Sometimes paradise springs up in the unlikeliest of places. Cohen Alley in San Francisco’s Tenderloin district is one such place.

“Syringes and human feces littered the ground,” writes Next American City’s Johanna Hoffman, describing Cohen Alley in the 1980s. “[P]rostitutes used the spot to turn tricks. For local contractors, it was a convenient, if illegal, dumping ground.”

Twentysome years later, the 40-foot-wide space hidden between two busy streets looks drastically different. Bright murals painted by local artists decorate the buildings that straddle the alley. Small tables are set out for impromptu conversations. Soft warmth emanates from a small, homemade clay oven. A three-story redwood tree would normally seem out of place in the city—but blends perfectly into the environment of Cohen. The area is so lushly precious it even earned a new name: the Tenderloin National Forest.

The transformation was no fluke; creating Tenderloin National Forest took decades of manual labor, community organizing, and politicking—mostly from native San Franciscan Darryl Smith. “We saw how the alley was being disrespected,” Smith told Next American Ctiy, “It wasn’t a healthy place to be, and we wanted to change that. We wanted physical and environmental safety.”

Smith and his collaborators started low-key. At the end of the ‘80s, Smith dragged sheets of grass sod into the alley and established a DIY performance space. Local residents developed a pride of place around the alley, and eventually politicians started to notice—and fight for the space. Smith’s next project, according to Hoffman, is to install a wastewater treatment system, and he’ll likely do so without a permit. And that will be fine.

Change has been slow and incremental in Cohen Alley, but ultimately a success story. But Smith’s determination and convictions have carved out a small patch of green wonderland in the center of the hard city. “We push gently,” Smith told Next American City, “but we keep pushing.”

Source: Next American City 

Image by Andrew Turner, licensed under Creative Commons. 

When I was a teenager, my friend Spring and I would often drive her Crown Victoria to the local cemetery after school. We would park by the headstones of Mr. Smith and Mrs. Crouch, lay out a blanket to sit on, and talk for an hour, with cottonwood leaves rustling overhead. It was a beautiful spot that had open views of the western sky—an oasis in our blue-collar town.

The idea that cemeteries are valuable public real estate, worthy of use beyond burial and mourning, has been around for centuries. Peter Harnik and Aric Merolli of Landscape Architecture write, “Before there were public parks, cemeteries were the primary manicured and sculpted green spaces within cities.”

Today protocols for the public use of cemetery land are remarkably varied. According to Harnik and Merolli:

Nearly all public cemeteries are open to the public, but they differ widely in the kinds of activities they allow. At the far hallowed end we have the federally owned Arlington National Cemetery, where almost nothing is permitted except walking from grave to grave; jogging and eating are prohibited, and there are virtually no benches. Across the Potomac, in a somewhat gritty part of Washington, D.C., Congressional Cemetery puts out the welcome mat to the community, allowing running, picnicking, sledding, children with balls, and even off-leash dogs.

Unconventional cemetery use is experiencing a resurgence, as a growing number of cemeteries embrace their roles as public spaces. Cedar Hill Cemetery in Hartford, Connecticut, hosts jazz concerts; Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn, New York, holds elaborate puppet shows (one is pictured above); and Wyuka Cemetery in Lincoln, Nebraska, welcomes theatrical performances from Flatwater Shakespeare.

Though family rights can be an issue when deciding how graveyard grounds can be used, most cemetery boards don’t hear negative feedback. Bob Hall, the director of Flatwater Shakespeare, offers his wholehearted approval. Hall’s mother and father are buried at Wyuka, and he often notes, “I asked my parents, and they didn’t say anything.”   

Source: Landscape Architecture Magazine(subscription required)

Image by gaelenh, licensed under Creative Commons.