. Lee gives 75 acres as a natural size for a community. At 25 persons per acre, such a community would accommodate some 2000 persons; at 60 persons per acre, some 4500. 2. The visible location of local government. Even when local 12 COMMUNITY OF 7OOO lies of government are decentralized in function, they are still centralized in space, hidden in vast municipal city- ......ily buildings out of the realm of everyday life. These places , intimidating and alienating. What is needed is for every per-«1111 to feel at home in the place of his local government with his 1 li u and complaints. A person must feel that it is a forum, that • 1 It his directly, that he can call and talk to the person in charge of such and such, and see him personally within a day or two. For this purpose, local forums must be situated in highly visible and accessible places. They could, for instance, be located in 1 In most active marketplace of each community of 5000 to 7000. We discuss this possibility more fully under local town hall (44), but wc emphasize it here, since the provision of a political "heart," a political center of gravity, is an essential part of a po-lilic.il community. Community meeting of several thousand. Therefore: Decentralize city governments in a way that gives local control to communities of 5,000 to 10,000 persons. As nearly as possible, use natural geographic and historical boundaries to mark these communities. Give each community the power to initiate, decide, and execute the affairs that con- 7* 73 cern it closely: land use, housing, maintenance, streets, parks, police, schooling, welfare, neighborhood services. 5-10,000 population Separate the communities from one another by means of substantial areas—subculture boundary (13); subdivide each community into io or 20 independent neighborhoods, each with a representative on the community council—identifiable neighborhood (14); provide a central place where people have a chance to come together—eccentric nucleus (28), promenade (31 ) . and in this central place provide a local town hall, as a focal point for the community's political activity—local town hall (44). . . . 74 75 . . . the mosaic ok subcultures (8) and its individual subcultures, whether they arc communities of 7000 (12) or identifiable neighborhoods (14), need to be completed by boundaries. In fact, the mere creation of the boundary areas, according to this pattern, will begin to give life to the subcultures between the boundaries, by giving them a chance to be themselves. 4» <|i The mosaic of subcultures requires that hundreds of different cultures live, in their own way, at full intensity, next door to one another. But subcultures have their own ecology. They can only live at full intensity, unhampered by their neighbors, if they are physically separated by physical boundaries. In mosaic of subcultures (8) we luif argued that a great variety of subcultures in a city is not a racist pattern which forms ghettos, but a pattern of opportunity which allows a city to contain a multitude of different ways of life with the greatest possible intensity. But this mosaic will only come into being if the various subcultures arc insulated from one another, at least enough so that no one of them can oppress, or subdue, the life style of its neighbors, nor, in return, feel oppressed or subdued. As we shall see, this requires that adjacent subcultures arc separated by swaths of open land, workplaces, public buildings, water, parks, or other natural boundaries. The argument hinges on the following fact. Wherever there is an area of homogeneous housing in a city, its inhabitants will exert strong pressure on the areas adjacent to it to make them conform to their values and style. For example, the "straight" people who lived near the "hippie" Haight Ashbury district in San Francisco in 1967 were afraid that the Haight would send their land values down, so they put pressure on City Hall to get the Haight "cleaned up"—that is, to make the Haight more like their own area. This seems to happen whenever one subculture is 13 SUBCULTURE BOUNDARY ' different in style from another one next to it. People will be iluid that the neighboring area is going to "encroach" on their own area, upset their land values, undermine their children, send lite "nice" people away, and so forth, and they will do everything they can to make the next door area like their own. Carl Werthman, Jerry Mandel, and Ted Dienstfrey (Planning and the Purchase Decision: Why People Buy in Planned Communities, University of California, Berkeley, July 1965) have noticed the same phenomenon even among very similar subcultures. In a study of people living in tract developments, they found that the tension created by adjacencies between dissimilar social groups disappeared when there was enough open land, unused land, freeway, or water between them. In short, a physical barrier between the adjacent subcultures, if big enough, took the heat off. Obviously, a rich mix of subcultures will not be possible if each subculture is being inhibited by pressure from its neighbors. The subcultures must therefore be separated by land, which is not residential land, and by as much of it as possible. There is another kind of empirical observation which supports this last statement. If we look around a metropolitan area, and pinpoint the strongly differentiated subcultures, those with character, we shall always find that they are near boundaries and hardly ever close to other communities. For example, in San Francisco the two most distinctive areas are Telegraph Hill and Chinatown. Telegraph Hill is surrounded on two sides by the docks. Chinatown is bounded on two sides by the city's banking area. The same is true in the larger Bay Area. Point Richmond and Sausalito, Subculture boundaries. 76 11 TOWNS 13 SUBCULTURE BOUNDARY two of the most distinctive communities in the greater Bay Area, are both almost completely isolated. Sausalito is surrounded by hills and water; Point Richmond by water and industrial land. Communities which are cut off to some extent are free to develop their own character. Further support for our argument comes from ecology. In nature, the differentiation of a species into subspecies is largely due to the process of geographic speciation, the genetic changes which take place during a period of spatial isolation (see, for example, Ernst Mayr, Animal Sfecies and Evolution, Cambridge, 1963, Chapter 18: "The Ecology of Speciation," pp. 556-85). It has been observed in a multitude of ecological studies that members of the same species develop distinguishable traits when separated from other members of the species by physical boundaries like a mountain ridge, a valley, a river, a dry strip of land, a cliff, or a significant change in climate or vegetation. In just the same way, differentiation between subcultures in a city will be able to take place most easily when the flow of those elements which account for cultural variety—values, style, information, and so on—is at least partially restricted between neighboring subcultures. Therefore: Separate neighboring subcultures with a swath of land at least 200 feet wide. Let this boundary be natural—wilderness, farmland, water—or man-made—railroads, major roads, parks, schools, some housing. Along the seam be- 78 1 wren two subcultures, build meeting places, shared func-1 it.us, touching each community. 200 feet of land man-made boundaries meeting places natural boundaries Natural boundaries can be things like the countryside (7), I' RED sites (24), access to water (25), quiet backs (59), U l i ssible green (60), pools and streams (64), still water (71). Artificial boundaries can include ring roads (17), paral- 1 I I roads (23), work communities (41), industrial ribbons (42), teenage society (84), shielded parking (97). The mi. rior organization of the subculture boundary should follow Kra broad principles. It should concentrate the various land uses in form functional clusters around activity—activity nodes ( |<>), work community (41). And the boundary should be ac-iblc to both the neighboring communities, so that it is a meeting ground for them—eccentric nucleus (28) . . . 79 14 IDENTIFIABLE NEIGHBORHOOD** . the mosaic of subcultures (8) and the community of .....' (12) are made up of neighborhoods. This pattern defines neighborhoods. It defines those small human groups which trtlte the energy and character which can bring the larger community of 7000 (12) and the mosaic of subcultures (8) to hie. People need an identifiable spatial unit to belong to. Today's pattern of development destroys neighborhoods. They want to be able to identify the part of the city where they I ' is distinct from all others. Available evidence suggests, first, ili.it the neighborhoods which people identify with have extremely •mall populations; second, that they are small in area; and third, ili.it .1 major road through a neighborhood destroys it. i. What is the right population for a neighborhood? The neighborhood inhabitants should be able to look after iIh ii own interests by organizing themselves to bring pressure on • in hall or local governments. This means the families in a neighborhood must be able to reach agreement on basic decisions about public services, community land, and so forth. Anthropological •vidence suggests that a human group cannot coordinate itself to ic.uh such decisions if its population is above 1500, and many people set the figure as low as 500. (Sec, for example, Anthony W.illacc, Housing and Social Structure, Philadelphia Housing Au- 80 TOWNS A famous neighborhood: the Fuggerei in Augsburg. thority, 195 2, available from University Microfilms, Inc., Ann Arbor, Michigan, pp. 21-24,) The experience of organizing community meetings at the local level suggests that 500 is the more-realistic figure. 2. As far as the physical diameter is concerned, in Philadelphia, people who were asked which area they really knew usually limited themselves to a small area, seldom exceeding the two to three blocks around their own house. (Mary W. Herman, "Comparative Studies of Identification Areas in Philadelphia," City of Philadelphia Community Renewal Program, Technical Report No. 9, April 1964.) One-quarter of the inhabitants of an area in Milwaukee considered a neighborhood to be an area no larger than a block (300 feet). One-half considered it to be no more than seven blocks. (Svcnd Riemer, "Villagers in Metropolis," British Journal of Sociology, 2, No. I, March 1951, pp. 31-43.) 3. The first two features, by themselves, arc not enough. A neighborhood can only have a strong identity if it is protected from heavy traffic. Donald Applcyard and Mark Linteli have found that the heavier the traffic in an area, the less people think of it as home territory. Not only do residents view the streets with heavy traffic as less personal, but they feel the same about 14 IDENTIFIABLE NEIGHBORHOOD houses along the street. ("Environmental Quality of City ," by Donald Applevard and Mark Linteli, Center for I .....1: and Development Research, University of California, Ifflttlcy, 1971.) ■ , liborhood with light traffic 2000 vehicles/day vehicles/peak hour 15-10 mph Two-way Hrtidrnis speaking on "neighboring and visiting" / feel it's home. There are warm people on this street. I don't feel alone. I verbody knows each other. I>, finitely .P li.lUIORIIOOD (14). ❖ •5* The strength of the boundary is essential to a neighborhood. If the boundary is too weak the neighborhood will not be able to maintain its own identifiable character. The cell wall of an organic cell is, in most cases, as large as, in larger, than the cell interior. It is not a surface which divides imiilc from outside, but a coherent entity in its own right, which •reserves the functional integrity of the cell and also provides for « multitude of transactions between the cell interior and the Itlibicnt fluids. Cell with cell vial I: The cell (>nr must be to facilitate access for the learner: to allow him to (•»» Int" the windows of the control room or the parliament, if he ,iniii>/ i;,7 in the door. Moreover, such new institutions should be 11 I 1 ■ 1 which the learner would have access without credentials 1 li.-i.-<—public spaces in which peers and elders outside his im- Imrizon now become available. . . . \\ hile network administrators would concentrate primarily on the Im.hlinj: ind maintenance of roads providing access to resources, the '■ ,i|;ne would help the student to find the path which for him 1 lr.nl fastest to his goal. If a student wants to learn spoken "iicic from a Chinese neighbor, the pedagogue would be available in judge their proficiency, and to help them select the textbook 1 methods most suitable to their talents, character, and the time I ,1,1. for study. He can counsel the would-be airplane mechanic ,, milling the best places for apprenticeship. He can recommend 1.....1* to somebody who wants to find challenging peers to discuss iii in history. Like the network administrator, the pedagogical • Inr conceives of himself as a professional educator. Access to ,•!. 1 could be gained by individuals through the use of educational mill lien. . . . Iii .nlilition to the tentative conclusions of the Carnegie Commis-•l.iii reports, the last year has brought forth a series of important 1I111 iiinrnts which show that responsible people are becoming aware 1 Hi'- fact that schooling for certification cannot continue to be limited upon as the central educational device of a modern society. 111 bill Nyerc of Tanzania has announced plans to integrate education with the life of the village. In Canada, the Wright Commission on |ii»< .......dary education has reported that no known system of formal education could provide equal opportunities for the citizens of Ontario. The president of Peru has accepted the recommendation of 1 1 commission on education, which proposes to abolish free schools mi I ivor of free educational opportunities provided throughout life. In fact he is reported to have insisted that this program proceed iliiwly at first in order to keep teachers in school and out of the way nl true educators. (Abridged from pp. 76 and 99 in Deschooling ■ v by Ivan Illich. Vol. 44 in World Perspectives Series, edited • >\ Ktuh Nanda Anshen, New York: Harper & Row, 1971.) In short, the educational system so radically decentralized Lei nines congruent with the urban structure itself. People of all ■Talks of life come forth, and offer a class in the things they know and love: professionals and workgroups offer apprcnticc-tltips in their offices and workshops, old people offer to teach whatever their life work and interest has been, specialists offer tutoring in their special subjects. Living and learning are the 101 TOWNS same. It is not hard to imagine that eventually every third or fourth household will have at least one person in it who is offering a class or training of some kind. Therefore: Instead of the lock-step of compulsory schooling in a fixed place, work in piecemeal ways to decentralize the process of learning and enrich it through contact with many places and people all over the city: workshops, teachers at home or walking through the city, professionals willing to take on the young as helpers, older children teaching younger children, museums, youth groups traveling, scholarly seminars, industrial workshops, old people, and so on. Conceive of all these situations as forming the backbone of the learning process; survey all these situations, describe them, and publish them as the city's "cur riculum"; then let students, children, their families and neighborhoods weave together for themselves the situations that comprise their "school" paying as they go with standard vouchers, raised by community tax. Build new educational facilities in a way which extends and enriches this network. payment by vouchers ioo home class rooms per 10,000 population Above all, encourage the formation of seminars and workshops in people's homes—home workshop (157); make sure that l8 NETWORK OF LEARNING iiy lus a "path" where young children can safely wander llielf own—children in the city (57); build extra public 1........•" for children, one to every neighborhood at least— .........i n's home (86) ; create a large number of work-oriented .in .11 »< Ikm>1s in thr»c parts of town dominated by work and .......i.i.il activity—siiopfront schools (85); encourage tecn- iii< 11 to work out a self-organized learning society of their own 11 1 sm.h society (84) ; treat the university as scattered adult iilug for all the adults in the region—university as a m ah m rpl.acf. (43); and use the real work of professionals and 1 nun as the basic nodes in the network—master and ap-■ •! ni'k-ks (83). . . . 102 103 19 WEB OF SHOPPING 19 WEB OF SHOPPING* . . . this pattern defines a piecemeal process which can help to locate shops and services where they are needed, in such a way that they will strengthen the mosaic of subcultures (8), subculture boundaries (13), and the decentralized economy needed for scattered work (9) and local transport AREAS (11). Shops rarely place themselves in those positions which best serve the people's needs, and also guarantee their own stability. Large parts of towns have insufficient services. New shops which could provide these services often locate near the other shops and major centers, instead of locating themselves where they are needed. In an ideal town, where the shops are seen as part of the society's necessities and not merely as a way of making profit for the shopping chains, the shops would be much more widely and more homogeneously distributed than they are today. It is also true that many small shops arc unstable. Two-thirds of the small shops that people open go out of business within a year. Obviously, the community is not well served by unstable businesses, and once again, their economic instability is largely linked to mistakes of location. To guarantee that shops are stable, as well as distributed to meet community needs, each new shop must be placed where it will fill a gap among the other shops offering a roughly similar service and also be assured that it will get the threshold of customers which it needs in order to survive. We shall now try to express this principle in precise terms. The characteristics of a stable system of shops is rather well known. It relics, essentially, on the idea that each unit of shopping has a certain catch basin—the population which it needs in order 104 to nirvive—and that units of any given type and size will therein!. I>e stable if they are evenly distributed, each one at the ' 1 of a catch basin large enough to support it. T Catch basins. The reason that shops and shopping centers do not always, Automatically, distribute themselves according to their appropriate . itch basins is easily explained by the situation known as Hotel-Hng'i problem. Imagine a beach in summer time—and, somewhere along the beach, an icc-crcam seller. Suppose now, that t.ni are also an ice-cream seller. You arrive on the beach. Where ihould you place yourself in relation to the first ice-cream seller: I lure are two possible solutions. Two approaches to the ice-cream problem. In the first case, you essentially decide to split the beach with 11.' other ice-cream seller. You take half the beach, and leave him lulf the beach. In this case, you place yourself as far away from him as you can, in a position where half the people on the beach 11. nearer to you than to him. In the second case, you place yourself right next to him. You I. i.lc, in short, to try and compete with him—and place yourself in such a way as to command the whole beach, not half of it. 105 TOWNS 19 WEB OF SHOPPING Every time a shop, or shopping center opens, it faces a similar choice. It can cither locate in a new area where there are no other competing businesses, or it can place itself cxactlv where all the other businesses are already in the hope of attracting their customers away from them. The trouble is, very simply, that people tend to choose the second of these two alternatives, because it seems, on the surface, to be safer. In fact, however, the first of the two choices is both better and safer. It is better for the customers, who then have stores to serve them closer to their homes and work places than they do now; and it is safer for the shopkeepers themselves since—in spite of appearances—their stores arc much more likclv to survive when they stand, without competition, in the middle of a catch basin which needs their services. Let us now consider the global nature of a web which has this character. In present cities, shops of similar types tend to be clustered in shopping centers. They arc forced to cluster, in part because of zoning ordinances, which forbid them to locate in so-called residential areas; and they are encouraged to cluster by their mistaken notion that competition with other shops will serve them better than roughly equal sharing of the available customers. In the "peoples" web we are proposing, shops are far more evenly spread out, with less emphasis on competition and greater emphasis on service. Of course, there will still be competition, enough to make sure that very bad shops go out of business, because each shop will be capable of drawing customers from the nearby catch basins if it offers better service—but the accent is on cooperation instead of competition. The existing vieb. « 1 » < 1 » 4 > * The peoples' vieb. I generate this kind of homogeneous people's web, it is only 14ry (hat each new shop follow the following three-step pro-. luri when it chooses a location: I. Identify all other shops which offer the service you are lull iritcd in; locate them on the map. I, Identify and map the location of potential consumers. H hi icver possible, indicate the density or total number of 1 1 ni 1.1 ] consumers in any given area. |, Look for the biggest gap in the existing web of shops in dim. areas where there arc potential consumers. 4 * 4 •4 * The gap in services. Two colleagues of ours have tested the efficiency and potential I || ility of the webs created by this procedure. ("Computer iiiil.ilion of Market Location in an Urban Area," S. Angel and I l.octterle, CES files, June 1967.) They chose to study mailcts. They began with a fixed area, a known population iiy and purchasing power, and a random distribution of markets of different sizes. They then created new markets and lilli.l off old markets according to the following rules. (1) Among all of the existing markets, erase any that do not capture .iillu icnt business to support their given size; (2) among all of ihc possible locations for a new market, find the one which HVOuld most strongly support a new market; (3) find that size I..1 the new market that would be most economically feasible; (4) liml that market among all those now existing that is the least ......mnically feasible, and erase it from the web; (5) repeat ■•I■. (2) through (4) until no further improvement in the web mn be made. Under the impact of these rules, the random distribution of 106 107 towns 19 WEB OF SHOPPING markets at the beginning leads gradually to a fluctuating, pulsating distribution of markets which remains economically stable throughout its changes. Now of course, even if shops of the same kind arc kept apart by this procedure, shops of different kinds will tend to cluster. This follows, simply, from the convenience of the shopper. If we follow the rules of location given above—always locating a new shop in the biggest gap in the web of similar shops—then, within that gap there are still quite a large number of different possible places to locate: and naturally, we shall try to locate near the largest cluster of other shops within that gap, to increase the number of people coming past the shop, in short, to make it more convenient for shoppers. The clusters which emerge have been thoroughly studied by Berry. It turns out that the levels of clustering are remarkably similar, even though their spacing varies greatly according to population density. (See Geography of Market Centers and Retail Distribution, B. Berry, Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1967, pp. 32-33.) The elements in this web of clustering correspond closely to patterns defined in this language. Therefore: When you locate any individual shop, follow a three-step procedure: 1. Identify all other shops which offer the service you are interested in; locate them on the map. 2. Identify and map the location of potential consumers. Wherever possible, indicate the density or total number of potential consumers in any given area. 3. Look for the biggest gap in the existing web of shops in those areas where there are potential consumers. 4. Within the gap in the web of similar shops, locate your shop next to the largest cluster of other kinds of shops. 108 gap shops of same type 4> * * Wr estimate, that under the impact of this rule, a web of .....|Ting with the following overall characteristics wdl emerge: MAGIC OF the citv (IO) II s \i)es (31) IMorPING streets (32) , . i. h I I S OF MANY shops (46) , . 1 ItNKR groceries (89) Population 300,000 50,000 10,000 4,000 1,000 Distance Apart (Miles) 10* 1.8* 1.1* ♦ These distance, are calculated for an overall population density ., .2 per square mile. For a poptdatior, density of D persons/ ,|„,k mile, divide the distances by VD/5000. . . . 109 20 MINI-BUSES* . . . this pattern helps complete the local transport areas (ii) and the web of public transportation (16). The local transport areas rely heavily on foot traffic, and on bikes and carts and horses. The web of public transportation relies on trains and planes and buses. Both of these patterns need a more flexible kind of public transportation to support them. Public transportation must be able to take people from any point to any other point within the metropolitan area. Buses and trains, which run along lines, are too far from most origins and destinations to be useful. Taxis, which can go from point to point, are too expensive. To solve the problem, it is necessary to have a kind of vehicle which is half way between the two—half like a bus, half like a taxi—a small bus which can pick up people at any point and take them to any other point, but which may also pick up other passengers on the way, to make the trip less costly than a taxi fare. Recent research, and full-scale experiments, have shown that a system of mini-buses, on call by telephone, can function in this fashion, taking people from door to door in i 5 minutes, for no more than ;o cents a ride (1974): and that the system is efficient enough to support itself. It works just like a taxi, except that it picks up and drops off other passengers while you are riding; it goes to the nearest corner to save time—not to your own front door; and it costs a quarter of an average taxi fare. The system hinges, to a certain extent, on the development of sophisticated new computer programs. As calls come in, the computer examines the present movements of all the various minibuses, each with its particular load of passengers, and decides which bus can best afford to pick up the new passenger, with the least detour. Two-way radio contact keeps the mini-buses in communication with the dispatcher at the computer switchboard. All this, and other details, arc discussed fully in a review of current 1 10 20 MINI-BUSES Canadian mini-bus. t.il .1 bus research: Summary Re fort—The Dial-a-Ride Trans-I rtation System, M.I.T. Urban Systems Laboratory, Report # USI.-TR-70-10, March 1971. Dial systems for buses are actually coming into existence now Mcaute they are economically feasible. While conventional fixed-fOUtc public transport systems arc experiencing a dangerous spiral •il lower levels of service, fewer passengers, and increased public •liUidics, over 30 working dial-a-bus systems are presently in suc-ItHful operation throughout the world. For example, a dial-a-bus n «iiin in Rcgina, Saskatchewan, is the only part of the Regina I I inait System which supports itself (Regina Telebus Study: Of nations Re fort, and Financial Refort, W. G. Atkinson ct al., I...... '972). In Batavia, New York, dial-a-bus is the sole means "I public transport, serving a population of 16,000 at fares of 40 |0 ''ii cents per ride. We finish this pattern by reminding the reader of two vital problems of public transportation, which underline the importance of I he mini-bus approach. First, there are very large numbers of people in cities who ">"•>( drive; we believe the mini-bus system is the only realistic way of meeting the needs of all these people. Their numbers are much larger than one would think. They are, in effect, a silent minority comprising the uncomplaining old and physically handicapped, the young and the poor. In 1970, over 20 I" 1.'lit of U.S. households did not own a car. Fifty-seven and fivc-iriiths percent of all households with incomes under $3000 did not Own a car. For households headed by persons 6j years of age or older, 44.9 percent did not own a car. Of the youths between 10 and ill years of age, 80 percent arc dependent on others, including public 11 i TOWNS transit, for their mobility. Among the physically disabled about 5.7 million are potential riders of public transportation if the system could take them door-to-door. (Sumner Myers, "Turning Transit Subsidies into 'Compensatory Transportation,' " City, Vol, 6, No. 3, Summer 197a, p. ao.) Second, quite apart from these special needs, the fact is that a web of public transportation, with large buses, boats, and trains, will not work anyway, without a mini-bus system. The large systems need feeders: some way of getting to the stations. If people have to get in their cars to go to the train, then, once in the car, they stay in it and do not use the train at all. The mini-bus system is essential for the purpose of providing feeder service in the larger web of public transportation. Therefore: Establish a system of small taxi-like buses, carrying up to six people each, radio-controlled, on call by telephone, able to provide point-to-point service according to the passengers' needs, and supplemented by a computer system which guarantees minimum detours, and minimum waiting times. Make bus stops for the mini-buses every 600 feet in each direction, and equip these bus stops with a phone for dialing a bus. six passenger buses telephone-radio dispatch bus stops every 600 feet ,lM\sh community and neighborhood -policy to ,. ntrol the character of the local environment according to the following fundamental principles: 2 i. four-story limit 22. nine per cent parking 23. parallel roads 24. sacred sites 25. access to water 26. life cycle 27. men and women Place the bus stops mainly along major roads, as far as this can be consistent with the fact that no one ever has to walk more than 600 feet to the nearest one—parallel roads (23) ; put one in every interchange (34); and make each one a place where a few minutes' wait is pleasant—bus stop (92). . . , 1 1 2 113 21 FOUR-STORY LIMIT** cilhiii .111 urban area, the density of building fluctuates. It ill general, be rather higher toward the center and lower the edges—city country fingers (3), lace of coun-1111 1 its (5), magic of the city (to). However, through-city, even at its densest points, there are strong human |0 subject all buildings to height restrictions. <$• I lure is abundant evidence to show that high buildings .....Kc people crazy. I lull buildings have no genuine advantages, except in specu-gains for banks and land owners. They arc not cheaper, iln 1 do not help create open space, they destroy the townscapc, 1 In 1 destroy social life, they promote crime, they make life diffi-111I1 lor children, they are expensive to maintain, they wreck the titan spaces near them, and they damage light and air and view. Mill ijiiite apart from all of this, which shows that they aren't very il'lc, cnipiric.il evidence shows that they can actually damage I nple'i minds and feelings. "The Ministry of Truth—Miiiitrue, in N e counterparts, hence they arc poorly socialized and at too , |..» ,purlers to adults, who arc tense and irritable as a consequence. Adolescents in a high-rise suffer more from the "nothing-to-do" 11 than those of a S.F.D., with enhanced social needs for "drop ......ures" and a greater tendency to escapism. . . . Mothers are more anxious about their very young ones, when they ■ ■it „v them in the street below, from a convenient kitchen window. I here is higher passivity in the high-rise because of the barriers to 11 live outlets on the ground; such barriers as elevators, corridors; mid generally there is a time lapse and an effort in negotiating the tin il journey. TV watching is extended in the high-rise. This af-1 1 probably most adversely the old who need kinesia and activity, jri proportion, as much as the very young do. Though immobility ill.-in from accidents, it also shortens their life in a high-rise. . . . A Danish study by Jeanne Morville adds more evidence (Boms a\ Friarsaler, Disponering Af Friarsaler, Etageboligomrader M, I Sacrlig Henblik Pa Boms Legsmulighcder, S.B.I., Denmark, IO69): 1 luldrcn from the high blocks start playing out of doors on their nwn at a later age than children from the low blocks: Only 1% of ihr children aged two to three years in the high point blocks play ilirir own out of doors, while 27% of the children in the low 1.1.,. k> do this. Among the children aged five years in the high point blocks 29% 1I0 not as yet play on their own out of doors, while in the low blocks .11 1 In- children aged five do so. . . . The percentage of young chil-drrn playing out of doors on their own decreases with the height of I heir homes; 90% of all the children from the three lower floors in the high point blocks play on their own out of doors, while only n/ , of the children from the three upper floors do so. ... Young children in the high blocks have fewer contacts with play-u.ii.-s than those in the low blocks: Among children aged one, two mid three years, 86% from the low blocks have daily contact with playmates; this applies to only 29% from the high blocks. "7 towns 21 four-story limit More recently, there is the evidence brought forward by Oscar Newman in Defensible Space. Newman compared two adjacent housing projects in New York—one high-rise, the other a collection of relatively small three-story walk-up buildings. The two projects have the same overall density, and their inhabitants have roughly the same income. But Newman found that the crime rate in the high-rise was roughly twice that in the walk-ups. At what height do the effects described by Fanning, Cappon, Morville, and Newman begin to take hold? It is our experience-that in both housing and office buildings, the problems begin when buildings are more than four stories high. At three or four stories, one can still walk comfortably down to the street, and from a window you can still feel part of the street scene: you can see details in the street—the people, their faces, foliage, shops. From three stories you can yell out, and catch the attention of someone below. Above four stories these connections break down. The visual detail is lost; people speak of the scene below as if it were a game, from which they are completely detached. The connection to the ground and to the fabric of the town becomes tenuous; the building becomes a world of its own: with its own elevators and cafeterias. We believe, therefore, that the "four-story limit" is an appropriate way to express the proper connection between building height and the health of a people. Of course, it is the spirit of the pattern which is most essential. Certainly, a building five stories high, perhaps even six, might work if it were carefully handled. But it is difficult. On the whole, we advocate a four-story limit, with only occasional departures, throughout the town. Finally, we give the children of Glasgow the last word. To fling a "piece," a slice of bread and jam, from a window down to a child in the street below has been a recognised custom in Glasgow's tenement housing. . . . the jeely piece sonc by Adam McNaughton I'm a skyscraper wean, I live on the nineteenth flair, On' I'm no' gaun oot tae play ony mair, For since we moved tae oor new hoosc I'm wastin' away, 'Cos I'm gettin' wan less meal ev'ry day, IIS Refrain ye canny fling pieces oot a twenty-storey flat, jtven hundred hungry weans will testify tae that, II it's butter, cheese or jeely, if the breid is plain or pan, I he odda against it reachin' us is ninety-nine tae wan. We've wrote away tae Oxfam tae try an' get some aid, We've a' joined thegither an' formed a "piece" brigade, We're gonny march tae London tae demand oor Civil Rights, I ike "Nac mair hooses ower piece flingin' heights." I liercfore: In .my urban area, no matter how dense, keep the major-■ .pf buildings four stories high or less. It is possible that lin buildings should exceed this limit, but they should in mi Ik buildings for human habitation. four Störys * ❖ * Within the framework of the four-story limit the exact height nl individual buildings, according to the area of floor they need, iIn .ilea of the site, and the height of surrounding buildings, is ii by the pattern number of stories (96). More global irlations of density are given by density rings (29). The hori- .....,1 subdivision of large buildings into smaller units, and Itparate smaller buildings, is given by building complex (95). ..... in<; hill (39) and office connections (82) help to shape multi-storied apartments and offices within the constraints of a I.....-mory limit. And finally, don't take the four-story limit too literally. Occasional exceptions from the general rule are very im- |.nl.mt-high places (62). . . . 119 22 NINE PER CENT PARKING** . the integrity of local transport areas and the tranquility of ■ il communities and neighborhoods depend very much on the ll Mint of parking they provide. The more parking they provide, the less possible it will be to maintain these patterns, because the i iiling spaces will attract cars, which in turn violate the local .....-.port areas and neighborhoods—local transport areas iii), community of 7OOO (12), identifiable neighborhood 1 1 l). This pattern proposes radical limits on the distribution of i .11 ing spaces, to protect communities. *$• Very simply—when the area devoted to parking is too great, it destroys the land. In downtown Los Angeles over 60 fer cent of the land is given over to the automobile. Very rough empirical observations lead us to believe that it is not possible to make an environment fit for human use when more than 9 per cent of it is given to parking. Our observations arc very tentative. We have yet to perform systematic studies—our observations rely on our own subjective estimates of cases where "there arc too many cars" and cases where "the cars are all right." However, we have found in our preliminary observations, that different people agree to a remarkable extent about these estimates. This suggests that we are dealing with a phenomenon which, though obscure, is nonetheless substantial. An example of an environment which has the threshold density of 9 per cent parking, is shown in our key photograph: a quadrant 1 20 1 2 1 towns of the University of Oregon. Many people we have talked to feel intuitively that this area is beautiful now, but that if more cars were parked there it would be ruined. What possible functional basis is there for this intuition? We conjecture as follows: people realize, subconsciously, that the physical environment is the medium for their social intercourse. It is the environment which, when it is working properly, creates the potential for all social communion, including even communion with the self. We suspect that when the density of cars passes a certain limit, and people experience the feeling that there are too many cars, what is really happening is that subconsciously they feel that the cars are overwhelming the environment, that the environment is no longer "theirs," that they have no right to be there, that it is not a place for people, and so on. After all, the effect of the cars reaches far beyond the mere presence of the cars themselves. They create a maze of driveways, garage doors, asphalt and concrete surfaces, and building elements which people cannot use. When the density goes beyond the limit, we suspect that people feel the social potential of the environment has disappeared. Instead of inviting them out, the environment starts giving them the message that the outdoors is not meant for them, that they should stay indoors, that they should stay in their own buildings, that social communion is no longer permitted or encouraged. We have not yet tested this suspicion. However, if it turns out to be true, it may be that this pattern, which seems to be based on such slender evidence, is in fact one of the most crucial patterns there is, and that it plays a key role in determining the diference between environments which are socially and psychologically healthy and those which are unhealthy. We conjecture, then, that environments which are human, and not destroyed socially or ecologically by the presence of parked cars, have less than 9 per cent of the ground area devoted to parking space; and that parking lots and garages must therefore never be allowed to cover more than 9 per cent of the land. It is essential to interpret this pattern in the strictest possible way. The pattern becomes meaningless if we allow ourselves to place the parking generated by a piece of land A, on another adjacent piece of land B, thus keeping parking on A below 9 per 122 22 NINE PER CENT PARKING cent, but raising the parking on B to more than 9 per cent. In hi her words, each piece of land must take care of itself; we must niii allow ourselves to solve this problem on one piece of land at Hi. ixpensc of some other piece of land. A town or a community ......nly implement the pattern according to this strict interpretation by defining a grid of independent "parking zones"—each tunc 1 to 10 acres in area—which cover the whole community, •ml then insisting that the rule be applied, independently, and in inly, inside every parking zone. The 9 per cent rule has a clear and immediate implication for 1 In balance between surface parking and parking in garages, at different parking densities. This follows from simple arithmetic, ftupposc, for example, that an area requires 20 parking spaces per acre. Twenty parking spaces will consume about 7000 square feet, Which would be 17 per cent of the land if it were all in surface I 11 ling. To keep 20 cars per acre in line with the 9 per cent mle, at least half of them will have to be parked in garages. The 1 .Mr below gives similar figures for different densities: . Caw per Per cent on Per cent in two Per cent in three acre surface story garages story garages 12 ioo — — 17 50 5° — 23 50 — 50 30 — — ioo What about underground parking? May we consider it as an ticcption to this rule? Only if it docs not violate or restrict the •il the land above. If, for example, a parking garage is under a piece of land which was previously used as open space, with great Irt'CH growing on it, then the garage will almost certainly change il.. nature of the space above, because it will no longer be pos-iililr lo grow large trees there. Such a parking garage is a violation of the land. Similarly, if the structural grid of the garage— r..i I.Hit bays—constrains the structural grid of the building above, •ii thai this building is not free to express its needs, this is a violation loo. Underground parking may be allowed only in those fare rases where it does not constrain the land above at all: under 4 Major road, perhaps, or under a tennis court. We see then, that the 9 per cent rule has colossal implications. 123 towns Since underground parking will only rarely satisfy the conditions we have stated, the pattern really says that almost no part of the urban area may have more than 30 parking spaces per acre. This will create large changes in the central business district. Consider a part of a typical downtown area. There may be several hundred commuters per acre working there; and, under today's conditions, many of them park their cars in garages. But if it is true that there cannot be more than 30 parking spaces per acre, then either the work will be forced to decentralize, or the workers will have to rely on public transportation. It seems, in short, that this simple pattern, based on the social psychology of the environment, leads us to the same far reaching social conclusions as the patterns web of public transportation (l6) and scattered work (9). Therefore: Do not allow more than 9 per cent of the land in any given area to be used for parking. In order to prevent the "bunching" of parking in huge neglected areas, it is necessary for a town or a community to subdivide its land into "parking zones" no larger than 10 acres each and to apply the same rule in each zone. parking zones 9 per cent 30 cars per acre maximum Two later patterns say that parking must take one of two forms: tiny, surface parking lots, or shielded parking structures— 22 nine per cent parking il II PARKING (97), SMALL PARKING LOTS (1O3). If yOU these patterns the 9 per cent rule will put an effective up-lil of 30 parking spaces per acre, on every part of the en-nmcnt. Present-day on-street parking, with driveways, which 1 Irs spaces for about 35 cars per acre on the ground is ruled And those present-day high density business developments ■ li depend on the car are also ruled out. . . . 124 12; 23 PARALLEL ROADS . . in earlier patterns, we have proposed that cities should be lUbilividcd into local transport areas, whose roads allow cars to ....... in and out from the ring roads, but strongly discourage in- .....il movement across the area—local transport areas (ii), MNr; roads (17)—and that these transport areas themselves be 1 >iiilier subdivided into communities and neighborhoods, with 1 In provision that all major roads are in the boundaries between .....niiunities and neighborhoods—subculture boundary (13), I 1 1.. 1111.ihin 11 u) boundary (15). Now, what should the arrange-1111 111 of these roads be like, to help the flow required by local Transport areas (ll), and to maintain the boundaries? * * The net-like pattern of streets is obsolete. Congestion is 1 linking cities. Cars can average 60 miles per hour on freeways, but trips across town have an average speed of only mi in 15 miles per hour. Certainly, in many cases, we want to get rid of cars, not help 11..... to go faster. This is fully discussed in local transport a it 1 \s (11). But away from the areas where children play and people walk or use their bikes, there still need to be certain Itfectu which carry cars. The question is: How can these streets Im- designed to carry the cars faster and without congestion? 11 turns out that the loss of speed on present city streets is • hi id mainly by crossing movements: left-hand turns across traffic and four-way intersections. (G, F. Newell, "The Effect of I 1 h Turns on the Capacity of Traffic Intersection," Quarterly of A f filed Mathematics, XVII, April 1959, pp. 67-76.) To speed up traffic it is therefore necessary to create a network nl major roads in which there are no four-way intersections, and no left-hand turns across traffic. This can easily be done if the major roads are alternating, one-way parallel roads, a few hundred I' el .ipart, with smaller local roads opening off them, and the only connections between the parallel roads given by larger freeways crousing them at two- or three-mile intervals. 126 127 towns 23 parallel roads Parallel roads. This pattern has been discussed at considerable length in three papers ("The Pattern of Streets," C. Alexander, AlP Journal, September 1966; Criticisms by D. Carson and P. Roosen-Rungc, and Alexander's reply, in AlP Journal, September 1967.) Wc refer the reader to these original papers for the full derivation of all the geometric details. Our present statement is a radically condensed version. Here we concentrate mainly on one puzzling question—that of detours—because this is for many people the most surprising aspect of the full analysis. The pattern of parallel roads—since it contains no major cross streets—creates many detours not present in today's net-like pattern. At first sight it seems likely that these detours will be impossibly large. However, in the papers mentioned above it is shown in detail that they are in fact perfectly reasonable. We summarize the argument below. It is possible to calculate the probable detour for any trip of a given length through this proposed parallel road system as a function of the distance between the cross roads. Next, the probability of any given trip length may be obtained from actual studies of metropolitan auto trips. These two types of probabilities can finally be combined to yield an overall mean trip length and overall mean detours as shown below. Trip Length, miles 1 2 3 4 5 7 10 Proportion of (Overall Mean Trip Lengths %* 18 n 11 9 9 14 g Trip Length) miles between cross roads 1 2 3 Mean Detour, miles Overall Mean Detour .12 .05 .04 .03 .ox .01 .01 .05 •45 .24 .15 .11 .09 .07 .04 .21 ■79 -5^ .j6 -25 .zo .15 .11 .41 * Data for distribution of trip lengths was obtained from Edward M. Hall, "Travel Characteristics of Two San Diego Suburban Developments," Highway Research Board Bulletin 2030, Washington, D. C, »958, pp. 1-19, Figure 11. These data are typical for metropolitan areas all over the Western world. W 1 * sec, therefore, that even with cross roads two miles apart, iIm lack of cross streets only increases trip lengths by 5 per cent. A t the same time, the average sfeed of trifs will increase from 1 utiles fer hour to about 45 miles fer hour, a threefold in-nf,nr. The huge savings in time and fuel costs will more than nil art the slight increase in distance. kefcrring back for a moment to the table of detours, it will be Hot iced ibat the highest detours occur for the shortest trips. We li.m- argued elsewhere — local transport areas (11)—th.it to I 11 cue the quality of the city's environment it is necessary to ilm mirage the use of the automobile for very short trips, and to .'■iage walking, bikes, buses, and horses instead. The pattern of (inullel roads has precisely the feature which local transport areas .....I. It makes longer trips vastly more efficient, while discouraging the very short auto trips, and so provides the local transport ■ i with just the internal structure which it needs to support its 1111 it tion. Although this pattern seems strange at first sight, it is in fact already happening in many parts of the world and has already I roved its worth. For example, Berne, Switzerland, is one of the b « cities in Europe that does not suffer from acute traffic con-gi'ition. When one looks at a map of Berne, one can see that its "II center is formed by five long parallel roads with almost no iinn streets. We believe that it has little congestion in the old "uicr precisely because it contains the pattern. In many large llici today, the same insight is being implemented piecemeal—in ihr form of more and more one-way streets: in New York the alternating one-way Avenues, in downtown San Francisco the one-way major streets. «1*1 " ■ J-.—K "J *« 1L « "im Berne's five main parallel streets TOWNS Therefore: Within a local transport area build no intersecting major roads at all; instead, build a system of parallel and alternating one-way roads to carry traffic to the ring roads (17). In existing towns, create this structure piecemeal, by gradually making major streets one-way and closing cross streets. Keep parallel roads at least 100 yards apart (to make room for neighborhoods between them) and no more than 300 or 400 yards apart. j^- parallel one way roads 100 to 400 yards apart ring roads, 2 to 3 miles apart 24 SACRED SITES1 The parallel roads are the only through roads in a local transport area (l i). For access from the parallel roads to public buildings, house clusters, and individual houses use safe, slow, narrow roads which are not through roads—looped local roads (49), green streets (51)—and make their intersections with the parallel roads a "T"—t junction (50). Keep the pedestrian path system at right angles to the parallel roads, and raised above them where the two must run parallel—network of paths and cars (52), raised walk (5 ;)• Provide a road crossing (54) where paths cross the parallel roads. 131 ... in every region and every town, indeed in every neighborhood, there are special places which have come to symbolize the area, and the people's roots there. These places may be natural beauties or historic landmarks left by ages past. But in some form they are essential. •}> «8* People cannot maintain their spiritual roots and their connections to the past if the physical world they live in does not also sustain these roots. Informal experiments in our communities have led us to believe that people agree, to an astonishing extent, about the sites which do embody people's relation to the land and to the past. It seems, in other words, as though "the" sacred sites for an area exist as objective communal realities. If this is so, it is then of course essential that these specific sites be preserved and made important. Destruction of sites which have become part of the communal consciousness, in an agreed and widespread sense, must inevitably create gaping wounds in the communal body. Traditional societies have always recognized the importance of these sites. Mountains are marked as places of special pilgrimage; rivers and bridges become holy; a building or a tree, or rock or stone, takes on the power through which people can connect themselves to their own past. But modern society often ignores the psychological importance of these sites. They are bulldozed, developed, changed, for political and economic reasons, without regard for these simple but fundamental emotional matters; or they arc simply ignored. We suggest the following two steps. 1. In any geographic area—large or small—ask a large number of people which sites and which places make them feel the most contact with the area; which sites stand most for the important values of the past, and which ones embody their connection to the land. Then insist that these sites be actively preserved. 2. Once the sites are chosen and preserved, embellish them in 24 SACRED SITES I way which intensifies their public meaning. We believe that the ■ ivjy to intensify a site is through a progression of areas which 1 ...( le pass through as they approach the site. This is the prin-.if "nested precincts," discussed in detail under the pattern Hill » (.round (66). A garden which can be reached only by passing through a series 0| "iiicr gardens keeps its secrecy. A temple which can be reached nub' by passing through a sequence of approach courts is able to k* a special thing in a man's heart. The magnificence of a mountain peak is increased by the difficulty of reaching the upper | ill. yi from which it can be seen; the beauty of a woman is in-l»n«ilicd by the slowness of her unveiling; the great beauty of a inn hank—its rushes, water rats, small fish, wild flowers—are il ited by a too direct approach; even the ecology cannot stand up in 1 he too direct approach—the thing will simply be devoured. We must therefore build around a sacred site a scries of spaces uli 1.I1 gradually intensify and converge on the site. The site it-M|| becomes a kind of inner sanctum, at the core. And if the III 1% very large—a mountain—the same approach can be taken with special places from which it can be seen—an inner sanctum, 11 lied past many levels, which is not the mountain, but a garden, 0h , from which the mountain can be seen in special beauty. Therefore: Whether the sacred sites are large or small, whether (In v are at the center of the towns, in neighborhoods, or in tlie deepest countryside, establish ordinances which will protect them absolutely—so that our roots in the visible in 11 nindings cannot be violated. sacred sites r2? acts of preservation l32 '33 towns 5 ACCESS TO WATER* Give every sacred site a place, or a sequence of places, where people can relax, enjoy themselves, and feel the presence of the place-quiet backs (59), zen view { i 34.) , tree places ( i 7 i ) , garden seat (i "6). And above all, shield the approach to the site, so that it can only be approached on foot, and through a series of gateways and thresholds which reveal it gradually—holy ground (66). . . . 25 access to water . . . water is always precious. Among the special natural places covered by sacred sites (24), we single out the ocean beaches, lakes, and river banks, because they are irreplaceable. Their maintenance and proper use require a special pattern. * ❖ ❖ People have a fundamental yearning for great bodies of water. But the very movement of the people toward the water can also destroy the water. Either roads, freeways, and industries destroy the water's edge and make it so dirty or so treacherous that it is virtually inaccessible; or when the water's edge is preserved, it falls into private hands. Access to water is blocked. But the need that people have for water is vital and profound. (See, for example, C. G. Jung, Symbols of Transformation, where Jung takes bodies of water which appear in dreams as a consistent representation of the dreamer's unconscious.) The problem can be solved only if it is understood that people will build places near the water because it is entirely natural; but that the land immediately along the water's edge must be preserved for common use. To this end the roads which can destroy the water's edge must be kept back from it and only allowed near it when they lie at right angles to it. 136 u m Life forms around the water's edge. The width of the belt of land along the water may vary with il,. type of water, the density of development along it, and the Kolngical conditions. Along high density development, it may .....norc than a simple stone promenade. Along low density dement, it may be a common parkland extending hundreds of Mid* beyond a beach. Therefore: When natural bodies of water occur near human settle- .....its, treat them with great respect. Always preserve a In li of common land, immediately beside the water. And ill.iw dense settlements to come right down to the water Mil) it infrequent intervals along the water's edge. roads at right angles to the water .ni|i ii imiimnn llir water development •37 towns The width of the common land will vary with the type of water and the ecological conditions. In one case, it may be no more than a simple stone promenade along a river bank a few feet wide—promenade (31). In another case, it may be a swath of dunes extending hundreds of yards beyond a beach—the countryside (7). In any case, do not build roads along the water within one mile of the water; instead, make all the approach roads at right angles to the edge, and very far apart—parallel roads (23). If parking is provided, keep the lots small—small parking lots (103). . . . 26 LIFE CYCLE* 138 139 20 life cycle ... a real community provides, in full, for the balance of human experience and human life—community of 7000 (12). To a lesser extent, a good neighborhood will do the same—identifiable neighborhood (14). To fulfill this promise, communities and neighborhoods must have the range of things which life can need, so that a person can experience the full breadth and depth of life in his community. ❖ ❖ ❖ AH the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. As, first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then the soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances} And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. (Shakespeare, As You Like It, Il.viii.) To live life to the fullest, in each of the seven ages, each age must be clearly marked, by the community, as a distinct well-marked time. And the ages will only seem clearly marked if the .....nonies which mark the passage from one age to the next arc In inlv marked by celebrations and distinctions. Il\ contrast, in a flat suburban culture the seven ages are not ■I «11 clearly marked; they are not celebrated; the passages from ..... .igc to the next have almost been forgotten. Under these con- I.ii.'iis, people distort themselves. They can neither fulfill them-•tlvea in any one age nor pass successfully on to the next. Like the nixty-ycar-old woman wearing bright red lipstick on her »1 inkles, they cling ferociously to what they never fully had. This proposition hinges on two arguments. A. The cycle of life is a definite psychological reality. It con-tliti of discrete stages, each one fraught with its own difficulties, . .. Ii one with its own special advantages. II. Growth from one stage to another is not inevitable, and, in I. 1, it will not happen unless the community contains a balanced III. . ycle. / I'he Reality of the Life Cycle. Kvcryone can recognize the fact that a person's life traverses »vcral stages—infancy to old age. What is perhaps not so well understood is the idea that each stage is a discrete reality, with .i( own special compensations and difficulties; that each stage has .1 rlain characteristic experiences that go with it. The most inspired work along these lines has come from Erik I'.rikion: "Identity and the Life Cycle," in Psychological Issues, Vol. 1, No. 1, New York: International Universities Press, 1959; ml Childhood and Society, New York: W. W. Norton, 1950. Irrikson describes the sequence of phases a person must pass 1 In.nigh as he matures and suggests that each phase is character- ■ I by a specific developmental task—a successful resolution of .....c life conflict—and that this task must be solved by a person before he can move wholeheartedly forward to the next phase. Here is a summary of the stages in Erikson's scheme, adapted Ii. .111 his charts: 1. Trust vs. mistrust: the infant; relationship between the Infant and mother; the struggle for confidence that the environ- iii. 111 will nourish. t. Autonomy vs. shame and doubt: the very young child; relationship between the child and parents; the struggle to stand on 140 141 TOWNS 26 life cycle one's own two feet, to find autonomy in the face of experiences of shame and doubt as to one's capacity for self-control. 3. Initiative vs. guilt: the child; relationship to the family, the ring of friends; the search for action, and the integrity of one's acts; to make and eagerly learn, checked by the fear and guilt of one's own aggressions. 4. Industry vs. inferiority: the youngster; relationship to the neighborhood, the school; adaptation to the society's tools; the sense that one can make things well, alone, and with others, against the experience of failure, inadequacy. 5. Identity vs. identity diffusion: youth, adolescence; relationship to peers and "outgroups" and the search for models of adult life; the search for continuity in one's own character against confusion and doubt; a moratorium; a time to find and ally oneself with creeds and programs of the world. 6. Intimacy vs. isolation: young adults; partners in friendship, sex, work; the struggle to commit oneself concretely in relations with others; to lose and find oneself in another, against isolation and the avoidance of others. 7. Generativity vs. stagnation: adults; the relationship between a person and the division of labor, and the creation of a shared household; the struggle to establish and guide, to create, against the failure to do so, and the feelings of stagnation. 8. Integrity vs. despair: old age; the relationship between a person and his world, his kind, mankind; the achievement of wisdom; love for oneself and one's kind; to face death openly, with the forces of one's life integrated; vs. the despair that life has been useless. B. But growth through the life cycle is not inevitable. It depends on the presence of a balanced community, a community that can sustain the give and take of growth. Persons at each stage of life have something irreplaceable to give and to take from the community, and it is just these transactions which help a person to solve the problems that beset each stage. Consider the case of a young couple and their new child. The connection between them is entirely mutual. Of course, the child "depends" on the parents to give the care and love that is required to resolve the conflict of trust that goes with infancy. But simultaneously, liild gives the parents the experience of raising and bearing, li helps them to meet their conflict of generativity, unique to ■ llllll......I. IV, ilistort the situation if we abstract it in such a way that we iili-r the parent as "having" such and such a personality when 1 1 tiild is born and then, remaining static, impinging upon a poor llllli thing. For this weak and changing little being moves the whole 1.....|v along. Babies control and bring up their families as much as ll»v .ire controlled by them; in fact, we may say that the family . up a baby by being brought up by him. Whatever reaction pat-.ire given biologically and whatever schedule is predetermined 1 lupinriitally must be considered to be a series of potentialities for 1. nixing patterns of mutual regulation. [Erikson, ibid. p. 69.] Himilar patterns of mutual regulation occur between the very I ind the very young; between adolescents and young adults, 1I11I.I1.11 and infants, teenagers and younger teenagers, young men .. I old women, young women and old men, and so on. And Ihr 11 patterns must be made viable by prevailing social institutions 111 I 1 hose parts of the environment which help to maintain them ihc schools, nurseries, homes, cafes, bedrooms, sports fields, Uhops, studios, gardens, graveyards. . . . We believe, however, that the balance of settings which allow normal growth through the life cycle has been breaking down. ' nuct with the entire cycle of life is less and less available to . 11 h person, at each moment in time. In place of natural com- ........lies with a balanced life cycle we have retirement villages, 1 InKims suburbs, teenage culture, ghettos of unemployed, college Iiumh, mass cemeteries, industrial parks. Under such conditions, chances for solving the conflict that comes with each stage In ihc life cycle are slim indeed. To re-create a community of balanced life cycles requires, first 1 ill, that the idea take its place as a principal guide in the de- lopment of communities. Each building project, whether the ■nun to a house, a ttew road, a clinic, can be viewed as either helping or hindering the right balance for local communities. We Wiped that the community repair maps, discussed in The Oregon I tperiment, Chapter V (Volume 3 in this series), can play an ••penally useful role in helping to encourage the growth of a I ilanced life cycle. But this pattern can be no more than an indication of work 142 «43 TOWNS that needs to be done. Each community must find ways of taking stock of its own relative "balance" in this respect, and then define a growth process which will move it in the right direction. This is a tremendously interesting and vital problem; it needs a Teat deal of development, experiment, and theory. If Eriksou is tight, and if this kind of work docs not come, it seems possible that the development of trust, autonomy, initiative, industry, identity, intimacy, generativity, integrity may disappear entirely. stage 1. infant Trust 2. young child A utonomy 3. child Initiative 4. youngster Industry 5. youth Identity 6. young adult Intimacy 7. adult Generativity 8. old person Integrity important settings Home, crib, nursery, garden Own place, couple's realm, children's realm, commons, connected play Play space, own place, common land, neighborhood, animals Children's home, school, own place, adventure play, club, community Cottage, teenage society, hostels, apprentice, town and region Household, couple's realm, small work group, the family, network of learning Work community, the family town hall, a room of one's own Settled work, cottage, the family, independent regions rites of passage Birth place, setting up the home .... out of the crib, making a place Walking, making a place, special birthday First ventures in town .... joining Puberty rites, private entrance paying your way Commencement, marriage, work, building Birth of a child, creating social wealth . . building Special birthday, gathering, change in work Death, funeral, grave sites 26 LIFE CYCLE Therefore: Mike certain that the full cycle of life is represented and balanced in each community. Set the ideal of a balanced llfi . yclc as a principal guide for the evolution of communities. This means: 1. That each community include a balance of people at every stage of the life cycle, from infants to the very old; and include the full slate of settings needed for all these stages of life; i. That the community contain the full slate of settings which best mark the ritual crossing of life from one stage to the next. ' settings to support any single stage of life • settings to support ritual passing from one stage to another o settings to mark interaction between stages + * The rites of passage are provided for, most concretely, by HOLY ground (66). Other specific patterns which especially sup-|Hirt the seven ages of man and the ceremonies of transition are ..... skhold mix (35), old people everywhere (40), work community (41), local town hall (44), children in the city (57), birth places (65), grave sites (70), the family (7o1 your own home (79), master and apprentices (83), I I I sage society (84), shopfront schools (85), children's HOME (86), rooms to rent ( i 53), teenager's cottage (lj4). old age cottage (l5S), settled work (i 56), marriage bed (l«7). •45 27 MEN AND WOMEN anil just as a community or neighborhood must have a r balance of activities for people of all the different ages— ilMt'nuv of 7ooo (l2), identifiable neighborhood (14), i 1 \ CLE (26)—so it must also adjust itself and its activities to I■ 1 l.inee of the sexes, and provide, in equal part, the things II li h-flect the masculine and feminine sides of life. •J. .5. .5. I he world of a town in the 1970's is split along sexual in - ■.. Suburbs are for women, workplaces for men; kinder-1 is arc for women, professional schools for men; super->n 11 Lets are for women, hardware stores for men. ..... no aspect of life is purely masculine or purely feminine, • .....Id in which the separation of the sexes is extreme, distorts nv, and perpetuates and solidifies the distortions. Science is milled by a masculine, and often mechanical mentality; for-11h<1 diplomacy is governed by war, again the product of the uline ego. Schools for young children are swayed by the I I of women, as arc homes. The house has become the domain 11I woman to such a ridiculous extreme that home builders and luprrs portray an image of homes which are delicate and 1 ilv "nice," like powder rooms. The idea that such a home nil I be a place where things are made or vegetables grown, with Mwdust around the front door, is almost inconceivable. I In pattern or patterns which could resolve these problems are, fin 1 In moment, unknown. We can hint at the kinds of buildings mid land use and institutions which would bring the problem Into balance. But the geometry cannot be understood until certain • 11i facts are realized, and given their full power to influence 1 . nvironmcnt. hi short, until both men and women are able to ■ illy influence each fart of a town's life, we shall not know ■ii kinds of physical fatterns will best co-exist with this social i*r. ■Therefore: 146 «47 TOWNS Make certain that each piece of the environment—each building, open space, neighborhood, and work community —is made with a blend of both men's and women's in stincts. Keep this balance of masculine and feminine in mind for every project at every scale, from the kitchen to the steel mill. man s spirit •J. .{. <{. woman's spirit No large housing areas without workshops for men; no work communities which do not provide for women with part-time jobs and child care—scattered work (9). Within each place which has a balance of the masculine and feminine, make sure that individual men and women also have room to flourish, in their own right, distinct and separate from their opposites—a room of one's own (141). . . . both in the neighborhoods and the communities, and in between them, in the boundaries, encourage the }■•! mation of local centers: 28. eccentric nucleus 29. density rings 30. activity nodes 31. promenade 32. shopping street 33. night life 34. interchange 149 28 eccentric nucleus 28 ECCENTRIC NUCLEUS* ... so far, we have established an overall height restriction mi the city, with its attendant limitation on average density—four-story limit (21). If we assume, also, that the city containi major centers for every 300,000 people, spaced according to tlir rules in magic of the city (io), it will then follow that the overall density of the city slopes off from these centers: the highest density near to them, the lowest far away. This means thai any individual community of 7000 (12) will have an overall density, given by its distance from the nearest downtown. The question then arises: How should density vary locally, within this community; what geometric pattern should the density have? The question is complicated greatly by the principle of suncui.> ture boundary (13), which requires that communities are sin rounded by their services, instead of having their services at theii geometric centers. This pattern, and the next, defines a local distribution of density which is compatible with this context. The random character of local densities confuses the identity of our communities, and also creates a chaos in the pattern of land use. Let us begin by considering the typical configuration of the residential densities in a town. There is an overall slope to the densities: they arc high toward the center and lower toward the outskirts. But there is no recognizable structure within this overall slope: no clearly visible repeating pattern we can see again and again within the city. Compare this with the contours of a mountain range. In a mountain range, there is a great deal of recognizable structure; we see systematic ridges and valleys, foothills, bowls, and peaks which have arisen naturally from geological processes; and all this structure is repeated again and again, from place to place, within the whole. 150 1 II course, this is only an analogy. But it does raise the ques-lliiit N it natural, and all right, if density configurations in a town 11 i.imlum; or would a town be better off if there was some Visible coherent structure, some kind of systematic variation pattern of the densities? What happens when the local densities in a town vary in their ■ .1 rambling, incoherent fashion? The high density areas, uii.dlv capable of supporting intense activity cannot actually 1 11 U'i.iusc they are too widely spread. And the low density 1 . potentially capable of supporting silence and tranquility fthi'ii they arc concentrated, are also too diffusely scattered. The .....Ii 1 lie town has neither very intense activity, nor very intense iiiii.i Since we have many arguments which show how vital it is Imi 1 low 11 to give people both intense activity, and also Jeep and Ming quiet—sacred sites (24.), activity nodes (30), MllMI nade (3l), quiet backs (59), still water (71)-it •mm quite likely, then, that this randomness of density docs 1 inn io urban life. Wc believe, indeed, that a town would be far better off if it || I nmtain a coherent pattern of densities. We present a system-llli aicount of the factors which might naturally influence the Hill!<• 111 of density—in the hope of showing what kind of coherent jialii in might be sensible and useful. The argument has five steps. 1 We may assume, reasonably, that some kind of center, 1......rd by local services, will occur at least once in every com- ........ly of 7000. This center will typically be the kind we have III I a shopping street (32). In web of shopping (19) wc shown that shopping streets occur about once for every 1 ■ "i 10 persons. > From the arguments presented in subculture boundary nil, wc know that this center of activity, since it is a service, ild occur in the boundary between subcultures, should help • 1 form the boundary between subcultures, and should therefore 1 located in the area of the boundarj—not inside the com-.......iiy, but between communities. \, We know, also, that this center must be in just that part of llii Imundary which is closest to the center of the larger town or »llv. This follows from a dramatic and little known series of Ii ulii which show that catch basins of shopping centers are not IS' TOWNS 28 eccentric nucleus circles, as one might naively suppose, but half-circles, with the half-circle on that side of the center away from the central city, because people always go to that shopping center which lies toward the center of their city, never to the one which lies toward the city's periphery. Brentian's catch basins. This phenomenon was originally discovered by Brennan in his post-war studies of Wolverhampton (T. Brennan, Midland City, London: Dobson, 1948). It has, since then, been confirmed and studied by several writers, most notably Terence Lee, "Perceived Distance as a Function of Direction in the City," Environment and Behavior, June 1970, 40-51. Lee has shown that the phenomenon is not only caused by the fact that people arc simply more familiar with the roads and paths that lie toward the center, and use them more often, but that their very perception of distance varies with direction, and that distances along lines toward the center are seen as much shorter than distances along lines away from the center. Since we certainly want the community to correspond with the catch basin of its "center" it is essential, then, that the center be placed off-center—in fact, at that point in the community which lies toward the center of the larger city. This is, of course, compatible with the notion discussed already, that the center should lie in the boundary of the community. Eccentric centers. 152 Even though the center lies on one side of the community, ling a boundary of the community, we may also assume that center does need to bulge into the community just a little. Tliii follows from the fact that, even though services do need to b* In the boundary of the community, not in its middle, still, Mople do have some need for the psychological center of their ........1 unity to be at least somewhere toward the geometric center I 1 ravity. If we make the boundary bulge toward the geometric ranter, then this axis will naturally form a center—and, further, itch basin, according to the data given above, will correspond ilnm 1 perfectly with the community. Jojivrt*"/ The inward bulge. C, Finally, although we know that the center needs to be ......ly in the boundary, we do not know exactly just how large ■ ds to be. At the edge of the city, where the overall density 11 low—the center will be small. At the center of the city, where iIm overall density is higher, it will be larger, because the greater I'11 ity of population supports more services. In both cases, it will be in the boundary. If it is too large to be contained at one point, it will naturally extend itself along the boundary, but still Within (he boundary, thus forming a lune, a partial horseshoe, lung or short, according to its position in the greater city. A fartial horseshoe. 153 TOWNS These rules are rather simple. If we follow them, we shall find a beautiful gradient of overlapping imbricated horseshoes, not unlike the scales of a fish. If the city gradually gets this highly coherent structure, then we can be sure that the articulation of dense areas, and areas of little density, will be so clear that both activity and quiet can exist, each intense, unmixed, and each available to everyone. Therefore: Encourage growth and the accumulation of density to form a clear configuration of peaks and valleys according to the following rules: 1. Consider the town as a collection of communities of 7000. These communities will be between lA mile across and 2 miles across, according to their overall density. 2. Mark that point in the boundary of each community which is closest to the nearest major urban center. This point will be the peak of the density, and the core of the "eccentric" nucleus. 3. Allow the high density to bulge in from the boundary, toward the center of gravity of the community, thus enlarging the eccentric nucleus toward the center. 4. Continue this high density to form a ridge around the boundary in horseshoe fashion—with the length of the horseshoe dependent on the overall mean gross density, at that part of the city, and the bulge of the horseshoe toward the center of the region, so that the horseshoes form a gradient, according to their position in the region. Those close to a major downtown are almost complete; those further away are only half complete; and those furthest from centers are shrunken to a point. 28 eccentric nucleus low density high density eccentric nucleus downtown Given this overall configuration, now calculate the average Utilities at different distances from this ridge of high density, 1 ling to the computations given in the next pattern—density HI • (29); keep major shopping streets and promenades toward |hl lense part of the horseshoe—activity nodes (30), prom-»1 (3 1), shopping street (32); and keep quiet areas toward I hi i>pcn part of the horseshoe—sacred sites (24), quiet backs (19), 9tu.I. water (71). . . . '5 + '55 29 DENSITY RINGS ... in eccentric nucleus (28) we have given a general form for the configuration of density "peaks" and "valleys," with respect to the mosaic of subcultures (8) and subculture boundaries (13). Suppose now that the center of commercial activity in a community of 7000 (12) is placed according to the prescriptions of eccentric nucleus (28), and according to the overall density within the region. We then face the problem of establishing local densities, for house clusters and work communities, at different distances around this peak. This pattern gives a rule for working out the gradient of these local densities. Most concretely, this gradient of density can be specified, by drawing rings at different distances from the main center of activity and then assigning different densities to each ring, so that the densities in the succeeding rings create the gradient of density. The gradient will vary from community to community— both according to a community's position in the region, and according to the cultural background of the people. People want to be close to shops and services, for excitement and convenience. And they want to be away from services, for quiet and green. The exact balance of these two desires varies from person to person, but in the aggregate it is the balance of these two desires which determines the gradient of housing densities in a neighborhood. In order to be precise about the gradient of housing densities, let us agree at once, to analyze the densities by means of three concentric semi-circular rings, of equal radial thickness, around the main center of activity. I We make them semi-circles, rather than full circles, since it has been shown, empirically, that the catch basin of a given local 29 density rings 6*5 Rings of equal thickness. 11' 1 1 is a half-circle, on the side away from the city—sec dis- • <.......1 in hccentric nucleus (28) and the references to Bren- ind Lee given in that pattern. However, even if you do not ■ 1 Tin ihii finding, and wish to assume that the circles are full dir., the following analysis remains essentially unchanged.] We driinc a density gradient, as a set of three densities, one for • li ol the three rings. A density gradient. Imagine that the three rings of some actual neighborhood have |l niities I),, D2, Dft. And assume, now, that a new person moves Into this neighborhood. As we have said, within the given density |riilicnt, he will choose to live in that ring, where his liking fill i;rcen and quiet just balances his liking for access to shops 11 I public services. This means that each person is essentially 141 rd with a choice among three alternative density-distance com-iiin iiions: Ring 1. The density Di, with a distance of about Rt to shops. King 2. The density D>, with a distance of about R2 to shops. King 3. The density D3, with a distance of about R3 to shops. Now, of course, each person will make a different choice—ac-...i ling to his own personal preference for the balance of density mid distance. Let us imagine, just for the sake of argument, that • II the people in the neighborhood are asked to make this choice (forgetting, for a moment, which houses are available). Some will »57 TOWNS choose ring l, some ring 2, and some ring 3. Suppose that N| choose ring I, N2 choose ring 2, and N3 choose ring 3, Since the three rings have specific, well-defined areas, the numbers of people who have chosen the three areas, can be turned into hypothetical densities. In other words, if we (in imagination) distribute the people among the three rings according to their choices, we can work out the hypothetical densities which would occur in the three rings as a result. Now we are suddenly faced with two fascinating possibilitier. I. These new densities are different from the actual densities. II. These new densities arc the same as the actual densities. Case 1 is much more likely to occur. But this is unstable—since people's choices will tend to change the densities. Case II, which is less likely to occur, is stable—since it means that people, choosing freely, will together re-create the very same pattern of density within which they have made these choices. This distinction it fundamental. If we assume that a given neighborhood, with a given total area, must accommodate a certain number of people (given by the average density of people at that point in the region), then then is just one configuration of densities which is stable in thii sense. We now describe a computational procedure which can l>c used to obtain this stable density configuration. Before we exflain the comfutational procedure, we must explain how very fundamental and important this kind of stable density configuration is. In today's world, where density gradients are usually not stable, in our sense, most people are forced to live under conditions where the balance of quiet and activity does not correspond to their wishes or their needs, because the total number of available houses and apartments at different distances is inappropriate. What happens, then, is that the rich, who can afford to pay for what they want, are able to find houses and apartments with the balance that they want; the not 60 rich and poor are forced to take the leavings. All this is made legitimate by the middle-class economics of "ground rent"-—the idea that land at different distances from centers of activity, commands different prices, because more or less people want to be at those distances. Bui actually the fact of differential ground rent is an economic 29 DENSITY RINGS Mi h.inism which springs up, within an unstable density con- 1.....it ion, to compensate for its instability. We want to point out that in a neighborhood with a stable ■.Utility configuration (stable in our sense of the word), the land would not need to cost different prices at different distances, i< the total available number of houses in each ring would Mmtly correspond to the number of people who wanted to live at those distances. With demand equal to supply in every ring, the 1 round rents, or the price of land, could be the same in every rli% and everyone, rich and poor, could be certain of having ílu I'.ilance they require. We now come to the problem of computing the stable densities Im .1 given neighborhood. The stability depends on very subtle 1 • Imlogical forces; so far as we know these forces cannot be n presented in any psychologically accurate way by mathematical • 1'iitions, and it is therefore, at least for the moment, impossible III Rive a mathematical model for the stable density. Instead, we hive chosen to use the fact that each person can make choices .1.....1 his required balance of activity and quiet, and to use people's choices, within a simple game, as the source of the ■ •imputation. In short, we have constructed a game, which allows ..... to obtain the stable density configuration within a few .....uitcs. This game essentially simulates the behavior of the real li m, and is, we believe, far more reliable than any mathemati-1 .1 1 omputation. density gradients came 1 hirst draw a map of the three concentric half rings. Make it . Iiilf-rircle—if you accept the arguments of eccentric nucleus I 1 -otherwise a full circle Smooth this half-circle to fit the horse-•li." of the highest density—mark its center as the center of that hm 1 ■hoe. ' I, If the overall radius of the half-circle is R, then the mean radii ■ 1 Ihe three rings are K ,K ,K given by: R, = R/6 R, = jR/6 R,=5r/6 |, Make up a board for the game, which has the three concentric iii.Ii-h shown on it, with the radii marked in blocks, so people can .....Irrstanrl them easily, i.e., 1000 feet = 3 blocks. 4, IX-citle on the total population of this neighborhood. This is 158 '59 TOWNS 29 density rings the same as settling on an overall average net density for the area. Il will have to be roughly compatible with the overall pattern of density in the region. Let us say that the total population of the community is N families. 5. Find ten people who arc roughly similar to the people in the community—vis-a-vis cultural habits, background, and so on. If possible, they should be ten of the people in the actual community itself. 6. Show the players a set of photographs of areas that show typical best examples of different population densities (in families per gross acre), and leave these photographs on display throughout thr game so that people can use them when they make their choices. 7. Give each player a disk, which he can place on the board in one of the three rings. 8. Now, to start the game, decide what percentage of the total population is to be in each of the three rings. It doesn't matter what percentages you choose to start with—they will soon right themselves as the game gets under way—but, for the sake of simplicity, choose multiples of 10 per cent for each ring, i.e., 10 per cent in ring 1, jo per cent in ring 1, 60 per cent in ring 3. 9. Now translate these percentages into actual densities of families per net acre. Since you will have to do this many times during the course of the game, it is advisable to construct a table which translate* percentages directly into densities. You can make up such a table by inserting the values for N and R which you have chosen for your community into the formulae below. The formulae are based on the simple arithmetic of area, and population. R is expressed in hundreds of yards—roughly in blocks. The densities are expressed in families per gross acre. Multiply each ring density by a number between t and 10, according to the per cent in that ring. Thus, if there are 30 per cent in ring 3, the density there is 3 times the entry in the formulae, or *4N/57tR2. 10% Ring 1 8N/ttR2 Ring 2 8N/3irR2 Ring 3 8N/57rR2 10. Once you have found the proper densities, from the formulae, write them on three slips of paper, and place these slips into their appropriate rings, on the game board. 11. The slips define a tentative density configuration for the community. Each ring has a certain typical distance from the center. And each ring has a density. Ask people to look carefully at the pictures which represent these densities, and then to decide which of the three rings gives them the best balance of quiet and green, as against access to shops. Ask each person to place his disk in the ring he chooses. 160 11. When all ten disks are on the board, this defines a new distri- ......1, of population. Probably, it is different from the one you I with. Now make up a new set of percentages, half-way be-11 1 he one you originally defined, and the one which people's .link, ilelitir, and, again, round off the percentages to the nearest 10 111. Here is an example of the way you ran get new percentages. Old percentages 10% 30% 60% People's disks 3 -- 30% 4 = 40% 3 = 30% New percentages 20% 30% 50% 111 sec, the new ones arc not perfectly half-way between the other •ton but as near as you can get, and still have multiples of ten. 1 1 Now go back to step 9, and go through 9, 10, 11, ia again 1 until the percentages defined by people's disks arc the same 1, ones you defined for that round. If you turn these last stable 111 s into densities, you have found the stable density con-1......1..... fur this community. Stop, and have a drink all round. In our experiments, we have found that this game reaches a • .Mi Hate very quickly indeed. Ten people, in a few minutes, in lefine a stable density distribution. We have presented the ltd of one set of games in the table which follows below. stable density distributions for different sized communities These figures are for semi-circular communities. Density in families _ per gross acre_ Radius Population Ring 2 Ring 3 in blocks in families Ring i 2 150 15 9 5 3 150 7 5 2 3 300 21 7 5 4 300 7 3 2 4 600 29 7 4 6 600 15 4 2 6 I200 36 9 3 9 I 200 18 5 i 161 TOWNS It is essential to recognize that the densities given in this table cannot wisely be used just as they stand. The figures will vary with the exact geometry of the neighborhood and with different cultural attitudes in different subcultures. For thii reason, we consider it essential that the people of a given community, who want to apply this pattern, play the game themselves, in order to find a stable gradient of densities for their own situation. The numbers we have given above are more f<>i the sake of illustration than anything else. Therefore: Once the nucleus of a community is clearly placed— define rings of decreasing local housing density around this nucleus. If you cannot avoid it, choose the densities from the foregoing table. But, much better, if you can possibly manage it, play the density rings game, to obtain thesr densities, from the intuitions of the very people who arc going to live in the community. 30 ACTIVITY NODES * * ❖ Within the rings of density, encourage housing to take the form of housing clusters—self-governing cooperatives of 8 to i 5 households, their physical size varying according to the density— house cluster (37). According to the densities in the different rings, build these houses as free-standing houses—house cluster (37), row houses (38), or higher density clusters of housing— housing hill (39). Keep public spaces—promenade (31), small public squares (61)—to those areas which have a high enough density around them to keep them alive—pedestrian density (123). . . . 162 163 . . . this pattern forms those essential nodes of life which help to generate identifiable neighborhood (14), promenade (31), network of paths and cars (52), and pedestrian street (100). To understand its action, imagine that a community and its boundary are growing under the influence of community ok 7000 (12), subculture boundary (13), identifiable neic.ii-borhood (14), neighborhood boundary (15), eccentric nucleus (28), and density rings (29). As they grow, certain "stars" begin to form, where the most important paths meet. These stars are potentially the vital spots of a community. The growth of these stars and of the paths which form them need to be guided to form genuine community crossroads. v *** *5* Community facilities scattered individually through the city do nothing for the life of the city. One of the greatest problems in existing communities is the fact that the available public life in them is spread so thin that it has no impact on the community. It is not in any real sense available to the members of the community. Studies of pedestrian behavior make it clear that people seek out concentrations of other people, whenever they are available (for instance, Jan Gehl, "Menneskcr til Fods (Pedestrians)," Arkitektett, No. 20, 1968). To create these concentrations of people in a community, facilities must be grouped densely round very small public squares which can function as nodes—with all pedestrian movement in the community organized to pass through these nodes. Such nodes require four properties. First, each node must draw together the main paths in the surrounding community. The major pedestrian paths should converge on the square, with minor paths funneling into the major ones, to create the basic star-shape of the pattern. This is much harder to do than one might imagine. To give an example of the difficulty which arises when we try to build this relationship into a town, we show the following plan—a scheme of 3O ACTIVITY NODES [tun for housing in Peru—in which the paths are all convergent Ml .1 very small number of squares. Public faths converge on centers of action. This is not a very good plan—it is too stiff and formal. But il it possible to achieve the same relationship in a far more relaxed MMuncr. In any case the relationship between paths, community 1 ".lilies, and squares is vital and hard to achieve. It must be Liken scriouslv, from the very outset, as a major feature of the city. ' ■ «fr 4* 33 NIGHT LIFE* Treat the physical character of the street like any other pedestrian street (lOO) On the network of paths and cars (52), at right angles to major parallel roads (23); have as many shops as small as possible—individually owned shops (87); where the shopping street crosses the road, make the crossing wide, giving priority to the pedestrians— road crossing (54) j parking can easily be provided by a single row of parking spaces in an alley lying behind the shops—all along the backs of the shops, off the alley, with the parking spaces walled, and perhaps even given canvas roofs, so that they don't destroy the area—shielded parking (97), canvas roofs (244). Make sure that every shopping street includes a market of many shops (46), and some housing in between (48). . . . . . . every community has some kind of public night life— magic of the city (io), community of 70oo (l2). If there ii a promenade in the community, the night life is probably along the promenade, at least in part—promenade (31). This pattern describes the details of the concentration of night time activities. ♦ ♦ ♦ Most of the city's activities close down at night; those which stay open won't do much for the night life of the city unless they are together. This pattern is drawn from the following seven points'. 1. People enjoy going out at night; a night on the town is something special. 2. If evening activities such as movies, cafes, ice cream parlors, gas stations, and bars arc scattered throughout the community, each one by itself cannot generate enough attraction. One bar by itself is a lonely place at night. 3. Many people do not go out at night because they feel they have no place to go. They do not feel like going out to a specific establishment, but they do feel like going out. An evening center, particularly when it is full of light, functions as a focus for such people. 4. Fear of the dark, especially in those places far away from one's own back yard, is a common experience, and quite simple to understand. Throughout our evolution night has been a time to stay quiet and protected, not a time to move about freely. 180 33 NIGHT LIFE A cluster of night spots creates life in the street. c. Nowadays this instinct is anchored in the fact that at night I reel crimes are most prevalent in places where there are too few pedestrians to provide natural surveillance, but enough pedestrians ' 1' make it worth a thief's while, in other words, dark, isolated night spots invite crime. A paper by Shlomo Angel, "The Ecology 1 Night Life" (Center for Environmental Structure, Berkeley, I <)tiH), shows the highest number of street crimes occurring in those areas where night spots are scattered. Areas of very low or Very high night pedestrian density are subject to much less crime. No. of crimes Pedestrian density Isolated night spots invite crime. 6. It is difficult to estimate the exact number of night spots that need to be grouped to create a sense of night life. From observation, we guess that it takes about six, minimum. 7. On the other hand, massive evening centers, combining evening services which a person could not possibly use on the same night, are alienating. For example, in New York the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts makes a big splash at night, but it makes no sense. No one is going to the ballet and the theater •ml a concert during one night on the town. And centralizing these places robs the city as a whole of several centers of night life. 181 TOWNS All these arguments together suggest small, scattered center! OJ mutually enlivening night spots, the services grouped to form cheery squares, with lights and places to loiter, where people can spend several hours in an interesting way. Here are some examples of small groups of mutually sustaining night activities. A movie theater, a restaurant and a bar, and a bookstore open till midnight; a smoke shop. A laundromat, liquor store and cafe; and a meeting hall and beer hall. Lodge hall, bowling alley, bar, playhouse. A terminal, a diner, hotels, nightclubs, casinos. Therefore: Knit together shops, amusements, and services wliiid neighborhood contain? ♦J* - * ■ t ' r No one stage in the life cycle is self-sufficient. People need support and confirmation from people who have reai lied a different stage in the life cycle, at the same time that ihrv also need support from people who are at the same stage as ihrv arc themselves. However, the needs which generate separation tend to overwhelm the need for mixture. Present housing patterns tend to keep different types of households segregated from each other. Phcre arc vast areas of two-bedroom houses, other areas of studio «nd one-bedroom apartments, other areas of three- and four-bed-iiidiu houses. This means that we have corresponding areas of ■ ingle people, couples, and small families with children, segregated by type. The effects of household segregation are profound. In the pattern life cycle (26), we have suggested that normal growth through the stages of life requires contact, at each stage, with people and institutions from all the other ages of man. Such contact is completely foiled if the housing mix in one's neighborhood it skewed toward one or two stages only. On the other hand, when the balance of life cycles is well related to the kinds of housing that arc available in a neighborhood, the possibilities for contact become concrete. Each person can find in the face-to-face life of his neighborhood at least passing contact with people from every stage of life. Teenagers see young couples, old people watch the very young, people living alone draw sustenance from large families, youngsters look to the middle-aged for models, and so on: it is all a medium through which people feel their way through life. 189 towns 35 household mix This need for a mix of housing must be offset against the need to be near people similar in age and way of life to oneself. Taking these two needs together, what is the right balance for the homing mix? The right balance can be derived straightforwardly from ilic statistics of the region. First, determine the percentage of e.uli household type for the region as a whole; second, use the same percentages to guide the gradual growth of the housing mi] within the neighborhood. For example, if 40 per cent of a metropolitan region's households are families, 25 per cent are couples, 20 per cent arc individuals, and 10 per cent group households, then we would expect the houses in each neighborhood to have roughly the same balance. Let us ask, finally, how large a group should the mix be applied to? We might try to create a mix in every house (obviously absurd), or in every cluster of a dozen houses, or in every neighborhood, or merely in every town (this last has almost no significant effect). We believe that the mix will only work if it exists in a human group small enough to have some internal politti.il and human intercourse—this could be a cluster of a dozen families, or a neighborhood of 500 people. Therefore: Encourage growth toward a mix of household types in every neighborhood, and every cluster, so that one-person households, couples, families with children, and group households are side by side. singles group households families M.ikc especially sure there are provisions for old people in every • • Ill 101 hood—01.0 people everywhere (40), and that even Willi this mix, young children will have enough playmates—con-■ 1 id play (68); and build the details of the different kinds 1 Miuscholds, according to the appropriate more detailed patterns in irinforce the mix—the family (75), house for a small lii.v (76), house for a couple (77), house for one .... MN (78). . . . 190 TOWNS California, 1967. He asked 3300 households how far they want! I to be from various community services. The results were: 20 pri cent of the households interviewed wanted to be located less than three blocks from commercial centers; 60 per cent wanted to t| located between four and six blocks away; 20 per cent wanted to be located more than six blocks away (mean block size in S.mii Clara County is 150 yards). The exact distances apply onlj R) Santa Clara. But the overall result overwhelmingly supports ottj contention that people vary in this way and shows that they have quite different needs as far as the location and character of house* is concerned. To make sure that the different kinds of people can find home* which satisfy their own particular desires, we suggest that en li cluster of houses, and each neighborhood should have three kind) of houses, in about equal numbers: those which are nearest to the action, those which are half-way between, and those which are almost completely isolated. And, to support this pattern we need, also, three distinct kinds of paths: 1. Paths along services, wide and open for activities and crowds, paths that connect activities and encourage busy through traffic. 2. Paths remote from services, narrow and twisting, to dil-courage through traffic, with many at right angles and dead end*, 3. Intermediate types of paths linking the most remote and quiet paths to the most central and busy ones. This pattern is as important in the design of a cluster of a fevl houses as it is in the design of a neighborhood. When we were helping a group of people to design their own cluster of housm, we first asked each person to consider his preference for location on the basis of extrovert-introvert. Three groups emerged: four "extroverts" who wished to be as near the pedestrian and community action as possible, four "introverts" who desired as much remoteness and privacy as possible, and the remaining four who wanted a bit of both. The site plan they made, using this pattern, is shown below, with the positions which the three kinds of people chose. 36 DEGREES OF PUBLICNESS In one house cluster: private homes, public homes, and in-between. Therefore: M.tkc a clear distinction between three kinds of homes those on quiet backwaters, those on busy streets, and thotc that are more or less in between. Make sure that those .....iiiict backwaters are on twisting paths, and that these houses are themselves physically secluded; make sure that |hi more public houses are on busy streets with many people passing by all day long and that the houses them-Itlvcs are relatively exposed to the passers-by. The in-between houses may then be located on the paths half-way between the other two. Give every neighborhood about . qual numbers of these three kinds of homes. most public 194 195 TOWNS + + + 37 HOUSE CLUSTER Use this pattern to help differentiate the houses both in neighborhoods and in house clusters. Within a neighborhood, place higher density clusters along the busier streets—housing mil. (39), row houses (38), and lower density clusters along the backwaters—house cluster (37), row houses (38). The actual busy streets themselves should cither be pedestrian streets (too) or raised walks (55) on major roads; the backwater! green streets (51), or narrow paths with a distinct path shape (121). Where lively streets arc wanted, make sure the density of housing is high enough to generate the liveliness— pedestrian density (123). . . . 196 197 ... the fundamental unit of organization within the neighbor- hood—identifiable neighborhood (l4)— is the cluster of I dozen houses. By varying the density and composition of different clusters, this pattern may also help to generate density kin,. (29), household mix (35), and decrees of publicness (36). 4> 4» <|> People will not feci comfortable in their houses unless a group of houses forms a cluster, with the public land between them joindy owned by all the householders. When houses arc arranged on streets, and the streets owned by the town, there is no way in which the land immediately outside the houses can reflect the needs of families and individuals living in those houses. The land will only gradually get shaped to meet their needs if they have direct control over the land and its repair. This pattern is based on the idea that the cluster of land and homes immediately around one's own home is of special importance. It is the source for gradual differentiation of neighborhood land use, and it is the natural focus of neighborly interaction. Herbert Gans, in The Levittotvtiers (New York: Pantheon, 1967), has collected some powerful evidence for this tendency. Gans surveyed visiting habits on a typical block tract development. Of the 149 people he surveyed, all of them were engaged in some fattens of regular visiting with their neighbors. The interesting finding is the morphology of this visiting pattern. Consider the following diagram—one like it can be made for almost every house in a tract. There is a house on either side, one or two across the street, and one directly behind, across a garden fence. Ninety-three -per cent of all the neighborhood visiting engaged in by the subjects is confined to this spatial cluster. 37 HOUSE CLUSTER On a typical block each home is at the center of its own cluster. And when asked "Whom do you visit most?" 91 per cent •nl the people they visit most are immediately across the street ' next door. The beauty of this finding is its indication of the strength of tin- ipjtial cluster to draw people together into neighborly con-Uil. The most obvious and tribal-like cluster—the homes on mhrr side and across the street—forms roughly a circle, and il i: there that most contact occurs. And if we add to this shape 1 In home immediately behind, although it is separated by private gttdens and a fence, we can account for nearly all the visiting that goes on in the Levittown neighborhood. We conclude that people continue to act according to the of a spatial cluster, even when the block layout and tht ■1, nbborhood plan do their best to destroy this unit and make it .' nymous. Gans' data underscore our intuitions: people want to be part of a neighborly spatial cluster; contact between people sharing inch a cluster is a vital function. And this need stands, even is In 11 people are able to drive and see friends all over the city. What about the size of the cluster? What is the appropriate llflc? In Gans' investigations each home stands at the center of * i luster of five or six other homes. But this is certainly not a Hitural limit for a housing cluster since the Levittown block layout! are so confining. In our experience, when the siting of the I.....ies is attuned to the cluster pattern, the natural limit arises tntirely from the balance between the informality and coherence nl the group. 198 '99 TOWNS The clusters seem to work best if they have between 8 and l houses each. With one representative from each family, this the number of people that can sit round a common meeting table, can talk to each other directly, face to face, and can therefore make wise decisions about the land they hold in common. With 8 or to households, people can meet over a kitchen table, exchange news on the street and in the gardens, and generally, without much special attention, keep in touch with the whole of the group. When there arc more than 10 or 12 homes forming a cluster, this balance is strained. We therefore set an uppet limit of around 12 on the number of households that can l>e naturally drawn into a cluster. Of course, the average size for clusters might be less, perhaps around 6 or 8; and clusters of 3, 4, or 5 homes can work perfectly well. Now, assuming that a group of neighbors, or a neighborhood association, or a planner, wants to give some expression to thii pattern, what are the critical issues? First, the geometry. In a new neighborhood, with houses built on the ground, we imagine quite dramatic clusters, with the houses built around or to the side of common land; and with .< core to the cluster that gradually tapers off at the edges. A cluster of 12 houses. In existing neighborhoods of free-standing houses, the pattern must be brought into play gradually by relaxing zoning ordinances, and allowing people to gradually knit together clusters out of the existing grid—see common land (67) and the family (75). It is even possible to implement the pattern with 37 HOUSE CLUSTER Riiw houses (38) and housing hills (39). In this case the con-li| ni.ilion of the rows, and the wings of the apartment building, Inim the cluster. In all cases common land which is shared by the cluster is an »•»rnli.il ingredient. It acts as a focus and physically knits the jump together. This common land can be as small as a path or as Uijii' as a green. On the other hand, care must be taken not to make the ilmirrs too tight or self-contained, so that they exclude the ■ ■ 1 community or seem too constricting and claustrophobic. I In re needs to be some open endedncss and overlapping among flutters. Overlapping clusters in a Turkish village. \long with the shape of the cluster, the way in which it is • in I is critical. // the pattern of ownership is not in accord with the physical properties of the cluster, the pattern will not Hi* hold. Very simply, the cluster must be owned and maintained ti constituent households. The households must be able to otgjni/c themselves as a corporation, capable of owning all the loiuinon land they share. There are many examples of tiny, user-owned housing corporations such as this. We know several placet in our region where such experiments are under way, and I'll, is where they have been established for many years. And we hasr heard, from visitors to the Center, of similar developments In various parts of the world. We advocate a system of ownership where the deed to one home carries with it part ownership in the cluster to which the home belongs; and ideally, this in turn carries with it part owner- 200 201 TOWNS ship in the neighborhood made up of several clusters. In this way, every owner is automatically a shareholder in several levels ol public land. And each level, beginning with the homes in their clusters, is a political unit with the power to control the proccsstn of its own growth and repair. Under such a system, the housing, whether in low or high density neighborhoods, can gradually find its way toward an abiding expression of the cluster. And the clusters themsclvei will come to support a quality of neighborhood life that, from our broken down neighborhoods now, we can only dimly perceive. The unavowed secret of man is that he wants to be confirmed in his being and his existence by his fellow men and that he wishes them to make it possible for him to confirm them, and . . . not merely in the family, in the party assembly or in the public house, but also in the course of neighborly encounters, perhaps when he or the other steps out of the door of his house or to the window of his house and the greeting with which they greet each other will be accompanied by a glance of well-wishing, a glance in which curiosity, mistrust, and routine will have been overcome by a mutual sympathy: the one gives the other to understand that he affirms his presence. This is the indispensable minimum of humanity. (Martin Buber, Gleanings, New York: Simon and Schuster, 1969, p. 94.) Therefore: Arrange houses to form very rough, but identifiable clusters of 8 to 12 households around some common land and paths. Arrange the clusters so that anyone can walk through them, without feeling like a trespasser. c&3 L?acD 37 HOUSE CLUSTER common houses 202 I t this pattern as it is for low densities, up to about 1; houses I'n i'ic; at higher densities, modify the cluster with the additional structure given by row houses (38) or housinc hill mi Always provide common land between the houses— .....n 1.and (67) and a shared common workshop—home hi ii'T (157). Arrange paths clearly—circulation realms (on) and lay these paths out in such .1 way that they create MM1I1 1 paths and backwaters, even within the cluster—degrees of milii.it ni.vs (36); keep parking in small parking lots (103), 1 make the houses in the cluster suit the households which will ^^Hcrc—the family (7;), house for i smali 1 win v (76), Mill's! FOR A couple (77), house for one person (78), your ims. HOME (79). . . . 203 38 ROW HOUSES* , , . in certain parts of a community, the detached homes and |«idcns of a house cluster (37) will not work, because they ire not dense enough to generate the denser parts of density him.s (29) and decrees op publicness (36). To help create thc»c larger patterns, it is necessary to build row houses instead. * ❖ ❖ At densities of 15 to 30 houses per acre, row houses are • v.i-ntial. But typical row houses are dark inside, and ■i.impcd from an identical mould. Above I 5 houses per acre, it is almost impossible to make houses In <-landing without destroying the open space around them; the open space which is left gets reduced to nothing more than lhallow rings around the houses. And apartments do not solve 1 ln< problem of higher densities; they keep people off the ground and they have no private gardens. Row houses solve these problems. But row houses, in their ininentional form, have problems of their own. Conventional houses all conform, approximately, to the following diagram. I I" houses have a short frontage and a long depth, and share the party wall along their long side. -H3T Typical row house pattern. Because of the long party walls, many of the rooms arc poorly lit. The houses lack privacy—there is nowhere in th'e houses or their yards that is very far from a party wall. The small yards are made even worse by the fact that they are at the short ends Of the house, so that only a small part of the indoor space can be 204 205 TOWNS adjacent to the garden. And there is almost no scope for in* dividual variation in the houses, with the result that terraces of row houses are often rather sterile. These four problems of row houses can easily be solved by making the houses long and thin, along the paths, like cottages. In this case, there is plenty of room for subtle variations from house to house—each plan can be quite different; and it is easy to arrange the plan to let the light in. Homes long and thin along the path. This kind of house has 30 per cent of its perimeter fixed and 70 per cent free for individual variations. A house in a conventional terrace of row houses has 70 per cent of its perimeter fixed and only 30 per cent open to individual variations. So the house can take on a variety of shapes, with a guarantee of a reasonable amount of privacy for its garden and for most of the house, an increase in the amount of light into the house, and an increase in the amount of indoor space that can be next to outdoor areas. Crinkling and variation. These advantages of the long thin row house are so obvious, it is natural to wonder why they aren't used more often. The reason is, of course, that roads do not permit it. So long as houses front directly onto roads, it is imperative that they have 38 ROW HOUSES ili'- shortest frontage possible, so as to save the cost of roads and kj imcs—the cost of roads is a large part of any housing budget, hut in the pattern we propose, we have been able to avoid this difficulty altogether, by making the houses front only onto paths —which don't cost much—and it is then these paths which ......icct to the roads, at right angles, in the way prescribed by ' i i IVDRK OF PATHS AND CARS (52). Roads away from houses. Finally, a word on density. As we see from the sketch below, It is possible to build a two-story house of I 200 square feet on an area 30 x 20, using a total area (path, house, garden) of about 1300 square feet, and it is even possible to manage with an tbsolute minimum of 1000 square feet. 1*«. : 1 ' 1 2e> XSf 1300 square feet of land per house. It is therefore possible to build row houses at a density of 30 Mr net acre. Without parking, or with less parking, this figure inuld conceivably be even higher. Therefore: 206 207 TOWNS For row houses, place houses along pedestrian paths that run at right angles to local roads and parking lots, and givr each house a long frontage and a shallow depth. paths paths 4> ♦ ♦ Make the individual houses and cottages as long and thin aloiiR the paths as possible—long thin house (109); vary the house* according to the different household types—the family (75), house for a small family (76), house for a couple (77), house for one person (78); build roads across the paths, at right angles to them—parallel roads (23), network of paths and cars (52), with small parking lots off the roads—small parking lots (103). In other respects build row houses in clusters—house cluster (37), building complex (95). . . . 208 HOUSING HILL 39 HOUSING HILL ... at the still higher densities required in the inner ring of the community's density rings (29), and wherever densiticn rise above 30 houses per acre or are four stories high—fouh-story limit (21), the house clusters become like hills. tj* ij* MJ Every town has places in it which are so central and desirable that at least 30-50 households per acre will be living there. But the apartment houses which reach this density are almost all impersonal. In the pattern your own home (79), we discuss the fact thai every family needs its own home with land to build on, land where they can grow things, and a house which is unique and clearly marked as theirs. A typical apartment house, with flat walls and identical windows, cannot provide these qualities. The form of the housing hill comes essentially from three requirements. First, people need to maintain contact with the ground and with their neighbors, far more contact than high-rise living permits. Second, people want an outdoor garden or yard. This is among the most common reasons for their rejecting apartment living. And third, people crave for variation and uniqueness in their homes, and this desire is almost always constrained by high-rise construction, with its regular facades and identical units. 1. Connection to the ground and to neighbors. The strongcsi evidence comes from D. M. Fanning ("Families in Flats," British Medical Journal, November 1967, pp. 382-86). Fanning shows a direct correlation between incidence of mental disorder and high-rise living. These findings are presented in detail in four-story limit (21). High-rise ljving, it appears, has a terrible tendency to leave people alone, stranded, in their apartments. Home life is split away from casual street life by elevators, hallways, and long stairs. The decision to go out for some public life becomes formal and awkward; and unless there is some specific task which brings people out in the world, the tendency is to stay home, alone. I mning also found a striking lack of communication between (•milici in the high-rise flats he studied. Women and children «<il from other units by blank walls. No one wanted his own apartment to be lost in a grid of apartments. In another survey we visited a nineteen-story apartment building in San Francisco. The building contained 190 apart ments each with a balcony. The management had set verv rigid restrictions on the use of these balconies—no political poster*, no painting, no clothes drying, no mobiles, no barbecues..... tapestries. But even when confined by such restrictions, over lull of the residents were still able, in some way, to personalize theit balconies with plants in pots, carpets, and furniture. In short, m the face of the most extreme regimentation people try to give their apartments a unique face. What building form is compatible with these three b.isi. requirements? First of all, to maintain a strong and direct connection to the ground, the building must be no higher than four stories—pour-story limit (21). Also, and perhaps moir important, we believe that each "house" must be within a few steps of a rather wide and gradual stair that rises directly from the ground. If the stair is open, somewhat rambling, and ven gradual, it will be continuous with the street and the life of the street. Furthermore, if we take this need seriously, the stair inuai be connected at the ground to a piece of land, owned in common 39 HOUSING HILL 1 • 1 he residents—this land organized to form a semi-private |ft«n. 1 interning the private gardens. They need sunlight and 11) two requirements hard to satisfy in ordinary balcony .....laments. The terraces must be south-facing, large, and .....atcly connected to the houses, and solid enough for earth, 111 1 luiihcs, and small trees. This suggests a kind of housing hill, Willi a gradual slope toward the south and a garage for parking blow the "hill." in I for identity—the only genuine solution to the problem Irntity is to let each family gradually build and rebuild its 11 home on a terraced superstructure. If the floors of this •Innlure are capable of supporting a house and some earth, each Ulllt i» free to take its own character and develop its own tiny garden. Although these requirements bring to mind a form similar to 1 lie'i Habitat, it is important to realize that Habitat fails to ntva two of the three problem discussed here. It has private 1 n I. ni; but it fails to solve the problem of connection to the ■found—the units are strongly separated from the casual life of I hi mrcct;—and the mass-produced dwellings arc anonymous, in 11 urn unique. I In- following sketch for an apartment building—originally mi lr for the Swedish community of Marsta, near Stockholm— hp In.Ics all the essential features of a housing hill. Apartment building for Marsta, near Stockholm. 'he re fore: I.. I mild more than 30 dwellings per net acre, or to 212 213 TOWNS build housing three or four stories high, build a hill gg houses. Build them to form stepped terraces, sloping toward the south, served by a great central open stair which ,\\v< faces south and leads toward a common garden . . . parking underneath 40 OLD PEOPLE EVERYWHERE** central common stairs Let people lay out their own houses individually, upon the terraces, just as if they were land—your own home (79). Siitct each terrace overlaps the one below it, each house has its garden on the house below—roof gardens (118). Leave the central il ill open to the air, but give it a roof, in wet or snowy climates perhaps a glass roof—open stairs (158) j and place the common land right at the bottom of the stair with playgrounds, flowcri, and vegetables for everyone—common land (67), conkectIO play (68), vegetable carden (1 77). . . . 214 . . . when neighborhoods arc properly formed they give the people there a cross section of ages and stages of development—identifiable neighborhood (14), life cycle (26), household Mix (35); however, the old people are so often forgotten and left alone in modern society, that it is necessary to formulate a special pattern which underlines their needs. * * * Old people need old people, but they also need the young, and young people need contact with the old. There is a natural tendency for old people to gather together in clusters or communities. But when these elderly communities are too isolated or too large, thev damage young and old alike. The young in other parts of town, have no chance of the benefit of older company, and the old people themselves arc far too isolated. Treated like outsiders, the aged have increasingly clustered together for mutual support or simply to enjoy themselves. A now familiar but still amazing phenomenon has sprung up in the past decade: dozens of good-sized new towns that exclude people under 6$. Built on cheap, outlying land, such communities offer two-bedroom houses starting at $18,000 plus a refuge from urban violence . . . and generational pressures. (Time, August 3, 1970.) But the choice the old people have made by moving to these communities and the remarks above are a serious and painful reflection of a very sad state of affairs in our culture. The fact it that contemporary society shunts away old people; and the more shunted away they are, the deeper the rift between the old and young. The old people have no choice but to segregate themselves —they, like anyone else, have pride; they would rather not be with younger people who do not appreciate them, and they feign satisfaction to justify their position. And the segregation of the old causes the same rift inside each individual life: as old people pass into old age communities their tics with their own past become unacknowledged, lost, and there- 40 OLD PEOPLE EVERYWHERE fore broken. Their youth is no longer alive in their old age—the two become dissociated; their lives are cut in two. In contrast to the situation today, consider how the aged were respected and needed in traditional cultures: Some degree of prestige for the aged seems to have been practically universal in all known societies. This is so general, in fact, that it cuts across many cultural factors that have appeared to determine trends 111 other topics related to age. (The Role of Aged in Primitive Society, Leo W. Simmons, New Haven: Yale University Press, 194.5, p. «9-) More specifically: . . . Another family relationship of great significance for the aged hai Iwcn the commonly observed intimate association between the very young and the very old. Frequently they have been left together at home while the able-bodied have gone forth to earn the family living. These oldsters, in their wisdom and experience, have protected and instructed the little ones, while the children, in turn, have acted 1 1 he "eyes, ears, hands, and feet" of their feeble old friends. Care Of the young has thus very generally provided the aged with a useful Occupation and a vivid interest in life during the long dull days of senescence. (Ibid. p. 199.) Clearly, old people cannot be integrated socially as in tradi-lional cultures unless they are first integrated physically—unless ihcv share the same streets, shops, services, and common land with •vcryonc else. But, at the same time, they obviously need other old people around them; and some old people who are infirm need special services. And of course old people van' in their need or desire to be •mong their own age group. The more able-bodied and independent they are, the less they need to be among other old people, •ml the farther they can be from special medical services. The I 11 i.11 ion in the amount of care they need ranges from complete nursing care; to semi-nursing care involving house calls once a day or twice a week; to an old person getting some help with •Impping, cooking, and cleaning; to an old person being com-pletely independent. Right now, there is no such fine differentia- 216 *I7 TOWNS tion made in the care of old people—very often people who simply need a little help cooking and cleaning are put into rest homes which provide total nursing care, at huge expense to them, their families, and the community. It is a psychologically debilitating situation, and they turn frail and helpless because tlm is the way they are treated. We therefore need a way of taking care of old people whiih provides for the full range of their needs: 1. It must allow them to stay in the neighborhood they know best-—hence some old people in every neighborhood. 2. It must allow old people to be together, yet in groups small enough not to isolate them from the younger people in the neighborhood. 3. It must allow those old people who are independent to l'm-independcntly, without losing the benefits of communality. 4. It must allow those who need nursing care or prepared meals, to get it, without having to go to nursing homes far from the neighborhood. All these requirements can be solved together, very simply, if every neighborhood contains a small pocket of old people, not concentrated all in one place, but fuzzy at the edges like a swarm of bees. This will both preserve the symbiosis between young and old, and give the old people the mutual support they need within the pockets. Perhaps 20 might live in a central group house, another 10 or 15 in cottages close to this house, but interlaced with other houses, and another 10 to 15 also in cottages, still further from the core, in among the neighborhood, yet alwayi within 100 or 200 yards of the core, so they can easily walk there to play chess, have a meal, or get help from the nurse. The number 50 comes from Mumford's argument: The first thing to be determined is the number of aged people to be accommodated in a neighborhood unit; and the answer to this, I submit, is that the normal age distribution1 in the community as a wln.li should be maintained. This means that there should be from five in eight people over sixty-five in every hundred people; so that in a neighborhood unit of, say, six hundred people, there would be between thirty and fifty old people. (Lewis Mumford, The Human Prospect, New York, 1968, p. 49.) As for the character of the group house, it might vary from 40 OLD PEOPLE EVERYWHERE to case. In some cases it might be no more than a commune, ■ ■■ i' people cook together and have part-time help from young ■IrU and boys, or professional nurses. However, about 5 per cent • ■I 1 be nation's elderly need full-time care. This means that two in ilirce people in every 50 will need complete nursing care, titter a nurse can typically work with six to eight people, this ^■Httt that every second or third neighborhood group house mil lit be equipped with complete nursing care. Therefore: 1 rcate dwellings for some 50 old people in every neigh-boibood. Place these dwellings in three rings . . . 1. A central core with cooking and nursing provided. 1. Cottages near the core. |. Cottages further out from the core, mixed among the other houses of the neighborhood, but never more than 200 yards from the core. in such a way that the 50 houses together form a single inherent swarm, with its own clear center, but interlocked n Its periphery with other ordinary houses of the neigh- ImiiIiooiI. nearby cottages .*. Treat the core like any group house; make all the cottages, both those close to and those further away, small—old ace 2t8 219 TOWNS cottage (155), some of them perhaps connected to the largei family houses in the neighborhood—the family (75); provid* every second or third core with proper nursing facilities; somewhere in the orbit of the old age pocket, provide the kind id work which old people can manage best—especially teachlnj and looking after tiny children—network of learning (iH), children's home (86), settled work (156), vegetabU garden (177). . . . between the house clusters, around the centers, and especially in the boundaries between neighborhoods, encourage the formation of work communities; 41. WORK COMMUNITY 42. INDUSTRIAL RIBBON 43. UNIVERSITY AS A MARKETPLACE 44. LOCAL TOWN HALL 45. NECKLACE OF COMMUNITY PROJECTS 46. MARKET OF MANY SHOPS 47. HEALTH CENTER 48. HOUSING IN BETWEEN 220 221 41 WORK COMMUNITY** , , . according to the pattern scattered work (9), work is entirely decentralized and woven in and out of housing areas. The i-llcil of scattered work—can be increased piecemeal, by building individual work communities, one by one, in the boundaries between the neighborhoods; these work communities will then llrlp to form the boundaries—subculture boundary (13), •it ii.iiborhood boundary (15)—and above all in the bound-1111 ., they will help to form activity nodes (30). If you spend eight hours of your day at work, and eight hums at home, there is no reason why your workplace ■.lnmld be any less of a community than your home. When someone tells you where he "lives," he is always talking ibout his house or the neighborhood his house is in. It sounds liiiinless enough. But think what it really means. Why should the I ■ 'ill- of our culture choose to use the word "live," which, on the 1 '' of it applies to every moment of our waking lives, and apply il "iily to a special portion of our lives—that part associated with ..... families and houses. The implication is straightforward. The people of our culture believe that they arc less alive when they in working than when they are at home; and we make this distinction subtly clear, by choosing to keep the word "live" only Int those places in our lives where we are not working. Anyone who uses the phrase "where do you live" in its everyday sense, lecepts as his own the widespread cultural awareness of the fact 1I1,11 no one really "lives" at his place of work—there is no song or music there, no love, no food—that he is not alive while working, not living, only toiling away, and being dead. As soon as we understand this situation it leads at once to out-i »>:•-- Why should we accept a world in which eight hours of the In .ire "dead"; why shall we not create a world in which our work is as much part of life, as much alive, as anything we do at Inline with our family and with our friends? This problem is discussed in other patterns—scattered work (tf), self-governing workshops and offices (80). Here we 222 223 TOWNS focus on the implications which this problem has for the physical and social nature of the area in which a workplace sits. If a person spends eight hours a day working in a certain area, and the nature of his work, its social character, and its location, arc all chosen to make sure that he is living, not merely earning money, then it is certainly essential that the area immediately around hii place of work be a community, just like a neighborhood but oriented to the pace and rhythms of work, instead of the rhythms of the family. For workplaces to function as communities, five relationships are critical: I. Workplaces must not be too scattered, nor too agglomerated, but clustered in groups of about 75. We know from scattered work (9) that workplaces should be decentralized, but they should not be so scattered that a single workplace is isolated from others. On the other hand, they should not be so agglomerated that a single workplace is lost in a sea of others. The workplaces should therefore be grouped to form strongly identifiable communities. The communities need to be small enough so that one can know most of the people working in them, at least by sight—and big enough to support as many amenities for the workers as possible—lunch counters, local sports, shops, and so on. We guess the right size may be between 8 and zo establishments. 2. The workplace community contains a mix of manual jobs, desk jobs, craft jobs, selling, and so forth. Most people today work in areas which are specialized: medical buildings, car repair, advertising, warehousing, financial, etc. This kind of segregation leads to isolation from other types of work and other types of people, leading in turn to less concern, respect, and understanding of them. We believe that a world where people are socially responsible can only come about where there is a value intrinsic to every job, where there is dignity associated with all work. This can hardly come about when we are so segregated from people who do different kinds of work from us. 3. There is a common piece of land within the work community, which ties the individual workshops and offices together. A shared street does a little to tie individual houses and places together; but a shared piece of common land does a great deal 41 WORK COMMUNITY more. If the workplaces arc grouped around a common courtyard where people can sit, play volleyball, eat lunches, it will help the contact and community among the workers. 4. The work community is interlaced with the larger community in which it is located. A work community, though forming a core community by it-pelf, cannot work well in complete isolation from the surrounding community. This is already discussed to some extent in scat-11 red work (9) and men and women (27). In addition, both work community and residential community can gain by sharing Ii. ilities and services—restaurants, cafes, libraries. Thus it makes sense for the work community to be open to the larger community with shops and cafes at the seam between them. c. Finally, it is necessary that the common land, or court-\ii,ls, exist at two distinct and separate levels. On the one hand, 'In courtyards for common table tennis, volleyball, need half-a-dozen workgroups around them at the most—more would swamp iii. hi. On the other hand, the lunch counters and laundries and I'uU-rshops need more like 20 or 30 workgroups to survive. For this reason the work community needs two levels of clustering. Therefore: Build or encourage the formation of work communities each one a collection of smaller clusters of workplaces tvhich have their own courtyards, gathered round a larger M»union square or common courtyard which contains Imps and lunch counters. The total work community Would have no more than 10 or 20 workplaces in it. workshop clusters eating places 224 225 TOWNS 4* * Make the square at the heart of the community a public s<|u in with public paths coming through it—small public squakm (61) ; either in this square, or in some attached space, place opportunities for sports—local sports (72); make sure that ih* entire community is always within three minutes' walk of an accessible green (60) j lay out the individual smaller court yards in such a way that people naturally gather there—count yards which live (115); keep the workshops small—ski.in governing workshops and offices (80); encourage communal cooking and eating over and beyond the lunch counters—strj i i cafe (88), food stands (93), communal eating ( 14.7). . . , 42 INDUSTRIAL RIBBON* 226 227 4.2 INDUSTRIAL RIBBON . . . in a city where work is decentralized by scattered work (9), the placing of industry is of particular importance since it usually needs a certain amount of concentration. Like work communities (41), the industry can easily be placed to help in the formation of the larger boundaries between subcultures—subculture boundary (13). ❖ Place the ribbons near enough to ring roads (17) so that trucks can pass directly from the ribbons to the ring road, without having to pass through any other intermediate areas. Develop the internal layout of the industrial ribbon like any other work community, though slightly more spread out—work community (41). Place the important buildings of each industry, the "heart" of the plant, toward the edge of the ribbon to form usable streets and outdoor spaces—positive outdoor space (106), buii.dinc FRONTS (122). 43 UNIVERSITY AS A MARKETPLACE 231 230 ... the network of learning (18) has established the importance of a whole society devoted to the learning process with decentralized opportunities for learning. The network of learning can be greatly helped by building a university, which trcati the learning process as a normal part of adult life, for all the people in society. + •{• Concentrated, cloistered universities, with closed admiv sion policies and rigid procedures which dictate who may teach a course, kill opportunities for learning. The original universities in the middle ages were simply collections of teachers who attracted students because they had something to offer. They were marketplaces of ideas, located all over the town, where people could shop around for the kinds of idcan and learning which made sense to them. By contrast, the isolated and over-administered university of today kills the variety and intensity of the different ideas at the university and also limits tin-student's opportunity to shop for ideas. To re-create this kind of academic freedom and the opportunity for exchange and growth of ideas two things are needed. First, the social and physical environment must provide a setting which encourages rather than discourages individuality and freedom of thought. Second, the environment must providc a setting which encourages the student to see for himself which ideas make sense—a setting which gives him the maximum opportunity and exposure to a great variety of ideas, so that he can make up his mind for himself. The image which most clearly describes this kind of setting it the image of the traditional marketplace, where hundreds of tiny stalls, each one developing some specialty and unique flavor which can attract people by its genuine quality, are so arranged that | potential buyer can circulate freely, and examine the wares before he buys. 43 UNIVERSITY AS A MARKETPLACE What would it mean to fashion the university after this model? 1. Anyone can take a course. To begin with, in a university marketplace there are no admission procedures. Anyone, at any <»:<•, may come forward and seek to take a class. In effect, the "course catalog" of the university is published and circulated at Urge, in the newspapers and on radio, and posted in public places throughout the region. 2. Anyone can give a course. Similarly, in a university marketplace, anyone can come forward and offer a course. There is no hard and fast distinction between teachers and the rest of the citizenry. If people come forward to take the course, then it is established. There will certainly be groups of teachers banding together and offering interrelated classes; and teachers may set prcrcquisities and regulate enrollment however they sec fit. But, like a true marketplace, the students create the demand. If over ■ period of time no one comes forward to take a professor's course, then he must change his offering or find another way to make a ng. Many courses, once they are organized, can meet in homes irtd meeting rooms all across the town. But some will need more •pace or special equipment, and all the classes will need access to libraries and various other communal facilities. The university marketplace, then, needs a physical structure to support its social •mature. Certainly, a marketplace could never have the form of an isolated campus. Rather it would tend to be open and public, woven through the city, perhaps with one or two streets where university 1.« ilitics are concentrated. In an early version of this pattern, written expressly for the University of Oregon in Eugene, we described in detail the physical setting which we believe complements the marketplace "I Ideal. We advised: Make the university a collection of small buildings, situated along i I' trian paths, each containing one or two educational projects. Make all the horizontal circulation among these projects, in the pub-lli domain, at ground floor. This means that all projects open di-" >lv to a pedestrian path, and that the upper floors of buildings are .'.Hurried directly to the ground, by stairs and entrances. Connect all |h< |"destrian paths, so that, like a marketplace, they form one major I Irian system, with many entrances and openings off it. The over- 232 233 TOWNS UNIVERSITY AS A MARKET all result of this pattern, is that the environment becomes a collection of relatively low buildings, opening off a major system of pedestrian paths, each building containing a series of entrances and staircases, • about 50 foot intervals. Wc still believe that this image of the university, as a marketplace scattered through the town, is correct. Most of these details are given by other patterns, in this book: building complex (95), PEDESTRIAN STREET (lOO), ARCADES (I 19), and open STAIRS (158). Finally, how should a university marketplace be administered? We don't know. Certainly a voucher system where everyone has equal access to payment vouchers seems sensible. And some technique for balancing payment to class size is required, so teachers arc not simply paid according to how many students thei enroll. Furthermore, some kind of evaluation technique It needed, so that reliable information on courses and teachers filters out to the towns people. There arc several experiments going forward in higher education today which may help to solve these administrative questions. The Open University of England, the various "free" universities, such as Heliotrope in San Francisco, the 20 branches of the University Without Walls all over the United States, the university extension programs, which gear their courses entirely to working people—they are all examples of institutions experimenting with different aspects of the marketplace idea. Therefore: Establish the university as a marketplace of higher education. As a social conception this means that the university is open to people of all ages, on a full-time, pan-time, or course by course basis. Anyone can offer a class. Anyone can take a class. Physically, the university marketplace has a central crossroads where its main buildings and offices are, and the meeting rooms and labs ripple out from this crossroads—at first concentrated in small buildings along pedestrian streets and then gradually becoming more dispersed and mixed with the town. marketplace of ideas I university crossroads ' • scattered facilities open admission •> •:• „. unlVersity a promenade (ji) at its central cross- MrcctS-bu.ld.ng complex (95 . £T BACKS (59); Give this central area access to quiet green -Q ......lei Of master and apprentices (83)---- 44 LOCAL TOWN HALL* 236 . according to community of 7000 (12), the political and ......omic life of the city breaks down into small, self-governing Communities, In this case, the process of local government needs • physical place of work; and the design and placing of this physical place of work can help to create and to sustain the (■immunity of 7000 by acting as its physical and social focus. I .oc;il government of communities and local control by tltr inhabitants, will only happen if each community has its own physical town hall which forms the nucleus of its political activity. Wc have argued, in mosaic of subcultures (8), community of 7000 (12), and identifiable neighborhood (14), that •very city needs to be made of self-governing groups, which oxiit at two different levels, the communities with populations of (000 to 10,000 and the neighborhoods with populations of 200 In 1000. These groups will only have the political force to carry out their own, locally determined plans, if they have a share of the luxes which their inhabitants generate, and if the people in the gioups have a genuine, daily possibility of access to the local 1 0V1 inment which represents them. Both require that each group I'.i. its own seat of government, no matter how modest, where the people of the neighborhood feel comfortable, and where they I HO" that they can get results. This calls up a physical image of city government which is quite the opposite of the huge city halls that have been built in tin- last 75 years. A local town hall would contain two basic I' Mures: 1. It is community territory for the group it serves; it is made in .1 way which invites people in for service, spontaneously, to debate policy, and the open space around the building is shaped to sustain people gathering and lingering. 237 TOWNS 2. It is located at the heart of the local community and ll within walking distance of everyone it serves. /. The town hall as community territory. The weakness of community government is due in part to th* kinds of policies created and maintained by the city hall bureau cracy. And we believe this situation is largely supported and bolstered by the physical nature of city hall. In other words, iln physical existence of a city hall undermines local commuting government, even where the city hall staff is sympatheiii M "neighborhood participation." The key to the problem lies in the experience of powerless-ncss at the community level. When a man goes to city hall to take-action on a neighborhood or community issue, he is at once mi the defensive: the building and the staff of city hall serve the entire city; his problem is very small beside the problems of tin city as a whole. And besides, everyone is busy-busy and unfamiliar. He is asked to fill out paper forms and make appointment!, though perhaps the connection between these forms and appointments and his problem are not very clear. Soon the people in the neighborhoods feel more and more remote from city hall, from the center of decision-making and from the decisions themselves which influence their lives. Quickly the syndrome of powcr-lessncss grows. In an earlier publication, we presented a body of evidence to substantiate the growth of this syndrome (A Pattern Language Which Generates Multi-Service Centers, Center for Environmental Structure, Berkeley, 1968, pp. 80-87). There we discovered that centralized service programs reached very few of the people in their target areas; the staff of these centers quickly took on the red tape mentality, even where they were chosen specifically to support neighborhood programs; and, most damaging of all, the centers themselves were seen as alien places, and the experience of using them was, on the whole, debilitating to the people. Like all syndromes, this one can only be broken if it is attacked on its several fronts simultaneously. This means, for example, organizing neighborhoods and communities to take control of the functions that concern them; revising city charters to grant 238 44 LOCAL TOWN HALL ■purer to local groups; and making places, in communities and ■•, m hhorkoods, that act as home bases for the consolidation of Ikii poner—the local town halls. What might these local town halls be like if they are to be diet live in breaking down the syndrome of powerlessness? The evidence shows that people can and will articulate their (fads if given the proper setting and means. Creating this setting guri hand in hand with community organization. If the local town hall is gradually to become a source of real neighborhood power, it must help the process of community organization. This .......<, essentially, that the building be built around the process • I community organization, and that the place be clearly ■ ngni/.ablc as community territory. When we translate the idea of community organization and miiiiuunity territory into physical terms, they yield two com-1 ■units: an arena and a zone of community projects. The community needs a public forum, equipped with sound lystein, benches, walls to put up notices, where people are free In I'.iihcr; .1 place which belongs to the community where people would naturally come whenever they think something should 1« done about something. We call this public forum the arena. And the community needs a place where people can have ICCeu to storefronts, work space, meeting rooms, office equipment. Once a group is ready to move, it takes typewriters, i 'i licating machines, telephones, etc., to carry through with a project and develop broad based community support—and this lit turn needs cheap and readily accessible office space. Wc call this space the community projects zone—sec necklace of Community projects (45) for details. .'. Vhe location of local town halls. If these local town halls are to be successful in drawing people In, the question of their location must be taken seriously. From curlier work on the location of multi-service centers, we are Convinced that town halls can die if they are badly located: ttcriity times as many people drop into community centers when itiry are located near major intersections as when they are buried in the middle of residential blocks. Here, for example, is a table which shows the number of 239 TOWNS 44 LOCAL TOWN HALL people who dropped in at a service center while it was locati I on a residential street, versus the number of people who drop)" I in after it was relocated on a major commercial street, close to • main pedestrian intersection. Before the move Two months after the move Six months after the move Number of people dropping in, per day 1-2 IC-20 about 40 Number of people with appointments, per day 1 5-2O about 50 about 50 The details of this investigation are given in A Pattern Language Which Generates MultiService Centers (pp. 70-73). The conclusion reached there, is that community centers can afford 10 be within a block of the major pedestrian intersections, but il they are farther away, they are virtually dead as centers of local service. This information must be interpreted to suit the different scales of neighborhood and community. We imagine, in a neighborhood of 500, the neighborhood town hall would be quite small and informal; perhaps not even a separate building at all, but a room with an adjoining outdoor room, on an important corner of the neighborhood. In a community of 7000, somcthinn more is required: a building the size of a large house, with an outdoor area developed as a forum and meeting place, located on the community's main promenade. Therefore: community projects * * + Arrange the arena so that it forms the heart of a community ... ,0! and make it small, so that a crowd can east y ^ ,) , [r__ACTIVITY nodes (}0), small public squares (6l), .sTR.an density (.23). Keep all the V^ZS^ ,hi, square as small as possible-sMALL serv.ces without red ,7« ) i -d provide ample space for the community projects I','around L building, so that they form^ the outer face o „)UU jjjii—necklace of community projects U5I- To make the political control of local functions real, establish a small town hall for each community of 7000, and even for each neighborhood; locate it near the busiest intersection in the community. Give the building three parts: an arena for public discussion, public services around the arena, and space to rent out to ad hoc community projects. 240 45 NECKLACE OF COMMUNITY PROJECTS local, town hall (44) calls for small centers of local vcrnment at the heart of every community. This pattern cni-lishcs the local town hall and other public institutions like -university as a marketplace (43) and health center (47)—with a ground for community action. * ❖ * The local town hall will not be an honest part of the • uiiiiiiuiiity which lives around it, unless it is itself surrounded by all kinds of small community activities and projects, generated by the people for themselves. A lively process of community self-government depends on an endless scries of ad hoc political and service groups, functioning freely, each with a proper chance to test its ideas before the townspeople. The spatial component of this idea is crucial: this process will be stymied if people cannot get started in an office on it ilioestring. We derive the geometry of this pattern from five requirements: I, Small, grass roots movements, unpopular at their inception, ploy a vital role in society. They provide a critical opposition to iii.ilili.shcd ideas; their presence is a direct correlate of the right to free speech; a basic part of the self-regulation of a successful ty, which will generate counter movements whenever things 1 ■ 1 nlf the track. Such movements need a place to manifest them-, in a way which puts their ideas directly into the public tain. At this writing, a quick survey of the East Bay shows H \o or 40 bootstrap groups that are suffering for lack of null a place: for example, Alcatraz Indians, Bangla Dcsh Relief, ' uliilarity Films, Tenant Action Project, November 7th Movement, Gay Legal Defense, No on M, People's Translation 1 11 ice. . . . I, But as a rule these groups arc small and have very little Money. To nourish this kind of activity, the community must |iio\ide minimal space to any group of this sort, rent free, with Mine limit on the duration of the lease. The space must be like a 242 TOWNS small storefront and have typewriters, duplicating machines, in I telephones; and access to a meeting room. 3. To encourage the atmosphere of honest debate, these sim. front spaces must be near the town hall, the main crossro.il 1 public life. If they are scattered across the town, away from the main town hall, they cannot seriously contend with the powcu that be. 4. The space must be highly visible. It must be built in a which lets the group get their ideas across, to people on the si 1 • H -And it must be physically organized to undermine the naturll tendency town governments have to wall themselves in and isolate themselves from the community once they are in power. 5. Finally, to bring these groups into natural contact with the community, the fabric of storefronts should be built in include some of the stable shops and services that the communin needs—barbershop, cafe, laundromat. These five requirements suggest a necklace of rather open storefront spaces around the local town hall. This necklace of spaces it a physical embodiment of the political process in an open soii< t\ everyone has access to equipment, space to mount a campaign, and the chance to get their ideas into the public arena. Therefore: Allow the growth of shop-size spaces around the local town hall, and any other appropriate community building. Front these shops on a busy path, and lease them for a minimum rent to ad hoc community groups for political w»ik. trial services, research, and advocate groups. No ideological restrictions. 45 NECKLACE OF COMMUNITY PROJECTS Make each shop small, compact, and easily accessible like i^oJtlv owl shops (87), build small publ.c spaces^ loitering amongst them-PUBUc outdoor room (69). V* hem to form the building edge-bu.M>,nc pront ,(.22) p„c edge (.60), and keep them open to the street-OPEN-ING to the street (165). . ■ • 244 4-6 MARKET OF MANY SHOPS** , . . we have proposed that shops be widely decentralized and placed in such a way that they are most accessible to the communities which use them—web of shopping (19). The largest groups of shops are arranged to form pedestrian streets or •hopping streets (32) which will almost always need a market to survive. This pattern describes the form and economic character of markets. It is natural and convenient to want a market where all tin- different foods and household goods you need can be bought under a single roof. But when the market has a tingle management, like a supermarket, the foods are Ithtnd, and there is no joy in going there. It is true that the large supermarkets do have a great variety ■ •I IihxJs. But this "variety" is still centrally purchased, centrally winliouscd, and still has the stateness of mass merchandise. In addition, there is no human contact left, only rows of shelves and then a harried encounter with the check-out man who takes your money. The only way to get the human contact back, and the variety nl food, and all the love and care and wisdom about individual 1.....Is which shopkeepers who know what they are selling can bring to it, is to create those markets once again in which individual owners sell different goods, from tiny stalls, under a "ininon roof. Ai it stands, supermarkets arc likely to get bigger and bigger, ......nglomcrate with other industries, and to go to all lengths to I'humanize the experience of the marketplace. Horn and 1111 dart, for example, have been contemplating this scheme: ■ , . the customer cither drives her car or walks onto a moving ramp, is conveyed decorously through the whole store, selects her .....rics by viewing samples displayed in lighted wall panels (or unlocking the cases with a special key or her credit card), and chooses hi 1 meat and produce via closed circuit TV. She then drives around 1 separate warehouse area to collect her order, paid for by a uni- 246 247 TOWNS versal credit card system. . . . Most of the people would be invisible. . . . (Jennifer Cross, The Supermarket Trap, New York: Berkeley Medallion, 1971). Now contrast this with the following description of an old-fashioned market place in San Francisco: If you visit the Market regularly you come to have favorite stalls, like the one with the pippin and Hauer apples from Watsonville. The fanner looks at each apple as he chooses it and places it in the bag, reminding you to keep them in a cool place so they will remain crisp and sweet. If you display interest, he tells you with pride about the orchard they come from and how they were grown and cared for, his blue eyes meeting yours. His English is spoken with a slight Italian accent so you wonder about the clear blue eyes, light brown hair and long-boned body until he tells you about the part of northern Italy where he was born. There is a handsome black man offering small mountains of melons where the stalls end. Tell him you arc not enough of an expert in choose one you would like to have perfect for the day after tomorrow, and he will not only pick one out that he assures you will be just right (as it turns out to be), but gives you a lesson in choosing your next melon, whether cranshaw, honcydew or watermelon, wherever you may happen to buy it. He cares that you will always get a good one and enjoy it. ("The Farmers Go to Market," California Living, San Francisco Chronicle Sunday Magazine, February 6, 197a.) There is no doubt that this is far more human and enlivening than the supermarket conveyor belt. The critical question lies with the economics of the operation. Is there a reasonable economic basis for a marketplace of many shops? Or are markets ruled out by the efficiencies of the supermarket? There do not seem to be any economic obstacles more serious than those which accompany the start of any business. The major problem is one of coordination—coordination of individual shops to form one coherent market and coordination of many similar shops, from several markets, to make bulk purchase arrangements. If individual shops are well located, they can operate competitively, at profit margins of up to 5 per cent of sales ("Expenses in Retail Business," National Cash Register, Dayton, Ohio, p. 15). According to National Cash Register figures, this profit margin stays the same, regardless of size, for all convenience food stores. The small stores are often undercut by supermarkets because thev are located by themselves, and therefore cannot offer shoppers 46 MARKET OF MANY SHOPS 1 In ..ime variety at one stop, as the supermarket. However, if many of these small shops are clustered and centrally located, and together they offer a variety comparable to the supermarket, then iln ) can compete effectively with the chain supermarkets. The one efficiency that chain stores do maintain is the efficiency 11I bulk purchase. But even this can be offset if groups of similar hops, all over the town, coordinate their needs and set up bulk purchase arrangements. For example, in the Bay Area there . . number of flower vendors running their business from small MM) on the street. Although each vendor manages his own affairs In I. pendently, all the vendors go in together to buy their flowers. They gain enormously by purchasing their flowers in bulk and undersell the established florists three to one. Of course, it is difficult for a market of many shops to get Urtcd—it is hard to find a place and hard to finance it. We 1 1 1 use a very rough and simple structure in the beginning, that run l>c filled in and improved over time. The market in the ... in Lima, Peru, began with nothing more than frec-.1 ling columns and aisles. The shops—most of them no more than six feet by nine—were built up gradually between the nliimns. A market in Peru began with nothing more than columns. 248 249 TOWNS 46 MARKET OF MANY SHOPS A spectacular example of a simple wood structure that has been modified and enlarged over the years is the Pike Place Market in Seattle, Washington. The Pike Place Market—a market of many shops in Seattle. Therefore: Instead of modern supermarkets, establish frequent mil ketplaces, each one made up of many smaller shops which are autonomous and specialized (cheese, meat, grain, fruil, and so on). Build the structure of the market as a mini mum, which provides no more than a roof, columns which define aisles, and basic services. Within this structure allow the different shops to create their own environment, according to their individual taste and needs. M.ikc the aisles wide enough for small delivery carts and for a ttftto throng of pedestrians—perhaps 6 to 12 feet wide—build-INii ntoROUGHFARE (i o i) ; keep the stalls extremely small so that tl»' 1 tul is low—perhaps no mure than six feet by nine feet— Pops which need more space can occupy two individually 1 1. mioi's (87) ; define the stalls with columns at the corners IMtlv columns at the corners (212); perhaps even let the HMiicrt make roofs for themselves—canvas roofs (244); connect Miles with the outside so that the market is a direct continuation of the pedestrian paths in the city just around it—pedes- 1 l'1 v. i rekt ( IOO) .... 47 HEALTH CENTER ... the explicit recognition of the life cycle as the basis for every individual life will do a great deal to help people's health in the community—life cycle (26) ; this pattern describes the more specific institutions which help people to care for themselves and their health. More than 90 per cent of the people walking about in an ordinary neighborhood are unhealthy, judged by simple biological criteria. This ill health cannot be cured by hospitals or medicine. Hospitals put the emphasis on sickness. They are enormously expensive; they are inconvenient because they are too centralized 1 and they tend to create sickness, rather than cure it, because doctors get paid when people are sick. By contrast, in traditional Chinese medicine, people pay the doctor only when they are healthy; when they are sick, he it obliged to treat them, without payment. The doctors have incentives to keep people well. A system of health care which is actually capable of keeping people healthy, in both mind and body, must put its emphasis 011 health, not sickness. It must therefore be physically decentralize.! so that it is as close as possible to people's everyday activities. An.I it must be able to encourage people in daily practices that lead to health. The core of the solution, as far as we can see, must be a system of small, widely distributed, health centers, which encourage physical activities—swimming, dancing, sports, and fresh air—and provide medical treatment only as an incidental side of these activities. There is converging evidence and speculation in the health 47 HEALTH CENTER t«rc literature that health centers with these characteristics, organized according to the philosophy of health maintenance, are Critical. (See, for example: William H. Glazier, "The Task of (medicine," Scientific American, Vol. 228, No. 4, April 1973' ■p. 13-17; and Milton Roemer, "Nationalized Medicine for Smcrica," Transaction, September 1971, p. 31.) We know of several attempts to develop health care programs ivhiih are in line with this proposal. In most of the cases, though, thi programs fall short in their hopes because, despite their good Intentions, they still tend to cater to the sick, they do not work i" maintain health. Take, for example, the so-called "community niental health centers" encouraged by the United States National Inititutc of Mental Health during the late 1960's. On paper, lltcic centers arc intended to encourage health, not cure sickness. In practice it is a very different story. We visited one of the llliMt advanced, in San Ansclmo, California. The patients sit •found all day long; their eyes are glazed; they are half-enthusi-Mlieally doing "clay therapy" or "paint therapy." One patient lime up to us and said, "Doctor," his eyes shining with happiness, "thin is a wonderful mental health center; it is the very best one I have ever been in." In short, the patients arc kept as patients; (dry understand themselves to be patients; in certain cases they even revel in their role as patients. They have no useful occupation, no work, nothing useful they can show at the end of a day, nothing to be proud of. The center, for all its intentions to be human, in fact reinforces the patients' idea of their own sickness and encourages the behavior of sickness, even while it is preaching and advocating health. The same is true for the Kaiscr-Pcrmancnte program in 1 ilifornia. The Kaiser hospitals have been hailed in a recent .....Ic as "ones which shift the emphasis away from treatment id illness and toward the maintenance of health (William H. (Mazier, "The Task of Medicine"). Members of Kaiser are en-tilled to a multi-phasic examination yearly, intended to give • my member a complete picture of the state of his health. But < (inception of health which is created by this multi-phasic Ingram is still "freedom from sickness." It is essentially negative. I'here is no effort made toward the positive creation and mainte-nrc of actual, blooming, health. And besides, the Kaiser Center I' 1 2C2 253 TOWNS is still nothing but a giant hospital. People are treated as numbers; the center is so large and concentrated that the doctofl cannot possibly see their patients as people in their natural communities. They sec them as patients. The only health center we know which actually devoted itself to health instead of sickness was the famous Peckham Health Center in England. The Peckham Center was a club, run by two doctors, focused on a swimming pool, a dance floor, and a cafe. In addition, there were doctors' offices, and it was understood that families—never individuals—would receive periodic check-ups as part of their activities around the swimming and dancing. Under these conditions, people used the center regularly, during the day and at night. The question of their health became fused with the ordinary life of the community, and thi« set the stage for a most extraordinary kind of health care. For example, it seems that many of the mothers in working-class pre-war England, were ashamed of their own bodies. This shame reached such proportions that they were ashamed of suckling and holding their own babies, and in many cases they actually did not want their babies as a result. The Peckham Center was able to dismantle this syndrome entirely by its emphasis on health. The program of swimming and dancing, coupled with the family checkups, allowed women to become proud of their own bodies; they no longer felt afraid of their own newborn babies, no longer felt shame about their bodies; the babies felt wanted; and the incidence of emotional disturbance and childhood psychosis among the children in later years was drastically reduced within the Peckham population, starting exactly from the year when the health center began its operation. This kind of profound biological connection between physical health, family life, and emotional welfare was truly the beginning of a new era in human biology. It is described, beautifully, and at length, by two doctors from Peckham Center (Innes Pcarse and Lucy Crocker, The Peckham Experiment, A Study in the Living Structure of Society, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1946). Only when biological ideas of this depth and power arc taken seriously will it be possible to have real health centers, instead of sickness centers. 47 HEALTH CENTER Therefore: Gradually develop a network of small health centers, perhaps one per community of 7000, across the city; each ■ quipped to treat everyday disease—both mental and physical, in children and adults—but organized essentially around ■ functional emphasis on those recreational and educational ■it tivities which help keep people in good health, like swimming and dancing. small centers teams of doctors * ❖ * Keep the medical teams small and independent—small IMvices without red tape (81), but coordinated with each It he 1 and other clinics, like birth places (6.5)—throughout ill- iown. Give each center some functions that fuse with the ordinary course of local work and recreation: swimming pool, ■ i diops, sauna, gym, vegetable garden, greenhouse. But don't Jorcc these facilities to form a continuous "health park"—knit them together loosely with other parts of the town—housing- in iii i ween (48), local sports (72), adventure playground (7t), home workshop ( i 5 7) , vegetable garden ( i 77) . Per- hty» the most important subsidiary pattern for helping people to kfep healthy is the opportunity for swimming; ideally, try and i in a swimming pool on every block—still water (71). . . . 254 *55 48 HOUSING IN BETWEEN** . . most housing is in residential neighborhoods, and in the ■ lusters within neighborhoods—identifiable neighborhood (14), house cluster (37) ; and according to our patterns these housing areas need to be separated by boundaries which contain 1 ilblic land and work communities—subculture boundary (13)1 neighborhood boundary (15), work community (41). Kin even these work communities, and boundaries, and shopping itreets, must contain houses which have people living in them. 4> 4> <|> Wherever there is a sharp separation between residential .■■id nonresidential parts of town, the nonresidential areas will quickly turn to slums. The personal rhythms of maintenance and repair arc central in the well being of any part of a community, because it is only these rhythms which keep up a steady sequence of adaptations and mi icctions in the organization of the whole. Slums happen when these rhythms break down. Now in a town, the processes of maintenance and repair hinge ■11 the fact of user ownership. In other words, the places where teople are user-owners are kept up nicely; the places where they «rc not, tend to run down. When people have their own homes among shops, workplaces, schools, services, the university, these places are enhanced by the vitality that is natural to their homes. I hey extend themselves to make it personal and comfortable. A person will put more of himself into his home than into any of 'In other places where he spends his time. And it is unlikely that a person can put this kind of feeling into two places, two parts of hit life. We conclude that many parts of the environment have ilu arid quality of not being cared for personally, for the simple reason that indeed nobody lives there. 11 is only where houses are mixed in between the other functions, in twos and threes, in rows and tiny clusters, that the per-•oti.il quality of the households and house-building activities gives energy to the workshops and offices and services. 257 TOWNS Therefore: Build houses into the fabric of shops, small industry) schools, public services, universities—all those parts of citici which draw people in during the day, but which tend tti be "nonresidential." The houses may be in rows or "hiIK" with shops beneath, or they may be free-standing, so long as they mix with the other functions, and make the entitr area "lived-in." [|1 UJLP occasional houses Make sure that, in spite of its position in a public area, each house still has enough private territory for people to feel at home in it—your own home (79). If there are several houses in one area, treat them as a cluster or as a row—house cluster (37), row houses (38). . . . between the house clusters and work communities, allow the local road and path net-work to grow informally, piecemeal: 49. LOOPED LOCAL ROADS 50. T JUNCTIONS 51. GREEN STREETS 52. NETWORK OF PATHS AND CARS 53. MAIN GATEWAYS 54. ROAD CROSSING 55. RAISED WALK 56. BIKE PATHS AND RACKS 57. CHILDREN IN THE CITY 49 LOOPED LOCAL ROADS , . . assume that neighborhoods, house clusters, work communities, and major roads arc more or less defined—local transport AREAS (ll), identifiable neighborhood (14), parallel roads (23), house cluster (37), work community (41). NoW, for the layout of the local roads. Nobody wants fast through traffic going by their homes. Through traffic is fast, noisy, and dangerous. At the same time cars are important, and cannot be excluded altogether from the mcas where people live. Local roads must provide access to houses but prevent traffic from coming through. This problem can only be solved if all roads which have houses on 1 hem arc laid out to be "loops." We define a looped road as any road in a road network so placed that no path along other toads in the road network can be shortened by travel along the •'loop." The loops themselves must be designed to discourage high Volumes or high speeds: this depends on the total number of auses served by the loop, the road surface, the road width, and number of curves and corners. Our observations suggest that a a»p can be made safe so long as it serves less than ;o cars. At one and one-half cars per house, such a loop serves 30 houses; at ...... car per house, 50 houses; at one-half car per house, 100 houses. Here is an example of an entire system of looped local roads designed for a community of 1 500 houses in Peru. Looped local roads in Lima. 261 TOWNS 11 I1-)S~~~FT A tuay of closing streets to form looped local roads. Dead-end streets arc also loops, according to the definition. However, cul-de-sacs are very bad from a social standpoint they force interaction and they feel claustrophobic, because there is only one entrance. When auto traffic forms a dead end, nuke sure that the pedestrian path is a through path, leading into the cul-de-sac from one direction, and out of it in another direction, Pedestrian ti u. roads (49), green streets (51); major paths by activ-111 nodes (30), promenade (31), and paths and goals (120). This pattern governs the interaction between the two. Cars are dangerous to pedestrians; yet activities occur just where cars and pedestrians meet. It is common planning practice to separate pedestrians and cars. I'hii makes pedestrian areas more human and safer. However, this practice fails to take account of the fact that cars and pedestrians also need each other: and that, in fact, a great deal of urban life occurs at just the point where these two systems meet. Many of tin- greatest places in cities, Piccadilly Circus, Times Square, the Champs Elysccs, are alive because they are at places where pedestrians and vehicles meet. New towns like Cumbernauld, in Scotland, where there is total separation between the two, seldom have the same sort of liveliness. The same thing is true at the local residental scale. A great deal of everyday social life occurs where cars and pedestrians Rtect. In Lima, for example, the car is used as an extension of 1 In- house: men, especially, often sit in parked cars, near their Iiimim:s, drinking beer and talking. And in one way or another, •Dinething like this happens everywhere. Conversation and dis-CUMion grow naturally around the lots where people wash their fart. Vendors set themselves up where cars and pedestrians meet; ihey need all the traffic they can get. Children play in parking 270 Children like cars. 271 TOWNS lots—perhaps because they sense that this is the main point o! arrival and departure; and of course because they like the can, Yet, at the same time, it is essential to keep pedestrians separaic from vehicles: to protect children and old people; to preserve- iIn tranquility of pedestrian life. To resolve the conflict, it is necessary to find an arrangement of pedestrian paths and roads, so that the two are separate, but meet frequently, with the points where they meet recogni/.cd ,11 focal points. In general, this requires two orthogonal networks, one for roads, one for paths, each connected and continuous, crossing at frequent intervals (our observations suggest that most points on the path network should be within l 50 feet of the nearest road), meeting, when they meet, at right angles. Two orthogonal networks. In practice, there are several possible ways of forming this relationship between the roads and paths. It can be done within the system of fast one-way roads about 300 feet apart described in parallel roads (23). Between 1 Inroads there are pedestrian paths running at right angles to the roads, with buildings opening off the pedestrian paths. Where the Path between parallel roads. 52 NETWORK OF PATHS AND CARS •thi intersect the roads there are small parking lots with space (or kiosks and shops. It can be applied to an existing neighborhood—as it is in the following sequence of plans drawn by the People's Architects, Berkeley, California. This shows a beautiful and simple way of treating a path network in an existing grid of streets, by closing ttff alternate streets, in each direction. As the drawings show, it hi be done gradually. The growth of a path network in a street grid. Different again, is our project for housing in Lima. Here the two orthogonal systems are laid out as follows: Roads. Pedestrian paths. The two together. |„ all these cases, we see a global pattern, in wh.ch roads and N|h. are created more or less at the same time-and there ore Lu>ht into the proper relationship. However, it .s essential to 1 „K„i/e that in most practical applications of this pattern, it is 272 273 TOWNS not necessary to locate the roads and paths together. Mini typically of all, there is an existing road system: and the pathl can be put in one by one, piecemeal, at right angles to the exit!' ing roads. Slowly, very slowly, a coherent path network will I* created by the accumulation of these piecemeal acts. Finally, note that this kind of separation of cars from pe 1-trians is only appropriate where traffic densities arc medium m medium high. At low densities (for instance, a cul-de-sac gravel road serving half-a-dozen houses), the paths and roads can obviously be combined. There is no reason even to have sidewalks green streets (51). At very high densities, like the Champ* Elysces, or Piccadilly Circus, a great deal of the excitement it actually created by the fact that pedestrian paths are running along the roads. In these cases the problem is best solved by extra wide sidewalks—raised walks (55)—which actually contain the resolution of the conflict in their width. The edge away from the road is safe—the edge near the road is the place where the activities happen. Therefore: Except where traffic densities are very high or very low, lay out pedestrian paths at right angles to roads, not alonp, them, so that the paths gradually begin to form a second network, distinct from the road system, and orthogonal tp it. This can be done quite gradually—even if you put in one path at a time, but always put them in the middle of the "block," so that they run across the roads. road crossings 52 NETWORK OF PATHS AND CARS * * + Where paths have to run along major roads—as they do oc-caaionally—build them 18 inches higher than the road, on one side of the road only, and twice the usual width—raised walk (55); on creen streets (51) the paths can be in the road tince there is nothing but grass and paving stones there; but even ■then, occasional narrow paths at right angles to the green streets arc very beautiful. Place the paths in detail according to paths and goals (I 20) ; shape them according to path shape (121). Finally, treat the important street crossings as crosswalks, raised id the level of the pedestrian path—so cars have to slow down Kb they go over them—road crossing (54). . , . 53 MAIN GATEWAYS** [ i , . at various levels in the structure of the town, there are Identifiable units. There are neighborhoods—identifiable ■ i ii.11i!iu (14), clusters—house cluster (37), communities of work—work community (41); and there are many smaller building complexes ringed around some realms of circula- li'll building complex (95), circulation realms (98). All • i( them get their identity most clearly from the fact that you pass through a definite gateway to enter them—it is this gateway h ting as a threshold which creates the unit. Any part of a town—large or small—which is to be iden-hImiI by its inhabitants as a precinct of some kind, will In uinforced, helped in its distinctness, marked, and made 1111 lie vivid, if the paths which enter it are marked by I m ways where they cross the boundary. Many parts of a town have boundaries drawn around them. These boundaries are usually in people's minds. They mark the hi I of one kind of activity, one kind of place, and the beginning "I another. In many cases, the activities themselves are made more harp, more vivid, more alive, if the boundary which exists in people's minds is also present physically in the world. A boundary around an important precinct, whether a neigh-IkiiIhxk), a building complex, or some other area, is most critical ■ I those points where paths cross the boundary. If the point where the path crosses the boundary is invisible, then to all in- .....1 and purposes the boundary is not there. It will be there, it will be felt, only if the crossing is marked. And essentially, the ..... nig of a boundary by a path can only be marked by a gate-Way. That is why all forms of gateway play such an important role in the environment. A gateway can have many forms: a literal gate, a bridge, a pas-Wgr between narrowly separated buildings, an avenue of trees, a gateway through a building. All of these have the same function: they mark the point where a path crosses a boundary and help 277 TOWNS maintain the boundary. All of them are "things"—not mcr holes or gaps, but solid entities. Gateways mark the foint of transition. In every case, the crucial feeling which this solid thing must create is the feeling of transition. Therefore: Mark every boundary in the city which has important human meaning—the boundary of a building cluster, a neighborhood, a precinct—by great gateways where th. major entering paths cross the boundary. gateway boundary 53 MAIN GATEWAYS •> Make the gateways solid elements, visible from every line of approach, enclosing the paths, punching a hole through a building, i reating a bridge or a sharp change of level—but above all make them "things," in just the same way specified for main entrance 4 i i o), but make them larger. Whenever possible, emphasize the Irrling of transition for the person passing through the gateway, i | illowing change of light, or surface, view, crossing water, a .lunge of level—entrance transition (112). In every case, treat the main gateway as the starting point of the pedestrian cir-1 illation inside the precinct—circulation realms (98). . . . 278 279 54 ROAD CROSSING . under the impetus of parallel roads (23) and network Of paths and cars (52), paths will gradually grow at right angles .....i.ijor roads—not along them as they do now. This is an en- ||r< ly new kind of situation, and requires an entirely new physical tfentment to make it work. ♦ ♦ ♦ Where paths cross roads, the cars have power to frighten mil subdue the people walking, even when the people milking have the legal right-of-way. This will happen whenever the path and the road are at the Mine level. No amount of painted white lines, crosswalks, traffic . button operated signals, ever quite manage to change the (lit that a car weighs a ton or more, and will run over any ■fdcitrian, unless the driver brakes. Most often the driver does nrnkc. But everyone knows of enough occasions when brakes have (tiled, or drivers gone to sleep, to be perpetually wary and afraid. I lie people who cross a road will only feel comfortable and safe If the road crossing is a physical obstruction, which physically guarantees that the cars must slow down and give way to pedestrians. In many places it is recognized by law that pedestrians Ikvc the right-of-way over automobiles. Yet at the crucial points where paths cross roads, the fhyskal arrangement gives priority tD tart. The road is continuous, smooth, and fast, interrupting the Mklcitrian walkway at the junctions. This continuous road surface M'tilally implies that the car has the right-of-way. What should crossings be like to accommodate the needs of the I I >l' -.irians? The fact that pedestrians feel less vulnerable to cars when they • i< ilmil 18 inches above them, is discussed in the next pattern ■ 1 1 n walk (5;). The same principle applies, even more powerfully, where pedestrians have to cross a road. The pedes-IrUnt who cross must be extremely visible from the road. Cars ■11m also he forced to slow down when they approach the cross-■<>r If the pedestrian way crosses 6 to 12 inches above the road- 281 TOWNS way, and the roadway slopes up to it, this satisfies both require, ments. A slope of i in 6, or less, is safe for cars and solid cmmuli to slow them down. To make the crossing even easier to sec I...... a distance and to give weight to the pedestrian's right to be tin in , the pedestrian path could be marked by a canopy at the edgi o! the road—canvas roofs (244). Almost a road crossing . . . but no bumf. We know that this pattern is rather extraordinary. For tliii reason, we consider it quite essential that readers do not try to use it on every road, for formalistic reasons, but only on those roads where it is badly needed. We therefore comoletc the problem statement b/ defining a simple experiment which you on .In to decide whether or not a given crossing needs this treatment. Go to the road in question several times, at different times of day. Each time you go, count the number of seconds you have to wait before you can cross the road. If the average of these waiting times is more than two seconds, then we recommend you use the pattern. (On the basis of Buchanan's statement that roads lie-come threatening to pedestrians when the volume of traffic on them creates an average delay of two seconds or more, for people trying to cross on foot. See the extensive discussion, Colin Buchanan ct al., Traffic in Towns, HMSO, London, 1963, pp. 203-13.) M vou cannot do this experiment, or the road is not yet built, you may be able to guess, by using the chart below. It shows which combinations of volume and width will typically create more than a two-second average delay. 54 ROAD CROSSING o 100 200 300 vehicles per hour Roads that jail in the shaded region require special crossings. One final note. This pattern may be impossible to implement, in places where traffic engineers are still in control. Nevertheless iln- functional, issue is vital, and must not be ignored. A big wide foad, with several lanes of heavy traffic can form an almost impenetrable barrier. In this case, you can solve the problem, at least I ini.illy, by creating islands—certainly one in the middle, and per-llapi extra islands, between adjacent lanes. This has a huge effect |n a person's capacity to cross the road, for a very simple reason. II miii arc trying to cross a wide road, you have to wait for a gap lo occur simultaneously in each of the lanes. It is the waiting for iln coincidence of gaps that creates the problem. But if you can hop, from island to island, each time a gap occurs in any one lane, one lane at a time, you can get across in no time at all—because the gaps which occur in individual lanes are many many times Iln in- frequent, than the big gaps in all lanes at the same time. Ho, if you can't raise the crossing, at least use islands, like stepping Hones. Therefore: \i any point where a pedestrian path crosses a road that I.' enough traffic to create more than a two second delay to people crossing, make a "knuckle" at the crossing: 282 283 TOWNS narrow the road to the width of the through lanes only, continue the pedestrian path through the crossing aboul | foot above the roadway; put in islands between lanes; slop! the road up toward the crossing (i in 6 maximum); marl the path with a canopy or shelter to make it visible. raised crosswalk On one side or the other of the road make the pedestrian path swell out to form a tiny square, where food stands cluster rouil I a bus Stop-small public squares (6l), bus stop (92), ....... stands (93) ; provide one or two bays for standing space for bum and cars-—small parking lots (103), and when a path musi ..... from the road crossing along the side of the road, keep it to on* side only, make it as wide as possible, and raised above the road way—raised walk (55). Perhaps build the canopy as a in-l lis or canvas roof—trellised walk (174), canvas ROOF) (244). . . . 55 RAISED WALK* 284 285 5 5 RAISED WALK . . . this pattern helps complete the network of paths ash cars (52) and road crossings (54). It is true that in most cases, pedestrian paths which follow the path network will be running across roads, not next to them. But still, from time to time, especially along major parallel Roads (23), between one rati crossing and the next, there is a need for paths along the roid This pattern gives these special paths their character. Where fast moving cars and pedestrians meet in citiflf, the cars overwhelm the pedestrians. The car is king, and people are made to feel small. This cannot be solved by keeping pedestrians separate froffl cars; it is in their nature that they have to meet, at least occi. sionally—network of paths and cars (52). What can be j..... at those points where cars and pedestrians do meet? On an ordinary street, cars make pedestrians feel small and vulnerable because the sidewalks are too narrow and too low, When the sidewalk is too narrow, you feel you are going to I .ill off, or get pushed off—and there is always a chance that you will step off just in front of a passing car. When the sidewaik is toe low, you feel that cars can easily mount the sidewalk, if they ft out of control, and crush you. It is clear, then, that pedestrian will feel comfortable, powerful, safe, and free in their movement! when the walks they walk on are both wide enough to keep lh# Traditional raised walk in Pichuealis, Mexico. 286 uplc well away from the cars, and high enough to make it unite impossible for any car to drive up on them by accident. We first consider the width. What is the appropriate width 1 a raised walk? The famous example, of course, is the Champs ysces, where the sidewalk is more than 30 feet wide, and Wry comfortable. In our own experience, a walk of half this width, along a typical shopping street with traffic, is still com-fortable; but 12 feet or less, and a pedestrian begins to feel tramped and threatened by cars. A conventional sidewalk is often .....nore than 6 feet wide; and people really feel the presence of the cars. How can we afford the extra width which people need In order to be comfortable? One way: instead of putting sidewalks Jong both sides of a road, we can put a double width raised walk tfcng one side of the road only, with road crossings at intervals • I 100 to 300 feet. This means, of course, that there can only be ■hops along one side of the road. What is the right height for a raised walk? Our experiments suggest that pedestrians begin to feel secure when they are about IK inches above the cars. There are a number of possible reasons tin this finding. (>nc possible reason. When the car is down low and the pedestrian world physically higher, pedestrians feel, symbolically, that they are more important than the cars and therefore feel ir. lire. Another possible reason. It may be that the car overwhelms the pedestrian because of a constant, unspoken possibility that a runaway car might at any moment mount the curb and run him down. A ear can climb an ordinary six inch curb easily. For the pe- • lniri.in to feel certain that a car could not climb the curb, the .ml' height would have to be greater than the radius of a car tire 1 1 ■1 to 15 inches). Another possible reason. Most people's eye level is between ft and 6? inches. A typical car has an overall height of 55 inches. Although tall people can see over cars, even for them, the cars (ill the landscape since a standing person's normal line of sight • 10 degrees below the horizontal (Henry Dreyfus, The Measure «/ Man, New York, 1958, sheet F). To put a car 12 feet away Completely below a pedestrian's line of sight, it would have to be On a road some 18 to 30 inches below the pedestrian. 287 TOWNS to T -> Keep the cars below a person's line of sight. Therefore: Wc conclude that any pedestrian path along a road carry-ing fast-moving cars should be about 18 inches above ihr road, with a low wall or railing, or balustrade along uV edge, to mark the edge. Put the raised walk on only 001 side of the road—make it as wide as possible. 12 feet wide, at least 1 18 inches h i.■ I. run Protect the raised walk from the road, by means of a low wall —sitting wall (243). An arcade built over the walk, will, with its columns, give an even greater sense of comfort and protect..... —arcades (119). At the end of blocks and at special poinii where a car might pull in to pick up or drop passengers, build steps into the raised walk, large enough so people can sit there and wait in comfort—stair seats (125). . . . 56 BIKE PATHS AND RACKS' 288 . . . within a local transport area (ii) there is a heal * concentration of small vehicles like bikes, electric carts, perhtBl even horses, which need a system of bike paths. The bike paths will play a very large role in helping to create the local transport areas, and may also help to modify looped local roads (49) and network of paths and cars (52). ♦ ♦ + Bikes are cheap, healthy, and good for the environment but the environment is not designed for them. Bikes mi roads are threatened by cars; bikes on paths threaten pedes trians. In making the environment safe for bikes, the following problems must be solved: 1. Bikes are threatened where they meet or cross heavy antO mobile traffic. 2. They are also threatened by parked cars. Parked cars make it difficult for the bike rider to see other people, and they make it difficult for other people to see him. In addition, since the bike rider usually has to ride close to parked cars, he is always in danger of someone opening a car door in front of him. 3. Bikes endanger pedestrians along pedestrian paths; yet people often tend to ride bikes along pedestrian paths, not roads, because they arc the shortest routes. 4. Where bikes arc in heavy use, for instance around school* and universities, they can lay a pedestrian precinct to waste in their own way, just as cars can. An obvious solution to these problems is to create a completely independent system of bike paths. However, it is doubtful th.il this is a viable or desirable solution. The study "Students on Wheels" (Jany, Putney, and Rittcri Department of Landscape Architecture, University of Oregon, Eugene, Oregon, 1972) shows that bike riders and nonbike riders want a mixed system, so long as it is reasonably safe. We also think that it is essential for bike paths to run in streets 290 56 BIKE PATHS AND RACKS and along pedestrian paths: if bikes are forced onto a separate IfMtcm, it will almost certainly be violated by people taking shortcuts across the other networks. And laws which would keep bikes tninplctcly off the road and path systems would be discouraging HI the already hasselcd bike riders. Wherever possible, then, bike I paths should coincide with roads and major pedestrian paths. Where bike paths coincide with major roads, they must be separated from the roadway. It helps put the bike rider in a safer position with respect to the cars if the bike path is raised a few mi lies from the road; or separated by a row of trees. Where bike paths run alongside local roads, parking should be "amoved from that side of the road; the bike surface may simply I" p.irt of the road and level with it. An article by Bascomc in |hi Oregon Daily Emerald (October 1971) suggested that bike lanes along streets should always be on the sunny side of the ttrcet. Where bike paths coincide with major pedestrian paths, they li'.ul I be separate from the paths, perhaps a few inches below tin 111. Here, the change in level gives the pedestrian a sense of 'lily from the bikes. Ouict paths and certain pedestrian precincts should be com-pli ill) protected from bikes for the same reasons that they need in be protected from cars. This can be handled by making the hike path system bypass these places, or by enclosing these places mill steps or low walls which force bike riders to dismount and »v,ilk their bikes. Therefore: Build a system of paths designated as bike paths, with ilu following properties: the bike paths are marked clearly with a special, easily recognizable surface (for example, a ird asphalt surface). As far as possible they run along local i".ids, or major pedestrian paths. Where a bike path runs ilong a local road, its surface may be level with the road tl possible, on the sunny side; where a bike path runs llong a pedestrian path, keep it separate from that path and > lew inches below it. Bring the system of bike paths to 291 TOWNS within ioo feet of every building, and give every building i bike rack near its main entrance. bike path system racks special surface Build the racks for bikes to one side of the main entrance, mi that the bikes don't interfere with people's natural movement in and out—main entrance (no), and give it some shelter, null the path from the racks to the entrance also under shekel arcades (119); keep the bikes out of quiet walks and qultt gardens—quiet backs (59), garden wall (173). . . . 292 293 57 CHILDREN IN THE CITY . . . roads, bike paths, and main pedestrian paths are given thi || position by parallel roads (23), promenade (31), toop|| local roads (49), green streets (51), network of PATH and cars (52), bike paths and racks (56). Some of tflCUl It* safe for children, others are less safe. Now, finally, to complete the paths and roads, it is essential to define at least one place, right in the very heart of cities, where children can be completely free and safe. If handled properly, this pattern can play a great rod in helping to create the network of learning (18). If children are not able to explore the whole of the adull world round about them, they cannot become adults. Dm modern cities are so dangerous that children cannot be ..I lowed to explore them freely. The need for children to have access to the world of adults it so obvious that it goes without saying. The adults transmit their ethos and their way of life to children through their actions, mil through statements. Children learn by doing and by copying. If the child's education is limited to school and home, and all the vast undertakings of a modern city arc mysterious and inaccessible, it is impossible for the child to find out what it really means to be an adult and impossible, certainly, for him to copy it by doing. This separation between the child's world and the adult world is unknown among animals and unknown in traditional societies. In simple villages, children spend their days side by side with farmers in the fields, side by side with people who are building houses, side by side, in fact, with all the daily actions of the men and women round about them: making pottery, counting money, curing the sick, praying to God, grinding corn, arguing about the future of the village. But in the city, life is so enormous and so dangerous, that children can't be left alone to roam around. There is constant danger from fast-moving cars and trucks, and dangerous machinery. There is a small but ominous danger of kidnap, or rape, 11 ...nth. And, for the smallest children, there is the simple dan-"I getting lost. A small child just doesn't know enough to inil It is way around a city. I he problem seems nearly insoluble. But we believe it can be • 1 least partly solved by enlarging those parts of cities where • "i.ll children can be left to roam, alone, and by trying to make •Mte that these protected children's belts are so widespread and so In ii-.iching that they touch the full variety of adult activities ind iv.iys of life. We imagine a carefully developed childrens' bicycle path, •11I1111 the larger network of bike paths. The path goes past and through interesting parts of the city; and it is relatively safe. It u part of the overall system and therefore used by everyone. It 11 mil a special children's "ride"—which would immediately be • I.mined by the adventurous young—but it does have a special Minr, and perhaps it is specially colored. BE x. Thc path is always a bike path; it never runs beside cars. Where it crosses traffic there are lights or bridges. There are hi nr. homes and shops along the path—adults are nearby, es-!•■ idly the old enjoy spending an hour a day sitting along this 1 'ili, themselves riding along the loop, watching the kids out of 1I1. , urner of one eye. And most important, the great beauty of this path is that it panel along and even through those functions and parts of a town hii h are normally out of reach: the place where newspapers arc •tinted, the place where milk arrives from the countryside and n l-ottled, the pier, the garage where people make doors and windows, the alley behind restaurant row, the cemetery. Therefore: As part of the network of bike paths, develop one system nl paths that is extra safe—entirely separate from automo- 294 295 TOWNS biles, with lights and bridges at the crossings, with homi and shops along it, so that there are always many eyes (MR the path. Let this path go through every neighborhood, ••> that children can get onto it without crossing a main rood And run the path all through the city, down pedcstii.in streets, through workshops, assembly plants, warehon k interchanges, print houses, bakeries, all the interesting "invisible" life of a town—so that the children can roaiH freely on their bikes and trikes. "children's way" bike path city life road crossings in the communities and neighborhoods provide public open land where people can relax, rub shoulders and renew themselves; 58. CARNIVAL 59. QUIET BACKS 60. ACCESSIBLE GREEN 61. SMALL PUBLIC SQUARES 62. HIGH PLACES 63. DANCING IN THE STREET 64. POOLS AND STREAMS 65. BIRTH PLACES 66. HOLY GROUND + <• "J* Line the children's path with windows, especially from room* that are in frequent use, so that the eyes upon the street make il safe for the children—street windows (164); make it touch the children's places all along the path—connected play (68), adventure playground (73), shopfront schools (80 i children's home (86), but also make it touch other phases of the life cycle—old people everywhere (40), work community (41), university as a marketplace (43), grave SI i I | (70), local sports (72), animals (74), teenage society (84)---- 296 297 CARNIVAL W. . once in a while, in a subculture which is particularly open in it, a promenade may break into a wilder rhythm—promenade 111), night life (33)—and perhaps every promenade may have a touch of this. Just as an individual person dreams fantastic happenings to release the inner forces which cannot be encompassed by ordinary events, so too a city needs its dreams. Under normal circumstances, in today's world the entertainments which arc available arc either healthy and harmless—going in the movies, watching TV, cycling, playing tennis, taking helicopter rides, going for walks, watching football—or downright sick and socially destructive—shooting heroin, driving recklessly, group violence. Hut man has a great need for mad, subconscious processes to Come into play, without unleashing them to such an extent that they become socially destructive. There is, in short, a need for socially sanctioned activities which are the social, outward equivalent of dreaming. In primitive societies this kind of process was provided by the files, witch doctors, shamans. In Western civilization during the last three or four hundred years, the closest available source of 1I11. riutward acknowledgment of underground life has been the ■ in us, fairs, and carnivals. In the middle ages, the market place lliclf had a good deal of this kind of atmosphere. Today, on the whole, this kind of experience is gone. The ■in uses and the carnivals are drying up. But the need persists. In die Bay Area, the annual Renaissance Fair goes a little way to meet the need—but it is much too bland. We imagine something more along the following lines: street theater, clowns, mad games hi 1 lie streets and squares and houses; during certain weeks, people may live in the carnival; simple food and shelter are free; day and night people mixing; actors who mingle with the crowd hi I involve you, willy nillv, in processes whose end cannot be 299 TOWNS foreseen; fighting—two men with bags on a slippery log, in front of hundreds; Fellini—clowns, death, crazy people, brought into mesh. Remember the hunchbacked dwarf in Ship o] Fools, the onlj reasonable person on the ship, who says "Everyone has a problem| but I have the good fortune to wear mine on my back, when1 everyone can see it." Therefore: Set aside some part of the town as a carnival—mad side shows, tournaments, acts, displays, competitions, dancing, music, street theater, clowns, transvestites, freak events, which allow people to reveal their madness; weave a wide pedestrian street through this area; run booths along thr street, narrow alleys; at one end an outdoor theater; pa haps connect the theater stage direcdy to the carnival street, so the two spill into and feed one another. outdoor theater mad games dancing Dancing in the street, food stands, an outdoor room or two, a square where the theater is, and tents and canvas will all help to make it even livelier—small public squares (6i), dancing in THE STREET (63), PUBLIC OUTDOOR ROOM (69), FOOD STANDS (93), PEDESTRIAN STREET (lOO), CANVAS ROOFS (244). . . . 59 QUIET BACKS 300 ... the work places are given their general position by ICA1 tered work (9) and their detailed organization and dismU, tion by work communities (41). It is essential though, tlm they be supported by some kind of quiet, which is complemcntaiy to the work. This pattern, and the next few patterns, gives 1I11 structure of that quiet. Any one who has to work in noise, in offices with peopli all around, needs to be able to pause and refresh bjnucjj with quiet in a more natural situation. The walk along the Seine, through the middle of Paris, it 1 classic "quiet back" in the middle of a fast city. People dlM down from the streets and the traffic and the commerce to stroll along the river, where the mood is slow and reflective. The need for such places has often been recognized in uni« vcrsitics, where there arc quiet walks where people go to think, M pause, or have a private talk. A beautiful case is the University ul Cambridge: each college has its "backs"—quiet courts stretching down to the River Cam. But the need for quiet backs goes far beyond the university. It exists everywhere where people work in densely populated, noisy areas. To meet this need, we may conceive all buildings as having a front and a back. If the front is given over to the street life cars, shopping paths, delivery—then the back can be reset-. • I for quiet. If the back is to be quiet, a place where you can hear only natural sounds—winds, birds, water—it is critical that it be protected. At the same time, it must be some way from the buildings which it serves. This suggests a walk, some distance behind the buildings, perhaps separated from them by their private small gardens, completely protected by substantial walls and dense planting along its length. An example we know is the walk through the cathedral close in Chichester. There is a high brick wall on each side of this walk and flowers planted all along it. It leads away from the cathedral, 302 59 QUIET BACKS parallel but set back from the town's major road. On this path, less than a block from the major crossroads of the town, you can hear the bees buzzing. If a number of these walks are connected, one to another, then •lowly, there emerges a ribbon-like system of tiny backs, pleasant alleyways behind the commotion of the street. Since the sound of water plays such a powerful role in establishing the kind of quiet that is required, these paths should always connect up with the local pools and streams (64). And the longer it can be, the better. Therefore: Give the buildings in the busy parts of town a quiet back" behind them and away from the noise. Build a walk along this quiet back, far enough from the building " that it gets full sunlight, but protected from noise by M ills and distance and buildings. Make certain that the path U not a natural shortcut for busy foot traffic, and connect ii up with other walks, to form a long ribbon of quiet alley-'• .1 vs which converge on the local pools and streams and the local greens. shield of buildings natural quiet 4> 4>: at. II possible, place the backs where there is water—pools and >ini ams (64), still water (71), and where there are still great (rem unharmed by traffic—tree places (171) ; connect them to Accessible greens (60) ; and protect them from noise with walls iii buildings-garden wall (i73). . . . 303 6o ACCESSIBLE GREEN** 304 , at the heart of neighborhoods, and near all work communities, there need to be small greens—identifiable neigh-hohiiood (14), work community (41). Of course it makes the most sense to locate these greens in such a way that they help form the boundaries and neighborhoods and backs—subculture iiiiundary (13), neighborhood boundary (15), quiet backs KS9). ❖ •!• People need green open places to go to; when they are dose they use them. But if the greens are more than three minutes away, the distance overwhelms the need. Parks are meant to satisfy this need. But parks, as they are usually understood, are rather large and widely spread through ilie city. Very few people live within three minutes of a park. Our research suggests that even though the need for parks is Very important, and even though it is vital for people to be able to nourish themselves by going to walk, and run, and play on open greens, this need is very delicate. The only people who nuke full, daily use of parks are those who live less than three minutes from them. The other people in a city who live more than 3 minutes away, don't need parks any less; but distance discourages use and so they arc unable to nourish themselves, as iliev need to do. This problem can only be solved if hundreds of small parks— or greens—are scattered so widely, and so profusely, that every house and every workplace in the city is within three minutes walk of the nearest one. In more detail: The need for parks within a city is well recognized. A typical example of this awareness is given by the results of a 1971 citizen survey on open space conducted by the Hnkcley City Planning Department. The survey showed that the great majority of people living in apartments want two kinds ni outdoor spaces above all others: (a) a pleasant, usable private ball ony and (b) a quiet public park within walking distance. But the critical effect of distance on the usefulness of such 305 TOWNS parks is less well known and understood. In order to studs tfi| problem, we visited a small park in Berkeley, and aske.l i ■ people who were in the park how often they came there, l| 1 how far they had walked to the park. Specifically, we askc i person three questions: a. Did you walk or drive? b. How many blocks have you come? c. How many days ago did you last visit the park? On the basis of the first question we rejected five subject!. who had come by car or bike. The third question gave for i it h person a measure of the number of times per week that permit comes to the park. For example, if he last came three days ago, W*J may estimate that he typically comes once per week. This is mnff reliable than asking the frequency directly, since it relics on it I fact which the person is sure of, not on his judgment of t I rather intangible frequency. We now construct a table showing the results. In the ftrtl column, we write the number of blocks people walked to gi the park. In the second column we write a measure of the area of the ring-shaped zone which lies at that distance. The area ol this ring-shaped zone is proportional to the difference of two squares. For example, the measure of area of the ring at thra* blocks, is 32 — i2 — 5. Radius R Blocks Measure of area Trips/ "fthe ring «w|i at Radius R P. (Relative Log P. probability of trips, for any one person ) I '9-5 1 2 3 16 3 5 11 4 7 6 5 9 0 6 11 0 7 '3 0 8 '5 6 9 '7 0 10 >9 3 1 i ai 0 12 *3 a-5 '95 8.7 a.a 0.9 o-4 Analysis of visiting fattern t0 a w 1.29 •94 •34 T.9< T.rto T.jo T.o 60 ACCESSIBLE GREEN In the third column, we write the number of people who have (nine from thai distance, each person multiplied by the number of trips per week he makes to the park. This gives us a measure of il" total number of trips per week, which originate in that ring. In the fourth column we write the number of trips per week II - led by the area of the ring. If we assume that people arc illtributed throughout the entire area at approximately even t• hiiv-, this gives us a measure of the probability that any one person, in a given ring, will make a trip to the park in a given twek. In the fifth column we write the logarithm (base to) of this probability measure P. Simple inspection of these data shows that while the probability fWaiurc, P, drops in half between one and two blocks, it drops I 1 factor of four between two and three blocks. Its rate of MsH'rrasc diminishes from then on. This indicates that an in-•liM.lual's use of a park changes character radically if he lives nunc than three blocks away. Por more precision let us examine the relationship between distance and the logarithm of P. Under normal circumstances, llii frequency of access to a given center will vary accord-lii| in some distance decay function, such as P = Ae~Br, where A and B are constants, and r is the radius. This means that if ' ■ li ivior and motivation arc constant with respect to distance, and ■■ plot the log of P against the radius, we should get a straight llin Any aberration from the straight line will show us the old where one kind of behavior and motivation changes to .....1I1. r. This plot is shown below: 01234 6 9 distance from green, blocks 12 Beyond t ♦ ♦ A town needs public squares; they are the largest, most public rooms, that the town has. But when they are too rge, they look and feel deserted. It is natural that every public street will swell out at those Important nodes where there is the most activity. And it is only ihric widened, swollen, public squares which can accommodate |hc public gatherings, small crowds, festivities, bonfires, carnivals, •y ■ 1 lies, dancing, shouting, mourning, which must have their fUcc in the life of the town. Hut for some reason there is a temptation to make these public squares too large. Time and again in modern cities, architects and planners build plazas that are too large. They look ||o»d on drawings; but in real life they end up desolate and dead. Our observations suggest strongly that open places intended 1« public squares should be very small. As a general rule, we have found that they work best when they have a diameter of about to feet—at this diameter people often go to them, they become favorite places, and people feci comfortable there. When the diameter gets above 70 feet, the squares begin to seem deserted in I unpleasant. The only exceptions we know are places like the Piazza San Marco and Trafalgar Square, which are great town Millers, teeming with people. What possible functional basis is there for these observations? Writ, we know from the pattern, pedestrian density (123), 3" TOWNS SMALL PUBLIC SQUARES The squares in Lima; one small and alive, the other huge and deserted. that a place begins to seem deserted when it has more than ibotj 300 square feet per person. On this basis a square with a diameter of 100 feet will begin to seem deserted if there are less than 33 people in it. There ar« few places in a city where you can be sure there will always be jj people. On the other hand, it only takes 4 people to give life to a square with a diameter of 35 feet, and only 12 to give life 10 a square with a diameter of 60 feet. Since there are far far bettl I chances of 4 or 12 people being in a certain place than 33, the smaller squares will feel comfortable for a far greater percentage of the time. The second possible basis for our observations depends on the diameter. A person's face is just recognizable at about 70 feet; and under typical urban noise conditions, a loud voice can juit barely be heard across 70 feet. This may mean that people feel half-consciously tied together in plazas that have diameters of 312 CfO feet or less—where they can make out the faces and half-hear the talk of the people around them; and this feeling of being at one with a loosely knit square is lost in the larger spaces. Roughly limilar things have been said by Philip Thiel ("An Architectural and Urban Space Sequence Notation." unpublished ms., University of California, Department of Architecture, August i960, p. if) and by Hans Blumenfeld ("Scale in Civic Design," Town Planning Review, April 1953, pp. 35-46). For example, f.plumcnfeld gives the following figures: a person's face can be ftcognized at up to 70 or 80 feet; a person's face can be recognized as "a portrait," in rich detail, at up to about 48 feet. Our own informal experiments show the following results. Two people with normal vision can communicate comfortably ■p in 75 feet. They can talk with raised voice, and they can see Ihi general outlines of the expression on one another's faces. This 7«, foot maximum is extremely reliable. Repeated experiments hvc the same distance again and again, ±10 per cent. At 100 Piel il is uncomfortable to talk, and facial expression is no longer flear. Anything above 100 feet is hopeless. Therefore: Make a public square much smaller than you would at in .1 imagine; usually no more than 45 to 60 feet across, iivrr more than 70 feet across. This applies only to its Width in the short direction. In the long direction it can certainly be longer. 45 to 70 feet across 3-3 TOWNS 62 HIGH PLACES* An even better estimate for the size of the square: make t guess about the number of people who will typically be (say, P), and make the area of the square no greater than l to In 300P square feet—pedestrian density (123); ring the squirt around with pockets of activity where people congregates activity pockets (124); build buildings round the squ.m m such a way that they give it a definite shape, with views olh mi., other larger places—positive outdoor space (106), hieramcMV of open space (ii4), building fronts (l22), stair SI Alt (12;); and to make the center of the square as useful as tin edges, build something roughly in the middle (126). ... .J 3M 62 HIGH PLACES . . . according to four-story limit (21), most roofs in tin community are no higher than four stories, about 40 or 50 feci. However, it is very important that this height limit be punctuated, just occasionally, by higher buildings which have special functions. They can help the character of the small pobi ii squares (61) and holy ground (66); they can give particular identity to their communities, provided that they do not occur more frequently than one in each community of 7000 (12). ♦■ ♦ ♦ The instinct to climb up to some high place, from wlii. h you can look down and survey your world, seems to be a fundamental human instinct. The tiniest hamlets have a dominating landmark—usually tin church tower. Great cities have hundreds of them. The instimi to build these towers is certainly not merely Christian; the Mini thing happens in different cultures and religions, all over ihr world. Persian villages have pigeon towers; Turkey, its minarel»i San Gimignano, its houses in the form of towers; castles, their lookouts; Athens, its Acropolis; Rio, its rock. These high places have two separate and complementary fun. tions. They give people a place to climb up to, from which the\ can look down upon their world. And they give people a plai | which they can see from far away and orient themselves tow.ud, when they are on the ground. Listen to Proust: Combray at a distance, from a twenty-mile radius, as we used n> sec it from the railway when we arrived there every year in Holl Week, was no more than a church epitomising the town, representing it, speaking of it and for it to the horizon, and as one drew m-.n, gathering close about its long, dark cloak, sheltering from the win.I, on the open plain, as a shepherd gathers his sheep, the woolly grey backs of its blocking houses. . . . From a long way off one could distinguish and identify the steeple of Saintc-Hilairc inscribing its unforgetablc form upon a horizon l*--neath which Combray had not yet appeared; when from the tralp 316 which brought us down from Paris at Eastertime my father caught light of it, as it slipped into every fold of the sky in turn, its little iron cock veering continually in all directions, he could say: "Come, Ml your wraps together, we are there." (Marcel Proust, Swim's Way.) Oxford: the city of dreaming spires. High places are equally important, too, as-places from which in liHik down: places that give a spectacular, comprehensive view nf the town. Visitors can go to them to get a sense of the entire area they have come to; and the people who live there can do so (Do—to reassess the shape and scope of their surroundings. But these visits to the high places will have no freshness or cxhilara-iinii if there is a ride to the top in a car or elevator. To get a full Mine of the magnificence of the view, it seems necessary to work Im it, to leave the car or elevator, and to climb. The act of (limbing, even if only for a few steps, clears the mind and prepares the body. Ai for distribution, we suggest about one of these high places I'.i each community of 7000, high enough to be seen throughout llle community. If high places are less frequent, they tend to be lOO special, and they have less power as landmarks. Therefore: Huild occasional high places as landmarks throughout the city. They can be a natural part of the topography, or lowers, or part of the roofs of the highest local building— Imi, in any case, they should include a physical climb. 3'7 DANCING IN THE STREET . .. several patterns have laid the groundwork for evenly activity in public—macic of the city (10), promenade (31) night life (33), carnival (58), small public squares (6| i To make these places alive at night, there is nothing like mutli and dancing; this pattern simply states the physical condil..... which will encourage dancing and music to fill the streets. Why is it that people don't dance in the streets today? All over the earth, people once danced in the streets; In theater, song, and natural speech, "dancing in the street" it an image of supreme joy. Many cultures still have some version ■ this activity. There are the Balinesc dancers who fall into t trance whirling around in the street; the mariachi bands in M. | ico—every town has several squares where the bands play and til-neighborhood comes out to dance; there is the European Ml American tradition of bandstands and jubilees in the park; llici* is the bon odori festival in Japan, when everybody claps anil dances in the streets. But in those parts of the world that have become "modi in" and technically sophisticated, this experience has died. Communis ties are fragmented; people are uncomfortable in the streel afraid with one another; not many people play the right kind of music; people are embarrassed. Certainly there is no way in which a change in the environ* mcnt, as simple as the one which we propose, can remedy thesr circumstances. But we detect a change in mood. The cmb.u i i ment and the alienation are recent developments, blocking a mofl basic need. And as wc get in touch with these needs, things stall to happen. People remember how to dance; everyone takes up ID instrument; many hundreds form little bands. At this writing, in San Francisco, Berkeley, and Oakland there is a controversy over "street musicians"—bands that have spontaneously begat) playing in streets and plazas whenever the weather is good where should they be allowed to play, do they obstruct tr.illn , shall people dance? 63 DANCING IN THE STREET It is in this atmosphere that we propose the pattern. Where • I..... is feeling for the importance of the activity re-emerging, then the right setting can actualize it and give it roots. The essen-_ are straightforward: a platform for the musicians, perhaps with a cover; hard surface for dancing, all around the bandstand; places to sit and lean for people who want to watch and rest; provision for some drink and refreshment (some Mexican band-1 hi.l-i have a beautiful way of building tiny stalls into the base of On handstand, so that people are drawn though the dancers and Up in the music, for a fruit drink or a beer) ; the whole thing set .......-where where people congregate. Therefore: Along promenades, in squares and evening centers, make lightly raised platform to form a bandstand, where street musicians and local bands can play. Cover it, and perhaps build in at ground level tiny stalls for refreshment. Sur- .....nil the bandstand with paved surface for dancing—no n I mission charge. paved surface for dancing raised bandstand food and drink * ♦ * Place the bandstand in a pocket of activity, toward the edge 1 ' square or a promenade—activity pockets (i 24); make it a room, defined by trellises and columns—public outdoor room Cm); build food stands (93) around the bandstand; and for Inning, maybe colored canvas canopies, which reach out over I unions of the street, and make the street, or parts of it, into a Ureal, half-open tent—canvas roofs (244). . . . 320 321 64 POOLS AND STREAMS . the land, in its natural state, is hardly ever flat, and was, in most primitive condition, overrun with rills and streams Wch carried off the rainwater. There is no reason to destroy this atural feature of the land in a town—sacred sites (24), access water (25)—in fact, it is essential that it be preserved, or reared. And in doing so it will be possible to deepen several gcr patterns—boundaries between neighborhoods can easily be funned by streams—neighborhood boundary (15), quiet backs ran be made more tranquil—quiet backs (59), pedestrian iircets can be made more human and more natural—pedestrian street (100). We came from the water; our bodies are largely water; ■ nil water plays a fundamental role in our psychology. We Deed constant access to water, all around us; and we cannot have it without reverence for water in all its forms. Hut everywhere in cities water is out of reach. Even in the temperate climates that are water rich, the natural sources of water are dried up, hidden, covered, lost. Rainwater funs underground in sewers; water reservoirs are covered and kneed off; swimming pools are saturated with chlorine and fenced off; ponds are so polluted that no one wants to go near them any more. And especially in heavily populated areas water is scarce. We rannot possibly have the daily access to it which we and our Children need, unless all water, in all its forms, is exposed, preserved, and nourished in an endless local texture of small pools, ponds, reservoirs, and streams in every neighborhood. There are various ways of expressing the connection between people and water. The biologist, L. J. Henderson, observed that Ihi ilinc content of human blood is essentially the same as that of sea, because we came from the sea. Elaine Morgan, an anthro-ilogist, speculates that during the drought of the Pliocene era, We went back to the sea and lived 10 million years as sea mam-' 322 323 TOWNS mals in the shallow waters along the edge of the ocean. Ap« parently, this hypothesis explains a great deal about the human body, the way in which it is adapted to water, which is other* wise obscure (The Descent of Woman, New York: Bantatl Books, 1973). Furthermore, among psychoanalysts it is common to consider the bodies of water that appear in people's dreams as loaded with meaning. Jung and the Jungian analysts take great bodies nl water as representing the dreamer's unconscious. We evtn speculate, in light of the psychoanalytic evidence, that going iutci the water may bring a person closer to the unconscious procriMt in his life. We guess that people who swim and dive often. || lakes and pools and in the ocean, may be closer to their drcum, more in contact with their unconscious, than people who swim rarely. Several studies have in fact demonstrated that water has a positive therapeutic effect; that it sets up growth experience, (For references, sec Ruth Hartley et al., Understanding Chil dren's Play, Columbia University Press, New York: 1964, Chaf tcr V). All of this suggests that our lives are diminished if we cannOl establish rich and abiding contact with water. But of course, in most cities we cannot. Swimming pools, lakes, and beaches art few in number and far away. And consider also the water suppl) Our only contact with this water is to turn on the tap. We takl the water for granted. But as marvelous as the high technolog] of water treatment and distribution has become, it does not satisfy the emotional need to make contact with the local reservoirs, and to understand the cycle of water: its limits and it» mystery. But it is possible to imagine a town where there arc many hundreds of places near every home and workplace where there is water. Water to swim in, water to sit beside, water where you can dangle your feet. Consider, for example, the running water: the brooks and streams. Today they are paved over and for, 1 I underground. Instead of building with them, and alongside them, planners simply get them out of the way, as if to say: "thl vagaries of nature have no place in a rational street grid." Ibn we can build in ways which maintain contact with water, In ponds and pools, in reservoirs, and in brooks and streams. We can 324 64 POOLS AND STREAMS •cen build details that connect people with the collection and run-off of rain water. Think of the shallow ponds and pools that children need. It it possible for these pools and ponds to be available throughout (he city, close enough for children to walk to. Some can be part "I 1 he larger pools. Others Can be bulges of streams that run through the city, where a balanced ecology is allowed to develop ■long their edges—ponds with ducks and carp, with edges safe enough for children to come close. And consider the system of local and distribution reservoirs. We can locate local reservoirs and distribution reservoirs so that people can get at them; we might build them as kinds of shrines, where people can come to get in touch with the source of their Water supply; the place immediately around the water an atmo-ipherc inviting contemplation. These shrines could be set into the public space: perhaps as one end of a promenade, or as a boundary of common land between two communities. '^JaJT Indian stepped well. \iul think of running water, in all its possible forms. People who have been deprived of it in their daily surroundings go to great lengths to get out of their towns into the countryside, where (hi can watch a river flow, or sit by a stream and gaze at the water. Children are fascinated by running water. They use it endlessly, to play in, to throw sticks and see them disappear, to Fun little paper boats along, to stir up mud and watch it clear iradually. 3*5 TOWNS Natural streams in their original streambcds, together with their surrounding vegetation, can be preserved and maintained, Rainwater can be allowed to assemble from rooftops into miuII pools and to run through channels along garden paths and publil pedestrian paths, where it can be seen and enjoyed. Fountain* can be built in public places. And in those cities where stream* have been buried, it may even be possible to unravel them again. The buried streams. In summary, we propose that every building project, at every scale, take stock of the distribution of water and the access to water in its neighborhood. Where there is a gap, where nourish-ing contact with water is missing, then each project should nuke some attempt, on its own and in combination with other project*, to bring some water into the environment. There is no other way to build up an adequate texture of water in cities: we need pools for swimming, ornamental and natural pools, streams of rain water, fountains, falls, natural brooks and streams running through towns, tiny garden pools, and reservoirs we can get in and appreciate. Therefore: 64 POOLS AND STREAMS Whenever possible, collect rainwater in open gutters Hid allow it to flow above ground, along pedestrian paths Iml in front of houses. In places without natural running „,1,1, create fountains in the streets. rainwater streams If at all possible, make all the pools and swimming holes part "i the running water—not separate—since this is the only way |n«! pools are able to keep alive and clean without the para-i In in.dia of pumps and chlorine—still water (71). Sometimes, I..... and there, give the place immediately around the water the phere of contemplation; perhaps with arcades, perhaps some 1pni.1l common land, perhaps one end of a promenade—prom- »NAItE (31), holy ground (66), arcades ( i 19). . . . Preserve natural pools and streams and allow them to run through the city; make paths for people to walk along them and footbridges to cross them. Let the streams form natural barriers in the city, with traffic crossing them only infrequently on bridges. 326 327 65 BIRTH PLACES . . . both birth and death need recognition throughout society, where people are, as part of local communities and neighbor- hoods-community of 7OOO (l2), identifiable NElCHBOl hood (14), life cycle (26). As far as birth is concerned, i ll | group of neighborhoods must be able to take care of the ImiiIi process, in local, human terms. (Note: The development ol thl| pattern is due largely to the work of Judith Shaw, at this writinl a graduate student in architecture at the University of Califom Berkeley, and a mother of three children.) It seems unlikely that any process which treats child birth as a sickness could possibly be a healthy part of u healthy society. "Pregnancy is no state of emergency from which the mother may hopefully be returned to 'normality* after the birth of il" child. . . . It is a highly active, potent, developmental process ,.| the family going forward to its natural culmination in deliver)." (I. H. Pearsc and L. H. Crocker, The Peckham Experiment, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1946, p. 153.) The existing obstetrics service in most hospitals follows a well outlined procedure. Having a baby is thought of as an illness an.I the stay in the hospital as recuperation. Women who are about In deliver are treated as "patients" about to undergo surgery. They are sterilized. Their genitals are scrubbed and shaved. They arc gowned in white, and put on a table to be moved back and forth between the various parts of the hospital. Women in labor are put in cubicles to pass the time with virtually no social contact. This time can last for many hours. It is a time when father and children could be present to provide encouragement. But this is not permitted. Delivery usually takes place in a "delivery room" which has the proper "table" for childbirth, 328 65 BIRTH PLACES ept for the particular workings of the delivery table the room the same properties as an operating theater. The birth be-riiics a time for separation rather than togetherness. It may be long as 12 hours before the mother is even allowed to touch III' luby, and if she was sedated for the delivery, even longer |m I'im she may see her husband. For about fifteen years there has been a subtle movement to in and recapture the essence of childbirth as a natural phenomenon. There has been no loud protest against obstetricians and ho pital rules, but a rather quiet one: several good books, word nl mouth, concerned professionals and nonprofessionals, the La I he League, a few groups around the country whose prime .......in is with birth, and the rc-cmcrgence of the nurse-midwife. The original effort of these people was aimed at "natural" child-1 "ill, the name being applied in an attempt to bring the concept .il ihildbirth back to a normal physiological occurrence. Lately ' • focus of the effort has been expanded to include an altered •" ironment for childbirth and to include the family in a posi-"" way. (For an architectural slant, sec Lewis Mumford, The 1 i'i Prospect, New York: Harcourt Brace and World, 1968, |>. '5-) We quote now from Judith Shaw's description of a good birth place. She is describing a place comparable to a small nursing hninc, perhaps associated with a local health center, and with • "• igcncy connections to the local hospital: A small basket for the baby would be provided. . . . The nurse -iniilivife would be there always to provide post-partum care. . . . I he nurse-midwife, who lives in, would have a small suite containing I I- ilrnom, sitting room-kitchen and bath. . . . I he eating place would be communal. Each baby would have a plate 100 (his movable basket) so that the mother can bring her 1 lull! with her to feed or to watch. . . . The pattern farmhouse IITCHEN (159) could play an important role in this building. . . families can come not only to have babies but have their prenatal care, learn methods of natural childbirth, possibly child care, '■ just to talk and in general to become familiar with the place ill' v will come to for the delivery. The birthing place should have accommodations for the entire 1.....Iv. They can occupy a suite in which they live and in which the .....ther gives birth to the baby. . . . Since the delivery would take el 1. ■ in the family suite, the baby, mother, and the family can be 329 TOWNS together immediately. Each suite would have to be equipped mill running water and a simple table on which to lay the baby, w.i li l{ and give it its initial examination. Therefore: Build local birth places where women go to have (hell children: places that are specially tailored to childbirth M a natural, eventful moment—where the entire family comt for prenatal care and education; where fathers and mid wives help during the hours of labor and birth. family event half-a-dozen bedi midwives 66 HOLY GROUND Include rooms where after the birth the mother and her baby can stay together with the other members of the family—sleep together, eat together, cook together—common areas at Tim heart (l2g), couple's realm (136), farmhouse kitciii'n (139) ; provide a partly private garden to walk in—half-hiihh s garden (ill), garden wall (173) j for the shape of lIlC building, gardens, parking, and surroundings, begin with nrii.u- ing complex (95). . . . 330 33- ... we have defined the need for a full life cycle, with riti passage between stages of the cycle—life cycle (26); and \v» have recommended that certain pieces of land be set aside In* cause of their importance and meaning—sacred sites (24)1 This pattern gives the detailed organization of the space around these places. The organization is so powerful, that to some 1 it can itself create the sacredness of sites, perhaps even encourag* the slow emergence of coherent rites of passage. What is a church or temple? It is a place of worship, spirit, contemplation, of course. But above all, from 11 human point of view, it is a gateway. A person comes into the world through the church. He leaves it through tin church. And, at each of the important thresholds of Im life, he once again steps through the church. The rites that accompany birth, puberty, marriage, and death are fundamental to human growth. Unless these rites are given the emotional weight they need, it is impossible for a man or woman to pass thoroughly from one stage of life to another. In all traditional societies, where these rites arc treated with enormous power and respect, the rites, in one form or anotherj are supported by parts of the physical environment which have the character of gates. Of course, a gate, or gateway, by itscll cannot create a rite. But it is also true that the rites cannot evolve in an environment which specifically ignores them or makes the00 trivial. A hospital is no place for a baptism; a funeral home makes it impossible to feel the meaning of a funeral. In functional terms, it is essential that each person have tin-opportunity to enter into some kind of social communion with his fellows at the times when he himself or his friends pass through these critical points in their lives. And this social communion at this moment needs to be rooted in some place which is recognized as a kind of spiritual gateway for these events. What physical shape or organization must this "gateway" have 66 HOLY GROUND Id order to support the rites of passage, and in order to create the sanctity and holiness and feeling of connection to the earth h makes the rites significant. Of course, it will vary in detail, from culture to culture. Whatever it is exactly that is held to be sacred—whether it is nature, |od, a special place, a spirit, holy relics, the earth itself, or an Mm—it takes different forms, in different cultures, and requires illffi rent physical environments to support it. Ilowev'er, we do believe that one fundamental characteristic is Invariant from culture to culture. In all cultures it seems that whatever it is that is holy will only be felt as holy, if it is hard to (11*1 h, if it requires layers of access, waiting, levels of approach, a gradual unpeeling, gradual revelation, passage through a scries of (airs. There arc many examples: the Inner City of Peking; the 11' 1 that anyone who has audience with the Pope must wait in Mill of seven waiting rooms; the Aztec sacrifices took place on li I ped pyramids, each step closer to the sacrifice; the Ise shrine, the most famous shrine in Japan, is a nest of precincts, each one Inside the other. Layers of access. Kvcn in an ordinary Christian church, you pass first through the 1 hurchyard, then through the nave; then, on special occasions, ■ nnd the altar rail into the chancel and only the priest himself 1« able to go into the tabernacle. The holy bread is sheltered by five layers of ever more difficult approach. This layering, or nesting of precincts, seems to correspond to 33* 333 TOWNS a fundamental aspect of human psychology. We believe ilml every community, regardless of its particular faith, regardless of whether it even has a faith in any organized sense, needs somi place where this feeling of slow, progressive access through galM to a holy center may be experienced. When such a place exists in it community, even if it is not associated with any particular religion, we believe that the feeling of holiness, in some form or other, mil gradually come to life there among the people who share in th» experience. Therefore: In each community and neighborhood, identify soon sacred site as consecrated ground, and form a series ol nested precincts, each marked by a gateway, each ..... progressively more private, and more sacred than the list, the innermost a final sanctum that can only be reached by passing through all of the outer ones. innermost sancti •4- . - <— entrain r nested precincts At each threshold between precincts build a gate—main cai i -wavs (53) j at each gate, a place to pause with a new view toward the next most inner place—zen view (134); and at the innermost sanctum, something very quiet and able to inspire—perhaps a view, or no more than a simple tree, or pool—pools and streams (64), tree places (i7i). . . . in each house cluster and work community, provide the smaller hits of common land, to provide for local versions of the same needs: 67. COMMON LAND 68. CONNECTED PLAY 69. PUBLIC OUTDOOR ROOM 70. GRAVE SITES 71. STILL WATER 72. LOCAL SPORTS 73. ADVENTURE PLAYGROUND 74. ANIMALS 334 335 COMMON LAND** . just as there is a need for public land at the neighborhood hurl — accessible green (60), so also, within the clusters and Work communities from which the neighborhoods arc made, there It .1 need for smaller and more private kinds of common land • i .i'd by a few work groups or a few families. This common I, in fact, forms the very heart and soul of any cluster. Once |l it defined, the individual buildings of the cluster form around ii house cluster (37), row houses (38), housing hill (l<(), work community (41). * * Without common land no social system can survive. In pre-industrial societies, common land between houses and lirtween workshops existed automatically—so it was never neces-IIII lo make a point of it. The paths and streets which gave access In buildings were safe, social spaces, and therefore functioned 1.......lalically as common land. Ilul in a society with cars and trucks, the common land which 1 hi play an effective social role in knitting people together no .....1 happens automatically. Those streets which carry cars and ■ I ■ at more than crawling speeds, definitely do not function «1 Munition land; and many buildings find themselves entirely Isolated from the social fabric because they are not joined to one ......her by land they hold in common. In such a situation com- ....... land must be provided, separately, and with deliberation, •* a social necessity, as vital as the streets. fhe common land has two specific social functions. First, the I hi I makes it possible for people to feel comfortable outside their buildings and their private territory, and therefore allows them 1 connected to the larger social system—though not neces-Utilv to any specific neighbor. And second, common land acts as ......ling place for people. The first function is subtle. Certainly one's immediate neighbors are less important in modern society than in traditional 336 337 TOWNS 67 COMMON LAND society. This is because people meet friends at work, at school, at meetings of interest groups and therefore no longer rely «»• clusively on neighbors for friendship. (See for instance, Melvlft Webber, "Order in Diversity: Community Without Propinquity," Cities and Space, ed. Lowdon Wingo, Baltimore: Resources for the Future, 1963; and Webber, "The Urban Placsj and the Nonplace Urban Realm," in Webber ct al., Exploi into Urban Structure, Philadelphia, 1964, pp. 79-1 53.) To the extent that this is true, the common land between houses might be less important than it used to be as a meet i »k ground for friendship. But the common land between buildin|i may have a deeper psychological function, which remains important, even when people have no relation to their neighbor In order to portray this function, imagine that your houM I separated from the city by a gaping chasm, and that you hi.. •■ pass across this chasm every time you leave your house, or enter it, The house would be disturbingly isolated; and you, in th* house, would be isolated from society, merely by this pin lit t| fact. In psychological terms, we believe that a building without common land in front of it is as isolated from society as if it 11.»■ I just such a chasm there. There is a new emotional disorder—a type of agoraphobia making its appearance in today's cities. Victims of this disordn are afraid to go out of their houses for any reason—even to mail a letter or to go to the corner grocery store—literally, thej are afraid of the marketplace—the agora. We speculate—entirely without evidence—that this disorder may be reinforced by th( absence of common land, by an environment in which people feel they have no "right" to be outside their own front di>ni, If this is so, agoraphobia would be the most concrete manifestation of the breakdown of common land. The second social function of common land is straightforu.n I Common land provides a meeting ground for the fluid, common activities that a house cluster shares. The larger pieces of public land which serve neighborhoods—the parks, the community facilities—do not fill the bill. They are fine for the neighborhood a« a whole. But they do not provide a base for the functions that are common to a cluster of households. Lewis Mumford: Even in housing estates that are laid out at twelve families to the acre—perhaps one should say especially there—there is often a lack 11I common meeting places for the mothers, where, on a good day, they might come together under a big tree, or a pergola, to sew or gossip, while their infants slept in a pram or their runabout children 11111il 1111 around in a play pit. Perhaps the best part of Sir Charles Rcilly's plans for village greens was that they provided for such rommon activities: as the planners of Sunnyside, Long Island, Messrs. Htein and Wright, had done as early as 1924. (The Urban Prospect, New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1968, p. z6.) How much common land must there be? There must be enough to be useful, to contain children's games and small gatherings. And enough land must be common so that private land doesn't dominate it psychologically. We guess that the amount of common land needed in a neighborhood is on the Mrder of 25 per cent of the land held privately. This is the figure that the grecnbelt planners typically devoted to their commons and greens. (Sec Clarence Stein, Toward New Towns in America, Cambridge: M.I.T. Press, 1966.) With cooperation among the people, it is possible to build this pattern piecemeal, into our existing neighborhoods by closing Itrects. Berkeley street transformed to neighborhood commons. Therefore: Give over 25 per cent of the land in house clusters to common land which touches, or is very very near, the 338 339 TOWNS homes which share it Basic: be wary of the automobile | on no account let it dominate this land. 68 CONNECTED PLAY: common meeting ground ,0 25 per cent common 75 per cent private Shape the common land so it has some enclosure and j.....I Sunlight-SOUTH FACING OUTDOORS (1O5), POSITIVE OUTDOOR space (106); and so that smaller and more private pieces of land and pockets always open onto it-—hierarchy of open spai i (114); provide communal functions within the land—PunLII OUTDOOR room (69), LOCAL SPORTS (72), VEGETABLE GAROKM (177) ; and connect the different and adjacent pieces of common land to one another to form swaths of connected play space connected play (68). Roads can be part of common land if they are treated as green streets (51). . . . . . . suppose the common land that connects clusters to on another is being provided—common land (67). Within tli common land, it is necessary to identify play space for childfi and, above all, to make sure that the relationship between adji..... pieces of common land allows this play space to form. If children don't play enough with other children during the first five years of life, there is a great chance that thry will have some kind of mental illness later in their lives. Children need other children. Some findings suggest that they need other children even more than they need their own moil,,, And empirical evidence shows that if they are forced to sj their early years with too little contact with other children, thi 1 will be likely to suffer from psychosis and neurosis in their In,, vcars. Since the layout of the land between the houses in a neighborhood virtually controls the formation of play groups, it therefore has a critical effect on people's mental health. A typical suburban subdivision with private lots opening off streets almost confines 68 CONNECTED PLAY lldicn to their houses. Parents, afraid of traffic or of their neigh-11, I' ilieir small children indoors or in their own gardens: lln children never have enough chance meetings with other In 11 of their own age to form the groups which arc essential • 11 • .11111v emotional development. vA 1 shall show that children will only be able to have the access ■ -In 1 children which they need, if each household opens onto panic kind of safe, connected common land, which touches at least I ■ ,1 her households. I mi, let us review the evidence for the problem. The most tltitiiMiii evidence conies from the Harlows' work on monkeys. Tin Harlows have shown that monkeys isolated from other infant I • ys during the first six months of life are incapable of normal iil, ■ xu.il, or plav relations with other monkevs in their later I I,, v exhibit abnormalities of behavior rarely seen in animals born ii llu wild. They sit in their cages and stare fixedly into space, circle III ,1 1 iji-s in a repetitively stereotyped manner, and clasp their heads in hands or arms and rock for long periods of time ... the mil may chew and tear at its body until it bleeds . . . similar ■ 1 ni|.iiiiiis nf emotional pathology arc observed in deprived children iirphanages and in withdrawn adolescents and adults in mental li i>iiIs. (Henry F. Harlow and Margaret K. Harlow, "The Effect .1 ring Conditions on Behavior," Bull. Men/tiger Clinic, 26, .,,1.1, pp. 213-14.) It is well known that infant monkeys—like infant human beings have these defects if brought up without a mother or a Mother surrogate. It is not well known that the effects of separa-1 inn In,ill oilier infant monkevs .ire even stronger than the effects 1 iii.iternal deprivation. Indeed, the Harlows showed that al- 'I.....gli monkeys can be raised successfully without a mother, pro- ihliil that they have other infant monkeys to play with, they niiunt be raised successfully by a mother alone, without other III mi monkeys, even if the mother is entirely normal. They con-ttudc: "It seems possible that the infant-mother affectional system ,« dispensable, whereas the infant-infant system is a sine-qua-non (in i.iter adjustment in all spheres of monkey life," (Harry F. 11.11 low and Margaret K. Harlow, "Social Deprivation in Mon- • ," Scientific American, 207, No. 1962, pp. 136-46.) ,U2 343 TOWNS The first six months of a rhesus monkey's life correspond to lli# first three years of a child's life. Although there is no formal ev|« dence to show that lack of contact during these first three yi .•■ damages human children—and as far as wc know, it has nevtl been studied—there is very strong evidence for the effect of !«■• lation between the ages of four to ten. Herman Lantz questioned a random sample of 1,000 men In the United States Army, who had been referred to a mental hygiene clinic because of emotional difficulties. (Herman h Lantz, "Number of Childhood Friends as Reported in the Lift Histories of a Psychiatrically Diagnosed Group of 1,000," Mtf% I riage and Family Life, May 1956, pp. 107-108.) Army psychiatrists classified each of the men as normal, suffering from I mild psychoneurosis, severe psychoneurosis, or psychosis. Lanta then put each man into one of three categories: those who r»« I ported having five friends or more at any typical moment when they were between four and ten years old, those who reporle! |fl average of about two friends, and those who reported having nn friends at that time. The following table shows the relative per* centages in each of the three friendship categories separately. The results are astounding: Normal Mild psychoneurosis Severe psychoneurosis Psychosis Other 5 or More Friends 39-5 22.0 27.O 0.8 10.7 100.0 About 3 Friends No Friend, 7.2 O.O 16.4 S-o S4-6 47-5 3-' 37-5 _J^7 10.0 100.0 100.0 «.6 puupie wno nave five friends or more as children, 6ltJ per cent have mild cases, while 27.8 per cent have severe canes. Among people who had no friends, only ; per cent have mild cases, and 85 per cent have severe cases. On the positive side, an informal account by Anna Freud shows how powerful the effect of contact among tiny children can be on the emotional development of the children. She describes live young German children who lost their parents during infancy 344 68 CONNECTED PLAY In a concentration camp, and then looked after one another inside 'i 11 • imp until the war ended, at which point they were brought England. (Anna Freud and Sophie Dann, "An Experiment in I.....i|> Upbringing," Reading in Child Behavior and Development, cd. Cclia Stcndler, New York, 1964, pp. 122—40.) She ilr.iiibcs the beautiful social and emotional maturity of these urn ihildren. Reading the account, one feels that these children, .1 the age of three, were more aware of each other and more sensitive to each other's needs than many people ever are. 11 is almost certain, then, that contact is essentia], and that 1 H i of contact, when it is extreme, has extreme effects. A con-lldcrablc body of literature beyond that which we have quoted, I* given in Christopher Alexander, "The City as a Mechanism 1 1 Sustaining Human Contact," Environment for Man, cd. N R. F.wald, Indiana University Press, Bloomington, 1967, pp. IO-IO9. 11 wc assume that informal, neighborhood contact between ihildren is a vital experience, wc may then ask what kinds of in ii'hlxirhoods support the formation of spontaneous play groups. I In answer, we believe, is some form of safe common land, connected to a child's home, and from which he can make contact with several other children. The critical question is: How many households need to share this connected play space? The exact number of households that are required depends on iln child population within the households. Let us assume that ■ hildrcn represent about one-fourth of a given population (slightly Ian than the modal figure for suburban households), and that these children are evenly distributed in age from 0 to 18. Roughly speaking, a given prc-school child who is x years old will pl,iy with children who are .v — I or x or x -4- 1 years old. In or-I. 1 10 have 3 reasonable amount of contact, and in order for playgroups to form, each child must be able to reach at least five children in his age range. Statistical analysis shows that for each 1 In!.I to have a 9; per cent chance of reaching five such potential playmates, each child must be in reach of 64 households. The problem may be stated as follows: In an infinite population of children, one-sixth are the right age and five-sixths are the wrong age for any given child. A group of r children is 345 TOWNS chosen at random. The probability that this group of r chi * contains 5 or more right-age children in it is 1 — 2 Pr * win r( k = o' Pri it is the hvpcrgcomctric distribution. If we now ask what i« til* 4 least r which makes I — 2 Pr * > 0.95, r turns out to 1" 1 k — o If we need 54 children, we need a total population til 4(54) — 216, which at 3.4 persons per household, need* U\ households. Sixty-four is a rather large number of households to share run* nected common land. In fact, in the face of this requirement, there is a strong temptation to try to solve the problem by grouping 10 or 12 homes in a cluster. But this will not work: while It is a useful configuration for other reasons—house cluster i | | and common land (67)—by itself it will not solve the problem of connected play space for children. There must also be safe p.uln to connect the bits of common laud. Connecting f at/is. Therefore: Lay out common land, paths, gardens, and bridges mi that groups of at least 64 households are connected by .1 68 CONNECTED PLAY • watli of land that does not cross traffic. Establish this 1 od as the connected play space for the children in these households. safe connections 64 families piny space fast traffic outside I >o this by connecting several house clusters (37) with iWKfcN streets (51) and safe paths. Place the local children's Mom 1. (S6) in this play space. Within the play space, make sure ilo ihildrcn have access to mud, and plants, and animals, and 1—still water (71), animals (74); set aside one area e there is all kinds of junk that they can use to make things ' AIIVl-NTl're playground (73). . . . 34" 347 PUBLIC OUTDOOR Roo M I , , the common land in main gateways ($3), accessible iii I n (60), small public squares (6l), common land (67), • • 1 I'RIAN street (lOO), paths and goals ( I 20) needs at ptil ionic place where hanging out and being "out" in public .....<■ possible. For this purpose it is necessary to distinguish tftr part of the common land and to define it with a little more »lalior.ilion. Also, if none of the larger patterns exist yet, this 1 till 111 can act .is a nucleus, and help them to crystallize around it. There are very few spots along the streets of modern tow us and neighborhoods where people can hang out, ......lortably, for hours at a time. Men seek corner beer shops, where they spend hours talking • •■ I drinking; teenagers, especially boys, choose special corners lim, where they hang around, waiting for their friends. Old peo-1 1 like a special spot to go to, where they can expect to find liner*; small children need sand lots, mud, plants, and water to hi* with in the open; young mothers who go to watch their Children often use the children's play as an opportunity to meet Hid talk nidi other mothers. Ilec.iusc of the diverse and casual nature of these activities, they li |inie a space which has a subtle balance of being defined and not too defined, so that any activity which is natural to the neighborhood at any given time can develop freely and yet has Hum thing to start from. For example, it would be possible to leave an outdoor room ........ished, with the understanding it can be finished by people who live nearby, to fill whatever needs seem most pressing. It may need sand, or water faucets, or play equipment for small • liil.lu-n adventure playground (73); it may have steps and Mala, where teenagers can meet—teenage society (84) ; some-Mlr iiiai' build a small bar or coffee shop in a house that opens into the area, with an arcade, making the arcade a place to eat and 348 349 TOWNS drink—food stands (93) ; there may be games like chess and checkers for old people. Modern housing projects especially suffer from the lack of lhl|! kind of space. When indoor community rooms arc provided, th.i are rarely used. People don't want to plunge into a situation which they don't know; and the degree of involvement created in such an enclosed space is too intimate to allow a casual p,iuii)| interest to build up gradually. On the other hand, vacant land (♦ not enclosed enough. It takes years for anything to happen D| vacant land; it provides too little shelter, and too little "real..... be there." What is needed is a framework which is just enough defined so that people naturally tend to stop there; and so that curimltjt I naturally takes people there, and invites them to stay. Then, nine community groups begin to gravitate toward this framework, there is a good chance that they will themselves, if they arc perm in 1 create an environment which is appropriate to their activities. We conjecture that a small open space, roofed, with column but without walls at least in part, will just about provide the necessary balance of "openness" and "closedncss." A beautiful example of the pattern was built by Dave Chapln and George Gordon with architecture students from Case Western Reserve in Cleveland, Ohio. They built a sequence of public out* fi-ee at----f^r -ff*« /*e^> I—\ ' x"v^eo%. |t_\ ">rv txxc rose Üray ro BGevu ,H Public outdoor roombuilt by Chapin and Gordoii " Cleveland, Ohio. 350 69 PUBLIC OUTDOOR ROOM H i.hiiii on the grounds and on the public land surrounding nunt;il health clinic. According to staff reports, these hanged the life of the clinic dramatically: many more 1 |i than had been usual were drawn into the outdoors, public Ik was more animated, outdoor space that had always been • •Hinted by automobiles suddenly became human and the fli li.id to inch along. In ill, Chapin and Gordon and their crew built seven public mi l,„,i rooms in the neighborhood. Each one was slightly dif- varying according to views, orientation, size, gift have also discovered .1 version of this pattern from medieval lltly, Apparently, in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries there ......any such public structures dotted through the towns. They ■ re the scene of auctions, open-air meetings, and market fairs. In 1 are very much in the spirit of the places we are proposing .....j'.hborhoods and work communities. Outdoor rooms in England and Peru. Therefore: In every neighborhood and work community, make a 35« TOWNS piece of the common land into an outdoor room—a partly enclosed place, with some roof, columns, without walls, perhaps with a trellis; place it beside an important path and within view of many homes and workshops. columns tangent path •£• •> Place the outdoor room where several paths are tangent to it, like any other common area—common areas at the heart (129) j in the bulge of a path—path shape (121) ; or around a square—activity pockets (124); use surrounding building edces (160) to define part of it; build it like any smaller outdoor room, with columns, and half-trellised roofs—outdoor room (163); perhaps put an open courtyard next to it—courtyards which live (115), an arcade (119) around the edge, or other simple cover—canvas roofs (244), and seats for casual sitting— stair seats ( i 25), seat spots (241). . . . 70 GRAVE SITES; 352 . . . according to life cycle (26) the transitions of a person1! life must be available and visible in every community. Death 1« no exception. This pattern helps to integrate the fact of di ltd with the public spaces of each neighborhood, and, by its ver) existence, helps to form identifiable neighborhoods (14), in 1 holy ground (66) and common land (67). 4> 4> No people who turn their backs on death can be alivt The presence of the dead among the living will be a daily fact in any society which encourages its people to live. Huge cemeteries on the outskirts of cities, or in places no one ever visits, impersonal funeral rites, taboos which hide the I death from children, all conspire to keep the fact of death away from us, the living. If you live in a modern suburb, ask yourself how comfortable you would be if your house were next to t graveyard. Very likely the thought frightens you. But this is only because we are no longer used to it. We shall be healthy, uh.n graves of friends and family, and memorials to the people of the recent and the distant past, arc intermingled with our houses, in small grave yards, as naturally as winter always conies before the spring. In every culture there is some form of intense ceremony surrounding death, grieving for the dead, and disposal of the body. There are thousands of variations, but the point is always to give the community of friends left alive the chance to reconcile themselves to the facts of death: the emptiness, the loss; their own transience. These ceremonies bring people into contact with the experience of mortality, and in this way, they bring us closer to the facts of life, as well as death. When these experiences are integrated with the environment and each person's life, we arc able to live through them fully and go on. But when circumstances or custom prevent us from making contact with the experience of mortality, and living with it, we are left depressed, diminished, 70 GRAVE SITES live. There is a great deal of clinical evidence to support this it ion. In one documented case, a young boy lost his grandmother; the people around him told him that she had merely "gone away" to "protect his feelings." The boy was uneasily aware that something had happened, but in this atmosphere of secrecy, could not know it for what it was and could not therefore experience it fully. Instead of being protected, he became a victim of a massive htiurosis, which was only cured, many years later, when he finally fecogni/ed, and lived through the fact of his grandmother's This case, and others which make it abundantly clear that a person must live through the death of those he loves as fully as possible, in order to remain emotionally healthy, have been ' (Use ri be J by Eric Lindcmann. Wc have lost the crucial reference for this work, but two other papers by Lindcmann converge on the same point: "Symptomatology and Management of Acute Grief," American Journal of Psychiatry, 1944, 101, 141-48; •ud "A Study of Grief: Emotional Responses to Suicide," Pastoral Piychology, 1953, 4(39), 9—13. Wc also recommend a recent paper by Robert Kastenbaum, on the ways in which children explore their mortality: "The Kingdom Where Nobody Dies," Saturday Review, January 1973, pp. 33-38. lb. ~ L. A concrete honeycomb graveyard in Colma, California. The suferintendant of the cemetery said, "Families will never see the sinking . . . which so distressed them in older farts of the cemetery. . . ." In the big industrial cities, during the past too years, the ceremonies of death and their functional power for the living have 354 355 TOWNS been completely undermined. What were once beautifully sini|'l« forms of mourning have been replaced by grotesque cemeteries, plastic flowers, everything but the reality of death. And above all, the small graveyards which once put people into daily COfl tact with the fact of death, have vanished—replaced by massive cemeteries, far away from people's daily business. What must be done to set things right? We can solve the problem by fusing some of the old ritual forms with the kinds an invitation to participate. scattered locations team sports individual sports Treat the sports places as a special class of recognizable simple buildings, which arc open, easy to get into, with changing rooms and showers—building complex {95), bathing room (144)1 combine them with community swimming pools, where they exist —still water (71) j keep them open to people passing—Bi.iii.is« ing thoroughfare (iOl), opening to the street (l6;), and provide places where people can stop and watch—seat spom (241), sitting wall (243). . . . 366 . . . inside the local neighborhood, even if there is common land where children can meet and play—common land (67), con« nected play (68); it is essential that there be at least or* smaller part, which is differentiated, where the play is wil.lii, and where the children have access to all kinds of junk. * ♦ ♦ A castle, made of cartons, rocks, and old branches, by a group of children for themselves, is worth a thousand pn fectly detailed, exactly finished castles, made for them in a factory. Play has many functions: it gives children a chance to be tfl gether, a chance to use their bodies, to build muscles, and to ti | new skills. But above all, play is a function of the imagination A child's play is his way of dealing with the issues of his groiuli, of relieving tensions and exploring the future. It reflects directly the problems and joys of his social reality. Children come In terms with the world, wrestle with their pictures of it, and rt form these pictures constantly, through those adventures nl imagination we call play. Any kind of playground which disturbs, or reduces, the rot of imagination and makes the child more passive, more the recipient of someone else's imagination, may look nice, may he clean, may be safe, may be healthy—but it just cannot satisfy ihr fundamental need which play is all about. And, to put it bluntly, it is a waste of time and money. Huge abstract sculptured pin lands are just as bad as asphalt playgrounds and jungle gynn. They are not just sterile; they are useless. The functions thai perform have nothing to do with the child's most basic needs. This need for adventurous and imaginative play is taken care of handily in small towns and in the countryside, where children have access to raw materials, space, and a somewhat comprehensible environment. In cities, however, it has become a pressing concern. The world of private toys and asphalt playgrounds docs not provide the proper settings for this kind of play. The basic work on this problem has come from Lady Allen of 368 l ADVENTURE PLAYGROUND ifrtllMlMM HO DQ&l No flaying'. In .1 scries of projects and publications over the past an, Lady Allen has developed the concept of the playground for cities, and wc refer the reader, above Dfll. (See, for example, her book, Planning for Play, » MIT Press, 1968.) We believe that her work is so tai, that, by itself, it establishes the essential pattern for I playgrounds. - TO, "AJv«»i,ture lul, 1l1.1t, by itseu, I playgrounds. I has also written an excellent review, "Adventure • • 1 \ Parable of Anarchy," Anarchy 7, September 1961. , l.-wription of the Grimsby playground, from that 1 .ml of each summer the children saw up their shacks and fin wood which they deliver in fantastic quantities to inmiiers. When they begin building in the spring, "it's • 1 the ground—and they crawl into it." Gradually the >v \\ in two-storey huts. Similarly with the notices above It begins with nailing up "Keep Out" signs. After this y 1 l iwalvri 369 . . • in.ide the local neighborhood, even if there is common I where chddren can meet and play-coMMoN land (67) fl necthd plav (68). h j, essentia, tha{ thcre ^ aJ j£ smaller part which is differentiated, where «he play is J and where the children have access to all kinds of junk A castle, made of cartons, rocks, and old branches, b} • group of children for themselves, is worth a thousand |>ri fectly detailed, exactly finished castles, made for them a factory. Play has many functions: it gives children .1 chance to be ln» gcther, a chance to use their bodies, to build muscles, and to u I new skills. But above all, play is a function of the imagination, A child's play is his way of dealing with the issues of his growth, of relieving tensions and exploring the future. It reflects directly the problems and joys of his social reality. Children come tn terms with the world, wrestle with their pictures of it, and reform these pictures constantly, through those adventures of imagination we call play. Any kind of playground which disturbs, or reduces, the role of imagination and makes the child more passive, more the recipient of someone else's imagination, may look nice, may I" clean, may be safe, may be healthy—but it just cannot satisfy tin fundamental need which play is all about. And, to put it blunt]), it is a waste of time and money. Huge abstract sculptured plaj lands are just as bad as asphalt playgrounds and jungle gynn. They are not just sterile; they arc useless. The functions they perform have nothing to do with the child's most basic needs. This need for adventurous and imaginative play is taken can of handily in small towns and in the countryside, where children have access to raw materials, space, and a somewhat comprehensible environment. In cities, however, it has become a pressing concern. The world of private toys and asphalt playgrounds does not provide the proper settings for this kind of play. The basic work on this problem has come from Lady Allen of 73 ADVENTURE PLAYGROUND No flaying. Hurtwood. In a series of projects and publications over the past twenty years, Lady Allen has developed the concept of the pi'lwnture playground for cities, and we refer the reader, above all, to her work. (See, for example, her book, Planning for Play, Cambridge: MIT Press, 1968.) We believe that her work is so luhtlantial, that, by itself, it establishes the essential pattern for neighborhood playgrounds. Colin Ward has also written an excellent review, "Adventure I'Ij\grounds: A Parable of Anarchy," Anarchy 7, September 1961. Here is a description of the Grimsby playground, from that It 1 lew: At the end of each summer the children saw up their shacks and • lit in les into firewood which they deliver in fantastic quantities to nlil age pensioners. When they begin building in the spring, "it's lust a hole in the ground—and they crawl into it." Gradually the holes give way to two-storey huts. Similarly with the notices above their dens. It begins with nailing up "Keep Out" signs. After this come more personal names like "Bughold Cave" and "Dead Man's Cave," but by the end of the summer they have communal names like "Hospital" or "Estate Agent." There is an everchanging range of ICtivitics due entirely to the imagination and enterprise of the chil-iln 11 themselves. . . . Therefore: Set up a playground for the children in each neighborhood. Not a highly finished playground, with asphalt and 368 369 TOWNS swings, but a place with raw materials of all kinds— mi■, boxes, barrels, trees, ropes, simple tools, frames, grass, and water—where children can create and re-create playground* of their own. all kinds of junk Make sure that the adventure playground is in the sun sunny place (161) ; make hard surfaces for bikes and cartl ml toy trucks and trolleys, and soft surfaces for mud and buildmii things-bike PATHS AND racks (56), GARDEN GROWING «1111 (172), child caves (203); and make the boundary substantia With a GARDEN WALL (173) or sitting WALL (243). . . . j."•*, e;e" .r,hen therc 18 Pub^ m and private land foi ,„ dmdual bu.ldmgs-coMMoN r^o (67), your own home | a there ,s no guarantee that animals can flourish there. This patter, helps to form creen streets (5,) and common und (6-) M gmng them the qualities thev need ,0 sustain animal life * * * Animals are as important a part of nature as the tret and grass and flowers. There is some evidence, in add it inn. which suggests that contact with animals may play a viiul role in a child's emotional development. Yet while it is widely accepted that we need "parks"—at least access to some kind of open space where trees and grass and flowers grow—we do not yet have the same kind of wisdom when-sheep, horses, cows, goats, birds, snakes, rabbits, deer, chicken*, wildcats, gulls, otters, crabs, fish, frogs, beetles, butterflies, .ml ants are concerned. Ann Dreyfus, a family therapist in California, has told about the way that animals like goats and rabbits help children in their therapy. She finds that children who cannot make contact with people, are nevertheless able to establish contact with these animals. Once this has happened and feelings have started to flow again, the children's capacity for making contact starts to grow again, and eventually spreads out to family and friends. But animals are almost missing from cities. In a city there arc, broadly speaking, only three kinds of animal: pets, vermin, and animals in the zoo. None of these three provides the emotional sustenance nor the ecological connections that are needed. Peti are pleasant, but so humanized that they have no wild free life of their own. And they give human beings little opportunitv to experience the animalness of animals. Vermin—rats, cockroaches —are animals which are peculiar to cities and which depend ecologically on miserable and disorganized conditions, so they arc naturally considered as enemies. Animals in the zoo are more or less inaccessible to most of the human population—except ai 74 ANIMALS occasional curiosities. Besides, it has been said that animals hv.ng Under the conditions which a zoo provides are essent.ally psychot.c I _,hat is, entirely disturbed from their usual mode of ex.stence- „ that it is probably wrong to keep them they can in no way re-create the missing web of animal l.fe which cities need. Looking in or looking out—what's the difference It is perfectly possible to reintroduce animals into the natural •Cology of cities in a useful and functioning sense, provided that • rrangemcnts arc made which allow this and do not create a nuisance. Examples of ecologically useful animals in a city: horses, ponies, donkeys—for local transportation and sport. Pigs—to recycle garbage and for meat. Ducks and chickens—as a source of eggs •nd meat. Cows—for milk. Goats—milk. Bees—honey and pol-lin.ition of fruit trees. Birds—to maintain insect balance. There arc essentially two difficulties to overcome. (1) Many of these animals have been driven out of cities by law because they interrupt traffic, leave dung on the street, and carry disease. (2) Many of the animals cannot survive without protection under modern urban conditions. It is necessary to make specific provisions to overcome these difficulties. Therefore: Make legal provisions which allow people to keep any inimals on their private lots or in private stables. Create a piece of fenced and protected common land, where animals 372 373 TOWNS are free to graze, with grass, trees, and water in it. Main t| least one system of movement in the neighborhood whii h is entirely asphalt-free—where dung can fall freely without needing to be cleaned up. laws which allow sheep and cows and horses in communities connected greens fenced grazing land Make sure that the green areas—green streets (51), accessible green (6o)—arc all connected to one anotlna ■ form a continuous swath throughout the city for domestic ml wild animals. Place the animal commons near a children's homi and near the local schools, so children can take care of the animaJl —children's home (86); if there is a lot of dung, make nil that it can be used as a fertilizer—compost (178). . . . within the framework of the common land, the clusters and the work communities, encourage transformation of the smallest independent social institutions : the families, workgroups, and gathering places. First, the famdy, in all its forms; 75. THE FAMILY 76. HOUSE FOR A SMALL FAMILY 77. HOUSE FOR A COUPLE 78. HOUSE FOR ONE PERSON 79. YOUR OWN HOME 374 375 75 THE FAMILY* 3/6 , inumc now, that you have decided to build a house for Iftwlf. If you place it properly, this house can help to form a Iter, or a row of houses, or a hill of houses—house cluster >), row houses (38), housing hill (39)—or it can help to B a working community alive—housing in between (48). Is next pattern now gives you some vital information about the 11I character of the household itself. If you succeed in follow-1 litis pattern, it will help repair life cycle (26) and house-Mi mix (35) in your community. •> ♦> •> Ik nuclear family is not by itself a viable social form. I nlil a few years ago, human society was based on the ex-■ I family: .1 family of at least three generations, with nl'i, children, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins, all lh log together in a single or loosely knit multiple household. 11» 1 loday people move hundreds of miles to marry, to find itinn, and to work. Under these circumstances the only ......Iv units which are left are those units called nuclear families: Mlhrr, mother, and children. And many of these arc broken down even further by divorce and separation. Unfortunately, it seems very likely that the nuclear family is 1 viable social form. It is too small. Each person in a nuclear ......K is too tightly linked to other members of the family; any 1111 11 l.itionship which goes sour, even for a few hours, becomes llii.il; people cannot simply turn away toward uncles, aunts, gMii li hildren, cousins, brothers. Instead, each difficulty twists 'I" family unit into ever tighter spirals of discomfort; the liildien become prey to all kinds of dependencies and ocdipal 11 -nines; the parents are so dependent on each other that they Mi dually forced to separate. I'll dip Slater describes this situation for American families and HUl in the adults of the family, especially the women, a terrible, 1......ling sense of deprivation. There are simply not enough (HMiple around, not enough communal action, to give the ordinary 377 TOWNS experience around the home any depth or richness. (Philip I Slater, The Pursuit of Loneliness, Boston: Beacon Press. I p. 67, and throughout.) It seems essential that the people in a household have .it l»#j| a dozen people round them, so that they can find the comM and relationships they need to sustain them during their upi nls everybody in the club adopts everyone else. Besides our own !>l Iations, we all have our quota of deputy mothers, deputy fathi'li deputy aunts and uncles, deputy brothers and sisters, deputy b.ililn and toddlers and teen-agers." Will shook his head. "Making twenty families grow whirr only one grew before." "But what grew before was your kind of family. . . ." As though reading instructions from a cookery book, "Take one sexually im(t( wage slave," she went on, "one dissatisfied female, two or (il |in ferred) three small television addicts; marinate in a mixture nf Freudism and dilute Christianity; then bottle up tightly in a foul room flat and stew for fifteen years in their own juice. Our rci ip* || rather different: Take twenty sexually satisfied couples and th*if offspring; add science, intuition and humor in equal quantities, steep in Tantrik Buddhism and simmer indefinitely in an open ntfj in the open air over a brisk flame of affection." "And what comes out of your open pan?" he asked. "An entirely different kind of family. Not exclusive, like yoill families, and not predestined, not compulsory. An inclusive, unpn destined and voluntary family. Twenty pairs of fathers and motrx <•. eight or nine ex-fathers and ex-mothers, and forty or fifty assnii.d children of all ages." (Aldous Huxley, Island, New York: Baniain, 1962, pp. 89-90.) Physically, the setting for a large voluntary family must providi 75 THE FAMILY ■T a balance of privacy and communality. F.ach small family, ■fell person, each couple, needs a private realm, almost a private hold of their own, according to their territorial need. In 1I1. movement to build communes, it is our experience that lumps have not taken this need for privacy seriously enough. It hat liccn shrugged off, as something to overcome. But it is a slurp and basic need; and if the setting docs not let each In.....n and each small household regulate itself on this dimension, II is sure to cause trouble. We propose, therefore, that individuals, ill; les, people young and old—each subgroup—have its own ii independent household—in some cases, physically separate Ids and cottages, at least separate rooms, suites, and I In- private realms are then set off against the common space «n I the common functions. The most vital commons are the ' 1 In n, the place to sit down and eat, and a garden. Common llirils, at least several nights a week, seem to play the biggest loir in binding the group. The meals, and taking time at the rimliing, provide the kind of casual meeting time when every-thing else can be comfortably discussed: the child care arrangc-Blanis, maintenance, projects—see communal eating (147). This would suggest, then, a large family room-farmhouse kitch-in light at the heart of the site—at the main crossroads, where • one would tend to meet toward the end of the day. Again, «..... ling to the style of the family, this might be a separate I il ling, with workshop and gardens, or one wing of a house, II 'he entire first floor of a two or three story building. There is some evidence that processes which generate large Voluntary group households arc already working in the society. (Cf. Pamela Hollie, "More families share houses with others to • .il. one 'life style,' " Wall Street Journal, July 7, 1972.) 1 >ne way to spur the growth of voluntary families: When somc-nnr turns over or sells their home or room or apartment, they in 1 tell everyone living around them—their neighbors. These neighbors then have the right to find friends of theirs to take iln- place—and thus to extend their "family." If friends are able ......ove in, then they can arrange for themselves how to create a him tinning family, with commons, and so on. They might luiil.l .1 connection between the homes, knock out a wall, add a 378 379 TOWNS room. If the people immediately around the place cannot in-.U the sale in a few months, then it reverts to the norma] iiuiUu 1 place. Therefore: Set up processes which encourage groups of 8 to 11 people to come together and establish communal hcww holds. Morphologically, the important things are: i. Private realms for the groups and individuals tlml make up the extended family: couple's realms, privuk rooms, sub-households for small families. Common space for shared functions: cooking, work ing, gardening, child care. At the important crossroads of the site, a place win r< the entire group can meet and sit together. common space 2. communal household private realms ♦ ♦ ♦ Each individual household within the larger family must, at all costs, have a clearly defined territory of its own, which it controls—your own home (79); treat the individual territorial according to the nature of the individual households—house for a small family (76), house for a couple (77), house FOR one person (78); and build common space between them, where the members of the different smaller households can meet and cat together—common areas at the heart (129), communal eating (147). For the shape of the building, gardens, parking, and surroundings, begin with building compi.i-.x (95)---- ?6 HOUSE FOR A 1 FAMILY* . . . according to the family (75), each nuclear family ougj to be a member house-hold of a larger group household. If ,1 not possible, do what you can, when building a house I small famdy, to generate some larger, possible group household by ty.ng it together with the next door households; in any latflj at the very least, form the beginning of a house clustir | , , ❖ ♦ * In a house for a small family, it is the relationship I* tween children and adults which is most critical. Many small households, not large enough to have a full llcdgeil nursery, not rich enough to have a nanny, find themselves] swamped by the children. The children naturally want 10 I where the adults arc; their parents don't have the heart, 01 1J• • -energy, to keep them out of special areas; so finally the wholl house has the character of a children's room—children's ilndn «, drawings, boots and shoes, tricycles, toy trucks, and disarray. Yet, obviously few parents feci happy to give up the calm in I cleanliness and quiet of the adult world in every square inch of their homes. To help achieve a balance, a house for a small famil] needs three distinct areas: a couple's realm, reserved foi ili> adults; a children's realm, where children's needs hold sway; .mil a common area, between the two, connected to them both. The couple's realm should be more than a room, although rooms are a part of it. It is territory which sustains them as iwn adults, a couple—not father and mother. Other parts of thi l| lives are involved with children, friends, work; there must In? I place which becomes naturally an expression of them as adulti, alone. The children come in and out of this territory, but when they are there, they are clearly in the adults' world. See coupi 1 realm ( I 36). The children's world must also be looked upon as territory | that they share, as children, children's realm (137); hen, || is important to establish that this is a part of the house, in balamit with the others. Again, the critical feature is not that adults are 76 HOUSE FOR A SMALL FAMILY Judcd" but that, when they are in this world, they are in iiidren's territory. The common area contains those functions that the children I die adults share: eating together, sitting together, games, per-mp« bathing, gardening—again, whatever captures their needs kV shared territory. Quite likely, the common territory will be n 1 than the two other parts of the house. I mally, realize that this pattern is different from the way most mi ill family homes are made today. For example, a popular cur-Iffflt conception, comparable to this, but quite different, is a Hiliuib.in t:c; p.;rf h'.sleeping -in.I commons. A typical suburban two fart house. P.vcn though there is a "master bedroom" the sleeping part 1 the house is essentially one thing—the children arc all around its*- master bedroom. This plan dues not have the distinctions we Iff arguing for. Here is a beautiful plan which docs: A three-part house—the couple's realm upstairs. 382 383 Therefore: Give the house three distinct parts: a realm for pa re it tl a realm for the children, and a common area. Contrive these three realms as roughly similar in size, with the nun mons the largest. common area parents' realm children's realm Treat the house, like every house, as a distinct piece of tcrriliM')f —your own home (79) i build the three main parts accordin| to the specific patterns for those parts—common areas ai mm heart (129), couple's realm (136), bed cluster (143) 111.1 connect the common areas, and the bed cluster according to tht children's realm ( I 37) . . . . 77 HOUSE FOR A COUPLE • • ■ again, ideally, every couple it a part of a larger group houMt hold -the family (75). If ,his can not be so, try to build th. house for the couple in such a way as to tie it together with H..... other households, to form the beginnings of a group household, or, if th.s fails, at least to form the beginnings of a house cm (37). 4. .{. In a small household shared by two, the most importunl problem which arises is the possibility that each may li.u< too little opportunity for solitude or privacy. Consider these forces: 1. Of course, the couple need a shared realm, where they cl function together, invite friends, be alone together. This rt ■! needs to be made up of functions which they share. 2. But it is also true that each partner is trying to maintain an individuality, and not be submerged in the identity of ihi other, or the identity of the "couple." Each partner needs if** to nourish this need. It is essential, therefore, that a small house be conceived at a place where the two people may be together but where, from time to time, either one of them may also be alone, in comfort) in dignity, and in such a way that the other docs not feel I* ft out or isolated. To this end, there must be two small placet— perhaps rooms, perhaps large alcoves, perhaps a corner, screened off by a half-wall—places which arc clearly understood as private territories, where each person can keep to himself, pursue hit or her own activities. Still, the problem of the balance of privacy in a couple's 1 i\ •-■ is delicate. Even with a small place of one's own, tenuously connected to the house, one partner may feel left out at variotu moments. While we believe that the solution proposed in this pattern helps, the problem will not be entirely settled until the couple itself is in some close, neighborly, and family-like rela- 77 HOUSE FOR A COUPLE tl»hip to other adults. Then, when one needs privacy, the other other possibilities for companionship at hand. This idea and i physical implications are discussed in the pattern, the family )ncc the opportunity for withdrawal is satisfied, there is also enuinc opportunity for the couple to be together; and then house can be a place where genuine intimacy, genuine con- ......n can happen. There is one other problem, unique to a house for a couple, must be mentioned. In the first years of a couple's life, as learn more about each other, and find out if indeed they a future together, the evolution of the house plays a vital ». Improving the house, fixing it up, enlarging it, provides a me for learning about one another: it brings out conflict, and » the chance, like almost no other activity, for concrete resolu-ii and growth. This suggests that a couple find a place that ihry can change gradually over the years, and not build or buy for ilu in.elves a "dream" home from scratch. The experience of making simple changes in the house, and tuning it to their lives, I divides some grist for their own growth. Therefore, it is best to Mail small, with plenty of room for growth and change. Therefore: 1 on,five a house for a couple as being made up of two lids of places—a shared couple's realm and individual Ivatc worlds. Imagine the shared realm as half-public mil half-intimate; and the private worlds as entirely in-lllvidual and private. shared couple's realm private worlds 386 387 TOWNS Again, treat the house as a distinct piece of territory, in miiii* fashion owned by its users—your own home (79). Lay oul ihl common part, according to the pattern couple's realm (i and give both persons an individual world of their own when they can be alone—a room of one's own ( 141). . . . I HOUSE FOR ONE PERSON 388 389 . . . the households with one person in them, more than an) other, need to be a part of some kind of larger household -'CHI family (75). Either build them to lit into some larger grimi household, or even attach them, as ancillary' cottages to oihfjjl ordinary family households like house for a small famii.v (jty or house for a couple (77). .5. <•» Once a household for one person is part of some Lugri group, the most critical problem which arises is the urn) for simplicity. The housing market contains few houses or apartments | • cifically built for one person. Most often men and women wlw choose to live alone, live in larger houses and apartments, m ig-inally built for two people or families. And yet for one pel ...1 these larger places are most often uncompact, unwieldy, hard It live in, hard to look after. Most important of all, they do nit) allow a person to develop a sense of self-sufficiency, simplii ity, compactness, and economy in his or her own life. The kind of place which is most closely suited to oik pern needs, and most nearly overcomes this problem, is a place of lit* utmost simplicity, in which only the bare bones of necessity at* there: a place, built like a ploughshare, where every corner, every table, every shelf, each flower pot, each chair, each log, is place* according to the simplest necessity, and supports the prison', life directly, plainly, with the harmony of nothing that is not needed, and everything that is. The plan of such a house will be characteristically different from other houses, primarily because it requires almost no differentiation of its spaces: it need only be one room. It can l>c a cottage or a studio, built on the ground or in a larger building, part of a group household or a detached structure. In essence, it is simply a central space, with nooks around it. The nooks re* place the rooms in a larger house; they are for bed, bath, kitchen, workshop and entrance. It is important to realize that very many of the patterns in this book can be built into a small house; small size does not pre- 78 HOUSE FOR ONE PERSON richness of form. The trick is to intensify and to overlay; to ret* the patterns; to reduce them to simple expressions; to every inch count double. When it is well done, a small feels wonderfully continuous—cooking a bowl of soup fills limine; there is no rattling around. This cannot happen if the il divided into rooms, re have found it necessary to call special attention to this em because it is nearly impossible to build a house this small llics—there is no way to get hold of a very small lot. Zoning and banking practices prohibit such tiny lots; they prohibit al" lots from splitting down to the kind of scale that a for one person requires. The correct development of this pattern will require a change in these ordinances. Therefore: < lonceive a house for one person as a place of the utmost liuplicity: essentially a one-room cottage or studio, with l a yv and small alcoves around it. When it is most intense, ||m entire house may be no more than 300 to 400 square alcoves •J. <|t knd again, make the house an individual piece of territory, with its own garden, no matter how small—your own home 1 ■)) , make the main room essentially a kind of farmhouse kitchen 1 titMiiousE kitchen (139), with alcoves opening off it for ng, working, bathing, sleeping, dressing—bathing room window place (l80), workspace enclosure (183), ami alcove (188), dressing room (i 89) ; if the house is meant ' mi old person, or for someone very young, shape it also ac-.....ling to the pattern for old ace cottace (15;) or teen-am It'- l-uTTAGE ( I 54) .... 79 YOUR OWN HOME** Moording to the family (75), each individual household Id be :i part of a larger family group household. Whether this ..... not, each individual household, must also have a terri- uf its own which it controls completely—house for a small iii* (76), house for a couple (77), house for one niimiN (78); this pattern, which simply sets down the need for 1 territory, helps especially to form higher density house I" 1. in like row houses (38), housing hill (39), which often lot have well-defined individual territories for the separate 1 ill 11 holds. ❖ ❖ "i* I'rople cannot be genuinely comfortable and healthy in ■ I.....se which is not theirs. All forms of rental—whether ......1 private landlords or public housing agencies—work ,i 11 nsi the natural processes which allow people to form ■ 1 ihle, self-healing communities. Income property. If ■ * in the imperishable primal language of the human heart house .....ins my house, your house, a man's own house. The house is the winning throw of the dice which man has wrested from the uncanni-■ >f universe; it is his defense against the chaos that threatens to Invade him. Therefore his deeper wish is that it be his own house, tli.it he not have to share with anyone other than his own family. (Martin Ruber, A Believing Humanism: Gleanings, New York: 'nunin and Shuster, 1969, p. 93.) This pattern is not intended as an argument in favor of "private 392 393 TOWNS property," or the process of buying and selling land. Indeed, (j is very clear that all those processes which encourage speculation in land, for the sake of profit, arc unhealthy and destructive, ht* cause they invite people to treat houses as commodities, to bulls] things for "resale," and not in such a way as to fit their own needs. And just as speculation and the profit motive make it mi possible for people to adapt their houses to their own net : tenancy, rental, and landlords do the same. Rental areas are alvvayt the first to turn to slums. The mechanism is clear and well known See, for example, George Stcrnlicb, The Tenement LanJb• iducnts in money and labor, the hopeless cycle of degeneration id rental property and the degeneration of the tenants' financial Mobility will continue. (Cf. Rolf Goetze, "Urban Housing Rehabilitation," in Turner and Fichtcr, cds., The Freedom to Wncr-automatcd General Motors assembly plant in Lordstown, Ohio, was sabotaged and shut down for several weeks. Absentce-Uui in the three largest automobile manufacturing companies has doubled in the past seven years. The turnover of workers has also doubled. Some industrial engineers believe that "American industry in some cases may have pushed technology too far by taking the last few bits of skill out of jobs, and that a point of human resistance has been reached" (Agis Salpukis, "Is the machine pushing man over the brink?" San Francisco Sunday Examiner and 1 kronicle, April 16, 1972). Perhaps the most dramatic empirical evidence for the connection between work and life is that presented in the recent study, 'Work in America," commissioned by Elliot Richardson, as Secretary of Health, Education and Welfare Department, 1972. This lludy finds that the single best predictor of long life is not whether a person smokes or how often he sees a doctor, but the rvtent to which he is satisfied with his job. The report identifies the two main elements of job dissatisfaction as the diminishing Independence of workers, and the increasing simplification, fragmentation, and isolation of tasks—both of which are rampant in .....drin industrial and office work alike. Hut for most of human history, the production of goods and •erviccs was for a far more personal, sclf-rcgulating affair; when each job of work was a matter of creative interest. And there is HO reason why work can't be like that again, today. For instance, Seymour Melman, in Decision Making and Productivity, compares the manufacture of tractors in Detroit and in 400 401 TOWNS Coventry, England. He contrasts Detroit's managerial rule witfl Coventry's gang system and shows that the gang system pro> duccd high quality products and the highest wages in British industry. "The most characteristic feature of the decision-formula-tion process is that of mutuality in decision-making with IiimI authority residing in the hands of the group workers themsclu Other projects and experiments and evidence which indicate that modern work can be organized in this manner and still Iw compatible with sophisticated technology, have been collected by Hunnius, Garson, and Chase. See Workers' Control, New York: Vintage Books, 1973. And another example comes from the reports by E. L. Tr'ul, Organizational Choice and P. Hcrbst, Autonomous Group Funf tioning. These authors describe the organization of work in mining pits in Durham which was put into practice by group.'. ..I miners. The composite work organization may be described as one in win, I. the group takes over complete responsibility for the total cyi I d| operations involved in mining the coal-face. No member of the group has a fixed work-role. Instead, the men deploy themselves, .1 pending on the requirements of the ongoing group task. Withllt the limits of technological and safety requirements they are fr..... evolve their way of organizing and carrying out their task. [The experiment demonstrates] the ability of quite large primary work groups of 40-50 members to act as self-regulating, self developing social organisms able to maintain .themselves in a steady state of high productivity. (Quoted in Colin Ward, "The org.u | tion of anarchy," Patterns of Anarchy, Krimerman and Pcrrv, 1 I New York: Anchor Books, 1966, pp. 3+9-51.) We believe that these small self-governing groups are not only most efficient, but also the only possible source of job satisfaction They provide the only style of work that is nourishing and in trinsically satisfying. Therefore: Encourage the formation of self-governing workshop! and offices of 5 to 20 workers. Make each group anion.1 mous—with respect to organization, style, relation to othet groups, hiring and firing, work schedule. Where the work 402 80 SELF-GOVERN ING WORKSHOPS AND OFFICES b complicated and requires larger organizations, several of thrse work groups can federate and cooperate to produce complex artifacts and services. self-governing workshops ♦ ♦ ♦ House the workgroup in a building of its own—office connections (82), Bun.DiNc compi.ex (95); if the workgroup is large enough, and if it serves the public, break it down into oiionomous departments, easily identifiable, with no more than a dozen people each—small services without red tape (8i); In any case, divide all work into small team work, either directly within the cooperative workgroup or under the departments, with the people of each team in common space—master and appren-I Tices (83) and small work croups (148). . . . 403 81 SMALL SERVICES WITHOUT RED TAPE* 404 . .ill offices which provide service to the public—work community (41), university as a marketplace (43), local town hall (44), heath center (47), teenage society (84) need •tibsidiary departments, where the members of the public go. And tit course, piecemeal development of these small departments, one department at a time, can also help to generate these larger patterns gradually. •fr <■ •& Departments and public services don't work if they are too large. When they are large, their human qualities inish; they become bureaucratic; red tape takes over. There is a great deal of literature on the way red tape and bureaucracy work against human needs. See, for example, Gideon Sjobcrg, Richard Brymer, and Buford Farris, "Bureaucracy and the Lower Class," Sociology and Social Research, 50, April, 1966, IT- 325—77; and Alvin W. Gouldner, "Red Tape as a Social Problem," in Robert Mertin, Reader in Bureaucracy, Free Press, 1952, pp. 410-18. According to these authors, red tape can be overcome in two ways. First, it can be overcome by making each service program Mill and autonomous. A great deal of evidence shows that red tape occurs largely as a result of impersonal relationships in large institutions. When people can no longer communicate on a face-to-face basis, they need formal regulations, and in the lower echelons of the organization, these formal regulations arc followed Mindly and narrowly. Second, red tape can be overcome by changing the passive Dlture of the clients' relation to service programs. There is con-lldcrablc evidence to show that when clients have an active relationship with a social institution, the institution loses its power to intimidate them. We have therefore concluded that no service should have inure than 12 persons total (all staff, including clerks). We base ill 1 figure on the fact that 12 seems to be the largest number of 405 TOWNS people that can sit down in a face-to-face discussion. It seems likely that a smaller staff size will work better still. Furthermore, each service should be relatively autonomous—subject only to * few simple, coordinative regulations from parent organization*— and that this should be emphasized by physical autonom;. I order to be physically autonomous, each service must have an area which is entirely under its own jurisdiction; with its own door on a public thoroughfare, and complete physical separation from other services. This pattern applies equally to the departments of a city hall, a medical center, or to the local branches of a welfare agency, tn most of these cases the pattern would require basic changes in administrative organization. However difficult they may be M implement, we believe these changes are required. Therefore: In any institution whose departments provide publn service: 1. Make each service or department autonomous as far u* possible. 2. Allow no one service more than 12 staff member* total. 3. House each one in an identifiable piece of the build ing. 4. Give each one direct access to a public thoroughfare. OCT] visible front public thoroughfare 12 people 8, SMALL SERVICES WITHOUT RED TAPE * ❖ 4 Arrange these departments in space, according to the prescription of office connections (82) and building complex (95); if the public thoroughfare is indoors, make it a building thoroughfare (ioi), and make the fronts of the services visible as a family of entrances (102); wherever the services are in any way connected to the political life of the community, mix them with ad hoc groups created by the citizens or users— necklace of community projects (45); arrange the inside apace of the department according to flexible office space (146); and provide rooms where people can team up in two's and three's—small work groups (148). . . . 406 407 82 82 OFFICE CONNECTIONS OFFICE CONNECTIONS* ... in any work community or any office, there arc alwtf various human groups—and it is always important to do Id. how these groups shall be placed, in space. Which should be ncal each other, which ones further apart? This pattern gives tin answer to this question, and in doing so, helps greatly to consiin. | the inner layout of a work community (41) or of self-governing workshops and offices (80) Or of small services Willi out red tape (8l). ♦ ♦ ♦ If two parts of an office are too far apart, people will not move between them as often as they need to; and il they are more than one floor apart, there will be almost no communication between the two. Current architectural methods often include a proximity matrix, which shows the amount of movement between different people and functions in an office or a hospital. These methods always make the tacit assumption that the functions which haw the most movement between them should be closest together. However, as usually stated, this conceft is completely invalid. The concept has been created by a kind of Taylorian quest for efficiency, in which it is assumed that the less people walk about, the less of their salary is spent on "wasteful" walking. The logical conclusion of this kind of analysis is that, if it were only possible, people should not have to walk at all, and should spend the day vegetating in their armchairs. The fact is that people work best only when they are healthy in mind and body. A person who is forced to sit all day long behind a desk, without ever stretching his legs, will become restless and unable to work, and inefficient in this way. Some walking is very good for you. It is not only good for the body, but also gives people an opportunity for a change of scene, a way Bof thinking about something cbc, a chance to reflect on some I detail of the morning's work or one of the everyday human I problems in the office. On the other hand, if a person has to make the same trip, I many times, there is a point at which the length of the trip I becomes time-consuming and annoying, and then inefficient, be-I cause it makes the person irritable, and finally critical when a I person starts avoiding trips because they are too long and too 1 I frequent. I An office will function efficiently so long as the people who ■ I work there do not feel that the trips they have to take are a J I nuisance. Trips need to be short enough so they are not felt a , I nuisance—but they do not need to be any shorter. ■ The nuisance of a trip depends on the relationship between length and frequency. You can walk 10 feet to a file many times I a day without being annoyed by it; you can walk 400 feet J I occasionally without being annoyed. In the graph below we plot the nuisance threshold for various combinations of length and frequency. The graph is based on 127 observations in the Berkeley City ll.ill. People were asked to define all the trips they had to make regularly during the work week, to state their frequency, and then to state whether they considered the trip to be a nuisance. The line on the graph shows the median of the distances said to be a nuisance for each different frequency. We define distances 10 the right of this line as nuisance distances. The nuisance distance for any trip frequency is the distance at which we predict that at least ;o per cent of all people will begin to consider this distance a nuisance. nuisance distance o 100 200 300 400 500 trip length, ft. Nuisance distances. TOWNS So far, our discussion of proximity has been based on horizontal distances. How do stairs enter in? What part docs verticil distance play in the experience of proximity? Or, to put it more precisely, what is the horizontal equivalent of one flight of stain Suppose two departments need to be within IOO feet of on* another, according to the proximity graph—and suppose thai they are for some reason on different stories, one floor apart, HoW much of the too feet does the stair cat up: with the stair betwi | J them, how far apart can they be horizontally? Wc do not know the exact answer to this question. However we do have some indirect evidence from an unpublished studv In Marina F.stabrook and Robert Sommer. As wc shall sec, tin. study shows that stairs play a much greater role, and eat up much more "distance" than you might imagine. Estabrook and Sommer studied the formation of acquaintance! in a three-story university building, where several different departments were housed. They asked people to name all the people they knew in departments other than their own. Their results were as follows: Percent of people known: 12.2 8.9 2.2 When departments are: on same floor one floor apart two floors apart People knew 12.2 per cent of the people from other depart ments on the same floor as their own, 8.9 per cent of the people from other departments one floor apart from their own (I001, and only 2.2 per cent of the people from other departments twt floors apart from their own. In short, by the time departments air separated by two floors or more, there is virtually no informal contact between the departments. Unfortunately, our own study of proximity was done before we knew about these findings by Estabrook and Sommer; so wc have not yet been able to define the relation between the two kinds of distance. It is clear, though, that one stair must be equivalent to a rather considerable horizontal distance; and that two flights of stairs have almost three times the effect of a single stair. On the basis of this evidence, we conjecture that one stair is equal to about IOO horizontal feet in its effect on interact ion 410 82 OFFICE CONNECTIONS end feelings of distance; and that two flights of stairs arc equal to about 300 horizontal feet. Therefore: To establish distances between departments, calculate the number of trips per day made between each two departments; get the "nuisance distance" from the graph above; then make sure that the physical distance between the two departments is less than the nuisance distance. Reckon one flight of stairs as about 100 feet, and two flights of stairs as about 300 feet. two floors maximum less than nuisance distance *J* %* Keep the buildings which house the departments in line with the four-story limit (21), and get their shape from building complex (95). Give every working group on upper storys its own stair to connect it directly to the public world—pedestrian itreet (lOO), open stairs (158); if there are internal corridors between groups, make them large enough to function as Hrccts—building tiiorouchfare (lot); and identify each workgroup clearly, and give it a well-marked entrance, so that people easily find their way from one to another—family of entrances ( 102). . . . 411 83 MASTER AND APPRENTICES* . . the network of i.earning (18) in the community relics on the fact that learning is decentralized, and part and parcel of every activity—not just a classroom thing. In order to realize this pattern, it is essential that the individual workgroups, throughout industry, offices, workshops, and work communities, are all let up to make the learning process possible. This pattern, which shows the arrangement needed, therefore helps greatly to form Iklf-governing workshops and offices (80) as well as the network of learning (i8). 4* ❖ <- The fundamental learning situation is one in which a person learns by helping someone who really knows what lie is doing. It is the simplest way of acquiring knowledge, and it is powerfully effective. By comparison, learning from lectures and books is dry as dust. But this situation has all but disappeared from modern loeiety. The schools and universities have taken over and abstracted many ways of learning which in earlier times were always closely related to the real work of professionals, tradesmen, artisans, independent scholars. In the twelfth century, for instance, young people learned by working beside masters—helping them, making contact directly with every corner of society. When a young person found himself able to contribute to a field of knowledge, or a trade—he would prepare a master "piece"; and with the consent of the masters, become a fellow in the guild. An experiment by Alexander and Goldberg has shown that a class in which one person teaches a small group of others is most likely to be successful in those cases where the "students" are actually helping the "teacher" to do something or solve some problem, which he is working on anyway—not when a subject of abstract or general interest is being taught. (Report to the Muscatine Committee, on experimental course ED. 10X, Department of Architecture, University of California, 1966.) If this is generally true—in short, if students can learn best when they are acting as apprentices, and helping to do something TOWNS interesting—it follows that our schools and universities .ml offices and industries must provide physical settings which make this master-apprentice relation possible and natural: physical settings where communal work is centered on the master's cffotH and where half a dozen apprentices—not more—have workspace closely connected to the communal work of the studio. We know of an example of this pattern, in the Moleculll Biology building of the University of Oregon. The floors of [he building arc made up of laboratories, each one under the din. tion of a professor of biology, each with two or three small roonu opening directly off the lab for graduate students working unde] the professor's direction. lWtT 1 .11 ■ 1 ■lOLOflT Dm ft - j — —1 BO .j 4 Master-apprentice relationship for a biology laboratory. We believe that variations of this pattern are possible in man different work organizations, as well as the schools. The practid of law, architecture, medicine, the building trades, social service!, engineering—each discipline has the potential to set up its wayi of learning, and therefore the environments in which its pr.i. li tioncrs work, along these lines. Therefore: Arrange the work in every workgroup, industry, and office, in such a way that work and learning go forward hand in hand. Treat every piece of work as an opportunev for learning. To this end, organize work around a traili tion of masters and apprentices: and support this form of 83 MASTER AND APPRENTICES . • :.u - Hivkion of the workspace into where they can work and meet together. several apprentices common area * 4> * Arrange the workspaces as half-private offices (152) or Workspace enclosures (183). Keep workgroups small, and give every group a common area, a common meeting space, and a place where they can eat together—common areas at the heart (l29), communal eating (I47), small work groups ( 148), IMAI.l meeting rooms (ijl). . . . 414 4>5 84 TEEN-AGE SOCIETY . . . the balanced life cycle (26) requires that the transition from childhood to adulthood be treated by a far more subtle .ml embracing kind of teenage institution than a school; thii pattern, which begins to define that institution, can take it» place in the network of learning (18) and help contribute to the network of masters and apprentices (83). JL .*« tti Teenage is the time of passage between childhood and adulthood. In traditional societies, this passage is accom panied by rites which suit the psychological demands of tiir transition. But in modern society the "high school" fails en tirely to provide this passage. The most striking traditional example we know comes from an east African tribe. In order to become a man, a boy of this tribe embarks on a two year journey, which includes a scries ol more and more difficult tasks, and culminates in the hardest ol all—to kill a lion. During his journey, families and villages all over the territory which he roams take him in, and care for hint! they recognize their obligation to do so as part of his ritu.il. Finally, when the boy has passed through all these tasks, and killed his lion, he is accepted as a man. In modern society, the transition cannot be so direct or simple. For reasons too complex to discuss here, the process of transition, and the time it takes have been extended and elaborated greatly. (See F.dgar Friedenberg, The Vanishing Adolescent, Beacon Pres», Boston, 1959 and Coming of Age in America, Random House Inc. N.Y., 1965). Teenage lasts, typically, from 12 to 18; six years instead of one or two. The simple sexual transformation, the change from childhood to maturity, has given way to a much vaster, slower change, in which the self of a person emerges 416 84 TEENAGE SOCIETY during a long struggle in which the person decides "what he or she is going to "be". Almost no one docs what his father did before him; instead, in a world of infinite possibilities, it has to be worked out from nothing. This long process, new to the world since the industrial revolution is the process we call adolescence. And this process of adolescence calls up an extraordinary hope. Since coming of age traditionally marks the birth of self, might not an extended coming of age bring with it a more profound and varied self-conception? That is the hope; but so far it hasn't worked that way. Every culture that has an adolescent period has also a complicated adolescent problem. Throughout the technically developed world, puberty sets off a chain of forces that lead, in remarkably similar ways, to crisis and impasse. High rates of delinquency, school dropout, teenage suicide, drug addiction, and runaway are the dramatic forms this problem takes. And under these circumstances even "normal" adolescence is full of anxiety and, far from opening the doors to a more whole and complicated self, it tends to benumb us morally and intellectually. The institution of the high school has particularly borne the brunt of the adolescent problem. Just at the time when teenagers need to band together freely in groups of their own making and explore, step back from, and explore again, the adult world: its work, love, science, laws, habits, travel, play, communications, and governance, they get treated as if they were large children. They have no more responsibility or authority in a high school than the children in a kindergarten do. They arc responsible for putting away their things, and for playing in the school band, perhaps even for electing class leaders. But these things all happen in a kindergarten too. There is no new form of society, which is a microcosm of adult society, where they can test their growing adulthood in any serious way. And under these circumstances, the adult forces which are forming in them, lash out, and wreak terrible vengeance. Blind adults can easily, then, call this vengeance "delinquency." This has finally been recognized by an official agency. In December 1973 the National Commission on the Reform of 417 TOWNS 84 TEENAGE SOCIETY Secondary Education, working with the Kittcring Foundation, has come to the conclusion that the high schools in Ameru m cities are simply not working; that they are breaking down at institutions. They recommend that high school be non-compulsory after 14. years of age, and that teenagers be given man) options for participation in society; that the size of high schools be reduced drastically, so that they are not so much a world apart from society; that each city provide opportunities for its young to work as apprentices in the local businesses and services,—and that such work be considered part of one's formal learning. More specifically, we believe that the teenagers in a town, boys and girls from the ages of about 12 to 18, should be en« couraged to form a miniature society, in which they are as differentiated, and as responsible mutually, as the adults in the full-scale adult society. It is necessary that they are responsible to one another, that they are able to play a useful role witn respect to one another, that they have different degrees of power and authority according to their age and their maturity. It necessary, in short, that their society is a microcosm of adult society, not an artificial society where people play at being adult, but the real thing, with real rewards, real tragedies, real work, real love, real friendship, real achievements, real responsibility. For this to happen it is necessary that each town have one or more actual teenage societies, partly enclosed, watched over, helped by adults, but run, essentially, by adults and the teenagers together. Therefore: Replace the "high school" with an institution which is actually a model of adult society, in which the students take on most of the responsibility for learning and social lift, with clearly defined roles and forms of discipline. Provide adult guidance, both for the learning, and the social Strut ture of the society; but keep them as far as feasible, in the hands of the students. <{• ♦ ♦ Provide one central place which houses social functions, and a directory of classes in the community. Within the central place, provide communal eating for the students, opportunities for sports and games, a library and counseling for the network of learning which gives the students access to the classes, work communities, and home workshops that are scattered through the town—network of learning (l8), local sports (72), communal eating (147), home workshops (157); for the shape of what buildings there are, begin with buildinc complex (95). . . . 418 419 85 SHOPFRONT SCHOOLS . . the children's home (86) provides the beginning of learning and forms the foundation of the network of learning (18) in a community. As children grow older and more in-1 dependent, these patterns must be supplemented by a mass of tiny institutions, schools and yet not schools, dotted among the living functions of the community. Around the age of 6 or 7, children develop a great need to learn by doing, to make their mark on a community outside the home. If the setting is right, these needs lead children directly to basic skills and habits of learning. The right setting for a child is the community itself, just as the right setting for an infant learning to speak is his own home. For example: On the first day of school we had lunch in one of the Los Angeles city parks. After lunch I gathered everyone, and I said, "Let's do •nine tree identification," and they all moaned. So I said, "Aw, come on, you live with these plants, you could at least know their names. What's the name of these trees we're sitting under?" They all looked up, and in unison said "Sycamores." So I said, "What kind of sycamore?" and no one knew. I got out my Trees of North America book, and said, "Let's find out." There were only three kinds of sycamore in the book, only one on the West Coast, and it was called the California Sycamore. I thought it was all over, but I persisted, "We better make sure by checking these trees against the description in the book." So I started reading the text, "Leaves: six to eight inches." I fished a cloth measuring tape out of 11 box, handed it to Jeff, and said, "Go check out those leaves." He found that the leaves were indeed six to eight inches. I went back to the book and read, " 'Height of mature trees, 50-50 feet.' How are we going to check that?" A big discussion followed, and we finally decided that I should stand up against one • J the trees, they would back off as far as they could and estimate linw many "Rusches" high the tree was. A little simple multiplication followed and we had an approximate tree height. Everyone was pretty involved by now, so I asked them "How else could you do it?" Eric was in the seventh grade and knew a little geometry, so he (aught us how to measure the height by triangulation. 421 TOWNS I was delighted just to have everyone's attention, so I went hack in the book and kept reading. Near the bottom of the paragraph, cam* the clincher, "Diameter: one to three feet." So I handed over the measuring tape, and said, "Get me the diameter of that tree over there." They went over to the tree, and it wasn't until they werr right on top of it that they realized that the only way to measure the diameter of a tree directly is to cut it down. But I insisted that we had to know the diameter of the tree, so two of them stretc In .1 out the tape next to the tree, and by eyeballing along one "edge" and then the other, they came up with eighteen inches. I said, "Is that an accurate answer or just approximate?" Thry agreed it was only a guess, so I said, "How else could you do it?" Right off, Daniel said, "Well you could measure all the way around it, lay that circle out in the dirt, and then measure across it." I was really impressed, and said, "Go to it." Meanwhile, I turned to the rest of the group, and said, "How else could you do it?" Eric, who turned out to be a visualizer and was perhaps visuali/Jnu the tree as having two sides, said, "Well, you could measure all the way around it, and divide by two." Since I believe you learn at least as much from mistakes as from successes, I said, "Okay, try it." Meanwhile, Daniel was measuring across the circle on the ground, and by picking the right points on a somewhat lopsided circle euM) up with the same answer, "Eighteen inches." So I gave the tape i" Eric, he measured around the tree, got sixty inches, divided by two, and got thirty for the diameter. He was naturally a little disappointed, so I said, "Well, I like your idea, maybe you just have tin wrong number. Is there a better number to divide with than two?" Right off, Michael said, "Well you could divide by three," and then thinking ahead quickly added, "and subtract two." I said, "Great! Now you have a formula, check it out on that tree over there," pointing to one only about six inches in diameter. They went over, measured the circumference, divided by three, subtracted two, and checked it against a circle on the ground. The result was disappointing, so I told them try some more trees. They checked about three more trees and came back. "How did it work?" "Well," Mark said, "Dividing by three works pretty well, but subtracting two isn't so good." "How good is dividing by three?" I asked, and Michael replied, "It's not quite big enough." "How big should it be?" "About three and a half," said Daniel. "No," said Michael, "It's more like three and an eighth." At that point, these five kids, ranging in age from 9 to 11 were within two one hundredths of discovering tt and I was having trouble containing myself. I suppose I could have extended the lesson by having them convert one-eighth to decimals, but I was too excited. 85 SHOPFRONT SCHOOLS "book," I said, "I want to tell you a secret. There's a magic .......In r which is 50 special it has it own name. It's called tt. And the m«K'<-° 's 'bat once you know how big it is, you can take any 1 mi I., no matter how big or how small, and go from circumference tu diameter, or diameter to circumference. Now here is how it Dorks. . ." After my explanation, we went around the park, estimating the ......inferences of trees by guessing their diameter, or figuring the diameter by measuring the circumference and dividing by it. Later »In 11 I had taught them how to use a slide rule, I pointed out tt to ihriu and gave them a whole series of "tree" problems. Later still, I • I 1' wed the whole thing with telephone poles and lighting ' iinl.irds, just to make sure that the concept of tt didn't disappear Into the obscurity of abstract mathematics. I know that I didn't really understand 7r until I got to college, despite an excellent math program in high school. But for those five kids at least, tt is mini-thing real; it "lives" in trees and telephone poles. (Charles W Kusch, "Moboc: The Mobile Open Classroom," School of architecture and Urban Planning, University of California, Los Angeles, November 1973.) A few children in a bus, visiting a city park with a teacher. That works because there are only a few children and one I teacher. Any public school can provide the teacher and the bus. Hut they cannot provide the low student-teacher ratio, because 1 In sheer size of the school eats up all the money in administrative costs and overheads—which end up making higher student ratios economically essential. So even though everyone knows that the secret of good teaching lies in low student-teacher ratios, the ti liools make this one central thing impossible to get, because they waste their money being large. Hut as our example suggests, we can cut back on the overhead costs of large concentrated schools and lower the student-ii 11 her ratio; simply by making our schools smaller. This approach to schooling—the mini-school or shopfront school—has been tried in a number of communities across the United States. I 8cc, for instance, Paul Goodman, "Mini-schools: a prescription (nr the reading problem," New York Review of Books, January I968. To date, we know of no systematic empirical account of this experiment. But a good deal has been written about these schools. Perhaps the most interesting account is George Dennison's The Lives of Children (New York: Vintage Book, 1969): 422 423 TOWNS I would like to make clear that in contrasting our own prow durcs with those of the public schools, I am not trying to crltl cize the teachers who find themselves embattled in the institution*) setting and overburdened to the point of madness. . . . My point n precisely that the intimacy and small scale of our school should If imitated widely, since these things alone make possible the human contact capable of curing the diseases we have been naming with such frequency for the last ten years. Now that "mini-schools" arc being discussed (they have hern proposed most cogently by Paul Goodman and Dr. Elliott Shapiro I, it's worth saying that that's exactly what we were: the first of the mini-schools. , , . By eliminating the expenses of the centralized school, Dcnnii..... found he was able to reduce the student-teacher ratio by a factor of three! For the twenty-three children there were three full-time teachers, one part-time (myself), and several others who came at scheduled periods for singing, dancing, and music. Public school teachers, with their 30 to 1 ratios, will be aware that we have entered the realm of sheer luxury. One of the things that will bear repeating, however, is that this luxury was purchased at a cost per child a good bit lower than that of the puMh system, for the similarity of operating costs docs not reflect the huge capital investment of the public schools or the great difference in the quality of service. Not that our families paid tuition (hardly anyone did) ; I mean simply that our money was not drained away by v.is! administrative costs, bookkeeping, elaborate buildings, main tenancc, enforcement personnel, and vandalism. Charles Rusch, director of Moboc, Mobil Open Classroom, hat made the same discovery: ... by eliminating the building and the salaries of all those persons who do not directly work with the children, the student/teacher ratio can be reduced from something like 35/1 to 10/1. In this one srroke many of the most pressing public school problems can lie eliminated at no extra cost to the school or school district, Rusch, "Moboc: The Mobile Open Classroom," p. 7. Therefore: 85 SHOPFRONT SCHOOLS .,„! ibreeorfour rooms. shopfront m ^ mini-bus the city •S- *}• •!• Place the school on a pedestrian street—pedestrian street (loo); near other functioning workshops—self-governing hohkshops and offices (80) and within walking distance of a pirk—accessible green (60). Make it an identifiable part of 1 In building it is part of—building complex (95); and give It a good strong opening at the front, so that it is connected with the street—opening to the street (165). . . . Instead of building large public schools for children 7 to 12, set up tiny independent schools, one school at a time. Keep the school small, so that its overheads are low and 425 424 towns 86 children's home adults and children of other ages had a positive value for the children. It brought them into contact with more human situations, allowed them to work out their needs with a variety of people, not j ust two. However, as this kind of family has gradually disappeared, we have continued to hold fast to the idea that child-raising is the job of the family alone, especially the mother. But it is no longer viable. Here is Philip Slater discussing the difficulties that besei a small nuclear family focussing its attention on one or two children: The new parents may not be as absorbed in material possession! and occupational self-aggrandizement as their own parents in r. They may channel their parental vanity into different spheres, pushing their children to be brilliant artists, thinkers, and performers. But the hard narcissistic core on which the old culture was based will not be dissolved until the parent-child relationship itself is deitl tensified. . . . Breaking the pattern means establishing communities in win. I. (a) children are not socialized exclusively by their parents, (hi parents have lives of their own and do not live vicariously thratagn their children (The Pursuit of Loneliness, Boston: Beacon Press, 1971, pp. 141-42). The children's home we propose is a place which "dc-intensi-fics the parent-child relationship" by bringing the child into authentic social relationships with several other adults and many other children. 1. Physically, it is a very large, rambling home, with a good-sized yard. 2. The house is within walking distance of the children's OWB homes. Terence Lee was found that young children who walk or bike to school learn more than those who go by bus or car. The mechanism is simple and startling. The children who walk or bike, remain in contact with the ground, and are therefore able to create a cognitive map which includes both home and school. The children who are taken by car, arc whisked, as if by 111.11:1. carpet, from one place to the other, and cannot maintain any cognitive map which includes both home and school. To all int. nl and purposes they feci lost when they are at school; they arc perhaps even afraid that they have lost their mothers. (T. R. I.cc, "On the relation between the school journey and social and cmo- 428 1.....,d adjustment in rural infant children," British Journal of educational Psychology, 27:101, 1957.) |, There is a core staff of two or three adults who manage 'I., home; and at least one of them, preferably more, actually lo.-. there. In effect, it is the real home of some people; it does not close down at night. 4. Parents and their children join a particular home. And then die ihildrcn may come and stay there at any time, for an hour, in afternoon, sometimes for long overnight stays. 5. Payment might be made by the hour to begin with. If we assume $1 per hour as a base fee, and assume that a child might spend 20 hours a week there, the house needs about 30 member ihildrcn to generate a monthly income of about $2500. 6. The home focuses on raising children in a big extended family setting. For example, the home might be the center of a local coffee klatch, where a few people meet every day and mix with the children. 7. In line with this atmosphere, the home itself should be relatively open, with a public path passing across the site. Silver-ilcin has indicated that the child's sense of his first school being "separate" from society can be reduced if the play areas of the children's home arc open to all passing adults and to all passing children. (Murray Silverstein, "The Child's Urban Environment," Proceedings of the Seventy-First National Convention of the Congress of Parents and Teachers, Chicago, Illinois, 1967, PP- 39-45-) 8. To keep the young children safe, and to make it possible to give them this great freedom without losing track of them altogether, the play areas may be sunk slightly, and surrounded by a low wall. If the wall is at seat height, it will encourage people to sit on it—giving them a place from which to watch the children playing, and the children a chance to talk to passers-by. The children's home pattern has been tried, successfully, in a far more extreme form than we imagine here, in many kibbutzim where children arc raised in collective nurseries, and merely visit their parents for a few hours per week. The fact that this very extreme version has been successful should remove any doubts about the workability of the much milder version which we are proposing. Therefore: 429 TOWNS In every neighborhood, build a children's home- i second home for children—a large rambling house <>■ workplace—a place where children can stay for an hour ital to start his own store the chance to run a store that seems his; and they spread like wildfire. But they create even more plaitic, bland, and abstract services. The individual managers have iliim t no control over the goods they sell, the food they serve; I ulii ies are lightly controlled; the personal quality of individually • ned shops is altogether broken down. Shop run for money alone. Shop run as a a shop keeper who is starting, to a minimum. Shops in Morocco, India, Peru, and the oldest parts of old*r towns, are often no more than 50 square feet in area. Just roOHl for a person and some merchandise—but plenty big enough. m Fifty square feet. Therefore: Do what you can to encourage the development of in dividually owned shops. Approve applications for business licenses only if the business is owned by those people who actually work and manage the store. Approve new commercial building permits only if the proposed structure includes many very very small rental spaces. owner occupied i-i-J ! J i- —-—r- ♦..-.1 some no more than 50 square feet Treat each individual shop as an identifiable unit of a larger iiimi.ding complex (95); make at least some part of the shop part of the sidewalk, so that people walk through the shop as they arc going down the street—opening to the street (165) ; and build the inside of the shop with all the goods as open and available as possible—the shape op indoor space (191), thick H m.ls (197), open shelves (200). . . . 434 43S BtV . neighborhoods arc defined by identifiable neighborhood (14); their natural points of focus are given by activity Nodes (30) and small public squares (61). This pattern, and I he ones which follow it, give the neighborhood and its points 11I focus, their identity. ❖ * * The street cafe provides a unique setting, special to cities: • place where people can sit lazily, legitimately, be on view, |nd watch the world go by. The most humane cities are always full of street cafes. Let us try to understand the experience which makes these places so ((tractive. We know that people enjoy mixing in public, in parks, squares, •long promenades and avenues, in street cafes. The preconditions Hem to be: the setting gives you the right to be there, by custom; there are a few things to do that arc part of the scene, almost 1itu.1l: reading the newspaper, strolling, nursing a beer, playing ■ ill; and people feel safe enough to relax, nod at each other, piili.ips even meet. A good cafe terrace meets these conditions. Ilui it has in addition, special qualities of its own: a person may ill there for hours—in public! Strolling, a person must keep up a 1 uc; loitering is only for a few minutes. You can sit still in a I nl, but there is not the volume of people passing, it is more a 1 " lie, peaceful experience. And sitting at home on one's porch « tgain different: it is far more protected; and there is not the mix of people passing by. But on the cafe terrace, you can sit ill, relax, and be very public. As an experience it has special 1 ■ ibilities; "perhaps the next person . . ."; it is a risky place. It is this experience that the street cafe supports. And it is one nl the attractions of cities, for only in cities do we have the con- ■ iin.ition of people required to bring it off. But this experience need not be confined to the special, extraordinary parts of town. In European cities and towns, there is a street cafe in every neigh-I'inhood—they are as ordinary as gas stations are in the United 437 TOWNS States. And the existence of such places provides social glue for the community. They become like clubs—people tend to return to their favorite, the faces become familiar. When there is a success" ful cafe within walking distance of your home, in the neighborhood, so much the better. It helps enormously to increase tlie identity of a neighborhood. It is one of the few settings where a newcomer to the neighborhood can start learning the ropes ml meeting the people who have been there many years. The ingredients of a successful street cafe seem to be: 1. There is an established local clientele. That is, by name, location, and staff, the cafe is very much anchored in the neighborhood in which it is situated. 2. In addition to the terrace which is open to the street, the cafe contains several other spaces: with games, fire, soft chain, newspapers. . . . This allows a variety of people to start using It, according to slightly different social styles. 3. The cafe serves simple food and drinks—some alcoholic drinks, but it is not a bar. It is a place where you arc as likely to go in the morning, to start the day, as in the evening, for a nightcap, When these conditions are present, and the cafe takes hold, it offers something unique to the lives of the people who use it: it offers a setting for discussions of great spirit—talks, two-bit lectures, half-public, half-private, learning, exchange of thought. When we worked for the University of Oregon, we compared the importance of such discussion in cafes and cafe-like places, with the instruction students receive in the classroom. We interviewed 30 students to measure the extent that shops and cafes contributed to their intellectual and emotional growth at the University. We found that "talking with a small group of student! in a coffee shop" and "discussion over a glass of beer" scored as high and higher than "examinations" and "laboratory study," Apparently the informal activities of shops and cafes contribute as much to the growth of students, as the more formal educational activities. We believe this phenomenon is general. The quality that wc tried to capture in these interviews, and which is present in a neighborhood cafe, is essential to all neighborhoods—not only student neighborhoods. It is part of their life-blood. 88 STREET CAFE Therefore: Encourage local cafes to spring up in each neighborhood Make them intimate places, with several rooms, open to ^ busy path, where people can sit with coffee or a drink anc^ watch the world go by. Build the front of the cafe so tha ^ a set of tables stretch out of the cafe, right into the street^ newspapers busy path Build a wide, substantial opening between the terrace and ty^ Indoors—opkninc to the street (165) ; make the terra^cc double as a place to wait (150) for nearby bus stops a^j bffices; both indoors and on the terrace use a great variety ^ dilfercnt kinds of chairs and tables—different chairs (251 y and give the terrace some low definition at the street edge if jt it in danger of being interrupted by street action—stair se-y (12$), sitting wall (243), perhaps a canvas roof (244). ^oj, tin shape of the building, the terrace, and the surrounding begin with building complex (95). . . . 43« 439 TOWNS States. And the existence of such places provides social glue for the community. They become like clubs—people tend to return in their favorite, the faces become familiar. When there is a successful cafe within walking distance of your home, in the neighborhood, so much the better. It helps enormously to increase the identity of a neighborhood. It is one of the few settings where a newcomer to the neighborhood can start learning the ropes MM meeting the people who have been there many years. The ingredients of a successful street cafe seem to be: 1. There is an established local clientele. That is, by name, location, and staff, the cafe is very much anchored in the neigh, borhood in which it is situated. 2. In addition to the terrace which is open to the street, the cafe contains several other spaces: with games, fire, soft chairs, newspapers. . . . This allows a variety of people to start using it, according to slightly different social styles. 2. The cafe serves simple food and drinks—some alcoholi< drinks, but it is not a bar. It is a place where you arc as likely to go in the morning, to start the day, as in the evening, for a nightcap, When these conditions are present, and the cafe takes hold, it offers something unique to the lives of the people who use it: it offers a setting for discussions of great spirit—talks, two-bit lectures, half-public, half-private, learning, exchange of thought. When we worked for the University of Oregon, we compan I the importance of such discussion in cafes and cafe-like places, with the instruction students receive in the classroom. We interviewed 30 students to measure the extent that shops and cafes contributed to their intellectual and emotional growth at the University. We found that "talking with a small group of students in a coffee shop" and "discussion over a glass of beer" scored at high and higher than "examinations" and "laboratory study." Apparently the informal activities of shops and cafes contribute as much to the growth of students, as the more formal educational activities. We believe this phenomenon is general. The quality that we tried to capture in these interviews, and which is present in a neighborhood cafe, is essential to all neighborhoods—not only student neighborhoods. It is part of their life-blood. 88 STREET CAFE Therefore: Encourage local cafes to spring up in each neighborhood. Make them intimate places, with several rooms, open to a busy path, where people can sit with coffee or a drink and watch the world go by. Build the front of the cafe so that a set of tables stretch out of the cafe, right into the street. newspapers busy path Build a wide, substantial opening between the terrace and the indoors—opening to the street (165); make the terrace double as a place to wait (150) for nearby bus stops and offices; both indoors and on the terrace use a great variety of different kinds of chairs and tables—different chairs (251); and give the terrace some low definition at the street edge if it 11 in danger of being interrupted by street action—stair seats 11sitting wall (243), perhaps a canvas roof (244). For the shape of the building, the terrace, and the surroundings, I' With building complex (g,) . . . . 438 439 89 CORNER GROCERY* , , the major shopping needs, in any community, are taken .1 In the market of many shops (46). However, the web it hopping (19) is not complete, unless there are also much itiiller shops, more widely scattered, helping to supplement markets, and helping to create the natural identity of identi- 'ii neighborhoods (14). ♦ ♦ ♦ 11 has lately been assumed that people no longer want to ■ Ik to local stores. This assumption is mistaken. Indeed, we believe that people are not only trilling to walk their local corner groceries, but that the corner grocery iyi an essential role in any healthy neighborhood: partly because It is just more convenient for individuals; partiv because it help* to integrate the neighborhood as a whole. ■Strong support for this notion comes from a study by Arthur I' little, Inc., which found that neighborhood stores are one • it 1 lie two most important elements in people's perception of an bt4 *s a neighborhood (Community Renewal Program, New • -Mi Praeger Press, 1966), Apparently this is because local timet arc an important destination for neighborhood walks. I'rnple go to them when they feel like a walk as well as when they need a carton of milk. In this way, as a generator of walks, they draw a residential area together and help to give it the ily of a neighborhood. Similar evidence comes from a report l'i the management of one of San Francisco's housing projects for lit' elderly. One of the main reasons why people resisted moving Intit some of the city's new housing projects, according to the "ental manager, was that the projects were not located in "down- 1 locations, where . . . there is a store on every street rittner." (San Francisco Chronicle, August 1971.) To find out how far people will walk to a store we inter-1 ■ ived 20 people at .1 neighborhood store in Berkeley. We found that 80 per cent of the people interviewed walked, and that WlOte who walked all came three blocks or less. Over half of 440 4+i TOWNS them had been to the store previously within two days. On tht other hand, those who came by car usually came from more ilm, four blocks away. We found the pattern to be similar at other public facilities in the neighborhoods that we surveyed. \< distances around four blocks, or greater, people who rode oul« numbered those who walked. It seems then, that corner grocer in need to be within walking distance, three to four blocks or I ion feet, of every home. But can they survive? Are these stores doomed by the ccO» nomics of scale? How many people docs it take to support on* comer grocery? We may estimate the critical population (or grocery stores by consulting the yellow pages. For example, Sati Francisco, a city of 750,000, has 638 neighborhood grocery stores. This means that there is one grocery for every 1160 people, which corresponds to Berry's estimate—see wed ok SHOP ping (19)—and corresponds also to the size of neighborhoods sec identifiable neighborhood (14). It seems, then, that a corner grocery can survive under cir» cumstances where there are lOOO people within three or four blocks—a net density of at least 20 persons per net acre, or iii houses per net acre. Most neighborhoods do have this kin.I o! density. One might even take this figure as a lower limit for * viable neighborhood, on the grounds that a neighborhood ou^ht to be able to support a corner grocery, for the sake of its own social cohesion. Finally, the success of a neighborhood store will depend on it» location. It has been shown that the rents which owners of small retail businesses are willing to pay vary directly with the amount of pedestrian traffic passing by, and are therefore uniform!) higher on street corners than in the middle of the block. (Bii.in J. L. Berry, Geography of Market Centers and Retail Distribution, Prentice Hall, 1967, p. 49.) Therefore: 89 CORNER GROCERY large numbers of people are going past. And combine l hem with houses, so that the people who run them can live over them or next to them. small grocery every 1000 people street corner ♦> + + Prevent franchises and pass laws which prevent the emergence of those much larger groceries which swallow up the corner groceries—individually owned shops (87). Treat the inside Of the shop as a room, lined with goods—the shape of indoor • PACE (l9l), thick walu (197), open shelves (200); give it a clear and wide entrance so that everyone can sec it—main i NTRANCE (ilO), opening to the street ( 16 5) . And for the shape of the grocery, as a small building or as part of a larger building, begin with building complex (95). . . . Give every neighborhood at least one corner grocery, somewhere near its heart. Place these corner groceries every 200 to 800 yards, according to the density, so that each one serves about 1000 people. Place them on corners, where 441 443 , , . in an occasional neighborhood, which functions as the focus pi i group of neighborhoods, or in a boundary between neighbor- I.....ds—neighborhood boundary (15)—or on the promenade which forms the focus of a large community—promenade (31), NIGHT like (33)—there is a special need for something larger mid more raucous than a street cafe. ♦ ♦ <♦ Where can people sing, and drink, and shout and drink, >nid let go of their sorrows? A public drinking house, where strangers and friends arc di inking companions, is a natural part of any large community, lint .ill too often, bars degenerate and become nothing more than mchors for the lonely. Robert Sommcr has described this in "Design for Drinking," Chapter 8 of his book Personal Space, I iiglcwood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1969. ... it is not difficult in any American city to find examples of the li.ir where meaningful contact is at a minimum. V. S. Pritchett dc-hmU-5 the lonely men in New York City silting speechlessly on a fow of barstools, with their arms triangled on the bar before a bottle of beer, their drinking money before them. If anyone speaks In his neighbor under these circumstances, he is likely to receive a Mttpicious stare for his efforts. The barman is interested in the patrons as customers—he is there to sell, they arc there to buy. . . . Another visiting Englishman makes the same point when he de-irribcs the American bar as a "hoked up saloon; the atmosphere is as 1 lolly as the beer . . . when I asked a stranger to have a drink, lh looked at me as if I were mad. In England if a guy's a stranger, . each guy buys the other a drink. You enjoy each other's company, and everyone is happy. . . ." (Tony Kirby, "Who's Crazy?" The Village Voice, January 26, 1967, p. 39.) Let us consider drinking more in the style of these English |uilw. Drink helps people to relax and become open with one (nothcr, to sing and dance. But it only brings out these qualities When the setting is right. We think that there are two critical qualities for the setting: 1. The place holds a crowd that is continuously mixing bc- 445 TOWNS 9O BEER HALL tween functions—the bar, the dance floor, a fire, darts, bathrooms, the entrance, the seats; and these activities are cc centrated and located round the edge so that they generate c< tinual criss-crossing. 2. The seats should be largely in the form of tables for to eight set in open alcoves—that is, tables that arc defined fin small groups, with walls, columns, and curtains—but open at both ends. The open alcove—supports the fluidity of the scene. This form helps sustain the life of the group and lets people coinr in and out freely. Also, when the tables arc large, they invite people to sit down with a stranger or another group. Therefore: Somewhere in the community at least one big plact where a few hundred people can gather, with beer ami wine, music, and perhaps a half-dozen activities, so linn people are continuously criss-crossing from one to anothti. + ❖ + Put the tables in two-ended alcoves, roomy enough for people in pass through on their way between activities—alcoves (179) ; provide a fire, as the hub of one activity—the fire (181) ; and a variety of ceiling heights to correspond to different social groupings—ceiling HEiciiT varietv (190). For the shape of the building, gardens, parking, and surroundings, begin with lirlLDING complex (9;). . . . criss-cross paths open alcoves activities 446 4+7 9i traveler's inn* . any town or city has visitors and travelers passing through, snd these visitors will naturally tend to congregate around the tenters of activity—magic of the city (io), activity nodes | in), promenade (31), night life (33), work community (41). This pattern shows how the hotels which cater to these visitors can most effectively help to sustain the life of these . 1 mers. •{• *}• A man who stays the night in a strange place is still a member of the human community, and still needs company. There is no reason why he should creep into a hole, .mil watch TV alone, the way he does in a roadside motel. At all times, except our own, the inn was a wonderful place, where strangers met for a night, to eat, and drink, play cards, tell •lories, and experience extraordinary adventures. But in a modern ninlel every ounce of this adventure has been lost. The motel owner assumes that strangers are afraid of one another, so he 1 ii< is to their fear by making each room utterly self-contained and self-sufficient. But behind the fear, there is a deep need: the need for Company—for stories, and adventures, and encounters. It is the business of an inn to create an atmosphere where people can experience and satisfy this need. The most extreme version is the Indian pilgrim's inn, or the Persian caravanserai. There people cat, and meet, and sleep, and talk, and smoke, and drink in one great space, protected from danger by their mutual company, and given entertainment by one another's escapades and stories. The inspiration for this pattern came from Gita Shah's description of the Indian pilgrim's inn, in The Timeless Way of Building: In India, there are many of these inns. There is a courtyard where the people meet, and a place to one side of the courtyard where they cat, and also on this side there is the person who looks after the Inn, and on the other three sides of the courtyard there are the n......s—in front of the rooms is an arcade, maybe one step up from 449 TOWNS the courtyard, and about ten feet deep, with another step leading into the rooms. During the evening everyone meets in the courtyard, and they talk and eat together—it is very special—and then at night they all sleep in the arcade, so they are all sleeping together, round the courtyard. And of course, the size is crucial. The atmosphere comci mainly from the fact that the people who run the place themselves live there and treat the entire inn as their household. A family can't handle more than 30 rooms. Therefore: Make the traveler's inn a place where travelers can take rooms for the night, but where—unlike most hotels tad motels—the inn draws all its energy from the community of travelers that are there any given evening. The Kfdf is small—30 or 40 guests to an inn; meals are offered communally; there is even a large space ringed round with beds in alcoves. sleeping rooms and alcoves conviviality communal meals <■ •:• •:• The heart of the conviviality is the central area, where everyone can meet and talk and dance and drink—common areas at the heart (129), dancing in the street (65), and BUI hai.i. (90). Provide the opportunity for communal eating, not a restaurant, but common food around a common tabic—communal eating (147); and, over and above the individu.il rooms there are at least some areas where people can lie down and sleep in public unafraid—sleeping in public (94), communal sleeping (186). For the overall shape of the inn, in gardens, parking, and surroundings, begin with building complex (95). . . . 450 BUS STOP . . . within a town whose public transportation is based on minibuses (20), genuinely able to serve people, almost door to door, for a low price, and very fast, there need to be bus stops within a few hundred feet of every house and workplace. This p.i11. m gives the form of the bus stops. Bus stops must be easy to recognize, and pleasant, with enough activity around them to make people comfortabh and safe. Bus stops are often dreary because they are set down independently, with very little thought given to the experience o| waiting there, to the relationship between the bus stop and ill surroundings. They are places to stand idly, perhaps anxioutlj, waiting for the bus, always watching for the bus. It is a shabb) experience; nothing that would encourage people to use publi< transportation. The secret lies in the web of relationships that are present in the tiny system around the bus stop. If they knit together, ana reinforce each other, adding choice and shape to the experii 1 the system is a good one: but the relationships that make up such a system are extremely subtle. For example, a system a« simple as a traffic light, a curb, and street corner can be enhanced by viewing it as a distinct node of public life: people wait for tin light to change, their eyes wander, perhaps they are not in such a hurry. Place a newsstand and a flower wagon at the corner and the experience becomes more coherent. The curb and the light, the papcrstand and the flowers, the awning over the shop on the corner, the change in people's pockets—all this forms a web of mutually sustaining relationships. The possibilities for each bus stop to become part of such a web are different—in some cases it will be right to make a system that will draw people into a private reverie—an old tree; another time one that will do the opposite—give shape to the social possibilities—a coffee stand, a canvas roof, a decent place to sit for people who are not waiting for the bus. Two bus stops. Therefore: Build bus stops so that they form tiny centers of public life. Build them as part of the gateways into neighborhoods, work communities, parts of town. Locate them so thai they work together with several other activities, at It asl a newsstand, maps, outdoor shelter, seats, and in various combinations, corner groceries, smoke shops, coffee bar, tree places, special road crossings, public bathrooms, Mjuares. . . . hot coffee newspaper sti bench gateway Make a full gateway to the neighborhood next to the bus stop, en place the bus stop where the best gateway is alreadj—main Gateway (53); treat the physical arrangement according to the patterns for public outdoor room (69), path shape (121), and a place to wait (i;o); provide a food stand (93): place the seats according to sun, wind protection, and view—seat spots (»4')---- 453 452 93 FOOD STANDS* 454 , throughout the neighborhood there are natural public |athriing places—activity nodes (30), road crossings (54), • 1 id walks (5;), small public squares (6l), bus stops (til). All draw their life, to some extent, from the food stands, 1 hawkers, and the vendors who fill the street with the smell of food. *}• •$• Many of our habits and institutions are bolstered by the I,n 1 that we can get simple, inexpensive food on the street, mi the way to shopping, work, and friends. The food stands which make the best food, and which con-niliiiic most to city life, are the smallest shacks and carts from Which individual vendors sell their wares. Everyone has memories tl iliem. But in their place we now have shining hamburger kitchens, •led chicken shops, and pancake houses. They are chain opera-. with no roots in the local community. They sell "plastic," mill-produced frozen food, and they generate a shabby quality • ■I life around them. They are built to attract the eye of a person driving: the signs are huge; the light is bright neon. They are hi . tisitive to the fabric of the community. Their parking lots around them kill the public open space. If we want food in our streets contributing to the social life of the streets, not helping to destroy it, the food stands must be made and placed accordingly. We propose four rules: 1. The food stands are concentrated at road crossings (54) n( the network of paths and cars (52). It is possible to see ihoii from cars and to expect them at certain kinds of intersections, but they do not have special parking lots around them—see nine per cent parking (22). 2. The food stands arc free to take on a character that is ......p.uible with the neighborhood around them. They can be 455 TOWNS freestanding carts, or built into the corners and crevice-, ,,l existing buildings; they can be small huts, part of the fabric -'I the street. 3. The smell of the food is out in the street; the place can be surrounded with covered seats, sitting walls, places to lean and sip coffee, part of the larger scene, not sealed away in a plate glass structure, surrounded by cars. The more they smell, thr better. 4. They are never franchises, but always operated by theil owners. The best food always comes from family restaurants, in I the best food in a foodstand always comes when people prcpart the food and sell it themselves, according to their own ideas, thill own recipes, their own choice. Therefore: SLEEPING IN PUBLIC Concentrate food stands where cars and paths meet-either portable stands or small huts, or built into the fronts of buildings, half-open to the street. hut or stall smell of food * * * Treat these food stands as activity pockets (124) when tin I are part of a square; Use canvas roofs to make a simple shch.-i over them—canvas roof (244) ; and keep them in line with thr precepts of individually owned shops (87): the best food always comes from people who are in business for themselves, whu buy the raw food, and prepare it in their own style. . . . 456 • • • thu pattern helps to make places like the interchan.., (34 > small publ.c squares (6l), publ.c outdoor ROOM (69), street cafe (88), pedestrian street (Ioo), bu.I...IN,. thoroughfare (.0,), a place to walt (,50) Completely It is a mark of success in a park, public lobby or a port It, when people can come there and fall asleep. In a society which nurtures people and fosters trust, the fact that people sometimes want to sleep in public is the most natural thing in the world. If someone lies down on a pavement 01 4 bench and falls asleep, it is possible to treat it seriously as a need. If he has no place to go—then, we, the people of the town, can be happy that he can at least sleep on the public paths and benches; and, of course, it may also be someone who docs have a place to go, but happens to like napping in the street. But our society does not invite this kind of behavior. In our society, sleeping in public, like loitering, is thought of as an act for criminals and destitutes. In our world, when homeless people start sleeping on public benches or in public buildings, upright citizens get nervous, and the police soon restore "public order." Thus we cleared these difficult straits, my bicycle and I, together. But a little further on I heard myself hailed. I raised my head ami saw a policeman. Elliptically speaking, for it was only later, by way of induction, or deduction, I forget which, that I knew what it waa. What arc you doing there? he said. I'm used to that question, I understood it immediately. Resting, I said. Resting, he said. Resting, I said. Will you answer my question? he cried. So it always is win n I'm reduced to confabulation. I honestly believe I have answered the question I am asked and in reality I do nothing of the kind. I won't reconstruct the conversation in all its meanderings. It ended in my understanding that my way of resting, my attitude when at rest, astride my bicycle, my arms on the handlebars, my head on my arms, was a violation of I don't know what, public order, public decency. . . . What is certain is this, that I never rested in that way again, my 94 SLEEPING IN PUBLIC Ifeet obscenely resting on the earth, my arms on the handlebars and I on my arms my head, rocking and abandoned. It is indeed a deplorable sight, a deplorable example, for the people, who so need to be encouraged, in their bitter toil, and to have before their eyes manifestations of strength only, of courage and joy, without which they might collapse, at the end of the day, and roll on the ground. (Samuel Beckett, Molloy.) It seems, at first, as though this is purely a social problem and that it can only be changed by changing people's attitudes. But the fact is, that these attitudes are largely shaped by the environment itself. In an environment where there are very few places to lie down and sleep people who sleep in public seem unnatural, because it is so rare. Therefore: Keep the environment filled with ample benches, computable places, corners to sit on the ground, or lie in comfort in the sand. Make these places relatively sheltered, pro-1 cited from circulation, perhaps up a step, with seats and grass to slump down upon, read the paper and doze off. shelter soft benches away from traffic s|> 4 *> Above all, put the places for sleeping along buildinc edges ( Mio) ; make scats there, and perhaps even a bed alcove or two in public might be a nice touch—bed alcove (188), seat spots (241); but above all, it will hinge on the attitudes which people have—do anything you can to create trust, so that people feel no fear in going to sleep in public and so that other people feel no li .11 of people sleeping in the street. 458 459 This completes the global patterns which define a town or a community. We now start that -part of the language which gives shape to groups of buildings, and individual buildings, on the land, in three dimensions. These are the patterns which can be "designed" or "built"—the patterns which define the individual buildings and the space between buildings, where we are dealing for the first time with patterns that are under the control of individuals or small groups of individuals, who are able to build the patterns all at once. * •> •:• We assume that, based on the instructions in "Summary of the Language," you have already constructed a sequence of patterns. We shall now go through a step-by-Htep procedure for building this sequence into a design. 1. The basic instruction is this: Take the patterns in the order of the sequence, one by one, and let the form grow from the fusion of these patterns, the site, and your own instincts. 2. It is essential to work on the site, where the project is to be built; inside the room that is to be remodeled; On the land where the building is to go up; and so forth. And as far as possible, work with the people that are actually going to use the place when it is finished: if you tre the user, all the better. But, above all, work on the nitc, stay on the site, let the site tell you its secrets. 3. Remember too, that the form will grow gradually us you go through the sequence, beginning as something Wry loose and amorphous, gradually becoming more mid more complicated, more refined and more differ-' ii 1 Kited, more finished. Don't rush this process. Don't 463 BUILDINGS give the form more order than it needs to meet the put terns and the conditions of the site, each step of the way, In effect, as you build each pattern into the design, you will experience a single gestalt that is gradually becoming more and more coherent. 4. Take one pattern at a time. Open the page to the first one and read it again. The pattern statement describes the ways in which other patterns either influence this pattern, or are influenced by it. For now, this information is useful only in so far as it helps you to envision the one 'pattern before you, as a whole. 5. Now, try to imagine how, on your particular mw , you can establish this pattern. Stand on the site with your eyes closed. Imagine how things might be, if the pattern, as you have understood it, had suddenly sprung up there overnight. Once you have an image of how it might be, walk about the site, pacing out approximate areas, marking the walls, using string and cardboard, and putting stakes in the ground, or loose stones, to mark the important corners. 6. Complete your thought about this pattern, before you go on to the next one. This means you must treat the pattern as an "entity"; and try to conceive of this entity, entire and whole, before you start creating any other patterns. 7. The sequence of the language will guarantee that you will not have to make enormous changes which cancel out your earlier decisions. Instead, the changes you make will get smaller and smaller, as you build in more and more patterns, like a series of progressive refine ments, until you finally have a complete design. 8. Since you are building up your design, one pattern BUILDINGS lit a time, it is essential to keep your design as fluid as possible, while you go from pattern to pattern. As you use the patterns, one after another, you will find that you keep needing to adjust your design to accommo-< l.i 1 <.- new patterns. It is important that you do this in a loose and relaxed way, without getting the design more fixed than necessary, and without being afraid to make (lunges. The design can change as it needs to, so long as you maintain the essential relationships and characteristics which earlier patterns have prescribed. You will »ee that it is possible to keep these essentials constant, and still make minor changes in the design. As you in-ilude each new pattern, you readjust the total gestalt of your design, to bring it into line with the pattern you are working on. 9. While you are imagining how to establish one pat-t< in, consider the other patterns listed with it. Some are larger. Some are smaller. For the larger ones, try to see how they can one day be present in the areas you are working on, and ask yourself how the pattern you are now building can contribute to the repair or formation of these larger patterns. 10. For the smaller ones, make sure that your conception of the main pattern will allow you to make these t>maller patterns within it later. It will probably be help-1111 if you try to decide roughly how you are going to build these smaller patterns in, when you come to them. 11. Keep track of the area from the very beginning ■ • that you are always reasonably close to something you can actually afford. We have had many experiences in which people try to design their own houses, or other buildings, and then get discouraged because the final cost BUILDINGS is too high, and they have to go back and change il To do this, decide on a budget, and use a reasonable average square foot cost, to translate this budget int.. square feet of construction. Say for the sake of argu ment, that you have a budget of $30,000 for construe tion. With help from builders, find out what kind square foot cost is reasonable for the kind of building you are making. For example, in 1976, in California, 1 reasonable house, compatible with the patterns in tin last part of the language, can be built for some $28/ square foot. If you want expensive finishes, it will Ik more. With $36,000 for construction, this will give you some 1300 square feet. 12. Now, throughout the design process, keep thin 1300-square-foot figure in mind. If you go to two storiet, keep the ground area to 650 square feet. If you use only part of the upstairs volume, the ground floor can go an high as 800 or 900 square feet. If you decide to build rather elaborate outdoor rooms, walls, trellises, reduo the indoor area to make up for these outdoor costs;— perhaps down to 1100 or 1200. And, each time you use a pattern to differentiate the layout of your building I'm ther, keep this total area in mind, so that you do not, ever, allow yourself to go beyond your budget. 13. Finally, make the essential points and lines which are needed to fix the pattern, on the site with bricks, or sticks or stakes. Try not to design on paperj even in tin case of complicated buildings find a way to make ymu marks on the site. More detailed instructions, and detailed examples oi the design process in action, are given in chapters 20, 21, and 22 of The Timeless Way of Building. 'The first group of patterns helps to lay out the overall arrangement of a group of buildings: the height and number of these buddings, the entrances to the site, main parking areas, and lines of movement through the complex; 95. BUILDING COMPLEX 96. NUMBER OF STORIES 97. SHIELDED PARKING 98. CIRCULATION REALMS 99. MAIN BUILDING 100. PEDESTRIAN STREET 101. BUILDING THOROUGHFARE 102. FAMILY OF ENTRANCES 103. SMALL PARKING LOTS 467 95 BUILDING COMPLEX*' , . . this pattern, the first of the 130 patterns which deal specifically with buildings, is the bottleneck through which all languages pass from the social layouts of the earlier patterns to the imaller ones which define individual spaces. Assume that you have decided to build a certain building. The social groups or institutions which the building is meant to house are given—partly by the facts peculiar to your own case, and partly, perhaps, by earlier patterns. Now this pattern and the next one—number of stories (96), give you the basis of the building's layout on the site. This pattern shows you roughly how to break the building into parts, number of stories helps you decide how high to make each part. Obviously, the two patterns must be used together. A building cannot be a human building unless it is a complex of still smaller buildings or smaller parts which manifest its own internal social facts. A building is a visible, concrete manifestation of a social group or social institution. And since every social institution has smaller groups and institutions within it, a human building will always i' 11.1l itself, not as a monolith, but as a complex of these smaller 11 titutions, made manifest and concrete too. A family has couples and groups within it; a factory has teams 11I workers; a town hall has divisions, departments within the Urge divisions, and working groups within these departments, A building which shows these subdivisions and articulations in its lil lie is a human building—because it lets us live according to 1 In nay that people group themselves. By contrast, any monolithic I ml ling is denying the facts of its own social structure, and in I' nying these facts it is asserting other facts of a less human kind Ind forcing people to adapt their lives to them instead. We have tried to make this feeling more precise by means of the following conjecture: the more monolithic a building is, in,I the less differentiated, the more it presents itself as an in- 469 BUILDINGS human, mechanical factory. And when human organizations are housed in enormous, undifferentiated buildings, people stop identifying with the staff who work there as personalities .111 I think only of the institution as an impersonal monolith, staffed by personnel. In short, the more monolithic the building is, the more it prevents people from being personal, and from making human contact with the other people in the building. The strongest evidence for this conjecture that we have found to date comes from a survey of visitors to public service buildings in Vancouver, British Columbia. (Preliminary Program for Massing Studies, Document 5: Visitor Survey, Environmenl.il Analysis Group, Vancouver, B.C., August 1970.) Two kinds of public service buildings were studied—old, three story building! and huge modern office buildings. The reactions of visitors to the small building differed from the reactions of visitors to the large buildings in an extraordinary way. The people going to the small buildings most often mentioned friendly and competent staff as the important factor in their satisfaction with the service. In many cases the visitors were able to give names and describe the people with whom they had done business. Visitors to the huge office buildings, on the other hand, mentioned friendliness and stall competence rather infrequently. The great majority of their visitors found their satisfaction in "good physical appearance, .111 I equipment." In the monoliths, the visitors' experience is depersonalized. They stop thinking primarily of the people they arc going i" see and the quality of the relationship and focus instead on thl building itself and its features. The staff becomes "personnel," interchangeable, and indifferent, and the visitors pay little attention to them as people—friendly or unfriendly, competent 01 incompetent. We learn also from this study that in the large buildings visitors complained frequently about the "general atmosphere" ol the building, without naming specific problems. There were AO such complaints among the visitors to the smaller buildings. It ■ as if the monoliths induce a kind of free-floating anxiety In people: the environment "feels wrong," but it is hard to give a reason. It may be that the cause of the uneasiness is so simple the place is too big, it is difficult to grasp, the people are Itkl bees in a hive—that people are embarrassed to say it outright. 95 BUILDING COMPLEX 'If it is as simple as that, / must be wrong—after all, there are 1 many of these buildings.") However it is, we take this evidence to indicate deep disaffec- 1..... from the human environment in the huge, undifferentiated office buildings. The buildings impress themselves upon us as things: objects, commodities; they make us forget the people in-lldi , as people; yet when we use these buildings we complain vaguely about the "general atmosphere." It seems then that the degree to which a building is broken into visible parts does affect the human relations among people in the building. And if a building must, for psychological reasons, be broken into parts, it seems impossible to find any n ore natural way of breaking it down, than the one we have suggested. Namely, that the various institutions, groups, subgroups, activities, • o visible in the concrete articulation of the physical building, on \ht grounds that people will only be fully able to identify with people in the building, when the building is a building complex. A gothic cathedral—though an immense building—is an ex-nnple of a building complex. Its various parts, the spire, the aisle, the nave, the chancel, the west gate, are a precise reflection of 1 lie social groups—the congregation, the choir, the special mass, ind so forth. And, of course, a group of huts in Africa, is human too, because it too is a complex of buildings, not one huge building by Itself. For a complex of buildings at high density, the easiest way of all, of making its human parts identifiable, is to build it up from narrow fronted buildings, each with its own internal stair. This U the basic structure of a Georgian terrace, or the brownstones of New York. Therefore: Never build large monolithic buildings. Whenever pos-Ible translate your building program into a building com-pl< k, whose parts manifest the actual social facts of the situation. At low densities, a building complex may take the form of a collection of small buildings connected by ar-l ides, paths, bridges, shared gardens, and walls. At higher densities, a single building can be treated as a 470 47' BUILDINGS building complex, if its important parts are picked out nnl made identifiable while still part of one three-dimensional fabric. Even a small building, a house for example, can be ion ceived as a "building complex"—perhaps part of it is highej than the rest with wings and an adjoining cottage. one building with identifiable parts collection of small buildings 1 social components At the highest densities, 3 or 4 stories, and along pedestrian streets, break the buildings into narrow, tall separate building", side by side, with common walls, each with its own internal 01 external stair. As far as possible insist that they be built piecemeal, one at a time, so that each one has time to be adapted to ill neighbor. Keep the frontage as low as 25 or 30 feet, long thin house (iOO), building fronts (l22); main entrance ( I Iu) and perhaps a part of an arcade (119) which connects to next door buildings. Arrange the buildings in the complex to form realms of movement—circulation realms (98); build one building from the collection as a main building—the natural center of the site main building (99) ; place individual buildings where the land is least beautiful, least healthy—site repair (104); and pin them to the north of their respective open space to keep the gardens sunny—south-facing outdoors (105); subdivide them further, into narrow wings, no more than 25 or 30 feet across— wings of light (107). For details of construction, start with structure follows social spaces (205). . . . 96 NUMBER OF STORIES* 472 473 . . . assume now, that you know roughly how the parts of the building complex are to be articulated—building complex (95)1 and how large they arc. Assume, also, that you have a site. In M der to be sure that your building complex is workable within tha limits of the site, you must decide how many stories its different parts will have. The height of each part must be constrained by the four-story limit (21). Beyond that, it depends on the arcs of your site, and the floor area which each part needs. ♦ ♦ ♦ Within the four-story height limit, just exactly how high should your buildings be? To keep them small in scale, for human reasons, and to keen the costs down, they should be as low as possible. But to make the best use of land and to form a continuous fabric with surrounding buildings, they should perhaps be two or three or four storil instead of one. In this pattern we give rules for striking the balani Rule 1: Set a four-story height limit on the site. This rule comes directly from four-story limit (21) and the reasons foi establishing this limit are described there. Rule 2: For any given site, do not let the ground area covered by buildings exceed 50 fer cent of the site. This rule requires tlui for any given site, where it belongs to a single household or a corporation, or whether it is a part of a larger site which contains several buildings, at least half of the site is left as open space. Tim is the limit of ground coverage within which reasonable site planning can take place. The rule therefore determines the maximum floor area that can be built with any given number of stories on .1 given site. The ratio of indoor area to site area (far—for Bool area ratio) cannot thus exceed 0.5 in a single story building, 1.0 in a two story, 1.5 in a three story and 2.0 in a four story building. If the total floor area you intend to build plus the built (loot area that exists on the site is more than twice the area of thr 96 NUMBER OF STORIES lite itself, then you are exceeding this limit. In this case, we advise that you cut back your program; build less space; perhaps build some of your project on another site. Rule 3: Do not let the height of your building(s) vary too much from the predominant height of surrounding buildings. A rule of thumb: do not let your buildings deviate more than one story from surrounding buildings. On the whole, adjacent buildings should be roughly the same height. Breaking the rule of thumb. I live in a small unc-story garden cottage at the back of a large house in Berkeley. All around the cottage there are two-story houses, Kime as close as thirty feet. I thought when I moved in, that a Harden cottage would be secluded and I would have some private Outdoor space. But instead I feel that I'm living in a goldfish bowl— fVery one of the second-story windows around me looks right down Into my living room, or into my garden. The garden outside is use-leu, and I don't sit near the window. Therefore: lirst, decide how many square feet of built space you deed, and divide by the area of the site to get the floor lira ratio. Then choose the height of your buildings ac-"oiling to the floor area ratio and the height of the sur-■ •■iinding buildings from the following table. In no case build on more than 50 per cent of the land. 474 475 BUILDINGS floor area ratio lí-ii M W i- —J et I eö b I l layout. In many modern building complexes the problem of disorientation is acute. People have no idea where they are, ••ml they experience considerable mental stress as a result. '* . . . the terror of being lost comes from the necessity that a mobile organism be oriented in its surroundings. Jaccard quotes an Incident of native Africans who became disoriented. They were >n ii ken with panic and plunged wildly into the bush. Witkin tells • ■I ui experienced pilot who lost his orientation to the vertical, and who described it as the most terrifying experience in his life. Many Other writers in describing the phenomenon of temporary disorientation in the modern city, speak of the accompanying emotions of diilress. (Kevin Lynch, The Image of the City, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, i960, p. 115.) It is easiest to state the circulation problem for the case of a complete stranger who has to find his way around the complex of buildings. Imagine yourself as the stranger, looking for a particular mldrcss, within the building. From your point of view, the building is easy to grasp if someone can explain the position of this address to you, in a way you can remember easily, and carry in your head while you are looking for it. To put this in its most pungent form: a person must be able to explain any given address 11 thin the building, to any other person, mho does not know hn way around, in one sentence. For instance, "Come straight through the main gate, down the main path and turn into the second little gate, the small one with the blue grillwork—you can't mils my door." At first sight, it might seem that the problem is only important lni strangers—since a person who is familiar with a building • hi find his way around no matter how badly it is organized. 481 BUILDINGS However, psychological theory suggests that the effect of bad)] laid out circulation has almost as bad an effect on a person who knows a building, as it does on a stranger. Wc may assume ilut every time a person goes toward some destination, he must carfj some form of map or instruction in his mind. The question arises: How much of the time docs he have to be consciously thinking about this map and his destination? If he spends a great deal o( time looking out for landmarks, thinking about where to go ni (ti then his time is entirely occupied, and leaves him little time Im the process of reflection, tranquil contemplation, and thought. We conclude that any environment which requires that a person pay attention to it constantly is as bad for a person who knows n, as for a stranger. A good environment is one which is easy to understand, without conscious attention. What makes an environment easy to understand? What makol an environment confusing? Let us imagine that a person is going to a particular address within a building. Call this address A. The person who is looking for A does not go directly toward A—unless it happens to be visible from the point where he starts. Ins.ii . I he sets his journey up to form a series of steps, in which each step is a kind of temporary intermediate goal, and a taking off poinl for the next step. For example: First go through the gate, then to the second courtyard on the left, then to the right-hand arcade of the courtyard, and then through the third door. This sequence is a kind of map which the person has in his head. If it is always easy to construct such a map, it is easy to find your \\.i\ around the building. If it is not easy, it is hard to find your w.n around. The Secretariat. And, indeed, this institution has suffered from tin 99 MAIN BUILDING red-tape mentality. (See the excellent scries of articles by Lewis Mumford, discussing the U.N. buildings in From the Ground Up, Harvest Books, 1956, pp. 20-70.) Therefore: For any collection of buddings, decide which building in the group houses the most essential function—which building is the soul of the group, as a human institution. Then form this building as the main building, with a central position, higher roof. Even if the building complex is so dense that it is a single building, build the main part of it higher and more prominent than the rest, so that the eye goes immediately to the part which is the most important. high roof main function lCi*v^>*-X 3. central position Build all the main paths tangent to the main building, in arcades or glazed corridors, with a direct view into its main func- Hi—-common areas at the heart (129). Make the roof Cascade down from the high roof over the main building to lower roofs over the smaller buildings—cascade of roofs (tl6). And for the load bearing structure, engineering, and construction, begin with structure follows social spaces (205). . . . 486 487 100 PEDESTRIAN STREET** . . . the earlier patterns—promenade (31), shopping street I \l) and network of paths and cars (52), all call for dense pedestrian streets; row houses (38), housing hill (39), university as a marketplace (43), market of many shops (46), all do the same; and within the building complex (95), circulation realms (98) calls for the same. As you build a pedestrian street, make sure you place it so that it helps to generate a network of paths and cars (52), raised walks (55), and Circulation realms (98) in the town around it. The simple social intercourse created when people rub •.boulders in public is one of the most essential kinds of locial "glue" in society. In today's society this situation, and therefore this glue, is largely missing. It is missing in large part because so much of the ICtual process of movement is now taking place in indoor corridors hi I lobbies, instead of outdoors. This happens partly because the ■ us have taken over streets, and made them uninhabitable, and partly because the corridors, which have been built in response, encourage the same process. But it is doubly damaging in its effect. It is damaging because it robs the streets of people. Most of the moving about which people do is indoors—hence lost to the .iiiei; the street becomes abandoned and dangerous. And it is damaging because the indoor lobbies and corridors are most often dead. This happens partly because indoor space is not U public as outdoor space; and partly because, in a multi-story building each corridor carries a lower density of traffic than a public outdoor street. It is therefore unpleasant, even unnerving, to move through them; people in them are in no state to generate, hi benefit from, social intercourse. To recreate the social intercourse of public movement, as far as possible, the movement between rooms, offices, departments, buildings, must actually be outdoors, on sheltered walks, arcades, paths, 488 489 BUILDINGS 100 PEDESTRIAN STREET streets, which are truly public and separate from cars. Indivi.lu.il wings, small buildings, departments must as often as possible havt their own entrances—so that the number of entrances onto the street increases and life comes back to the street. In short, the solution to these two problems we have mentioned —the streets infected by cars and the bland corridors—is th» pedestrian street. Pedestrian streets are both places to walk alott| (from car, bus, or train to one's destination) and places to pan through (between apartments, shops, offices, services, classes). To function properly, pedestrian streets need two special prop ertics. First, of course, no cars; but frequent crossings by strei i with traffic, see network of paths and cars (52): deliveries in I other activities which make it essential to bring cars and tnnl>i onto the pedestrian street must be arranged at the early hours ul the morning, when the streets are deserted. Second, the buildinp along pedestrian streets must be planned in a way which as nc.uli as possible eliminates indoor staircases, corridors, and lobbies, and leaves most circulation outdoors. This creates a street lined with stairs, which lead from all upstairs offices and rooms directly to the street, and many many entrances, which help to increase ih< life of the street. Finally it should be noted that the pedestrian streets which seem most comfortable arc the ones where the width of the street does not exceed the height of the surrounding buildings. (See "Vehicle free zones in city centers," International Brief U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, Office of International Affairs, June 1972). Therefore: About square ... or even narrower. Arrange buildings so that they form pedestrian st mis with many entrances and open stairs directly from the upper storys to the street, so that even movement between rooms is outdoors, not just movement between buildings. open stairs no cars •j. + «j> The street absolutely will not work unless its total area is small enough to be well filled by the pedestrians in it—pedestrian Density (123). Make frequent entrances and open stairs along the street, instead of building indoor corridors, to bring the people out; and give these entrances a family resemblance so one sees them as a system—family of entrances (102), open stairs ( 1 iN) ; give people indoor and outdoor spaces which look on the street—private terrace on the street (140), street windows (164), opening to the street (165), gallery sur-mn'nd (166), six-foot balcony (167); and shape the street to nuke a space of it—arcade (119), path shape (121). . . . 490 491 [ B UILDING THOROUGH FAR , . . if the building complex is built at high density, then at least part of the circulation cannot be made of outdoor pedestrian i in i rs (loo) because the buildings cover too much of the land; in this case, the main spines of the circulation realms (98) must take the form of building thoroughfares similar to pedestrian streets, but partly or wholly inside the buildings. Building thoroughfares replace the terrible corridors which destroy so much of modern building, and help to generate the indoor layout of a nun.DiNC complex (95). When a public building complex cannot be completely icrved by outdoor pedestrian streets, a new form of indoor street, quite different from the conventional corridor, is needed. An indoor street. The problem arises under two conditions. 1. Cold weather. In very cold climates to have all circulation Outdoors inhibits social communication instead of helping it. Of course, a street can be roofed, particularly with a glass roof. But as •non as it becomes enclosed, it has a different social ecology and begins to function differently. 2. High density. When a building complex is so tightly packed 492 BUILDINGS outside, with wide open entrances. And line its edges with windows, places to sit, counters, and entrances which projc < i out into the hall and expose the buildings' main functions to the public. Make it wider than a normal corridor—at lcait n feet wide and more usually, 15 to 20 feet wide; give it a high ceiling, at least 15 feet, with a glazed roof if pns sible and low places along the edge. If the street is scvci.il stories high, then the walkways along the edges, on tin different stories, can be used to form the low places. shortcut wide entrances activity along the edge ❖ * ❖ Treat the thoroughfare as much like a pedestrian street (100) as possible, with open stairs (158) coming into it from upper storys. Place entrances, reception points, and scats to form the pockets of activity under the lower ceilings at the edges family of entances (l02), activity pockets (124), reck i'" tion welcomes you (14Q), window place (l8o), ceilino height variety (190), and give these places strong natural light—tapestry of light and dark (i 3 5). Make a connect Mill to adjacent rooms with interior windows (194) and solid dooms with glass (237). To give the building thoroughfare the proper sense of liveliness, calculate its overall size according to pedki- trian density (l23). . . . 02 FAMILY OF ENTRANCES Hc»-T 498 499 . . . this pattern is an embellishment of circulation realm. (98). circulation realms portrayed a series of realms, in | large building or a building complex, with a major entram. Q| gateway into each realm and a collection of minor doom ,. gates, and openings off each realm. This pattern applies to if.,.' relationship between these "minor" entrances. When a person arrives in a complex of offices or servi. < or workshops, or in a group of related houses, there la | good chance he will experience confusion unless the whole collection is laid out before him, so that he can see the en trance of the place where he is going. In our work at the Center we have encountered and defini I several versions of this pattern. To make the general problem clear, we shall go through these cases and then draw out the general rule. 1. In our multi-service center project we called this pattern Overview of Services. We found that people could find llicii way around and see exactly what the building had to offer, 1! the various services were laid out in a horseshoe, directly visible from the threshold of the building. See A Pattern Language Which Generates MultiService Centers, pp. 123—26. Overview of services, 2. Another version of the pattern, called Reception Nodes was used for mental health clinics. In these cases we specified one 102 FAMILY OF ENTRANCES elcarly defined main entrance, with main reception clearly visible inside this main entrance and each "next" point of reception then visible from the previous one, so that a patient who might be (lightened or confused could find his way about by asking receptionists—and could always be directed to the next, visible receptionist down the line. Reception nodes. 3. In our project for re-building the Berkeley City Hall Complex, we used another version of the pattern. Within the indoor streets, the entrance to each service w3s made in a similar way—each one bulged out slightly into the street, so that people could easily find their way around among the resulting family of entrances. Family of entrances. 4. We have also applied the pattern to houses which arc laid mit 10 form a cluster. In one example the pattern drew different ROO*e entrances together to make a mutually visible collection of them, and again gave each of them a similar shape. In all these cases, the same central problem exists. A person who is looking for one of several entrances, and doesn't know his way around, needs to have some simple way of identifying the one entrance he wants. It can be identified as "the blue one," "the one with the mimosa bush outside," "the one with a big 18 ■ hi it," or "the last one on the right, after you get round the 500 501 BUILDINGS corner," but in every case the identification of "the one . . ."' can only make sense if the entire collection of possible entrain can first be seen and understood as a collection. Then it is possibll to pick one particular entrance out, without conscious effort. Therefore: Lay out the entrances to form a family. This means: 1. They form a group, are visible together, and each w visible from all the others. 2. They are all broadly similar, for instance all porches, or all gates in a wall, or all marked by a similar kind of doorway. family of entrances In detail, make the entrances bold and easy to see—MAir entrance (llo); when they lead into privates domains, house and the like, make a transition in between the public street an. the inside—entrance transition (112); and shape the entrance itself as a room, which straddles the wall, and is tluin both inside and outside as a projecting volume, covered and protected from the rain and sun—entrance room (130). II 11 is an entrance from an indoor street into a public office, make reception part of the entrance room—reception wei.com i-you (149). . . . ,03 SMALL PARKING LOTS 502 503 . . . since a small parking lot is a kind of gateway—the pirns where you leave your car, and enter a pedestrian realm 'I, pattern helps to complete shopping streets (32), hoi I cluster (37), work community (41), green streets (51), main gateways (53), circulation realms (98), and any Otllcl areas which need small and convenient amounts of parking. Hut above all, if it is used correctly, this pattern, together with shielded parking (97), will help to generate nine per ckni parking (22) gradually, by increments. Vast parking lots wreck the land for people. In nine per cent parking (22), we have suggested that i ho fabric of society is threatened by the mere existence of cars, it areas for parked cars take up more than 9 or 10 per cent of the land in a community. We now face a second problem. Even when parked cars occup) less than 9 per cent of the land, they can still be distributed in two entirely different ways. They can be concentrated in a few huge parking lots; or they can be scattered in many tiny parking lots. The tiny parking lots are far better for the environment than the large ones, even when their total areas are the same. Large parking lots have a way of taking over the landscape, creating unpleasant places, and having a depressing effect on the The destruction of human scale. 504 103 SMALL PARKING LOTS Open space around them. They make people feel dominated by cars; they separate people from the pleasure and convenience of being near their cars; and, if they arc large enough to contain unpredictable traffic, they are dangerous for children, since < liildren inevitably play in parking lots. The problems stem essentially from the fact that a car is so much bigger than a person. Large parking lots, suited for the cars, have all the wrong properties for people. They are too wide; they contain too much pavement; they have no place to linger. In fact, we have noticed that people speed up when they are walking through large parking lots to get out of them as fast as possible. It is hard to pin down the exact size at which parking lots become too big. Our observations suggest that parking lots for lour cars arc still essentially pedestrian and human in character; that lots for six cars arc acceptable; but that any area near a parking lot which holds eight cars is already clearly identifiable as "car dominated territory." This may be connected with the well-known perceptual facts ibout the number seven. A collection of less than five to seven objects can be grasped as one thing, and the objects in it can be grasped as individuals. A collection of more than five to seven tilings is perceived as "many things." (Sec G. Miller, "The Magical Number Seven, Plus or Minus Two: Some Limits on 1 lui Capacity for Processing Information," in D. Beardslec and M. Wcrtheimcr, eds., Readings in Perception, New York, 1958, I p. p. 103.) It may be true that the impression of a "sea of cars" first comes into being with about seven cars. The small lots can be guile loosely placed. 505 BUILDINGS Therefore: Make parking lots small, serving no more than five tO seven cars, each lot surrounded by garden walls, hedirn, fences, slopes, and trees, so that from outside the cars are almost invisible. Space these small lots so that they arc .n least loo feet apart. five to seven cars .;. jfr Place entrances and exits of the parking lots in such a way that they fit naturally into the pattern of pedestrian movement and lead directly, without confusion, to the major entrances tn individual buildings—circulation realms (98). Shield even these quite modest parking lots with garden walls, and trees, and fences, so that they help to generate the space around them positive outdoor space (lo6), tree places ( 171), CAKIil ■< walls (173). . . . fix the position of individual buildings on the site, within the complex, one by one, according to the nature of the site, the trees, the sun: this is one of the most important moments in the language; 104. SITE REPAIR 105. SOUTH FACING OUTDOORS I06 POSITIVE OUTDOOR SPACE 107. WINGS OF LIGHT 108. CONNECTED BUILDINGS 109. LONG THIN HOUSE 506 104 SITE REPAIR** ft , . . the most general aspects of a building complex are established in building complex (95), number of stories (96), and circulation realms (98). The patterns which follow, and all remaining patterns in the language, concern the design of one tingle building and its surroundings. This pattern explains the very first action you must take—the process of repairing the site. 1 it tends to identify very particular small areas of any site at promising areas of development, it is greatly supported by Building complex (95) which breaks buildings into smaller parts, and therefore makes it possible lo tuck them into different 101 iters of the site in the best places. buildings must always be built on those parts of the land P. Itn li are in the worst condition, not the best. This idea is indeed very simple. But it is the exact opposite of what usually happens; and it takes enormous will power to follow It through. What usually happens when someone thinks of building on a piece of land? He looks for the best site—where the grass is most Maul if ul, the trees most healthy, the slope of the land most even, the view most lovely, the soil most fertile—and that is just [fyherc he decides to put his house. The same thing happens Whether the piece of land is large or small. On a small lot in a town the building goes in the sunniest corner, wherever it is most pie isant. On a hundred acres in the country, the buildings go on 1I11' most pleasant hillside. It is only human nature; and, for a person who lacks a total virw of tlie ecology of the land, it seems the most obvious and lie thing to do. If you are going to build a building, ". . . build it in the best possible place." lint think now of the three-quarters of the available land whith arc not quite so nice. Since people always build on the onc-nuarlcr which is healthiest, the other three-quarters, already less li> ill lay ecologically, become neglected. Gradually, they become 508 509 BUILDINGS less and less healthy. Who is ever going to do anything on din corner of the lot which is dark and dank, where the g.nl I accumulates, or that part of the land which is a stagnant swampj or the dry, stony hillside, where no plants are growing? Not only that. When we build on the best parts of the land, those beauties which are there already—the crocuses that lirr.il through the lawn each spring, the sunny pile of stones when-lizards sun themselves, the favorite gravel path, which we lovf. walking on—it is always these things which get lost in the sluillli When the construction starts on the parts of the land whiili if) already healthy, innumerable beauties arc wiped out with evert act of building. People always say to themselves, well, of course, we can always start another garden, build another trellis, put in another gnvej path, put new crocuses in the new lawn, and the lizards will fin 1 some other pile of stones. But it just is not so. These simple thing! take years to grow—it isn't all that easy to create them, just \>\ wanting to. And every time wc disturb one of these preciou details, it may take twenty years, a lifetime even, before some comparable details grow again from our small daily acts. If we always build on that part of the land which is motl healthy, we can be virtually certain that a great deal of the land will always be less than healthy. If we want the land to be health) all over—all of it—then wc must do the opposite. We must treat every new act of building as an opportunity to mend some rent If] the existing cloth; each act of building gives us the chance in make one of the ugliest and least healthy parts of the environ ment more healthy—as for those parts which arc already health] and beautiful—they of course need no attention. And in fact, UN must discipline ourselves most strictly to leave them alone, in that our energy actually goes to the places which need it. This is the principle of site repair. The fact is, that current development hardly ever does will by this pattern: everyone has a story about how some new building or road destroyed a place dear to them. The following new! article from the San Francisco Chronicle (February 6, 1973) hi id lined "Angry Boys Bulldoze House" struck us as the perfect caiei Two 1 3-year old boys—enraged over a swath of suburban homes being built in the midst of their rabbit-hunting turf—were arrested 510 IO4 SITE REPAIR .iftir they admitted flattening one of the homes with a purloined bulldozer. According to the Washoe County sheriff's office, the youths started |e .1 bulldozer used at the construction site about four miles north nf Reno, then plowed the sturdy vehicle through one of the homes four times late last Friday night. The ranch-style house—which was nearly completed—was a •li.iinbles when workmen arrived yesterday morning. Damage was estimated at $7800 by the contractor. One of the boys told authorities the home along with several others nearby was ruining a "favorite rabbit-hunting preserve." The two boys were booked on charges of felonious destruction. The idea of site repair is just a beginning. It deals with the problem of how to minimize damage. But the most talented of traditional builders have always been able to use built form, not only to avoid damage, but also to improve the natural landscape. This attitude is so profoundly different from our current view of building, that concepts which will help us decide how to place buildings to improve the landscape don't even exist yet. Therefore: On no account place buildings in the places which are most beautiful. In fact, do the opposite. Consider the site litd its buildings as a single living eco-system. Leave those ureas that are the most precious, beautiful, comfortable, and healthy as they are, and build new structures in those parts of the site which are least pleasant now. areas which need repair areas to leave intact 5" BUILDINGS Above all, leave trees intact and build around them with great care—tree places (171); keep open spaces open 10 ilin south of buildings, for the sun—south facing outdoors (io;)( try, generally, to shape space in such a way that each plan becomes positive, in its own right—positive outdoor spack (106) . Repair slopes if they need it with terraced slop*. (169), and leave the outdoors in its natural state as much 41 possible—garden growing wild (172). If necessary, push and shove the building into odd corners to preserve the beauty of an old vine, a bush you love, a patch of lovely grass—wings of in.111 (107) , long thin house (109). . . . 105 SOUTH FACING OUTDOORS** 512 5»3 . . . within the general ideas of location which site repair (104) creates, this pattern governs the fundamental placing of the budding and the open space around it with respect to tun ♦ ♦ ♦ People use open space if it is sunny, and do not use tl if it isn't, in all but desert climates. This is perhaps the most important single fact about a building, If the building is placed right, the building and its gardens will be happy places full of activity and laughter. If it is done wrong, then all the attention in the world, and the most beautiful details, will not prevent it from being a silent gloomy place, Thousands of acres of open space in every city are wasted bcr.iu«<> they are north of buildings and never get the sun. This is trim for public buildings, and it is true for private houses. The recenllj built Bank of America building in San Francisco—a giant build ing built by a major firm of architects—has its plaza on (h« north side. At lunchtimc, the plaza is empty, and people . 11 their sandwiches in the street, on the south side where the sun is. North facing outdoors. Just so for small private houses. The shape and orientation of lots common in most developments force houses to be surrouu K I by open space which no one will ever use because it isn't in llie sun. A survey of a residential block in Berkeley, California, con firms this problem dramatically. Along Webster Street—an cast-west street—18 of 20 persons interviewed said they used only the sunny part of their yards. Half of these were people living 105 SOUTH FACING OUTDOORS the north side of the street—these people did not use their backyards at all, but would sit in the front yard, beside the sidewalk, lo be in the south sun. The north-facing back yards were used primarily for storing junk. Not one of the persons interviewed indicated preference for a shady yard. 530 HififfH Favorite outdoor places to the south. The survey also gave credence to the idea that sunny areas won't be used if there is a deep band of shade up against the bouse, through which you must pass to get to the sun. Four north facing backyards were large enough to be sunny toward 1 lie rear. In only one of these yards was the sunny area reported at being used—in just the one where it was possible to get to the inn without passing through a deep band of shade. Although the idea of south-facing open space is simple, it has gie.it consequences, and there will have to be major changes in land use to make it come right. For example, residential neigh-bi 11 hoods would have to be organized quite differently from the Way they arc laid out today. Private lots would have to be longer north to south, with the houses on the north side. Blocks reorganized to catch the sun. 5>5 BUILDINGS Note that this pattern was developed in the San Francisco Hat Area. Of course, its significance varies as latitude and climate change. In Eugene, Oregon, for example, with a rather rainy climate, at about 50° latitude, the pattern is even more essential: the south faces of the buildings are the most valuable outdoor spaces on sunny days. In desert climates, the pattern is less mi portant; people will want to stay in outdoor spaces that have a I balance of sun and shade. But remember that in one way or another, this pattern is absolutely fundamental. Therefore: Always place buildings to the north of the outdoor spat < I that go with them, and keep the outdoor spaces to the south. Never leave a deep band of shade between the building and the sunny part of the outdoors. building to the north outdoors south I06 POSITIVE OUTDOOR SPACE** Let half-hidden carden (ill) influence the position of tin-outdoors too. Make the outdoor spaces positive—positive outdoor space (106)—and break the building into narrow wings —wings of light (107). Keep the most important rooms to the south of these wings—-indoor sunlight (128) ; and keep storage, parking, etc, to the north—north face (162). When tin-building is more developed, you can concentrate on the special sunny areas where the outdoors and building meet, and make definite places there, where people can sit in the sun—sunny place (l6l). . . . 516 5'7 C4$C ... m making south facing outdoors (105) vou must both choose the place to build, and also choose the place for the out. doors. You cannot shape the one without the other. This patient gives you the geometric character of the outdoors; the next one wings of light (107)—gives you the complementary shape ..1 the indoors. Outdoor spaces which are merely "left over" between buildings will, in general, not be used. There are two fundamentally different kinds of outdoor space: negative space and positive space. Outdoor space is negative when it is shapeless, the residue left behind when buildings which arc generally viewed as positive—are placed on the land. An outdoor space is positive when it has a distinct and definite shape, as definite as the shape of a room, and when its shape is as important as the shapes of the buildings which surround it. These two kinds of space have entirely different plan geomcttir\ which may be most easily distinguished by their figure-ground reversal. m II Buildings tluxt create negative, leftover space . . . buildings that create positive outdoor space. If you look at the plan of an environment where outdoor spaces are negative, you sec the buildings as figure, and the outdoor space as ground. There is no reversal. It is impossible to see the outdoor space as figure, and the buildings as ground. If you look at the plan of an environment where outdoor spaces are positive, you may sec the buildings as figure, and outdoot spaces as ground—and, you may also see the outdoor spaces ai 518 106 POSITIVE OUTDOOR SPACE figure against the ground of the buildings. The plans have ligure-ground reversal. Another way of defining the difference between "positive" and "negative" outdoor spaces is by their degree of enclosure and their degree of convexity. In mathematics, a space is convex when a line joining any two points inside the space itself lies totally inside the space. It is nonconvex, when some lines joining two points lie at least partly Outside the space. According to this definition, the following irregular squarish space is convex and therefore positive; but the I -shaped space is not convex or positive, because the line joining its two end points cuts across the corner and therefore goes outside the space. Convex and nonconvex. Positive spaces are partly enclosed, at least to the extent that their areas seem bounded (even though they are not, in fact, because there are always paths leading out, even whole sides open), and the "virtual" area which seems to exist is convex. Negative spaces are so poorly defined that you cannot really tell where their boundaries arc, and to the extent that you can tell, the shapes are nonconvex. This space can be felt: it is distinct:—a place . . . and it is convex. This space is vague, amorphous, "nothing." Now, what is the functional relevance of the distinction between "positive" and "negative" outdoor spaces. We put forward the following hypothesis. People feel comfortable in spaces which ore "positive" and use these spaces; people feel relatively un->'mfortable in spaces which are "negative" and such spaces tend to remain unused. 5'9 BUILDINGS The case for this hypothesis has been most fully argued by Camillo Sitte, in C»7y Planning According to Artistic Principle! (republished by Random House in 1965). Sitte has analyzed very large number of European city squares, distinguishing those which seem used and lively from those which don't, trying to ai-count for the success of the lively squares. He shows, with example after example, that the successful ones—those which arc grcitli used and enjoyed—have two properties. On the one hand, they arc partly enclosed; on the other hand, they are also open to one another, so that each one leads into the next. The fact that people feel more comfortable in a space which is at least partly enclosed is hard to explain. To begin with, it it obviously not always true. For example, people feel very comfortable indeed on an open beach, or on a rolling plain, whero there may be no enclosure at all. But in the smaller outdoor spaces —gardens, parks, walks, plazas—enclosure docs, for some reason, seem to create a feeling of security. 'r seems likely that the need for enclosure goes back to our most 1 Four examples of positive outdoor space. 106 POSITIVE OUTDOOR SPACE primitive instincts. For example, when a person looks for a place to sit down outdoors, he rarely chooses to sit exposed in the middle of an open space—he usually looks for a tree to put his back against; a hollow in the ground, a natural cleft which will partly enclose and shelter him. Our studies of people's space needs in workplaces show a similar phenomenon. To be comfortable, a person wants a certain amount of enclosure around him and his work—but not too much—see workspace enclosure (1H3). Clare Cooper has found the same thing in her study of parks: people seek areas which are partially enclosed and partly Open—not too open, not too enclosed (Clare Cooper, Open Space Study, San Francisco Urban Design Study, San Francisco City Planning Dept., 1969). Most often, positive outdoor space is created at the same time that other patterns are created. The following photograph shows one of the few places in the world where a considerable amount n( building had no other purpose whatsoever except to create a positive outdoor space. It somehow underlines the pattern's urgency. The square at Nancy. When open space is negative, for example, L-shaped—it is always possible to place small buildings, or building projections, or walls in such a way as to break the space into positive pieces. Transform this......to this. 520 521 BUILDINGS And when an existing open space is too enclosed, it may he possible to break a hole through the building to open the space up. Transform this......to this. Therefore: Make all the outdoor spaces which surround and lit between your buildings positive. Give each one some degret of enclosure; surround each space with wings of building , trees, hedges, fences, arcades, and trellised walks, until it becomes an entity with a positive quality and does not spill out indefinitely around corners. 106 POSITIVE OUTDOOR SPACE some larger space, so that it is not too enclosed—hierarchy ok open space (114). Use building fronts (122) to help create the shape of space. Complete the positive character of the outdoors by making places all around the edge of buildings, and so make the outdoors as much a focus of attention as the buildings—building edge (160). Apply this pattern to courtyards which live (lI5), roof gardens (i 18), path shape ( I 2 I ), outdoor room (163), garden crowing wild (172). convex shape partial enclosure views Place wings of licht (107) to form the spaces. Use open trellised walks, walls, and trees to close off spaces which are ton exposed—tree places (171)1 garden wall (173), trei.i.isi D walk (174); but make sure that every space is always open In 5" 5*3 07 WINGS OF LIGHT** .11 this stage, you have a rough position for the building or buildings on the site from south facinc outdoors (105) and hum iive outdoor space (106). Before you lay out the interior of |h< building in detail, it is necessary to define the shapes of roofs 111 I buildings in rather more detail. To do this, go back to the decisions you have already made about the basic social components ■1 the building. In some cases, you will have made these decisions .....uling to the individual case; in other cases you may have n» I the fundamental social patterns to define the basic entities— llll family (75), house for a SMALL family (76), house for A COUPLE (77), house for one person (78), self-governing "'■i'kSHOPS and offices (8o), small services vv1thout red 11 (8l ), office connections (82), master and apprentices (Ht), individually owned shops (87). Now it is time to start diving the building a more definite shape based on these social groupings. Start by realizing that the building needn't be a mas-■ hull;, but may be broken into wings. Modern buildings are often shaped with no concern for natural light—they depend almost entirely on artificial 111; 111 - But buildings which displace natural light as the thajor source of illumination are not fit places to spend the day. BUILDINGS 107 WINGS OF LIGHT This simple statement, if taken seriously, will make a revolution in the shape of buildings. At present, people take for granted thai it is possible to use indoor space which is lit by artificial light; and buildings therefore take on all kinds of shapes and depths. If we treat the presence of natural light as an essential- nOl optional—feature of indoor space, then no building could ever be more than 20-25 ,r't deep, since no point in a building which is more than about I 2 or 15 feet from a window, can gel good natural light. Later on, in light on two sides (159), we shall argue, even more sharply, that every room where people can feel comfortable must have not merely one window, but two, on different sides. This adds even further structure to the building shape: it requires not only that the building be no more than 25 feet deep, but also that its outer walls are continually broken up by corners and ic-entrant corners to give every room two outside walls. The present pattern, which requires that buildings be madl up of long and narrow wings, lays the groundwork for the later pattern. Unless the building is first conceived as being made o) long, thin wings, there is no possible way of introducing lich1 on two sides (159), in its complete form, later in the process. Therefore, we first build up the argument for this pattern, based on the human requirements for natural light, and later, in 1n.111 on two sides (159), we shall be concerned with the organization of windows within a particular room. There are two reasons for believing that people must have buildings lit essentially by sun. First, all over the world, people arc rebelling against window-less buildings; people complain when they have to work in places without daylight. By analyzing words they use, Rapoport has shown that people arc in a more positive frame of mind in rooms with windows than in rooms without windows. (Amm Rapoport, "Some Consumer Comments on a Designed Environment," Arena, January, 1967, pp. 176-78.) Edward Hall tells the story of a man who worked in a windowlcss office for some time, all the time saying that it was "just fine, just fine," and then abruptly quit. Hall says, "The issue was so deep, and so serious, that this man could not even bear to discuss it, since just discussing it would have opened the floodgates." Second, there is a growing body of evidence which suggests that man actually needs daylight, since the cycle of daylight somehow plays a vital role in the maintenance of the body's cir-cadian rhythms, and that the change of light during the day, though apparently variable, is in this sense a fundamental constant by which the human body maintains its relationship to the environment. (See, for instance, R. G. Hopkinson, Architectural Physics: Lighting, Department of Scientific & Industrial Research, Building Research Station, HMSO, London, 1963, pp. 116-17.) If this is true, then too much artificial light actually creates a rift between a person and his surroundings and upsets the human physiology. Many people will agree with these arguments. Indeed, the arguments merely express precisely what all of us know already: that it is much more pleasant to be in a building lit by daylight than in one which is not. But the trouble is that many of the buildings which are built without daylight are built that way because of density. They arc built compact, in the belief that it is necessary to sacrifice daylight in order to reach high densities. Lionel March and Leslie Martin have made a major contribution to this discussion. (Leslie Martin and Lionel March, Land Use and Built Form, Cambridge Research, Cambridge University, April 1966.) Using the ratio of built floor area to total site in .1 as a measure of density and the semi-depth of the building as a measure of daylight conditions, they have compared three different arrangements of building and open space, which they 1 ill So, Sj, and S2. 1 1 1 r 1 - r 1 f 1 i \ ■ : r • L r J t, I r j i -i j L -i— t -1 ~< l r J • I : . j 1 c 1 I -1 . r 1 -1 i f J l.i-l j i- i 1 r 1 j > 1 j Jl UJ l. -- J □ □ □ E r i ed □ £ -- ■ - j" □ □ e F n m rn 1 Three building types. Of the three arrangements, So, in which buildings surround the outdoors with thin wings, gives the best daylight conditions 526 5*7 BUILDINGS for a fixed density. It also gives the highest density for a ftxr.l level of daylight. There is another criticism that is often leveled against (hit pattern. Since it tends to create buildings which arc narrow and rambling, it increases the perimeter of buildings and there Inn raises building cost substantially. How big is the differencer 11.. following figures arc taken from a cost analysis of standard offal buildings used by Skidmore Owings and Merrill, in the program BOP (Building Optimization). These figures illustrate costs lm I typical floor of an office building and are based on costs ..I 21 dollars per square foot for the structure, floors, finishes, mechanical, and so on, not including exterior wall, and a cost ni IIO dollars per running foot for the perimeter wall. (Costs are for 1969.) Area Perimeter Perimeter Cost Total Co»t (Sq. Ft.) Shape Cost (S) Per Sq. Ft. (S) PerSq.Ft. («) 15,000 120 x 125 $54,000 15,000 100x150 55,000 15,000 75x200 60,500 15,000 60x250 68,000 15,000 50 x 30*0 77,000 3.6 3- 7 4.0 4- 5 5' 24.6 a4-7 25.0 *5-5 26.1 The extra ferimeter adds little to building costs. We see then, that at least in this one case, the cost of the extra perimeter adds very little to the cost of the building. The nai-rowest building costs only 6 per cent more than the squares!. We believe this case is fairly typical and that the cost savings to be achieved by square and compact building forms have been greatly exaggerated. Now, assuming that this pattern is compatible with the problems of density and perimeter cost, we must decide how wide a building can be, and still be essentially lit by the sun. We assume, first of all, that no point in the building should have less than 20 lumens per square foot of illumination. This is the level found in a typical corridor and is just below the level required for reading. We assume, second, that a place will mil' seem "naturally" lit, if more than 50 per cent of its light comet from the sky: that is, even the points furthest from the windowt must be getting at least 10 lumens per square foot of their illumination from the sky. IO7 WINGS OF LIGHT I ,ct us now look at a room analyzed in detail by Hopkinson and Kay. The room, a classroom, is 18 feet deep, 24 fect wide, with 1 window all along one side starting three feet above the floor. Walls have a reflectance of 40 per cent—a fairly typical value. With a standard sky, the desks 1; feet from the window are just getting 10 lumens per square foot from the sky—our minimum. Yet this is a rather well lit room. R. G. Hopkinson and J. G. Kay, The Lighting of Buildings, New York: Pracgcr, 1969, p. 108). It is hard to imagine then, that many rooms more than 15 feet deep will meet our standards. Indeed, many patterns in this book will tend to reduce the window area—windows overlooking i ii i (192), natural doors and windows (22l), deep reveals (223), small panes (239), so that in many cases rooms should It no more than 12 feet deep—more only if the walls are very light or the ceilings very high. We conclude, therefore, that a building wing that is truly a "wing of light" must be about 25 ('l them. In short, people do not sit facing brick walls—they place themselves toward the view or toward whatever there is in the distance that comes nearest to a view. Simple as this observation is, there is almost no more belli statement to make about the way people place themselves in space. And this observation has enormous implications for the spaces in which people can feel comfortable. Essentially, it means that .un place where people can feel comfortable has 1. A back. 2. A view into a larger space. In order to understand the implications of this pattern, let 111 look at the three major cases where it applies. In the very smallest of outdoor spaces, in private gardens, this pattern tells you to make a corner of the space as a "back" with a seat, looking out on the garden. If it is rightly made, this comer will be snug, but not at all claustrophobic. Seat and garden. 558 Terrace and street or square. At the largest scale, this pattern tells you to open up public mares and greens, at one end, to great v.stas. At thts scale, the Kail itself Ls as a kind of back which a person can occupy, and from which he can look out upon an even larger expanse. Square and vista. Therefore: Whatever space you are shaping—whether it is a garden, i'11.ice, street, park, public outdoor room, or courtyard, make sure of two things. First, make at least one smaller I'.n e, which looks into it and forms a natural back for it. tid, place it, and its openings, so that it looks into at least one larger space. When you have done this, every outdoor space will have 5 59 BUILDINGS I a natural "back"; and every person who takes up ilir natural position, with his back to this "back," will be look ing out toward some larger distant view. S view to a J larger space For example: garden seats open to gardens—garden m m (176), half-hidden garden (to6); activity pockets Open 10 public squares—activity pockets (124), small PUBLIC SQUARJ (61); gardens open to local roads—private terrace on rMl street (I40), looped LOCAL road (49), TOads Open In fields-green streets (ci), accessible greens (60) ; fields open to the countryside, on a great vista—common land (07), the countryside (7). Make certain that each piece of ili<-hicrarchy is arranged so that people can be comfortably settle I within it, oriented out toward the next larger space. . . . I I I 5 COURTYARDS WHICH LIVE** . . . within the general scheme of outdoor spaces, made positive according to the patterns positive outdoor space (106) and hierarchy of open space (114), it is necessary to pay special attention to those smallest ones, less than 30 or 40 feet across the courtyards—because it is especially easy to make them in iui h a way that they do not live. The courtyards built in modern buildings are very often dead. They are intended to be private open spaces fa) people to use—but they end up unused, full of gravel .mmI abstract sculptures. Dead courtyard. There seem to be three distinct ways in which these courtyards fail. /. There is too little ambiguity between indoors and outdoors. If the walls, sliding doors, doors which lead from the indoors 10 the outdoors, arc too abrupt, then there is no opportunity for a person to find himself half way between the two—and then, on the impulse of a second, to drift toward the outside. People net I an ambiguous in-between realm—a porch, or a veranda, whit It they naturally pass onto often, as part of their ordinary ht< within the house, so that they can drift naturally to the outside. 2. There are not enough doors into the courtyard. If there it just one door, then the courtyard never lies between two activities' inside the house; and so people arc never passing through it, and enlivening it, while they go about their daily business. To OVI 1 come this, the courtyard should have doors on at least two op- 562 115 COURTYARDS WHICH LIVE positc sides, so that it becomes a meeting point for different activities, provides access to them, provides overflow from them, and provides the cross-circulation between them. _j. They are too enclosed. Courtyards which arc pleasant to be in always seem to have "loopholes" which allow you to see beyond them into some larger, further space. The courtyard should never be perfectly enclosed by the rooms which surround it, but should give at least a glimpse of some other space beyond. Here are several examples of courtyards, large and small, from various parts of the world, which arc alive. Courtyards which live Kach one is partly open to the activity of the building that surrounds it and yet still private. A person passing through the Courtyard and children running by can all be glimpsed and felt, but they arc not disruptive. Again, notice that all these courtyards have strong connections to other spaces. The photographs do not tell the whole story; but still, you can sec that the courtyards look out, along paths, through the buildings, to larger spaces. And most spectacular, notice the many different positions that one can take up in each courtyard, depending on mood and climate. There are covered places, places in the sun, places 563 BUILDINGS spotted with filtered light, places to lie on the ground, plai where a person can sleep. The edge and the corners of the cou yards arc ambiguous and richly textured; in some places I walls of the buildings open, and connect the courtyard with the inside of the building, directly. Therefore: Place every courtyard in such a way that there is a \ out of it to some larger open space; place it so thai .n least two or three doors open from the building into il and so that the natural paths which connect these dooi pass across the courtyard. And, at one edge, beside a door, make a roofed veranda or a porch, which is continuous with both the inside and the courtyard. crossing paths rkani . Build the porch according to the patterns for arcade (119)1 gallery surround (l66), and six-foot balcony ( 167) j m.lU sure that it is in the sun—sunny place (161); build the riffti out according to the hierarchy of open space (114) and n : view (134); make the courtyard like an outdoor room (ifi|) and a garden wall (173) for more enclosure; make the hcig of the eaves around any courtyard of even height; if there a gable ends, hip them to make the roof edge level—roof layoi (209); put something roughly in the middle (126). . . 564 I 16 CASCADE OF ROOFS . . . this pattern helps complete the building complex (95), number of stories (96), main building (99), and wings Of light (toy), and it can also be used to help create these patterns. If you arc designing a building from scratch, thflMJ larger patterns have already helped you to decide how high your buildings are; and they have given you a rough layout, in wing*, with an idea of what spaces there arc going to be in each floor ol the wings. Now we come to the stage where it is necessary to visualize the building as a volume and, therefore, above all else, as a system of roofs. Few buildings will be structurally and socially intact, tin less the floors step down toward the ends of wings, uwl unless the roof, accordingly, forms a cascade. This is a strange pattern. Several problems, from entirely different spheres, point in the same direction; but there is no obvious common bond which binds these different problems to one another—we have not succeeded in seizing the single kernel which forms the pivot of the pattern. Let us observe, first, that many beautiful buildings have the form of a cascade: a tumbling arrangement of wings and lower wings and smaller rooms and sheds, often with a single highest center. Hagia Sophia, the Norwegian stave churches, and Palladio'i villas are imposing and magnificent examples. Simple houses, small Il6 CASCADE OF ROOFS informal building complexes, and even clusters of mud huts arc more modest ones. What is it that makes the cascading character of these buildings 10 sound and so appropriate? First of all, there is a social meaning in this form. The largest gathering places with the highest ceilings are in the middle because they are the social centers of activities; smaller groups of people, individual rooms, and alcoves fall naturally around the edges. Second, there is a structural meaning in the form. Buildings lend to be of materials that arc strong in compression; compressive strength is cheaper then tensile strength or strength in bending. Any building which stands in pure compression will tend toward the overall outline of an inverted catenary—roof Layout (209). When a building does take this form, each outlying space acts to buttress the higher spaces. The building is liable in just the same way that a pile of earth, which has as-lumcd the line of least resistance, is also stable. And third, there is a practical consideration. We shall explain thai roof gardens (118), wherever they occur, should not be over the top floor, but always on the same level as the rooms they tervc. This means, naturally, that the building tends to get lower toward the edges since the roof gardens step down from the lop toward the outer edge of the ground floor. Why do these three apparently different problems lead to the lame pattern? We don't know. But we suspect that there is some 1.1 per essence behind the apparent coincidence. We leave the pattern intact in the hope that someone else will understand its meaning. A sketch of Frank Lloyd Wright's. S67 BUILDINGS Finally, a note on the application of the pattern. One mint take care, in laying out large buildings, to make the cascade compatible with wings of light (107). If you conceive of the cascade as pyramidal and the building is large, the middle so tiofl of the building will be cut off from daylight. Instead, the proper synthesis of cascades and wings of light will generate a building that tumbles down along relatively narrow wings, the u:m-turning corners and becoming lower where they will. Therefore: 117 SHELTERING ROOF** Visualize the whole building, or building complex, as 11 system of roofs. Place the largest, highest, and widest roofs over thou parts of the building which are most significant: when you come to lay the roofs out in detail, you will be able tfl make all lesser roofs cascade off these large roofs and form a stable self-buttressing system, which is congruent widi the hierarchy of social spaces underneath the roofs. social entities corresponding roofs cascade highest in the middle Make the roofs a combination of steeply pitched or domed, an I flat shapes—sheltering roof (117), roof garden (118). Pic-pare to place small rooms at the outside and ends of wings, and large rooms in the middle—ceiling height variety (190). Later, once the plan of the building is more exactly defined, you can lay out the roofs exactly to fit the cascade to individual rooms| and at that stage the cascade will begin to have a structural effei I of great importance—structure follows social spaces <2m . i roof layout (209). . . . 568 . . . over the wings of light (107), within the overall cascad of roofs (116), some parts of the cascade are flat and some .1 steeply pitched or vaulted. This pattern gives the charactc those parts which are steeply pitched or vaulted; the next ont gives the character of those which must be flat. in r ,,| ❖ ❖ The roof plays a primal role in our lives. The most primitive buildings are nothing but a roof. If the roof is hidden, if its presence cannot be felt around the building, or if it cannot be used, then people will lack a fundamental sense of shelter. This sheltering function cannot be created by a pitched roof, or large roof, which is merely added to the top of an existing structure. The roof itself only shelters if it contains, cmbraci covers, surrounds the process of living. This means very siniph, that the roof must not only be large and visible, but it must also include living quarters within its volume, not only undernc.iih it, Compare the following examples. They show clearly how different roofs arc, when they have living quarters within them .111.1 when they don't. 11 .j[lk».. One roof lived in, the other stuck on. The difference between these two houses comes largely from the fact that in one the roof is an integral part of the volume ol the building, while in the other it is no more than a cap that ban been set down on top of the building. In the first case, where the 117 SHELTERING ROOF building conveys an enormous sense of shelter, it is impossible to draw a horizontal line across the facade of the building and separate the roof from the inhabited parts of the building. But in the second case, the roof is so separate and distinct a thing, that Inch a line almost draws itself. We believe that this connection between the geometry of roofs, and their capacity to provide psychological shelter, can be put on empirical grounds: first, there is a kind of evidence which shows that both children and adults naturally incline toward the nheltering roofs, almost as if they had archetypal properties. For example, here is Amos Rapoport on the subject: . . . "roof" is a symbol of home, as in the phrase "a roof over one's head," and its importance has been stressed in a number of studies. In one study, the importance of images—i.e., symbols—for house form is stressed, and the pitched roof is said to be symbolic of •li<-Iter while the flat roof is not, and is therefore unacceptable on •wnliolic grounds. Another study of this subject shows the importance id these aspects in the choice of house form in England, and also •hows that the pitched, tile roof is a symbol of security. It is eon-lldercd, and even shown in a building-society advertisement, as an Umbrella, and the houses directly reflect this view. (Amos Rapoport, llmne Form and Culture, Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1969, p. 134.) George Rand has drawn a similar point from his research. Rand finds that people are extremely conservative about their images of home and shelter. Despite 50 years of the flat roofs of the "modern movement," people still find the simple pitched roof the most powerful symbol of shelter. (George Rand, "Children's Inures of Houses: A Prolegomena to the Study of Why People Still Want Pitched Roofs," Environmental Design: Research and Practice, Proceedings of the EDRA 3/AR 8 Conference, Univcr-lity of California at Los Angeles, William J. Mitchell, ed., January 1972, pp. 6-9-2 to 6-9-10.) And the French psychiatrist, Menie Gregoire, makes the following observation about children: At Nancy the children from the apartments were asked to draw a house. These children had been born in these apartment slabs which ■1 mil up like a house of cards upon an isolated hill. Without exception they each drew a small cottage with two windows and smoke ■ iiilinjr up from a chimney on the roof. (M. Grefroire, "The Child ■ i the High-Rise," Ekistics, May 1971, pp. 331-33.) 570 57' BUILDINGS Such evidence as this can perhaps be dismissed on the groundi that it is culturally induced. But there is a second kind of evidence, more obvious, which lies in the simple fact of rn.il-on the connection between the features of a roof and the feeling ol shelter completely clear. In the passage which follows, we explain the geometric features which a roof must have in order to create an atmosphere of shelter. I. The space under or on the roof must be useful space, space that people come into contact with daily. The whole feeling ul shelter comes from the fact that the roof surrounds people at the same time that it covers them. You can imagine this taking cither of the following forms. In both cases, the rooms under the roof arc actually surrounded by the roof. A is - Two roof sections. 2. Seen from afar, the roof of the building must be made to form a massive part of the building. When you sec the building, you see the roof. This is perhaps the most dramatic feature of a strong, sheltering roof. What constitutes the charm to the eye of the old-fashioned country barn but its immense roof—a slope of gray shingle exposed to the weather like the side of a hill, and by its amplitude suggesting u bounty that warms the heart. Many of the old farmhouses, too, mtH modelled on the same generous scale, and at a distance little was visible but their great sloping roofs. They covered their inmates na a hen eovereth her brood, and are touching pictures of the domestic spirit in its simpler forms. (John Burroughs, Signs and Seasons, New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1914, p. 252.) 3. And a sheltering roof must be placed so that one (.111 touch it—touch it from outside. If it is pitched or vaulted, some II7 SHELTERING ROOF part of the roof must come down low to the ground, just in a pUce where there is a path, so that it becomes a natural th.ng to touch the roof edge as you pass it. Roof edges you can touch. Therefore: Slope the roof or make a vault of it, make its entire sur-I.1.1 visible, and bring the eaves of the roof down low, as low as 6'o" or 6'6" at places like the entrance, where people pause. Build the top story of each wing right into the roof, «0 that the roof does not only cover it, but actually surrounds it. 572 573 BUILDINGS .5. .;. I I 8 ROOF GARDEN Get the exact shape of the cross section from roof VAiM.1t (220); use the space inside the top of the sloped roof for bi • storage (145); where the roof comes down low, perhaps main it continuous with an arcade (119) or gallery st'RX"' I (166). Build the roof flat, not sloped, only where people can gi'l out to it to use it as a garden—roof gardens (118); whera rooms are built into the roof, make windows in the roof—dohmhi windows (231). If the building plan is complex, get the exact waj that different sloped roofs meet from roof layout (209). , , J 574 575 ... in between the sloping roofs created by sheltering Ron* (117), the roofs are flat where people can walk out on them This pattern describes the best position for these roof garden! and specifics their character. If they are correctly placed, thi will most often form the ends of wings of light (107) «1 different stories and will, therefore, automatically help to compli !«• the overall cascade of roofs (116). A vast part of the earth's surface, in a town, consist* of roofs. Couple this with the fact that the total area <>l a town which can be exposed to the sun is finite, and jroU will realize that is is natural, and indeed essential, t<> make roofs which take advantage of the sun and air. However, as we know from sheltering roof (117) and roof vaults (220), the flat shape is quite unnatural for roofl from psychological, structural, and climatic points of view, h n therefore sensible to use a flat roof only where the roof will actually become a garden or an outdoor room; to make as mam qi these "useful" roofs as possible; but to make all other roofs, whi< li cannot be used, the sloping, vaulted, shell-like structures specified by sheltering roof (117) and roof vault (220). Here is a rule of thumb: if possible, make at least one small roof garden in every building, more if you are sure people will actually use them. Make the remaining roofs steep roofs. SinCX as we shall see, the roof gardens which work arc almost alwaj at the same level as some indoor rooms, this means that at least some part of the building's roofs will always be steep. We shall expect, then, that this pattern will generate a roof landscape in which roof gardens and steep roofs arc mixed in almost ever) building. We now consider the flat roof, briefly, on its own terms. Flat roof gardens have always been prevalent in dry, warm climate where they can be made into livable environments. In the dense parts of towns in Mediterranean climates, nearly every roof is I I 8 ROOF GARDEN Habitable: they are full of green, private screens, with lovely views, places to cook out and eat and sleep. And even in temperate ilim.ites they are beautiful. They can be designed as rooms with- ..... ceilings, places that arc protected from the wind, but open lO the sky. However, the flat roofs that have become architectural fads • lining the last 40 years arc quite another matter. Gray gravel covered asphalt structures, these flat roofs are very rarely useful places; they arc not gardens; and taken as a whole, they do not meet the psychological requirements that we have outlined in sheltering roof (117). To make the flat parts of roofs truly useful, and compatible with the need for sloping roofs, it seems in 1. ssary to build flat roof gardens off the indoor parts of the buildings. In other words, do not make them the highest part Of the roof; let the highest parts of the roof slope; and make it possible to walk out to the roof garden from an interior room, without climbing special stairs. We have found that roof gardens that have this relationship arc used far more intensely than those rooftops which must be reached by climbing stairs. The explanation is obvious: it is far more comfortable to walk straight out onto a roof and feel the comfort of part of the building behind and to one side of you, then it is to climb up to a place you cannot sec. Therefore: Make parts of almost every roof system usable as roof gardens. Make these parts flat, perhaps terraced for planting, with places to sit and sleep, private places. Place the roof gardens at various stories, and always make it possible P3 walk directly out onto the roof garden from some lived-in part of the building. rooms at the same level MT1 576 577 BUILDINGS .j. .j, Remember to try and put the roof gardens at the open ends *i* GOALS* Keep the arcade low—ceiling height variety (190); bring the roof of the arcade as low as possible—sheltering ROOf (117) ; make the columns thick enough to lean against—column place {226); and make the openings between columns narrow and low—low doorway (224), column connection (227) cither by arching them or by making deep beams or with laiiiic work—so that the inside feels enclosed—building edge (l6o)j half-open wall (193). For construction sec structuhm follows social spaces (205) and thickening the outkh walls (211 ). . . . . . . once buildings and arcades and open spaces have hern roughly fixed by building complex (95), wings of i.k.iii (107), positive outdoor space (106), arcades (119)—il is time to pay attention to the paths which run between till buildings. This pattern shapes these paths and also helps to give more detailed form to degrees of publicness (36), netwokk of paths and cars (52), and circulation realms (98). * * * The layout of paths will seem right and comfortable onlv when it is compatible with the process of walking. And tin process of walking is far more subtle than one mighl imagine. Essentially there arc three complementary processes: 1. As you walk along you scan the landscape for intermediate destinations—the furthest points along the path which you can see. You try, more or less, to walk in a straight line toward these points. This naturally has the effect that you will cut corners and take "diagonal" paths, since these are the ones which ol form straight lines between your present position and the point, which you are making for. imt«>*ms>i*ts: Path to a goal. 2. These intermediate destinations keep changing. The further you walk, the more you can sec around the corner. If you always walk straight toward this furthest point and the furthest point keeps changing, you will actually move in a slow curve, like a missile tracking a moving target. 120 PATHS AND GOALS - -o- Series of goah. 3. Since you do not want to keep changing direction while you walk and do not want to spend your whole time re-calculating your best direction of travel, you arrange your walking process in such a way that you pick a temporary "goal"—some clearly visible landmark—which is more or less in the direction you want to take and then walk in a straight line toward it for a hundred yards, then, as you get close, pick another new goal, once more a hundred yards further on, and walk toward it. . . . You do this so that in between, you can talk, think, daydream, smell the spring, without having to think about your walking direction IVery minute. The actual path. In the diagram above a person begins at A and heads for point K. Along the way, his intermediate goals are points B, C, and I). Since he is trying to walk in a roughly straight line toward I'., his intermediate goal changes from B to C, as soon as C is visible; and from C to D, as soon as D is visible. The proper arrangements of paths is one with enough intermediate goals, to make this process workable. If there aren't hnough intermediate goals, the process of walking becomes more difficult, and consumes unnecessary emotional energy. Therefore: To lay out paths, first place goals at natural points of in-i' rest Then connect the goals to one another to form the ;86 587 BUILDINGS paths. The paths may be straight, or gently curving lie tween goals; their paving should swell around the goal The goals should never be more than a few hundred lm apart. 121 PATH SHAPE3 All the ordinary things in the outdoors—trees, fountains, entrances, gateways, seats, statues, a swing, an outdoor room i IR be the goals. See family of entrances (102), main entrani > (no), tree places (171), seat spots (241), raised flowi I (245); build the "goals" according to the rules of somethinu roughly in the middle (126) j and shape the paths according to path shape (121). To pave the paths use paving with cracm between the stones (247). . . . 589 121 PATH SHAPE . . . paths of various kinds have been defined by larger pal-terns-promenade (31), shopping street (32), network ill paths and cars (52), raised walk (55), pedestrian street (100), and paths and goals (120). This pattern defines their shape: and it can also help to generate these larger patterns piecemeal, through the very process of shaping parts of the path. Streets should be for staying in, and not just for moving through, the way they are today. For centuries, the street provided city dwellers with usable public space right outside their houses. Now, in a number o( subtle ways, the modern city has made streets which arc for "going through," not for "staying in." This is reinforced by regulation* which make it a crime to loiter, by the greater attractions inside the side itself, and by streets which are so unattractive to stay in, that they almost force people into their houses. From an environmental standpoint, the essence of the problem is this: streets are "centrifugal" not "centripetal": they drivi people out instead of attracting them in. In order to combat thit effect, the pedestrian world outside houses must be made into the kind of place where you stay, rather than the kind of place you move through. It must, in short, be made like a kind of outside public room, with a greater sense of enclosure than a street. This can be accomplished if we make residential pedestrian streets subtly convex in plan with seats and galleries around the edges, and even sometimes roof the streets with beams or trellis-work. Here are two examples of this pattern, at two different scales. First, we show a plan of ours for fourteen houses in Peru. The street shape is created by gradually stepping back the houses, in plan. The result is a street with a positive, somewhat elliptical shape. We hope it is a place that will encourage people to slow down and spend time there. Ft" l-. 1 j The path shape formed by fourteen houses. The second example is a very small path, cutting through a „,iKhborhood in the hills of Berkeley. Again, the shape swells out .ubtly, just in those places where it is good to pause and sit. A spot along a path in the hills of Berkeley. Therefore: Make a bulge in the middle of a public path, and make ,l,c ends narrower, so that the path forms an enclosure Which is a place to stay, not just a place to pass through. bulge in the middle I Jj narrow ends 591 590 BUILDINGS * * •> frnn^V",,10 ^ ^ °f t,,C P3th> m^ the buildi,,. IT VI 2? P08iti°nS' 3nd °n "° 'lcount ^™ a set b3 between the building and the path-Btn,DINC, FRoNT5 (, decide on the appropriate area for the «bulge" by using .1 an h„,et,c of pedestrian density then fornl the «* of ho bulge with arcades (,,9), act,vty pockets (.24) „J tair 6e,rs (i25); h even w. h a pubuc ■ lenih ig'-emUCh We 38 y0° an 10 the P«th »]' »'°ng it. length with windows—street windows (164). ... 592 122 BUILDING FRONTS* . . . this pattern helps to shape the paths and buildings simultaneously; and so completes building complex (95), wings of light (107), positive outdoor space (106), arcades (119), path shape (121), and also activity pockets (124). Building set-backs from the street, originally invented to protect the public welfare by giving every building light and air, have actually helped greatly to destroy the street PjI a social space. In positive outdoor space (106) we have described the fact that buildings are not merely placed into the outdoors, but that they actually shape the outdoors. Since streets and squares have luch enormous social importance, it is natural to pay close atlen-.....1 10 the way that they arc shaped by building fronts. The early twentieth-century urge for "cleanliness" at all costs, and the social efforts to clean up slums, led social reformers to pats laws which make it necessary to place buildings several feet buck from the street edge, to make sure that buildings cannot crowd the street and cut off sunshine, light, and air. But, the set backs have destroyed the streets. Since it is possible |o guarantee plenty of air and sun in buildings and streets in other ways—see, for example, four-story limit (21) and wings of 1 h.ht (107)—it is essential to build the front of buildings on the ttrect, so that the streets which they create are usable. Finally, note that the positive shape of the street cannot be ichieved by merely staggering building fronts. If the building fronts arc adjusted to the shape of the outdoors, they will almost always take on a variety of slightly uneven angles. 593 BUILDINGS 122 BUILDING FRONTS ♦ ♦ ♦ Detail the fronts of buildings, indeed the whole building perimeter, according to the pattern building edge (160). If some outdoor space is needed at the front of the building, make it p.irt of the street life by making it a private terrace on the iihket (140) or gallery surround (166); and give the building many openings onto the street—stair seats (125), open stairs (158), street windows (164), opening to the iirkkt (165), front door bench (242). . . . ' Slight angles in the building fronts. Therefore: On no account allow set-backs between streets or paths m public open land and the buildings which front on them The set-backs do nothing valuable and almost always J> stroy the value of the open areas between the building! Build right up to the paths; change the laws in all comnm nities where obsolete by-laws make this impossible. And In the building fronts take on slightly uneven angles as the] accommodate to the shape of the street. no setbacks 2 3 PEDESTRIAN DENSITY* . in various places there arc pedestrian areas, paved so that people will congregate there or walk up and down—promenade ( small public squares (6l), pedestrian street (lOO), nllll.DINC thoroughfare (iOl), path shape (1211. It i. eS- Mtitial to limit the sizes of these places very strictly, especially the size of areas which are paved, so that they stay alive. ♦■ ♦ ♦ Many of our modern public squares, though intended as lively plazas, are in fact deserted and dead. In this pattern, we call attention to the relationship between ili. number of people in a pedestrian area, the size of the area, mid a subjective estimate of the extent to which the area is alive. We do not say categorically that the number of people per Square foot controls the apparent liveliness of a pedestrian area. Other factors—the nature of the land around the edge, the Humping of people, what the people are doing—obviously contribute greatly. People who arc running, especially if they are Raiting noise, add to the liveliness. A small group attracted to a .....pie of folk singers in a plaza give much more life to the place than the same number sunning on the grass. However, the number of square feet per person does give a reasonably crude estimate of the liveliness of a space. Christie i i.Urn's observations show the following figures for various public places in and around San Francisco. Her estimate of the liveliness of the places is given in the right-hand column. Sq. ft. per person Golden Gate Plaza, noon: 1000 Dead Fresno Mall: 100 Alive Sproul Plaza, daytime: 150 Alive Sproul Plaza, evening: aooo Dead Union Square, central part: 600 Half-dead Although these subjective estimates are clearly open to qucs-11..11. they suggest the following rule of thumb: At 150 square feet p. 1 person, an area is lively. If there are more than 500 square feet per person, the area begins to be dead. 597 BUILDINGS on the site that there is no reasonable space for outdoor streets because the entire building complex is a continuous two, three, or four story building, it becomes necessary to think of m.ij