The Interstate System in the American Cultural Memory
The Creation and Contestation of the Highway Spaces of Cleveland and Detroit
The Creation and Contestation of the Highway Spaces of Cleveland and Detroit
Postwar to Present
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INTRODUCTION
Uncovering the Cultural Specificity
of Highways
Discarding the Neutrality of Engineered
‘Space’
“For most of our century, urban spaces have been
systematically designed and organized to ensure that collisions and
confrontations will not take place here. The distinctive sign of
nineteenth-century urbanism was the boulevard, a medium for bringing explosive
material and human forces together; the hallmark of twentieth-century urbanism
has been the highway, a means for putting them asunder.”[1]
--- Marshall Berman (1988) in All That is Solid Melts into Air
--- Marshall Berman (1988) in All That is Solid Melts into Air
Despite the intentions of
highway-builders to create a perfectly ordered, free-flowing, and rational
urban spatial logic, highways were far from the perfect, enduring solution they
were imagined to be. They did not establish a universal, resolved, spatial
order nor the social order that this technocratic utopianism implied. In fact,
they arguably further destabilized an implicit and complex socio-spatial order
that highways negated, undermined and devalued. Highways were unable to keep
the social collisions and confrontations they were meant to treat at bay. Ironically,
highways are themselves a site of social collision and conflict. Thus, the
highway is not a neutral, engineered object but rather a place which holds meaning
and is assigned meaning by the negotiations and renegotiations which shape its
physical form, legal function, and social purpose.
The Myth of Abstract Space
Coming to Terms with ‘Place’ as Universal and
Unavoidable
Highways were planned as
culturally neutral movement spaces. They were birthed out of the utopic
imagination of the machine age, the modernist era in which ‘space’ and ‘time’
ruled supreme and ‘place’ was an afterthought, an impediment, and a leftover. Edward
Casey explains the essence of this modernist fixation on pure, non-social
spatial geometries and relations in his 1996 work How to Get from Space to Place in a Fairly Short Stretch of Time:
Phenomenological Prolegomena. Tracing the root of twentieth-century
modernist planning back to the pioneers of modern western science and the key
philosophers of early modern Europe, Casey asserts,
it is characteristic of the modern Western mind
to conceive of space in terms of its formal essence—hence the insistent search
for mathematical expressions of pure spatial relations. For Newton, More,
Gassendi, Descartes, and Galileo, space was homogeneous, isotropic, isometric,
and infinitely (or, at least, indefinitely) extended. Within the supremely
indifferent and formal scene of space, local differences did not matter. Place
itself did not matter.[2]
This
abstract, continuous, and blank space is the space in which theorized highways
were to be built. The trouble is that, in reality, they were built in
distinctive places, not in a continuous and infinite space. Thus,
highways were not, in their final built form, the culturally neutral spaces as
they were intended to be. Highways are, in fact, places that have, over time,
gathered layered cultural meanings. Casey recommends that we confront the
totalizing, technocratic utopianism of high modernity by revaluing or
reoccupying “the low land of place.”[3]
I will, over the course of this work, attempt to do just that: to reoccupy the
American highway as a culturally specific ‘place’ rather than a mere sliver of
the abstract, continuous and blank ‘space’ of modernist thought.
Highways are not Neutral ‘Spaces’
The Production of [Social] Space
In order to reoccupy place, it
becomes important to develop an understanding of the processes that created and
modified that place as these processes each confer meaning. This close study of
the processes that produce places is methodologically tied to the theories put
forward by philosopher Henri Lefebvre in his landmark 1974 work, The Production of Space. Lefebvre
introduces us to his theory by defining ‘social space’ (what I have been
referring to as ‘place’) as distinct from its theoretical counterpoint, the
abstract/natural/scientific space of modern thought, asserting a dialectical relationship
between social process and spatial product: “[Social] space is permeated with
social relations; it is not only supported by social relations but it is also
producing and produced by social relations.”[4]
Working within the Marxist tradition, Lefebvre considers social space to be “at
once a precondition and a result of social superstructures... Though a product
to be used, to be consumed, it is also a means of production; networks
of exchange and flows of raw materials and energy fashion space and are
determined by it. Thus this means of production, produced as such, cannot be
separated either from the productive forces, including technology and
knowledge, or from the social division of labour which shapes it, or from the
state and the superstructures of society.”[5]
Lefebvre’s notion of a space that is both producing and produced by social
processes flows easily into a discussion of the layering or accumulation of
meanings within any given social space.
Lefebvre seems to revel in this
layered multiplicity of social space, considering this accumulation of cultural
meanings to be a rich and exciting prospect. Lefebvre explains this layering of
meaning, writing, “we are confronted not by one social space but by many—indeed,
by an unlimited multiplicity or uncountable set of social spaces which we refer
to generically as ‘social space’. No space disappears in the course of growth
and development.”[6]
Continuing his train of thought, Lefebvre proclaims, “(social) space...subsumes
things produced, and encompasses their interrelationships in their coexistence
and simultaneity—their (relative) order and/or (relative) disorder.”[7]
Having framed social space as a palimpsest whose meaning is relational rather
than absolute, Lefebvre embarks on a descriptive visualization of the ways in
which social spaces “interpenetrate one another and/or superimpose
themselves upon one another.”[8]
Lefebvre characterizes these social spaces through material metaphors,
claiming,
they are not things, which have
mutually limiting boundaries and which collide because of their contours or as
a result of inertia. Figurative terms such as 'sheet' and 'stratum' have
serious drawbacks: being metaphorical rather than conceptual, they assimilate
space to things and thus relegate its concept to the realm of abstraction.
Visible boundaries, such as walls or enclosures in general, give rise for their
part to an appearance of separation between spaces where in fact what exists is
an ambiguous continuity.... A much more fruitful analogy, it seems to me, may
be found in hydrodynamics, where the principle of the superimposition of small
movements teaches us the importance of the roles played by scale, dimension and
rhythm. Great movements, vast rhythms, immense waves - these all collide and
'interfere' with one another; lesser movements, on the other hand,
interpenetrate. If we were to follow this model, we would say that any social
locus could only be properly understood by taking two kinds of determinations
into account: on the one hand, that locus would be mobilized, carried forward
and sometimes smashed apart by major tendencies, those tendencies which
'interfere' with one another; on the other hand, it would be penetrated by, and
shot through with, the weaker tendencies characteristic of networks and pathways.[9]
It is the “hypercomplexity of social space”
described by Lefebvre in this passage that has served as my guiding principle
in the investigation of highways as social space.[10]
Building
upon Lefebvre’s earlier theorizing, David Harvey, in his 2007 essay Contested Cities: Social Process and Spatial
Form, describes three ways of conceptualizing spatiality, the last of which
I have attempted to apply to the study of highways as a cultural landscape.[11]
The first conception of spatiality is absolute, the second relative, and the
third relational. With absolute
spatiality, “space and time are mere containers of social action. They are
passive, neutral containers. These passive, neutral containers simply allow us
to locate the action which is occurring.”[12]
With relative spatiality (named for
Einstein’s influential theory of relativity), “space and time, although they
are still containers, are not neutral with respect to the processes they
contain. Metrics of space and time can and do vary depending upon the nature of
the processes under consideration… [and] different metrics yield different maps
of the space/time coordinates within which social interaction occurs.”[13]
Relative spatiality admits influence but sees that influence as uni-directional
rather than reciprocal. Finally, with relational
spatiality, “space and time do not exist outside of process: process defines
space/time… From this standpoint, we have to take very seriously the
notion...that space and time are not simply constituted by but are also
constitutive of social processes.”[14]
It is within this relational spatiality that my analysis takes place. I
understand the highway not as “simply a site or a container of social action,”
but rather as the product of “a set of conflictual heterogeneous processes
which are producing spatio-temporalities as well as producing things,
structures and permanencies in ways which constrain the nature of the social
process.”[15]
The Highway as Agent of Fragmentation
Balancing Movement and Social Space
Beyond my attention to process
and product as iterative and reciprocal, my analysis of the highway as an
American cultural landscape is premised on the copious scholarship asserting
that the highway has been, and continues to be, an agent of fragmentation and
isolation in our cities. Matthew Carmona’s 2003 book Public Places, Urban Spaces: The Dimensions of Urban Design gives
an especially clear account of the ways in which highway spaces fragment the
urban fabric and isolate communities from one another. At the outset of his
chapter on the morphological dimension of urban design, Carmona makes a
distinction between two types of public space: (1) ‘movement space’ and (2)
‘social space’ defined as “outdoor space for people to engage in economic,
social and cultural transaction.”[16]
Carmona then explains that each public space typology effects its surrounding
environment differently. While social spaces produce activity at their edges, “movement
space will tend to be faced by socially passive fronts with few or no windows
and little indication of human presence.”[17]
Carmona uses this distinction to explain the fundamental difference between a
‘street’ as an agent of integration and a highway or ‘road’ as an agent of
fragmentation.[18]
Carmona describes the evolution from ‘street’ to ‘road’ explaining,
when the principal modes of transport were by
foot or horse, the realms of movement and social space had considerable
overlap. With the development of new modes of travel, these realms have become
increasingly compartmentalized into vehicular movement space and pedestrian
movement/social space. At the same time, public space has been colonised by the
car and the social aspects of the 'street' suppressed in favour of movement and
circulation - the 'road.'[19]
Coming to the point, Carmona then asserts that,
as a result of the road’s exclusion of social activity, “major roads to act as
barriers to movement across them, creating severance and fragmenting urban
areas.”[20]
Lefebvre, too, noted this fragmentation in The
Production of Space, observing that urban space is “sliced up, degraded,
and eventually destroyed by ... the proliferation of fast roads.”[21]
Carmona goes into greater detail on Lefebvre’s observation explaining,
“movement between the fragments becomes a purely movement experience rather
than a movement and social experience. Containing both social space and
movement space, walkable streets connect buildings and activities across space.
Containing only movement space, roads divide and separate areas.”[22]
The highway was the epitome of the modernist treatment of the street as a
“channel for efficient movement” and nothing more—no messy intermingling of
social and movement space, only the safe compartmentalization of each.[23]
The
result of this high modernist neglect of the street as social and movement space is, in Carmona’s
words, “the multiplication of 'objects' and the neglect of ‘fabrics.’”[24]
In other words, the modernist space of the twentieth century, in its impulse
towards order and control, compromised connectivity. Carmona comments on the
fracturing effect of the modernist attitude that produced our nation’s highway
landscapes, noting, “in the absence of explicit concern for the spaces between
the buildings, environments were simply collections of individual buildings.
The unintended outcome was a bastardized version of Modernist ideas of urban
space design.” [25]
Scholar Roger Trancik similarly observed: “somehow—without any conscious
intention on anyone's part—the ideals of free flowing space and pure
architecture have evolved into our present urban situation of individual
buildings isolated in parking lots and highways.”[26]
Lefebvre makes much the same argument, claiming that the result of the
modernist planning ideology was a “fracturing of space” that could be described
as “a disordering of elements wrenched from each other in such a way that the
urban fabric itself—the street, the city—is also torn apart.”[27]
Each of these authors (Carmona, Trancik, and Lefebvre) see the modernist attitude, and its hallmark of the highway, as
one that inherently fragments the city—both physically and socially—by reducing
the connectivity (or ‘permeability’) of the urban fabric.
Permeability can be understood
in terms of the quality of the physical infrastructure that facilitates social
interaction and connectivity. Carmona defines permeability as “the extent to
which an environment allows a choice of routes both through and within it. It
is also a measure of the opportunity for movement.”[28]
Reducing the number of “links between networks or layers,” as highways did,
“introduces discontinuities into the movement system, reducing its
permeability.”[29]
Albert Pope explains this process of street grid erosion (or reduction in
permeability) in his 1996 book, Ladders,
arguing that freeways interrupted the “continuities of gridded space,” reducing
pedestrian (and automobile) autonomy “by enforcing a strict hierarchical
movement along a primary route of transportation, dramatically coarsening the
urban fabric.”[30]
This emphasis on hierarchical (or ‘laddered’) movement, Pope asserts, created
an emphasis on destinations rather than journeys that robbed urban landscapes
of the vitality produced by chance encounters along a journey.[31]
Carmona gives an example of how destination-oriented movement results in the
loss of journey-based vitality in the city, explaining, “as each road
termination or residential cul-de-sac becomes an exclusive destination, it
becomes only a place to go to rather than a place that might also be passed
through on the way to somewhere else.”[32]
In this destination-oriented movement, Carmona explains, our cities lose the
conventional by-product of movement: “the potential for other (optional)
activities in addition to the basic activity of travelling from origin to
destination.”[33]
The loss of this by-product of movement, a “critical element of urbanity” by
Carmona’s estimation, can be crippling to cities, compounding the physical
division of highways with the proliferation of transient landscapes in and
around highways.[34]
The highway landscape that now,
in so many ways, defines the physical and social geography of our nation, is a
landscape that inherently fragments our physical and social fabric at the local
scale even as it connects us at the national scale. This simultaneous
fragmentation at the neighborhood scale and integration at the national scale
is the starting point for my study of the highway infrastructure of Cleveland
and Detroit. My aim is to convey the way in which this fundamental tension of
highways, their propensity to both connect and divide, has developed and
changed over time. I find it helpful to think of this tension as the product of
a century-old tug of war, with individuals joining and leaving each side and
with the center flag being pulled first to one side, then the other, but never
being pulled far enough for the tug of war to arrive at its conclusion. I hope
to, in the chapters that follow, give a sense of the individuals and
collectives that sat at each side of this tug of war, to convey the America
envisioned by each side, and to convey how the highway has come to signify
these multiple identities and aspirations for our nation’s future.
SECTION I
Two Cultural Meanings of America’s Highways,
Locked in Battle
I will begin with the narrative
of highway-building as I first came into contact with it: through the narrative
of urban renewal and the copious literature on postwar America’s identity
crisis, as embodied in the counterculture movements of the 1960s and ‘70s. My
generation of urbanists and social historians see the enthusiasm and ambition
of the postwar building boom through the lens of the counterculture rejection
of this postwar attitude. In the world of highway history, this narrative of
national identity crisis is most commonly conveyed through the herculean clash
of Jane Jacobs and Robert Moses over Moses’s urban renewal highway schemes for
the city of New York. Through this narrative, Moses has become the national
figurehead of urban renewal (a space-based vision at the national scale), while
Jacobs has become the figurehead of community resistance (a place-based vision,
at the neighborhood scale).
I want to take some time to
explore this mythologized conflict with the objective of uncovering the meaning
assigned to highways by each side of this national debate and how that meaning
connects to broader articulations of diverging directions for America. Although
many modernists, highway designers included, thought of the spaces they were
producing as culturally-neutral, universal works that were translatable to any
context and consistent in their meaning, I want to make clear that Moses’
space-based vision was, itself, producing places
imbued with the specific cultural meaning of urban renewal and the modernist
attitude. Onto that cultural meaning was layered the meaning of counterculture
freeway revolts and the tradition of righteous, democratic dissent. However, in
our enthusiasm for the courageous critiques of Jane Jacobs and her peers, we
have allowed the first cultural meaning to be obscured by the second: highways
are seen through Jacob’s eyes, and not Moses’s eyes. The consistently reductive
narrative of the Moses-Jacobs clash has conditioned and constrained the terms
on which we debate the contemporary meaning and future fate of our nation’s
Interstate Highway System. We need to engage with the paradoxes of modernity,
its inherent conflicts and contradictions rather than seek refuge in the stale
extremism of Moses’s and Jacobs’s now calcified viewpoints.
We must restore the balance of
these layered meanings of highways in our current times, so that we do not miss
crucial elements of their history and accumulated, hybrid symbolism. In his
2011 essay “A Fight to Forget: Urban Renewal, Robert Moses, Jane Jacobs, and
the Stories of Our Cities,” Timothy
Mennel describes the way in which complexity has been lost in the mythologizing
of the Moses-Jacobs clash, and the ways in which Moses’s perspective has been
obscured by our consistent enshrining of Jacobs’s perspective:
as
with urban renewal in general, talking about the relationship between Moses’s
work and Jacobs’s sometimes seems pointless at this late date... All historical
figures undergo this metamorphosis from living being to narrative construction,
of course; a central responsibility of the historian is to preserve and convey
the vivid complexities of an individual’s time, place, influence, and
contingency. When this is done well, our present understandings of motive and
action are enriched. When done poorly, we struggle to understand the power of
mute statues of outmoded dictators and of worn photographs of sad-eyed saints.[35]
We
would do best to recall the origins of these conflicting perspectives, that it
is a matter of which direction you reason from, what your starting point is:
whether you reason from place to space (the specific to the general) or from
space to place (the general to the specific). Both are valid and important,
neither is comprehensive or complete. And so, while Jacobs legitimized the
depth and value of a fragmentary local knowledge of place, we now must work to
recall the value of Moses’ systematic, integrative and, yes, abstracted
knowledge of the general, of space. And finally, we must recall why Moses’
perspective held such sway so that we do not underestimate the power of its
contemporary reincarnations. As Mennel puts it,
in the
case of Jacobs and her putative nemesis Moses, the dominant narrative has not
always done justice to the complexities and contradictions of their times and
places—and our conceptions of urban power have been correspondingly the weaker.
The popular narrative about them has become more important than either of them
per se, even if that narrative is essentially false.[36]
I hope to re-inhabit this popular narrative and
fill out the stripped and stale myth, three-dimensionalizing debates that have
become flattened in our contemporary editorializing of the past, and restoring
a healthy respect for and fear of the power of Moses’s all-too-often dismissed
perspective on urban America.
SECTION
II
Recovering
the First Cultural Meaning of Highways, Establishing Local Specificity
Here,
I want to further debunk the notion that modernism’s ‘spaces’ were neutral by
positioning modernism as a culturally, regionally, and temporally specific
movement. I want to take the time to explain and illustrate the magnetism of
the modernist vision of an ‘expressway world’ through an in-depth study of the
famous Highways and Horizons General
Motors pavilion at the 1939 New York World’s fair, giving special attention to
the large Futurama model designed and
executed by Norman Bel Geddes. This study of Futurama will foreground a discussion of the patriotic rhetoric and
theatrical dramatization that promoted the Futurama
vision of a highway-centric future, and the later translation of this vision into
reality at both the national and local scales. Treating Futurama as a shared national catalyst for the creation of an
‘expressway world,’ I will then follow how its cultural meaning mapped onto and
became infused in specific highways as constituent elements of the urban
landscape in New York, Detroit, and Cleveland respectively. This comparative
study will allow for an exploration of the local specificity of meaning
assigned to the highway landscape, and a discussion of the unintended
consequences of the symbolic agendas which so often accompanied the
highway-building project, especially in cities like New York and Detroit whose
grand aspirations tended to silence valuable voices of dissent. Foundational to
this discussion is the substantial scholarship on modernist planning practice
as a conflict-averse practice that fundamentally failed to productively engage
with dissent and dissonance in the urban landscape. I will conclude this
discussion by reflecting on the legacy of the highway-building project in Detroit
and Cleveland respectively, and discussing the ways in which this legacy
conditions and constrains contemporary contestation of and engagement with the
highway landscape of each city.
SECTION III
Contemporary Contestation of Highways as Urban Landscape, Asserting
Multiplicity
The sense of loss
precipitated by the vast raze-and-rebuild renewal projects of the modernist era
(highway and otherwise) has continued to fuel the post-modern romance with
place, even as we have passed the half-century mark of Jane Jacobs’s seminal
1961 work The Death and Life of Great
American Cities. Jacobs’ insights, however, while they remain valuable, are
insufficient to guide us through the challenges that now face us. Jacobs
articulates the value of place with a
preservationist undertone, but this is a rhetoric of defense, not creation, and
we have outlasted the utility of this mental framework for urban landscapes. We
must learn to generate and not only to preserve or reject. We must begin to ask
what happens if place cannot be pure
as the preserved Jacobsian ideal of Greenwich Village but rather must include
or envelop the modernist space of the
highway? Similarly, what happens if Jacobs’s place is not static but rather dynamic and evolving in both form
and function? We now have a sort of hybridized layering of cultural meanings
that is at once fragmentary and continuous.
Through the ethnographic
study of the contemporary highway landscapes of Cleveland and Detroit, I will
attempt to illustrate what is happening in this liminal, interstitial space and
how these ‘insurgent’ alterations of the highway landscape might offer a
regenerative framework that could push us past Jacobs’ defensive framework.
Insurgency is now, unfortunately, very closely associated with war, terrorism,
agression and attack. However, for writers like Henri Lefebvre and James
Holston, insurgency was an exciting tool with which to constructively challenge
calcified hierarchies and stale ideologies—to these academic radicals, insurgency
was a tool with which to regain access to processes from which one had been
excluded. It is this former definition of insurgency (as a constructive
articulation of dissent) that I hope to pick up on and revive in my discussion
of ‘insurgent’ alterations of the highway landscape.
I will again discuss the
ways in which these insurgent processes of physical alteration of the cityscape
engage in a negotiation of cultural meaning of the highway infrastructure they
modify. My focus here will be on how these processes are specific to their
locality, drawing upon the civic culture and social infrastructure of the
cities in which they emerged. Finally, I will take a moment to consider what
implications these local insurgent practices of spatial contestation carry for
the national Interstate Highway System as a whole, what kind of partnership
they suggest between the grassroots and the government, and what kind of
balance they prescribe between citizen power and state authority. I will
suggest that even as these projects erode the foundational premises of the modern
American city, they simultaneously regenerate those foundations by offering new
structures and frameworks through which to understand the social, political,
economic, and physical geographies of our nation.
CONCLUSION
Preserving Tension in the American Cultural Myth and Urban Landscape
This project has, if you
strip it to its core, become a sort of demonstration case advocating that we
embrace contestation of space as a useful exercise and accept a more layered,
dynamic, and conflicting understanding of urban landscape. America seems to have
a collective impulse to bury our mistakes, to fix them and to erase traces that
might remind us of them, especially physical traces. And yet, every time we
erase these traces of past mistakes, we lose contact with the tensions they
record, tensions that animate and enrich our nation’s history and contemporary
culture. I have kept returning, over the course of this project, to a quote from
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Crack Up (1936)
that my high school English teacher, Abby Laber, put on the whiteboard the
first day of my sophomore year, in the fall of 2005 over seven years ago:
“The
test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in
the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function. One
should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be
determined to make them otherwise.”[37]
[1] Marshall Berman, All That Is Solid
Melts into Air: The Experience of Modernity, (New York: Penguin Books,
1988), 165.
[2] Edward S. Casey, “How to Get from Space to Place in a
Fairly Short Stretch of Time: Phenomenological Prolegomena,” in Senses of
Place, edited by Steven Field and Keith H. Basso, (Santa Fe, NM: School of American
Research Press, 1996), 19-20.
[3] Casey, “How to Get from Space to Place…,” (1996),
19-20.
[4] Dolores Hayden, “Claiming Urban Landscapes as Public History,” in The
Power of Place: Urban Landscapes as Public History (Cambridge, MA: The MIT
Press, 1995), 41-42.
[5] Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, translated by Donald
Nicholson-Smith (Malden, Massachusetts: Blackwell Publishers, Inc, 1991), 85.
[6] Lefebvre, The
Production of Space (1991), 86.
[7] Lefebvre, The
Production of Space (1991), 73.
[8] Lefebvre, The
Production of Space (1991), 86-87.
[9] Lefebvre, The
Production of Space (1991), 86-87.
[10] Lefebvre, The
Production of Space (1991), 88.
[11] David Harvey, “Contested Cities: Social Process and Spatial Form,” in City
Reader: Routledge Urban Reader Series, 4th ed. (New York, NY: Routledge,
2007), 229.
[16] Matthew Carmona, “The Morphological Dimension,” in Public Places, Urban
Spaces: The Dimensions of Urban Design (London: Architectural Press, 2003),
67.
[21] Carmona, “The Morphological Dimension” (2003), 75-77. Quoting Lefebvre, The Production of Space (1991), 359.
[26] Carmona, “The Morphological Dimension” (2003), 68. Quoting Roger Trancik, Finding Lost Space: Theories
of Urban Design (New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1986), 21.
[27] Carmona, “The Morphological Dimension” (2003), 68. Quoting Lefebvre, The Production of Space (1991), 303.
[30] Carmona, “The Morphological Dimension” (2003), 73. Quoting Albert Pope, Ladders (Houston, TX: Rice
School of Architecture, 1996), 109.
[33] Carmona, “The Morphological Dimension” (2003), 73. Citing the argument of Bill Hillier, Space Is the
Machine: A Configurational Theory of Architecture (New York: Cambridge
University Press, 1996).
[34] Carmona, “The Morphological Dimension” (2003), 73.
Citing the argument of Hillier, Space is
the Machine (1996).
[35] Timothy Mennel, “A Fight to Forget: Urban Renewal, Robert Moses, Jane
Jacobs, and the Stories of Our Cities [Review Essay],” Journal of Urban
History no. 37 (May 9, 2011): 630.
[36] Mennel, “A Fight to Forget” (2011): 630.
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