This is the first article in a two-part series in which Street will examine the effects of gentrification on West Philadelphia.
erched defiantly on the westernmost frontier of University City, the Dock Street Brewery and Restaurant is situated far beyond what many Penn students consider to be the no man's land of West Philadelphia. Outside, an array of fixed-gear and vintage road bicycles surround the converted firehouse that the new brewery - along with a trendy caf‚, bike shop and acupuncture co-op - occupies on the corner of 50th and Baltimore streets. Such a sight may be incongruous for students operating under the assumption that everything past 42nd is the ghetto; yet, on a recent Friday night, the brewery's crowd spilled onto the sidewalk with little apparent anxiety about their urban surroundings. Smokers lounged around patio tables and leaned against the building slowly dragging on their cigarettes, while a buzzed drinker stumbled, beer in hand, into the street as he fidgeted with his iPhone.
Inside, a mixture of indie-infused rock and underground hip-hop played at a tastefully low volume, faintly audible above the subdued din of the packed dining room. The crowd was predominantly young, white and hip. Patrons casually picked at their gourmet pizza, sipped their micro-brewed beers, and chatted with one another nonchalantly in that ironically detached kind of way. The room brimmed with stylishly thick-framed glasses, v-necked t-shirts and tight jeans, while older diners sporting oxford and polo shirts were peppered throughout the group. Every major neo-bohemian stereotype seemed to be present and accounted for - hipsters, yuppies, punks, hippies and even the ever-elusive white Rastafarian. The entire place exuded the relaxed air of artists and professionals alike unwinding with a few drinks after their long week of non-manual labor.
There's only one word to describe the burgeoning scene that is sprouting up there, so deep into the wilds of West Philly: Gentrification. It's a contentious term, one that is particularly apt to incite passionate responses among civic-minded urbanites. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, it is the process by which an urban area is rendered middle class. For many, gentrification is the product of an indifferent society whose wealthier residents ignore the plight of the working class they displace, while for others, it functions as a synonym for "improving neighborhoods." But regardless of how it is interpreted, there is little controversy over the fact that the neighborhoods surrounding Penn to the west are undergoing a process of rapid gentrification.
In 1995, the average price of a home in University City was about $78,000. By last year, that average had skyrocketed to just under $320,000 - a 240% increase in little more than a decade. Along with these rising real estate prices and rents has come an influx of new residents, businesses and a renewed sense of community for those that call this section of West Philly home.
Just over a decade ago, a blighted West Philadelphia was reeling from a crime wave and the aftershocks of the crack epidemic that had decimated urban areas across America since the 1980s. "As students returned to school in September," the DP wrote in 1996, "the University began to take on the feel of a campus under siege. Thirty armed robberies occurred on or around campus during the month, culminating in a robbery gone bad September 24 that saw then-College senior Patrick Leroy shot in the back." The situation would come to a head in the following month.
Only hours after young trick-or-treaters had returned to their homes to gorge themselves on candy and slip peacefully into sugar-induced comas on Halloween night, Penn researcher Vladimir Sled and his fiance‚, Cecilia H„gerh„ll, were mugged as they walked from Penn's campus to their apartment on the 4400 block of Larchwood. A struggle ensued; Sled was stabbed and died shortly after from his injuries. Feelings of imminent danger and helplessness gripped students and residents alike as they watched their neighborhood descend deeper and deeper into cycles of violence and crime. In retrospect, Sled's murder appears to be the straw that broke the camel's back.
Within a matter of months, then-Penn President Judith Rodin and other area institutions worked together to form the University City District. Its mission, as its website proclaims, is "to improve the quality of life in [its] 2.2 square mile area of West Philadelphia." Today, UCD exists as an independent, not-for-profit organization that helps to run efforts such as the 898-WALK program, the Public Safety Task Force and a number of community services that range from city beautification projects and parks initiatives to programs that aid area businesses and encourage home ownership.
Hoping to capitalize on the positive momentum of the UCD, 1997 also saw the introduction of a mortgage assistance program (now overseen by Penn Home Ownership Services) that offers loans to eligible Penn employees looking to buy houses in West Philadelphia - loans that are forgiven completely after five years if they retain the property. And finally, in June of 1998, the University announced plans, along with the School District of Philadelphia and the Philadelphia Federation of Teachers, for the creation of the Penn Alexander School, a $19 million, state-of-the-art K-8 public school to be built in the heart of University City. By the time the school opened its doors at 42nd and Spruce streets in 2001, real estate prices were soaring, home ownership was up, and crime rates were dropping rapidly.
Today, University City continues to follow this upward trajectory. Coffee shops - the ubiquitous, telltale sign of gentrification - have been popping up throughout the area at a steady rate, while slightly upscale restaurants, such as Dock Street at 50th and Baltimore, continue to find their niche as they expand ever-westward.
The menu at Dock Street reads like a metaphor for what the neighborhood is becoming - a variation on the classic slice-and-brew pizza joint that offers up items such as goat cheese salads, vegan paninis, and an apple-smoked bacon and gruyere pizza. Prices are not unreasonable ($15-17 a pie, $13.50 a pitcher), but closer to what one would expect at a Center City caf‚ than at a place so far west of the Penn bubble.
"We've been pretty busy since we opened on August 18th," said the bartender Renita as she spun around expertly on her trendy Chuck Taylors, balancing the three home-brewed beers she'd just pulled from the bar's masking tape-labeled, D.I.Y. tap. "We get a lot of locals, a lot of people from the neighborhood, and already have some regulars." Originally an establishment on the other side of the Schuylkill, Dock Street moved to West Philly when they reopened this summer because - at least in part - they feel like the area has more potential for growth. "The customers here are artsy - unique," she said. "That's what we like about the neighborhood. It's a lot different than Center City. All of them have projects going on: They're into things like environmental awareness, political activism and homegrown produce. There's a lot of artists, but a lot of business people too." Eyeing a table in the back, she added, as an afterthought, "And a lot of anarchists."
Closer to campus, that same airy feeling of charmed bohemian life permeates the farmer's market that operates on Thursdays and Saturdays at Clark Park. The market, which sets up shop in the park's northeast corner at the intersection of 43rd and Baltimore, is now in its tenth year of operation. Hipsters at the Green Line Caf‚ across the street lazily nurse their Saturday morning hangovers on fair-trade coffee as they watch shoppers wander through the tents of local produce, flowers, and home-baked goods. Aging hippies mix with Penn professors, students and local residents while unleashed dogs sniff around hungrily, eyeing the carts of colorful fruits and vegetables. The market is as much a social gathering as it is a shopping trip - customers pause casually and frequently in their perusal of the goods to chat with one another, enacting an urban variation on the familiar suburban supermarket ritual.
This past weekend, Fran Byers and Bill Burrison manned a table for the Spruce Hill Community Association at the market, an organization that Burrison said is "essentially a homeowners association for local residents." Both are longtime residents of the neighborhood (Byers lives in the home that her family has owned since 1911, Burrison in the house he grew up in), both hold degrees from Penn (Byers a Ph.D., Burrison a B.A. and M.A.), and both are one-time presidents of the SHCA. As they sat less than two blocks away from where Vladimir Sled was fatally stabbed a decade ago, the dangerous West Philly of the 1990s seemed more like a work of fiction than recent history.
"We like the patio living," said Burrison. "Hanging out in our backyards, being with neighbors - these are the big things that make Spruce Hill living enjoyable." Byers agreed, but cut him off to note the recent improvements to the park. "The May Fair is fun. It's our biggest event of the year and we hold it right here at Clark Park."
They bantered back and forth about which of the neighborhood's problems were its biggest, before coming to a consensus - drugs, crime, and violence all went unmentioned before they agreed: parking.
"And the college kids," added Byers. "We like them, but not when they're partying at one in the morning."
Every few minutes as they continued to talk, one of their friends would drift by and stop at the table to chat - it was a scene closer to an idyllic Norman Rockwell painting than the ghetto that Will Smith immortalized with his theme song to The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.
As the afternoon wore on, Byers and Burrison continued to greet their friends and neighbors, looking happy and at home in the park. When the question of the booming real estate market and whether or not they should sell their houses came up, Burrison paused for a moment. "I've thought about it. I may have missed my opportunity, but I'm getting to the point where it might just be better to move to an apartment rather than [having to climb up my stairs]. It's definitely tempting."
Byer's answer was simpler: "No way"
