So Many Cranes in the Sky!

If you enjoyed last week's weather by wandering outside, you might have noticed quite a few construction cranes in the sky. That's because Philadelphia is currently experience a building boom, one that stands to put 2005 to shame. The city's skyline is about to change forever, and the growth isn't just taking place where you'd expect it. Developers are building high in the sky in University City and for the first time ever, one of our tallest skyscrapers will soon be west of the Schuylkill River.

Large-scale residential and retail projects are developing along Market East and north of Vine Street and, like the dense development taking place in West Philadelphia, challenging our notion of "downtown." 

Here's a quick rundown of what's taking place, and what we have to look forward to.

Under Construction

Comcast Innovation and Technology Center
1121 feet
A few years ago Comcast altered the skyline with Comcast Center, its national headquarters. The wildly growing company hadn't had enough, and employed the world renowned starchitects at Norman + Foster to deliver some serious panache. Once completed, the CITC will be the tallest skyscraper in the United States outside New York and Chicago. 

FMC Tower at Cira Centre South
730 feet
When Cesar Pelli's design for the first phase of the Cira Centre made headlines, some were appalled, some cheered, but many were certain it would never be built. Once we got used to its crystalline and asymmetrical presence along the Schuylkill River, we were sure the master plan had been abandoned. Then Campus Crest and Erdy-McHenry delivered the Evo, the tallest student housing in the country. Before Campus Crest could fill its infinity pool with sweeping views of the Center City skyline, the unthinkable happened: Brandywine Realty Trust found a tenant right here in the city, allowing them to complete Cira Centre South. Will we soon see a proposed Cira Centre North? There's certainly room to keep building.

500 Walnut
380 feet
Building in Society Hill is tricky, just ask John Turchi. At the height of the last building boom he attempted to convert the debatably historic Dilworth House into his private residence before being shot down by stubborn community associations. The mansion remains vacant. But building tall within earshot of some of the nation's most sacred history has been unheard-of for a long time. 500 Walnut is bringing the amenities, and the height, of Rittenhouse Square back to the city's first premier address and will forever alter photographs of Independence Hall.

1601 Vine Street
370 feet
The Mormons don't mess around. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints' has the money to build big, build fast, and build quality. For decades, Vine Street has been a wasteland of surface parking lots discouraging developers from bridging the gap between Center City and neighborhoods eager to thrive just north of the Expressway. The city's first Mormon Temple is nearing completion and will handsomely compliment the city's Basilica, Free Library, and cultural institutions. Risking logic - or perhaps understanding how ridiculous the Expressway is as a barrier - the Mormons have hired Robert A. M. Stern to build a high-rise befitting Rittenhouse Square just north of the highway canyon. 

Welcome to Little Salt Lake City.

1919 Market Street
337 feet
Who ever thought this would happen? Once intended for a carbon copy of the skyscraper just to its east, this lot has been vacant for as long as many can remember. For decades it's been the site of proposals destined to flop. Nearby residential development has begged us to ask if Philadelphia's West Market Street is a neighborhood that shuts down at five on Friday, or something that deserves more. 1919 Market might just be giving us more Murano, but that means more feet on the ground. Philadelphia has forever been a densely packed and pedestrian friendly city, and our cornerstone of skyscrapers has been our ironically situated black-eye since the demolition of Broad Street Station. The final realization of 1919 Market Street is proof that West Market Street is finally ready to be more than a one-trick pony.

The Summit
279 feet
Go look at this building in person. It is far more astonishing, and tall, than it looks in renderings. In fact, from some angles, it looks like something straight out of a Middle Eastern power city. It's pretty wild and it's redefining what we think of the University City skyline. 

3737 Chestnut
278 feet
It's not nearly as exciting as the Summit, but it is challenging the University City skyline. 

What we have to look forward to...
If the construction cranes aren't enough to satisfy your thirst for a new Philadelphia, get ready for more, because they're coming. Below are some of the most likely skyline altering proposals in and around Center City. 

SLS International Hotel and Residences
590 feet

W Hotel and Residences
582 feet

MIC Tower
429 feet

CHoP on Schuylkill Avenue
375 feet

1900 Chestnut Street
295 feet

East Market
281 feet

One Riverside
260 feet

500 Walnut is where?

The site preparations for 500 Walnut have begun, and their website is up. The luxury condos with a premier address stand to redefine what is already one of Philadelphia's premier addresses. With sweeping views of Independence Mall, the district's National Park, and the Center City skyline, 500 Walnut will be unsurpassed.

It's just too bad the developer's webmaster doesn't seem to know where 500 Walnut is. Take a gander. It looks kind of like a mashup of Rittenhouse Square and South Broad, or perhaps an intersection in Manhattan or Chicago. Wherever it is, it's not Philadelphia, and certainly not Independence National Historical Park.

Not Philadelphia

Michael Graves

Michael Graves, the starchitect known for his cartoonish postmodernism and cute housewares at Target, passed away in his home on Thursday.

His work was contentious but consistent. He managed to elicit outrage from both the design community and the general public, a rare feat when it comes to architecture. But all of the Greats have done the same, and I don't doubt that his buildings will find themselves in architectural history books alongside Frank Furness and Willis G. Hale, two other architects not appreciated in their time.

The Princeton professor was globally renowned, but also worked in the Philadelphia area. He designed One Port Center in Camden, NJ and the Sporting Club atop the parking garage at the Bellevue Hotel. But his most notable work might be the Portland Building in Portland, OR, a building still loathed by many locals.

The Portland Building

His work is more of a commentary on the clash of modernism and classicism than anything pedestrians want to see outside of Disney World, and perhaps that's how academics will choose to remember him. Whatever the case, his legacy will make a statement. 

But his buildings also speak to an era we've all but forgotten, and are likely to revisit soon. They are the architectural embodiment of Patrick Nagel or the furniture on the set of Ruthless People. Whether his intention was to provide a social commentary or just to have fun with his space, his buildings are quintessentially 80s and 90s. They remind of us the cartoons that accompanied the theme songs of movies like Who's That Girl and Mannequin. If the Portland Building was a painting, it would be sun-faded and hanging in a nail salon, waiting to find renewed appreciation.

Like him or not, his work was notable and the world has lost a master. Whether he was a master of design or a master of marketing will be left for history to judge. Whatever you think of his work, his passion for creativity can't be understated. He was unique and ambitious, and dared to deliver art that refused to satisfy the status quo.

The Legendary Blue Horizon

What's historically significant about a building? Is it the grand ballroom, a theater's auditorium, the marble friezes adorning a train station's head house? Or is it the box it all came in?

In most cases, at least in Philadelphia, only the latter is recognized. Friends of the Boyd spent years struggling to convince its various owners and the Historical Commission that the most valuable piece of the puzzle was behind its humble Chestnut Street facade. They managed to convince the public, but not the powers behind the decision, and demolition seems to have begun. 

It might be counterintuitive, but historically designated landmarks are not very marketable. Most prospective buyers, whether they're purchasing a hotel or a house, don't want to be burdened with costly restorations within their own property. In fact, there are very few cities where the interiors of private property are dictated with such rigid requirements. Colonial Williamsburg may be one of the most notable exceptions. 

For the most part, owners prefer to make their property their own, even if that means gutting the columns and wainscoting from a Victorian twin and replacing it with the open floor plan and Pergo of a suburban McMansion. As unfortunate as that may seem to history and architecture nerds like myself, it's understandable. The Historical Commission has to maintain the balance between preserving our landmarks and retaining their salability. 

However, when you consider the fact that the White House was gutted and rebuilt from the inside out in 1952, it would seem that nothing is truly sacred.

Buildings like the Boyd are equally the sum of their parts. Its screen, seats, and lobby are as significant as its Art Deco face. However other buildings in Philadelphia meeting a similar fate aren't necessarily significant for any particular brick or transom, but for the events that took place within. In these instances, the interior is often far more important than the facade.

The Legendary Blue Horizon on North Broad Street is nationally synonymous with boxing. After closing five years ago, several plans have called for restoring it as a boxing venue, razing it for a hotel, and most recently, preserving the facade and building a hotel within. But the problem with this logic is even more pronounced here than it was at the Boyd. While the Blue Horizon is undoubtedly a beautiful building, it's essentially three brownstones that can be found throughout the city. The building's true significance lies behind its front doors, and its converted interior's role as a famous boxing arena. 

It's exterior's preservation is essentially pointless, especially as a hotel. Like Philadelphia International Records on South Broad Street, it's not the building that's historic, it's what took place here. Ten years from now this North Broad hotel will either look like several converted brownstones, or a tower awkwardly ascending from a false front. Few will remember what took place here or the famous names that fought inside. Allowing the Blue Horizon's interior to be demolished is like throwing out the LEGOs and saving the box. The building is just a vessel. And without its arena, it will just be a hotel.

When those in charge of protecting our historic landmarks fail to recognize the dynamic complexities of what truly makes a place historic, our efforts to preserve our history become exhausted and what we salvage becomes meaningless. 

Was the Evo a miss?

Several years ago, Campus Crest proposed something unique. With students taking advantage of easy access to loans, universities growing exponentially, there appeared to be an untapped real estate market: luxury student housing. 

When the Evo opened last year it was applauded as the tallest student housing project in the country. But with a pool atop its roof a sweeping views of the Center City skyline, it also came with the sort of panache counter to anything you'd expect to find within the ramen stained halls of housing for college students. 

The Evo wasn't designed for Beast swilling frat boys. It was designed for the richest of University City's elite. But with a 48% occupancy rate, so far the Evo appears to be an epic failure. 

The statistics aren't exactly fair. The Evo opened after the fall semester had already begun. Students were already housed. The true test will come in the fall of 2015. But Campus Crest needs to be working on its marketing campaign, because without students there is little use for the Evo. 

Failed condos can easily be converted into apartments. Aging hotels and office buildings that have outlived their purpose can be reconfigured. But the Evo was purpose-built for students. That means study lounges, large bedrooms with small common areas, and three or four bedroom units. Just one year into its existence, it would be a costly endeavor - and loss - to necessitate a reconfiguration to make room for traditional apartments.

Unfortunately, there may have been a flaw in Campus Crest's assumption that there was a demand for luxury student housing. For one, that market already exists and it's somewhat satisfied. It's not uncommon for parents to purchase investment properties in University City, and these condos and homes are often far from humble. The Evo isn't an investment, it's pricy practicality...with a pool on the roof. 

But the other fatal flaw is the assumption that college students - rich or not - find the Evo particularly appealing. Most students want to be emancipated from the dorms by their second year. And as flashy as the Evo may be, it's still a dorm very detached from the hearts of Drexel and Penn. Students tend to prefer the converted party houses of Powelton Village and Spruce Hill.

College students are a unique demographic. Regardless of economic background, they all tend to want the same thing: freedom. Whether they show up in a Porsche full of Prada bags or a busted truck with "Farm Use" spray painted on the side, students are looking for housing near their friends and relatively convenient to class. 

Hopefully Campus Crest can fill the Evo next fall. But student housing has a negative connotation. Instead of showcasing the Evo's unique space in the student housing market, insisting that it is "student housing," they need to convince their potential renters that the Evo is just like the apartments to its west, only a lot better. 

Save Robinson's

When it comes to Philadelphia's architectural heritage, and legacy, our most iconic landmarks tend to elicit both affection and hatred. Many confuse the PSFS Building with midcentury modernism, despite the fact that it was designed at the height of the Roaring 20s. As soon as City Hall opened its doors, residents deplored its chaotic, classical elements. Arguably Frank Furness's greatest work, the Provident Life & Title Company was slated for demolition because city planners felt it didn't blend well with the Colonial recreation they were attempting to establish near Independence Hall. 

The starchitects of the 19th Century - Frank Furness, Willis G. Hale, William Decker, Wilson Eyre - were the Norman + Foster and Zaha Hadid's of their day. Time will likely treat their works with the same lack of regard, only to come to appreciate those that survive once again a century from now.

With Market East's impending rebirth, it's easy to look at the grit and ask that it all be wiped clean. Save the PSFS Building, Reading Terminal's head house, Lit Brothers, and the 9th Street Post Office, it's hard to see anything notable hiding in the urban brambles. What commercial history remains has been significantly altered, haphazardly combined, and skinned for illuminated plastic panels that resulted from marketing teams behind CVS and H&R Block, not architects. 

Meanwhile, the Gallery at Market East's cold, concrete walls serve as the district's white elephant, blinding us from truly looking at much else. But there's at least one worn beauty hiding behind the dust of recent development.

I've mentioned Robinson's Department Store before, but short of a few other small blogs like mine, few have really bothered to look up. Those who do see what it offers. They see blight. They see a Jetsonian nightmare or something from Bladerunner. It is dystopic. 

Like the PSFS Building, it was built earlier than most assume. In 1946, Robinson's was built during a uniquely transitioning era of American architecture. Cities were demolishing Victorian and Gothic buildings synonymous with the corporations that led to the Great Depression. Art Deco schools and post office were being built with federal funds being pumped back into the economy, but the style was synonymous with government bureaucracy. As America was struggling to rebuild its economy from new humble beginnings, companies didn't have the funds to hire the starchitects of the era, but the starchitects also no longer existed. 

Inga Saffron has a great historical perspective on the beleaguered building, and finally brought it to the attention of the general public.

Robinson's Market Street location was designed by Viennese architect Victor Gruen. Known prominently for designing some of the nation's first shopping malls, our Robinson's Department Store may have been one of the first buildings designed specifically to be identified with a brand. 

Prior to the 1940s, architecture was primarily dictated by what was aesthetically en vogue for the time. Art and architecture existed superfluously side by side. With the emergence of the suburban ideal, architecture evolved as a way to set its tenants apart from their competition. If you wanted to find a Howard Johnson's or a Stuckey's, all you needed to look for was the roof. Likewise, Robinson's curved wall clad in thousands of purple tiles and looming over Market Street was unmistakable. The building was synonymous with the brand it housed.

But will it survive the hype surrounding Market East's renaissance? Only if enough people are willing to look up and see more than what's there. Astounding architecture can be lost in the shuffle. Some people don't care, others want something new, still others are more conservative. And although Robinson's is nearly 70 years old, it's anything but traditional. 

Despite the overwhelming amount of undeveloped real estate on Market East, with surface lots at 12th and Market and at the Disney Hole, Robinson's demise might not seem imminent. But NREA chose to demolish the remnants of Snellenberg's department store in lieu of developing on cleared land for a reason. The 1000 block of Market Street could be next on the chopping block. 

The College Bubble

Just last week, Sweet Briar College near Lynchburg, VA announced it would be closing after this semester. Sweet Briar emerged as a finishing school for girls, and although it evolved into a humble liberal arts college, it remained steeped in the tradition of many of Virginia's all girls school.

But traditions are changing and history is no longer as relevant as it once was. Colleges like Sweet Briar hinge on legacy students and horseback riding, not exactly the sort of skill headhunters are seeking. They're also relatively expensive. And in an increasingly globalized economy, degrees from small liberal arts colleges are far less valuable than larger, often more affordable universities, like Penn State or Virginia Tech.

Billionaire Mark Cuban reacted to Sweet Briar's closure by Tweeting, "This is just the beginning of the college implosion." Citing a national college loan debt of more than $1.3 trillion (with a T), Cuban warns that easy access to excessive debt is beginning to weigh on the universities themselves. It's easy to look at universities like Penn and Drexel that are redefining our skyline and see no end in sight. But these are exceptional examples. A degree from the Wharton School of Business is as powerful in London as it is here at home. 

But there are other colleges in and around Philadelphia that cost nearly as much and carry little to no weight on the west coast. Could Bryn Mawr or Swarthmore be the next Sweet Briar?

Easy access to housing loans nearly caused a global depression in 2008. Overnight, houses no one could truly afford became houses nobody wanted. Did colleges pay attention? Can Drexel truly afford to build its Innovation Neighborhood, or is it banking on the hope that its students will someday pay back their $200,000 loans?

The $1.3 trillion in backed up tuition isn't just outstanding, it runs the risk of not being returned. Colleges can't foreclose on a degree, and with more and more people declaring bankruptcy, average credit scores falling, lenders for simple things like credit cards and cars will have to begin reconsidering the norm. 

But an impending college bubble doesn't just rest on lending ease, it also faces changing trends and waning traditions. Let's be honest, most corporate job candidates are far more than their degree in English Lit, and companies are more concerned with your certifications and experience than they are with what you did with your four years following high school.

People are landing lucrative jobs with certifications through non-profit organizations, for-profit colleges like Strayer University, and technical schools that train you for the workforce in lieu of traditional academia. These skills are more valuable to a company's bottom line than core coursework. 

In many cases, a college degree proves little more than the discipline to complete a goal. Unless you're studying to become a surgeon or an architect, your college degree may simply be a costly piece of paper. And with students - and parents - wising up to the reality of debts that may never be repaid, they're reconsidering the traditions that send them to small, regionally known private colleges like Sweet Briar, or even a traditional education.