In quick order, Varma and Nebel were told they had 10 minutes to describe their development, called High Street. Officials from the Commerce and Planning Departments took the stage to denounce their construction project. The zoning board finished things off by announcing it wouldn't issue a ruling. The pair left the room more shaken than the day they heard about the triple homicide a block from their two kitty-corner sites, at the intersection of Germantown and Cecil B. Moore Avenues.
Given the beleaguered state of the neighborhood, you'd expect the city to welcome the pair's proposal for new housing with rousing cheers. The neighborhood group has sung its praises. But instead, the city told the young developers it was committed to preserving their junk-strewn, half-acre lots in the event an industrial user came along.
"You get the feeling," Nebel later grumbled to me, "that cities are the worst redliners."
The surprise here isn't that Philadelphia believes it should set aside land for industry. Even though we're deep into the post-manufacturing age, every city needs places where fabricators, warehouses, truck depots, junkyards and other messy enterprises can feel at ease.
But this enclave claimed by the Kensington South Neighborhood Advisory Council is a place that abounds with vacant tracts. You can hardly walk a couple of blocks without bumping into one of the great redbrick relics of Philadelphia's industrial heyday, like the Rieger & Gretz brewery on Germantown Avenue. With so much available land, why keep those tiny parcels in the deep freeze?
