The Concrete Monster That Ate
Downtown Phoenix
"Jana's View" Phoenix Magazine
February 2003

     I agree with William T. Smith, chairman of the Greater Phoenix Convention Center and Visitors Bureau, that "the region's tourism industry, along with the billions of dollars and thousands of jobs it generates, is integral to the economic viability of the entire state." He argues that not expanding the convention center will "inflict a terrible wound to Arizona's exposed visitor industry."
     You see, there are two basic problems to Phoenix's convention business: We have neither the exhibit space nor the hotel rooms to accommodate most conventions. So to make the convention industry a real cash cow for Phoenix and Arizona ‹ the kind of "clean industry" we need and want ‹ we've got to increase both.
     People who spend their lives worrying about such things are convinced that once we break ground on expanding the convention center, the third downtown hotel we need will materialize. There's even a spot reserved for it next to the new Collier Center.
     Voters said "yes" to expanding the convention center a couple of years ago by approving some $300 million in new bonds. But that's just half the money needed - the bond proposal demands that the state kick in the other half. That, all by itself, is a major problem. Arizona is facing a billion-dollar deficit in this year's state budget, so we don't expect them to be dancing a jig about handing millions to Phoenix. But the city has cleverly suggested that the state wouldn't have to spend a cent of its half until 2009, when - if the Good Lord's willing and the creeks don't rise - we'll have money in the state coffers to pay the bill.
     Let's pretend the money problem can be worked out and get down to the nitty gritty. Agreeing we need to expand the convention center is one thing; how it will be done is another. The city has decided that its only viable option is to build a new facility on the plaza in front of Symphony Hall, which just happens to be one of only two public open spaces that exist in all of downtown. (Patriot's Square, a few blocks away, is the other.)
     The reason this is the only option is that this city ‹ where "vision" is an orphan ‹ boxed itself in. It had a perfectly great piece of land on which to expand the convention center immediately to the east of the existing facilities, but it used that land to build a parking garage ‹ a parking garage that just happens to be across the street from the ballpark.
     The garage is supposed to be for the science and history museums, but it was designed to empty out thousands of cars in minutes, and it's not museum-goers but baseball fans who need that kind of exit. So nobody was fooled about why the city built the garage, but many thought it was a ridiculous thing to do.
     The only other land that could have been used for expansion has gone for the new Collier Center and the lot reserved for a new hotel. So that left the city with an obvious need to expand the convention center - no secret for decades - but no place to go.
     That's how the plaza - between Monroe and Washington streets, from Third to Second streets - became The Spot. Right now, this concrete plaza is primarily filled with a tent, a fountain and the entryway to Symphony Hall. The Hyatt Regency is on the west side; the Herberger Theater Center is to the north; the convention center's original exhibit hall is to the east.
     I have no intention of defending the tent or the concrete below it. The plaza was never designed properly in the first place, I agree. But that doesn't mean the space couldn't be redesigned to become the wonderful open space in the heart of high-rise downtown that it should be.
     But no. On this precise piece of land the city wants to build a tower that would encompass 100,000 square feet of exhibit space, 150,000 square feet of meeting space and a 50,000-square-foot ballroom. The city says it can accommodate all that in a tower that would be only "four levels," and yes, they're hoping everyone takes that to mean a four-story building. But they're being disingenuous.
     The tower would actually be 176 feet high - down, apparently, from the 190 feet planners originally wanted. Do you know what 176 feet translates to in terms of high-rises? About 17 stories. (The floors in the new convention tower wouldn't be normal floor height, of course, but enormous spaces, which is how the city thinks it can get away with this. But this double-speak doesn't do a thing to qualm my nerves.)
     One night I decided to see just exactly what it would be like to look at a 17-story building on that plaza. So I rode the elevator of the Hyatt Regency across the street. At about its eighth floor, the elevator actually rides on the outside of the hotel, so you get an unobstructed view of the plaza and points east. Here's the bottom line: That convention tower is going to be one big dog.
     At 17 stories, you look down at the new Arizona Republic building; you look down on the roof of Symphony Hall; and you realize that, from the Hyatt, the view of St. Mary's Basilica would be completely obstructed. That tower will be tall and wide and massive.
     As I came down the elevator, my nerves were shot.

     All I can say right now is: "Thank goodness for Dick Bowers."
     Dick is the former Scottsdale city manager who's now president of the Herberger Theater Center. Not only has he articulated every concern I have about the new convention tower, he's fighting to be sure the horrible things that could happen, don't. Dick tells me he's encouraged that the city is listening to his concerns and will incorporate them into the final design, though this has yet to be done.
     In a formal letter to the city, Dick says he and other arts groups are giving "qualified" support to the tower on the plaza. "The stature of the Herberger Theater Center, the general character of downtown Phoenix and, more specifically, Copper Square, will be defined for generations by this project," he notes. "It is imperative that it move forward with an extraordinary commitment to connections, relationships and the productive interdependence of downtown elements. This project must fit into the downtown 'vision' in a way that recognizes how critical it is to making the entirety of downtown 'work.'" Here are some "specific expectations" from Dick Bowers and the downtown arts folks:

•  The bottom floor of the tower "must be preserved as open space." They're talking about an open corridor that will allow a visual connection between the Herberger and Symphony Hall that will provide "programmable" open space. "Failure to do so will isolate both venues... and compromise our ability to function effectively," Bowers notes.
• Since the plan calls for eliminating the raised terrace that now exists, bringing it down to street level, Bowers wants Monroe Street to be part of an open plaza that could be closed to traffic. He envisions the street being redone, perhaps in cobblestone.
• He wants assurances the new building won't be so massive, creating "dead space" along pedestrian corridors. "They've made a lot of adjustments from Day One when they had a big concrete blockacross from the Herberger," Bowers tells me. Provided he gets the changes and assurances he's seeking, he says, "We're pretty excited about it - this project, done right, in my opinion, is the linchpin for downtown."

     But he also adds this: "There's reason to be concerned and reason to stay attentive, and we're going to."
    Oh, thank you.

     "What could be uglier than the concrete plaza? What could be uglier than the Symphony Hall building?"
     You're going to share my nervousness about all of this when you realize that those words were spoken by Sheryl Sculley, the city's point person on this project. As the second in command at the city, and widely regarded as a contender for the top job when City Manager Frank Fairbanks retires, Sculley is a powerful person.
     I can tell her what could be uglier than what's there now. In fact, I think I did - a convention tower standing 17 stories, covering one of the precious open spaces downtown. But Sculley wants me to know that my concerns don't concern her. "The decision to use the plaza has been made, and we're moving forward," she tells me, as though that should be the end of it. I said something equally haughty back, like, "No decision is final until construction begins, girlfriend."
     She did stress that "design is a huge element," and even admitted, "It's hard with a convention center, they're huge buildings." But she promised this won't be a windowless concrete box like the windowless concrete boxes that make up our current convention center.
     She'd better be right. Or else a concrete monster will be having lunch in downtown Phoenix.