The traffic starts getting heavy as soon as you cross Mockingbird. Cars stop, start, stop again. A couple, in their early 20s, runs across the street, edging past the slowly moving cars. You make a right on Ellsworth to get to Matilda, and there is less traffic. But there is little parking, and that’s what you’re there for.
Both sides of the street are jammed, and it just gets worse the farther south you drive. You pass groups of college-age students running down the street as you circle blocks looking for a parking place, and some of them are weaving more than the steering wheel. You end up parking near Richard, eight blocks from your destination, and you wonder: Isn’t there anything better than this?
Not on Greenville Avenue on Saturday night. That’s when one of Dallas’ most interesting residential neighborhoods — the affluent M Streets, up and coming Vickery Park, funky Lower Greenville — turns into one of the City’s most rocking and rolling entertainment districts. It’s a contradiction that has turned into a nasty, high-stakes turf war, pitting residents against business owners. They argue about parking. They argue about crowd control. They argue about zoning.
In fact, about the only thing they don’t argue about is that the City isn’t doing enough to protect their side from the forces of darkness that make up the other.
“You ask me what I would do to fix things if I was the Greenville Avenue czar?” says former councilman Craig Holcomb, who represented the area in the 1980s. “I don’t know that I would want to be the Greenville Avenue czar. I don’t know that there is a solution.”
Complicating matters — if that’s possible — is that the divisions are not only deep, but long-standing. Greenville Avenue, from Mockingbird to Ross, has been a battleground between those who live there and those who work there for almost three decades.
Drive around the neighborhood, and you can see the scars:
• The postage stamp lot across from the San Francisco Rose, where homeowners and former Rose owner Phil Cobb went mano y mano in the early 1990s over the best use of the land.
• At Greenville and Llano, where a church once stood and which has been empty for almost 10 years as neighbors and developers maneuver for position like a couple of thugs in a knife fight.
• Near lowest Greenville, where the now-closed Palace nightclub touched off eruptions among residents even before it opened — the Pearl Harbor of the current battle.
And, sadly, the divisions are so deep that the situation may not get any better. Short-term help is probably on the way in the form of building code adjustments, a limited trolley system, some parking restrictions, and other odds and ends.
But long-term solutions, which do exist, which have worked in other cities, and which could benefit everyone, require political will and the ability to compromise — two things in short supply. The residents don’t trust the businesses, and vice versa, and each point to the broken promises, failed agreements, and treacherous betrayals of the other to make its case. The City, politically and structurally unable to do much more than watch, spends most of its time ducking and covering.
And that no way to treat one of the most important neighborhoods in Dallas.
The history
Craig Holcomb had barely figured out where his office was when he had his first issue as a city councilman. It was on Greenville Avenue, and it involved parking.
“In that respect, not much has changed,” says Holcomb, who represented part of the Greenville area from 1983-1989. “We’ve had the same problems for 20 years, and what happens is that you get a new group of residents and a new group of business owners who don’t know it. And they all take it personally.”
In fact, Greenville’s problems probably go back even further than that. In the 1920s and 1930s, the Greenville Avenue area, especially north of Belmont, was planned as a suburban-like community. It was a time when much of the city’s growth was south of the Trinity River, and North Dallas — as in North Dallas High School — started at Lemmon Avenue and Central Expressway.
“Dallas was never meant to be a high occupancy city, and especially that part of the city,” says Susan Hyde, a political consultant who lives in Lake Highlands. “If you look at the size of the lots and how narrow the streets are, you can tell a deliberate decision was made to keep it single family.”
That’s one reason why there is so little retail — and retail parking. No one was supposed to drive there, the way they drive to NorthPark today. No one then envisioned bars and restaurants that would draw customers from as far away as Tarrant County. Rather, it was supposed to be an area of neighborhood grocers, corner drugstores, and other small businesses. Residents would walk down the street to pick up a loaf of bread or a prescription or to pass the time of day with the owner.
That started to change after World War II, when Dallas shifted its development focus north of the Trinity River and the car started to figure in the way people lived. There are old photos of traffic jams up and down the street as early as the 1940s. Then, in the late 1960s and early 1970s, white flight changed the character of much of Greenville below Martel. The decline, typical of much of East Dallas at that time, lasted until the late 1970s when the middle class began to move back.
“Social trends have outpaced the city’s ability to react to them,” says Daron Tapscott, an architect who heads the Vickery Place Neighborhood Association. “Dallas doesn’t even know what its priorities are — and its neighborhoods should be one of them.”
Since then, conflicts have raged over everything from whether dumpsters are closed at night to how many parking spaces restaurants and bars are required to have (as opposed to how many they do have) to whether city landscaping ordinances unconstitutionally restrict the rights of property owners.
Typical was that first issue facing Holcomb— whether to change the zoning of what was then empty land in back of a grocery store. “Who’d have known then,” says Holcomb, “ that someone would eventually want to build $200,000 town homes in back of the Whole Foods?”
The city’s role
Whenever a controversy erupts on Greenville Avenue, all sides head to City Hall. There, they figure, is the impartial arbiter who can resolve the issue.
It’s time to think again.
Of all the complications and conundrums surrounding Greenville Avenue, perhaps the most confusing is the role of City government. Residents expect it to support their views on code enforcement and zoning, while business owners see the City as their ally in the fight to preserve property rights. That the City is not able or willing to back either side is something few have considered.
“Our hands are tied on so many issues,” says councilwoman Veletta Lill, whose district includes Greenville Avenue between Belmont and Mockingbird. “There are many needs, and we have so few resources.”
First among the obstacles is state law. It restricts what cities can do in certain areas, including liquor licenses. Those are issued — and revoked — by the state. If a bar or night club meets zoning and code requirements, there is almost nothing the City can do to prevent it from getting and keeping a liquor license, regardless of how much its neighbors object.
Then there are the City’s resources. It devotes proportionately little to parking and code enforcement, two of Greenville Avenue’s most pressing issues. There are just 25 brown-uniformed parking officers; most work downtown, and none works regularly after 9:15 p.m. Meanwhile, there are only 125 field personnel among the city’s eight code enforcement districts.
This means that if a side street is flooded with illegally parked cars at midnight, or if a bar owner puts in improvements that don’t comply with the building code, there is little chance anything will be done. There are no City employees to do it. That’s something homeowners should keep in mind when they bellyache about their tax bills.
Realize, too, that the City has traditionally adopted a hands-off attitude toward zoning and code enforcement. In Texas, the rights of property owners have almost always come first, something pro-neighborhood Council members have usually had to buck. The City agreed to look the other way, for example, when a number of Greenville Avenue restaurants paved over their street parking to build patios in the early ’90s, claiming the need to boost their business during a recession.
Then there is the fear factor. Even if the City found the money and the inclination to be more active, it’s hampered by the threat of lawsuits. Lill, regarded as pro-neighborhood, points out that the City has been sued when it has tried to enforce ordinances — most recently over towing and valet parking restrictions. A four-month freeze on building permits on lowest Greenville, which expired in the spring, was the longest city lawyers said the Council could impose without being sued.
That makes it difficult to be impartial.
Where we are today
It’s not too far-fetched to think of Greenville Avenue as Dallas’ very own Northern Ireland, with the city as the British and the area’s residents and businesses as Catholics and Protestants of various shades and persuasions. The situation is not, thankfully, violent, but the mistrust, fear and even hatred on every sides is uncomfortably similar to what themIrish call “The Troubles.”
“It’s an emotional issue,” says Tapscott, who lives in the Vickery Place house his grandparents once owned. “Things have become so partisan that it’s difficult to get people to see that anything can be done.”
Complicating matters are the divisions among each group:
• The businesses are divided among daytime retail, like dry cleaners; nighttime businesses, like bars and restaurants; and the handful of landlords who own much of the property. Landlords want to be able to rent to whomever they want, while day businesses often side with residents on some development issues. Night businesses have their own priorities, like parking, that don’t interest landlords.
• Among the homeowners, there are long-term residents, many of whom have made their peace with the situation, and residents who arrived in the past couple of years and were shocked to discover what was going on.
• The City is divided into the staff, who run the day-to-day operations; the council members who represent the area; and the council members who don’t, and who don’t understand that happens on Greenville Avenue affects their constituents.
“In short, no-one wants to take complete responsibility for what is happening,” says Hyde. “It’s too much trouble. Everyone has their own agendas, whether it’s the residents, business owners or City staff.”
In fact, it’s difficult to get people to even talk on the record. Some City officials were reluctant to be quoted, unless they could approve the quotes beforehand. Two of Greenville’s key landlords — Susan Reese and Shula Netzer — both of whom are on the city’s Lower Greenville Avenue Land Use Study committee — declined to be interviewed for this story.
“I just don’t think some of the residents have been fair,” says Roger Andres, whose family has owned and managed property on lowest Greenville for 40 years. “Some of their complaints may be true, like the urinating on the lawns, and some of them may be exaggerated. What I don’t understand is why they have persistently tried to defame us as a family and as a company. Hey, if the neighborhood is unhappy about what’s going on, I’m unhappy.”
It’s difficult to argue with the landlords’ logic. If they can get $18-$20 a square foot in rent from a bar, why should residents or the City tell them they must take $12.50 a square foot from a pet store? On the other hand, it’s difficult to see why a four-block area around lowest Greenville should have almost 50 bars — the number in September, according to a neighborhood group.
And when residents talk on the record, they don’t pull any punches. Says Bill Dickerson, who lives on Sears near lowest Greenville, but has lived up
and down the street for the past 30 years: “I’ve dealt with these guys before, and they may talk responsibly, but I’ve seen the opposite. They only thing that it seems they want is just to get their way.”
What will probably happen
Sometime in the next year, there will be changes up and down Greenville Avenue — and the reason there will be changes is that the changes won’t be significant.
Not only can few people agree on what to do, but even those who think changes should be made — in zoning, in code enforcement, in parking — aren’t sure major changes are the best solution.
“I don’t know all the answers, but I do know we need to find a solution that will be good for the restaurants and the rest of the business community that won’t infringe on the rights of their neighbors,” says councilwoman Mary Poss, who is also mayor pro tem. “The Council generally allows people involved to work on the issues, since they are the closest to finding optimum solutions.”
If all sides can agree, Greenville Avenue businesses and residents should see the following in 2000:
• Some sort of trolley service, similar to the downtown shuttles, that will operate nights and weekends. The trolleys would run the length of the street, from the DART station at Mockingbird and Central Expressway. The hang-up, says Lill, is that area businesses will have to agree to pay some of the $75,000 cost.
• Revisions in the valet parking ordinance. Currently, businesses with a parking lot with at least two spaces pay $350 a year for a valet permit, while those who park cars on the street pay $1,000 a year. This means restaurants with parking lots use them for valet service, even though the lot may sit empty all night, so they can save the $650.
• Tinkering with zoning definitions. Community retail zoning, common on Greenville Avenue, allows any sort of business on a site, whether it’s a grocery superstore, a corner bar, or a TV repair shop. Lill says one possibility is adding a category for larger, regional businesses that are too big for their neighborhood. This, for example, would make it possible to exclude something like the Palace, while allowing John’s Grill.
• Moral persuasion. This means convincing bar and restaurant owners to abide by zoning, building and parking requirements. Many night businesses, say those familiar with the situation, perform building renovations without the necessary permits, since they know there is little chance they’ll be caught.
• The Lower Greenville Avenue Land Use Study committee. The 12-member panel is discussing the future of Greenville between Belmont and Ross. It can recommend no action be taken, recommend specific changes, or recommend a planned development, similar to the one that regulated growth in Oak Lawn in the 1980s. However, no expects the group to finish before the end of 2000.
What could happen, if everyone was willing to compromise
Imagine a trolley system, similar to downtown San Antonio’s, carrying people and up down Greenville Avenue. Imagine renovated storefronts all along the street, with retail at ground level, two or three stories of office and apartment space above, each with its own parking. Imagine revised street layouts that restrict traffic flow to the neighborhoods. Imagine a refurbished lowest Greenville that combines affordable housing with design improvements that maintain the character of the neighborhood. Imagine a police substation, home to bicycle and horse patrols.
It’s all possible, because the biggest obstacle to redeveloping Greenville Avenue is not financing or finding developers — national and regional — with a vision. The biggest obstacle is the political ill will that has paralyzed almost any action up and down the street for the past couple of decades.
“There are design solutions to Greenville Avenue’s problems, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to do them,” says Art Lomenick, a senior vice president at Post Properties in Dallas, which helped put together Uptown’s redesign as well as the highly-regarded Roosevelt District project in Phoenix. “We’ve thought about Greenville Avenue, but we don’t go swimming upstream. The neighborhood’s attitude is everything to us, and we won’t build anywhere if there isn’t a consensus about what is needed.”
And that’s too bad, because a number of urban planners, developers, and architects say Greenville Avenue could be an example of the best sort of urban redesign — a plan that keeps the neighborhood’s character yet solves many of its problems.
“I don’t think anyone who is responsible wants to sanitize the area,” says Mark Wolf, a Dallas architect who belongs to a committee that advises the city manager on urban planning. “But that doesn’t mean there don’t have to be changes.”
Experts suggest a four-prong plan:
• Hire a nationally-known outside consultant to study the problem, and present a comprehensive, 20-year master plan for developing Greenville between Ross and Mockingbird that would include traffic studies. An outsider, says Wolf, would have a fresh perspective and be above the neighborhood’s politics.
• Make it attractive for each side to compromise. Residents, for example, would have to agree to zoning changes to eliminate single-family housing immediately adjacent to Greenville. This would allow a buffer to be built, shielding residents from the street’s noise and activity. Landlords and business owners would have to agree to planning restrictions that would limit the number of bars and restaurants, and reconfigure parking requirements.
• Include tax credits and a special tax funding district called a TIFF in the plan. The former would help landlords pay to rehabilitate buildings and to construct something other than high-income housing. The latter would channel tax money generated in the district back into the district to pay for increased code and police enforcement.
• Redevelop lowest Greenville first, as an example of what can be done. It’s possible to renovate the several suburban-style strip centers in a way that restores the area’s historical flavor. That way, each side will learn to trust each other. Lomenick calls the process “urban acupuncture” — placing the needles where they will help the most.
“I don’t think,” he says, “that anyone wants to see any more strip centers, or that fenced and gated communities are the answer to Greenville’s problems.”
What has happened elsewhere
In Atlanta’s Virginia Highlands neighborhood, residents and a nightclub owner are trading insults in the newspaper, barbs at city meetings, and invective on the street. What’s unusual about the situation is that it’s the exception, and not the rule.
“For the most part, developers and residents in Virginia Heights get along,” says Michael Starling, a senior planner for the Atlanta Regional Commission. “Residents put a lot of pressure on developers, but they also enjoy what the developers bring. The big issue is balance.”
Virginia Heights, an older residential neighborhood just northeast of Atlanta’s central business district, resembles Greenville Avenue in many ways — as do many neighborhoods in cities throughout the South and Southwest. What’s interesting about Virginia Heights, as well as similar neighborhoods in other cities, is that they don’t have Greenville’s problems. Why they don’t is something those involved in the Greenville situation should consider.
• One key to Atlanta’s measured development in Virginia Heights, as well as in better-known districts like Buckhead, is the Neighborhood Planning Unit. All development requests must go through an NPU, which includes neighborhood residents, before requests reach the city zoning board. The NPU’s power is limited — it can’t change zoning, for example. But it does give developers and residents a chance to thrash out their differences ahead of time. In Buckhead, an upscale entertainment district, several small businesses still stand on lots zoned for commercial high rises.
• In Phoenix, the city plays an active role in development. “Zoning is taken pretty seriously here,” says Brian Kearney of the Downtown Phoenix Partnership, a quasi-governmental body that promotes the central business district. “The city is not laissez-faire by any means. Zoning is an accepted tool, and a lot of developers wish it wasn’t that way.” For instance, there are several historic neighborhoods near downtown that abut commercial areas, and the city is working with residents and developers on issues like traffic and design.
• In Denver, a city ombudsman helps bring the sides in zoning disputes together to negotiate a compromise. “It’s a process that has worked really, really well,” says Marianne LeClair, a senior redevelopment specialist for the Denver Urban Renewal Authority. “This process allows a way out so the problem doesn’t fester and get worse.”
