Fin de Siècle

I’m always looking for tangible examples of how our towns and cities go through long slow cycles. Our places as well as our institutions have a lifespan. Day to day the forces at work aren’t always immediately apparent or well understood. But if we step back the arc of history is more obvious. Everything has a beginning, a middle and an end. I thought I’d use an individual person, a specific family, and even a particular property as examples of how things rise and fall over time.

Neighbors of mine had an elderly aunt they’d been looking after for a number of years as she aged and gently failed. She passed last week at the age of 97. I knew Auntie and enjoyed her company on occasion. Even in her dotage she was charming, fashionable, and told great stories about a long and colorful life in Paris, New York, and San Francisco. If you need a visual of Auntie, Angela Lansbury serves as a pretty good doppelgänger. Both ladies were born in 1925 and died within days of each other. Both were also evacuated out of the UK to Montreal along with thousands of other British children during World War II.

Auntie was a member of prominent families through birth as well as marriage. These are the kinds of families with thier names chiseled in stone on museums around the world. One fortune was made in the mid 1800s from the extraction and smelting of minerals that fed the industrial revolution. Other funds were secured from the manufacture of military rations during World War I in Europe. That money was invested, compounded, and became more money. By the time Auntie was born the earning part of the family empire was already over and they were well into the philanthropic spending phase. Different versions of that inherited wealth sustained her for an entire century.

There’s a peculiar dynamic with intergenerational wealth. In the beginning the money is newly earned through hard work and strategic maneuvering - not all of it entirely pleasant. At that point there are relatively few family members to be supported by immense resources. Over time the sons, wives, children, cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, grandchildren, and all their extended families and in-laws multiply. The prestigious name endures. The shoulder rubbing at the best clubs and finest addresses continues. Access to the most prestigious schools and universities ensures new opportunities over the decades. But the pie needs to be sliced into more and more pieces with each passing generation and being rich is actually really expensive.

Some family members take their slice and carefully shepherd it to grow a new pie of their own. Others simply eat their slice with the expectation that there will always be more somehow. Many live on fumes, favors, and borrowed money to keep up outward appearances in the hope their children will marry well. Still others carve out a quiet niche in academia or the arts and live comfortable lives with honor and purpose without mentioning their antecedents. All the while those slices keep getting skinnier while the burn rate remains.

My neighbors reached out to me as they began to sort through Auntie’s large home filled with a lifetime of possessions. As is often the case my status was halfway between a friend and hired help. Over the years I’ve assisted several other families with this process so it was familiar territory for me. It’s triage. What has market value? What has sentimental value? What’s been legally bequeathed or otherwise promised? What’s going to the charity shop? What’s rubbish?

There were two distinct personalities involved in this particular situation, each with a strong and opposite philosophy. One was overly cautious with a deep sense of fiduciary obligation. Every object needed to be accounted for and each rightful heir had to receive their proper allotment. The accounting was meticulous. The other approach was more ruthlessly efficient and pragmatic. Cherry pick the good stuff and liquidate the rest as swiftly as possible. No one is flying in from Boston or Cape Town so they can carry Auntie’s old kitchen blender back home in their overhead luggage compartment. Both tactics were technically appropriate, but mutually exclusive.

Boxes. Bags. More boxes. More bags. A tremendous amount of cleaning. Conversations about what’s worth what to which member of the family. And questions. Is that clay figure on the shelf exquisite pre-Columbian art, or is it a cheap trinket bought at the beach while on vacation in Mexico in 1972? Is that book a rare first edition signed by a prestigious author, or is it destined for the public library donation pile? Are those bespoke couture gowns, or common department store dresses? After a few days I stepped away from the process. I didn’t enjoy being in the middle of the conflicting approaches and was feeling ill from the endless dust and mold spores. This family could afford to hire strangers to pack up Auntie’s goodies.

I can tell you from personal experience, there’s less residual value in these situations than people assume. Of course, many objects in this family were genuinely valuable. Specialists in fine art, rare furnishings and upscale garments were called in to cherry pick the truly worthy pieces, but those items were the minority. And whatever worth they may have is destined to be split by middlemen.

There’s a lesser category of objects that might be worth a descent amount collectively if the effort is taken to sort them out, but it’s a giant time suck. It’s possible to methodically photograph, catalogue, research, post and manage the sale of these items online then ship each out to distant buyers. But that’s a substantial undertaking for a modest return. After a lot of sturm and drang much of this stuff will end up in a bin. What exactly is a combination cathode ray tube television / VCR player worth these days?

The property itself is valuable because of its location in a premium neighborhood in San Francisco with views of the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, and the Bay. But the place is one giant pile of deferred maintenance. In its day it was a grand home and it still has great bones. But it’s in need of a complete overhaul. Opening a window often results in a handle coming free in your hand or a chunk of rotting wood falling off. The plaster is crumbling. Most of the electrical, plumbing and mechanical systems haven’t been ungraded since the place was built in 1925. The property is the same age as Auntie herself and it shows. Whoever buys this place will likely take it down to the studs and the sale price will reflect that reality. It’s still worth millions, but only to the right buyer.

Auntie’s home is a metaphor for the city - and not just San Francisco. Every electrical substation, water pump, sewer pipe, and bit of pavement ever installed anywhere is a little time bomb. Rust, as they say, never sleeps. Well built infrastructure that’s maintained with a modicum of care will last for about a hundred years. After that it needs to be replaced or receive a significant amount of work to buy it another century of useful service. In this manner a building or an entire town can endure for a few thousand years. But if things are built fast and cheap with low grade materials and are neglected for decades, it all becomes compost.

This pier on the bay was built in 1929. It was designed for recreation and continues to function, but its days are numbered. Each year for decades there’s been a conversation about when or how the city would address the situation. And each year the funds are unavailable. There are a lot more pressing concerns the city prioritizes, and that’s probably as it should be. The problem with the pier is that it doesn’t generate tangible value. It’s simply an inherited “nice to have.”

The bridge is an example of infrastructure that’s too important to neglect. There’s a permanent full time crew that begins the painting and renovation process at one end of the bridge and slowly works its way to the other. As soon as they’re done, they go back and start all over again. It never stops. As you walk along the bridge you can see the exact spot where paint has been freshly applied and components have been replaced. Anything less in this environment with salt air, diesel exhaust, and bird droppings would corrode the steel very quickly and result in a bridge that fails. That’s not an option. Unlike the pier, the bridge collects tolls for its own upkeep. It’s also a critical part of the federal interstate highway network with a de facto funding backstop from Washington.

Each new generation asks if a place is worth preserving. It often boils down to productivity. Will it generate enough value of some sort to justify the ongoing expense? Americans have walked away from small rural towns, giant industrial cities, and played out suburbs. We’re a nation of immigrants always on the lookout for greener pastures.

Taxes too high? Let’s move. Jobs better elsewhere? Let’s move. Weather not pleasant enough? Let’s move. In some ways that’s a good thing. We’re free to choose our own adventures and continuously reinvent ourselves and the country. But we leave behind a wake of empty insolvent places that decay. I’m waiting for a reality TV show about $1 Jiffy Lubes in dead suburbs offered to people willing to homestead them like the ruins of long abandoned Sicilian hill towns.

Auntie’s house will be reinvented by new owners because it’s situated in a place with compelling value. The investment in refurbishment will generate jobs, tax revenue, and a social signal to others that this is a place worth propelling into the future. At least for now. But that positive feedback loop can change for any number of reasons. Time will tell.