I could book a flight, renew the passport, and buy a travel authorization if I wanted to see ruins.
Or, better yet, I could drive ten minutes down the road.
Because as William Faulkner said: The past is never dead. It’s not even past.
In the Rust Belt, history is learned on the way to Walmart.
Past, present, and future—the lines are blurred.
Is that a factory, a startup, or just abandoned?
The hope is for the first two, but we have expertise in the third.
When do abandoned buildings become ruins?
Twenty years?
A half century?
A full one?
As a pragmatist, I don’t partake in such esoteric debates—I leave that to the bloggers.
On the other hand, I am interested in why such debates exist in the first place, as in why the abandoned structures are left to stand. (Then I blog about the answer with little regard for meaningful change.)
Imagine a strip of abandoned homes. It’s perfect for the homeless, drug-addicted, and criminally-predisposed.
A city knows the neighborhood is unlikely to become a tourist attraction.
And there starts the merriment.
Who owns the home(s)?
Can they be contacted?
Can they be pressured (via fines) into maintenance?
Or selling?
Would there even be a buyer?
If taxes are delinquent, can the city or an associated land bank seize the property?
If so, after clean up, can the property be handed over to a developer?
Does the local economy make such a project appealing to developers anyway?
Are the developers reliable?
Or is demolition the only option?
Should the cleared space become a park?
Or a public art display?
With an eroded tax base, where does the money for all this come from?
The county?
The state?
The feds?
How long will the entire process take?
Even if it ultimately comes together, what if the new incarnation is still appealing to the homeless, drug-addicted, and criminally-predisposed?
—
When do abandoned buildings become ruins?
Twenty years?
A half century?
A full one?
