Saturday, June 18, 2011
elissa was finishing her second year of medical school at Georgetown University and one late spring afternoon she found herself meandering through one of the few reclaimed alleys in the area. She had just finished a grueling cardiovascular system pathophysiology exam, was exhausted from nights of cramming and blissfully let her mind wander aimlessly. She felt safe. The golden beams of a dying afternoon sun danced over the alley bricks and bounced randomly off the walls of stables and other century-old alley buildings.
Still flushed with images of the circulatory system swimming in her brain, she couldn’t help but think about alleys as arterioles or little arteries and streets as larger arteries and highways as the aorta. The gutters became lymphatic channels. People and cars and bicycles became red blood cells and white blood cells and platelets. She remembered one of the questions that she knew that she had gotten correct on the exam. (It’s asked every year) Q. What are the three things that result in clots in a blood vessel? A. (a) Slow blood flow (b) Damage to the walls of the blood vessel and (c) An increased tendency to have blood elements stick together (clot). Now her alley-arteriole-analogy took on a more dynamic rheological perspective. What did alleys (like blood vessels) require to stay healthy? They needed a steady flow of people and dogs and cats walking through them, attracted because they were places that were different and interesting and beckoning. They needed to be kept free of damage such as graffiti, collapsing roadbeds and buildings that were being demolished by neglect. They needed to be free of trash and overflowing dumpsters that attracted more trash and the obstruction of abandoned mattresses, abandoned cars and worn out water heaters that made alleys impassible.
It suddenly all seemed blindingly simple and clear to Melissa. As an undergraduate she had toyed with the idea of studying urban planning and had taken a couple of courses before changing her mind. She understood what professors and pundits meant when they discussed the growth and development of cities as an ecology that followed the rules of nature. She wondered why everyone couldn’t see this.
With a light heart she picked up her step and continued on her way home, wrapping her mind around large buildings as bones, bridges as appendages and traffic lights and streetlights as parts of a giant flickering nervous system. She was now discovering a human physiologic equivalent in everything she saw all around her. For this afternoon at least, through the haze of her fatigue, Washington D.C. and its alleys had become alive!
Sunday, June 12, 2011
eb was 11 when he began working seriously in his father’s stable. He was a large boy for his age and because his mother had been “poorly” for the last few years and they needed more money to hold the family together, his dad had forcefully encouraged him to leave school to work with him. It was 1912. The stable and livery business had been slowing down ever since the “horseless carriage” had appeared on the streets of Washington about 10 years ago. Horses were reliable but required great care. These new machines were unreliable and also required great care. Jeb’s dad could not see any possible future for this recent “fad” of unreliable machines which were terrifying horses and pedestrians alike. Some were even electric (38% of the car market in 1900) like President Taft’s new car – a Baker electric. Jeb disagreed.
Jeb was a smart kid and knew he had to figure out how to make a living for more than just a few years while his mother was ill. He believed in this new “fad”.
At the end of each day after the last horse had been stabled for the night, Jeb would ask his father for permission to visit the stable in the middle of the alley where they were beginning to work on horseless carriages. His father did not exactly approve of this but knowing that his willful son would go anyway and knowing the passion and curiosity that were growing within Jeb, he reluctantly gave his blessing.
The former stable Jeb visited as a child now called itself a garage. Gone were the smells of manure, replaced by the smells of gasoline, oil and grease. The second story hayloft no longer held hay. Instead there were rows of shelves of new replacement automobile parts – leaf springs, rubber tires, spoke wheels, axles, drive shafts and a number of “odds” bin for smaller parts. The air was vibrant and Jeb was immediately captivated. How could you not be excited by this new world? It was so very different from his previous experience in his dad’s stable. The endless conversations were about what was coming next and whether this “new age” would last. In a way, nobody cared, for there was so much work at hand keeping these machines running. Most automobiles at the time actually required a chauffeur who was also a mechanic because driving and keeping them running was well beyond the capacity of the average owner. By contrast horses and carriages were so much simpler.
Model T Ford central leaf spring
Yet, there were enough similarities between the old and the new stable worlds that Jeb fit well in both. Fro example, the leaf springs of these new vehicles were almost identical to the leaf springs from carriages and replacing or repairing them was the same for each. The wheels and front axles were very similar. Everyone was learning “on the job” and sharing new information as each previously unrecognized problem was approached.
While Jeb’s dad remained skeptical about this new era, he was proud of his son who was growing in so many ways. Eventually Jeb began to work full time at the new garage and his younger brother took his place in his dad’s stable. There was always a spring in Jeb’s step over the years when he walked a couple of miles to work at 14th and L Street each day. The alley was alive with clatter of hooves and the backfires of ill tuned cars. It was an uneasy mix of colliding transportation and service worlds.
(Notice the hayloft doors above the Ford sign and the bollard at the original carriage entrance.
The open windows are venting fumes. reference -http://www.shorpy.com/node/7035)
By 1926, the automobile was clearly winning the transportation war. Essentially no new stables had been built in DC after 1910 and gasoline stations began appearing on corners throughout the city. Jeb was now 25 years old. He had missed action in WW-I because of his age but was grateful to have a job when so many did not. While his faith in the new “fad” had paid off handsomely he was saddened that his parents had not lived to see his success. He was now the manager of a highly profitable service garage that sold and serviced Ford Lincolns, Fordson tractors and Ford trucks. His neighboring garage serviced Nash, Overland and Willys-Knight cars. There were nearly a 100 different automobile manufacturers now. Who knew where it would ultimately end?