The Brightline Model

Brightline is coming! With two trainsets on the property and limited service starting in July, the most interesting passenger rail initiative currently going in the country is set to launch. Although I admit to lingering skepticism of the long-term viability of the high-end, private model of intercity passenger rail, Brightline appears to be on track to get service up and running, and it is at the very least an interesting experiment, a return to the days when railroads made a significant percentage of their revenues from land development (a grand tradition on Brightline’s home railroad).

It’s interesting, then, that Brightline is projecting an image of confidence not just about its initial Miami-West Palm Beach service and the eventual expansion to Orlando, but about prospects for future expansion elsewhere as well. In an interview with Trains Magazine, Brightline execs stressed expansion within Florida–Tampa and Jacksonville being natural targets–but, in the words of interviewer Bob Johnston (no relation), “didn’t rule out” the possibility of taking their model elsewhere in the country as well. What Mike Reininger–formerly president of Brightline, and now moving over to sister company FEC Industries–did tell the magazine, though, is potentially interesting:

“We don’t have any specific targets or notions about markets that Amtrak is serving,” he explains. “Our thesis is that there are major population centers 250 to 350 miles apart that are underserved or don’t have the capacity within their infrastructure systems to respond to (mobility) needs that could benefit from the type of service we are talking about, on a profitable basis as opposed to necessarily a subsidized basis.”

In a separate interview with Railway Gazette, Reininger touched on much the same topic:

‘Florida is not the only area where there are overcrowded roads and interstates’, he pointed out. ‘We are fulfilling our vision here in Florida, but we are not exclusively bound by the state borders. We have a belief that major cities that are 500 to 600 km apart set themselves up as prime candidates for express passenger rail, and can be made to work. We want to apply that throughout the USA.’

While we still don’t know whether Brightline can be successful in its near-perfect situation in Florida–sharing track with a supportive parent freight company that is well-known for its fast, scheduled freights and high-quality infrastructure, a rarity in American railroading–it’s clear that the company is thinking big. Inasmuch as one can speak of a “Brightline model” that could theoretically give American intercity passenger rail a jolt, it would seem to consist of two overarching elements, one of customer service and one infrastructural. On the customer service end, Brightline clearly sees itself as a high-class service; it intends to make money and has invested in high-quality equipment to that end, offering assigned seating and two classes. The more interesting question, to me at least, is infrastructural. Given how near-perfect the FEC situation is for Brightline, are there, indeed, other corridors around the country which their model might fit? From the two interviews above, we can begin to glean a sense of the criteria that Brightline or a similarly minded company might apply in developing a new corridor.

Market:  A service like Brightline can’t just be plopped down anywhere. It has to reach “major population centers” that are currently “underserved” by intercity options, and that are wealthy enough to afford a premium service. Obviously there is some fungibility here, but there are also clearly minimum requirements that need to be met.

Distance: Reininger gave different numbers in the two interviews, but Brightline is clearly looking at mid-length corridors somewhere between 250 and 400 miles in length.

Minimal capex: I could be totally misreading Brightline’s intentions on this one–after all, they do intend to pursue a remarkable investment in a greenfield line to Orlando–but it seems fairly reasonable to say that they could not launch such a risky endeavor without the comfort of having FEC’s minimal-investment-needed to fall back on for the first stage (to be fair, they have sunk significant money into double-tracking and stations). For future expansions, though, it’s probably good to assume that someone operating on the Brightline Model would want to roll out service on a right-of-way that is already well maintained or that can be rehabbed without too much effort, and that allows rollout capital expenditure to be kept to a minimum.

Willing freight partner: This might well be the hardest criterion to meet. Brightline will save money by splitting track maintenance costs with FEC’s freight business, but American Class 1 railroads (the largest of the freight railroads) are notoriously unfriendly to passenger service. Surely, the Class 1s would be willing to negotiate in some circumstance (and might even find themselves relieved to be working with an organization that’s not as dysfunctional as Amtrak), but I suspect that Brightline expansion would come easier in partnership with a regional freight carrier like FEC or a government-owned line. Consider this one a flexible criterion.

Amtrak noncompete: Reininger’s wording in the Trains interview isn’t totally clear, but it doesn’t sound to me like Brightline is interested in immediately kicking off expansion with in-corridor competition with Amtrak. I’d bet that if Brightline expands outside Florida it will be on a corridor not already served by one of Amtrak’s corridor services, or where a state benefactor can kick Amtrak off relatively easily.

Ability to compete with driving: Reininger referred to metro areas that don’t have “capacity within their infrastructure systems to respond to (mobility) needs” in one interview and “overcrowded roads and interstates” in the other, so it’s fair to say that Brightline sees an opportunity to use America’s congestion problem to compete. And competing with driving is certainly easier than competing with flying, especially given Brightline’s choice of diesel-powered equipment on conventional right-of-way.

Given these criteria, then, where can we imagine, in this thought experiment, that Brightline might attempt to expand in the future? I don’t intend this to be in any way a comprehensive list of possible corridors, but it’s a start. The operative assumptions, in addition to the criteria above, are that a) Brightline would continue to operate similar diesel-powered equipment on conventional track and b) the company might eventually be open to partnering with government on some corridors.

The Front Range 

There have been various plans to introduce high-speed rail along Colorado’s Front Range, where much of the state’s population is clustered in a reasonably linear corridor encompassing Fort Collins, Boulder, Denver, Colorado Springs, and Pueblo.

The total length of the corridor is a little below what Brightline seems to be targeting, and much of the necessary existing trackage is controlled by Class 1s that may or may not be amenable to sharing. North of Denver, RTD is already obligated (and coming under fire for delaying) to improve the BNSF line through Boulder and Longmont to Fort Collins and might be open to private investment. South of Denver, the Joint Line offers extra capacity in places, especially with coal traffic on the downturn, but it still has a single-track bottleneck and is controlled by Class 1s. And of course there’s the matter of the foolish decision to turn the through-running Denver Union Station into a stub-end terminal. Still, the region remains wealthy, is growing, has a congestion problem, has shown a willingness to invest in rail, and is positively obsessed with PPP solutions. There’s also significant TOD opportunity–one major way for Brightline to make money–around the downtowns of each city along the Front Range.

Piedmont

Though currently operated by Amtrak, the state of North Carolina plays a significant role in the Piedmont corridor service linking many of the state’s major cities. Indeed, through a quirk of history the state actually owns the tracks. It’s a busy freight corridor, but a growing passenger market that’s also becoming wealthier, and it’s not impossible to envision the state wanting to upgrade passenger service in the future. North Carolina has been sinking money into double-tracking and other infrastructure improvements in recent years, so it’s possible capacity to expand passenger service will exist in the near future.

Hoosier State

This is perhaps the most obvious candidate; despite the collapse of Iowa Pacific’s attempt at running the train five days per week, returns were good during their tenure, and Indiana remains obsessed with privatization. The biggest challenge is certainly infrastructural; the trip from Chicago to Indy is just so sloooowww and CSX, which owns much of the track used, is rarely a cooperative partner. That being said many of the rights-of-way used are very straight and suitable for high-speed running if a private investor thinks they’re worth sinking money into.

Chicago, Fort Wayne, and Eastern

The arrow-straight former Pennsylvania Railroad mainline from Chicago into Indiana and Ohio is often mentioned as a strong candidate for passenger conversion; it is only tenuously necessary for freight service and is in fact leased from CSX to regional railroad CF&E at the moment. That being said CF&E’s rights end in the relative middle of nowhere in Ohio and Fort Wayne itself is a borderline candidate to be the sole terminus of a service operating under Brightline’s model. Access to larger cities in Ohio, such as Columbus or Cleveland, would almost certainly require working with a Class 1. And the line itself needs significant work. There are a lot of ifs here, but the line is in many ways the perfect 125 mph diesel corridor if they can be worked out.

Twin Cities-Duluth

As with the Front Range, there’s an active effort in place to bring passenger trains to this corridor. As with the Front Range, though, the needed ROW is controlled by a Class 1. And the Duluth-Superior area may not be wealthy enough to justify a for-profit premium service. A strong local belief that demand exists persists, though, and if enough money can be scraped together there’s also a parallel, mostly abandoned ROW that could be reactivated.

Memphis-Jackson-New Orleans

This corridor sprang to mind primarily because a large chunk of the northern section is outside of Class 1 control, albeit in horribly decrepit shape. South of Jackson, service in this corridor would need agreement from CN, and the whole region is relatively poor and might not be suited for a high-cost premium service.

Dark Horse: the Moffat Line (Denver-Salt Lake City)

I label this a dark horse mostly because the operating paradigm would be a little different from the other proposed here; the corridor is almost 600 miles long, as opposed to Brightline’s stated ideal of 250-400 miles. But I previously wrote about the Moffat Route’s potential as a passenger-primary corridor, and the decline of coal traffic that prompted that train of thought has only continued apace. This was, after all, the route of the last full-scale privately operated passenger train in the country; the two endpoints enjoy strong demand and cultural ties; and the restored Snow Train has been doing well. At 12-13 hours vs. 8 to drive, the current California Zephyr is not time-competitive, but with some work an improved version dedicated to just this segment might be able to close the gap some, especially in winter. Perhaps a couple of trains per day over the Rockies would complement a Front Range service well. But who knows! The daydreaming is the fun part of this.

Conclusions

The major conclusion I’ve come to in this brief attempt at analysis is that finding a good situation for expansion along the lines of what Brightline envisions in Florida is really, really hard. Many of the “good” corridors are already occupied by Amtrak; while it’s not really that hard to envision a good private-sector operator doing better with some corridor services than Amtrak has, there is significant political inertia behind the national operator. And Amtrak’s fares are, and will be, cheaper, which is a significant concern in areas where trains represent the more downmarket option.

The bigger concern for passenger service expansion, though, is domination of the needed infrastructure by freight railroads. In terms of national policy, it should be noted, this is not necessarily a bad thing; it should be a goal to keep freight on trains and off highways. But it does make rolling out new passenger services exceptionally difficult in many different phases. Brightline has a near-perfect situation going in Florida with the ability to share FEC infrastructure on a friendly basis; ultimately, I suspect, it will remain a Florida-only operation. But who knows! Five years ago, would anyone have expected a privately-funded passenger train operation to make it off the ground at all? If Brightline succeeds, and Texas Central gets off the ground, there might be two running in the US within the next several years. Now that would be something.

 

 

Ironies of Highest and Best Use

I went to the Roslindale Square/Village RMV to convert my NY license to a MA one yesterday. While I successfully converted the license, the trip was a pain because a) I was available to do it because I was home sick from work and b) the RMV has clearly not learned the lesson I keep tweeting at transit agencies, that inaccurate real-time estimates are worse than none at all (I was given an estimate of zero wait and ended up being there for 45 minutes, standing the whole time in a room that was incredibly hot and smelled strongly of pot and people). It did, however, give me a chance to check out the area some, and in particular (the exterior of) a building I had wanted to see, the former Boston Elevated Railway Company substation at the corner of Washington Street and Cummins Highway.

A substation, you might think, would be a boring and utilitarian building. Not so! Remnants of traction systems past–and there are many, since the power systems (as opposed to the tracks) tended to be heavily built–were in fact often elaborate in design and construction.

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The Roslindale Substation, from Adams Park across the street.

The Roslindale substation features beautiful brick construction and high, arching windows; while it’s clearly a building with an industrial history, it’s the furthest thing from today’s functional but ugly boxes. Most interestingly, perhaps, the substation occupies a place of honor and importance in Roslindale, at the intersection of two busy streets (and transit corridors) and in the absolute center of the neighborhood.

rozzie

On the one hand, this makes sense, since several trolley routes historically converged at this corner, as seen in a 1936 map:

ros square substation 36

On the other hand, it seems like placing a substation–as opposed to, say, storefronts–on such an important corner would have been a terrible violation of the zoning/real estate principle of highest and best use, although it should be said that the substation was built in 1911, before zoning swept America. To a certain extent, surely, the substation’s location was the product of a disconnect between transportation and land use; from their own perspective, it made perfect sense for BERy to place it there in 1911. And for much of the building’s history, demand for land in Roslindale Square was relatively low; it was, after all, vacant for 45 years, until just this year. But–and here’s the irony the title of this piece refers to–the area is now somewhat up-and-coming, and the substation is now in the process of being converted to commercial use (an already-open craft beer store and a restaurant to be called the Third Rail), with the remainder of the lot taken up by new apartments. As the planner’s proverb that I just made up goes, every lot finds its highest and best use, sometimes it just takes 106 years.

Interestingly, much the same story unfolds just a few miles down Washington Street toward downtown Boston, with BERy’s former Egleston Square substation.

Egleston substation walgreens

Like Roslindale Square, Egleston Square historically represented the convergence of several transit lines, and was thus a logical place to put a substation. Unlike the Roslindale substation, this one served both streetcars and the Elevated, and thus remained in service until the closure of the latter in 1987. Like its more southerly counterpart, though, it fell into abandonment and ruin thereafter, until being resuscitated in 2008 to serve as the studios of Boston Neighborhood Network Television. As you can see from the Streetview capture above, the building is a remarkable contrast to the low-slung, suburban-style Walgreens next door–the high-quality architecture of a century ago continuing to pay dividends. While Egleston Square as a whole is not the world’s most urban-feeling built environment, the substation should–after nearly a century of life as an industrial building–be able to help anchor its rebirth in its new role.

If there’s a point to this post, other than that people do interesting things with old trolley substations, it’s that good architecture endures and tends to lend itself to a positive use in the long run. Like life, land-use dynamics are unpredictable and changeable, which is (part of) why locking uses and styles forever, as American zoning slanted toward single-family uses typically does, is a bad idea. Did the architects who designed the Egleston and Roslindale substations in 1909 and 1911 ever imagine the buildings being adaptively reused for another purposes? Unlikely, although they were clearly built to last. This is not to say that every abandoned building can or should be reused, but it’s a useful reminder of the way demand for land can change over the course of a century. And who knows? The Go Boston 2030 transportation plan, released just today, calls for rapid bus lines to pass both substations. Though they’ll most likely never power trolleys again, both substations could again serve an important transit-oriented use (as they do relative to local bus service today), as attractions drawing people to their neighborhoods along the transit corridors of the 21st century.

 

Notes on Central Florida

I spent last week on vacation in the exurbs of Orlando (well, really Kissimmee) with my partner’s extended family. Since theme parks are, well, really not my thing, I spent a decent amount of time thinking about the planning and urbanist implications of an area that I found frankly fairly miserable from a built environment perspective. I don’t so much have an overarching argument here as a series of notes on a few things I found interesting.

Pod-based building

We were based at a resort called the Vacation Village at Parkway, off the arterial Irlo Bronson Memorial Highway (US 192) west of downtown Kissimmee. In many ways, the sprawling urban form along that road is typical of suburban land use across the country, though perhaps in an exaggerated form. Developments occur in pods, completely disconnected from one another along property lines. Take, for example, this pathetic excuse for a pedestrian crossing from “our” resort to the strip mall and resort next door:

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Mind you, one has to traverse this after crossing four lanes and a median of road without a crosswalk of any sort.

The area in which our resort was located is also cut off from its surroundings in a more profound way. It shares a triangle of land with several other developments; the sides of the triangle are defined by I-4 on the west, Bonnet Creek on the east, and 192 on the south. But grid connections–and ways to exit–exist ONLY on the southern side, to 192.

vacation-villages

That turns what could be an easy stroll over to the as-the-crow-flies-neighboring Gaylord Palms into a 1.8-mile odyssey along high-speed arterials:

vacation-villages-gaylord-palms

such that Google Maps literally cannot calculate walking directions between the two. This area of Kissimmee is to the south of most of the major Orlando-area attractions, so this kind of thing also lengthens the (many) car trips taken between resorts and said attractions, resulting in even more congestion in an already congested region. It’s just thoughtless–and the result of a zoning regime that emphasizes massive parking lots and setback at the expense of all else, including common sense.

Latent demand for car-free vacations

Despite a built environment that seems to invite, or even mandate, car use at every opportunity, it’s clear to me that there is a latent demand for car-free travel from tourists that could be better met. Transit service in this part of Kissimmee is not completely hopeless, but it’s far from perfect. You can catch a bus to Lynx’s Kissimmee hub four times an hour from the corner of Irlo Bronson and Celebration Boulevard, and they’re even nicely spaced much of the time.  The bus stops are nice too:

bonnet-creek-station

But service on one of the lines stops by 10 PM.

There’s also a whole network of resort-contracted shuttles that ferry people to and from theme parks, shopping, and entertainment. The vaguely vintage-styled coaches of Disney’s Magical Express, connecting their resorts to the airport, were ubiquitous on the highways, for example. Vacation Village provides shuttles to theme parks, as well as more local destinations.

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At the same time, the entire built environment–from single-use zoning to massive setbacks to street and grid geometry–basically mandates car use for the vast majority of trips. I’ve spent more of my life in sprawly suburbia than I really would like, but I got a sense for a latent demand for less autocentricity here more than anywhere else.

Celebration is…Weird

Vacation Village is basically across the street from Disney’s much-debated attempt at New Urbanism. Celebration occupies a bizarre place on all kinds of spectra: more small town than suburb, more private than public, kind of an independent governmental entity but not entirely. I didn’t spend much time there (really just one lunch that was mostly spoiled by rain), but it’s…weird. The built environment blows most of the rest of Central Florida out of the water just by dint of having been thought through even a little bit, but the materials used in the construction of the buildings doesn’t really seem much better than your typical suburb; I saw a lot of sagging gutters and cheap-looking vinyl siding. The main street, such as it is, is touristy but reasonably nice; parking is tucked behind the buildings per standard New Urbanist practice, but it’s still abundant and free. Though not a grid, the street geometry makes more sense than most suburbs. A couple of things jumped out at me, though. This is the main drag carrying cars into Celebration, creatively named Celebration Avenue:

celebration-ave

The speed limit drops to 25 mph as soon as you enter the residential part of Celebration–which is nice–but it struck me that despite a nice, wide ROW Celebration Avenue still has very wide travel lanes (much wider than one would expect for a 25 mph speed limit), and no provision for bike lanes.

The other thing that struck me about Celebration? It has zero transit.

Oh, sure, Lynx’s #56 circles through the much more suburb-y single-use commercial section ever half an hour:

But that’s, like, really far from the commercial and residential parts of Celebration:

celebration-map

Celebration is better than other suburbs, sure, but it’s hard for me to accept the word “urbanist” anywhere in proximity to an area that entirely lacks transit service. I suspect the omission is intentional; simply because of the quality of design, Celebration is extremely expensive, and places like that tend not to welcome transit. Do better.

Toll Roads

I don’t want to comment on this too much without reading up more on the background of transportation planning in Central Florida, but the prevalence of toll roads was a common topic of discussion among the extended family. Certainly, it’s annoying that Florida’s extensive toll road network doesn’t accept the EZPass technology common in other parts of the country; outsiders get fleeced by paying higher tolls, in cash. The tolls didn’t seem especially high but the frequency of booths seems potentially counterproductive. I do wonder if a willingness to toll the roads has led to overbuilding of the network, since they may be less of a drag on gas tax revenues and the general fund.

The Great Sucking Sound

We had an enjoyable side trip to Lake Wales, FL, where my grandfather grew up and my great-grandparents and a great-aunt are buried. It’s a very pretty area made famous by the Bok Tower Gardens, but it’s also a struggling agricultural region whose citrus industry–Florida’s Natural is headquartered in Lake Wales–is not exactly at its peak of glory. Consequentially, downtown Lake Wales is struggling to a certain extent. As elsewhere in the country, that struggle is exacerbated by sprawl, particularly the sucking of retail out to low-rent districts on suburban arterials. 6-lane US 27 is the main north-south artery along the Lake Wales Ridge, and it’s characterized by on-and-off clusters of commercial development that become more consistent as one drives north, approaching the Orlando metro. Just outside of Lake Wales, however, the Eagle Ridge Mall stands virtually alone, isolated among cow pastures and citrus groves.

eagle-ridge-isolated

It’s precisely this kind of thing that kills the functional downtowns smaller towns like Lake Wales need to survive in 2016. And the mall’s 20-year history is full of sinkholes and bankruptcies, so it’s not like the competition is going anyone any favors. The mall’s struggles are likely due to its odd, middle-of-nowhere location (I suspect it was placed so as to draw from both Lake Wales and nearby Winter Haven, but it seems to be doing neither). It’s the kind of sloppy economic development and land use policy that has landed so many places like Lake Wales in trouble.

They Paved Paradise and Put Up a Parking Lot

More than anything else, this is the overwhelming experience of Central Florida:

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Just out the back door of our building at the resort. 

That’s a high-rise looming out of a wetlands, which is cynically preserved to be pretty at right. Just beyond the fence, there’s a short drop to very muddy and wet land; the entire building must be built on a slab of concrete or else it would sink into the muck. It’s hard to go anywhere in the area without thinking of Joni Mitchell’s “Big Yellow Taxi.”  Florida’s selling point is, to a large extent, its spectacular natural environment; but its growth as a tourist and retirement destination has been largely premised on the destruction of that environment. I’m hardly the first to point out that paradox, and as someone with training in archaeology, I recognize that destruction is sometimes inevitable. But my overwhelming takeaway from this trip is that there’s a lot of opportunity to just correct things that are sloppy, should political and public will exist. Or, you know, maybe the whole state will just slide into the ocean. That’s always a possibility.

An Announcement

I’m aware this blog has been too damn quiet lately, and while I know there’s no excuse for my failure to provide quality content, I’m here now to offer, at least, an explanation: I’ve been spending a lot of time applying and interviewing for jobs, most of which have required travel somewhere, well, other than Albany. It’s been a wild ride and while I’ve had both fizzles and opportunities along the way, it’s taken a while to find the right fit.

Anyhow, now that phase is over.

The Itinerant Urbanist (I keep telling you, the name of the blog isn’t for nothing!) is back on the road—and, what a shock, once again to someplace new to me. Effective January 15th, home base for this blog will be Boston, where I’ve accepted a position as a Transportation Planner and Unified Planning Work Program manager with the Central Transportation Planning Staff, the staff to the Boston Region Metropolitan Planning Organization. I’m excited about both the professional challenge ahead of me and the opportunity to move back to a somewhat larger city—while I do wax poetic about the virtues of midsize city living, there are real advantages to being someplace larger.

I’ve had the luck to count on professional and social contacts among Boston’s large and talkative transit/urbanism Internet community, and I look forward to getting to know more of you in real life. You probably won’t see me commenting on Boston-region stuff too much here or on Twitter—because, you know, professionalism—but know I value the perspective on the region you’ve given me and will continue to help me develop immensely. And I will, presumably, get back to writing on other topics in this space more regularly when my life calms down.

A few weeks ago someone asked a series of questions about where people would like to live, among other things, on Twitter and Urbanist Twitter had a lot of fun with it. My answer to the question of my favorite American cities, ironically, did not include Boston:

but rest assured that I am super excited to have found a decently priced apartment a two-minute walk from the Orange Line (Green Street in JP, to be exact), which will be the closest I’ve ever lived to rail transit, or any transit that frequent. My partner’s from Boston and I’ve spent a fair amount of time in the area, so in that way it’s a return home of sorts, but there’s enough mystery left that I’m looking forward to discovering yet another place afresh.

That being said, since it became clear that I’m moving to Boston it has felt, in some ways, fated. While home cleaning out my bedroom in Chicago over Thanksgiving, I found a memento that I had not remembered owning—a laminated poster with a 1915 map of the Boston Elevated Railway transit network on one side and a 1912 map of all the street railways in Massachusetts on the other. Bringing it back to Albany reunited it with my copy of this book on a similar topic. The poster will, I think, be going on my cubicle wall. A sign? Perhaps.

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The Boston side of said poster.

There’s also this:

While I have not (yet) traveled all 3,365 miles of U.S. 20, it does feel to a large extent like that road is the axis along which my life unfolds. My grandmother until recently lived only miles from its Pacific Coast terminus in Newport, which is a beautiful little town that I recommend visiting if you ever get the chance. I spent my high school years in Chicago, and the last 3 ½ in Albany; Route 20 runs through both cities. Our Albany apartment, in fact, is a block and a half from Madison Avenue, which hosts 20. So is it such a surprise that I would end up near the East Coast origin of U.S. 20? Perhaps not.

Because this is a serious blog, I’ll wind up here with some serious analysis. There’s been a long-term on-and-off discussion in the econ/planning/urbanist Internet community—starting even before the 2016 election made it a much-talked-about national issue—about what policymakers can do to help rural and disinvested communities and the people in them. It’s not uncommon to hear (and I’ve been guilty of thinking it myself sometimes) “well, why don’t they just move?” And sure, relocation is one potentially workable strategy. But more than anything else, preparations to make this move have brought home to me just how high the barriers can be to relocation in a high-cost area. We’re lucky that in moving from Albany—certainly not the worst off of Upstate’s major cities—to Boston our rent is ONLY approximately doubling, not tripling. And the amount of cash necessary to put down to secure an apartment is incredibly intimidating, even though Gabriella and I are both white-collar professionals with limited student loan debt and decent savings socked away. I don’t have a magical solution (and I might suggest that we shouldn’t necessarily be looking for such silver bullets) but we should have a policy of easy mobility, and we should think about how to make that happen.

SPEAKING OF WHICH, if you care enough about my ramblings to have read this far—my loyal, brilliant, and thoroughly professional partner Gabriella, who I followed to Albany and who is now following me to Boston—is looking for a job. Gabriella’s spent the last several years developing and managing a multimillion-dollar climate resiliency program for farmers in New York State and is open to any kind of environmental work. You know where to find me with suggestions, contacts, etc.

I’ve enjoyed meeting people through this blog for the last several years, and I hope to continue to do so going forward. Thanks for the company, and onwards.

On The Occasion of the Cubs Winning the World Series

Warning: not the usual content of this blog incoming. 

It’s 12:32 PM on the day the Cubs won the World Series, and it still doesn’t feel real. I literally just pinched myself to make sure I’m awake, and not just because of sleep deprivation.

I’ve been sobbing on and off since the game ended last night, which, I have to say, is I think something G—who has been a wonderfully supportive partner this season and has proven even more adept than I am at Cubs fan neurosis—has trouble understanding. Why does this shit matter so much, to me and many others?

Baseball is about a lot of things. It’s about capitalism. It’s about competition. Often (too often) it’s about masculinity. There’s definitely an opiate-of-the-masses effect in the long run. But in the meantime, baseball (and other sports) is about people. It’s about parents, siblings, children—the kinds of relationships Wright Thompson captures in this amazingly tearjerking ESPN piece.

Baseball’s been a key to my relationship with my dad and my brother—the Warren Park Little League star and current University of Chicago pitcher—but it’s also been one of the primary things connecting me to a broader community of fans.

My family moved to Chicago in August of 2003. I was a shy, quiet 15-year-old petrified to be starting high school with a bunch (ok, only 20-25, but for a former homeschooler it seemed like a lot!) of kids I didn’t know while adapting to a new city, synagogue community and the like. I was a baseball fan but didn’t have a hugely strong allegiance to one team, having mainly rooted for the Mike Piazza-era Mets while living in New Haven. I needed something to anchor a sense of place and to help me connect to Chicago and the people there.

And the 2003 Cubs delivered in the Cubsiest way possible. That wasn’t a great team; it had real talent and real weaknesses, and it somehow wouldn’t have felt right at all for the Cubs to deliver in my first year as a fan. Which, of course, they didn’t. But to this day I feel like that 2003 team—as much as it, and the following year’s squad, disappointed—cemented my ability to grow as a fan and indeed as a person. I learned to enjoy the deep, earnest voice of Pat Hughes on the radio, and even to embrace the unbridled enthusiasm and semi-coherence (at best) of Ron Santo.

I had the benefit of a wonderful high school crew (hope to see many of y’all at—I believe—my first ever Thanksgiving in Chicago!) who were patient with my quirks and helped me come out of my shell more than a little bit. And connection over baseball (and other sports to a lesser extent) was a big part of that. I think, just maybe, being a baseball fan normalized my usually geeky persona a little? Yes, fandom was depressing sometimes—but in another, deeper, way, it was liberating.

There have been ups and downs and some truly dreadful teams in the meantime, but I think I’ve lived through—in my 13 years of fandom—on the average the most successful era in Cubs history. Which is saying something. Playoffs in 2003, 2007, 2008, 2015, and 2016, with a World Series championship in the last year? Yes please! There have been losses—Santo in 2010, Ernie Banks before last season—but in recent years, especially since the hiring of Theo Epstein and crew, those losses have seemingly simply added to a grim determination to end the Curse once and for all. There was a sense it was coming, it was inevitable, it was just a matter of time. That sense only accelerated this season. And so it was.

Perhaps for that reason, perhaps because living in Upstate New York has put me at geographic remove from the chaos and angst of most of Cubs fandom, this postseason has felt somewhat surreal. I’ve listened to—only watched on TV once—every game except for the one that fell on the evening of Kol Nidre. I’ve obsessively texted, chatted, and email with family and friends. But, in the emotional, communal, indeed spiritual sense, I don’t think the championship (I just pinched myself again) is going to really hit until my plane touches down at Midway Airport on Thanksgiving afternoon. Even though Midway’s on the South Side, there will be banners. There will be lots of people in Cubs gear. There will be flags with Ws and flags with cubbie bears and flags with two blue stripes and four red stars on a white background. There will be Chicago. Not my only home—but it will feel like home.

Writing is the best way I have to process events. Often, it’s good for rationally thinking through what’s going on in the world. I hope I’ve done a pretty good job explaining myself here, but I’m not sure G is going to be convinced. And maybe there’s no such thing as a rational explanation. No rational reason I feel the need to prioritize going to Wrigley and laying my head against the bricks and looking up at that sign across the street on Sheffield that says EAMUS CATULI! and now reads for the first time ever (yes, it’s not that old) AC 00/00/00.

Because there is most certainly a spiritual element to all of this, especially for the Cubs and their fans. Even in my generally cynical, academically-minded traditional egalitarian Jewish world, there’s been an unusual amount of desire to believe—perhaps both in the Cubs and in something bigger. How else to account for this?

or this?

Or Jonah Keri, one of the leading baseball writers in the world, placing the chaos of last night’s Game 7 into the framework of the Dayenu. Or the fact that a friend who I don’t know to be much of a baseball fan texted me a recording of Psalm 118—“This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be happy in it”—before 7 AM this morning?

Baseball—or maybe, just the Cubs and their peculiar tradition of lovable loserdom—helps us fit the pieces together. For me, that has meant growing as a person and trying to embrace a certain faith that yes, one day, the Cubs will go all the way. Maybe all of that will vanish; I personally think this team is only starting on the path toward being a total juggernaut for many years. But whatever happens now, I owe a great debt of gratitude to my Cubs fandom–and to those who have kept me company and encourage me along that path–for helping me out over a key period in my life. And if some of that debt can’t be quantified or rationally understood, well, that’s OK too. Because after 108 years THE CUBS ARE ONCE AGAIN WORLD CHAMPIONS.

Pic credit: my dad

Trolleys and Rail in the Capital District: Interview with Capital Green Scene on WVCR, 7/2/2016

At the beginning of July I was invited to do my first radio spot, appearing on the local radio show Capital Green Scene (WVCR 88.3 FM, Siena College’s station) to talk about transit and transportation in the Capital Region. We recorded the show on July 1st and it aired July 2nd, but I’ve only just now gotten the audio files, so here they are. The interview is in two segments, embedded here separately. I had a blast doing this; hosts Bill Helmer and Brian Nearing, who found me after a few of my articles on All Over Albany intrigued them,  are great guys who ask really interesting questions.

Watch for a new segment with me on Capital Green Scene appearing on Labor Day Weekend as well…

Part 1

 

Part 2