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Urban Champions
Elizabeth Harris and Emily DeNitto
05/01/2007
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A century after the black plague decimated florence, the Medicis began to rebuild it. By the mid-1400s, the city was
the focus of the Italian Renaissance. Today, patrons in the U.S. are
reinvigorating cities and entire regions with their wealth, philanthropy,
political connections and, most importantly, their vision for improving the
world one community at a time. Ed Bass of the Bass oil fortune foresaw a lively
urban center in Fort Worth’s seedy downtown, and made it happen.
Paul Allen’s biomedical research center
transformed Seattle’s gritty South Lake Union district. Eli Broad spent years
working to create a Champs-Ely- sees in Los Angeles. These visionaries begin
with altruistic aims, but many soon find that reinvigorating a neighborhood
becomes an all-consuming pursuit. Even if the citizenry cheers them on, missteps
can occur. In 1999, Jerry Frautschi, a Madison, Wis., businessman and the
husband of Pleasant Rowland, creator of American Girl dolls who sold the company
to Mattel, donated $205 million to build a performing arts hall, Overture
Center, in downtown Madison. He also created an endowment to keep the center
from becoming a drain on taxpayers. But he conceived his plan in the bull market
of the late 1990s, counting on the endowment to earn annual returns of roughly 9
percent. Today, the town is abuzz over how exactly the Overture Center will
finance its operating budget beyond 2007.
A benefactor who takes on the status quo may also find himself
going to battle. Critics may decry his efforts as a power play—or one driven by
profit. Supporters will appreciate his ability to entertain their ideas, while
detractors will complain that local changes should come from the grass roots,
not the gated communities.
In the early 20th century, many cities boasted private cadres
of power brokers who made things happen. But beginning in the 1960s, such
tightly held power fell under public suspicion, and cities scrambled to make
their governments more open to the citizenry. More recently, local officials and
voters decry the fact that regional economies fall under the control of
multinational retail conglomerates. They are gaining a new appreciation for
local entrepreneurs who want to give back.
Impoverished areas certainly deserve philanthropic capital. But saving
something closer to home requires more than money. These projects demand
hundreds of hours of face time with the community. Civic lights must be able to
remind their neighbors that this is their home, too, and they want to see it
performing at its best.
Eli Broad strives to elevate the heart of the City of the Angels to truly grand heights.
For four decades, Eli Broad,
founder and former chairman of KB Home and SunAmerica, has been one of those Los
Angeles transplants who laments his adopted city’s lack of a true core and
soul—a downtown where artists, office workers, shoppers, diners and residents
gravitate at all hours. Six years ago, Broad decided to stop hoping for city
plans that never materialized and put his own money into motion. He invited his
friend Richard Riordan, the city’s mayor at the time, and a group of county
supervisors to his home to talk about finally transforming the downtown area
along Grand Avenue.
‘‘ I envision it as a place where people from all parts of the
community will feel comfortable being with each other.’’ |
That kind of transformation has been a dream ever since Dorothy
Buffum Chandler, by doggedly raising funds and cajoling the city’s leaders,
brought the Music Center into being in the 1960s. In the ensuing years, downtown
L.A. added museums and performance spaces, but lacked the kind of urban élan
Broad finds in what he calls the three other great cities—New York, London and
Paris.
"I saw all this city land and county land, and no one was doing
anything," Broad says. "And if we left it up to the city officials, I’m not sure
what would have happened other than piecemeal, unplanned development."
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For four decades, Eli Broad,
founder and former chairman of KB Home and SunAmerica, has been one of those Los
Angeles transplants who laments his adopted city’s lack of a true core and
soul—a downtown where artists, office workers, shoppers, diners and residents
gravitate at all hours. Six years ago, Broad decided to stop hoping for city
plans that never materialized and put his own money into motion. He invited his
friend Richard Riordan, the city’s mayor at the time, and a group of county
supervisors to his home to talk about finally transforming the downtown area
along Grand Avenue.
