Smaller lots, walkable neighborhoods and other lessons from Salt Lake City's post-war housing crisis. 

• Clint Burlap
• At the time of its creation, Salt Lake City’s Rose Park neighborhood was a master-planned development community intended to meet post-war demand for affordable mid-size housing.

In the years following the second World War, Utah's local newspapers were filled with reports on the scarcity of affordable homes.

"The housing situation in metropolitan Salt Lake still remains acute." The Salt Lake Telegram alerted its readers on December 24, 1946. "A great deal has been done, but the shortage now is nearly as bad as a year ago."

Less than two years later, in June of 1948, another Telegram report highlighted the plight of the Raymond family—two parents and five children below the age of seven—who were compelled to abandon their search for a home and instead sleep in their car, which they parked downtown at the City and County Building in protest.

"The mayor has appealed for help for the family," the Telegram noted, "asking anyone who could offer suitable housing to call his office."

While it's too late to offer shelter to the Raymonds, similar news reports today echo the plight of analogous families in and around Salt Lake City. Home prices have soared in recent years, putting Utahns in stiff competition for available housing and the pace of construction perpetually falls short of the outsized demands for new units.

"Some people, after seeing the market, have said they might wait until home prices go down," said Megan Beckstead, a local realtor who specializes in residential relocation. "I believe that the average age of a first-time home buyer is now 35. That's interesting to me; I bought my first home at age 23."

It's been said that history repeats itself, and while that's not exactly true, history does frequently rhyme. Since Salt Lake City has been here before, what lessons can be drawn from the decisions of our past?

Heirloom and Hybrid Varieties
During World War II, life on the homefront had been one of shortages. Diverting resources to the war effort meant the rationing of food, penicillin, gas, tires (actually anything rubber), automobiles, synthetic materials (thus the jokes about women faking nylon stockings with a tan and an eyebrow pencil) and metal items such as radios, furniture and appliances. Naturally, there was also a moratorium on new building construction and renovations.

Transitioning to a peacetime economy, while remarkably fast in retrospect, did not appear so at the time. Returning G.I.s had to continue fighting, only now for jobs and housing.

Much of the job shortages were eased when women—recruited by the War Manpower Commission at the start of the war to fill in for men while they were deployed—relinquished (willingly or unwillingly) their jobs to a veteran. Later, as industry swiveled away from war production, new jobs were created.

The housing market, on the other hand, carried pre-existing challenges that required more time to fix. The Great Depression of the 1930s, followed by moratoriums on building during the war years, left an array of buildings that were old, in need of repair or renovation and completely out of step with the zeitgeist.

This new attitude had returned home with the veterans. They were, generally speaking, focused on building a stable future, setting down roots and getting a piece of the freedom they had successfully wrestled away from fascist governments. Many were restless, opting to move to new places for a fresh start.

The Servicemen's Readjustment Act of 1944 (aka The G.I. Bill) was created as an answer to these needs. It established hospitals, made low-interest mortgages available and granted stipends covering tuition and expenses for veterans attending college or trade schools. While the G.I. Bill spanned into the 1950s, between 1944 and 1949 it awarded nearly $4 billion to roughly 9 million veterans, according to a 2010 study by the editors at History.com.

All this money and opportunity for advanced education led to a boom in housing throughout the United States. Salt Lake City was no exception and received a steady stream of immigrants.

Where to house them all? Limited by natural barriers—the mountains, wetlands, farmland and desert—Salt Lake development focused on in-filling whatever space was available as well as spreading out wherever possible.

An article from The Salt Lake Telegram on October 9, 1947, features a photo (obviously posed) of a man, a woman and a child sitting on suitcases that are perched atop the bare rolling foothills of Salt Lake.

The man points to a line of newly constructed homes along the next hill, while the caption explains how the Danish tool and die maker is attempting to learn English and locate a place to live.

"Pointing out Salt Lake's march upon the mountains is K.G. Rasmussen," the text reads, "who has found that, despite 113 new subdivisions in the area, living places are as scarce as in Copenhagen, Denmark, whence he recently emigrated."

Such a burgeoning market was ripe with opportunity both for the upright and the nefarious. Sub-quality building standards and predatory lending practices occurred alongside more honest operations. Elizabeth Gordon, editor of House Beautiful magazine, gave the flim-flam artists a severe reproof in 1947.

Desperate war veterans, she warned, were being swindled when they buy dwellings being thrown together today by a rapacious building industry concerned only with profits. "What a chance to produce for a million American families modern pleasing up-to-date homes, which can be lived in with comfort and enjoyed with pride! But are we doing that? Are we taking advantage of this moment? Are the builders, the planners, the real estate men getting together and creating such thoroughly liveable homes?"

Gordon responded to her own question: "The answer is a tragic no! Reactionary, obstinate, restrictive, frightened of change, unimaginative, profit-bent only, the building industry is turning out thousands of cracker boxes for thousands of veterans and non-veterans, all desperate and house ignorant, clamoring solely for a roof over their heads, unmindful of their fearful destiny; the sickening realization a few years hence that they have mortgaged their incomes for houses which are ten to thirty years out of date—both in plan and materials."

• Courtesy photo
• “The planners embraced the newly proposed I-15 freeway system and integrated it into the neighborhood’s layout. This access was used as a selling point for Rose Park’s convenient commute to the airport and military bases.”- Heidi Steed,neighborhood historian

A Rose is a Rose is a Rose
Into this situation stepped Alan Brockbank. As a housing developer and realtor in Salt Lake, Brockbank saw opportunity in an sparsely populated area then called Oakley Park—a plot northwest of downtown Salt Lake City defined by the Jordan River, the railroad line, marshes, slues, springs, persistent odors courtesy of a sewage treatment plant and Utah Oil & Refining's sludge pit.

But looking past this "blight" (as per MappingSLC.org), Brockbank envisioned a beautiful neighborhood filled with trees, rose gardens and well-built, affordable homes—conveniently close to the capital city.

When bidding for the land opened, Brockbank discovered that he was competing with three other development entities. It's unknown now how a consensus was made but in the end, Brockbank's company Federal Homes Inc. served as prime developer alongside the other companies—Doxey-Layton Realty, Stayner Richards Realty and Edward J. Homes—who according to a 1947 article in The Salt Lake Tribune all agreed to work in conjunction. Construction on what became the Rose Park neighborhood began in 1946, with the first move-in recorded as September 21, 1947—10 days ahead of New York's similarly conceived but much more famous Levittown.

While Levittown does feature some curvilinear streets, Brockbank, staying true to his original vision, layed his neighborhood out in a flora (or "rose") pattern. The renamed neighborhood also featured predetermined lots set aside for schools, churches, business nodes and other community spaces. The homes were similarly situated but not uniformly cookie-cutter in their design, likely due in part to there being four development companies involved in the process.

Additionally, as neighborhood historian Heidi Steed recently told City Weekly, "the planners embraced the newly proposed I-15 freeway system and integrated it into the neighborhood's layout. This access was used as a selling point for Rose Park's convenient commute to the airport and military bases."

The quality of the homes earned recognition as well. The Deseret News on August 18, 1949, announced that Salt Lake had been selected as one of two cities in the nation to feature a special open house spotlighting specific homes. Brockbank, architect Fred L. Markham and associate designer Rowe Smith were lauded for the Rose Park project.

"A demonstration of how quality can be built into moderately priced homes," the News wrote, "the homes to be shown will feature intelligent use of material, comfort, liveability and beauty."

Phase two of the Rose Park construction ended in the 1950s and since then, the suburb has dealt with and resolved several environmental issues. Most daunting was the sludge pit. Named a Superfund site by the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, it was permanently contained and capped in 1983 by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. Despite these and many other challenges, Rose Park has remained vital and is currently experiencing a revitalization.

• Courtesy photo
• “The challenge in front of us now is to continue to grow but to not become gentrified to a point where this is no longer true. The dream needs to remain open to all, not just those with great personal wealth.” - Victoria Petro,Salt Lake City Councilmember

"Rose Park is where the American dream is alive and well." says City Councilmember Victoria Petro, whose district includes the neighborhood. "The challenge in front of us now is to continue to grow but to not become gentrified to a point where this is no longer true. The dream needs to remain open to all, not just those with great personal wealth."

Cultivating a Polyculture
History is indeed repeating itself, whether residents want it to or not. Salt Lake is growing and must find ways to accommodate both would-be residents and its current residents as their needs and life circumstances change.

Unfettered from past racial practices such as redlining (Rose Park, like many SLC subdivisions, was originally deed-restricted to white residents only), community leaders say it can find wise solutions to its problems.

Solutions, however, do not have to be made pell-mell. City councils determine where and in what fashion their cities allow for development. Ideally, urban planners will draw from a wide range of disciplines—engineering, architectural, social and political science—to set priorities and weigh the consequences of various choices.

• Courtesy photo
• “The lots tend to be smaller, so the neighborhood feels compact, which encourages foot traffic. Because there’s a mix-use of space, people can easily walk to grocery stores, coffee shops and various other businesses.”- Alessandro Rigolon,U of U associate professor

Alessandro Rigolon, Ph.D., an associate professor and program coordinator in the University of Utah's Department of City and Metropolitan Planning, explained that the array of charming neighborhoods comprising Salt Lake City have one thing in common: they were largely established prior to industrialization and before dependence on the private automobile.

"Neighborhoods built prior to industrialization display a level of craftsmanship that is difficult to find elsewhere, so there's already a great deal of historical character," he said. "The lots tend to be smaller, so the neighborhood feels compact, which encourages foot traffic. Because there's a mix-use of space, people can easily walk to grocery stores, coffee shops and various other businesses."

But zoning restrictions put into place by the Salt Lake City Council years later prohibited this type of pro-pedestrian, mixed-use neighborhood design, Rigolon noted, and also regulated the size of lots. While ostensibly intended to prevent overcrowding, the effect of these regulations—which were replicated in virtually every Utah city—stacked the deck in favor of larger, more expensive housing units catering to car ownership.

"Current zoning laws require large lots of 5,000 square feet" Rigolon said. "Until zoning laws change, or the demand for McMansions drops off, there is no incentive to create smaller lots."

These post-war zoning rules also concentrated multi-family housing into a limited number of areas around the city, and made it difficult to build and sell so-called "missing middle" housing like rowhouses, cottage courts and townhomes.

Beckstead said that many of her clients are reluctant to purchase apartments or other multi-family units that have the appearance of apartments. At the same time, she adds, the housing market offers very little by way of townhomes or duplexes where an owner can build equity, and most detached, single family homes are unattainable.

"Lots of single people don't want big homes but they do want an outdoor space," she said. "There are no homes for them in Utah—they're either out of price range or too large. There are no starter homes for newlyweds or those with one child."

Frequently when a small neighborhood shop closes, it is replaced by something less than charming. This, Rigolon explains, is reflective of the dual responsibilities held by city councils.

• Heidi Steed
• Before it became Rose Park, this area of Salt Lake City was impacted by nearby industrial waste sites and marshland.

"Individually, city council members may prefer the little shop, but they also have a responsibility to the city to provide revenue," he said. "The tax revenue of an apartment building far exceeds what it replaced."

Rigolon said it's easy for observers to deride developers, but their job is like that of any other profession: producing and selling goods that people want to buy. That's why it's important to find and cultivate developers who are civic-minded.

"They are people, not a monolith, and cover the range of human nature," Rigolon observed of homebuilders. "Some drop in long enough to complete a job and then leave. Others are civic actors concerned with improving the community."

By Any Other Name
Keeping these factors in mind, it becomes clear what a rare flower Rose Park is. Mistakes aside (of which there are many), this neighborhood is the result of the confluence of demand, timing, opportunity, funding, sympathetic legislation and imagination as well as developers, architects and planners who cared about their legacy and that of the community. This is a rather long list to replicate, but cities should try.

Additionally, Rose Park embodies most of the qualities that go into desirable neighborhoods: visual beauty, walkability, mixed use, craftsmanship and a sense of community. Extensive damage from windstorms in 2020 took down thousands of trees, but the area has been replanted. The capped sludge pit is now Rosewood Park, an outdoor community site featuring a skate park and soccer fields. Once part of the discriminatory practice of redlining, the Rose Park of today is rich with ethnic and religious diversity.

The Wasatch Front is currently facing some daunting housing problems, but none that haven't been seen before. And as history includes both positive and negative responses to these challenges, it also shows the benefit of prioritizing long-term results over short-term solutions.

As Elizabeth Gordon asked, "Are we taking advantage of this moment? Are the builders, the planners, the real estate men getting together and creating such thoroughly liveable homes?"