But the Philadelphia and Reading Railroad was very real. It was at one time the biggest corporation in the world, owning not only the major mid-Atlantic coal shipping railways but the ports that sent it overseas, and eventually the coal mines themselves. It was so big, in fact, that its monopoly on anthracite mining and distribution forced the Supreme Court to break it up in the 1870s, back when this was the sort of thing the Supreme Court did. The Reading also had a modest passenger line; at one time a traveler could ride the rails between Harrisburg, Shamokin, Jersey City, and Philadelphia. But when the coal industry dried up, so did the Railroad. Highways were built, American car culture exploded, and in 1976 the Reading ceased to exist. CONRAIL now runs much of what remains, although there is no passenger train and significantly less coal and iron to ship. Of course the tracks persist, crisscrossing the city as they make their way up and down the east coast, reminding commuters of what an alternative might have looked like.
Reading is not a particularly large city. Its population, which hovers around 80,000, is spread out over approximately ten square miles that stretch from the Schuylkill River uphill to Mt. Penn. It is difficult to describe the particularity of Reading’s urban depression—even more so to account for it. It was a wealthy iron and garment manufacturing town in the 1800s, continued its economic growth into the 1930s, then entered into a slow, painful process of impoverishment beginning in the 1940s. This has since included the loss of the railroad, of heavy manufacturing, and of middle-class white people. But Reading’s decline was not uniform. It also had a number of “rebirths” that began as promises of renewed glory and ended in the realities of recalcitrant poverty and crime. Reading was once, for example, “famous for its outlet shopping,” a phrase I heard frequently from mothers of friends in other towns. Indeed, Reading built a fairly large industry around closeout, mis-sized, as-is “designer brand” apparel and home goods. Buses would bring in shoppers from all over the east coast as restaurants, hair and nail salons, and coffee shops sprouted to feed and pamper them. But now there are outlet malls all over the country. Designer brands have even created outlet labels so that retail customers can shop without fear of accidentally purchasing the same shirt as some deal-hunting cheapskate, and outlet shoppers can still savor the belief that some idiot paid twice as much for their socks, even though no idiot ever has. The outlets are still in Reading, but they don’t host the same crowded, frantic weekend shopping orgies I remember from my youth. Why travel to a city that is consistently ranked among the top twenty-five most dangerous places in America when you can buy your discount jeans at a clean stucco strip mall in New Jersey? They probably even have a Chipotle.
But the outlet collapse pales in comparison to Reading’s more recent and familiar recession story. In 2007, Reading was hoping to capitalize on its proximity to New York and Philadelphia, as well as on miles of underdeveloped riverfront property. The city even began making it onto lists of “up and coming” places for housing speculators. The local professional class, safely tucked away in suburban neighborhoods, started to dream of urban boutiques and crime-free, tree-lined strolls along the river. Then in 2008 the bubble burst, plans were abandoned, and, by the 2010 census, Reading was declared the poorest city in America. The wealthy consumer class lost a pipe dream, and many of Reading’s working class and poor lost everything.
by Chris Reitz, N+1 | Read more:
Image source: uncredited
