In today's episode of our continuing saga, The Malling of New York City, we turn away from The Rock (Manhattan) and focus on downtown Brooklyn.  In November of 1996 a new shopping complex, Atlantic Center, opened at the intersection of Flatbush and Atlantic avenues.  For those who don't know the neighborhood, the structure was an architectural anomaly.  The hyperbolic pile of cinderblock sat amidst a group of older buildings, among them Brooklyn's tallest structure — the stately Williamsburg Savings Bank, whose dignified clock tower-face gazes into my window as I write this.  From a distance Atlantic Center had the appearance of a giant toilet, waiting for the Williamsburg Savings Bank to squat down on it and take a shit. 

    Alas, less than two years later, the poor Williamsburg Savings Bank has more toilets than it could possibly ever need.  Indeed, the 'big box' stores that have already saturated the mainland have now spread their filth to my beloved borough.  Apparently some developer/conquistadors set sail for dick and discovered Brooklyn, one of the last virgin landscapes of locally owned stores.  This would not do.  It was time to stamp them out.  But, before I gripe and moan over the inevitable, I would like to share my thoughts from the day of Atlantic Center's Grand Opening back in 1996.  In attendance was Matt, Tom, myself, and a swarm of human beings that numbered in the thousands. 

    It would be misnomer to call Atlantic Center a strip or a mall, since it is not spread out (parking is underground) and there is no centered walkway or promenade lined with little stores.  Rather there is just a mish mash of anchor stores slapped together, connected by walkways that line the perimeter of the building.  The walkway allows for a pretty cool view of the neighborhood, but it fails miserably as a thoroughfare for waddling consumers. 

    First, it is far too narrow to comfortably handle human traffic.  Second, like those found in American public schools built in the middle twentieth century, the corridor is drab and without embellishment.  There are no dazzling colors, ridiculous statues, or fancy signs to lure shoppers.  ('Draw them in with the prospect of gain, take them by confusion.' — Sun Tzu) 

    Third, it is all too common to hit a dead end — a retailer's nightmare. For example, to get to Office Max, you actually have to leave the building and walk halfway down the block — away from every other store.  Unless you really need that box of pens, you might just as easily go home once you're out the door.  Such poor planning is surprising for industry usually known for its shrewd herding of consumers from store to store by way of visual enticement and convenient proximity.  I doubt if this Office Max location will ever see impulse buyers; the only reason to be anywhere near its entrance is if you planned to go there in the first place. [Jed has thoughtfully posited that Atlantic Center was designed more on the basis crowd control and security than aesthetics or retail design standards.  In retrospect, this makes a lot of sense: The lack of open space and food courts discourages loitering; every store can be easily sealed off in a matter of minutes; patrons can be quickly herded out the doors; and finally, shoplifters have few places to hide.  It really explains a lot]. 

    Atlantic Center has other design issues as well.  By an odd coincidence I met up with Tony, who works at [the retail design research firm that had hired me about a week before, but shall remain nameless].  He was shopping with a friend and told me to check out the poor positioning of the escalators.  They had been placed in such a way that uphill traffic clashed with its descending counter part on each floor.  X's of conflicting pedestrian traffic were everywhere.  Granted, since it was opening week, the place was mobbed more than it probably ever would be again, but that's just stupid [a few months later I returned to shop, finding that they had wisely reversed the directions of the escalators]. 

    This Grand Opening was an absolute freak show. Shining example: The Manahatta dance company.  As we loped through the already overpopulated thoroughfare, my friends and I hit upon a crowd that swelled like a hog in a python's digestive tract.  'Oh my god there are Indians dancing in the mall, and one of them is wearing an American Flag.'  (I might normally use the more accepted term, 'Native Americans,' however, since the immediate function of these dudes was akin to that of circus clowns — or midget wrestling — they were Indians).  It will be interesting to see how Atlantic Center affects Brooklyn culture since, until 1996, each neighborhood had its own shopping district comprised of locally of the stores.   Atlantic Center directly threatens such nearby districts as Fulton Mall (an old outdoor shopping mall). 

    When Atlantic Center was first built I was torn. On one hand I didn't want Brooklyn to get malled out.  On the other, I was excited to have Caldor nearby, since that is where I buy most of my clothes ($26 leather high-tops and $17 pants, both of which are very likely made by slaves in China, Bangladesh, and Guatemala). 

    Now my worst fears are realized.  Every time I go to the intersection of Flatbush and Atlantic the commercial real estate developers have taken a new shit in the area.  Then again, to be honest, the only reason I'm ever there in the first place is to go to Office Max or Caldor.

     John Mcrory writes: "your friend's suggestion that the circulation in Atlantic Center is designed for crowd control is accurate. A couple years ago I met an architect who worked on AC (can you believe it HAD architects?) at a party, and he told me they had designed it on the principles of Oscar Newman's "Defensible Space." I had suspected as much. 

     He explained the building WAS purposefully designed to discourage loitering so as not to attract gangbangers. For the same reason, an initial plan for a movieplex at one end was scrapped. Of course, the courtyard of the hi-rise complex behind it, 777 Fulton Street, is a popular drug market. But he also said the site was a very narrow and difficult one to work with; a center walkway would not fit, and much of the design was organized to fit the needs of the stores they had worked hard to convince to be part of the development, which they needed to sign on; Back then, this sort of project was much less bankable than today, and they still aren't generally bankable.

     John McCrory is currently a graduate student in city planning at Pratt Institute in Brooklyn. Mr. McCrory's writing on planning, politics, poetry, and other subjects has appeared in The New York Times, City Limits, Artful Dodge, Cincinnati Poetry Review, and Planners Network. His web site, McCrory's Pause , focuses largely on urban planning, as well as other political and cultural issues that we think are rad. Of particular interest is his article on the Brooklyn Commons.  

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