It's the Stupid, Economy

I read stories about our economic woes in every morning's papers. Everything costs more than it did a year ago, it's a bear market, we're in a recession, blah, blah, blah. Besides annoyance every time I fill my tank, I don't really notice many changes in or around me. My friends and I are all living our lives just the same as we have been; no one has been laid off, no one is entering foreclosure, no one is eating cat food. It took a weekend at the shore to really see the economic downturn in action.

On the macro level, boom and bust were evident everywhere in Wildwood. I have no prior knowledge of the island, but the remnants of the recent housing boom were readily observable. It was clear that the Wildwoods were a working-class resort; most of the housing consisted of modest beach cottages. Many of those cottages had been recently renovated; many of them had been torn down and replaced with larger structures: long, narrow, three or four story multi-unit condos. I didn't walk down a single block that didn't feature a plethora of "For Sale" or "For Rent" signs. Had I awakened yesterday morning with a sudden desire to rent a house or a condo and stay for the week, I could have had my choice of rentals. Investment in Wildwood real estate had clearly been rampant for at least several years, and those investments were now clearly lying fallow.

Had I driven down Friday on a whim, I also could have had my choice of motel rooms for the weekend. Driving around Friday night, a "No Vacancy" sign was the aberration, not the norm. The motels that had vacancies weren't those on the bay, or four blocks from the beach, or those that looked sketchy. Even oceanfront motels had vacancies aplenty. From what I can tell Wildwood is not an expensive resort. An efficiency suite that sleeps four at an oceanfront motel, with balcony with ocean view, went for $195 a night in this, the high season. The number of vacancies would seem to indicate that even a weekend at a beach less than a tank of gas away is beyond the reach of many this summer.

This was proven at the micro level. All weekend the day parking lots and the beach were relatively full. Wildwood's beaches are free, so for a nominal parking fee a family can have a day by the ocean. Although the boardwalk had plenty of pedestrians, the shops and arcades were empty. As of 9 PM Friday night, the amusement parks didn't have enough takers for most of the rides, so that the roller coaster, ferris wheel, etc. were standing idle. People lined up for slices of pizza, but we were able to get a table at a seafood restaurant overlooking the bay without a reservation and only a half hour wait. This summer, a day at the shore wouldn't seem to include any extras.

For Sunday happy hour we drove to a motel that had a swim-up tiki bar. A DJ was set up in a corner for karoke, but no one was singing; the bar had fewer than a dozen patrons on this sunny weekend day. You know things are bad when no one's drinking at the Jersey shore.

The good news was a painless weekend away, when we could get tables without reservations and get a seat at any bar we desired. The bad news is the way business, even in this resort area, is suffering, the wait staff who aren't making the tips they need, the business owners who perhaps aren't covering expenses, the homeowners who can't rent or sell. And the bad news is that it's summer. In August, no one is paying to heat their home. What will it be like in January, even for me, when my heating bill is almost as much each month as my mortgage?

I guess it's a good thing I feed my cat nutritional high-protein food. Maybe we'll be sharing it come January.

Sermon on the Mount

Before she wrote a word of fiction, Edith Wharton was an interior design enthusiast. She wasn't an interior decorator because she needed no profession, having been born into the original Jones family, the ones we've spent 150 years trying to keep up with. Her first published work was The Decoration of Houses, an interior design manifesto. She put her words into action in the design and decoration of the Mount, her country "cottage" in Lenox, MA.

Wharton spent happy years at the Mount; it's where she wrote some of her best-known works, where she spent days hanging out with her buddy Henry James, where she and her husband-of-convenience, Teddy, amicably worked out the details of their divorce by letters sent across the hall, from one bedroom to the next. Wharton lost the Mount in the divorce and went into exile in France, and thus began a decline in fortunes for the home that ironically mirrors the downward spiral of Lilly Bart. The Mount was in private hands, then became a boarding school for girls, and then for years housed a theater company. Finally, in the early 1990s, restoration of the Mount began; it's recently been open to the public as an incompletely restored museum.

Sadly, the Mount is about to go into foreclosure. In fact, if $3 million isn't raised by the end of business today, the bank will take it. You can read the saga of the Mount's financial troubles in this week's New Yorker (I can't link to it because it won't go online until next week). The purchase of Wharton's library from a British book dealer led to some of the financial difficulties, but the truth of the matter is that the museum has been operating at a deficit for years.

Most house museums operate at a deficit, as it turns out. There's been a trend in recent years of these small museums being turned back to private hands; trustees try to turn these historic treasures over to the state, but the state wants no part of an expensive losing proposition. Geeks like me, who will drive out of the way to tour an historic property, are an endangered species; geeks like me who care about the preservation of our architectural history to the point where we become philanthropic about it are even more endangered.

What do we lose when historic properties revert to private hands, to become country clubs or condos? Watch this slide show to understand the Mount's importance. A property doesn't need to have been designed or inhabited by a person of distinction to be significant, though. To our contemporaries, our homes say something about who we are, how we see ourselves. More importantly, future generations can learn valuable lessons about the way we live now by studying our homes. I learned more about the culture of slavery by touring restored plantations that I ever did by reading a book. In a couple hundred years someone will learn more about contemporary suburban life by touring a restored McMansion (assuming one stands that long) than by reading a history of the exurbs.

What's the solution? I don't know. Start by becoming a geek. Support house museums by visiting them. Support historic preservation efforts. Some things just aren't meant to become condos.

UPDATE! The bank has extended Wharton Restoration's outstanding loan due date until May 24. So far, $800K has been raised. In the meantime, the Mount remains open for tours until May 9.