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In Praise of Alleys A letter to the editor a few weeks back mentioned alleys and I got to thinking about what a great invention they were even though they have more or less disappeared from modern residential development. The French gave us the word in the 1300s when an alley was a walk or passage leading to a house, usually tree-lined. By the 1500s an alley became a passage between buildings and took on its present meaning in the 1800s. Lincoln had alleys at each block’s mid-point from the original 1867 plat to the 1930s and 40s when the practice gave way to the connected garage and driveway accessing the street rather than the back of the property. By the 1970s much of the city council’s time was spent in approving the vacation of alleys until the procedure became so commonplace as to be made a mere administrative action. When alleys were in their heydays, they were hotbeds of activity. The original focal point was usually a barn or stable where the carriage, buggy and horse were quartered, as far away from the noise, smell and sight of the house as the size and scale of the property allowed. The most prosperous would often have quarters above the carriage house for live-in staff. Also at the back of the lot, on the alley, was the outhouse, a necessity but one to be hidden. A traditional screening for the back-most areas adjacent to the alley were hollyhocks, a wire trellis of sweet peas or pole beans at the rear of the vegetable garden. With World War II many families planted Victory Gardens as well. With the outbuildings and stable came junk and a lean-to woodpile, sometimes covered, sometimes not. With indoor plumbing and sanitary sewers the alley was often weather-proofed with crushed rock, the stable converted into a garage and the area became a collection spot for the garbage man and a natural spot for deliveries. Remember Laurel and Hardy struggling to deliver a piano straight up an interminable hill to the front door when there was an alley in back on a level with the rear door? All the time the alley was in general use it was a natural spot for kids. The alley itself was not only the perfect spot for games but a natural tunnel to the outer world, usually lined with trees, shrubs and bushes and an unlimited chance to discover unwanted but nonetheless valuable beyond dreams, “stuff.” The automobile changed the back yard and the alley forever. Cars meant the alleys were not as safe a place for games though the back yard was still a haven for families and neighbors. It was not uncommon for a sense of community to develop by using the alley as common ground for picnics, gatherings or fireworks. As cars became more and more common and turned into necessities, developers began planning curved streets, circles or cul-de-sacs. Abandoning the grid system of streets made alleys difficult or impractical while architects were responding with attached garages leading not to the rear alley but front streets. Without the traffic behind houses the fence concept expanded making each backyard a closed, private area. Gone was the communication “over the garden fence” and soon no one even knew their neighbors behind them. The attached garage not only put the car right on the street but with the advent of electronic garage door openers one could be decanted inside and never even need to see the neighbors. Many, of course, never close their garage doors advertising the contents for thieves and generally messing up the formerly pleasant front of the house. I miss alleys and after the October, 1997 storm I’ll bet the utilities workers miss them too. Just think, if we could reverse the trend and reopen old alleys and design new neighborhoods with them, front yards could again be lawns and flower garden, unbroken by oil-stained concrete strips. Utilities could be buried down the alleys so repairs wouldn’t tie up traffic. Compost bins could be built and those ubiquitous ugly plastic wheeled garbage cans would be well out of sight all week long and they wouldn’t have to be carted to the curb twice weekly. Hollyhocks could be reintroduced and maybe, just maybe, the Post Office would move those cheesy, low-bid, cluster mailboxes out of sight, to the alley.
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