One of the attractions of urban density is the ability for everyone to walk to the store, to have one's commercial needs met within a few busy blocks. We all like the idea of living near a great cafe, a small grocer stocked with locally grown produce, maybe even a shoe store, pet shop, or bike repair place.
But it's often easier to build dense housing than it is to nurture grassroots retail. The ecosystems for housing and retail sometimes don't match: Even people who live in walkable neighborhoods find that the variety of nearby shops won't suit their needs, so they might walk to the corner convenience store for a quart of milk, but they still "need" to drive to one or two or three larger grocery stores to get the variety and prices they want.
And many small businesses are still heavily reliant on street parking, which is now being rationed and comes at a premium. Some businesses need to draw on a city-wide customer base to survive (I doubt if Archie McPhee's lives on foot traffic alone for its toys). If cars are squeezed out, a shop can lose much of its customer base, and can't necessarily (if ever) bridge the gap until a promised influx of local condo-dwelling newcomers arrives.
New development also can drive out many of the existing small retailers. Gentrification is part of it: Developers tend to build for higher-end residential customers, but local retailers can't afford the new ground-level rents and they might not offer products and services that the gentrifers are looking for. A Southeast Asian market might be dislocated by a vegan donut shop. Or new residents might simply be out of sync with old uses. I remember when the Sightline Institute's Alan Durning lived without his car for a year, he analyzed the retailers within walking distance of his home in North Seattle and discovered a huge percentage of them were auto shops.
There are other problems confronting urban village fantasies, for instance the macro-economic trends that aren't solvable at the local level. Who among us wants to live on a grocer's salary, or work those hours? One of the hardest working guys in my old neighborhood was Mr. Cohen, the Jewish dry cleaner. I don't think the average Boeing dad ever worked those kinds of hours. Seattle views itself as a haven for the "creative class" that will inspire the next Amazon or Microsoft, but who's going to do the creative classes' laundry?
Then there are the myriad ways in which city and state rules, regs, and tax laws seem designed to put barriers up for business owners: the B&O tax, head taxes, square-foot taxes, permits, garbage fees, noise ordinances, and sometimes micro-management. Earlier this year I watched the Seattle Landmarks Board board argue for what seemed like an hour about what kind of bolts a shop owner should use to hold up a single sign in Columbia City, bolts that would be invisible to the naked eye.
Seattle does have many vibrant urban commercial districts that seem to work. Columbia City, Wallingford, Queen Anne Hill, and West Seattle leap to mind. But an unsung, and under developed, aspect of urban village life are the smaller corners and mini-districts throughout neighborhoods that help disperse services and make them more walkable for some, even without big density increases.
In the neighborhood I grew up in, the Rainier Valley slice of Mount Baker, our single family residential neighborhood was denser than now (thanks to the baby boom) and had lots of local retail. We could walk a few blocks on any direction and find a locally owned store where we could get supplies, and I was frequently sent running errands to these places. I wandered around the old neighborhood recently looking to see what had become of some of them.
The Dallas Grocery (30th Ave. S and McClellan), run by Greek immigrant Mr. Dallas, has now been remodeled as a hair salon. Dallas' was one of those places where a box-boy would deliver groceries to your home if you asked — a pre-Amazon shopping service my aged grandmother took advantage of. McNamara's drug store (McClellan and Mt. Baker Blvd.) once supplied necessities to the locals. It's in a mixed-use complex of commercial and residential, but the shops are now specialized. The old drug store is a now Pilates studio.
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