urbanism

When Dorothy and her friends arrived in Oz they were picked up by a cabby in a horse drawn carriage. Dorothy asked why the horse is a different color. "I've never seen a horse like that before!" she says. The cabby responds, "No, and never will again, I fancy! There's only one of him, and he's it. He's the Horse of a Different Color you've heard tell about!"

One night soon after I first returned to Spartanburg in 1988 I was sitting in a bar out near the Westgate Mall and there was a guy next to me who wore his hair in a mullet and had boots made out of reptile skin. He still had that Marshall Tucker Band "Long Hard Ride" look going ten years after the album, and it was even topped off with a cowboy hat. His accent was deep and distinctive Piedmont South Carolina, a high-pitched drawl, a slow wash of regional inflection unaffected by TV or changing "upstate" demographics.

I don't spend much time channel surfing, but the other morning I was stuck in the house waiting for the cable man, and I wandered into a program on ANIMAL PLANET called "Backyard Habitat." I'll admit I was fascinated. On the program a perky former Miss Florida in khaki pedal pushers and a friendly naturalist from the National Wildlife Federation fly all over the country helping families revamp their old-style yards into little pieces of territory friendly to wildlife. It's a sort of "green eye for the normal guy."

We live on the edge of the suburbs, but for me there has always been a deep draw and appreciation of the concept of the city center. I think it goes back to my childhood when we lived within walking distance of a vibrant downtown. I remember with great fondness the busy Spartanburg sidewalks, the businesses, and the neighborhoods nearby. There was no doubt in the early 60s where the center of Spartanburg was. Everything circulated around Prices, Greenwalds, and Belks, all on Morgan Square.