Collective memory, collective imagination, place-making, and the discursive (RE) construction of the gateway district

This dissertation examines major newspaper coverage of Salt Lake City's Gateway district redevelopment project between the years of 1996 and 2001. Via the application of grounded theory methodology, the discursive constructions of the district redevelopment were analyzed through the lens of Michael Ian Borer's conceptualization of collective memory-collective imagination. In doing so, this dissertation project demonstrates evidence of Salt Lake City's ‘Olympic imperative,' which involved discursive processes of forgetting, reconstructing public memory, and collective imagining that articulated representations of a revitalized Gateway as an area of ‘loft-living' within a ‘nation-class' city. These discursive processes also functioned via renegotiations of district spatialities, which revealed collective anxieties related both to the district and the redevelopment efforts aimed renew it. I argue that attention must be paid to temporal discourses of both the past and future in order to fully understand how they operate on the present in order to generate spatial, cultural, and social rhetorics related to urban redevelopment plans and collective memory.

COLLECTIVE MEMORY, COLLECTIVE IMAGINATION, PLACE-MAKING, AND THE DISCURSIVE (RE)CONSTRUCTION OF THE GATEWAY DISTRICT by Cecile Genevieve Paskett A dissertation submitted to the faculty of The University of Utah in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy Department of Communication The University of Utah August 2018 Copyright © Cecile Genevieve Paskett 2018 All Rights Reserved The University of Utah Graduate School STATEMENT OF DISSERTATION APPROVAL The dissertation of Cecile Genevieve Paskett has been approved by the following supervisory committee members: Leonard C. Hawes , Chair May 1, 2018 Date Approved Suhi Choi , Member May 1, 2018 Date Approved Glen Feighery , Member May 1, 2018 Date Approved Barbara B. Brown , Member May 1, 2018 Date Approved Jessen Kelly , Member May 1, 2018 Date Approved and by Danielle Endres the Department of and by David B. Kieda, Dean of The Graduate School. , Chair of Communication ABSTRACT This dissertation examines major newspaper coverage of Salt Lake City’s Gateway district redevelopment project between the years of 1996 and 2001. Via the application of grounded theory methodology, the discursive constructions of the district redevelopment were analyzed through the lens of Michael Ian Borer’s conceptualization of collective memory-collective imagination. In doing so, this dissertation project demonstrates evidence of Salt Lake City’s ‘Olympic imperative,’ which involved discursive processes of forgetting, reconstructing public memory, and collective imagining that articulated representations of a revitalized Gateway as an area of ‘loft-living’ within a ‘nation-class’ city. These discursive processes also functioned via renegotiations of district spatialities, which revealed collective anxieties related both to the district and the redevelopment efforts aimed renew it. I argue that attention must be paid to temporal discourses of both the past and future in order to fully understand how they operate on the present in order to generate spatial, cultural, and social rhetorics related to urban redevelopment plans and collective memory. TABLE OF CONTENTS ABSTRACT………………………………………………………………………………………………….………. iii LIST OF FIGURES……………………………………………………………………………………….………. vi ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS……………………………………………………………………………….……. vii PREFACE…………………………………………………………………………………………………………… viii Chapters 1. INTRODUCTION………………………………………………………………………………………… 1 Introduction…………………………………………………………………………………………….. 1 Spatiality, Urban Areas, and Cultural Research……………………………………………. 3 People Building Places, Places Building People……………………………………………. 7 Salt Lake City’s Gateway District………………………………………………………………… 12 Project Design and Methodology………………………………………………………………… 14 Chapter Descriptions……………………………………………………………………………..…. 28 2. BEGINNINGS AND ENDINGS: THE CURRENT STATE OF THE GATEWAY…. 32 Introduction………………………………………………………………………………………….…. Current State of the Central Business and Gateway Districts……………………..…. A Detour to City Creek…………………………………………………………………………….… Conclusion………………………………………………………………………………………………. 3. THE OLYMPIC IMPERATIVE AND THE NATIONAL CITY…………………………… 64 Introduction……………………………………………………………………………………………. The Olympics as a Mega-Event…………………………………………………………………. Redevelopment in Olympic Host Cities……………………………………………………… Salt Lake City: National, not International……………………………………….………… Conclusion……………………………………………………………………………………………… 4. 32 34 41 60 64 68 73 79 89 COLLECTIVE MEMORIES…………………………………………………………………………. 92 Introduction……………………………………………………………………………………………. 92 Defining and Mapping the Gateway…………………………………………………………… 96 Ahistoricity and the Gateway…………………………………………………………………….. 104 The Gateway as Empty Space……………………………………………………………………. 116 Conclusion………………………………………………………………………………………………. 122 5. COLLECTIVE ANXIETIES………………………………………………………………………….. 125 Introduction……………………………………………………………………………………………. 125 District Revitalization: People Out of Place………………………………………………… 128 Redeveloping the District: Conflicting Spatialities………………………………………. 136 Conclusion…………………………………………………………………………………………….… 146 6. COLLECTIVE IMAGINATION…………………………………………………………………….. 148 Introduction……………………………………………………………………………………………. 148 Open Materialities and Aesthetics of the Gateway………………………………………. 153 Diverse Imaginings of the Gateway……………………………………………………………. 164 Gentrification of the Gateway…………………………………………………………………… 167 Loft Living in Salt Lake City……………………………………………………………………… 172 From Gateway to Gateway (Mall)……………………………………………………………… 179 Conclusion……………………………………………………………………………………………… 184 7. CONCLUSION(S)…………………………………………………………………………………….… 186 Introduction……………………………………………………………………………………………. 186 Implication: Salt Lake City as it Could Be………………………………………………….. 189 Implication: Olympics Cities, World-Class Cities, Nation-Class Cities, and the Lesson of Salt Lake City………………………………………………………………………..…. 193 Implication: Grounded Theory, Collective Memory, and Collective Imagination ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………… 197 Limitations of the Project……………………………………………………………………..…. 199 Opportunities for Further Research…………………………………………………….…… 203 Conclusion………………………………………………………………………………………….…. 204 APPENDIX…………………………………………………………………………………………………….… 211 WORKS CITED AND STUDY SET BIBLIOGRAPHY…………………………………….…….… 212 v LIST OF FIGURES Figure Page 1. Retail Map…………………………………………………………………………………………………… 46 2. Completed City Creek Center Map…………………………………………………………………. 47 3. Aerial View of City Creek Center (video still)…………………………………………………. 53 4. Nordstrom’s Facade (video still) …………………………………………………………………… 53 5. Downtown Dining (video still) ……………………………………………………………………… 59 6. Historic Building Landmarks……………………………………………………………………..… 99 7. Homeless Service Provider Landmarks………………………………………………………… 100 8. Private Development Landmarks………………………………………………………………… 101 9. Nonbusiness, Nonwarehouse Gateway Landmarks………………………………….… 10. All Gateway Landmarks……………………………………………………………………………… 103 11. All Downtown Landmarks…………………………………………………………………………… 139 102 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This dissertation would not have been possible without a greater framework of support, both academic and personal. I want to acknowledge some of the people who have been part of the process of bringing this project to fruition. First, I would like to thank my dissertation chair, Dr. Leonard C. Hawes, for his unwavering support of my work, astute feedback, and incredible dedication to his vocation as an intellectual mentor and interlocutor. I feel privileged to have had Len’s presence in my academic career, not just as an instructor, but also as an advisor. I would like to thank Dr. Glen Feighery for his mentorship, advice, and upbeat guidance, as well as for demonstrating what excellent higher education instruction looks like at every level. Every conversation with him has been undeniably motivating. Dr. Suhi Choi has pushed my work (and me), both at the master’s and doctoral level, in the best way possible, driving me towards a level of rigorousness that may, at times, have felt intense, but is absolutely necessary for scholarly research. Dr. Barbara B. Brown and Dr. Jessen Kelly, by sharing their perspectives, intellect, and enthusiasm, have enabled me to access different viewpoints necessary for engagement in my work, sharing with me valuable and unique insights. I would additionally like to acknowledge those faculty members who have contributed indirectly to this project via their insight, feedback, honesty, and/or resources over the years, including Dr. Danielle Endres, Dr. Phil Emmi, Dr. Kevin DeLuca, and the incomparable Dr. Mary S. Strine. Finally, I would like to thank my husband, Ray Childs, for being the best person I know (and for helping me execute the plan). PREFACE In the spirit of critical-cultural research that includes a reflexive disclaimer at the outset of the analysis, I would like to share with readers that I am a White, female, cultural-middle-class doctoral candidate who has had the privilege of completing preand postgraduate education at excellent research institutions, where I have had the opportunity to consider and evaluate cultural topics through a variety of lenses and from many angles. Moving beyond this type of disclaimer, which can at times read as compulsory and rote, I would like to share a few observations in order to familiarize readers with my personal background, so that they might be able to better contextualize my observations within this dissertation, especially where they appear in an authorial voice that claims a certain familiarity with Salt Lake City culture and its Gateway district. Unlike many doctoral students who relocate to institutions in unfamiliar cities to begin their graduate research, I did not arrive at the University of Utah as an outsider from afar. In fact, not only had I previously completed my master’s-level work at the U, I had lifelong connections to the state, had lived in it continuously since the completion of my undergraduate degree, and, at various times, have oscillated in describing Salt Lake City as my hometown (or not). I was born in Salt Lake City less than a mile from where I currently live and spent my early childhood in the greater metropolitan area. Utah is a state with which I have always had familial ties, helping me remain connected to it, even though my immediate family would eventually leave the area for Denver during my elementary school years, would later spend the span of my adolescence growing up as part of the U.S. Embassy mission community in Quito, Ecuador, and I would eventually go on complete my undergraduate studies at McGill University in Montreal, Canada. Because of these familial connections, which found their nexus in my grandparents’ suburban Salt Lake Valley home (a home in which they had lived since the late 1970s), Salt Lake City constituted the infrequent, but regular, location of my experiences. Utah was the home of my Christmases, Thanksgivings, Easters, and even, at times, my summer vacations. After completing my bachelor’s degree in 2004, I moved to Salt Lake City and immediately began constructing schemes to leave it, and like so many other 20somethings in the area, I set my sights on more exciting places in the western United States, such as San Francisco and Seattle. Yet, there was something about Salt Lake City that kept me tethered to it, and (similar to a healthy percentage of those earnest, travelhappy 20-somethings), I never left. There are qualities about residing in Salt Lake that you can’t always get in other places. I realized at some point that living here was easy: It was inexpensive, traffic was never heavy, expansive nature was just outside the back door, and (as so many visitors have commented) the downtown area was cute and so very clean. I could afford downtown-adjacent real estate in my early 20s and never once worried about crime when I went outside. The city, though not as stimulating as other, larger urban areas, was nevertheless eminently accessible. In this sense, it was in 2004 that I both moved and returned to Salt Lake City. It was the place of my birth, yet it also felt very far away when I lived internationally. I had fond memories of Utah, but these were the memories of my childhood and holidays. I settled in Salt Lake City, whose streets and landmarks were quite familiar to me, in order to navigate the uncharted territory of early adulthood. I moved to Salt Lake and it became apparent quite early that I had something of a hybrid identity, the ‘not-quite native,’ the ‘mostly local,’ the ‘from-Salt Lake resident (with an asterisk).’ This is of relevance to readers because they should understand that the course of planning, conducting, and writing this research project came from a researcher who ix approached the cultural questions of Salt Lake City’s Gateway district from a hybrid, insider-outsider perspective. This perspective was not merely grounded in the varied landscapes of my biography. My familial ties to the area are not just personal, they are also cultural, but, again, there are aspects of hybridity about them. If you took a journey back through the genealogy of the my family, you would see that they arrived as part of the early waves of Mormon emigration to Utah and you would learn that they settled primarily in the regions spanning between southern Idaho and northern Utah. My grandparents, Idahoans who traveled extensively due to my grandfather’s work in the United States Air Force, eventually settled in the Salt Lake area upon his military retirement, not just because his last post was at the Air Force base in nearby Clearfield, but because it was the ideal place for a highly devout LDS family to live, raise their children, and eventually retire. Additionally, the story of my immediate family begins, as many do here, with my father meeting my mother while on his LDS mission as a young man. As such, the details of my personal experiences include those flourishes you might only recognize if you are from, or close to, the Utah-Mormon culture that dominates here. These include the little things, like (green) jello salads, sherbet punch, and funeral potatoes; the Mormon milieu of cultural expression, such as subscriptions to Ensign magazine and paintings by Harry Anderson; and the ideals that might drive the workings of the nuclear family — a stay-at-home mother living with a hardworking father, raising children towards obedience and virtue. But these cultural ties become complicated when you consider their details. The mission during which my father met my mother was located in France; thus, my French mother brought her own values and practices into the family, and many other aspects of our lives failed to coincide with the typical Utah-Mormon experience. She never gave up coffee and continued to cook with wine. Our family attended church not as members of a dominant religious culture, but of a minority one in Denver. In fact, as is not uncommon x among returned missionaries, my family practiced half-hearted, Jack-Mormon motions of religiosity until, one by one, we stopped attending church entirely. When we moved to Ecuador, we did so as a secular family, and the details of our Utah background were, at times, the slightly embarrassing remnants of a certain provincialism, which we sought to replace with our new, cosmopolitan experiences. This is of relevance to readers because this dissertation was constructed among a number of tensions and required that I, as the researcher, tack back and forth between cultural ignorance and understanding. You may find it interesting that this dissertation will argue against the presence of religious discourses in the study texts while also writing in some detail about the influence of Mormon culture and settlement in the city. As a nonreligious, nonspiritual person whose research does not typically focus on religious topics, I in no way sought out to write a dissertation about religion. Yet, it is impossible to discuss Salt Lake City outside of its Mormon background. The cultural story of the city, which is so often of interest to researchers, is one that undeniably requires attention to the LDS context. As this insider-outsider Utahn, though, I know that this cultural context is more complicated and varied than it may appear from the outside. From direct experience, I understand the dangers of a reductive perspective of Salt Lake City as the playground of a simplified and stereotyped religion. Such perspectives fail to take into account the interactions between Salt Lake Mormons and ‘gentiles,’ the multiplicity of alternative, subcultural groups in the area (subversive groups that include, yes, even devout LDS hipsters), the experience of being judged by outsiders in terms of a religious membership that one does (or doesn’t, though it may be assumed otherwise) possess, the participation of non-White, non-Mormon, non-English speaking residents in urban life, and the recognition that not all Salt Lake cultural practices grounded in historic Mormon contexts are, in fact, examples of religious expression. I know what it meant, before the liquor laws changed in 2008, to order a drink with a sidecar, I can hear the distinct Utah- xi bishop cadence in Utah State legislature speeches, and I get the joke behind Saturday’s Voyeur. I not only know the multiple explanations behind why members of the LDS faith do not wear the Christian cross, I also remember feeling distinctly uncomfortable trying to explain it to a young friend who gifted me one in elementary school. Are there readers of this dissertation who are familiar with the thickets of large spiders at the Great Salt Lake marina, can tell you where ‘gravity hill’ is, can remember reading the Deseret Morning News (not to be confused with the Deseret News), can sing something about popcorn and apricot trees, have visited Salt Lake City’s ‘Mary Tree,’ and can relive the feeling of astonished disbelief engendered by the downtown tornado in 1999? Some could. I can. However, it has to be remembered that my insider-outsider perspective also involved the experience of being on the outside. While I find many aspects of Utah and Salt Lake City culture to be easily navigable, there are significant gaps in my knowledge, and to this day, I am still surprised by the things I learn and the doubts I carry about my own interpretations. I may be able to tell you what a sidecar is, but I did not understand how to navigate the ‘private club’ drinking scene when I first arrived in the city. I know of, but have neither participated in nor seen traveling ward road shows. I’m still surprised that U-turns are both plentiful and legal on nearly all city streets, and I haven’t a clue why laws haven’t been enacted otherwise. I have a decent understanding of why so many local men wear ill-fitting, boxy suits, as I am familiar with where they shop, but I have yet to determine whether their overwhelming preference for white dress shirts is primarily grounded in doctrinal teachings or social mores. I approach Salt Lake City via the lens of the insider-outsider, but more importantly, must also approach it as a researcher, with critical questions and an inquisitive mind. The influence of insider versus outsider status in qualitative research has been discussed by myriad researchers (Couture, et al., 2012; Dwyer & Buckle, 2009; Gair, 2012; Mullings, 1999). It is of particular relevance to studies involving participant xii observation and it can be argued that there are both benefits and downsides to each status: While the researcher-as-insider affords more open access to research participants, it also creates the potential for role confusion and the premature closing of analytic interpretation (Dwyer & Buckle, 2009; Couture, et al., 2012); while the researcher-as-outsider may have difficulties in accessing or communicating with participants, he or she might also approach the analysis with a more open mind, or might be able to elicit further information from participants who feel compelled to explain their thoughts in greater detail to the researcher who is not in-the-know (Couture, et al., 2012; Dwyer & Buckle, 2009). I would, however, like to jump aboard an argumentative line established by other scholars that argues against a strict ‘insider versus outsider’ construct and proposes a more liminal, hybrid, or dialectical conceptualization of all qualitative researchers as insiders-outsiders. Dwyer and Buckle propose that scholars consider instead the “space between,” the epistemological location represented by the insider-outsider hyphen (Dwyer & Buckle, 2009). Their construct acknowledges that it is important to recognize the personhood of the researcher in the context of their participants and in the identification of the researcher as in- or outside the group, but it also recognizes that these positions constitute a false dichotomy, requiring instead a dialectical approach to qualitative work that holds “an appreciation for the fluidity and multilayered complexity of human experience” (Dwyer & Buckle, 2009, p. 60). Further, they remind researchers of the difficulty in identifying total ‘sameness’ or ‘difference’ with participant groups, given their members embody heterogeneity and diversity in their individual experiences. This line of thinking is picked up by Couture, Zaidi, and Maticka-Tyndale in their description of research identity as an intersectional identity, in which researchers flow between insider/outsider statuses throughout research due to the ongoing interactions of their experiences, education, values, and expectations with those of participants (Couture, et al., 2012). It seems evident that the assertion of a research identity as either xiii inside or outside the sphere of study constitutes a binary opposition that erases the complexity of qualitative research processes. To complicate things, I would, however, like to draw readers’ attention to the identities of the scholars just referenced, most importantly their disciplines and area of research. They include psychology, sociology, and social work. They are also concerned predominantly with questions that impact ethnography, participant observation, interviewing, and other similar forms of qualitative fieldwork. Where, exactly, does that leave media researchers who focus primarily on mediated ‘texts,’ those visual, textual, material, and performative artifacts that are the focus of much communication research? How many of us have considered our insideroutsider identities in the course of interpreting and understanding the textual content we interact with, but with which we do not seem to have an ongoing social encounters? Leaving the relationships between subjects and objects aside (as this is a line of thinking picked up later in the dissertation), reflexivity is still in the process of establishing itself in contemporary communication research. Autoethnography is one option available to researchers, but Anderson, Ruby, and Denzin all point to its weaknesses, and the ways in which it attempts to generate knowledge without interaction (Anderson, 2011; Denzin & Lincoln, 2008; Ruby, 2000). To generalize, the problem is that if we accept knowledge is social, we must accept it cannot be generated alone. As such, it is impossible to use the self in research in a fashion that does not actually reflect upon the self as researcher, the self as participant, and the self as the presenter of knowledge. This may even be true in the context of media analysis, despite its tendency to enable researchers to engage with texts while solitary, alone. I also think that autoethnography, and similar approaches to reflexivity in communication research, can struggle because of the researcher's inability (or unwillingness) to fully complicate the self-as-researcher and self-as-person. However, is xiv it reasonable to expect that we, in this field, can produce quality reflexive research without additional training? Again, I draw readers’ attention to the researchers cited above, many of whom are, or study, members of the ‘helping’ disciplines and have been educated in self-reflection techniques in the course of their training as social workers or clinicians. This is training left out of the typical communication and media studies graduate program. What often results is the insertion into academic articles the very thing that started this preface: the ‘introductory reflexive paragraph.’ There may be a willingness on the part of researchers to engage in reflexivity, but their attempts are thwarted by a number of factors. Ruby observed that the biggest paradox of anthropology was that the more open it became in its research practices, in an effort to become more scientific, the more likely it was to appear unscientific to others (Ruby, 2000). In this sense, perceptions of qualitative research as lesser-than, unscientific, and arbitrary can create researcher insecurity and limit their willingness to engage in transparent self-reflexive efforts, resulting in the employment of metalanguage that guides readers’ attention along desired routes. This may limit, not expand, the number of interpretations that readers can make. It is an attempt that actually moves the researcher out of the research process while appearing to step into it. It is an academic sleight-of-hand. Additionally, institutional and disciplinary expectations shape research results that are publicly presented. What will be visible to readers, via the references section at the end, are the supporting texts and news articles that were involved in the research and writing of this dissertation project. What may not be visible are those ‘fact-checking’ sources to which I frequently turned throughout the project. Remember, as stated earlier, my insider-outsider identity left me with doubts, compelling me to rely not just on my memory, but on the archival memory of the city, in order to contextualize the analysis. For example, the Utah Ice and Cold Storage warehouse is referenced several times in the upcoming chapters. Readers are told that it was once located at 551 West xv 300 South and is now the site of a razed, empty gravel field in front of the Salt Lake City Intermodal Hub. It is a gravel field I can envision in my mind’s eye, as I have stood before it many times while waiting for public transportation. However, it is also a location I verified by finding corroborating information in old news articles, Salt Lake County Assessor’s documents, and a local railway enthusiast website named UtahRails.net. Cities change and their details can be misremembered; I wanted to stay oriented while navigating the research. Further, in describing the details of the warehouse, as presented in a master planning document image, and in analyzing the visual-rhetorical components of this image, readers may not be aware that I focused primarily on the photograph in the planning document, but also involved old personal photos that happened to be stored in a box in my kitchen. I evaluated the image in its publication context, considered the relationships between surrounding visual and textual content, and considered the discursive impact of the image as it was presented to readers in the publication at the time it was released. But I was also able to verify the architectural details of the structure, as well as compare how the warehouse fared at different times before its demolishment, thanks to my possession of evidence that is not available in other researchers’ kitchens. Concomitantly, I am aware that these photos are singular, discrete representations of the building and, as such, cannot encompass and reproduce its expansive social, material, and architectural history. The academic research visible to readers in this project was often supported by ancillary activities to help keep track of details, verify historic addresses, refresh my memory, and confirm assertions raised in the article study set. Readers may or may not wonder about the source of these details, for they may or may not consider them integral to the analysis, but they should know that these details were supported by processes of viewing historic photographs in the Marriott Library digital collections, reading through National Historic Registry documents, perusing archived news articles, and cross- xvi checking against publications put out by government organizations, such as the Utah Department of Heritage and Arts. They were also supported (or complicated) by previous conversations with locals about the Salt Lake Olympic experience and my own movement through Salt Lake City streets over the years. Time was further spent considering my own assumptions, where my analytical weaknesses may have lain, and the various ways I could approach the discursive patterns that emerged from the study set. Some may find evidence of these endeavors in my authorial voice, while others may find reflexivity curiously absent from the dissertation text. The irony of this preface is that it must acknowledge that the writing of the dissertation was itself guided and constrained by disciplinary expectations and institutional realities — though more could be said, the document had to come to a certain point of completion, thanks to thesis, committee, and graduation deadlines. I suspect most readers of this text are familiar with these realities. This preface was written after the completion of the dissertation and reflects, in part, the conversation that emerged during its defense. It has provided means for me to open the research without a significant rewrite of the text (you may call it my own sleight-of-hand). Upon completing the project’s conclusion, readers may also see the preface as a forward-thinking component of a larger research endeavor. I have confidence in the analysis you are about to read but am also aware that I have more research into Salt Lake City redevelopment ahead of me, which will inevitably deepen, contextualize, and create new questions about city revitalization efforts both in the Gateway district and the downtown core. It may be unusual to wrap up a project such as this and then state within its pages that it should be extended, but, to me, it seems inevitable. I’m reminded of a faculty member who, upon hearing where I was in the research process, turned to me and stated (rather conspiratorially) that the key to finishing your dissertation is in realizing that it will not be completely done. xvii CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION Introduction On March 22, 2012, thousands of people gathered in downtown Salt Lake City to celebrate the opening of the long-anticipated City Creek Center redevelopment project, which had been 7 years in the making. Governor Gary Herbert; president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS), Thomas S. Monson; members of the LDS Church First Presidency; and Mayor Ralph Becker were on hand for the ceremony, standing beneath an oversized hot-pink bow to herald the opening of the project. After first counselor of the first presidency, Henry B. Eyring, praised the project, noting how it had helped save Salt Lake City and its “boarded-up” Main Street, came the climax of the festivities, with the ribbon cut dramatically while all on stage shouted, “One, two, three, let’s go shopping!” What was surreal was not just the sight of the Mormon prophet, seer, and revelator helping kick off the opening of a shopping mall, nor was it the sound of the pop band on the second floor promenade immediately launching into a song about the joys of shopping, but it was also the realization that this was downtown Salt Lake’s second largescale redevelopment project. What was lost in the self-congratulatory tone of the ceremony was the acknowledgement that the center was, in fact, not the first mixed-use redevelopment project promoted as means to help save the city core. That title instead goes to the Gateway mall, whose initial phase opened in 2001 and was the first large "2 project executed as part of the Gateway district redevelopment plan. It’s notable that the LDS Church, owner and primary developer of City Creek Center, effectively began work in 2003 (after purchasing the Crossroads Center Mall and initiating plans for the project), a mere 2 years after the opening of the Gateway mall, phase one. Located in the historic Gateway district, the mall was the first fruit of several years of political and business wrangling in an attempt to create a project that would reverse the district’s blight and disuse while also increasing downtown’s residential and visitor population. Effectively, while City Creek Center aimed to save the downtown core, it did so shortly after the opening of a project with the same aims. This turn of events leads to a number of questions regarding the nature of revitalization within downtown Salt Lake City. Like other cities in the country, Salt Lake was a city grappling with the consequences of suburban sprawl. While it served as the financial, governmental, and business center of the state, the majority of Salt Lake County residents lived in its surrounding suburbs – though the metropolitan area had a population totaling roughly 1.029 million, only around 186,000 of those residents lived in the downtown core (“American FactFinder”; “Quick Facts”), making the downtown area more the purview of commuting workers than urban residents. Relatedly, the city suffered many of the ills encouraged by a commuting culture, such as traffic and air pollution, and the retail, nightlife, and entertainment sectors of the downtown area suffered. While it would not be accurate to describe the city center as blighted, it was nevertheless marked by abandoned storefronts, most notably along Main Street, and a remarkable lack of visitors after working hours in many downtown areas. In order to understand the means by which redevelopment projects have aimed to shape the downtown landscape of Salt Lake City, it is important to dive into the spatial and social constructions of redevelopment in the downtown area. In order to address this question, this dissertation turns to the history of the Gateway redevelopment project, the first large-scale effort to revitalize Salt Lake City, in order to evaluate the ways in which "3 the redevelopment plan was discursively constructed in the major newspaper coverage during the period between 1996 and 2001. Applying a grounded theory approach via a critical-cultural framework, the project analyzes both the visual and textual rhetoric present in both The Salt Lake Tribune and Deseret News articles of the time, in order to develop a thick understanding of the relationships between the socio-spatial construction of the redevelopment project and the surrounding cultural landscape of Salt Lake City. In doing so, this project aims to craft not just an understanding of the discursive construction of redevelopment in the local Salt Lake City context, but also to consider how this case can contribute knowledge on the processes of place-making that are applied to reconstruction efforts undertaken in inner-city areas. While Salt Lake City’s urban environment has been studied previously, there has not been, to my knowledge, any research that has engaged in a critical, cultural, or communication analysis of either the City Creek or Gateway redevelopment projects. Thus, this dissertation articulates the means by which the Gateway redevelopment was discursively constructed via processes of collective memory and collective imagination, in conjunction with Salt Lake City’s ‘Olympic imperative,’ in order to redefine the city as ‘nation-class’ and increase its cultural standing at the national level. In doing so, the news coverage simultaneously reveals contemporary anxieties regarding Salt Lake’s spatial arrangements, public perception, people who are ‘out of place,’ and the possibilities of both social and cultural invasion. In this context, it can be seen that place-making efforts within Salt Lake’s inner urban context were involved not just in identity-building, but in a renegotiation of the cityscape. Spatiality, Urban Areas, and Cultural Research Space and spatiality have become one of the great preoccupations of contemporary research, as concepts that have been employed across a variety of "4 disciplines to different effects. This may very well be a result of the fact that, as a concept, spatiality was formed as a direct result of the Enlightenment, industrialization, and urbanization. As such, it is a thoroughly modernist construct employed to meet the needs of modernist academic work. Nevertheless, it has persisted into the postmodern age, and it remains as an object of postmodern inquiry. Contemporary spaces were established as result of two key turns in Western history: The first was increasing urbanization and subsequent concentration of populations, and the second was the replacement of ancestral/relational social hierarchies with class organization. With a large number of individuals moving into newly formed urban societies (which replaced traditional territories ruled by monarchic and oligarchic groups), it was necessary to impose a social order to ensure stability and governability through the regulation of public and private behaviors, to control access to places and spaces, and to establish a field of intelligibility that would allow urban residents to navigate through large and ever-changing populations constituted primarily of strangers, who can be considered (along the lines of the flaneur) as the key figure of modernity (Lofland, 1973). Space became the prominent mode of organization thanks to its visual quality (as Lyn Lofland notes, in modern cities it is important to see and understand where one is, as “a man is where he stands”), its clear control and stability (which was put in place by newly established regulatory forces), and the way in which spatial or visual cues prompted symbolic management within new urban areas (Goffman, 1959; Lofland, 1973). When it comes to the emergence of class-based societies, it can be said that (a) space became a predominant model for understanding the world as class replaced, or subsumed, prior kinship- and ancestral-based modes of social positioning, thus deemphasizing the role that time plays in individual/familial identities, and (b) the Marxist description of production effectively described a system in which materials and materiels are called in conjunction with physical bodies and physical labor to engage in "5 productive practices that swing back and forth between temporal and spatial realms. This swinging, as it were, creates the particular structure of that productive practice, and when one considers that Taylorism and Fordism effectively worked to remove time as a constraint of industrial labor, one can see that the structure of capitalist production became firmly rooted within the spatial realm at the expense of the temporal (Lefebvre, 1983). In this context, the importance of kinship and temporality were replaced by the rise of spatiality and capital accumulation, which is reflected by the layouts of, and norms within, modernist cities. Spatiality, in turn, grew as a research focus and new spatial frameworks provided means for understanding modernist social- and classproduction. However, spatiality has remained as a useful construct for intellectual inquiry into postmodernity. Spatiality as a concept for understanding the world plays an important role not just in geographic and cultural studies research, but also in communication research. This importance reflects aspects of contemporary culture, a culture influenced by dialectical tensions of dematerialization and materiality, mass production and personalization, reality and hyperreality, and authenticity and artificiality. It is apparent that these tensions reveal themselves in contemporary planning and renewal discourses: While discourses of new media often utilize language constructing virtual phenomena as dematerialized spaces, urban planning and redevelopment efforts employ place-making as means to grant concrete identities to new (often generic) spaces. What is emergent, then, are tensions between the urge to grant tangible, specific identities to generic spaces at the same time as the material cultures of communication are described as abstract spaces. These forces affect research in communication and in the humanities, influencing research on cultural and spatial experiences. These issues are especially salient in the postmodern era. One of the key characteristics of postmodern cultures is fragmentation of identities, geographies, and "6 histories, among others, as well fluid and changing spaces. As a reaction to the grand narratives and hierarchical histories of modernist societies, postmodernism moves against commonly held notions of hierarchy, history, and authority, and enables the creation of cultural products marked by ahistoricity, experimentation with meanings and identities, and the fragmentation of texts and authorial perspectives. Such tenets of postmodernism can be found in all fields—art, literature, communication, history, and even physics—and have been much analyzed in architecture and urban planning efforts. Resulting from these phenomena, many city locations, architecture, marketing, and displays engage in the re-suturing of fragmented commercial landscapes, an effort that attempts to construct a cohesive public identity to be used (and consumed) by individuals who participate in that space. Greg Dickinson has already persuasively argued this point in his research on the rhetorical nature of commercial and retail spaces (Aiello & Dickinson, 2014; Dickinson, 1997, 2002; Stewart & Dickinson, 2008). Research in cultural geography has pointed to the ideological nature of the landscape, which obfuscates the labor of those who build and sustain it, as well as the power relationships that drive its development and use (Harvey, 1973; Massey, 1984, n.d.). The surveillance of public spaces has also functioned as means to control their fragmented use, employing the eye of the camera (and attendant security personnel) to restrict use of space to sets of prescribed practices by ‘approved’ people, guarding space from those who might choose to interact with it according to their own idiosyncratic, creative, or subsistence needs (Coleman, 2005; Fyfe & Bannister, 1996, 1998; Hier, 2007; Hubbard, 2002). What results in a commercial redevelopment project is a mode of discursive articulation that seeks to affix dominant meanings to an ensemble of signifying practices that are under constant negotiation. This articulation leads to a creative impulse that concomitantly constructs an identity (or identities) for the redevelopment project as it constructs identities for the users or visitors of that project. It is not uncommon to see one, or all, of these impulses expressed in urban "7 renewal schemes, which aim to reconstruct city environments according to specific normative or aesthetic goals. Often couched in terms of promoting city excitement or an urban ‘experience,' such projects aim to rebuild underutilized or rundown locales in order to cultivate a sense of urban ‘vibrancy’ or ‘uniqueness,’ a trend that reflects increasingly common expectations that cities and neighborhoods should meet their visitors’ affective and entertainment needs (Ruppert, 2005; Thrift, 2004). This sense of vibrancy, however, is tied to ideological constructs surrounding entertainment, economics, and appropriate uses of public space, and is generally the result of intense economic and political efforts by powerful corporate or institutional groups (Coleman, 2005; Flyvbjerg, 1996; Thrift, 2004). In recent years, many discursive strategies have employed popular notions of authenticity and organicity to further ideological aims, reflected in the nature of identities granted to built spaces. These strategies of place-making are not merely textual, limited to processes of naming and framing built environments (though those things are certainly influential). They also employ built places and materialities in a fashion to craft tangible identities to new construction. These materialities are significant because they constitute not just the means for crafting the visual or structural frameworks of redevelopment projects, but they also operate in close relationship with, and on, the people who engage with (and in) renewed areas. People Building Places, Places Building People The urban environment constitutes half of a dialectical relationship with culture, in which the former both shapes, and is shaped by, the latter. The relationships between built places and the people within them are complex, due to the nature in which these places are constructed to suit practical, logistical, aspirational, and hegemonic needs, while people are themselves influenced by the places they’ve built. One aspect of this process are strategies of place-making. As a human behavior, "8 place-making is a casual, vernacular practice through which individuals integrate built spaces—be they residential, sacred, or public—into the fabric of their social experience by means of making them more beautiful, comfortable, useful, opulent, and, perhaps most importantly, personal. These behaviors may range from the small and mundane, such as choosing paint colors for a new home, to the large and ambitious, such as urban designs that aim to construct town centers within a community. In this sense, place-making behaviors help transform built spaces into places, which are more than mere locations, as they are sites of social meaning holding an “emotional charge” (Tuan, 1977, p. 409). They are also behaviors with which we all have experience, either having engaged in them or having lived in communities marked by them. In addition to this conceptualization of place-making, however, it needs to be understood that it is also a process that crafts identities for built spaces through symbolic interactions of environment, rhetoric, and materialities. In the sense that place-making is understood as a process of symbolic articulations, it must be understood as a process that is fundamentally communicative. Beyond this, it is also discursive and rhetorical, offering “very particular frames for seeing and acting in the world,” imploring individuals to accept certain perspectives, thus rejecting alternatives (Stewart & Dickinson, 2008, p. 283). It is through the repetition of discursive and rhetorical practices that identities are imbued into urban environments, particularly edge cities and new developments that emerge within ahistorical contexts (Stewart & Dickinson, 2008). But this communicative place-making is not a process found only in young, postmodern areas. In fact, it can be seen as part of broader efforts to restructure and control urban places in order to reflect, and meet the needs, of cultural, economic, social, and political values. The material components of the city underwent transformation during 19thcentury industrialization. As discussed earlier, this functioned in part to support the emergence of new social and class-based ordering systems resulting from the rise of "9 bourgeois prosperity. The evidence of these changes can be intuited from the appearance of both material and spatial arrangements that reflected the power relations and cultural values within new social systems. In the case of Paris, it can be said that the appearance of the arcades reflected a new social ordering that brought public spaces under private control and established consumption as a primary mode of urban interaction, evidenced through the materials making up elaborate window displays, enticing glass storefronts, and the location of these new shopping spaces in relation to the increasingly segregated urban environment (Harvey, 2005). The reorganization of space, in this context, facilitated the “freer circulation of money, commodities, and people (and hence capital) throughout the spaces of the city” (Harvey, 2005, p. 7), and this reorganization became apparent in the aesthetics of these new urban enclaves, with ornate embellishments on bourgeois facades, demarcated by exclusive, controllable third spaces (such as Paris’ new, chic cafes), granting an aesthetic identity to these places that set them deliberately apart from the utilitarian grit of those working class neighborhoods pushed to the city’s margins. Urban materialities and spatialities reflect not just the changes wrought by modernity, but also aspirational and spiritual values, in addition to the mechanisms of power that control them. In this, Salt Lake City itself stands as an interesting case study, as its built environment can be read as a palimpsest, marked by evidence of interactions of, and flows between, competing cultural values (Bradley, 2004; Parera, 2005). Its plat can be read as an embodied map of the desires and aspirations of its Mormon settlers, with its gridded streets and uniform land divisions reflective of the communitarian values held by the Mormon pioneers (Bradley, 2004; Parera, 2005). This style of planning, developed originally by Joseph Smith and then later modified in situ by Brigham Young and the settlers, was not just aspirational, but also avant-garde. Boasting features such as zoning and aesthetic controls that would not enter mainstream planning until the 20th century, as well as a Garden City-model that preceded Ebenezer Howard’s "10 conceptualization by more than half a decade, Salt Lake City stood as a concrete realization of the Mormon city of Zion, promoting egalitarian, community, and agrarian living through its equitable grid divisions, use of outlying open space, and early abolishment of privately owned land (Bradley, 2004; Parera, 2005). The city can also be read as evidence of the way in which this utopian planning obscured the consolidation of power and land by church leaders, whose enlarged holdings were obfuscated by the conformity of the gridded plat (Bradley, 2004; Parera, 2005). Here, it can be read that the construction of the city was not just evidence of its economic base, nor its negotiations of power, but also of higher cultural values that inspired and motivated its residents. Along its contours are the materials and objects that embodied its cultural and social spheres. It must also be remembered, though, that place-making strategies also function to influence the behaviors and relations within these places, both through the interpellative power of discourse, as well as the influence of built environments on human behavior. This is due, at least in part, to the nature of materiality itself, which has also been a site of focus among researchers. Much interest as been placed on the relationships and interrconnections between subjects and objects. Materiality has also been evaluated in terms of its mediating properties, as means to enable or support social relations. In Bruno Latour’s seminal paper on the Berlin key, the concept of technology was discussed as that of a mediator, not an intermediary. As the latter, technology is merely a passive conduit through which social relations pass, or through which symbolic meanings can be put in the world. However, as a mediator, Latour recognizes that technology is itself a participant in complex social processes (Latour, 1991). In this sense, we should be encouraged to consider the materiality of redevelopment projects as a participant in their prevailing cultural and social processes. Further, it must be considered that it is through interactions with objects that "11 subjects take form; it is through interaction with materiality that humanity itself is constructed (Discussion of Keane in Miller, 2005). All human-made objects are made by, of course, humans, and as such, they serve as extensions of human senses, bodies, and memories (McLuhan, 1964). This is evident in current practices of collecting (which also extend to interior design and fashion), as collections are put together in a process that creates their curator—this is apparent in the ultimate insult to the collection, that it is just not you (McLuhan, 1964; Podmore, 1998). Individuals can also develop intense personal relationships with artifacts, such as photographs, which provide tangible connections to past times and spaces; as Barthes states, they bring the “there-then” into the “here-now” (Barthes, 1981). The intimate personal connections with these artifacts reflect the relationships they have with their owners, which involve affective, social, and symbolic spheres. Material forms also have the capacity to influence human subjects, and in this sense, they exert a kind of limited agency. Consider the example of “blogjects,” as described by Julian Bleeker (2009). These blogjects of information, generated by GPS devices, were sent into flight on the (literal and figurative) backs of pigeons, and updated their website with information about their movements, thus engaging in interactions both with the site and with its readers. Also consider other, more quotidian, examples of material influence over human behavior: Mere images of eyes in an environment can reduce littering (Ernest-Jones, Nettle, & Bateson, 2011), unexpected rain incites us to run to our destinations (or encourages us to stay indoors entirely), escalators encourage tired shoppers to stop moving, the dense foliage of jungle environments leads to different size perception among members of some indigenous groups (Turnbull, 1961), revolving doors encourage visitors to take side entrances (Whyte, 1980), and the metal fences around certain parks discourage their use by visitors ( Jacobs, 1961; Whyte, 1980). The physical structures of built environments are thus not just structures one can interact with, but are themselves structures that exert power over individuals. "12 In this sense, when considering place-making discourses of urban environments, one must consider a variety of discursive components, not merely those that are textual. It is important to consider aesthetics, visuality, materiality, and the environment, as these are part and parcel with the processes of granting identities to spaces as well as building identity by (and for) their visitors. Salt Lake City’s Gateway District To speak now of the Gateway district in Salt Lake City brings to the mind the Gateway mall, the first large-scale project in Utah billed as a mixed-use redevelopment with the aim of revitalizing the downtown core. It is indeed telling that the Wikipedia entry for the Gateway District has been explicitly edited to refer to the district solely as the mall itself, rather than the area around it – while it is unclear exactly who made these edits, it nevertheless reflects current perceptions of the west side neighborhood, which is frequently conflated with the mall that bears its name. However, the district has been known as the Gateway since the late 19th century – it is only within the last 2 decades or so that the name has become synonymous with its mall attraction (Timmerman, 2000). The Gateway district served an important role in the development and growth of early Salt Lake City. At the site of what is currently Pioneer Park stood Pioneer Fort, the first settlement erected by the Mormon settlers who arrived in 1847. Later, after the city and district had grown, it rose in prominence thanks to the role it played in the area’s immigrant history – as the site of both the Union Pacific and Rio Grande rail stations, it functioned as a nexus of rail travel for both the Intermountain West and the local community. Further, it operated as an entrance to Salt Lake City, as it was the first place into which newcomers disembarked. By the early 1900s, several immigrant neighborhoods settled into the district, becoming home to Italian, Japanese, Greek, and Syro-Lebanese communities. These residents built in the "13 district thriving, close-knit neighborhoods, complete with boarding homes, newspapers, churches, shopping establishments, coffee houses, and other important services (Timmerman, 2000). Its decline as a residential area began after World War I, as the district became home to a number of large- and small-scale industries and warehouses, many of which were associated with, or enabled by, the adjacent rail yards (Assist, Inc., 1978; Timmerman, 2000). The area served as a rising hub of industry, but as the importance of rail declined, so did the importance of the district, which became a neglected corner of the city by the latter half of the 20th century. Obviously, the neighborhood, despite what is indicated on Wikipedia, predated the mall that is currently there. The initial phase of the Gateway mall opened in 2001, in time for the winter Olympics, and was the first completed large-scale project of the Gateway redevelopment plan. It was simultaneously the culmination and start of more than 40 years of planning and building efforts, spanning back to feasibility studies and redevelopment analyses conducted in the 1970s (Assist, Inc., 1978). It’s evident that the project received key funding because of, and was kicked off for, the 2002 Winter Olympic Games; however, it is not fair to say that it was executed because of the Olympics. The Gateway district had fallen into a state of disrepair and neglect and was known as an area marked by crime, driven by drugs and vagrancy. What had once been a vibrant residential neighborhood, and later a thriving industrial center, had effectively become a frayed spot in the fabric of downtown – a problem made more visible when one considers that the district is the first sight seen by travelers entering the city from either the north or west. Thus, the mall was the first major accomplishment in an ambitious effort to repair and rehabilitate what had once been an important district. The rehabilitation, however, had the potential to impact far more than just the Gateway neighborhood. At the time of the redevelopment project, Salt Lake City suffered many of the same struggles as other urban areas, which had lost inner-city populations to the "14 suburbs. Regardless of whether this process was driven by city planning styles that encouraged sprawling, car-dependent development, competition from inexpensive suburban residential and retail spaces, or the phenomenon of ‘White flight,’ many cities during this time had to contend with high vacancy rates, which negatively impacted their neighborhoods and their economies. This crisis was exacerbated further by the decline of industrial and manufacturing sectors in the United States, which had peaked in the 1970s and had dwindled steadily since that point (Godfrey, 1997; Widner, 1986). Resulting from this was the widespread appearance of blighted industrial neighborhoods, abandoned warehouse districts that detracted from their surrounding cityscapes and contributed to the declining health of downtown cores. During the 1990s, city planners across the country began processes of remediating urban deficiencies, seeking to bring new life to abandoned warehouses and boarded-up main streets in order to catalyze a renaissance of downtown living. This would involve not just improvements to local urban economies, but would also revitalize cities as premier destinations for tourism, shopping, and a new style of residential living. Project Design and Methodology The goal of this dissertation is to examine the interplay of discourses surrounding the redevelopment of the Gateway district in order to identify the spatial and temporal arrangements of the city at the time, how they were interrelated, and the means by which they contributed to ideological constructions of Salt Lake City as a whole. In aiming to revitalize the downtown core through the redevelopment of the Gateway, the news coverage crafted discourses articulating notions of a desirable downtown – indeed, they called into question what ‘downtown’ actually was. The questions this dissertation aims to answer are those of what the redevelopment can tell us about Salt Lake City spatiality, its relationship to time and history, and its connection to culture. It also plans to identify how the spatial arrangement of the Salt Lake City landscape reflected the sociocultural "15 relationships that resided therein, and how they were reflected in media discourse. In doing so, the dissertation project will identify ideological frameworks that underpin the discursive practices shaping space and place in the city, and what they reveal about the social and cultural interests of downtown at that time. Once one understands the types of behaviors and activities being promoted by the Gateway redevelopment, it will be possible to infer the ways in which they helped construct an identity for the project. There is prior research on the means by which visual and textual rhetoric functions to construct identities for new developments, often by means of suturing the identity of these developments to the surrounding natural landscape or to the greater historical contexts of the area in which they are built. This has been previously demonstrated in research by Greg Dickinson on the rhetoric of commercial construction in Colorado (Dickinson, 1997, 2002; Stewart & Dickinson, 2008) and the means by which commercial establishments and malls shape how they are perceived by the public (Chaney, 1983; Lowe, 2000; Ruppert, 2005; Salcedo, 2003; Shields, 1989). It can be said that it is common for there to be explicit (via marketing appeals and media coverage) and implicit (via architecture, landscaping, building layouts, etc.) discourses surrounding commercial centers, especially those newly constructed, that articulate sociohistorical identities that shape how they are perceived by urban residents and visitors. Underpinning this project are two major theoretical concerns: one related to the use of theory in the course of conducting research and one related to the theoretical contributions of research findings. It is particularly important for this dissertation to clearly utilize theory in the course of the analysis. This is primarily because theory constitutes the foundation of academic inquiry; without theory, many research projects lack justification, coherence, or intelligibility. Additionally, it is important that this dissertation also contribute to theory. It is not enough to describe phenomena; it is also vital to understand the structures and processes inherent in them, in order to further "16 knowledge in the field. Even in the humanities, where the generalizability of much research is limited by its situated nature, deep understanding of cultural phenomena is crucial to our understanding of how we know and live the world and of how we create situated knowledge. Because of these reasons—one of needing a theoretical framework to guide the analysis and the other of aiming to contribute to theory—this dissertation project employs grounded theory as its primary methodology. Grounded theory, developed by sociologists Barney Glaser and Anselm Strauss, is a method for generating theory through the systematic evaluation of social research data (Glaser & Strauss 1967; Miller & Saklind, 2002). It is a qualitative research method that draws on interpretivist epistemology and is based upon intersubjective knowledge (Miller & Saklind, 2002). The reason why it was particularly useful for this project is that it is a methodology that directly addresses the two concerns described above. The goal of the grounded theory method is to generate knowledge through the empirical observation of qualitative phenomena (Glaser & Strauss, 1967; Miller & Saklind, 2002; Oktay, 2012). It is a methodology that is predicated on the assumption that knowledge about a particular phenomenon can be generated through inductive analyses of multiple data sources related to the phenomenon (Glaser & Struass, 1967; Miller & Saklind, 2002; Oktay, 2012). By not attempting to test a theory, but instead to develop theory through the close observation of data, grounded theory is useful because it gives the researcher the freedom and capability to discover information that may have been outside of his or her set of assumptions, and it allows the researcher to develop a deeper understanding of the phenomenon under his or her focus. The grounded theory approach scaffolds the analysis, allowing for a coherent application of theory, and rooting observations to the textual discourses identified throughout the completion of the project. Grounded theory is also useful because its primary objective is to develop theory (Glaser & Strauss 1967; Miller & Saklind, 2002; Oktay, 2012; Salwen & Stacks, 1996). "17 While not testing theories deductively, it nevertheless attends closely to them; theory is the end product of the research itself and is integral to its iterative analytic process. This attention to theory has not always been a feature of grounded theory, and in its first permutations, researchers were encouraged to avoid extensive theorization prior to analysis, making the method particularly atheoretical, at least at its outset (Glaser & Strauss, 1967; Oktay, 2012; Prasad, 2005), The evolution of grounded theory has changed this stance, however, and with the exception of those who follow the strict Glaserian model, researchers using grounded theory must involve theoretical sensitivity as a key component of the analytical process (Morse, et al., 2009; Oktay, 2012). Because the methodology involves an iterative process of analyzing and interpreting information, researchers must always bring theory into the research to help shape, guide, and refute their observations and assumptions (Morse, et al., 2009; Oktay, 2012). In this sense, the method was useful precisely because it provided this project with the means necessary to develop theory relevant to (and emergent from) the phenomena under analysis, thus contributing to research in spatiality in communication and cultural studies. There are some issues about grounded theory that need to be directly addressed. The first is the observation that, despite its interpretive epistemology, much grounded theory has a postpositive slant and attempts to use its systematic framework as a legitimating front for sociological and anthropological research, which has been perceived as merely “soft science” by researchers in postpositive scientific fields. (Morse, et al., 2009; Prasad, 2005). This is especially evident in the language of many grounded theory projects, which rely heavily on treating textual and observational information as ‘data.’ Additionally, many scholars of grounded theory do not explicitly address issues of reflexivity, especially those who worked with early versions of the theory (Mruck & May, 2007). Both of these concerns could indicate that grounded theory is not compatible with critical-cultural epistemologies and might not work to contribute theory to criticalcultural fields. "18 That said, reflexivity is a core component of any analytical process. Reflexivity involves making visible the means of knowledge production, interrogating the perspective of the researcher, and examining the rhetoric of disciplinary authority (Conquergood, 1991). It offers the reader an open view of the research process and creates space for a critique of the authoriality of the researcher. Contemporary work within grounded theory either implicitly or explicitly calls for the use of reflexivity when conducting analyses (Hall & Callery, 2001; Morse, et al., 2009; Mruck & May, 2007; Oktay, 2012). Because of the iterations that underpin the analytic process of grounded theory, reflexivity and its absences play a significant role in the research; as each stage of a grounded theory project involves the evaluation of the stages previously completed, researchers are provided with the opportunity to evaluate the research process and lay open its weaknesses, strengths, and peculiarities. The documentation of the research generated during each iteration also provides texts for reflexive evaluation. What is important is to ensure that this role is developed to its full potential; in a 2014 piece by Gentles and Jack, reflexivity in grounded theory was evaluated, with the observation that while many researchers engage in superficial forms of reflexivity in order to satisfy the demands brought about by the critical-cultural turn, reflexivity is not often employed more substantially. However, Gentles and Jack observed that there are multiple ways in which reflexivity can be specifically integrated into grounded theory – specifically, they argue that reflexivity can be used to explicate researcher influence on research design and application of methodology, evaluate aspects of the research process that justified a priori decisions, and interrogate how researchers interact with research participants or approach their research subjects (Gentles & Jack, 2014). In particular, they argued for the importance of interrogating what Chesney (2001) refers to as the “researcher persona,” the identity the researcher projects in the course of conducting fieldwork. Reflexivity requires that the researcher reveals how his or her actions have shaped their resulting work (Gentles & Jack, 2014). I would also argue that reflexivity should form an "19 important component of the writing and presentation of research – it is with this presentation that the observations are granted meaning and opened to critique. As such, this project was designed to meet the following aims: 1. To generate a thick understanding of the research texts. 2. To derive a theoretical interpretation of the texts via an inductive, grounded process. 3. To incorporate reflexivity both in the execution and presentation of the project. 4. To generate theory via inductive analysis. In order to do so, the dissertation research was structured through iterative processes of gathering, coding, and analyzing texts, as outlined: Initial Coding and Compiling the Study Set A search was conducted in both the LexisNexis Academic (now called LexisUni) and Access World News databases, limited to The Salt Lake Tribune and Deseret News between January 1, 1996 to December 31, 2001. Restricting the search to these years resulted in a research focus on the period that corresponded to the kick-off of the district’s redevelopment and the opening of the Gateway mall (phase 1) shortly before the Winter Olympic Games in February of 2002. The search was conducted using the terms +“the Gateway” during this time period, and the articles selected were those that related to the Gateway district or Gateway mall. This resulted in over 1500 articles. Reading through these articles (to gain an appreciation for the history and context of the Gateway redevelopment) was an effort to identify overarching or salient themes that were repeated throughout the news coverage, that were related to the redevelopment project, or that focused on what appeared to be major or controversial issues of the time. The initial aim of this reading, in addition to apprehending the historical context of the Gateway development, was to identify themes salient to the "20 Gateway redevelopment project and Salt Lake City’s historical context. Based on the initial reading, a study set was formed by identifying articles that focused on the following four themes: (1) city revitalization or redevelopment, (2) housing or homelessness, (3) the 2002 Winter Olympic Games, and (4) the new intermodal hub or transportation plan. The first two themes were identified both for the frequency with which they appeared in the news coverage as well as their direct relevance to urban redevelopment schemes. The third was selected because of the historical significance of the winter Olympic Games and its repetition within the news coverage (additionally, to avoid including Olympic-themed articles about the Gateway district seemed negligent, as doing so would ignore the largest event Salt Lake City has ever hosted), and the final theme was identified because of its prevalence within the news coverage and the frequency with which it was connected to the other themes. The decision to narrow the focus of the study on these four themes did have the effect of excluding other themes present in the news coverage during this time period. In this sense, the choice to focus on four specific themes inevitably shaped the nature of the research project and conclusions that it derived. As an ordering mechanism to provide structure to the project design, the selected themes were chosen because they would provide insight pertinent to the research questions, Salt Lake City issues from that time, and research on redevelopment, in general. They cannot, however, be considered an exclusive and exhaustive list of themes present in the newspaper coverage. While they recurred most frequently and with the most detail throughout the study set, others present were excluded from the analysis, including the mayoral debates and election of 1999, the disappearance of retailers from Main Street and other neighborhoods in the downtown core, and the location and relocation plans of the Children’s Museum. These themes may represent a fruitful avenue for research and may have contributed insight into the news coverage at that time; however, because the Gateway district was tangential in their discussion, and/or because they did not appear directly relevant to the "21 research questions, they were excluded from close analysis. Nevertheless, it should be acknowledged that identifying the four themes and using them to compile the study set would invariably invoke some limit on the number of directions the analysis could take. The goal was to identify two articles from each of the study newspapers that related substantively to each theme. The intention was not an attempt to craft a representative sample, nor was it to treat the texts as mere data. The methodology for this dissertation project was not a statistical analysis. Instead, it was an organizing effort to give equivalent attention to each theme and each newspaper organization, to reduce the study set to a manageable size, and to eliminate articles that paid cursory attention to the redevelopment project (such as local and business briefs, or articles that merely mentioned the Gateway area in the course of focusing primarily on other topics). Opinion letters from readers were also excluded from the set, though three editorials from the Deseret News, two written by the editorial editor and one by the editorial staff, were included. The articles chosen for the study set were those that included a substantive discussion or analysis of one or several of the identified themes, that were longer in length and thus inclusive of more details related to the redevelopment plan, and that were otherwise evocative in their discussion of the district (that is, they were especially interesting). From this selection effort, the study set was comprised of 59 articles. It needs to be noted that the study did not include sample articles from each theme, as was initially planned. In particular, there was a significant drop in news coverage related to the Gateway redevelopment project in 2000. Only four articles were identified that dealt substantively with one of the identified themes. Other articles that referenced the redevelopment project either did so in passing while covering another topic or did so primarily in conjunction with legal conflicts surrounding Gateway construction. Of the four articles located, three related to housing construction and one related to the intermodal hub. Two housing articles and the intermodal hub article were included in "22 the study set. It should be noted that another article was found near the end of the dissertation writing, while reviewing The Salt Lake Tribune articles found in the Access World News database, but it was not analyzed as the analysis was already completed. In 2001, coverage related to the identified themes was also rather scant, and only five articles were included in the study set. The reasons for this decline in media coverage of the Gateway is discussed in further detail in Chapter 6. Instead, much focus was placed on the status of the planetarium relocation, the construction of park blocks, and issues specific to the Gateway mall and its opening. The lack of articles connected to the identified themes was initially a point of frustration, but this absence of the themes was itself considered potentially important to the discursive construction of the redevelopment project in the news. Further, while the new issues covered by the news did not fit perfectly with the identified themes, some were related to the redevelopment and others provided a snapshot of the district shortly before the winter Games. As such, a number of articles were chosen for the set that deviate, in part, from the others, but were included because they helped provide insight into the state of the district as it stood at the end of the study period. These included one article on the planned planetarium move, one editorial, one article on Gateway area beautification, one on Olympic housing, and one related to a lawsuit submitted against the Gateway mall. The article on the planetarium relocation was included, given the sudden frequency with which it appeared in the news coverage, while the articles related to the park blocks and the Gateway mall were included because they contributed to this ‘snapshot’ of the Gateway in 2001 (the article on the mall also showed the results of the redevelopment up to that point in time). It was hoped that these inclusions would help contextualize and interpret the bulk of the study set up to that point. After the study set was completed, the articles were read again and the text was coded by focusing primarily on: 1. Basic information about the nature of the text, including: source of "23 publication, time of publication, author, and context of publication. 2. Identities of the individuals, organizations, companies, or institutions involved in the project. 3. Specific terms, metaphors, ideographs, and discursive practices that describe space and spaces. 4. Specific terms, metaphors, ideographs, and discursive practices that articulate ideas about the redevelopment and revitalization of the city. 5. Specific terms, metaphors, ideographs, and discursive practices that articulate ideas about the new intermodal hub and TRAX line. 6. Specific terms, metaphors, ideographs, and discursive practices that articulate ideas about the 2002 Winter Olympics. 7. Specific terms, metaphors, ideographs, and discursive practices that articulate issues related to homelessness and vagrancy in the downtown area. This textual information was gathered through a process of open coding, which involved an initial pass through the texts while flagging key concepts or themes. This process of coding involved generating substantive codes, identifying key language used in the texts by means of marking categorical information, self-labeling information, and actions occurring to or by the information (Glaser, 1978; Lamp & Milton, 2018). The goal of this process was to be thorough in marking as many significant codes that were encountered, but not spending much time in analyzing these codes (Oktay, 2012). Subsequent to this was an iterative process of organizing codes into categories and then organizing codes within each category into their own, increasingly abstracted, categories and themes. This was an iterative process that involved three passes through the texts and codes. Subsequent Coding and Analysis Subsequent to the initial process of coding was the organization and compilation of codes into temporally oriented charts, which aimed to identify patterns and groupings "24 of codes associated with the following categories across time: 1. Theme of redevelopment/revitalization 2. Theme of housing/homelessness 3. Theme of the 2002 Winter Olympics Games 4. Theme of the intermodal hub and new transportation system 5. Definitions of the Gateway district 6. Definitions of the Gateway mall project 7. Constructions of space 8. Constructions of place 9. Constructions of temporality These categories were identified through the initial iterative coding process, which brought to light a number of discursive trends that recurred through the texts over time. Throughout the news coverage, these trends in describing and analyzing the redevelopment project recurred, constituting thematic patterns that I felt required closer scrutiny. The repetition of these discourses, likely rooted in large part in the conventions of journalistic writing (which include, for example, a reliance on press release information and quotations from official sources), were considered significant because their prevalence likely contributed to the larger discursive narratives surrounding the redevelopment project. The fact that they recurred, or were identified by journalists as relevant enough to repeat in multiple articles, was also seen as an indication of their importance to the means by which the press analyzed and constructed the district and its redevelopment. The identification of these thematic trends also had the result of guiding the direction of the analysis. Thus, though its direction and result could not be substantively predicted, the creation and focus on these code categories in the temporal charts had the effect of narrowing the analysis along certain thematic lines, highlighting these code categories over others that were deemed less significant. While the analytical results of the temporal chart analysis could not be fully "25 predicted, the organization of codes within them was neither conducted haphazardly nor without intent. The organization of codes within these temporally oriented charts involved the application of both thematic and theoretical frameworks to the codes, and attempted to identify both the relationships between them, as well as their interactions over time. These temporally oriented charts took precedence over traditional situational analysis maps, as developed by Adele E. Clarke. “In SA, the root metaphor for grounded theorizing shifts from social processes/action to social ecology/situation – grounding the analysis deeply and explicitly in the broader situation of inquiry for the research project” (Clarke in Morse, et al., 2009, p. 89). This process is explained as a poststructural approach to coding derived in part from Foucauldian discourse analysis and critical theory, and involves identifying not just social actors, their actions, and the arena they operate in, but also mapping different sites of discourse, cultural and contextual areas, and subject identities (either present or absent) (Clark in Morse, et al., 2009; Mathar, 2008). As such, Situational Analysis involves research components that can look quite different from those of classic grounded theory; despite these differences in appearance, it is, in actuality, an extension of grounded theory, one that builds upon Kathy Charmaz’s constitutive conceptualization of grounded theory and that explicitly aims to integrate critical analyses of contexts, actants, symbolic absence and presence, and spatialities. However, as outlined in Clarke’s methodology text, Situational Analysis, discourse comprises a singular category within the process of coding. Emphasis placed on the situational processes, social actors, contexts, funding, etc., proved partially incompatible with the dissertation goals, given its focus on discursive, textual content. Further, the emphasis placed on mapping relationships and social actors to discursive constructions is an approach that can be seen as one that risks privileging authorial intent in the process of discursive construction. From an anthropological standpoint, the "26 power of the author, related social processes, underlying structures of the spheres of human interaction, function as strong components of the meaning-making process of texts. However, from the standpoint of communication, an overreliance on authorial meaning is positioned against the fragmented nature of late modern and postmodern texts, in which readers, audiences, and critics are the ones involved in text assembly and whose interaction with texts complete the process of discursive construction (McGee, 1990). This is an especially salient point when one considers the fundamental fragmentary nature of journalism, in which authors synthesize disparate information in order to construct a cohesive narrative, which is then further synthesized with other news narratives by readers, who may later promulgate their interpretations via communicative encounters. In this sense, a rigid use of Clarke’s approach may prove a useful tool for analyzing the social, economic, and behavioral processes that go into producing texts. This is a different project, however, from the evaluation of the conversations between discourses, and their cultural environment, and how this conversation functions collectively to produce place-making-generated identity. As such, the temporally oriented charts tracked the movement of discourses through both their temporal and thematic contexts, as well as their interrelationships, which were then further analyzed using both research in the literature and, where needed to provide clarity or additional context, further investigation into the situational relationships between sets of codes. It can be argued that the format of the charts, as opposed to that of the situational maps, helped engender analytical findings that would inevitably differ from those that would result from a strict use of Clarke’s approach. The situational maps employed by Clarke organize content visually in a fashion different from those in the temporal charts. Because of Clarke’s focus on the interrelations between code categories, as well as the ways in which they overlap with, and diverge from, each other, the maps espoused by her research method involve overlapping spheres and regions of information. The temporal "27 charts, because of their focus on the interrelationships and transformations of code categories, took a more linear form, thus highlighting the potential progress or transformations of identified codes over time. Just as the situational maps had their weaknesses related to the analysis of discursive content, the use of temporal charts also has its own potential downsides. The organization of code categories on the charts, which are in a vertically oriented list, should not be interpreted as means of expressing hierarchical relationships between them. I would caution those using similar charts against viewing such a hierarchy within them. The ordering of the categories should not be allowed to impact the analysis, unless there is a clear rationale for doing so. It should also be kept in mind that the use of these charts is an explicit move to focus on temporal aspects of the texts. If there are other relationships that a researcher deems more important, this approach might have less utility. However, because I had long considered whether the analysis might reveal relationships between spatiality and temporality, and because this was a project that sought to analyze historic texts over a multiyear time period, I decided these charts would be appropriate for the analysis, though they might not have been the only way to get at this information. What resulted from the use of the temporally oriented charts was the identification of a number of key themes and critical absences, some of which could be situated through already-held theoretical frameworks, but others that required further analysis, necessitating an additional review of extant research. In particular, these included concepts of ‘loft-living,’ Olympic-related redevelopment, and an absence of historical narratives in the news coverage. Most significantly, however, was the adoption of Michael Ian Borer’s conceptualization of collective memory-cultural imagination. In coding and evaluating the texts, it became apparent that temporality constituted a major discursive component and was itself necessary to consider in the analysis. There was no initial plan to engage in an investigation of collective memory, nor was there any intent to employ the lens of "28 cultural imagination to the project — it is itself a concept that has not been operationalized in communication research. However, the process of the grounded analysis both led to, and called for, this framework in order to better make sense of the discursive threads uncovered in the course of the research. It is through this theoretical lens that the dissertation will explicate its observations, analysis, and findings. The upcoming chapters of the dissertation will develop the analysis and guide the reader through the various themes of the news coverage, which operated interrelatedly through the dual construct of collective memory and collective imagination in order to construct an identity for the redevelopment plan and contend with the complexities of Salt Lake’s social and cultural contexts. Chapter Descriptions This dissertation continues with Chapter 2, which provides context for the Gateway district and Salt Lake City, as they have functioned during the decade of the twenty-tens. While the opening of the City Creek Center project and construction that came subsequently was hailed as part of a grand revitalization of downtown, the Gateway district, which lies to the west of the downtown core, has experienced a more uneven trajectory towards renewal. The Gateway neighborhood still struggles with the unsolved issue of homelessness, a feature of the district for decades that has recently been the focus of much contention due to an associated increase in crime and the handling of new homeless resource centers planned for other Salt Lake neighborhoods. In addition, the Gateway mall, which was Utah’s largest single development project at the time of its construction, stands substantially empty, with many retailers having moved to the newer City Creek Center. The chapter outlines the current concerns facing the district, highlighting the extent to which they stand apart from other changes to the downtown core. Additionally, the discussion takes a side tour to the promotional materials that "29 were released in anticipation of the City Creek Center project in order to examine examples of place-making discourses that were tied to the perceived renewal of downtown Salt Lake City. With this example, it will become evident to readers that for this project, a kind of cartographic imagination was employed alongside discursive constructions of a historical landscape in order to provide a cohesive identity to the project, one that was easily sutured to the surrounding historic-cultural landscape. It will also provide readers with insight into the nature of place-making practices as they have been applied to Salt Lake City’s unique urban context, which stands apart from those frequently studied in edge cities and suburban environments. In Chapter 3, the analysis begins by evaluating the state of Salt Lake City during the period between 1996-2001, considering the historical contexts underpinning the redevelopment project. During this period, Salt Lake City was in the thick of planning for the upcoming 2002 Winter Olympics Games, undoubtedly the largest event that the city has ever hosted. What the analysis demonstrates is that this context provided City officials with an opportunity to look critically at the Gateway, which was then a largely blighted district, having suffered years of decline. It will be shown that the redevelopment of the district, though not caused by the Olympic Games, was nevertheless caught up in Salt Lake City’s ‘Olympic imperative,’ which sought to purify the city environment in order to prepare it for the Olympic media gaze, thus placing Salt Lake City in conversation with other Olympic cities in the modern age. In the course of the analysis, Salt Lake City’s cultural capital during the period of the late 1990s is also considered, with evidence that the concerns for the redevelopment go beyond merely preparing the district for the Olympics. Instead, it can also be seen that there was a prevailing cultural awareness of Salt Lake City’s decidedly unflattering image in the national context, which erupted in discourses that revealed a desire to turn Salt Lake into a nation-class city, one that could stand among other, more lauded urban areas, such as New York City and San Francisco. This desire for a nation-class city is a "30 unique formulation, moving Salt Lake away from other Olympic cities and revealing the local cultural contexts within which the newspaper coverage was formed. The analysis dives deeper into the district redevelopment in Chapter 4, by considering how the newspaper coverage constructed collective memories of the Gateway as part of preparing the district for redevelopment. Before residents could imagine the Gateway’s outcome, there was need to construct its past, given the inexorable connections between the past and future, which invariably work upon the present. In this chapter, readers will understand how the Gateway district was collectively defined by the major papers and how this definition complicates the official designation of the area’s boundaries. Through the identification of key district landmarks, the newspaper coverage constructed a truncated district with alternate boundaries, which overlapped those usually associated with the downtown core. Further, this process of remapping the Gateway operated in conjunction with a process of forgetting and rewriting the district’s history. Standing apart from the example from the City Creek Center project, the collective memory of the district was significantly ahistorical, erasing not just the residential history of the district, but also the pioneer history associated with Salt Lake City’s settlement. In turn, this ahistoricity was replaced by a narrow construction of an entrepreneurial history, one that focused primarily on the district’s recent industrial past. This, in conjunction with a rhetorical emptying of the district, set the area up as ripe for redevelopment and renewal. In Chapter 5, readers will be introduced to the collective anxieties expressed by the news coverage, which were reflected in the collective imagining of the district and the redevelopment project. These anxieties focused primarily on issues of homelessness in the district as well as on the conflicting spatialities of the downtown landscape. Through the analysis, it can be seen that there were concerns regarding both people and spaces ‘out of place,’ which represented possible threats to city residents and visitors, in addition to the cityscape itself. Further, it will be shown that these anxieties were also "31 tied to aspirations of Salt Lake as a ‘nation-class’ city, which would put the area in contact with potentially undesirable bodies. The analysis coalesces in Chapter 6, which examines the collective imagining of the Gateway redevelopment project. As place-making both shapes, and is shaped by, social and cultural relations, it is important to consider how it is constructed, its potential impacts on the urban environments, and the behaviors it seeks to enable. In this chapter, it will be shown that the news coverage of the district redevelopment plan employed diverse discourses of materiality, aesthetics, and spatialities, with potential to enable readers to engage in their own individual imaginings of a renewed Gateway. However, these multiple lines of imagination were caught up by rhetorical constructions of ‘loft-living,’ gentrification, authenticity, and the Gateway mall, which served to collapse these diverse lines into a more narrow envisioning of the district. Through this collapse, it becomes apparent that the Gateway was thus in the process of being refashioned into a ‘consumerscape,’ which set the district as a commodified stage for lifestyles of consumerism. Not only this, but the district redevelopment was also tied to the Gateway mall project through a rhetorical construction that conflated the district with the mall, which helps explain its current dominance in contemporary perceptions of the Gateway area. These threads of analyses, which come together in the final chapter, along with an examination of the project itself, will give readers insight into redevelopment in the Salt Lake City area at the end of the 1990s. It will also highlight the implications of these findings, as well as discuss potential avenues for future research and possible futures for the Salt Lake area. CHAPTER 2 BEGINNINGS AND ENDINGS: THE CURRENT STATE OF THE GATEWAY Introduction At approximately 11:15 PM one Friday evening in 2017, I was waiting at the Salt Lake Intermodal Hub for the Amtrak California Zephyr, on my way to Reno. The hub was as it usually was at that time of night: in front of me, people boarded some of the last FrontRunner commuter trains of the evening to take them either north to Ogden or south to Provo; behind me, people milled about at the end of the TRAX light rail platform, waiting to go either up to the east bench, south to Sandy, or southwest to West Valley City; with me were all the people destined for the train, huddling outside in the chill or hiding out in what is called the Amtrak station, but is really little more than an Amtrak shack; to my right, sprinkled on benches and near the bus depot, were people in what I assume were heroin nods or the midst of psychotic episodes. It was just another night in this part of the Gateway district. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a young man approaching the Amtrak riders. He walked up to groups of two or more, asking for something. Money, perhaps? I wasn’t sure and, as one is prone to do in these situations, I averted my gaze, kept to myself. When he finally approached my husband and myself, we were able to find out what he needed – the schedule of the last FrontRunner to Ogden and whether there were any late-night trains still running. "33 As we opened our smartphone apps and tried to find the information he needed, he described his situation in a charming Texan twang. Having come to downtown for a party or some similar event, he missed his FrontRunner train and needed to return to Job Corps in Clearfield by his curfew. He said he was a bit overwhelmed, not having lived in Utah long and being in the “big city” and all, and when he had walked east from the hub to look for more information, he was startled by the throng he encountered. “I mean, they were kind of scary,” he said. No one looked particularly friendly. I was unsurprised. When we sadly informed him that he had missed his last train, he became visibly nervous. This was mostly because of his pending curfew, to be sure, but he expressed concern about how he should get in touch with his friends or another type of transportation. “How do I even get to downtown from here?” he asked. “I can’t walk through there again.” As the California Zephyr pulled up to the station, we gave him what information we could and directed him on the best way to get back to ‘civilization’ (walk up the west side of 600 West to 200 South, cross the street and walk eastbound on 200 South. Be sure you stay on the north side of the street! When you hit 500 West, you’ll have the Gateway mall to your left and downtown ahead of you. You won’t get hassled, as long as you stick to these rules. You can also, of course, take TRAX to avoid walking). He said he would take care of things and went on his way. In retrospect, I wish we had done more to help him; he looked so overwhelmed being in downtown Salt Lake City and I know the crowd he had encountered earlier certainly looked scary. But it was just another night in the Gateway district. What were we to do? The area between the intermodal hub and the Rio Grande depot had become a no-go zone for at least a couple of years, cramped with an exploding population of homeless individuals and the drug dealers who came to profit from them. A number of violent crimes in the area had hit the headlines, including a disturbing surveillance video showing a crowd of 20-30 people rushing towards a vehicle that had crashed behind the depot – not to render aid, but to strip the vehicle, and its dying driver, of its contents. "34 The vehicle itself had crashed as a result of a botched carjacking and shooting (DeMasters, 2016). While overall crime in the city had dropped, defying public expectations, the murder rate doubled from 2015, with 14 homicides committed between December 2016 and November 2017 (Dentzer, 2018b). Things weren’t doing so well immediately north of the area, either, as the Gateway mall, which had once been Salt Lake City’s largest and most impressive development project, stood with empty storefronts and limited visitors. The Gateway district had been the focus of intense redevelopment efforts since 1996. The issue of homelessness in the area had been a topic of discussion for decades. It had expanded the downtown core to the west and continues to entertain large influxes of visitors for events at the Vivint Arena and as part of the Twilight concert series. What was going on and why was it so derelict? How far from its ‘rebirth’ in 2001 had the area fallen? Current State of the Central Business and Gateway Districts The population of Salt Lake City has grown significantly in the last 18 years, changing from approximately 171,000 to 193,000 from 2000 to 2018 (“Quick Facts,” n.d.). This rate of growth lags behind other Utah cities, such as North Logan and South Jordan. Nevertheless, as the economic hub of the state, the city has additionally benefitted from the growth of cities around it. Utah is the third-fastest growing state in the nation and is projected to double in size, expanding from approximately 3,000,000 people to nearly 6,000,000 by 2065. It has further benefitted from massive growth in its tech industry, with tech giants Adobe and Ebay opening campuses in the state, alongside other successful companies such as Oracle, Instructure, and Overstock.com (Christensen, 2012; “Idaho is Fastest-Growing State,” 2017; Konrad, 2017; “Population Projections,” n.d; Zaleski, 2016;) This growth has had a visible impact on the city. "35 The Salt Lake City skyline has changed significantly from when I moved back to Utah in 2004. The old Key Bank building in the central business district was brought down by explosives in 2007, in order to make room for the new City Creek Center mixeduse development project. Extensive in-fill construction has transformed the skyline, with the erection of the following towers: 222 Main on 222 S. Main St., 99 West Condominiums on 99 W. South Temple, 111 Main on 111 S. Main Street (are readers astounded by the creativity of these names?), The Regent on 35 E. 100 South, and the new United States Courthouse on 351 S. West Temple. In addition to the towers, a number of large condominium, apartment, or public buildings have been erected, replacing abandoned structures or low-density retail spaces. These include the Metro Condos on 350 S. 200 East, 616 Lofts on 616 S. State Street, Liberty Crest Apartments on 150 S. 200 East, Cityscape Apartments on 150 S. 400 East, the new Public Safety Complex on 450 S. 300 East, and the Eccles Theater on 100 S. Main Street, among others. This new construction has brought both visitors and residents to the downtown area, reinvigorating the feel on the streets. I remember when downtown used to die right at 5:00PM on Fridays, aside from isolated pockets of activity near certain bars and entertainment establishments. Now, not only are the streets busy Friday nights, they are busy through the weekend and on many weekday evenings. For the first time in a long while, downtown Salt Lake City has become a thriving urban scene. Many of the promises given by the ambitious Downtown Rising group, a collective of private and public interests working together to complete development goals, have been fulfilled. City Creek Center, the $2 billion USD multiuse facility was opened in 2012 and has been a draw to the downtown core ever since. There is now (finally) a grocery store in the central business district, the swank Harmon’s on 135 E. 100 South. The glamorous Eccles Theater opened after former mayor Ralph Becker promised it would be a “source of joy for years to come” (though I’d like to point out that their alcohol vending setup is decidedly less-than-glamorous) (Semerad, 2017). "36 Upcoming projects include the Life on State initiative, with the aim of transforming State Street, the major boulevard running south through the city, into Utah’s “Great Street,” with sustainable urban redesign projects (“About the Project,” n.d). Also in the works are the Downtown Plan (building “downtown’s story from tomorrow” by guiding future growth in 10 Salt Lake City districts) and the Plan Salt Lake City plan (again with the creative names!), an agenda to guide the development of the city over the next 25 years (“Plans & Projects,” n.d.). As someone who has always lived in, or adjacent, to downtown, these changes are thrilling. Little Salt Lake is growing up into a proper city. I even had coffee delivered to my home the other day, which was quite the treat. Amenities and services in the area have increased and diversified significantly in response to rising demand. So have prices, of course. What can be said, though, about the neighborhood that arguably kicked off downtown Salt Lake City’s redevelopment push? The Gateway district finds itself in an uncomfortable situation, experiencing the ramifications of multiple stresses placed on the district starting in 2012 and continuing to the present. The Gateway mall, Salt Lake City’s first, and at the time largest, major redevelopment, opened in 2001. Now, it has a tenancy rate lower than 76% and has lost most of its anchor stores to the nearby City Creek Center, which opened in early 2012 (Mitchell, 2012). It is struggling with empty storefronts and fewer visitors, and was offloaded by its previous owner, Retail Properties of America (RPAI) in 2016, who sold the facility to Vestar and Oaktree Capital Management. Shortly before the sale, RPAI dropped the value of the Gateway from $163 million USD to $75 million USD and took out a second mortgage on the facility of approximately $100 million USD, which complicated its handover (Semerad, 2016). One immediate upside to the sale, though, is that the new owners quickly repainted over the mall’s incongruous, So-Cal-style yellow walls to something a little more sedate, and announced that they would turn the mall into an entertainment complex. It is not just the mall that’s been through difficult times, however. There has been "37 an increase in crime, and an increase in homicides, in the area surrounding it (although general crime in Salt Lake City has fallen) (Dentzer, 2018b). There have been problems with drug use and dealing in, and around, the district’s overwhelmed homeless service providers. This is most evident in the area around the Rio Grande Depot, where it is not unusual to see people exchanging money for drugs or using heroin midday. Spillover effects from this have been the harassment of patrons and owners of nearby businesses, incidents of vandalism in the surrounding area, drug-related shootings, increased visibility of sex workers in the area, and seemingly random murders of homeless individuals sleeping outside of shelters (Caldwell, 2017; Smart, 2017b). Pete Henderson, the owner of beloved Rio Grande Café, which has been in the depot since 1981, made news in 2016 when he stated that he would no longer be able to sustain his business if the situation in the area were allowed to continue much longer. Eventually, he felt compelled to sell the restaurant to new owners (Stephenson, 2017; Tanner, 2016). There’s also been an increased number of homeless individuals occupying other downtown spaces in an attempt to escape the lawlessness and violence around the shelters. These issues have been due in part to the rise in opioid use across the United States, as approximately 80% of drug users in the Gateway area are addicted to heroin. However, they’ve also been exacerbated by other factors, including a housing shortage in the downtown area, rising living costs, the segregation and concentration of homeless service providers in the Gateway district, and an increase of out-of-town dealers and drug users looking to take advantage of the convenient drug scene (Smart, 2017b). While it’s been claimed that homelessness has not significantly increased in the city, this claim has been contested, and there has nevertheless been an overburdening of services, as the bulk of the Salt Lake City homeless population is concentrated in the heart of the Gateway District. Furthermore, there has been recent controversy surrounding Salt Lake City "38 officials and their handling of new homeless services. In 2015, the city developed a 6point plan for addressing homelessness, which includes creating (1) 20 short-term housing units, (2) 300 long-term supportive housing units, (3) increasing the capacity of homeless day services, (4) determining multiple locations for homeless resource services (based on potential neighborhood impact, costs, livability, safety, and service provisions), (5) improving public safety in the Pioneer Park area, and (6) “animating” the park for both homeless and nonhomeless alike (“Homeless Services Strategy,” 2014; “Homeless Services 6 Point Strategy,” 2015). Around the same time, the city received national attention for reducing homelessness, it was claimed, by 91%, thanks to a press release put out by the Department of Workforce services. Many evaluated Salt Lake’s 'housing first’ approach—of providing permanent housing for the chronic homeless before treating drug addiction and mental health—as a model program for the rest of the nation. Things, however, were not quite as rosy as they may have seemed from the headlines. While the city indeed significantly reduced chronic homelessness, only about 15% of the homeless population who uses shelters in any given year meet the criteria of ‘chronically homeless,’ as the definition requires that they be homeless for at least 1 year (or 4 periods, totaling 365 days, in the last 3 years) and have a diagnosed disability. Furthermore, while some statistics suggest that homelessness has not increased dramatically in the city, others indicate that the number of individuals who have used homeless services rose from 12,241 (2014) to 13,614 (2016), and the number who have stayed in the Road Home’s emergency shelters is twice as high as before the recession of 2008. There have also been indications that the methods by which the city was tracking the chronically homeless population was flawed. (La Ganga, 2016; Schulzke, 2017). The housing first model is promising, backed by solid research, but in the case of Salt Lake City, housing only the chronically homeless makes merely a small dent in the population that tries to survive in the Gateway district. It also doesn’t do much to address the openair drug market that emerged in the Rio Grande area or to ease overpopulation at The "39 Road Home shelter, which is housing people well above its capacity. In response to this, Mayor Jackie Bikupski spearheaded point 4 on the 6-point plan, that of finding multiple locations for homeless resource services. The original plan involved identifying sites to build four 150-bed shelters, in locations close to public transportation and with low anticipated impact. The original plan for these four centers was unveiled in December of 2016, with designs to keep one center in the Gateway district, build one center on 700 South (close to the edge of the downtown area), build one center on High Street (near the Smith’s Ballpark), and one off of 700 East in Sugar House (McKellar & Cortez, 2016). The plan received considerable pushback, especially from Sugar House residents, both because of the locations selected and because the process of site selection was largely obscured from the public (Boyd, 2017; McKellar, 2017b, 2017c, 2017d). As a result, the plans for the resource centers changed, with two 200-bed shelters planned for Salt Lake City, on High Street and 700 S, with Salt Lake County building a 300-bed shelter in South Salt Lake, at 3380 S. 1000 West (Anderson, 2017a; McKellar, 2017b, 2018). In total, there will be fewer shelter sites, but a slightly higher number of beds available, than originally planned. The Road Home will close, leaving the religious homeless services, Fourth Street Clinic, and refugee resource center alone in the Gateway district. The hope is that with a new network of homeless resource centers, working in conjunction with drug detox facilities and social services, Salt Lake City will be able to move people more efficiently through the available services, will redistribute the homeless population across the city, and will decrease the pressure on the Gateway. Because these solutions will be implemented later in 2018 and early 2019, their efficacy has yet to be determined. In addition to the planned resource centers, Mayor Bikupski, in collaboration with the Utah State Legislature, kicked off Operation Rio Grande, a multiagency effort to reduce crime in the Rio Grande neighborhood of the Gateway district. The $63 million USD plan involves three stages, the first of which has already been implemented. The "40 first phase involves “improving public safety and order” by increasing police presence in the area and diverting arrested individuals to either jail, drug court, or drug rehabilitation/transition facilities, based on the nature of their offense and addiction status (Dentzer, 2018a; “Operation Rio Grande,” n.d.). Over 1,000 arrests were made by the end of the first month of the initiative and 256 detox and treatment beds planned for 2017 (McKellar, 2017a). Results of the project have been mixed. While the latest stats show a significant drop in crime in the area, it’s also been observed that this may be the result of simply driving homeless individuals out of the district, as opposed to sending them to necessary services. Some news coverage has gone as far as suggesting that the homeless population in the Rio Grande area simply ‘disappeared’ during the operation, leaving for unknown outlying locales and hiding from sight. Furthermore, activists argue that the operation goes against the ethos of the housing first approach that the city had been championing just a year before (Anderson, 2018b; Dark, 2017; Piper, 2017; Smart, 2017a). The full results of the operation have yet to be seen and will likely depend on the outcomes of phases two and three, as well as the efficacy of the new homeless resource centers. The result of all of these initiatives—the homeless resource centers, Operation Rio Grande, the Housing First policy for the chronically homeless—as well as the movement of vagrant and homeless individuals in and out of the area, have left it in an uneasy transition state. Crime in the area appears to be declining, but the full impact of the initiatives won’t likely be felt until late 2018 and early 2019. Many are still hesitant to enter the district, thanks to their bad experiences there. Others don’t visit the area because the Gateway mall is not the draw it used to be. However, it would be unfair to say that the Gateway area is in a universal state of decline. It would be more accurate to characterize the district as being in a state of uneven development. While tenancy at the mall has been steadily dropping since 2012, there have nevertheless been a significant number of in-fill construction projects, including the "41 Courtyard Marriot and Hyatt House hotels on the intersection of 100 South and 300 West, the Broadway Park Lofts on 360 W. Broadway, the Bridges at CityFront on 650 W. South Temple, and the expansion of the green and blue TRAX lines through the district, which has added light rail stops and connections to both the airport and the Salt Lake Valley. Further, a healthy number of retail and service establishments have set up shop in the first floor of many of the historic buildings and lofts, such as Jade Market, Estilo Lingerie, Vosen’s Bakery, Bingham Cyclery, and several restaurants. The lofts in the area are still desirable properties, commanding from approximately $250,000 to $750,000 (as of February, 2018). The Salt Lake City Farmer’s Market is still held every Saturday from May until October, Kilby Court is still a music venue, and several hip, upstart businesses have emerged around 300 West and 800 South, such as the Fischer Brewing Company and RubySnap Cookies. Jazz games are still played at the arena. There is new construction in the area, including a large apartment building at the intersection of Pierpont and 300 West, behind the Bailey Firestone building. The new owners of the Gateway mall are already making changes to the facility and have signed agreements with at least seven new tenants (as of the end of 2017), and Salt Lake City’s annual New Year’s Eve celebration is slated to move to the Gateway, as well (Winslow, 2017). The Gateway area, while facing struggles, still appears to be an attractive area for investors and it seems, based on all of the activity taking place within it, there is a sense of optimism about its future. In this way, it would perhaps be better to say that the Gateway district is not in decline, but has instead been experiencing oscillating development, though there is hope that the area will continue to improve in the future. A Detour to City Creek Part of the reason why the Gateway area, and in particular its namesake mall, has been struggling is competition from the City Creek Center project, which was completed by Property Reserve Inc. (PRI), the real estate development arm of the LDS Church, in "42 2012. The project, which takes up two of downtown Salt Lake’s very large blocks and spans 20 acres, has been successful since its opening and was responsible for luring away many of the Gateway’s tenants. The current success of City Creek Center is somewhat a curiosity. Its cost totaled $2 billion USD and it took 7 years to build, tying up portions of Main Street, State Street, and 100 South during that time. Construction on Main Street was cited as a significant problem during the news coverage of the Gateway mall during the 1990s, so the decision to turn the downtown core into a giant construction pit was an interesting one. It was certainly not without risk. In order to complete the project, the Key Bank Tower, ZCMI Center, Crossroads mall, and Deseret First Credit Union building, among others, were completely demolished. It was also not without controversy, such as when the company announced plans to demolish the First Security building (which was eventually saved by the efforts of Utah Heritage Foundation and the Eccles family) and the plan to build a sky bridge over Main Street, which, at the time, violated city planning code and upset those concerned about breaking line of sight to Temple Square. Because of its outsized ambition and controversial decisions, the project was viewed with some skepticism during its construction. Additionally, City Creek Center’s rules and policies clashed with expectations for its shopping and dining establishment. There was much discussion over the decision to close all stores on Sunday, with the exception of a few restaurants, and the limit on the number of dining establishments that could serve alcohol (House, 2012). Outdoor patios were built on Main Street, but because there are no restaurants that open up to them, they continue to go unused. The center’s code of conduct also raised a few eyebrows, with its prohibition against “wearing clothing that is, or in a manner that is, obscene, offensive to others, that may provoke a disturbance, or is otherwise inconsistent with a first-class, family oriented shopping center” (“Rules of Conduct,” n.d). It must also be remembered that the demolition began in 2007 and construction ran through the Great "43 Recession, a time when many large-scale projects were put on hold, terminated, or never managed to get off the ground. Finally, it strikes me as unusual that the City Creek Center project was announced a mere 2 years after the opening of The Gateway mall, Phase 1. A major mixed-use development project had just been completed in Salt Lake City; in fact, further phases were still upcoming. Did downtown Salt Lake City need yet another grand development project? Was there a shortage in housing and retail spaces? At that time, it didn’t seem so, given the number of empty storefronts on Main Street. The case of City Creek Center is interesting, because of its temporal and spatial proximities to the Gateway project. If there was no obvious need for a mixed-use development at the city core, what were the goals of City Creek Center? And, beyond any stated economic goals for the project, were there cultural and symbolic aims wrapped up in the center, as well? If so, were these in response to, or share any similarities with, the Gateway project? This dissertation will not aim to answer these questions in detail, nor engage in a comprehensive comparison between the two facilities, as doing so lies beyond its scope. However, I do think it is valuable to take a brief detour on our way to the Gateway and consider the ways in which the City Creek Center project promoted itself to the public before it opened, especially its relationship to Salt Lake City’s downtown core. In doing so, we may be able to highlight key themes and values invoked by the center’s promotion and consider their relationship with those put forth in the news coverage of the Gateway redevelopment. Ideological Rhetoric of City Creek Center Department stores and shopping malls have long been the subject of scrutiny by a variety of urban theorists, cultural studies scholars, and communication researchers, especially the ways in which vast retail spaces are employed to promote ideological "44 frameworks, create and re-create subject positions for their patrons, and the ways in which visitors interact with the mall spaces or displays. Some of the conclusions drawn from a close reading of malls are contradictory: While shopping centers may provide a safe place where individuals can play with their identities or engage in the labor necessary for the maintenance of their social position (Backes, 1997; Conroy 1998), they may also have the ability to define and circumscribe the activities and behaviors that take place within them, due to their enunciation of specific social, cultural, and geographic identities (Chaney 1983; Dickinson 1997, 2002; Ruppert 2005; Stewart & Dickinson 2008). Of particular interest to communication scholars should be the work of Greg Dickinson, who is particularly dedicated to the rhetoric of built spaces in many urban areas, including FlatIron Crossing in Colorado, Starbucks cafés, and Old Pasadena in California. In his research, he has demonstrated the means by which shopping centers, in response to increasing urban fragmentation in postmodern cities, construct ideological localities from the relationship between natural environments and built structures (Dickinson, 1997, 2002; Stewart & Dickinson, 2008). The driving impulses of technology, globalization, and contradictory discourses have extended and modified the limits of bodies and personalities, and have rendered individual identity inessential (Dickinson, 2002). This results in individuals who search for spaces that seem “authentic” in order to mediate the confusing effects of postmodern fragmentation (Dickinson, 2002). Because suburbs and edge cities, themselves postmodern spaces and frequent hosts to malls, offer amenities in place of identities (due to their newness), many of the construction projects erected within them serve as place-making technologies that offer “invocations of locality as a response to [their] abstraction and placelessness” and imbue the space with an aura of authenticity (Stewart & Dickinson, 2008, pp. 281-282, 285-286). This particularly postmodern value, authenticity, is one we will encounter in later chapters, as it plays a significant role in the discourse surrounding the Gateway project. "45 While the desire for suburban authenticity is driven by the newness and placelessness of urban sprawl, it can also be seen operating in urban development projects, albeit in a differing formulation. This can be said of our case study example, City Creek Center. As the center was built into the pre-existing downtown core and situated among some of Salt Lake City’s most noteworthy landmarks, such as Temple Square and Abravanel Hall, it did not suffer from the featurelessness, ahistoricity, and mutability that so often generates angst in suburban places (Dickinson 1997, 2002; Stewart & Dickinson 2008). Yet the project, as it was presented on its public-facing website prior to its opening, still articulates a particularly forceful attempt to suture the built environment to the surrounding cityscape. This was enacted via two key mechanisms: the first, a cartographic imagination, which supports the second, a historicized conceptualization of the landscape. The Cartographic Imagination Maps played a pivotal role in crafting City Creek Center’s identity. This is something we will also see later in our exploration of the Gateway. On the ground, mixed-use construction appears mixed and fragmented – this was especially true for City Creek Center, which took a total of 7 years to build, quite a long time for a project to come together. From above, however, projects can appear integrated and whole, made part of the map. While realistic conceptual drawings were present on the webpage, the majority of still images related to the project were maps, either of the streets or as architectural elevations drawn from a lofty perspective. By consistently presenting maps to the viewer, readers were given the opportunity to weave together the disparate portions of the project in their imaginations. This was further enhanced when readers perused the site’s subpages in the order in which they were listed on the site's menu; each map subsequently added to those prior, until the final was full of the kaleidoscopic colors explained by the completed legend, as shown in Figures 1 and 2 (“Open Space,” "46 Figure 1: Retail Map “Office,” “Residential,” “Retail”). In place of the jumbled experiences of the center’s construction, the project was brought together into a whole, something further enhanced by the animated tour, which depicted the skybridge that spans Main Street and brought both blocks of the project together as one (“Conceptual Tour,” “FAQ”). Through the maps, the reader is able to employ a cartographic imagination to connect the project’s disparate parts together as a center, not simply two separate blocks of seemingly endless construction. The use of maps to depict the City Creek Center project is interesting because it is not a common-sense default. Architects and engineers, when working on layouts and designs, generally use reflected ceiling plans and specialized floor plans to illustrate the arrangement of building components, such as structural supports, electrical systems, and "47 Figure 2: Completed City Creek Center Map the precise location of building elements. These plans are specifically drafted by design firms for the construction companies who erect the buildings and are difficult to understand by the general public, as they are comprised of technical symbols, jargon, and data that do not immediately resemble the completed structure. When proposed buildings are given a more viewer-friendly form, they are usually depicted via architectural elevations. These architectural renderings portray with technical accuracy what buildings will look like after they are finished. Elevations commonly depict the proposed building from a ground-level perspective, mimicking what might be captured if one were to take a photo from the street, though other perspectives can be used in elevations, as well. The cohesion offered by the maps is unique because of its ability to portray the entire space of the project, which went beyond the few buildings that could have been "48 depicted in an architectural elevation. Additionally, the maps (including the accompanying legends) worked differently than elevations in that they did not allow the viewer to gaze upon the shopping center using normal perspective, nor to imagine how it might feel to walk through it. Instead, the maps functioned as precise diagrams and affixed the project to the surrounding cityscape. Instead of giving viewers the option to gaze upon images that might “resonate with the lived spatiality of embodied experience,” they instead employed an objectifying power that risk turning “observers into passive spectators [rather] than active participants” (Pelletier, 2008, pp. 6, 13). While elevations may give viewers a sense of what it might be to navigate through the space, to interact with it using creativity and agency, the maps suggest what will be there and what will be navigated according to the routes already set by the map makers and project developers. The Historicized Landscape The cohesion offered by these maps was further supported by the website text, which made appeals to a natural landscape that repeatedly recalled important moments in the settlement of Salt Lake City. These statements first worked by implying a connection between the contemporary construction efforts and the past. This is most explicitly evidenced in the project’s name: City Creek Center. Just as FlatIron Crossing takes the name of the nearby mountain range, effectively encouraging the shopping center to become “part of the outdoor landscape as it is situated within Colorado lifestyles of mountain exploration and outdoor appreciation” (Stewart & Dickinson, 2008, p. 295) the designation of City Creek connects the efforts of PRI to the founding of Utah. The website reminded visitors that the project was named after “the snow-fed source of drinking and irrigation water that flowed through the northern Salt Lake Valley when pioneering settlers first arrived in 1847” and that flowed alongside the pioneer settlement (“FAQ”). This nomenclature thus suggested, from the outset, that the project derived its identity from a specific history, and the utilization of this history in turn "49 generated, as McGee notes, usages that served to unite and separate, bringing together those who speak the same language in isolation from those who do not accept its meaning and intentions (McGee, 1990, pp. 7-8). Further supporting this historical connection was the repetition of descriptors referencing the past: pedestrian access points into retail areas were described as being based on “historic routes” that were used during pioneer days, while development boundaries and locations were named not according to the numerical grid of the modern street system, but instead on the more colorful names of downtown’s oldest thoroughfares, including Regent Street, Richards Street, State Street, Social Hall Avenue/Block, and the ZCMI Block (“Office Space,” “Pedestrian,” “Residential”). These naming conventions appeal to those interested in genealogy or history, and suggest a continuity between past and present architecture. In this context, the project was connected not just to the surrounding cityscape, but also to the historical landscape of early Salt Lake City, thus offering legitimacy to the new structures, as they were being built within a pre-established context. The employment of this historicized landscape continued throughout the website, where the construction (and associated demolition) was tied to surrounding landmarks, both natural and built. The center was described as designed around unique Utah topography, possessing views of the nearby Wasatch Mountains (“Residential”). Additionally, descriptions of the plans and its design elements emphasized a connection to the land, relying on repeated references to “open spaces,” “green spaces,” “water features,” “fountains,” “streams,” “gardens,” and the “south fork of City Creek” (“FAQ,” “Open Space,” “Retail,” “Residential”). All these markers further grounded City Creek Center in a natural-historical context, proclaiming legitimacy for the project by its relationship to Lake City’s soil – both past and present. Taking this connection one step further was the use of ‘landmarks.’ In stating that residential construction “will take full advantage of view-lines to downtown landmarks” (“Residential”), City Creek Center was situated not simply within the "50 downtown core, but within the cultural core, which contains the physical evidence of Salt Lake City’s past, as manifested in significant historical architecture. This notion of ‘landmarks’ was also expressed visually; at the top of each webpage, a standardized banner presented the website’s name, Downtown Rising, overlaid on randomly generated photographs (which changed at each new page or page refresh). The majority of the photographs were not only images of downtown locations, but were, in fact, shots specifically of historic buildings and facades, including the Church Conference Center, the Salt Lake Temple, the Tabernacle in Temple Square, the Rio Grande building, and the Peery Hotel (note here those last two landmarks are located in the Gateway district, thus bringing the area closer to the location of City Creek Center). These photographs, thus, contextualized the project in a particular way for visitors, in addition to garnering “their meaning through the description they provide to situations” (Edwards, 1997, pp. 289, 305). Through the use of “landmarks,” “Social Hall Block,” “pioneer days,” “historic routes,” and other historical and natural markers, the downtown project was referenced in terms that implied it possesses a past connecting it to a larger historical context, thus lending an air of legitimacy to the construction efforts at the same time as it was suggested that City Creek Center will itself become another piece of canonical Salt Lake architecture. From Historic Space to Cultural Space The employment of the cartographic imagination and the historicized landscape functioned to suggest the authenticity of the project, and, in turn, construct an identity for it. This is the crux of the place-making efforts on the part of the City Creek Center promotional pages. Just as FlatIron Crossing integrates the shapes, images, and materials of the Rocky Mountains into the built environment, in order to suture the establishment to the landscape (Stewart & Dickinson, 2008, pp. 286), the developers of City Creek Center attempted to tie it to both the historical and contemporary cityscape "51 via rhetorical assertions that grounded the construction in both temporal and physical spaces. This discursive suturing process can be seen to function precisely because it articulated symbolic relationships that situated the new construction within the place of that which is lacking—a built structure with localized heritage, a distinct identity, and extant social and physical relationships with its surrounding (symbolic and natural) environment—and generated a particular public discourse to be evaluated and enacted by residents and visitors. In this sense, the ‘suturing’ processes of the redevelopment’s promotional materials functioned roughly analogously to cinematic suture, in which they articulated a signifying chain of images, text, video, and maps (similar to cinema’s articulation of images) (Heath, 1977; Ingersoll, 2001), rather than serving as means to repair the wounds inherent to a torn cultural fabric (Spivak, 2005). While this suturing of place-making can take different forms, in this instance it edited together elements of downtown’s history and landmarks, along with the discursive components of the new development, in order to generate the perceived cohesion of its identity and the identities of those who interact with (and within) it. Furthermore, it could be argued that because the shopping center was erected in a pre-established environment—a historic downtown instead of a new edge city —the developers necessarily took the step of legitimizing the center by means of landmarks, implying that the project commands not just natural and historical authenticity, but also cultural authenticity. Throughout the website, the project was depicted as the grounds within which visitors and residents could reconnect with Salt Lake City, engage in activities that enhance their identities, and partake in sublime experiences. Previous scholars have described the ways in which shopping centers are depicted as spiritual, heavenly, or cultural spaces and how this depiction ritualizes commodified experience, thus elevating shopping centers, as a cultural form, into otherworldly locations. Because malls are self-contained spaces set aside from the public sphere, they emerge as safe places within which individuals can, as perceived by English "52 scholar Nancy Backes, play with the image, the semiotic signatures of contemporary life, the way a poet or writer might play with words or an artist might experiment with color and texture. They invest their deepest longings, their most profound desires, in ordinary objects […] which reflect our daily experiences and desires in coalesced form. (Backes, 1997, p. 7) As a result, shopping becomes a ritual experience and looking (in the form of perusing merchandise) becomes commodified, for, “separated from the rest of the world, [the mall] possesses the characteristic of both a retreat, a place for spiritual enlightenment, and a resort, a place for secular refreshment: City of Heaven and City of Earth. It is neither; it is both” (Backes, 1997, p. 6). There are aspects of the City Creek Center website that promoted the project along similar lines, granting aspects of the project an almost magical aura. This was most strongly seen in the conceptual video that introduced website visitors to what the project would look like. The conceptual video both began and ended in the air, from a physically impossible perspective (unless one were in an especially nimble helicopter), as demonstrated in Figure 3, and was comprised of a three very long ‘shots,' suggesting the omniscience of the gaze. The viewer moved through the space in an ethereal, dreamy way: After floating through the walkways and pausing to watch the retractable roof in action (while fountains spurt, dancing in slow motion in the foreground), the viewer flew faster than s/he could ever walk in order to rise above, and bypass, Main Street. The viewer then slid up an escalator, floated down stationary stairs, and entered the food court through automatic doors. Upon exiting this location, the perfect spring day depicted at the start of the video was instantly transformed into a beautiful night, with the windowpanes of the planned Nordstrom storefront glowing like stained glass in a cathedral, as shown in Figure 4 (“Conceptual Tour”). By imbuing commercial practices with a ritualistic tone, the conceptual video attempted to elevate the hypothetical center from an amalgamation of storefronts into an "53 Figure 3: Aerial View of City Creek Center (video still) Figure 4: Nordstrom’s Facade (video still) "54 urban church, suggesting the sanctification of shopping and the space in which it takes place. As Dickinson noted in his analysis of Starbuck’s visual displays, which solidify fragmented experience while also covering up the difficult social, cultural, and economic processes that make the cultivation and distribution of coffee possible, it is possible for retail spaces to respond to globalized simulacra “by at once acknowledging globalization […] but replacing the simulacra with a ‘real’ and material experience of globalization” (Dickinson, 2002, pp. 12-13). Thus, City Creek Center was transformed from a mere shopping mall of quasiunique pseudoboutiques (i.e., mass retailers from outside Utah that sell ‘eclectic’ and ‘exciting' mass-produced wares, which may be the product of unsavory labor practices) to a vibrant, almost unearthly meeting place. The unnatural gaze of the conceptual video suggested a sense of spirituality to the viewer and tied the act of shopping to the sorts of unworldly experiences usually reserved for religion. This move serves as a response to the anxiety-producing fragmentation of postmodern urban living, for “as the ‘rituals’ of leisured consumption are enacted and sanctified they are given an aura of authenticity and sutured into a stabilizing tradition” (Dickinson, 2002, p. 21). Thus, City Creek Center, as expressed in the maps and the conceptual tour, appears as a refuge from the outside world and overwhelming urban spaces, a refuge that gives its visitors sublime experiences through its scenic pathways, open spaces, burbling fountains, and plentiful retail choices. The text also supported the transcendent nature of City Creek Center through its depictions of the center as an extraordinarily unique construction, a landmark that would beautify an already beautiful city. The text did so in a partially reflexive manner by tying the historical-cultural elements of City Creek Center to the rationale behind its aesthetics. Concern over the dismantling of the historic ZCMI facade was assuaged by the promise that it would be reassembled in “essentially the same location;” this location, significantly, “will become the Main Street face of the new Macy’s store” (“FAQ”). Thus, readers of the website were encouraged to visualize significant city landmarks in terms of "55 their new uses. The writers behind the website also acknowledged that the history they provided was quasifictionalized, as the new water features and “streams” are, in fact, only simulacra of City Creek, based upon “some historical descriptions [that] indicate that the south fork […] may have run through the blocks occupied by the project” [emphasis mine] (“FAQ”). The exact route of City Creek, before being diverted by the original settlers, has not been definitively established. Nevertheless, these fictionalized design elements were depicted alongside the historical background of 1847 and were presented as means to “welcome residents, office workers, visitors, and shoppers” to downtown Salt Lake City (“Open Space”). By commenting on aspects of its own fictionalized nature, the developers employed the malleability of the project to explain its design at the same time as it represented the design as something much more than expected. It placed historical landmarks, such as the ZCMI facade, alongside ‘historical’ landmarks, such as the synthetic City Creek. It is at this juncture that City Creek Center was presented as a new cultural form with the power to transform the cityscape. Much emphasis was placed on seemingly novel characteristics that suggested a departure from, or reconfiguration of, the city’s historical context. Alongside the facade, “historic” streets, and the fake creek, the incoming tenants were described as “unique to the market,” consisting of “point-ofdifference retailers” that belong to the “upper-moderate to better range” (“FAQ”). That is: the incoming shops would bring something new to the Salt Lake City market, products not currently available, in order to diversify the economic and retail landscape. Furthermore, the environment in which these establishments would be housed represented a point of departure from past construction, as much focus has been placed on the project’s “sustainability,” incorporation of “environmentally sensitive” design concepts, and status as a “LEED for Neighborhood Development pilot project” (“Open Space,” “FAQ”). The investment in these changes was framed in terms of Salt Lake City’s significance and future: PRI was “confident in the future of downtown Salt Lake City and "56 the future of Utah. [They] expect that all projects in the city will work to the benefit of each other and to the people of our state,” in addition to ensuring that the area “continue to be a regional destination” (“FAQ”). The implication here is that the center would transform Salt Lake City’s economic and physical landscape, trigger changes to the downtown core, and thus cement the city’s future as a premier destination. It’s important to remember that, while the website emphasized the unique nature of City Creek Center, the center is merely the manifestation of a form popular in contemporary design-build practice. Though mixed-use developments do contain residential spaces, they predominantly advertise their commercial and retail fronts (Whitton & Paskett, 2008). While they have the benefit of increasing spatial density by combining residences, office, retail, and possibly entertainment spaces, the majority of these projects devote the bulk of their visual space and square footage to their ‘mall’ component. They are the postmodern update of the department store (and its related manifestation, the shopping mall), a retail configuration that appeared during the modernization efforts brought about by the industrial revolution (Chaney, 1983, p. 22). It’s difficult to think of the project as remarkably progressive when one considers that department stores, as early as 1909, were characterized by the physicality of their buildings and: […] became attractions for visitors to the cities, whether from the provinces or the suburbs, and had the same sort of cultural resonance as railway stations and other festival sites such as fairs, exhibitions and sports stadia. As such, therefore, the stores were part of a transformation of the city centre from being a place where population was at its densest with necessary ancillary services, to a commercial and entertainment centre surrounded by pockets of population. (Chaney, 1983, p. 25) Thus, it can be argued that City Creek Center merely carries on the legacy of the department store, despite suggestions about its uniqueness. Additionally, the emphasis placed on its historical context also continued the ideology of shopping centers, as exemplified by 1900s Bon Marché in Paris, which used advertising to suggest “that the store was an integral element in the complex of monuments and attractions which "57 constituted Paris as a national capital” (Chaney, 1983, p. 28). While City Creek Center may have presented itself as a novel, even spiritual, type of cultural center, it is instead just another mall, in a somewhat different configuration. City Creek Center as an Exclusionary Site All this—the uniqueness, historic identity, and authenticity cultivated by the suggestion of locality—in conjunction with the promise of ritualized shopping, is ideological by nature, as it provides both a framework for understanding the center and an exclusionary space that benefits certain groups while regulating others. While it may be tempting to view shopping malls as malleable locations that allow shoppers to play with, and perform, their identities in a nonthreatening environment, I disagree with Backe's assertion that “the mall contains raw art, art unfiltered and undistilled by the critics, unhampered by definitions and official standards of taste. It is a quotidian place, a populist setting, a place shunned for the most part by the media. This place is where the ordinary people are in their truest setting, for these people in these settings represent their culture at its best and worst” (Backes, 1997, p. 14). This populist setting is, in fact, an illusion. While the website may have constructed the mall as a public location, it was apparent that City Creek Center aimed to attract a particular individual, one who belongs to a certain group and behaves in specified ways. The mall, in this sense, was meant to serve as the playground for a narrowly engraved formation of the cultural middle class. In order to understand who comprises the group left out by the construction, one needs to consider the existence of the Third Persona, that is, “audiences not present, audiences rejected or negated through speech and/or the speaking situation” (Wander, 1984, p. 209). In reading the text formed by the various pages on the Downtown Rising website, one can understand that the Third Persona consisted of those who may not be familiar with, or who might not have access to, the design characteristics so heavily promoted by PRI. The description of the final project was phrased in terms of a “high "58 quality downtown,” “high-grade finishes,” “healthy living,” and retail “hallmarks” (“FAQ”). Thus, the center, as manifested through statements of uniqueness and quality, caters to the interests of the cultural middle class, the range of urban residents – from students, social workers, teachers, and shopkeepers, to journalists, lawyers, and architects – whose “countercultural” aesthetic and consumer tastes set them apart from other middle-class folk, whom they characterize as “suburban” and “boring.” (Gaudio, 2003, p. 679) The suggestion here is that those who would be able to fully engage with City Creek Center would be those who have both the time and money available to engage in commodified city living, one that stresses consumption and leisure as the foundation for social interaction. Thus, it can be seen that the Third Persona consists of those who exist in the shadow of the cultural middle class: transients, underresourced individuals, the working class, shiftworkers, or any other group that may not have sufficient cash or leisure time to purchase the ‘unique’ during regular shopping hours (Monday through Saturday, only). There should be concern underlying this particular representation of urban living, as it circumscribes ‘acceptable’ use of public space. I am highlighting this concern, for it can be argued that the contemporary preoccupation with digital imaging has resulted in the presumption that the formal attributes of a building need to be comprehensively represented […] [This] is not neutral but plays a major role in shaping the built environment and by extension its experience. (Pelletier, 2008, p. 6) The developers’ desire to present a cohesive identity for City Creek Center was problematic because doing so discouraged improvisation as a form of planning and construction (Pelletier, 2008, p. 10). It was obvious that the images of City Creek Center, as presented on the website, were fashioned along particular lines to the exclusion of others. One cannot help but notice the overwhelming Whiteness of the crowds portrayed within the conceptual tour; aside from a token recurring figure, a Black man standing with crossed arms in a yellow blazer, the discernible avatars appeared to be White. "59 Though many figures appear with their backs turned from the viewer, or with faces substantially blurred, the details rendered in their generally static limbs and hands indicate that most do not represent members of any visible minority group. Furthermore, all users of the public space were portrayed as members of the middle-, student-, and professional-classes, clad consistently in apparel such as fashionable capri pants, staid polo shirts, and suit jackets, as indicated in Figure 5. No avatar appeared to be standing in for the underresourced and vagrant individuals who currently participate in Salt Lake urban life. The list of groups excluded from this digital video was long and, perhaps, obvious: those wearing visible nonChristian symbols (such as dastars or head scarves), panhandlers, performance artists, street kids, the differently abled, homosexual couples, etc. This is significant because these images depicted the usage goals of the center and suggested continued exclusion within city boundaries, which are characterized by physical, social, and economic segregation (Georgiou, 2006, p. 288; Lofland, 1973, p. 61). By ascribing Figure 5: Downtown Dining (video still) "60 specific characteristics to the proper use of space within the center, the developers fostered an ideological stance that was inevitably political, as “unlike formal and national politics, urban politics of representation involve activities in the street, participation in local life, engagement with creative practices and the arts, among other things” (Georgiou, 2006, p. 287). The conceptual tour expressed the standpoint of its developers and highlighted ‘appropriate’ uses of urban space: placid families, lone professionals, and chatting friends, all leisurely shopping in a highly commodified place that obscures its purely economic intent with lush greenery, apocryphal streams, glittering facades, and sidewalk lounging — all elements normally associated with cultural plazas, not shopping malls. Conclusion The ideological constructions of the City Creek Center project in its promotional materials worked as sanitizing actions that defined how urban spaces should be used, and by whom. Because the public gains its self-awareness only when its members view themselves in imagery (Hariman & Lucaites, 2003, p. 36), it is important to take note of the specific identities and concepts promoted by visual and textual artifacts. In the case of City Creek Center, the project can be viewed as an attempt to reconcile the fragmentation resulting from postmodern city living through the presentation of the location as a single coherent unit at the same time as this unit is characterized by a legitimizing sense of ‘authenticity.’ This particular brand of authenticity, of course, is meant to appeal to certain individuals as opposed to others. Just as FlatIron Crossing emphasized the importance of skiing and home restoration as part of the suburban lifestyle (Stewart & Dickinson, 2008, p. 297), and Yonge-Dundas Square in Toronto utilizes the “urban entertainment center as a way to draw middle-class consumers back to the downtown and away from suburban multiplexes” (Ruppert, 2005, p. 124), the developers of City Creek Center attempted to speak to a specific consumer demographic "61 predominated by White, professional, nuclear family members who have the time available to explore the city both day and night. This leaves out myriad city residents who, though perhaps interested in the outcome of the project, would find that they were rendered invisible in its highly detailed and assiduously animated conceptual renderings. This invisibility is significant, due to its relationship with urban aesthetics and the regulation of behavior. Visually pleasing space has long been tied to urban aesthetics and the definition of public moral probity; in fact, safety discourses have long been connected to attempts to eliminate the presence of youths, thieves, beggars, prostitutes, and other individuals who mar the appearance redeveloped city space (Coleman, 2005). These areas are desirable, as they serve as performance-enhancing space, which “works with the visible in mind and encourages not only the performance of consumption and tourism but, increasingly, the performed appreciation of ‘culture’ and ‘art’ in the cities that now form part of the consuming experience” (Coleman, 2005, p. 137). Once the city has been portrayed in the image of an adventurous, yet safe, place, it can commodify and regulate all the activities that take place within it. Thus, shopping and looking become the favored behaviors of city living, and any action that deviates from this are erased through rhetorical constructs and representational feints, as exemplified by the website. The attempt to reconstruct the downtown core in a supposedly progressive manner, drawing upon high-end cultural descriptions to elevate shopping into an art form taking place within a unique setting, can be seen as a move to sanitize an area that lies flush against Salt Lake City's conservative and religious core: Temple Square. With this piece of information, perhaps, one can begin to understand specifically how the visual and textual rhetoric surrounding the City Creek Center project differed from the edge city developments studied by Stewart and Dickinson. As the project was not being erected in an abstract, ahistorical location, the place-making rhetoric associated with it required voicing a particular version of locality that spoke to the social forces that dominate the surrounding cityscape. The transformation of public areas in "62 downtown Salt Lake City into accessible, yet private, plazas under the authority of the LDS church is not new; the city still stings from the conflict that has resulted from the privatization of Main Street at Temple Square (McCreary & Clark 2009; Winters “Gay Incident”; Winters “LDS Posts”). As a result of these regulatory transformations, components of the Salt Lake cityscape have been morphed into zones that can be legally controlled in terms of the behavior that takes place within them. In the case of the Main Street plaza, pedestrians can be removed for picketing, smoking, or engaging in same-sex kissing if standing outside the gates to the Salt Lake Temple. In the case of City Creek Center, visitors are asked to dress in ways that adhere to ‘family values’ and to interact with the downtown core according to church edicts (thou shalt not shop on Sunday). The regulatory impulse of City Creek Center operates by identifying a specific consumer and enticing him or her to the center through the capitalist imagery of leisure, shopping, and play that appeal to middle class cultural interests. This regulation was obfuscated by the construction of the center as an urban landmark that is tied both to the surrounding streets and the natural-historical environment of Salt Lake City. The cartographic imagination and historicized landscape emphasized by the developers legitimized the project through its perceived sense of authenticity and its supposedly unique nature. Many similar rhetorical practices are employed at other shopping centers, but each is idiosyncratically tied to their cultural and environmental context. Because of this, it makes sense to evaluate each in an attempt to better understand the mechanics that underpin ideological frames that construct notions of probity, identity, history, leisure, religion, and behavior — all urban elements that are continually negotiated and reconfigured within rubble and rising steel. We will take an expanded view of the Gateway redevelopment project in the upcoming chapters, which highlight the main mechanisms by which the district was defined, represented, imagined, and negotiated. This detour to City Creek was a useful one, because we will soon see that the means by which it was represented has significant "63 differences from those of the Gateway. The Gateway redevelopment project, while also discussed in terms of authenticity, was nevertheless grounded in a unique moment in Salt Lake City’s history and appears to have been promoted in differing terms. CHAPTER 3 THE OLYMPIC IMPERATIVE AND THE NATIONAL CITY Introduction What comes to mind when thinking of Salt Lake City? What images, associations, and feelings does the city conjure in the mind of non-Utahns, both today and in the 1990s? Undoubtedly, as the capital of Utah, the primary (and sometimes sole) association is that of the Church of Jesus Christ and Latter-day Saints. This holds true across academic research, history books, popular media, and even informal ‘what-if’ conversations and roleplaying online – for example, it seems universally agreed upon that, in the case of a hypothetical second civil war, Utah will revert to the theocratic State of Deseret and will expend whatever military strength it possesses to defend its capital city (Chen, 2003; Davis, 2012; Evans, 1985; Gerlach, 2010; Gill & Larson, 2014; Gordon, 2017; “How Would You Rework”; Prior, 2010; “What Would Second American Civil War”; Van Biema, 1997). From the perspectives of those outside of Utah, the rallying cry in this imagined situation would be, ‘isolation at last!’ In academic inquiry, the LDS faith has served as both the lens through which Utah phenomena are evaluated and the site of the research project, itself. This holds true across multiple disciplines: In communication, the processes and impacts of Mormon discourse have proven a fruitful object of inquiry (Chen, 2003; Evans, 1985; Greaves, 1942; Scott, 2005); in cultural studies and the humanities, focus is placed on the impact of the LDS church on the prevailing culture (Gerlach, 2010; Gill & Larson, 2014; Gordon "65 & Shipps, 2017; Olsen, 2008; Prior, 2010; Stiffler, 2003); and in architectural/urban studies, the relationships between the church and the physical environment have been explored (Mitchell, 1997; Prorok, 2003; Starrs, 2009). In this sense, it can be said that while there is a substantial variety of research related to issues relevant to Salt Lake City, plenty of this research turns its attention to Mormonism as a prevailing influence on the phenomena in question. This has held true in nonacademic work as well, with news reporting often focusing on Mormonism and the rise of the LDS church, such as the 1997 Time cover story, “Mormons, Inc.” and the 2011 Newsweek cover story, “The Mormon Moment” (Kim, 2011; Van Biema, 1997). This was even a common theme touched upon throughout the recent 2016 presidential election, during which the ‘Mormon question’ was a frequent topic of speculation: Would Utah, a reliably Republican state, vote for Donald Trump, a presidential candidate whose demeanor, rhetoric, and platform chafes against many of the values that Mormons hold dear? If one were to begin imagining Salt Lake City, it seems inevitable that one would start and end with the LDS church, with only a brief detour, perhaps, to its outdoor recreation sites, such as its parks and ski resorts. Beyond that, though, Salt Lake’s cultural context in (and contributions to) national culture, and how it is perceived, gets a bit more hazy. This may be changing, but it was certainly the case at the turn of the millennium. Other U.S. cities have achieved cultural prominence and clear identities thanks to their representations through various media—Miami rose as a multicultural hotspot thanks in part to the Miami Vice aesthetics of the 1980s; Seattle emerged as a hip cultural and technological force, thanks to grunge culture and Microsoft, in the ’90s; and New York City became the quintessence of modern urbanity thanks to decades upon decades of television, music, and film—but the picture of Salt Lake City is one that has remained unfocused. First, a pop quiz: How many films can you think of that are set in Salt Lake City? "66 Note a detail in this question; I am not asking how many films have been shot in Utah (the state is a popular shooting location, especially of westerns set in the southern counties’ red rock country) or how many films have merely used Salt Lake City as a stage (it has served as a filming locale for a variety of media productions, including the longrunning ’90s TV series, Touched by an Angel). This is because Utah has long been a shooting location popular for budget-minded directors and producers in need of breathtaking landscapes and urban areas situated in close proximity to each other – which explains why over a thousand movies have been shot in the state (Harmer, 2013). The question is how many films have been shot in Salt Lake City and have showcased the city itself for its architecture, for the plot, and/or as a character? Gen Xand indie-enthusiast locals might quickly recall Rubin and Ed (1992), a quirky independent film starring Crispin Glover and prolific character actors Karen Black and Howard Hesseman. But what do non-Utahns think of? What cinematic images of Salt Lake City come to mind? Surely nothing from Double Jeopardy (1992), a terrible and forgettable film with production values too poor to be that of a major motion picture, yet too (unsuccessfully) erotic to be a made-for-TV movie. Nor would they be likely to remember anything from the helicopter extravaganza that was Birds of Prey (1973), though they may have some recollection of Mr. Kreuger’s Christmas (1980), if only because it starred the late James Stewart. What about Net Worth (2000) or Forever Strong (2008)? Do any of those ring a bell? The above examples might be a bit too obscure, so let’s turn our attention to four more notable movies set in Salt Lake City. Film history buffs may remember that the sequel to the disaster film Airport, named Airport 1975, was the seventh-highest grossing film of 1974 and harrowingly depicted a flight attendant trying to land a disabled 747 at the Salt Lake City International Airport. They might also know that Brigham Young (1940) was produced and billed as a sweeping Hollywood epic, only to flop miserably at the box office (despite all the polygamy, it was pretty boring). "67 Independent film aficionados think fondly of two sleeper hits, Carnival of Souls (1962) and SLC Punk (1998), which were set in Salt Lake City, involved the city heavily in their plots, and while not enormously successful upon their release, have nevertheless managed to develop an ample cult following. Aside from these movies, however, are there any other that come to mind? There may be, but I’m done – based on my experience, I feel I’ve generally summarized Salt Lake’s illustrious history in the imagination and work of filmmakers. Unlike New York City, arguably the main character of Woody Allen’s Manhattan (1979) and Blake Edwards’ Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961), or Los Angeles, the visually evocative setting of Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner (1982) and John’s Singleton Boyz n the Hood (1991), Salt Lake cannot claim a healthy oeuvre of significant and highly memorable films that have shaped the city in the mind’s eyes of those who have never lived in it. Those that do exist focus on its unique (and sometimes stereotyped) religious culture (see Brigham Young, Mr. Kreuger’s Christmas, and if you want to throw TV in there, HBO’s Big Love), or on its defining quality of boringness (as in SLC Punk). Otherwise, they include the city as an identified, yet neither remarkable nor significant, component of the movie’s plot (see almost everything else). The only other quality that may recur is the beauty of the surrounding mountains and landscape. Thinking cinematically, there is a dearth of Salt Lake City images to stoke fervid imaginings of it. This example of cinematic Salt Lake is exemplary of its cultural identity in national consciousness. When situated culturally by those who haven’t visited it, Utah (and by extension Salt Lake City) is first and foremost a Mormon location built via a unique pioneer history, and secondly a place with pretty mountains lacking cosmopolitan activities (and amenities). It is, and has long been, a relatively important transportation hub (first of rail, then of air travel) and is among the few large cities in the Intermountain West. But on a national scale, Salt Lake City has the notable history of being a curious, though otherwise unremarkable, historical and geographic footnote, "68 outshone by the larger and more exciting cities of the west, such as Denver, Seattle, and (of course) Los Angeles. This was surely the case in the 1990s, which brings us to the topic of this chapter. Between the years of 1996 and 2001, the city focused the planning and construction of the Gateway redevelopment project. These efforts were not just borne out of a desire to revive the stricken district but also in anticipation of 2002 Olympic Winter Games. In this sense, Salt Lake was engaging in creative and constructive efforts similar to those of previous Olympic hosts, such as Sydney, Atlanta, and Albertville. In doing so, the city was embroiled in a complex process of event planning, urban redevelopment, fiscal management, and symbolic negotiations with the potential for not just local, but also regional, national, or international ramifications. In the following, you will see how the news coverage of the Gateway redevelopment project reflected an imperfectly reflexive approach to urban reconstruction and place-making, which demonstrates a collective yearning to situate the city in a larger cultural context, thus placing Salt Lake in conversation with other, often larger, Olympic hosts. However, while the redevelopment approach taken by Salt Lake City was similar to that of, or suggests shared goals with, other Olympic cities, there are nevertheless key differences that suggest concerns unique to Salt Lake. The Olympics as a Mega-Event It’s difficult to imagine an event that requires coordinating more logistics, labor, money, and people than the Olympic Games. Arriving every 2 years (thanks to the staggering of the winter and summer Games), each game is an intense, 16-day affair that brings to fruition decades of committee meetings and proposal plans, years of planning and construction activities, months of promotional efforts, (sometimes) days of international travel, and a lifetime of training on the part of the athletes. It cannot be described in terms of merely being a sports competition or media spectacle; indeed, the "69 Olympics stands as an example of something greater, something referred to as a megaevent. Mega-events are, in simple terms, larger-than-normal events, though they may better be described as “large-scale cultural events which have a dramatic character, mass popular appeal and international significance,” that attract extensive media coverage, and have significant impact on their host city, region, or nation (Roche, 2000, p. 1). The concept of the mega-event can be traced back to 1987, where it was first employed in the 37th congress of the Association Internationale d’Experts Scientifiques du Tourisme (Müller, 2015). Conceptually and practically, the employment of the mega-event frame has been somewhat slippery in academic inquiry, with researchers employing the term with varying valences and differing definitions. In a colloquial sense, research on megaevents has focused on large-scale events with large audiences, often distributed via media, and that impact the environments that surround them. In a 2015 project to clearly describe and operationalize the concept of the megaevent, geographer Martin Müller defines such significant events as “ambulatory occasions of a fixed duration that attract — (1) (2) (3) (4) 2015, p. 634) a large number of visitors have a large mediated reach, come with large costs, and have large impacts on the built environment and the population. (Müller, This definition also incorporates a scoring scheme to differentiate between events, sorting them according to three categories of size/impact, ranging from major events (the most common) to giga-events (relatively rare, though increasing in frequency), with mega-events lying in-between (Müller, 2015). In creating this framework, Muller gives means to researchers to clearly differentiate between various types of large events, identifying them via quantifiable data (such as number of tickets sold and total value of broadcasting rights, for example). There is also a strong connection between the concepts of mega-events and media "70 events, which are planned, mediated events that break television routine, demand audience attention, and enthrall audiences with their live and unpredictable content (Boni, 2016; Boorstin, 1971; Dayan & Katz in Evans, 2014). If one considers wide broadcast reach as a required identifier of a mega-event, then it could be argued that all mega-events are accompanied by associated media events, which have the potential to impact not just the physical and economic characteristics of the host city/region/nation, but also symbolic articulations of national identity, history, class, gender, and race. Indeed, the opening ceremonies to the Olympic Games have served as fertile ground for rhetorical and critical analyses (Chen, 2012; Heinz Housel, 2007; Hogan, 2003; Larson, 1991; Tomlinson, 1996). It should be noted, however, that the large impacts of mega-events and their associated media events on their host cities/regions/nations are not always positive. Media coverage of Olympic events can have negative consequences on discursive and cultural constructions, thereby crafting particular representations and cultivating biased, distorted beliefs on the part of viewers (Gerbner’s cultivation theory has proven to be a useful research tool in this area). Prior research has indicated that Olympic media coverage in the United States (performed exclusively by NBC for the last 18 years) continues to engage in representational practices that perpetuate racist and sexist stereotypes of athletes, as well as evoking richly nationalistic narratives in the context of the ostensibly internationalist and inclusive games (Billings & Eastman, 2003; Billings, et al., 2013; Chen, 2012; Heinz Housel, 2007; Hogan, 2003; Larson, 1991; Thomas, 2015). Negative consequences also include both tangible and economic failures. While many recent games have been profitable, such as the 2002 games in Salt Lake City, the 2008 games in Beijing, the 2010 games in Vancouver, and the 2014 games in Sochi, others have proven to be unprofitable, such as the 1998 games in Nagano, the 2000 games in Sydney, the 2004 games in Athens, and the 2006 games in Turin (Hille, 2009; "71 Reuters Staff, 2014; Scherer & Shi, 2016; “Section 3,” n.d.; “Vancouver 2010 Makes its Final Bow,” 2014; Wilson, 2007). Furthermore (and more significantly), scattered globally are the remnants of Olympic venues and construction projects, once hailed as concrete pieces of Olympic legacy, but left abandoned and unwanted, such as the Olympics hockey stadium in Athens, the bobsleigh track in Sarajevo, the beach volleyball venue in Beijing, and the aquatics stadium in Rio de Janeiro (“Abandoned Olympic Venues,” n.d.; Varley, 2018) While potential host cities are drawn to the Olympics due to the promise of infrastructural improvements, increased tourism, and a higher international profile, they nevertheless run the risk of incurring unexpected debt and a sense of lingering failure. This is largely due to the high costs of running the Games, the expenses involved in maintaining large, special-use sports venues after the Games conclude, and the possibility of postgame disinterest in the city and its venues, both by locals and potential tourists (Brown, 2003; McBride, 2018; Wilson, 1996). Financial mismanagement and corruption are also of concern, additionally increasing the chance of a disappointing Olympic legacy. These factors have been most frequently been attributed to the Games hosted by cities in developing countries, such as Rio de Janeiro (Chade, 2017; Wilson, 1996). Hosting a mega Olympic event is thus a risky proposition for host cities and may encourage ultimately pointless development of their built environments. The 2002 Winter Olympic Games in Salt Lake City qualify as a mega-event using the more diffuse academic definitions of the term (the 2002 Games are, in fact, identified as such in Roche’s work), and may qualify as a mega-event under Müller’s criteria. The games were attended by an average of 70,000 people per day, and were watched by a total of 2.1 billion people in 160 countries (“Section 1”; “Section 3”). The total cost of the games was $1.2 billion USD, approximately 1.5 million tickets were sold, it earned over $738,000,000 in broadcast rights, and involved $600,000,000 USD in capital investment; additionally, approximately $435 million USD was put towards "72 infrastructure in Salt Lake City and Olympic venue areas (International Olympic Committee, 2002; Pace, 2006). When these amounts are adjusted for inflation, they qualify the 2002 Olympics as a major event, per Müller’s definition. However, these capital investment and venue investment figures may be lower than the actual capital investment put towards the winter Games (and appear lower than in other Olympic cities), as Salt Lake City officials had invested decades in Olympics-related sporting infrastructure prior to winning the bid in the 1990s (Brown, 2003). With this knowledge in mind, the 2002 Games may very well qualify as a mega-event, and they certainly satisfied the requirement as a major media event, as they were also the most-watched Games up to that point in modern Olympic history and stands out as the first major international activity hosted by the United States to take place after the 2001 September 11th World Trade Tower attacks. It was the case in the 1990s, then, that little, unremarkable Salt Lake City found itself amongst the ranks of other, usually (but not always) larger, cities that have had to go through the process of planning, hosting, and recovering from a mega Olympic event. It was through this lens that city officials, urban planners, and journalists turned a critical eye to the Gateway district and considered the changes needed to be undertaken in it. Not only was the Gateway, as framed by the news coverage, a vacant location needing life to return to it, it also needed to be purified, filled with people, and given a new postindustrial purpose – which in turn would give Salt Lake the physical and symbolic components necessary to craft its forward-facing identity. Though the Olympics was not the sole reason for this turn, it provided much of the framework and rationale for it. This will be explored in the next sections and will be expanded in the next chapters, where we will consider the specifics of place-making in the Gateway district. "73 Redevelopment in Olympic Host Cities A mega Olympics event affords host cities an opportunity to revive failing infrastructure and neighborhoods, access to funding, and the impetus to complete work by a concrete deadline. These factors were relevant to the Gateway redevelopment project. While the district had long been identified as an area in need of intervention, the upcoming winter games incentivized the project due to the promise of federal funding, HUD funding, Olympic funding, and the attention (and capital) of private investors. As quoted in the Tribune article, “The Boyer Co. Has Plans for S.L. Gateway,” “there are certain windows of opportunity when development makes sense. Certainly this time before the Olympics come is one of them” (Walsh, 1998a, para. 20). Here we can see that Salt Lake City found itself in a situation similar to that of another Olympic city, Sydney. In fact, both cities undertook redevelopment efforts at roughly overlapping times (in preparation for the 2000 games, work on a vacant site west of Sydney was initiated in 1995). It’s evident in the Salt Lake City news coverage that their concerns centered analogously around a desire to bring people back to the moribund city area, to address the problems of urban environmental degradation, and to craft a new postindustrial identity. While the districts themselves differed, they shared many of the same goals. In a fine article titled, “What is an Olympic City? Visions of Sydney 2000,” English scholar Helen Wilson articulates the experiences of Sydney during the Olympic planning process and the means by which its industrial landscape acted as a locus of intense constitutive discourses involving the manipulation of urban space in anticipation of a media event (which, in Sydney’s case, was the summer Olympic games to be held 2 years before the 2002 winter games). As all media events require a location, the city functioned as an anchoring sign, with landmarks (such as the Sydney Opera House) working as indices of the media event itself (Wilson, 1996). Furthermore, a recognition of this situation engenders both a sense of urban reflexivity and awareness of the "74 “Olympic Imperative,” that is, the need to devote attention and resources to the physical city, “to building and rebuilding, salvaging, cleaning up and detoxifying it” in anticipation of the games (Wilson, 1996). This imperative, in conjunction with the recognition that the event will require the country to articulate a national identity to be viewed by the eyes of the world, engenders a collective anxiety that is directed at the urban landscape. This negative affect is managed, at least in part, by plans to reshape the city in a style amenable to its anticipated global audience. The sense of collective self-awareness on the part of Sydney is echoed throughout the Tribune and Deseret News coverage, especially during the early and later years of the research period, as Salt Lake City knew it had to contend with the intense scrutiny of others. Expressed were concerns about the potential of ‘bad publicity’ and the experiences of the incoming swarm of media professionals. For example, Councilman Roger Thompson stated in a 1999 Deseret News article, “[Nagano] was a cultural wasteland in the evening” and stated he supported efforts to “activate downtown” in anticipation of the Olympics visitors (Edwards, 1999c, para. 3-4). The coverage demonstrates that these concerns regarding the 2002 Olympic media event were applied to the discourses surrounding the redevelopment of the Gateway district (Edwards, 1999c; Gorrell, 1999; Hemphill, 1996; Jarvik, 1998b; Roche, 1996). As conveyed in the newspapers, both city officials and city residents did (or should have) fret(ted) about the derelict, decayed state of the Gateway, a “spiraling” warehouse district “with decaying old warehouses and railyards” (Evenson, 1997, p. 2). This echoes the conversation in Sydney about Homebush Bay and Pyrmont Ultimo, “‘postindustrial spaces’ in a quite literal sense, for they bear their industrial inheritance hard, so that they have become ‘unloved’” (Jopsin in Wilson, 1996, p. 609). The Salt Lake location most available for development was also a haggard, forgotten space, unappealing in its aesthetics yet soon to be under the watchful media gaze. The Gateway district was also similar to Sydney’s Homebush in the way in which "75 it was both historically and socioculturally situated. The Gateway was marked by its years of intense industrial production, just as Homebush was forever altered by its history as “a brickpit, abbatoir, chemical production site, rubbish dump, and munitions centre” (Wilson, 2016, p. 610). Its industrial history, which had contributed to the growth of the early city, was thus similarly an obstacle to readying the city for the Olympic games. Starting in 1998, the news articles repeatedly reminded readers that the Gateway district was one of 16 brownfields showcase communities (Edwards, 1999b; Walsh, 1998d, 1999c). Declared blighted and a showcase community, the Gateway area was eligible for EPA funding in order to remediate environmental contamination and ensure a healthy future for the district. As a showcase site, it would also serve as an example to other areas in the country struggling with similar redevelopment issues. With the repetition of language that reproduced themes of decay and contamination, the news highlighted the physical and aesthetic shortcomings of the area and, as with Sydney, its need for purification prior to the Olympic games. Furthermore, the news coverage acknowledged the means by which the Gateway straddled the uneasy sociocultural divide between the east and west sides of Salt Lake City. In a 1997 article, Deseret News writer Lucinda Dillon opined that the redevelopment project could serve as a bridge for the ideologically split east and west sides (Dillon, 1997). Other articles observed that the west side was lacking in amenities compared to the east, that it was in need of being “reclaimed,” and filled with lowincome residents, (Baltezore & Keahey, 1997; Edwards, 1998b; Walsh, 1997d) This, too, was the situation of Homebush, an area “sitting between the gentrifying inner west and Sydney’s ‘other,’ the vast but under-resourced population centre of the western suburbs” (Powell in Wilson, 1996, p. 610). While foremost were concerns about the city environment, these were also connected to greater tensions between different neighborhoods and their associated inhabitants. At the content level, several of these discussions in the Salt Lake news coverage expressed an explicit desire to bridge the gap "76 between the east and west sides and to provide a space through which city residents could traverse in order to reconnect with the long-ignored ‘Other' (Dillon, 1997; Evenson, 1998). This would be enabled both by the “opening” of the district through the removal of rail tracks and viaducts, and by filling the area with new residents, workers, and visitors (Edwards, 1998a, 1999a, 1999b; Walsh, 1998g). A literal opening of the district, in conjunction with its redevelopment, would effectively help suture the east and west sides, thus repairing the torn social fabric and enabling more integrated social relations. What the Olympics seemed to offer was more than the chance to create a new, cohesive identity for the district, as it was rebuilt and situated, but also an opportunity to engage in a rehabilitative reweaving, as Spivak would say, of downtown’s fractured relationships. At a relational level, these discourses reveal a particular intentionality on the part of city residents and officials to remediate poverty via the physical, economic, and social correction of the west side and its residents. The explicit observations that the redevelopment of the Gateway would help unify the disparate parts of the city came later in the news coverage (such statements appeared in the articles released during 1998 and 1999). Prior to this, emphasis was instead placed on fixing the problems of the district by means of private and Olympic investments, removing undesirables from the area, and correcting the behaviors of struggling west side residents. In 1996, it was observed that the Olympics could spur investments that would “burnish” impoverished neighborhoods with a shine only private investment (not government intervention) can provide (Funk, 1996). While it was acknowledged that the Olympics did not guarantee true economic improvement of inner city areas, with the experiences of the Atlanta Olympics serving as a cautionary tale, the news coverage nevertheless implicated the Olympics in the process of infusing money into struggling city sectors, as long as the redevelopment was handled intelligently and with partnerships with private investors (Funk, 1996; Gorrell, 1997; Gorrell, & Walsh, 1997; "77 Hemphill, 1996; Roche, 1996; Walsh, 1997a). Such investment would both symbolically and literally brighten blighted neighborhoods in a way that moved beyond superficial change (these were the charges leveled at Atlanta, which was described as merely “slapping paint” on the city in preparation for the games) because it would infuse a new economic purpose to these neighborhoods (Funk, 1996). In this sense, there is an alignment between Salt Lake City and Syndey, as the news coverage suggests a collective intent on the part of city officials and planners to reflect upon its struggling spaces and orient them towards newer, better economic activities (which will be touched on in greater detail shortly). It can also be said that the power of the redevelopment process in enabling economic change was also dependent on a visual and behavioral intervention of west side residents. Repeated throughout the news coverage, starting in 1996 and running through the end of 1999, was what we could call ‘the homeless question,’ that is, in what ways will the redevelopment project address or ignore the needs of the homeless residents of the Gateway and the service providers who cater to them? This is a question that is still salient today and, I would argue, has been a persistent theme in news coverage related to the district since 1996 to the present. It is also a question that recurs in relation to many other redevelopment projects and is significant because it reflects not a concern for the homeless themselves but a desire to reconfigure revitalized districts in a fashion that will render invisible those ‘undesirable’ individuals who mar their ‘exciting’ and ‘unique’ aesthetics. These individuals are usually identified as the homeless, vagrants, and others such as ‘gutter-punks’ and skateboarding kids (Bergamaschi, et al., 2014; Coleman, 2005). In this sense, if we look at the Gateway district via a cold gaze of the Olympic media, we see not just dirty, stained brownfields and crumbling warehouses, but also the off-putting presence of the unfashionable and unattractive homeless. The Olympic imperative of purification thus extends beyond the built environment to some of the people who are situated within it. "78 But what of those deemed problematic, yet not sufficiently unappealing to warrant their removal? What can we say about struggling west side residents? The news coverage, too, addresses this issue. The discourses from 1997 to 1999 construct a type of promise: when Salt Lake City successfully completes its transit-oriented development of the Gateway district, the problems of the impoverished will soon evaporate. The completion of the light rail system, which would run through the district and converge within it at the point of the intermodal hub, would not just bring visitors to the area and shuttle around its residents. It would additionally take people “off of welfare” and would give struggling residents an opportunity to pull themselves up by their bootstraps (Byram, 1998; Dillon, 1997; Knudson, 1997; Walsh, 1998c, 1998e, 1999b; Van Eyck, 1997). I want to be careful here, because these discourses can also be read to imply that the transit focus of the district development project would benefit all poor residents of the city. Thus, its effects would not be limited to any particular area. However, given the push of the Olympic imperative, the directly stated desire to bridge gaps between the east and west side, and a long history of the west side as the neighborhood with lower land values and a poorer demographic, I think it can be said that the Gateway redevelopment was seen to involve not just a cleaning of its polluted environment and refiguring of its decaying architecture, nor just an attempt to remove undesirables from the area, but also a means for influencing the labor-related behaviors of west side residents, all of which would lead to the long-term revitalization of the district. In this sense, the upcoming Olympic mega-event amplified preexisting concerns about the district while also suggesting an answer – by combining federal funding, Olympic funding, and private funding, and as part of the process of preparing for the games, Salt Lake could suture its fractured east and west sides, remediate the polluted environment, and redevelop the vacant district, almost (it might seem) in one shot. In this sense, the Olympic imperative ensnared the Gateway project, despite the fact that it was envisioned over a long period of time, had goals obviously not related to the "79 Olympics, and encouraged its physical, environmental, economical, visual, and behavioral redevelopment. However, it must be stated that the main impulse of the Olympic imperative, beyond physical reconstruction and economic stimulation, is also self-reflexive and symbolic. It necessitates an orientation to redevelopment that also involves the constitution of a public-facing identity, symbolic of how the nation will interface with the rest of the world. This is to be expected, of course, as the construction of spatial identity plays an intimate role in urban redevelopment. Surely, however, this is amplified by the narrative processes interwoven with the Olympic games and their potential impacts as mega-events and media events. While there is ample research on national identitybuilding spurred by Olympic games, it’s also valuable to consider how this is echoed at the local level and constructed, in part, by local news coverage. Thus, it is necessary for us to identify the forward-facing identity constituted by the news coverage, situate it within the Olympic context and, later, interrogate the nature of this identity and its cultural impacts. Salt Lake City: National, Not International The appeal of hosting the Olympic games is not just related to the opportunity to spruce up flailing districts and build unusual sports facilities. It is also grounded in the ability for host cities to position themselves as world cities, cities that can take advantage of globalization and participate in the accelerating information economy. This is especially salient when we remember that we are looking at Salt Lake City during the latter half of the 1990s and at the start of a new millennium. It had not yet entered the age of Web 2.0 and planners were unlikely to be concerned about social media. Nevertheless, the internet was entering an era of increasing sophistication and commercialization, and the process of experimenting with streaming video had already begun. To orient one’s economy towards the burgeoning information industry would "80 surely seem a prudent choice. It may be tempting to assume that increasing globalization and electronic communication would make space and place irrelevant to the new economy. However, postindustrial and postmodern cities still compete to attract capital, jobs, and tourists, and the information economy has concentrated wealth and influence in those cities wired into globalization, as in London, New York, and Tokyo (Harvey, 1989; Sassen, 1994 in Wilson, 1996). Let’s not forget, of course, Silicon Valley. And while it may be true that communication flows have had a direct influence on the shape and form of built environments, it can also be said that the concentration of businesses in city centers, in conjunction with the increasing importance of communications technologies, has led to the densification of telecommunication infrastructure and the centralization of economic power into particular geographic locations (Castells in Wilson, 1996). Cities can either benefit from, or be left behind by, globalization, depending on their willingness to promote information and communication industries, and their propensity to orient their economies towards global, over regional, production. It is because of this that Wilson argues for the compelling appeal of the mega Olympic event. Despite the inherent risks in serving as a host city, there is nevertheless real potential in redeveloping city centers and serving as Olympic hosts, as doing so can help cement their statuses as world cities and, via international news coverage, promote this position to the rest of the world (Wilson, 1996). In a sense, it provides cities with an opportunity to articulate their own spatial subject positions within a shifting global landscape of power relations. However, the bar set for aspiring world cities is rather high. “Becoming a world city is one pathway for the entrepreneurial, postmodern city to follow, but such a strategy requires particular concentrations of functions and expertise,” unlike the generalized phenomenon of tourism (Wilson, 1996, p. 607). Cities can differentiate themselves via technological excellence, or, if such excellence is difficult to "81 achieve, use Olympics-related promotion and redevelopment efforts as the springboard for a vibrant tourism economy. Indeed, it’s been established that increased tourism is a common goal of, and frequent desire for, aspiring Olympic hosts. Sporting events encourage competition between hosts as “world-class cities,” help establish a national brand (even, perhaps, national franchises), and create a legacy that can be exploited for tourism (Evans, 2014; Holt, 2013; Leong, 2009; Wilson, 1996). These image-driven activities underpin the decision-making process of Olympic hosts, as was the case of Sydney (Wilson, 1996). Even if tourism were not the long-term goal of these cities, they would necessarily take up significant mental space on the part of city officials and planners, due to the pure need to accommodate the influx of Olympic tourists. For a time, at least, hosts would necessarily paint themselves as appealing, world-class, international destinations – if only to make up for the expenses poured into the Games. Wouldn’t they? Here, at least, the Salt Lake news coverage takes an interesting turn. While the news coverage reflects a desire to elevate Salt Lake City, this desire appears to be one of positioning it as a national city, not a world city. Consistent throughout the time period covered by the research set, the redevelopment efforts at the Gateway were couched as means to construct within Salt Lake a district analogous to those of higher-profile cities with greater levels of national cultural capital. These discourses, as presented through the news coverage, ranged from practical similes comparing Salt Lake’s redevelopment efforts with those of similar western cities that had previously completed analogous projects, to quaintly fantastical (in retrospect) comparisons that placed the district amongst exemplars of modern urbanity. Early in the news coverage, Denver appeared as a city with lessons from which Salt Lake officials, planners, and residents should learn. In a 1996 article written by Jay Baltezore and John Keahey, named “S.L. West downtown Decisions Imminent: "82 Downtown Revitalization Project Could Begin as Early as Next Year,” the authors referenced 1980s Denver as a model for Salt Lake planners (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996). During this time, efforts to redevelop lower downtown Denver, known as LODO, encouraged historic preservation at the same time as mixed-use development. The result was a revitalized district, argued by the authors as the hottest market in Denver (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996). Here, the news discourse directs the readers’ attention to the similarities between the Gateway district and LODO, which also was a “rundown, largely industrial area” to the south of downtown Denver (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996, para. 42). Furthermore, Denver planners took one approach to the redevelopment that was the same as those proposed by Salt Lake’s: It, too, reduced rail tracks in the LODO district (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996). However, the discourse doesn’t stop at mere comparisons between the two city areas. Also present in the articles is the suggestion that readers should begin envisioning the physical appearance of a new Gateway district in ways similar to that of the hot and hip LODO. The authors note that Denver focused on the “kind of uses that would be attracted to an area adjacent to the Platte river.” This is situated with the suggestion that Salt Lake planners “‘might bring City Creek down further south [from North Temple] and create different kinds of open space, like playing fields for sports leagues and groups.’ […] ‘These types of things are lacking in the downtown and the west side.’” (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996, para. 45, 54,). This visual imagination recurs in later articles, which ask readers to visualize LODO, with renovated homes, “two other brewpubs and 92 affordable apartments in surrounding buildings," and a bookstore converted “into the funky City Spirit Café," and then accept that the Gateway redevelopment plan was “modeled after […] Denver’s lower downtown” (Walsh, 1997c, para. 16, 17, 1998a, para. 15). These examples reflect a type of continuum on which these cities were situated in the discourse. At one end, Denver, as well as Portland, were presented as role models from which Salt Lake City planners ought to learn (in the case "83 of Portland, much attention was paid to its transportation system and the applicability of its planning strategies to Salt Lake’s anticipated light rail plan) (Pusey, 1997; Van Eyck, 1997; Walsh, 1998f). But they were also positioned at the other end, in which they provided imagery for the readers’ imaginations that could be applied to their expectations for the Gateway redevelopment (Walsh, 1997c, 1998f, 2001). Portland and Denver were certainly not the only cities referenced throughout the news coverage; they were, however, the only cities that clearly occupied both ends of this continuum. Atlanta also functioned in the news coverage as a role model, albeit more as a cautionary tale. The articles published in 1996 paid significant attention to Atlanta, its redevelopment efforts, and its handling of the 1996 Summer Olympic Games – which makes perfect sense, as most of these article were printed in the summer of that year. The Olympics were surely on everyone’s minds. But the lessons to be learned from Atlanta were often warnings to Salt Lake City officials, planners, and Olympic officials. However, these lessons were not employed in the coverage as a visual template for Salt Lake and the Gateway Atlanta’s redevelopment efforts were presented as harried and superficial, described as “hasty cleanups to whisk away years of debris” that did little more than to “paint a few houses” (Funk, 1996, para. 3, 11). While Lisa Riley Roche praised Atlanta’s approach to redevelopment in her article titled “Gateway Park: Corradini Wants to Follow Atlanta's Lead and Create a Site for Olympic Ceremonies,” claiming it has made “tremendous progress” and “transformed a seedy section of Atlanta into a festival for the 1996 Summer Games-goers,” this positive example was marred by the Centennial Olympic Park bombing, which occurred on July 27th and sent “tremors through the [Salt Lake Organizing Committee] delegation from Salt Lake City” (Hemphill, 1996, para. 1; Roche, 1996, para. 1). In this case, the Atlanta experience provided Salt Lake officials and planners with security concerns they may not had previously considered and “reinforce[d] the need to do everything possible” to make any Games-related "84 components of the Gateway redevelopment safe for those seeking to “share in the Olympic experience” (Hemphill, 1996, para. 19, 24). However, while these articles presented an Olympic Atlanta as a role model for an Olympic Salt Lake City, they did not provide readers with evocative images of what that Salt Lake might entail. It was obvious that planners ought to aim higher than Atlanta’s hasty clean-up efforts, provide an Olympic gathering space for the public, and arrange for stringent Olympic security, but what those options might look like were unstated. Aside from the suggestion of corporate sponsorship (in the case of a Gateway gathering space), none of the articles evoked images, ideas, or suggestions of what might actually take place in the Gateway district. Other cities and city districts were repeatedly invoked in the news discourses. References to significant places on the west coast, including Seattle, San Francisco (both the Marina District and Union Street), Santa Monica, and San Diego’s Gaslamp District, appeared in four articles spanning the period from 1997 to 1999 (Edwards, 1999d, Loomis, 1999; Walsh, 1997c, 1998c). Cities and districts from the east coast, including New York City (encompassing SoHo and Greenwich Village), Boston (both the Back Bay and Beacon Hill), and Chicago, significantly contributed to the discussion in five articles (Edwards, 1999d; Jarvik, 1998a; Walsh, 1997c, 1998a, 1998c). These cities played a role in the discourses related to the revitalization plan. In the context of the articles, these places were not role models (though the Gaslamp Quarter does provide planners with some practical experience in the later years of the news coverage. However, this experience was discussed in the news coverage after major decisions had already been made about the Gateway). They were instead largely aspirational, the physical invocations of the affective and cultural landscape desired for the Gateway district. “The Boyer Co.’s Gateway project doesn’t look like Utah. It could be something from San Diego’s Gaslamp District, San Francisco’s Marina District or even Boston’s Beacon Hill,” declared Salt Lake Tribune’s Rebecca Walsh in a 1998 piece titled, “Gateway Brings Hope, Heartburn” (Walsh, 1998c, para. 1). Per the rhetoric of the news "85 coverage, this should have come as a welcome sight, indeed. The Gateway redevelopment project was repeatedly described in terms that equated it to some of the most unique districts in our nation’s most influential cities. Early in the news coverage, this was framed as Mayor Corradini’s wish, with statements that “she wants [the Gateway] transformed into a neighborhood as lively and lived-in as New York’s Greenwich Village” (Jarvik, 1998a). Her vision of the Gateway was one that would grant Salt Lake City its own unique, historic urban village, just as “New York has SoHo. San Francisco has Union Street. Denver has LODO. And Salt Lake City? Salt Lake City has…the Gateway” (Walsh, 1997c, para. 1, 1998a). In the process of both paraphrasing, and evaluating, Mayor Corradini’s aspirations for the district redevelopment project, there recurs a pattern of situating the project in the same context as some of the U.S.’s most recognizable historic neighborhoods, which are much older, denser, and have higher real estate values than the Gateway. Furthermore, these are also districts that are clearly architecturally distinct and enormously popular to visitors – one does not even need look up their landmarks to bring them to mind. Visualizing Greenwich Village imagines its Federal-style townhouses and bohemian vibe, thinking of the Marina District recalls the Palace of Fine Arts, and imagining Beacon Hill conjures the Massachusetts State House or the George Middleton House. These are iconic districts known not just to New Yorkers, Bostonians, or San Franciscans; these are areas that have played a part in our nation’s revolutionary, political, geographical, and cultural history. They are large shoes for the Gateway to fill. Even where specific physical components of the built spaces of these districts are not elucidated, the news discourse also includes affective qualifiers to help readers recall their nature and, in turn, construct a possible identity for the Gateway. Repeated are references to these districts as “exciting,” “revitalized,” “funky,” and “lively” (Jarvik, 1998a; Pusey, 1997, 1997c, 1998a). In this sense, while the reader is not told explicitly how to imagine the Gateway-cum-Greenwich Village (for example), they are nevertheless given affective cues to imagine how its characteristics may seem (look, feel, appear, etc.) "86 based on their prior experiences with more famous places. The use of these particular affective adjectives to describe urban districts is not unique, and how they are applied to the Gateway will be discussed in a later chapter. However, as with other redevelopment projects, such language gives readers fodder for their urban imaginings. San Diego, in particular the Gaslamp Quarter, and southern California also appear in the news coverage, especially once the Boyer Co. unveiled their plans for the Gateway. Again, these areas serve as a visual blueprint for the district redevelopment, though they are not always aspirational. While the language in many of the earlier articles functioned to connect the imagined, not-yet-envisioned redevelopment to popular historic districts, including those on the east coast, at the unveiling of the Boyer plan, much of the media attention shifted to Southern California, a decidedly younger locale (even the historic Gaslamp Quarter was originally settled in the 1860s, later than either Greenwich Village, Beacon Hill, or the Marina District). This is certainly an interesting shift. In one sense, the movement of the discourse towards southern California is obvious: Jon Adams Jerde, the architect of the Gateway, was a prolific designer of many of the malls and entertainment centers that dominate the southern California landscape, including the Glendale Galleria, the Westside Pavilion, Newport Beach’s Fashion Island, Del Mar Plaza, San Diego’s Horton Plaza, and the West Hollywood Gateway. This is only a sample of his work, of course: He is also the architect of the Mall of America, the Bellagio Hotel and Casino, and Roppongi Hills in Tokyo (jerde.com; Leibowitz, 2002;). However, his design for the Gateway could live as easily in Southern California as it does in Salt Lake City; if one were able to magically swap his Huntington Beach’s Bella Terra with Salt Lake City’s Gateway mall, it might take some time for people to notice. Thus, it’s completely understandable that comparisons of the Gateway redevelopment would shift to Southern California, because that is the aesthetic the Gateway mall would reflect. It also makes sense, though, that the movement of the coverage towards the "87 Gaslamp Quarter served to give readers a clearer understanding of the Gateway redevelopment project and its future. With the Boyer Company’s plans unveiled, readers could begin to envision both the Gateway mall and what its surrounding environment might look like. Thinking of the Gaslamp area, they might visualize the “bicycle rickshaws [shuttling] tourists to and from the waterfront. Light-rail trains and a stream of city buses [deposit] thousands of shoppers at the upscale Horton Plaza shopping center, smack in the middle of the city's office and commercial heart" (Loomis, 1999, para. 11). While Salt Lake has no grand waterfront available (aside, perhaps, from an unearthed City Creek, as suggested in earlier articles), these descriptions provide a blueprint for the uses and activities in a reinvigorated Gateway area. To this extent, these comparisons are both aspirational and instructional. There are other complexities built into these comparisons, however. The articles also reflect Salt Lake City’s uneasy relationship with California and its cities, the economic and liberal behemoths of the west coast. There is certainly an aspect of this comparison that is positive, even goal-oriented. Silicon Valley’s monopoly over the information and internet economy could certainly have been an inspiration for Salt Lake City’s, at the time, burgeoning tech sector (Lee, 2001). During the 1990s, California’s economy was strong enough to rank among the top 10 countries in the world and represented an eighth of the U.S. total (“The California Economy,” 1995). If Salt Lake officials and planners wanted a role model of economic vibrancy, southern California was not too shabby an example to look up to. However, California and its cities also represented a possible threat to Utah culture. A slice of Southern California was "exactly the nightmare many Utahns envisioned," with "California-style traffic congestion, thickening air pollution, quickening erosion of the open spaces that link residents to their farm roots" (Loomis, 1999, para. 2). That California was seen as a wildly liberal state probably didn’t sit well with Salt Lake conservatives. And that Californians were among the 500,000 residents "88 expected to move into Salt Lake City by 2020 also represented its potential to upend the Salt Lake City its residents knew (Loomis, 1999). Nevertheless, the connection made in the news coverage between the Gateway and the Gaslamp Quarter, as well as southern California, sits more comfortably than some of the other districts to which it was compared. As newer western cities, plans to redevelop districts while also trying to maintain their historic character were more likely to align. Additionally, even if the comparison with Southern California might make some Utahns uneasy, Salt Lake City’s economy could bring it closer to the area in the future. It’s notable that absent from the news coverage was much language that connected the Gateway district, or even Salt Lake City, to any international places. The one exception was in an editorial titled, “‘Outer Mongolia’ is Best Choice for Transit Hub,” in which the chosen location for the intermodal hub, located at approximately 200 South and 600 West, was likened to “outer Mongolia” (Evensen, 1998). Here, a key feature of the Gateway redevelopment plan is connected to an international location, but this comparison is both fleeting and negative. Further, it is not a comparison likening either location (outer Mongolia or the intermodal hub site) as world-class places or interesting destinations. The implication is quite the opposite, obviously. Given the extensive discourses that connect the Gateway district to those in larger, more culturally influential cities in the U.S., and the relative lack of any language that connects it, or Salt Lake City, to international cities, it can be said that the news coverage constructs Salt Lake City as an influential national city, not an influential world-class city. As such, the news coverage deviates from what may be suggested by Wilson and Evans. There is a running theme throughout the news coverage that attempts to connect Salt Lake City to a broader context, and to take on the characteristics of successful cities in that context, but the focus appears to be primarily national and takes into account how Salt Lake’s Gateway might situate it within the national cultural context. "89 Conclusion It would not be paranoid to state that Salt Lake City was aware of its less-thanflattering image during the period before the winter Olympics. When we considered Salt Lake’s cinematic imagery and its lack of iconic images earlier, what we were doing was remembering Salt Lake City’s lack of positive publicity on a national scale. This was certainly a situation that Salt Lake officials, planners, and residents would have been aware of – during the period before the Olympics, national news coverage paid much attention to Utah’s “weirdness,” such as its drinking laws, which were said could “make you tipsy,” its “watered-down beer,” a “mother-lode of harmless peculiarities,” and its similarities to a “dull, awkward child” (Dube, 2001; Janofsky in Chen, 2003; MacGregor, 2002). This was but a start; cultural studies scholar Chiung Hwang Chen does a fine job of articulating the national interest in Utah Mormons around the time of the Olympics, and how this interest, while ostensibly couched in positive terms (regarding their industriousness, politeness, and clean living), nevertheless served as discourse to present Mormons as a ‘model minority’ that could threaten or destabilize American culture (Chen, 2003). Much of the attention paid to Salt Lake City at the time of the Olympics focused on its unusual characteristics and raised the question of whether Salt Lake was capable of pulling off a successful and entertaining Olympics at all. Utah residents have long been aware of how they can be perceived as ‘strange’ outside of the state, regardless of their religious affiliations, but especially if they are, or have connections to, Mormonism, which is often seen as the defining quality of its residents. I’m certain I am not the only Utahn who has traveled out-of-state and been forced to respond to (a) polygamy jokes, (b) intrusive questions about my religion (or lack thereof), and (c) surprise (feigned or not) when I order a cocktail. This perception is widespread enough that it’s something I have even taken advantage of – it is quite easy to smooth over faux pas and awkward moments by adopting an aw-shucks persona, throwing up your hands, and stating, “Sorry, I didn’t understand. I’m from Utah.” After "90 all, no one can expect too much from you if you’re from Utah. Even the intense scholarly focus on Mormonism’s influence on various phenomena reflects an overarching perception of the state’s Otherness. At times, it seems to be the only thing that people, be it the average joe or seasoned researcher, are interested in. In no way would I deny the pervasive influence that the LDS church has on all aspects of the state, nor would I say that Utah culture isn’t unique. It most certainly is. I think it’s fair to say that Utah culture is shaped by a fair share of provincialism, even. But there has long been a desire on the part of Utah residents to be accepted by the rest of the nation and taken seriously on their own terms. Just as Utah Mormons have to defend themselves against allegations of whether their religion is actually Christian, Utah gentiles have to defend themselves against assumptions that they are Mormon…or simply incapable of having any real fun. During the 1990s, Utah’s economy was growing and thriving and Salt Lake City was the state’s economic and liberal powerhouse. The city was expected to add an additional 500,000 residents – this in addition to the other 500,000 expected to be added to the Wasatch Front, in general (Loomis, 1999). Salt Lake City officials and planners knew the city was growing, were encouraging a young tech industry, were planning an ambitious public rail system for a city of its size, and knew that the capital was the state’s most liberal, cosmopolitan enclave. The opportunity to host the Olympics certainly provided officials with the resources and impetus necessary to revitalize a struggling district, but it also provided them with the opportunity to promote Salt Lake City as a thriving urban area, appealing to tourists and investors, alike. Distinct from other Olympic host cities, however, the coverage suggests that Salt Lake officials were less interested in promoting it to the global context, but instead to the greater United States, in an attempt to be taken seriously both culturally and economically. It may be that it first needed to be recognized on a national scale as a vibrant, modern, and cosmopolitan city before it could then address its orientation towards a global economy. "91 What, exactly, was the anticipated make-up of this thriving, modern Salt Lake City? What was its new, national-facing identity? How, exactly, did the news coverage construct the Gateway area? In the next chapters, we will discuss the possible answers to these questions, in addition to the means by which the discourses of the Gateway district revealed anxieties about the city. In doing so, the mechanisms by which the news coverage constructed representations of the Gateway district will be articulated, revealing other unique aspects of the city’s redevelopment plans. CHAPTER 4 COLLECTIVE MEMORIES Introduction The articles during the selected time period were concerned with preparatory development efforts geared towards a comprehensive district revitalization project that had yet to fully come into being. As such, those who contributed their voices to the news coverage—journalists, city officials, planners, and interviewees—were engaging in conversations that focused primarily on an ongoing project with pending outcomes. The news coverage was involved not in a simple evaluation of the redevelopment plan, but in a complex process of imagining a district that had not yet been finalized. As outlined by Borer (2010), studying places that do not yet exist requires a conceptual shift towards the collective imagination, thus moving the research focus to that of perceptions of the future (Borer, 2010). When it comes to the Gateway redevelopment project, attention must be paid to this collective imagination, as it was reflected and constructed by the news discourse, because it is only with this orientation that one can begin to understand the cultural and ideological concerns intertwined with the project. This is indeed the focus of upcoming chapters, which interrogate how the project was envisioned and what can be understood from this imagination. However, before one can delve into these imaginings of the future, it is necessary to consider the relationship between the project and the past. As Borer explains, “collective memory and collective imagination are on opposite sides of the same "93 temporal coin” (Borer, 2010, p. 98). The fleeting processes of the present are involved in continuous (re)constructions of the past, as well as imaginings of the future. These two temporal modes operate together and press upon the experiences of the present. As such, I argue that research that attends to one side over the other runs the risk of being distorted and incomplete. This is due primarily to two factors; the first is that it can be argued that human perception of time is itself a complex enactment of present actions, based on intellectual evaluations of both the past and the future, and the second is that, in the case of the Gateway redevelopment project, the framing function of the media employed processes of forgetting in order to legitimate the future-oriented imaginings constructed by the news coverage. Instead of conceptualizing time as linear and unidirectional, which is typical of many Western constructs, the writings of George Herbert Mead encourage us to consider it in terms of social engagement, symbolic interpretation, and a continual state of becoming. Mead conceptualizes time in response to classical behaviorism, arguing against a model that places human behavior within a stimulus-response framework. For Mead, “all being is becoming, and given his unwavering attention to the dynamics of social interaction (i.e., the flow of expressions, gestures, and utterances), ‘that which marks a present is its becoming and its disappearing’” (Flaherty & Fine, 2001, p. 150). As such, Mead argues for a recognition of the human animal as one who is in a continuous state of engaging with social and symbolic processes. This engagement, however, continually draws upon both the past and the future, which influence interpretations of the present. The future influences present conduct, just like “a chess player who chooses a move now because he or she anticipates a certain response” (Flaherty & Fine, 2001, 156). The past also plays a large role in behavioral and cognitive processes, as it is the pool from which individuals draw prior experiences, social expectations, and cultural influences in order to interpret the present and instigate behavior. In this sense, Mead champions for a “fuzzy determinism,” which breaks from "94 causal, past-present-future models of time, employing conceptualizations of both the past and future in order access information that can be applied to the present, albeit to uncertain effect (Borer, 2010; Flaherty & Fine, 2001, p. 151). While the individual engages in continuous processes of the present, the past and the future provide the data with which he or she can engage in decision-making. These influences on the present are especially salient in urban areas, as the built environment provides cues with which individuals can prompt memories of the past. This is due in part to the materiality of built spaces, which grant places the appearance of a stability that can endure over time (Bakshi, 2014; Halbwachs, 1950). The materiality of the city supports not just a single set of memories, but can lend a sense of durability to multiple sets of memories held by myriad social groups, as well as individuals, functioning in many ways as a palimpsest that aids people in accessing the past (Bakshi, 2014; Kleinmann, 2012; Liinamaa, 2016). The built environment also provides prompts related to social expectations and can either encourage or inhibit certain behaviors (Lofland, 1973). Taken together, urban areas contribute to decision-making based on the physical constraints or opportunities they provide, as well as contributing to sets (some overlapping, some discrete) of collective memories which individuals tap into and combine with their own experiences in order to engage with the processes of living. The urban construction of collective memories is also aided substantially by the media. In urban studies, one can speak of the “media city,” which offers various “temporalities that instruct the present and presence of the city” (Liinamaa, 2016, p. 658). The media, in the form of television and film productions, also constructs a type of mediated city that promotes only the most exciting, romantic, or entertaining aspects of that city in an attempt to lure visitors, as is the case of Hollywood and Los Angeles tourism (Geron, 1997). Most important to the topic at hand, however, are the ways in which news coverage both contributes to and reflects collective memories of the urban environment, due to the framing of news stories. "95 Framing theory is grounded in Goffman’s work on frame analysis, which studies how individuals make sense of the world using social or mediated clues in order to guide their interpretations and perceptions (Goffman, 1974). The mass media frame events by means of selection, emphasis, and exclusion functions and are the products of the combined discourses of journalists, business owners, photographers, interviewees, and others who take part in the process that goes into crafting news stories (Billings & Eastman, 2003; Gitlin, 1980; Stout & Buddenbaum, 2003). In the field of communication, there has already been research on the means by which news coverage helps construct collective memories, especially in the coverage of anniversary, commemorative, or crisis events, and of seminal works in the environmentalism movement (Britten, 2013; Crapranzano, 2008; Kleinmann, 2012; Parks, 2017). It is evident that the discursive content of news stories has the capacity to operate jointly in cultivating public perceptions of a variety of issues. The nature in which journalists construct their news stories leads to continuous processes of distorting, restoring, and reconstructing collective memories. Journalists engage in improvised, sometimes rushed, appeals to public memory that may rely on oversimplified examples or single-focus stories at the expense of other information (Parks, 2017). The choices editors make to print certain stories over others also influences the flow of news discourses that take part in shaping collective memories. These repetitions—of stories, distortions, and reconstructions—can create atypical perceptions that become embedded into belief systems or public memories, such as the stereotyped perception that White athletes owe their success to superior cognition, while Black (or even non-American) athletes are endowed with ‘natural’ athletic capabilities (Billings, et al., 2008). They additionally have the power to modify social narratives and thus change extant memories of the past (Kleinmann, 2012). These processes are further enhanced by the very nature of memory itself: We are always in a continuous process of shaping, changing, and interpreting our memories of the past based on our present "96 engagements and future desires (Flaherty & Fine, 2001). The news thus participates in a continuous process of constructing, stabilizing, and disassembling public memories, and by putting stories to print, also distributes and promotes these memories, helping fix them in the public sphere. In the case of the Gateway redevelopment project, news discourses interacted both with collective memories and the spatiality of the district in a fashion that set the stage for the revitalization efforts it would soon undergo. It was evident throughout the analysis that the news articles set up a peculiar relationship between the Gateway’s past, present, and future, which was employed in a fashion that differs significantly from the City Creek Center example we examined earlier. Defying expectations, the news coverage was substantially ahistorical, a surprise given the nature of the district. What historical discourses were present in the articles operated in conjunction with language to construct the district as an empty space, implying its suitability for development. Furthermore, while the district had been given clear boundaries by city officials, the news coverage demonstrated the flexibility of these boundaries and assigned greater value to certain areas of the Gateway over others. From the analysis of the news coverage, it will be seen that the first stages of engaging in a collective imagining of the Gateway redevelopment project were efforts to forget, and reframe, the collective memories of the district, thus constructing the area as suitable for redevelopment. Defining and Mapping the Gateway To begin, let’s consider how the Gateway district and redevelopment area was defined. In the master plan put forth by city officials, the Gateway district was identified as the area between North Temple and 1000 South, spanning from 300 West to I-15 (“Creating an Urban Neighborhood,” 1998). It should be noted that the southern boundary of the Gateway district was set as running along 900 South for most of its width, with an extension to 1000 South near the western border. This small "97 protuberance at the southern end may not have been known to those unfamiliar with the area. For the most part, the news coverage defined the Gateway area borders along the same lines as the master plan, both before and after 1998, the year the master plan was made public by city officials (Edwards, 1998c, 1999a; Keahey, 1997a; Walsh, 1997d, 1998c, 1999c). There was one article that identified the southern border of the district as lying along 900 South, which still adheres closely to the city’s definition, given the shape of the district along the southern end (Edwards, 1998b). In another article, when identifying the district via its perimeter streets, the definition given differed meaningfully from that of city officials; in this case, the Gateway was identified as spanning from 300 West to 1-15, as in other articles, but its northern and southern boundaries were set at 600 North and 900 South. This definition thus incorporates the Guadalupe district, which sits to the north, into the Gateway’s space (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996). However, for the most part, there was agreement across the articles on the coordinates of the district, as outlined by city’s gridded street system. The situation differed when it came to identifying the Gateway through a cultural-spatial lens; there was more disagreement between different authors. These cultural definitions were either done explicitly, by providing readers with a stated definition of the Gateway area, or were done implicitly by means of describing the Gateway in terms of its landmarks. When it comes to the explicit definitions of the Gateway area, it was repeatedly described as the “area around Pioneer Park” or the “Pioneer Park district,” which was surprising, given the lack of attention paid to the park throughout the news coverage (which will be discussed in greater detail shortly) (Gorrell, 1997; Gorrell & Walsh, 1997; Rivera, 1999; Walsh, 1997b, 1998b). In one instance, it was defined as the city’s “homeless district” or “food-and-shelter district” (Romboy, 1999a), and in two instances it was defined as the last place where Salt Lake City could grow (Roche, 1996; Walsh, 1997d). In these cases, the Gateway area was either conflated with "98 one of its major uses or defined by its future potential. Finally, there was considerable disagreement about whether the Gateway was a downtown district or a district that lay adjacent to the downtown area. Four articles identified the area as part of downtown (Edwards, 1999d; Evensen, 1997, 1998; Walsh, 1997a), four articles defined the district as near, or next to, downtown (Edwards, 1999a, 1999c; Keahey, 1997b; Walsh, 1997d), and one article identified the Gateway “on the edge of downtown” (Walsh, 1998e). As we will see later, the relationship between downtown and the Gateway was marked by tension and played an important role in the collective imagining of the area. An implicit definition of the Gateway can be derived by assembling the landmarks identified throughout the news articles that helped provide readers with a mental map of the district and its most noteworthy features. Throughout the news articles, certain places were named by the authors while describing the Gateway area and/or the redevelopment project. Of particular interest were various historic warehouses and business buildings, including the Eccles Browning warehouse, Salt Lake Stamp Company building, Bailey’s Firestone building, and the Western Hobby building (also known as the Twirl Town Toys building), among many others. While there were only six articles that included references to historic warehouse or business buildings in the course of discussing the Gateway area, these references generally covered multiple buildings in the span of a single story, up to a total of 14 in one 1997 article titled, “Urban Pioneers Paved Way for West-side’s Renaissance” (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996; Edwards, 1999d; Keahey, 1997b; Knudson, 1997; Walsh, 1997d, 1999b). The spatial organization of these historic buildings is indicated on Figure 6. In addition to these historic warehouses, several of the homeless service organizations in the area were referenced in the news coverage, including the Fourth Street Clinic, Salt Lake Mission, St. Vincent de Paul Center, Salvation Army, and Travelers’ Aid Society (now named The Road Home) (Romboy, 1999a; Walsh, 1997b, 1997d). These organizations appeared as landmarks in two articles dedicated to the topic "99 Figure 6: Historic Building Landmarks of homelessness in the Gateway area (Romboy, 1999a; Walsh, 1997b). Only one article situated these locations in a broader context, discussing the Traveler’s Aid Society in the course of identifying multiple stakeholders who held concerns regarding the revitalization plans (Walsh, 1997d). The locations of these homeless service providers are indicated on Figure 7. Additional landmarks that recurred throughout the news coverage were private developments or businesses that had already been built or were in the planning process. These included the Dakota Lofts (which were located in the converted Salt Lake Company Stamp building), Tony Caputo’s import market, the Bridge development project, Squatter’s Pub, and the now-defunct Fuggles Microbrewery (Edwards, 1999d; Knudson, 1997; Walsh, 1997d, 1998c, 1998e, 1999b). As indicated in Figure 8, these "100 Figure 7: Homeless Service Provider Landmarks locations were examples of contemporary investment in the Gateway district and were positioned as indicators of investor interest. The remainder of the area’s landmarks included the Rio Grande depot, Union Pacific depot, and Pioneer Park, which appeared across the entire news coverage timespan and constituted the nonwarehouse, nonbusiness historic buildings mentioned by the authors (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996; Byram, 1998; Deseret News Editorial, 2001; Edwards, 1998a, 1998b, 1998c, 1998d, 1999b, 1999d; Evensen, 1997, 1998; Hayes, 1996; Hemphill, 1996; Gorrell & Gorrell, 1997; Jayrick, 1998a; Keahey, 1997b; Knudson, 1997; Rivera, 1999; Roche, 1996; Sahm, 1999; Walsh, 1997a, 1998a, 1998c, 1998d, 1998g, 1998e, 1998f, 1999c, 1999d, 2001). The Union Pacific Depot was, by far, the most commonly mentioned landmark in the news coverage throughout all the years covered "101 Figure 8: Private Development Landmarks by the study set, with Pioneer Park the second most referenced place (these references appeared most frequently in 1996 and 1997, the earlier years in the study set). Additional landmarks referenced in the articles included the 400 South and 600 South viaducts, the planned Media Village (the Northgate Apartments), the Delta Center (now known as the Vivint Smart Home Arena), the planned intermodal hub, The Boyer project (what would become the Gateway mall), Block 85 (the parking lot that would serve as the Olympics medals plaza), and the Triad Center (Byram, 1998; Edwards, 1998a, 1998b, 1998d, 1999d; Gorrell, 1997, 1999; Gorrell & Walsh, 1997; Keahey, 1997b; Loomis, 1999; Neff, 2001; Rayburn, 1999; Sahm, 1999; Walsh, 1998a, 1998c, 1998g, 1999a, 1999d). All of these landmarks are indicated on Figure 9. "102 Figure 9: Nonbusiness, Nonwarehouse Gateway Landmarks Taken together, the news coverage assembled a map of the Gateway district to be conceptualized by readers. By placing focus on certain landmarks to the exclusion of others, the articles emphasized certain area elements and helped readers construct a mental image of district spaces and places. What is interesting is that while there was much congruence between the articles in identifying the street boundaries of the Gateway, the district, as implicitly defined by major landmarks, deviates from this definition. As indicated on Figure 10, the shape of the Gateway area looks rather different when envisioned in terms of the spatial relationships between its identified landmarks. In this assemblage, the Gateway district does not stretch much beyond 400 South, with the exception of the 600 South viaduct. As such, the entire stretch of the Gateway area spanning from 400 South to 1000 South is effectively forgotten. "103 Figure 10: All Gateway Landmarks (in green) Furthermore, the district extends up into the southern end of the Guadalupe neighborhood, as the Morrisson-Merrill Lumber Co. building is located just north of 100 North. In this sense, as visualized by the media, the northern and southern boundaries of the Gateway are set at approximately 100 North to 400 South. Furthermore, quite a few notable landmarks referenced in the news coverage sit to the east of the Gateway district, as defined by city officials. While I-15 continued to serve as the western district boundary, the news coverage also tied the district to Block 85, the Salt Lake Buddhist Temple, the Paragon Press building, Squatter’s Pub, and the J.G. McDonald’s warehouse building. All of these buildings are located east of 300 West, thus extending the eastern boundary of the district to approximately West Temple. As assembled by the news coverage, the boundaries of the Gateway area are more flexible "104 than what was officially stated, and the entire southern portion of the district was excluded. The exclusion of the southern district and its expansion into the east were not the only ways in which the Gateway was flexibly assembled by article authors. This process of spatial inclusions and exclusions was also mirrored in the coverage in the way in which the area’s history was recounted in the news discourse. This narrow version of Gateway history, brought into the narrative through either oblique or direct references, was itself shaped collectively by the coverage and fashioned in a manner that disconnected it from the historical contexts in which it had formerly been known. Ahistoricity and the Gateway In our previous example of City Creek Center, history was tied to the landscape as a means to suture the development to the surrounding physical and cultural environment. The promotional content focused heavily on historic street names, references to City Creek, and the proximity to Temple Square, among other factors, to lend legitimacy to the project and to articulate a cohesive identity for it (and for those within it). In contrast to this, the news discourses related to the Gateway redevelopment project were surprisingly ahistorical. Historically, the Gateway district played an important role in Salt Lake City’s development. A week after the arrival of Brigham Young’s party in 1847, an assembly was convened to unite the various camps and arrange for a central location on which they could build a protected settlement. On August 9th of that year, work began on constructing adobe walls for the fort, (not-so-creatively) named Pioneer Fort, at the location of what is now Pioneer Park (United States Department of the Interior National Park Service, 1969). The fort’s 7-foot high walls were completed by September of that year and the fort played an important role in welcoming and housing subsequent Pioneer trains that came into into the Salt Lake Valley. Within the structure, foundations were "105 eventually laid along the east side for log and adobe homes, including those of some of Salt Lake City’s most illustrious mormon pioneers, such as Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Wilford Woodruff, Erastus Snow, and Lorenzo Dow Young, among others (United States Department of the Interior National Park Service, 1969). Less famous (but personally interesting) figures included Brigham Young’s barber, John P. Squires, who set up shop in the fort and whose son would eventually build the house in which I currently live, along with several other residential buildings in the downtown area (Ehrlick, D.E., 2003; United States Department of the Interior National Park Service, 1980; Utah, Salt Lake County Death Records, 1915). Originally housing a total of 160 families, the fort was expanded to include later arrivals and was the site of Salt Lake City’s first school, which was set up by Mary Jane Dilworth in a tent just outside of the fort walls (Osborn, 1996; United States Department of the Interior National Park Service. 1969). When the settlers began building more durable home and business structures in the city, they did so adjacent to, or near, the fort. Even after the settlers moved into more permanent housing, the fort’s location continued to play an important role in the history of the city. After it stood for 20 years, the fort site served as a camping ground for new Salt Lake City immigrants, and in 1890 it was set up as a playground for local children. On July 24th of 1898, the site was dedicated as Pioneer Park, one of the first five parks established in the young city (Osborn, 1996). The new park was the focus of beautification efforts in the early 20th century, inspired by the City Beautiful movement, and several campaigns were put in place during the first half to the century to ensure that the park would remain where it stood, in memory of Pioneer Fort and the original Mormon pioneers. These included the Parks and Playground Association, founded in 1908; the Civic Planning and Art Commission, founded in 1913; and a city beautification plan that was put into place to ensure the park’s survival in the years after 1920. When City Commissioner L.C. Romney proposed transforming the site into a golf course during the period between 1948-1955, "106 he faced considerable opposition from residents who protested any sale or change to the historic park. These threats against the park were eliminated in 1955, when Gaylen S. Young, grandson of Brigham Young, reminded city officials that the Young family had ceded ownership of the land to the city under the condition that it be maintained as a park or memorial site (Osborn, 1996, pp. 18-19). The park has continued to stand at its historic location since that time, and though park attendance dwindled over the decades, plans were periodically proposed to keep the park alive, such as the idea of erecting a replica of the fort in the site, which was proposed in 1971 (Osborne, 1996). Pioneer Park is on shaky ground to this day, known in large part in terms of the drug dealing and homeless encampments that dominate the site during the daytime and weekday evening hours. However, it has also been the long-time host of the Salt Lake City Farmer’s Market on Saturdays during the warmer months and was for many years the site of the Twilight Concerts series, which took place every Thursday in the summer. Pioneer Park played a crucial role in the founding of Salt Lake City. This would not be known if one were to learn about the park solely from the news coverage. For the most part, Pioneer Park was used as a geographic marker to identify the location of, or to label, the Gateway district (as the area or district surrounding the park), but information about the site, especially its history, was scant. It was described variously as “the only green space in west downtown” (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996, para. 52), a site hurt by the “quality of the surrounding neighborhoods” (Evensen, 1997), a hangout for the homeless (Walsh, 1998e), and a spatial marker for the Gateway district (Edwards, 1998c; Gorrell, 1997; Gorrell & Walsh, 1997; Knudson, 1997; Rivera, 1999; Walsh, 1998d, 1999c;). Two articles paid closer attention to the park, but these did little to expand on its cultural heritage. The first was the 1996 article, “Closure was Distorted, Corradini Aide Says,” which was published in response to a controversial move on the part of the Mayor to temporarily close the park, raising the assertion that the closure was done to “force "107 innocent homeless people into the street” and keep tabs on them to see where they would go (a slightly defensive-sounding Corradini stated that the closure was done to complete necessary maintenance) (Hayes, 1996, para. 1). The second was an article titled, “Homeless Service Providers Say They Feel Pushed Out of the Planning Process” (Walsh, 1997b), which describes the park as a “cold place,” empty and desolate during the winter months. Both of these articles, which provided the most details about the park in the news coverage, did so primarily in the light of its homeless residents and the issues brought about by their presence. In none of the study set articles was the park’s historic background detailed. Instead, the park was framed as a place marker with which one could define or navigate the Gateway) or the hangout for mostly underresourced (and occasionally resourced) individuals. Pioneer Park’s history was not the only history excluded by the news coverage. While the Pioneer Park area served as the staging zone for Salt Lake City’s first immigrants, the Mormon pioneers, the Gateway area as a whole provided homes and opportunities for non-Mormon immigrants of varying ethnicities. In particular, the Gateway area housed four of Salt Lake City’s largest ethnic enclaves at the turn of the 20th century, including Greek Town, Little Italy, Japan Town, and Little Syria/ Lebanontown. These communities gave life to the Gateway, built some of the district’s largest residential areas, and were the site of many entrepreneurial businesses with legacies that continue to the present day. The largest immigrant neighborhood in the area was Greek Town, which was located on 200 South between 400 West and 600 West. The neighborhood emerged thanks to the efforts of Leonidas Skirlis (also known as “Czar of the Greeks”), a Greek labor agent for the Utah Copper Company, Western Pacific Railroad, Denver and Rio Grande Western Railroad, and carbon county coal mines (Bazzarone, 2007). As a labor agent, it was under his influence that thousands of Greeks immigrated to Utah, to fill mining jobs that Brigham Young had deemed unsuitable for Mormon workers "108 (Bazzarone, 2007, University of Utah Honors Think Tank, 2004). It was through his office, located at 507 W. 200 South, that many young Greek men were able to secure railroad or mining positions, under the agreement that they would pay him $1.00 a month from their salaries for the rest of their working lives (University of Utah Honors Think Tank, 2004). As the immigrant population in Salt Lake City grew, so did Greek Town, and by 1905 the enclave was a bustling hub of import stores, hotels, saloons, coffee houses, tailor shops, and grocery stores selling delicacies such as octopi, ouzo, feta, and dates (Bazzarone, 2007; University of Utah Honors Think Tank, 2004). Evidence also indicates that while many Greek immigrants began to move elsewhere along the Wasatch Front, Salt Lake City’s Greek Town still served as a centralized hub. An analysis conducted by Ann Bazzarone in her dissertation on Greek acculturation showed that the majority of immigrant deaths were buried at the Mt. Olivet ceremony (located near the University of Utah) and memorialized at the Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Cathedral, which still stands at the corner of 300 West and 300 South, regardless of their residency during life (Bazzarone, 2007). The Greek-American community still thrives in the Salt Lake City area, with the well-attended annual Greek Festival and a number of popular Salt Lake-area Greek-American-owned restaurant chains that still put hamburgers, fries, gyros, and souvlaki on the same menu (“Apollo Burger Menu,” n.d.; “Crown Burger Menu,” n.d.; Hartley, 2004). It’s notable that, despite the influence of the Greek-American community on Salt Lake’s urban and economic landscapes, Greek Town was only mentioned once, in passing (Walsh, 1999b), and no Greek Town-related landmarks were mentioned in the news coverage, including the Orthodox cathedral, which has a large congregation and continues to hold regular services. Just east of Greek Town, also along 200 South, stood Salt Lake’s Little Italy, which hosted an Italian immigrant population that originally arrived to work on the railroads. While a smaller community, Italian-Americans still left their mark on the "109 cityscape, and some formed successful businesses, such as the Western Macaroni Company. In addition, an Italian-language newspaper, the Corriere d’America, was founded, with its offices located at 253 Rio Grande Avenue (University of Utah Honors Think Tank, 2004). While the Italian-American community was not as large as the Greek-American community, it can still be felt in the yearly Festa Italiana, held in the Gateway area during the summer months, and a well-connected business community. In addition to these European immigrant communities, the Gateway area also hosted the Japanese and Middle Eastern immigrant enclaves. Like other immigrants, the Japanese population was drawn to the Salt Lake City area initially to fill jobs in the railroad and mining industries. These individuals soon founded a thriving neighborhood near the district, with landmark locations located around what is now the Salt Palace. The population reached a size of nearly 3,000 by the start of World War I and founded a number of sociocultural and business institutions, such as the Salt Lake Buddhist Temple, Fujimoto Soy Company, the Japanese-language Rocky Mountain Times, and its competitor news outlet, the Utah Nippo (Niiya, 2008; Shurtleff & Aoyagi, 2011; Taniguchi, 2008). Unfortunately, the community was devastated by the internment of Japanese Americans at the Topaz War Relocation Center and what was left of Japan Town was demolished in 1966 to make way for the Salt Palace (Penrod, 2017 ; Stuart, 2010; “The Salt Palace and the End of Salt Lake’s Japan Town,” n.d.). While Japan Town is no longer, the Japanese-American community still makes its presence known via the Salt Lake Buddhist Temple, Japanese Church of Christ, and the annual Nihon Matsuri festival. Rounding out the Gateway’s ethnic neighborhoods was the enclave of mostly Syro-Lebanese immigrants, which was commonly referred to as Little Syria or Lebanontown. This community was centered in the area around 300 South and 500 West. Many Lebanese mercantile ventures operated in the area, selling lace, jewelry, and linens, often to entrepreneurs in the Greek community (University of Utah Honors Think "110 Tank, 2004). This enclave was smaller than others, as most Syro-Lebanese who moved to the state settled in farming and mining communities in Northern Utah (Zeidner, 1976). Nevertheless, the community was built into the fabric of the district and participated heartily in civic and economic life at the time. These communities shaped the physical, cultural, and economic landscape of the Gateway district, but their contributions, or even presence, went unacknowledged in the news coverage. The only landmark from the communities invoked by the articles was the Salt Lake Buddhist Temple, in reference to its relationship with the upcoming Bridge development project, to which it might move upon its completion (Walsh, 1998c, 1999b). Tony Caputo, a prominent Italian-American businessman, was interviewed for one article, but this article focused primarily on the Gateway master plan, the nature of the district, and the homeless services in the area (Walsh, 1998e). At no point was there any reference to the historic Italian-American community. Even more surprising was failure to reference the Greek-American community, given the popularity of the Greek Festival and the presence of the Holy Trinity cathedral. The cathedral has both a strong visual and historic presence in the 300 West 300 South intersection, thanks to its distinctive Byzantine architecture and its placement on the National Register of Historic Places, where it had been listed since 1975 (United States Department of the Interior National Park Service, 1975). The church also contributed to the cultural landscape of the area during the 1990s, as it held (and continues to hold) regular services and opened the Hellenic Cultural Museum on the ground floor in 1992 (“Hellenic Cultural Museum,” n.d.). Nevertheless, it was not identified in the articles or mentioned as a landmark in any capacity, suggesting that its presence was not perceived (by journalists, officials, or even residents) as a major contributor to the historic character of the district, or as a future destination for visitors to the redeveloped Gateway. The failure to highlight the historic characteristics of the district is at first surprising, given both the unique history of the district and popularity of certain urban "111 planning approaches at the time. The concept of culture became key in spatial planning efforts developed at the turn of the millennium, encouraged as creative means to draw visitors to city areas without having to make large investments (Kunzmann, 2004). Imbuing the landscape with “culture,” “history,” or “heritage” became the means by which cities were supported and promoted (Kunzmann, 2004, p. 384). The Utah economy had shifted from agriculture, extractive industries, and manufacturing towards the service industry since the mid-20th century; by the time the news articles were published, service work provided 61% of all nonagricultural jobs in the state, and one in nine workers were employed in tourism (Hartley, 2004). The local economy had changed dramatically through the decades and the state needed to encourage alternative industries if it wanted to continue economic growth. Salt Lake City officials were aware of this; the loss of the industrial and manufacturing sectors was behind the Gateway’s blight. They were also surely aware of the increasing popularity in heritage and cultural tourism, which brought tourists into the state in order to immerse themselves in “authentic” Utah experiences, such as visiting historic sites, buying artisanal products (like quilts or woodworking), and participating in local celebrations — the Greek festival, which by then required up to 5 months of preparation, attracted (and continues to attract) tens of thousands of people to the Gateway area every year (Hartley, 2004, pp. 240-241). Furthermore, ethnic tourism had constituted an important factor in urban redevelopment efforts, with culturally specific symbols and practices employed as place-making practices in various construction schemes (Huynh, 2015). The district’s historical roots could only be an asset, and even the connections to Salt Lake’s early immigrant communities could have been a benefit, as they could be publicly articulated to lend ‘character’ and ‘color’ to the district — despite the fact that many immigrant groups in the U.S. were marginalized as a whole. Yet, the news coverage was strangely devoid of Salt Lake’s unique history, which suggests that the experiences and history of Salt Lake City’s immigrant communities "112 were neither valued for their historic significance, nor for their potential to be employed in marketing a revitalized Gateway. In essence, the absence of this history in the news coverage suggests its perceived lack of value, either economic or cultural. When one considers the framing function of the media, as well as their relationship to the construction of collective memory, one explanation becomes clear. Memory is not merely a mental image of the past or the recollection of early events. Instead, it continuously constructs the past from the perspective of the present (Britten, 2013; Choi, 2012). Collective memory can also be employed to decontextualize individual memories, as well as social history, in ways that promote ideological discourses, thus serving an important cultural function and furthering the interests of the state (Bakshi, 2014; Choi, 2012; Crapranzano, 2008). By excluding the Gateway’s historic past, the news coverage helped craft a collective district narrative with a shallow history that began roughly around the time of the neighborhood’s industrial decline. The actual Gateway residents who helped spur the area’s growth were left out of this narrative, despite the emphasis that housing would be included in the upcoming redevelopment or would be the Olympics’ legacy in the area. (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996; Byram, 1998; Davidson, 1997; Deseret News Editorial, 2001; Edwards, 1998b, 1998c, 1999a, 1999d; Funk, 1996; Gorrell, 1997, 1999; Gorrell & Walsh, 1997; Jarvik, 1998a, 1998b; Loomis, 1999; Mitchell, 2001; Romboy, 1999a; Sahm, 1999; Walsh, 1997a, 1998b, 1998d, 1998e, 1998g, 1999b, 1999c). This exclusionary narrative wends its way through the news coverage, despite the fact that one article was focused explicitly on how a redeveloped Gateway would become a neighborhood that “will look like they did before automobiles” (Walsh, 1998d, para. 4). Downtown housing was in short supply at the time, with the American Towers condominiums the “only game in town” (Edwards, 1999d), and the mixed-use character of the development was thus presented as groundbreaking. Despite the fact that planners were aiming to create a walkable district that could support new, mixed-use residential neighborhoods, none of the articles "113 touched on the residential history of the area, thus leaving it out of the collective memories of the Gateway. One could raise the question of whether the news coverage avoided crafting a historical narrative of the Gateway simply because it was devoted solely to present and future concerns. This was not the case. While a vast portion of the district’s history was excluded from the articles, one facet of the district’s past that was emphasized: its warehouse and industrial legacy. While the news coverage excluded the Gateway’s residential and historical background, it foregrounded those elements of the district that were tied to entrepreneurship. As stated earlier, the articles helped construct a mental map of the district via its notable landmarks, many of which were its historical warehouses. These warehouses stood as evidence of the district’s industrial past and would lend their architecture to the upgraded aesthetics of a redeveloped Gateway. They could also be restored to complement the Union Pacific and Rio Grande depots as new housing and office buildings (Walsh, 1998d). It was suggested that the Gateway could follow in LODO’s footsteps, emulating the “old timber, bare brick and high ceilings of the warehouse lofts with ‘new-old’ buildings” (Walsh, 1997c, para. 38). Standing warehouses would not be removed, but instead “embellished” with restaurants, trendy shops, and museums (Keahey, 1997a). Steven Goldsmith, developer of the Art Space and Bridge projects, had already demonstrated the viability of revitalized Gateway warehouses via the work he had done in the area (Knudson, 1997). Even Brigham Young was positioned not as the pioneer train leader who “found the place,” but as the owner of the Utah Southern Railroad Company (Edwards, 1999a). Though other aspects of the Gateway’s history were excluded from the news coverage, historic business interests were highlighted in the form of the structures they left behind and that were depicted as district resources. As such, the spatial arrangement of the district, as constructed through the news discourse, contributed to the collective memory of the area in a fashion that narrowly "114 defined its history. Naturally, this entrepreneurial narrative marginalized the contributions of minority business owners. Though it was not mentioned in the news coverage, the Western Macaroni Factory still stands in the Gateway, was nominated for inclusion on the National Historic Register, underwent a full restoration, and is now home to the Artspace Macaroni residences (“Artspace Macaroni Flats,” n.d.; United States Department of the Interior, 2012). By 1915, the Western Macaroni Company was the largest producer of pasta in the intermountain West, producing 45 different types, including specialty products for other immigrant groups (United States Department of the Interior, 2012). This history was not recounted by the journalists, which only reinforced the invisibility of the Gateway’s ethnic communities. The district’s entrepreneurial history was further extended in the news coverage by its connection to the present day. Just as the Gateway was once a hard-working, greasy industrial zone in the early 20th century, so it was during the 1990s. There were a large number of stakeholders identified throughout the news coverage, including city officials, housing activist groups, consulting architects and planners, and homeless service providers, among others. But the majority of stakeholders who were clearly identified, were already present in the Gateway area, and were not acting in behalf of others (i.e., the homeless service providers and homelessness advocates) were Gateway business owners and managers. These included Richard Thomas, owner of Thomas Electric, which was founded in the district by his grandfather; Gary Justeson, president of Oasis Stage Werks, which is still located at 263 S. Rio Grande St., SLC Brewing Company founder and Squatter’s pub owner Peter Cole; Fuggles’ owner Jeff Polychronis (also co-founder of the SLC Brewing Company); Serta Manufacturing Vice President Gene Duquet, whose factory was located at 336 South 500 West; Norma Feulner, owner of Bush Sales and Manufacturing, a third-generation electrical distribution company located at 827 South 500 West; Tony Caputo, owner of Caputo’s Market & Deli; and "115 Ernest Mariani, owner of the Ernest F. Mariani Company, a food-service and soft-drink contracting company (Edwards, 1999d; Knudson, 1997; Jarvik, 1998b; Walsh, 1997d, 1998b, 1998c, 1998e, 1998g, 1999b, 1999c). These company representatives were interviewed and invited to share their concerns and feelings regarding the redevelopment plan (with the exception of Goldsmith, who was identified in the course of describing his development projects and as a development expert, in general). Out of all the stakeholders identified in the news coverage, only two were Gateway residents: Virgil Newkirk, who rented out a home near 1000 South and 400 West, and Kay Fox, who gave her opinion on affordable housing (Edwards, 1998c; Walsh, 1997d). The industrial history crafted by the news coverage thus appeared as a line of businesses, running from the past to the present, reaffirming the dominant historical discourse as fundamentally entrepreneurial. Naturally, other news articles from the time period were excluded from the study set. As such, I am not comfortable asserting that the news coverage fully omitted any mention of the Gateway’s settlement, cultural, and ethnic history. However, a close reading of the study set suggests a predominantly ahistorical approach in describing the district, collapsing its past into a one-dimensional narrative of factories and businesses. This is in spite of the fact that heritage and culture were becoming increasingly important for urban development schemes and city tourism industries — in fact, ‘culture’ acted as a key concept in the collective imaginings of the project, which will be discussed in the next chapter. This is likely due to the selective news-gathering process, which influences readers through stories that inevitably leave out other voices or perspectives (Kleinmann, 2012). This process, in turn, crafts and distributes collective memories which may clash with, counteract, or undermine the memories of individual readers. In the case of the Gateway, it can be said that a process of forgetting was employed in order to construct a narrative of its industrial nature and void its residential and heritage presence. This would in turn interact with discourses that served to empty Gateway "116 space. The Gateway as Empty Space Urban spaces are not just described by the media. They are also constructed through the media. Media technologies have changed urban representations and allowed for their proliferation, distortion, and transformation, placing the image of the city in a constant state of flux. This phenomenon constructs the city as the “media city,” which “offers different media temporalities that instruct the present and presence of the city – but this present must always contend with the interjection of the past.” (Liinamaa, 2016, p. 658). While one could make the argument that the construction of media cities has accelerated in recent decades, thanks to the rise of new media technologies, the same can still be said of the traditional newspaper coverage that was released in Salt Lake City during the end of the 1990s. Twentieth-century media, after all, was capable of crafting global identities for Olympic host countries and positioned Los Angeles as a global tourist destination by means of transforming the city into a place commodity, which was then marketed via the distribution of exciting, positive images (Geron, 1997). Though images and text may not have disseminated as rapidly in the 1990s as they do today, the media nevertheless comprised the primary mode of constructing images of cities for readers and viewers. These images can circulate and recirculate as after-images, which consist of “‘visuality’ that include tropes, mental arrangements of spatial information, and the effects of perceptual organization that may well entail” and is “the result of a social process […] the (provisional) end product of the ongoing dispute regarding the definition of (social) meaning” (Resina, 2003, p. xii). They can also be interpreted in relation to the texts that accompany them. Thus, the way we understand the city is not the simple result of experience, but is instead a multifaceted and variable construct shaped by ideas of place, aesthetics, and interaction, in addition to mediated portrayals "117 of the urban environment. In fact, one could make the argument that there is no hard line between media and the urban areas they represent. Media technologies function within a set of relations at the same time as they create such relations. They reflect modes of the thinking while they simultaneously alter how we think. A key question for communication theory has been posed in contemporary discussions as the relationship between discursive formations and non-discursive 'reality.' But this posing of the question is […] non-productive […] in the sense that it obscures other posings that illuminate better the fundamental question of the relation between communication media and the world. (Angus, 2000, p. 49) To view news coverage as separate from the urban environment establishes an unnecessary dualism, instead of considering how the news operates “within a whole-part relationship” (Angus, 2000, p. 49). In this context, there are a number of observations that can be drawn about the way in which the Gateway district was constructed in the news coverage, both in addition to, and in conjunction with, the narrow historicity produced by the texts. The first relates to the method by which the Gateway district was implicitly mapped by the news discourses. As we discussed earlier, the articles generated a mental map of the Gateway that spanned from approximately 100 North to 400 South, and 1-15 to 100 West. Through this mapping, the entire southern region was amputated from the district. Resulting from this would be the exclusion of most nonindustrial residents from the Gateway area. While only 3% of land use at that time was residential (“Creating an Urban Neighborhood,” 1998), homes were nevertheless located in the district. Clusters of residences were sited near American Avenue (located approximately 1000 South) and on Galen Street below 900 South. The residential area of the district that would most likely be known to Salt Lake City residents would have been the cluster of homes along Kilby Court, due to the popularity of the alternative, all-ages music venue, Kilby Court. Additional isolated homes were scattered throughout the area, often near 300 West or "118 tucked behind warehouses and industrial lots. Most of these homes were historic, the remnants of the vibrant residential neighborhoods that used to comprise the area. While not technically in the Gateway, there is also a sizable neighborhood located in the adjacent People’s Freeway district, with homes lining 300 West and densely clustered in the space running east to West Temple and spanning from 700 South to approximately 1000 South. These individuals, though not technically in the district, would nevertheless be impacted by the redevelopment plan, thanks to their proximity. By symbolically cutting the Gateway off at 400 South, and interviewing only two area residents, the news coverage effectively emptied the Gateway of most of the people who owned and rented homes there. The only other residents who would have been included in the redefined Gateway area would have been those homeless individuals who spent their days and nights in the areas around the homeless service providers. Again, at no point were any homeless individuals interviewed for the news coverage; they were represented solely by the service organizations and activities groups working on their behalf. The result of this was that people were effectively knocked out of the Gateway space. The discursive exclusion of residents was not the only emptying effect enacted via the news coverage. The district was repeatedly described as “desolate,” “decaying,” “gray” and “empty,” a “wasteland” filled with “vacant lots,” “grungy,” “barren,” and a contaminated brownfield (Edwards, 1999b; Evensen, 1997; Jarvik, 1998b; Loomis, 1999; Rivera, 1999; Walsh, 1997a, 1997b, 1997d, 1998d, 1998e, 1999c) Rhetorically, these descriptors operated to tie the district to notions of emptiness, vacancy, and even death (indeed, metaphors of death and rebirth reappeared multiple times in the news coverage) (Edwards, 1998d, 1999b, 1999d; Evansen, 1998; Knudson, 1997; Loomis, 1999; Walsh, 1998b, 1998d). Further, its uses were often described as merely industrial, sometimes conjugated in the past tense: The Gateway “was an industrial hub,” “blocks and blocks of warehouses, manufacturing plants, and railroad tracks,” historically an "119 “industrial wasteland,” comprised of 500 acres of industrial landscape, all “crisscrossed by tracks” (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996; Evensen, 1997; Keahey, 1997a; Walsh, 1997a, 1997c, para. 4, 1998b, 1998e). When it was defined in terms of its secondary uses, it was the “homeless district” and, in one instance, a residential district (Edwards, 1998c; Romboy, 1999; Walsh, 1997b). Its primary uses were thus framed as limited, which, in conjunction with discourse that reemphasizes the space as vast and desolate, constructs the Gateway space as an predominantly empty space “ripe for the picking” (Walsh, 1997d). Much of the visuals that accompanied the news texts further contributed to the discursive construction of an empty Gateway. Before the Boyer Company released the plans for the Gateway mall, the images that were included in the news articles were dominated by a series of similar-looking cartographic diagrams (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996; Keahey, 1997b; Walsh, 1997d, 1998e, 1998g). These maps shared a number of characteristics that were repeated frequently enough that they acted as visual tropes. These included the use of an overhead perspective that allowed the viewer to gaze down upon the Gateway district as from above; the left third of the maps was usually dominated by the depiction of 1-15 and its noodle-like interchanges; the remaining twothirds of the visual space visualized the arrangement of Gateway streets; and between these streets were the Gateway blocks, which, notably, were mostly devoid of features such as buildings or other landmarks. Instead, the blocks were perfectly gridded squares of negative space. The view of the district was at times truncated — in one article, the accompanying map only depicted the length of the Gateway spanning from North Temple to around 800 South (Walsh, 1998g). Other maps depicted the entire length of the district, down to 1000 South (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996; Walsh, 1997d, 1998e). The primary purpose of these maps was to depict planned Gateway installations, including the forthcoming TRAX light rail lines, potential locations for the intermodal hub and commuter rail stations, and district zoning. They were single-purpose, depicting the "120 application of plans onto a blank Gateway space, with empty blocks serving as a grid needing to be filled. There were some cartographic diagrams that included additional information, including landmarks (Walsh, 1997d, 1998d, 1998e). On one map, the blocks were colorcoded to depict the planned zoning types, with a color dedicated to each: parks and open space, secondary commercial, retail, commercial, residential, civic-cultural-community (Walsh, 1998e). Unfortunately the microfilm only depicted a black and white version of the image, but because it appeared on the front page of the local news section, it would likely have been printed in color and would have been a colorful map, indeed. Also included in this map was a limited number of local landmarks: the Delta Center, Triad Center, and Salt Palace Convention Center. These were depicted in a bold sans serif typeface and were set alongside dotted paths that indicated the routes for the proposed light rail lines, commuter rail, and new viaducts. Despite the addition of these additional details, the diagram nevertheless repeats the same visual tropes as the others, and it is important to note that the blocks, while color-coded or given landmark labels, did not otherwise depict other features or characteristics. They were still empty squares, albeit colorful ones. In fact, the one building shown on the map, with a shaded representation of its footprint, was the Salt Palace, a landmark that is located outside of the Gateway district. The map that accompanied another article, “Will Gateway Exclude Some?” was fashioned along similar lines (Walsh, 1997d). The street grid constructed the Gateway as a series of blank squares, with a select number shaded to indicate the locations of proposed features, such as a recreation center, Union Pacific park, wetlands park, and other proposed green spaces. Numbers on the map indicated the existing or possible locations of built structures, including the Union Pacific depot and a proposed recreation center. On this map, two structures were indicated via shaded footprints, the Delta Center and the Salt Palace. While one Gateway building was added to the map, it did not deviate substantially from others. "121 Not all of the cartographic diagrams were without detail, however. One provided an illustration of Goldsmith’s proposed Bridge Project (Walsh, 1999b). This map differed in a number of ways. The first was that in addition to the overhead view of the project, a basic street-level elevation was included at the bottom of the image frame. This elevation depicted how the project would appear when viewed from 500 West. Secondly, the map view of the diagram was placed considerably closer to the project. Instead of depicting the entire Gateway street system, it showed only those streets that ran through the project and served as its perimeter. Finally, instead of empty blocks, the areas between the streets were filled with the outlined footprints of the proposed building components. These geometric features were filled with varying tones of gray, were given simple sans serif labels, and were bordered by small, multitonal circles that depict, as I understand it, rows of trees. That this map differed is not entirely a surprise, given its depiction of one discrete project instead of the entire Gateway space. The article that included photographs of the Gateway before the unveiling of the Boyer plan do little to add additional detail. Two photographs depict the Union Pacific rail yard, which was set to be stripped of its tracks to make space for the Boyer project (Baltezore & Keahey; Walsh, 1998a). Lined roughly along the upper third of one photograph are the actual buildings in the Gateway, with the Union Pacific depot and Delta center aligned along the center vertical axis of the image. Alongside them are additional low-lying buildings, difficult to discern given the quality of the scan, with the downtown skyline peeking out from behind the structures in the background. The remainder of the photograph is dominated by the railroad tracks, which enter via the bottom of the frame from two different directions and converge into a single multitrack line that extends to horizon. Three trains run the length along certain portions of the tracks. While this photograph provided evidence of the actual built environment of the district, it nevertheless depicted a space that was in the process of becoming empty. Several times throughout the articles, this rail yard was described as needing to be "122 “opened up” in service of the redevelopment plan (Edwards, 1998a; Edwards, 1999a, 1999b). Doing so required stripping the rail yard of its components and erasing its material features, creating a canvas upon which the Boyer Company would build its development. Taken together, these images construct the Gateway space as a planning space, one which functions as a blank canvas for the imaginings of city planners. One could also think of its repeated blank squares as a multiplicity of container spaces, empty boxes waiting to be filled by the redevelopment. Because space rarely functions as an actual container, these representations thus replace the Gateway’s operant spatiality in order to obfuscate factors that would go into its production. In this sense, the diagrams simplify the space in a fashion that eliminates the social and economic relations that produced it, and depicts the Gateway area as vast, empty, and desolate. It was shown as an area lacking in unique features, which would only be present upon completion of the redevelopment plan. This emptiness operated alongside the the one-dimensional history of the district constructed by the news discourse, as well as the invisible residential areas, to discursively reform the Gateway space into an empty space. As the site of a potential place, the area functioned liminally, upon which planners and readers could apply their own imaginations. Conclusion The news coverage and its associated discourses operated together to assemble a history of the Gateway area that was one-dimensional and excluded the stories of early district residents. This history was, in turn, connected to a visual-textual representation of the Gateway that drained the area of its current residents and most of its active uses, instead constructing the space as empty or vacant. The emphasis on historical warehouses helped gird both of these representations in two major ways: the first was in suturing the Gateway’s presence to its narrowly engraved entrepreneurial past, by mostly "123 including only the voices of local business owners (including those owners who ran multiple-generation heritage businesses), and the second was in reinforcing the conceptualized emptiness of Gateway space, where the blocks were visually emptied and primarily referenced partially or completely vacant historical warehouses (and those warehouses that were filled were those that had already been redeveloped into residential units). In this sense, the news coverage worked collectively to tie together spatial and historical discourses in order to produce collective memories of the district that were disconnected from its origins and reconnected to a narrowly defined entrepreneurial timeline. This timeline was one that both illustrated the district’s failures and highlighted its possible salvation. While Salt Lake City’s industrial history had resulted in widespread vacancy and blight, private entrepreneurship was nevertheless identified as the key factor that would bring a positive transformation to the area. It was repeatedly emphasized by city officials that the redevelopment project could only work when executed in conjunction with private investors (Romboy, 1999; Walsh, 1997a). In this context, the redefinition of the Gateway’s history as an entrepreneurial history makes sense, because by privileging primarily the voices of business stakeholders, the news framed the redevelopment project as a primarily economic endeavor. While many of these business owners voiced concerns about the redevelopment plan, they nevertheless helped reify the construction of an entrepreneurial collective memory of the Gateway, as their inclusion as rhetors in the discourse underlined the dominance of economic discourses over other discourses that could be used in representing the district. This representation would, in turn, influence readers’ own memories of the area, providing them with a frame that they could use to rewrite the past in an attempt to better understand the project’s future. Of course, the construction of collective memory is dependent upon the interactions between individual memories and social memory. It would be difficult to "124 state conclusively how readers would have interpreted the Gateway project based on their understanding of the news coverage. This is especially true, due to the variability of experiences readers might have had with the Gateway area. However, newspaper articles are themselves the constructions of journalists who combine fragmented discourses and competing interests from various sources in order to craft a cohesive news narrative. This narrative is filtered through, and shaped, by their own individual experiences and memories of the area. As such, evaluating news discourses as examples of collective memories does give us an understanding of their generation, as they operate in the nexus between the experiences of individual journalists and the public stories they craft. In turn, these news narratives function by publicly entextualizing these discourses and making them available to readers. They are part of a dialectical process of fixing and generating collectives memories. In the case of the Gateway district, it can be said that the assembling of these collective memories reflected a perception on the part of journalists and their sources of the area as an empty space, which justified the planned, extensive intervention. The historical and spatial emptiness of the district thus legitimated the redevelopment plan. It also, however, created a narrow, nearly vacant identity of the district, one that was ready for the collective imagining of public discourses in order to begin the process of place-making in the area. The relative emptiness of the district invited the intervention of spatial-cultural imagination that could refill it with a new identity, one that reflected contemporary urban desires for Salt Lake City. This imagination will be explored in the next chapters, in which its components will be broken down to reflect the values and communities they promote. CHAPTER 5 COLLECTIVE ANXIETIES Introduction News coverage of the Gateway district redevelopment project assembled textual and visual discourses to construct predominantly ahistorical, entrepreneurial, and ‘vacant’ collective memories of the district. This was employed as part of a complex process of forgetting in order to wipe the slate clean (as it were), thus preparing the area for discursive and material intervention. It was through this process that readers and journalists were able to make the conceptual leap to a collective imagining of the district’s revitalization. Because it is impossible for individuals to know the city experientially in its entirety, due to its complexity and propensity for continuous change, we have a tendency to endow different city districts with different identities that allow us to interpret and imagine them (Borer, 2010; Lofland, 1973). The complexity of modern cities thus necessitates processes of place-making in order to render urban areas intelligible to those who move within them. As explained by Borer, place matters for individuals’ experiences of social life more than simply providing the background or setting for actions and interactions. In fact, we have seen how places can structure interactions between people and can act as identity markers for the people who inhabit, revere, and travel through them. (Borer, 2010, p. 97) Place-making in urban areas thus not only functions in allowing individuals to "126 understand the city, it also provides them with the symbolic tools necessary for the management of their own identities. In order to understand the cultural, social, and spatial relationships within an urban area, one is required to analyze place-making discourses that help affix discursive identities to the environment. The processes of constructing and inscribing identities onto urban spaces is not without risk, however. These risks can impact both macro- and microlevels, and, as such, reveal the connections between them. Place-making efforts, as enacted in built environments, also shape affective spheres through interactions between material spaces and the individuals who pass through them. Environmental psychologist Percy-Smith highlights an interesting contrast between suburban and urban environments and the effects they have on the psyche of children raised within them. While suburban teenagers generally perceive the suburbs as beautiful or comfortable, these environments do not necessarily provide them with sufficiently enriching social experiences. In his case study comparison of two British neighborhoods, he found that teens who lived in the suburbs reported higher levels of boredom and weaker community bonds than inner-city teenagers (Percy-Smith, 2002). Furthermore, though inner-city teens reported more frequent experiences dealing with ‘strange’ people (such as public drunks, flashers, or the mentally ill), they reported lower levels of fearfulness than suburban teenagers. On top of this, they expressed feeling like they could explore and manipulate a wider variety of places (i.e., they could interact with the entire city environment, not just parks, as was the case with suburban teens) (Percy-Smith, 2002). This study echoes, indirectly and in part, some of social media researcher danah boyd's observations about contemporary teenagers (boyd, 2007) – those who live in suburbs often choose to remain indoors, because their surroundings do not provide them with adequate activities or places in which they can develop their identities. In this capacity, the environment influences individual perceptions of risk and processes of identity management. Conversely, individual affect and sensations of "127 anxiety are brought into processes of imagining and planning urban areas, thus impacting both the structure of built spaces and the ways in which they are interpreted. In this sense, one’s own emotional state may influence how urban spaces are understood, and anxieties can become manifest in an affective sphere, which drives the construction of urban spaces in collective discourses. Borer’s research on the collective imagination of City View, a district of Greenville, South Carolina, can help us conceptualize some of the relationships between affect and envisioning of city areas (Borer, 2010). In City View, which Borer describes as a “forgotten community,” a location to which most people (either with or without capital) are reluctant to move, there arose an opportunity to refurbish and convert an old firehouse into a neighborhood asset. This opportunity provided residents with a chance to imagine the project as they would like it to become. What emerged from his interviews was recognition that City View’s “outsider status still liv[ed] deep within the community’s collective memory” (Borer, 2010, p. 100). It was apparent that residents engaged in processes of impression management (Borer, 2010; Goffman, 1959) as they discussed the state (and history) of the neighborhood and as they imagined strategies for transforming the firehouse (Borer, 2010). Having been excluded from Greenville’s urban renaissance and previously described as a town that “protrudes from the northwestern corner of Greenville like a sixth finger on a left hand” (quoted in Borer, 2010, p. 100), their collective imagination revealed the community’s awareness of their stigmatized image and their desire to employ the firehouse as a symbol to change it (Borer, 2010, p. 106). As such, their collective anxieties, as generated through internalized stigma, were managed, and manifested, through processes that symbolically transform place in order to renegotiate social relations. News stories, as the products of reporting in which journalists interweave fragments of speech, history, analysis, data, research, promotional documentation, visuals, and business interests in an attempt to craft a coherent narrative, reflect not just "128 the individual standpoints of reporters but also affective and discursive processes as they circulate throughout social spheres. Further, as an influential form of public communication, news reporting itself promotes these processes, further encouraging their circulation. Because of this, they stand at the nexus between collective and individual discourses, and enable cultural production by assembling collective memories and collective imaginings. In the next chapter, we will identify the components of place-making constructed through the news coverage. In order to do so, though, we need to also consider any affects or fears manifested through the press. This chapter will identify the collective anxieties present throughout the coverage of the Gateway redevelopment project. These anxieties, connected to concerns related to ‘people out of place’ and ‘spaces out of place,’ will allow us to tap into some of the prevailing cultural concerns of the time and consider how these concerns were mitigated through place-making efforts. District Revitalization: People Out of Place Thinking back to Chapter 3, we’ve already considered ways that purification practices were applied discursively as part of a greater effort to prepare the district for the Olympics and to reposition the city into a more respected place in greater national culture. These practices functioned in a partially reflexive manner to fulfill Salt Lake’s Olympic imperative and articulate an image of the city that could respond to prevailing discourses of its cultural ‘strangeness’ and ‘awkwardness’ (not to mention its perceived boringness). In being taken up by the larger project of reimagining Salt Lake City into a nation-class city, these purification practices were applied to national-level urban concerns. However, discourses of purification were also applied on a local level to the Gateway district and proposed redevelopment plans. While the area was framed as suitable for revitalization, thanks to discursive constructions of its historical, social, and "129 spatial state, also present in the news coverage was the rhetorical framing of the district’s materialities as diseased and in need of intervention. Themes of filth have long been employed in cultural discourses that construct frameworks of moral and spatial disorder. The operationalization of ‘filth’ as a moralizing discourse is easily tied to urban environments, as it is a substantially spatialized concept. In her foundational text, Purity and Danger, anthropologist Mary Douglas defines dirt as “matter out of place”: If we can abstract pathogenicity and hygiene from our notion of dirt, we are left with the old definition of dirt as matter out of place. This is a very suggestive approach. It implies two conditions: a set of ordered relations and a contravention of that order. Dirt then, is never a unique, isolated event. Where there is dirt there is a system. Dirt is the by-product of a systematic ordering and classification of matter, in so far as ordering involves rejecting inappropriate elements. (Douglas, 2013, p. 36) Characterizations of filth are thus easily applied to urban places, as the concept itself relates to the means by which ordered relations position subjects/objects based on cultural and social values. As a binary opposition, the concept of filth-purity enables residents to evaluate their environment and interpret the material and symbolic cues within it. Where there is filth, there is indication that the social order has been breached (Douglas, 2013; Modan, 2002). This has been demonstrated previously by scholar Gabriella Modan, whose rhetorical analysis of grant documents written in support of a public toilets project in Mt. Pleasant, a neighborhood in Washington, D.C., demonstrates that the writers positioned themselves as a pure, unmarked in-group, while minority residents were marked as ‘Other’ by means of connecting them to dirt and disorder (Modan, 2002). In invoking filth (in this case, evidence of public urination), the documents present a presupposition of a system that classifies public space in terms of purity and dirt, morality and immorality. This conceptualization has been further demonstrated in other research, where purification practices are applied to spatial practices, conceptualizations of moral "130 probity, and pre-event urban redevelopment (Davidson & McNeil, 2012; Sibley, 1995; Stallybrass & White, 1986; Wilson, 1996). When characterizations of dirt, filth, and contamination are identified in news discourses, it suggests that these discourses are connected to conceptualizations of urban order and disorder. Throughout the news coverage, the descriptions of the Gateway district’s material remnants relied heavily on themes of decay, filth, or contamination. In describing the blighted district, authors relied heavily on descriptions of its “sagging and faded” appearance and the need to “whisk away years of debris” (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996). The district’s land was framed as fundamentally contaminated, described as “oil-stained acres” of “dirty, greasy rail yards,” filled with “gas and solvents,” “crisscrossed by rail tracks and power lines,” explaining its categorization as a brownfield community (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996; Edwards, 1998d, 1999b; Walsh, 1998a, 1998d, 1999c). The descriptors used in the news articles not only reiterated this idea of the district’s contamination, but also suggested its contagion, describing local crime as a “plague,” fears of the district being designated as “blighted,” and the possibility of the district as “dying” (Dillon, 1997; Edwards, 1998b; Evensen, 1997; Loomis, 1999). Because much of the Gateway’s history and residents were excluded from the news coverage, this filth was specifically connected to the sequelae of a failed industrial economy, for it had reduced district land use (which was then further rhetorically constructed by the press as neartotal vacancy). Salt Lake’s industrial district had thus left material evidence of its economic failure in the form of visible grime. That this contamination was also suggested as contagious presents the possibility that the failure of the district could also incite failures elsewhere in the city if intervention were not undertaken. The collective imagining of this situation suggested the hope that the redevelopment plan would “add up to a city that is alive and well” (Pusey, 1997, para. 2), but also underlined the necessity of redeveloping the area. The most obvious discursive construction of matter ‘out of place’ was that of the "131 Gateway’s industrial filth. Secondarily, however, the news coverage suggested the possibility not just of matter being out of place, but also people. The displacement of people and communities in urban areas has a long history within modern redevelopment. In her investigation of implementing and contesting public housing, geographer Diedre Pfeiffer investigates the ramifications of redevelopment on those people “whose lives are deemed ‘out of place’” (Pfeiffer, 2006, p. 52). In her analysis of redevelopment processes, as they had been implemented in the Cabrini-Green social housing project, she demonstrates the means by which city officials, grant writers, and politicians discursively link the environmental conditions of blighted areas to the moral character of residents, who are thus positioned as the “undeserving poor” (Pfeiffer, 2006, p. 52). This dichotomization between the deserving and undeserving poor is also supported by Modan’s analysis of Mt. Pleasant’s public toilet project, which was justified with documents that problematically constructed dichotomies between “immigrants” and “native born,” collapsing U.S.-born Latinos into an Othered group, and then associating that group with misuse of the public environment (Modan, 2002). These discourses presuppose the presence of underresourced individuals in an area, but also engage in categorizing these people into binary oppositions of deserving-undeserving, which is then used to moralize their behavior and legitimize interventions to circumscribe it. Recall that in the news coverage of the Gateway redevelopment project, the voices of only two token residents were brought into the news stories. Aside from that, district residents were rendered invisible and were furthermore positioned outside of the district by the means in which the Gateway was discursively constructed to end around 400 South. The only residents who were present in this re-bordered Gateway were the homeless individuals who lived in the area and utilized its supportive services. Naturally, none of the reporters interviewed any of these individuals in order to bring their voices into the collective discourse. However, within the news coverage, the homeless was a "132 group that was certainly talked about. The problem of homelessness impacted the Gateway district in the 1990s, as it does today. It seems, in fact, almost a perpetual issue, given its prominence in discussions about the area for decades. Homelessness was discursively tied to Pioneer Park in two early articles that linked their presence in the green space to increasing maintenance costs, violence perpetrated against park employees, the presence of human waste, Salt Lake’s “primary source of hepatitis A,” and drug abuse (Hayes, 1996, para. 12; Walsh, 1997b). We again see discourses of filth and contagion, which are deemed to plague Pioneer Park and, in turn, the Gateway district as a whole (given the frequency with with the area was defined as the “Pioneer Park neighborhood”). This particular construction of homelessness is not surprising, given the frequency with which homelessness is connected to rhetorics of filth (Bawarshi, et al., 2008; Kawash, 1998) and the persistence of the ‘homeless problem’ in the district. What is interesting, however, is the way in which homelessness recurred as a problem within the collective imaginings of the redevelopment project. In exploring the nature of the Gateway’s future, the news coverage framed the issue of homelessness as a spatial problem involving threat from those who could be conceived as people ‘out of place.’ The spaces occupied by the homeless and homeless service providers were marked by a tension that was repeated throughout the study period, in which allegations were raised that the city was implementing a plan to effectively evict homeless service providers from the revitalized district, or at the very least lose them “in the shuffle” (Rivera, 1999; Romboy, 1999b; Walsh, 1997b, 1998e). The counternarrative put forth in the news coverage was that “the city’s plan is not to displace the homeless or legitimate services providers. […] Rather, it is to build a city around them” (Edwards, 1999b, para. 8). This discursive struggle in the news coverage was related to whether the homeless would (or wouldn’t) occupy space within a revitalized Gateway. The Salt Lake Mission highlighted the presence of “road blocks” put up by the city in order to prevent "133 their relocating to other Gateway sites after they had been served an eviction notice, thus suggesting the city’s reluctance to allow the homeless to share space with the Boyer Company project and its “housing, offices, and a hotel” (Romboy, 1999b). Even in the the collective imagining of a future revitalized Gateway, a clear solution had yet to be provided for the problem of homelessness. This may be due in part to discourses that reinforced homeless individuals as people ‘out of place.’ The problem was not just one of whether homeless service organizations should continue to administer services outside, rather than inside, the district. Additionally, The news coverage attempted to mark the homeless using the deserving-undeserving construct, suggesting that the spatial problems were themselves part of a social ordering system. In the early article on Pioneer Park’s temporary closure, a binary relationship was established, pairing the “innocent homeless people” against the park’s “criminal element.” This thus created a division between the deserving and undeserving homeless. While the “innocent homeless” may deserve to remain in the Pioneer Park area, those who constituted a destructive element were marked for exclusion. How to ascribe actual individuals to either of these social groupings was unclear, however. In fact, in the article, it was explicitly stated that it would be difficult to discern between the “truly homeless” from “transients” (Hayes, 1996). It was apparent early in the study set that the collective imagination of the Gateway struggled to interpellate people with subject positions within the very social order that this imagining established. One possible ramification, of course, was that all homeless individuals would thus be categorized as undeserving, just as all Latinos were in the case of Mt. Pleasant. The threat from the undeserving homeless continued to loom within the collective imagination, as demonstrated at later points in the news coverage, indicating the perception of a continued risk to the Gateway’s spatial integrity. Transients, who had already been marked as undeserving, were depicted as “roaming the streets,” especially "134 in the Pioneer Park area, which constituted a threat to future residents of a revitalized Gateway (Evensen, 1997). Further, because the “quality of the surrounding neighborhood [was] partially to blame,” the redevelopment project was framed as necessary to the survival and safety of the district, as it would be through neighborhood revitalization that the area could begin to attract, rather than repel, “quality visitors” (Evensen, 1997, para. 11). In this instance, the discourse constructed the redevelopment project as a necessary reassembling of district space in order to control the flow of people moving through the area, blocking those who constituted a threat and enticing those who would bring along their desirable qualities. Yet there remained an ambivalence within this construct. While the collective imagining of the redevelopment assumed the regulation of undesirable people, there still persisted a sense that it would also be a form of “environmental justice” that would aid disadvantaged residents (Edwards, 1999b). While this was depicted as positive in the news coverage, it nevertheless appeared in the discursive context after the previous assertion regarding the difficulty of discerning between the deserving and undeserving. The discourse also raised the possibility that the redevelopment would very well create a neighborhood that, instead of blocking the presence of undesirables, could funnel them into the city in droves. The very success of the Gateway could be linked to the city’s downfall. Because the district was not just in the process of reassembling space as a response to the failures of the industrial sector, but was planning to contribute one of its revitalized places in service to the upcoming Olympics, it was suggested that the success of the district, as well as the Olympics, could potentially bring about its demise. In a 1999 article titled, “Impact 2002 Urged Romney to Improve Plight of the Homeless” (Romboy, 1999a), it was suggested that by putting on “world-class games for athletes,” “homeless people in the Midwest and East [would] figure the Olympics [would] be a chance of a new start” (para. 17). The supposition was that the successful rearrangement of the "135 district, in conjunction with the fanfare of the Olympics, risked drawing undeserving people out from where they belong (where they are ‘in place’) and into the Gateway area (where they would be ‘out of place’). This was already an ongoing process, with the assertion that “the homeless population has and will continue to swell until the Games arrive” (Romboy, 1999a, para. 14). But it could certainly be exacerbated by the city’s success, as that success would cause the homeless in St. Louis (and other places) to ask themselves, as it was conjectured in the news, “what have you got to lose by buying a bus ticket and coming to Salt Lake?” (Romboy, 1999a, para. 12). Recall, as well, that the Olympic imperative was pushing Salt Lake City into the process of repositioning itself on the national stage. This threat from “St. Louis” was yet another articulation of the city’s imagined participation in national cultural and economic contexts. But the news coverage raised the possibility that this participation, once achieved, threatened the spatial integrity of the city via the mobilized bodies of the undesirable Other. The discourses of the news coverage thus crafted a complex imagining of the upcoming, newly revitalized district. As it stood, the Gateway was marked by the filth of its economic failures, necessitating a material intervention in order to encourage a new economy, continue its entrepreneurial legacy, and embellish the area with an upgraded aesthetic. The news coverage thus engaged in processes of combining the rhetorical emptiness of the district with elements of the redevelopment plan in order to craft a positive image of the district that would play its part in Salt Lake’s new national status. Also ‘out of place’ in the news coverage were people. In helping raise Salt Lake City’s cultural status, the redevelopment brought it spatially closer to other regions in the nation. While it may have desired to look like Greenwich Village or Beacon Hill, its extant social disorder—as actualized via the unsolved issue of local homelessness—raised the specter of an invasion of undesirable people from less desirable regions, such as the Midwest. The news discourses brought into the public imagining several negative "136 possibilities that could emerge as a result of the redevelopment’s success. What it could not clearly conceive of were pat solutions to these problems. In this sense, the discourse drew upon the dirt and disorder of the district to suggest its potential, but also set up a framework in which this potential might be achieved at the expense of Salt Lake’s social integrity, due to the new spatialities the redevelopment would engender. It is apparent that the news discourse produced multiple possibilities within the collective imagination, some positive and others not-so-positive. These possibilities reflect an ambivalence about the project. The concerns about matter or people being ‘out of place’ were not the only ambivalence produced by the coverage. Other concerns arose that suggested the possibility of space being ‘out of place.’ Redeveloping the District: Conflicting Spatialities Clearly locating and understanding spaces is necessary in urban environments because it is with this surety that individuals are able to negotiate social and class relationships, using spatial cues as guiding information. Not only are spatial cues necessary because of the incomprehensibility of urban environments in their entirety, thanks to their complexity, they are also necessary because contemporary culture has lost the key appearance-based cues that were used previously to judge interactions with urban strangers. Residents of premodern cities could rely on appearance-based ordering while navigating urban areas, thanks to sumptuary codes that communicated and regulated social positioning. However, modern industrialization shifted economic bases and transferred economic and social power to the new bourgeois. Thus, “the old guardians of the appearential order, of the laws and traditions which sustained it, were in decline” (Lofland, 1973, pp. 57-58). Technological innovations, modern styles of dress, and the proliferation of new symbolic codes thus led to a masking of urban heterogeneity, thanks to the ease with with any city resident could adopt the styles and markers associated with any social class. "137 Due to the decline of appearances in the modern city, residents began to rely on other methods of identifying and understanding the urban milieu. Though the facade one presents to the world still conveys useful information about identity, it became more beneficial to interpret such information in relation to its spatiality; in the modern city, the importance of appearance was replaced by the importance of space. As Lofland noted, “in the modern city, a man is where he stands” (1973, p. 82). Location-based identity was further supported by the emergence of spatial segregation, thanks to the phenomena of areal expansion, advances in communication technology, and the division of urban areas along social, class-based, and geographical lines (Lofland, 1973). The segregation of city spaces, city residents, and city activities thus became a core component of navigating social relationships among urban residents. In the case of Salt Lake City, this segregation took on problematic qualities as it recurred through the news coverage. In the previous chapter, we saw how the news coverage disagreed about the definitions of the Gateway area. While the journalists were mostly in agreement when identifying the Gateway’s stated boundaries (matching those given by city officials), this consensus began to diverge when considering cultural definitions of the area. This diversion also implicitly manifested alternative boundaries for the district that eliminated its southern half and brought its eastern edge closer to the downtown core. Another component of this unstable definition related to the Gateway’s relationship to downtown. Recall, too, that it was alternatively described as part of downtown (Edwards, 1999d; Evensen, 1997, 1998; Walsh, 1997a), as near or next to downtown (Edwards, 1999a, 1999c; Keahey, 1997b; Walsh, 1997d), and in one instance, as being on the edge of downtown (Walsh, 1998e). There was no consensus on precisely how the district related spatially to the downtown core. This is an important issue, because a reading of the news coverage made apparent that these contradictory relationships between the Gateway and downtown were a point of anxiety in the "138 collective imagination. The various identifications of the Gateway area as either part of downtown or adjacent to downtown appeared throughout the period from 1996 to 1999; it was difficult to establish consensus regarding its relationship to downtown throughout much of the study articles. Further, the news coverage concurrently identified a number of key downtown landmarks, which also implicitly constructed a map of downtown in a fashion similar to that of the Gateway. These landmarks were comprised of historic, civic, religious, natural, public, park, and residential spaces, and included the Gallivan Center, Scott Matheson Courthouse Complex, the Crandall building, and Temple Square, among others, as shown on Figure 11 (Baird, 2001; Baltezore, 1996; Edwards, 1999b, 1999d, 1999c; Evensen, 1998; Gorrell, 1997; Javick 1998a; Pusey, 1997; Sahm, 1999; Walsh, 1998b, 1999d). As they recurred throughout the coverage and as they appear on this conceptualized map, they too suggest ambiguity related to the Gateway’s ‘downtownness,’ as there is an overlapping of landmarks from both the Gateway and Downtown areas in the region spanning from South Temple to 400 South, between 300 West and West Temple. The Gateway’s uncertain spatial categorization started to take on narrative characteristics from approximately mid-1998 onwards, as the discourse began framing the relationships between these two areas as an adversarial one by crafting a narrative of the Gateway redevelopment constituting a threat to ‘Main Street merchants.’ In an April 1998 article titled, “Gateway Brings Hope, Heartburn,” the district redevelopment, described as similar to the Gaslamp Quarter, Marina District, and Beacon Hill, was presented as something that could become “fantastic” while also having “potential to further undermine the downtown. It's like building a new house when the house you're living in is falling down” (Walsh, 1998c, para. 21). Indicators of a struggling downtown core, described as “storefronts [that] have been vacant for years,” contending with vacancy rates of 7.52% (higher than the suburbs’ 5.72%), were also expressed in the "139 Figure 11: All Downtown Landmarks (in yellow) article (Walsh, 1998c). The concern about the Gateway, as expressed by Councilwoman Deeda Seed, was, “‘it would be one thing if we had a strong, vibrant central business district, but we don’t’” (Walsh, 1998c, para. 20, 21). The promise of the Gateway, with its lively streets, cultural center, delis, apartments, and a mall with “1 million square feet of office space” is thus put into opposition with Salt Lake’s Main Street/downtown core area (Walsh, 1998c). This pattern continued in articles that were released subsequently, in which a Gateway that looks nothing like Utah will “overdo it and dump a bunch of flashy new stuff […] that results in the death of downtown” (Walsh, 1998d, para. 22); earn the suspicion of downtown merchants by its possibility of undermining the “central business district” and siphoning their “already marginal profits” (Edwards, 1998c; Walsh, 1998b); "140 incite “emotions ranging from trepidation to outright lip-trembling, knee-knocking, nailbiting fear” (Edwards, 1998c, para. 4); engender "mixed feelings” in those merchants who hope it will bring money back into the city from the suburbs (Edwards, 1999d); but also frighten those who see the Gateway mall as means to “fragment downtown,” thanks to its “650,000 sq. ft. of retail space” (Sahm, 1999). Resulting from these concerns is the appearance of a counternarrative that framed the Gateway not as a undermining force but as means to “enlarge the pie rather than taking from Peter's piece to make Paul's bigger” (Edwards, 1998c, para. 16). The new TRAX project was also positioned as a system that would circulate shoppers between the Gateway and downtown areas, by “[enclosing] a 16-block area of downtown — "the box," — […] with no point within the box more than two blocks from a transit stop” and would help ferry people to Temple Square, “already Utah's No. 1 tourist attraction,” among other downtown landmarks (Edwards, 1999c, 1999d, para. 45). Further, once the process of development had begun, to slow it down or reverse it was described as an even greater disaster for the downtown area (Walsh, 1998b). The expression of these concerns is significant because they indicate more than just a retailer vs. retailer antagonism. They also highlight negotiations related to Gateway’s place in the downtown area. Retailers who raised concerns regarding the project’s threat to the “central business district,” who sought representation from the Downtown Alliance, who argued the Gateway would lead to the death of downtown, and who feared the results of a “moribund” district near LDS church headquarters (Edwards, 1998c; Walsh, 1998d, 1998b), helped situate the district as outside of downtown core. This positioning of the district, especially in the context of its downtown/adjacent-todowntown definitional ambiguity, reflects a perception that sought to differentiate downtown from the neighborhoods next to it. This perception may have arisen in part because those championing the project saw it as as means to either: (a) bring people and money back into downtown (if one "141 wants to categorize the Gateway as part of downtown), (b) benefit downtown (if one wants to categorize the Gateway as adjacent to it), or (c) expand downtown (if one wants to categorize the Gateway as merging with it). Discursive repetitions situated the Gateway within downtown; that is, the Gateway was part of downtown and thus, by attracting new residents and visitors, would be serving to repopulate downtown core. “Main Street merchants will benefit […] I don’t know how you cannot help by bringing bodies downtown,” stated Kem Gardner, local real estate developer and Boyer Company partner (Sahm, 1999). In this imagining, Main Street and the Gateway were both part of downtown, albeit in different locations. In another article, the importance of developing a 24-hour downtown was stressed, although it was acknowledged that some work to encourage it has already been done: “a bunch of housing is burgeoning on the west side of downtown -- the Palladio Apartments, the California Tire & Rubber Building, Dakota Lofts -- and more is on the way with Boyer's Gateway development” (Edwards, 1999d, para. 53). Note that the Palladio Apartments, technically outside of the Gateway, were placed within it, and the Gateway itself was connected to downtown and its need for increased residential presence. There was a suturing of the Gateway space to downtown space, reinforcing the notion of the Gateway as west downtown as opposed to adjacent to downtown. There were other instances in the news coverage that situated the Gateway alongside downtown, however. The problems of downtown were explained in the coverage as a loss of residents and visitors to the suburbs. As such, one solution was the redevelopment of the Gateway district, which would bring people back to the downtown area. In a description of the strengths of the project, it was stated that “the Gateway will have everything that is required to make an urban neighborhood, not a bedroom community or suburban neighborhood, work” (Walsh, 1998d, para. 7). Roger Boyer was also quoted as saying, “the leakage of retail sales has been to the south […] If we can bring (customers) back and expand the pie, it seems to me it would benefit "142 everybody” (Edwards, 1998d, para. 8) Thus, revitalizing an urban neighborhood would then benefit the downtown area, by bringing residents and visitors closer to the downtown core. Doing so was not a process of enticing them to a Gateway-as-downtown, but expanding the pie to the benefit of downtown. In this context, the development was situated as a neighborhood in the central urban area, but not necessarily a part of downtown. Finally, there were explicit appeals to the idea that the Gateway might not have currently been downtown but, through its redevelopment, was in the process of merging with it. It was stated that the project “will expand and revitalize Salt Lake City's downtown” and will engage in a process of “redefining boundaries” (Edwards, 1999d; Sahm, 1999). It was acknowledged that "planners hope for a more fluid, expandable, less location-specific downtown as a result, spurring development south and west of central downtown” and that by the end of the project, the downtown and Gateway “will all be pretty close together” (Edwards, 1998d, para. 14, 1999d, para. 46). In this context, the Gateway was constructed as being in a state of becoming, rendering downtown’s boundaries flexible and mobile. The anxieties of the Gateway project thus reveal not mere economic concerns, but fears about spatial relationships and how they are defined. In this sense, there are echoes of the fear of an ‘invasion from St. Louis,’ which arises from the possibility that a nationclass Salt Lake City will be situated ‘too close’ to less desirable national regions. In this context, we should ask ourselves whether these fears reflect any anxiety on the part of residents that the downtown core was being placed ‘too close’ to other undesirable areas, and what that might mean. There were hints of anguish related to the “moribund district” near the LDS church headquarters and some suggestions that could lead us to question whether the perceived benefits of bringing visitors to Temple Square via the Gateway risked opening a corollary threat of moving Temple Square out of downtown. This is an avenue that could be researched further. However, the study set didn’t present "143 repeated discourses that connected spatial anxieties to religious anxieties (the metaphor about taking Peter’s piece to make Paul’s bigger, aside). There were, however, other repetitions that bring another possible anxiety to mind. Segregation is a characteristic of many urban environments, where groups are separated along ethnic-, historical-, or class-based lines, and these segregations are reinforced thanks to the differences of available resources in differing urban areas (Alivon & Guillain, 2017; APA, n.d.; Legeby, 2010; Perez, 2011; Zizek, 2010). Gentrification processes, of course, have the capacity to disrupt and renegotiate established urban orders, and other factors can cause patterns of spatiality to change over time. Despite these changes, the spatial organization of social groupings can be seen in a variety of urban contexts. Salt Lake City has long been characterized by its own form of urban segregation, manifested in a split between the east and west sides of the city. The west side of the city has typically been perceived as poorer, more dangerous, lacking in amenities, and ‘ethnic,’ while the east as typically been perceived as richer, safer, better serviced, and White. These distinctions have been contested and have also fluctuated over time, though the perception itself has remained fairly constant. The west is also undeniably home to a higher population of immigrants and minority groups, while the east is home to a higher population of Whites (Canham, 2015; Davidson & Toomer-Cook, 2007; Salt Lake City Planning Division, 2014; Smart, 2014). These divisions between the east and west, regardless of whether they are perceived or real, continue to the present day and were in play at the end of the 1990s. Spanning from 1996 to the end of 1999, the label and identification of “west-side” was repeated through the news coverage (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996; Dillon, 1997; Edwards, 1998b; Jarvik, 1998b; Romboy, 1999a, 1999b; Sahm, 1999; Walsh, 1997d, 1998d). In some instances, the label of “west-side” was employed as a geographical marker for the Gateway district, where it was described as, “Salt Lake City’s west-side "144 district,” Salt Lake City’s “west-side district [that] includes the Gateway,” “Salt Lake City's west-side food-and-shelter district,” the Salt Lake Mission’s “west-side home,” and where there was a “multi-use development planned for Salt Lake City's west side” (Edwards, 1998b; Jarvik, 1998b; Romboy, 1999a, 1999b; Sahm, 1999). While this repetition of the term was, at the content-level, merely a geographic designation, it would be obvious to anyone from Salt Lake City that the term contained additional connotations at the relationship level. To employ the label “west side” in Salt Lake means more than simply identifying the city’s western half. The repeated references to the west side played their part in applying a less-thandesirable identity to the Gateway district. It many ways, it could be argued that this was done as part of the process of preparing the district rhetorically for its redevelopment. However, what is more interesting is the suggestion that the application of this label, in the context of disagreements related to the Gateway’s ‘downtown-ness,’ represent fear of a threat to the downtown core. Early in the study set, it was stated that Mayor Corradini “unwrapped a plan to expand downtown to the west” (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996, para. 1). Here, we can see that there is the implication of a Gateway-downtown merger, but more precisely, it was framed as an expansion westward (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996). By itself, this declaration would not necessarily be notable, but there are other instances in the texts where the west’s undesirable identity was recalled. In an article published in November of 1997, Deseret News writer Lucinda Dillion identified Salt Lake’s segregation by observing that the groundbreaking for the redevelopment project would finally address “the criss-cross of rails that ideologically split the city's east and west sides” (Dillon, 1997, para. 3). The article also quotes U.S. Secretary of Transportation Rodney Slater, who was identified (uncomfortably) as “the highest ranking black in President Clinton's administration,” while describing intermodal transportation systems: "I have said many times that transportation is more than concrete, asphalt and steel. It is truly about people and "145 providing them the opportunity to be successful, responsible adults” (Dillon, 1997, para. 5, 13). The cultural divisions between the east and west were further called out by Jay Evensen, Deseret News editorial editor, in his response to the controversy over the placement of the intermodal hub, where there were disagreements over whether it should be placed at the 600 West location or at the Union Pacific depot. He admonished previous anti-600 West arguments, observing that "if the new transit hub is in outer Mongolia, where exactly are the neighborhoods to the west of it?” also commenting that “the perception persists that the west side is the city's stepchild” (Evensen, 1998, para. 11-12). This article, along with the Dillon piece, acknowledged the unstated actuality that to speak of the west side is to assert a claim about its residents. These articles lauded an approach to discussing and shaping the city in a way that moved beyond merely upholding eastside-westside divisions. However, they also allow us to tap into other concerns. As narrativized by Dillon, connections were articulated between the west side, a minority official, and the need to create ‘responsible adults.’ Later, Evensen praised the 600 West location, as “over time, new development would create a seamless transition from east to west” (Evensen, 1998, para. 13). It is with these two articulations that one can begin to interpret more about the nature of the news coverage anxieties related to the spatial relationships between downtown and the Gateway area. That is was suggested that the redevelopment (as well as a new public transportation system) would bring opportunities to the west side, a place inhabited by individuals in need of assistance to become ‘successful,’ suggests the perception of certain deficiencies on the part of its residents, as it would be the west side that would benefit from the development, rather than the redevelopment benefiting from its proximity to the west. These perceived deficiencies, however, would be brought into closer proximity with the downtown core, thanks to the ‘bridging’ function of the redevelopment. "146 Spatial arrangements at the time established clear divisions between downtown (as part of the east) and the west side. What effects would come about from a ‘seamless transition’ between the east and west sides? From Evensen’s perspective this would be a positive. The same surely could not be said for all other city residents, however. An expansion of downtown into the west would put it in closer contact with those social groups who had been symbolically and physically excluded from it. In this sense, it could incite a feeling of danger, as such a move would destabilize extant social-spatial arrangements and start putting people ‘out of place.’ Further, such a move would bring the east side in closer contact with those who need help becoming “successful, responsible adults,” who need assistance in “coming off welfare,” and who are likely not visibly White (Dillon, 1997; Van Eyck, 1997). It is at this junction that we can see stereotypes of the west side being applied through the discourse and, in the context of the Gateway’s spatial ambiguities, reflecting anxieties about increased social encounters between two groups that some wish could remain separate. Conclusion We began our process of unwrapping the collective imaginings of the Gateway by considering the anxieties that emerged at multiple points through the discourse. These anxieties reflect the intimate relationships between constructions of spatial and social disorder, drawing attention to the means by which spatiality operates in the management of social relationships. In the case of the Gateway’s ‘filth,’ we can grasp discomfort expressed through discourses related to its homeless residents. These individuals, who are ‘out of place,’ constituted a threat to a revitalized district by means of their presence and the possibility that it might not be easy to control them. Further, these individuals were connected to other homeless people, those from other states, which reflects a sense of discomfort related to the Gateway redevelopment and the ways in which it could help bring Salt "147 Lake City in closer proximity to greater U.S. culture. This proximity was framed by threat of invasion and the possibility that it could go uncontrolled. When it comes to the Gateway area and its relationship to the downtown core, it’s evident that there were ambiguities and inconsistencies in its perceived relationship with downtown. This ambiguity reflected fears related to disruption of spatial order and the possibility, just as residents may have feared placing Salt Lake City in closer proximity to the greater U.S., of the negative consequences of placing the east side in closer proximity to the west side. It’s certainly possible, though, that these anxieties go beyond just the fear of spatial and social proximities. In one instance, Mayor Corradini’s plan was described as an attempt to create “a stylish new downtown to the west “ (Walsh, 1997d, para. 7). This extends previous articulations of Salt Lake’s spatial relationships and thus suggests fear of the east side being supplanted by the west side. In this context, this would indicate concern over a redistribution of powers as they were connected to the city landscape. It may also suggest, similar to the threat of invasion from those outside of Utah, that there may have been a fear of invasion of the east side by those bodies who have previously been labeled as ‘lesser’ from the west side. The circulation of these anxieties in the discourse suggests areas of social rupture that some deemed in need of repair. How might the collective imaginings in the news coverage move to address these ruptures and assuage these anxieties? In the next chapter, we will explore the specifics of place-making, as applied to the Gateway redevelopment, will consider the cultural discourses they both reflected and promoted, and will identify how these discourses operated to provide meaning to the project and circumscribe behavior within the district. CHAPTER 6 COLLECTIVE IMAGINATION Introduction People influence places, that much is obvious. Humans have a long history of shaping their environments and have endeavored over to time to create great places in a variety of locations and within many historic periods. It always astounds me think that the Lighthouse of Alexandria, which once towered over the Alexandria’s great harbor, was as tall as the One Utah Center in downtown Salt Lake City, or that the Incan empire could carve such a massive highway system through serpentine Andean mountainsides. People have toyed with the many permutations of space and have gained satisfaction from shaping them according to their desires. What is less commonly discussed are the ways in which spaces shape us, however. Environmental history reveals a legacy of separation from humans and their environment, which placed the natural world in the position of serving human domination and as a bounty of resources for human use (O’Riordan, 1989). Though architects spend much time pondering the relationships between people and places, and the ways in which spaces can invoke spiritual, affective, or behavioral affects, it’s less common to hear people discuss the ways in which they feel manipulated by built places, especially those vernacular spaces within which we engage in the mundanities of our daily lives. Our built environments affect us strongly, however, and the ways in which they are built can determine how we see ourselves, or others, within them. Psychology "149 research has already demonstrated the relationships between environments and behavior, and New Urbanist designers have exploited these relationships in an effort to strengthen community bonds and increase people’s engagement in their neighborhoods. It’s been demonstrated that certain neighborhood design types can influence human behavior. New Urbanist and dense neighborhood construction encourage increased levels of moderate-to-high physical activity among children and adults, as well as higher feelings of community among residents (Brown, 2010; Brown, et al., 2013; Brown & Cropper, 2007). These findings are mediated by a number of variables, such as gender or type of activity, and are not always linear or straightforward, but they nevertheless suggest an interactive process between humans and built places, where the places people build impact their behavior, even if these influences are not consciously perceived. Built places have the ability to instill additional types of behaviors, as well as modify social relationships. There are a variety of place characteristics that can engender this, but the one that is most relevant to our conversation here is place-making, a rhetorical, visual, or material strategy to grant specific identities to built spaces. Strident place-making efforts are commonly employed in new construction projects and can wield a number of effects on places and the people within them. It is apparent that placemaking frequently works to grant seemingly historic or ‘natural’ identities to new commercial spaces (Dickinson, 2002, 2008, 2014), to change local amenities in order to encourage behaviors beneficial to middle-class commerce (Abaza, 2001; Flyvberg, 1998; Glow, et al., 2014; Modan, 2002; Ruppert, 2005; Shaw, 2006; Zukin, 1982), or to create spaces with the potential for more inclusive community-building (“Charter for New Urbanism,” 1993; Hamelink, 2008; Shibley, 1998). As such, place-making functions as a culturally significant strategy because it not only has the potential to change the physical appearance of built spaces, but to also influence the social interactions that occur within them and invoke hegemonic social relations. "150 Private development projects (usually geared around creating new malls or shopping promenades) generally aim to create merchant-controlled quasipublic spaces that exclude undesirable populations from the area (such as vagrants, teenagers, and individuals with limited economic or cultural capital) (Coleman, 2005; Ruppert, 2005). These spaces often appear in gentrification contexts, where economic and demographic neighborhood change transform neighborhood space, local aesthetics, and historic social bonds. Resulting from this, control over local spaces is transferred to high-income gentrifiers and large national retailers, such as Nike and Old Navy (Jackson Jr., 2005). Driven by private development, these changes to the allocation and use of space in gentrifying areas thus shift the ownership of urban spaces to private investors while maintaining an appearance of openness and accessibility to city residents, at least those who can afford to remain after the full effects of gentrification. Because these spaces are controlled, however, they can be managed to suit owner needs This effect is so pervasive that it even shapes development projects receiving public funding and direction: Bent Flyvbjerg's in-depth case study on the Aalborg city redevelopment plan clearly demonstrated that the ‘rational’ and ‘objective’ technical data and discourses used within interagency communication had the effect of shaping the planning project in ways that specifically benefitted the interests of the local Chamber of Commerce, primarily to appease the demands of a small set of luxury and speciality retailers (Flyvbjerg, 1998). This had a significant effect on the final plan, and impacted the city's public transportation system, traffic enforcement, and monument construction – usually to the detriment of pedestrians and bicyclists (Flyvbjerg, 1998). What we can take away from this case study is the recognition that even public projects, conducted by planners for reasons that are driven by more than just base profit motive, can nevertheless become entangled in the negotiations and struggles of private interests. This realization is necessary to keep in mind while considering the Gateway redevelopment project. "151 At the time that the city was planning to revive the struggling district, the New Urbanist approach to design was gaining momentum, even though the Charter for New Urbanism had been released in only 1993 (“Charter for New Urbanism,” 1993). Their approach to building urban spaces was one that attempted to remediate the negative social and environmental consequences of modernist design by invoking the characteristics of traditional neighborhoods. Further, mixed-use developments were gaining popularity by the way in which they placed social and commercial structures in situ, giving community members the ability to meet their needs without having to leave. As an approach, New Urbanism is not without critique, of course. Some critics see it “as profoundly suburban and as such inconsistent with its urban name, still others find the body of work in New Urbanism to be shallow and somehow unable to address the deep structure of community life and culture” (Shibley, 1998, p. 87). It also seems significantly more difficult to employ in places that have already been substantially builtout. Despite this, aspects of New Urbanist design constituted the rationale for the redevelopment project and, as it would be implemented in such a large area, it seemed that Salt Lake City was attempting to build on the cutting edge, indeed. Shades of these new design models could be seen in Salt Lake City officials’ descriptions of the Gateway district redevelopment plan, which was described as a return to what “neighborhoods used to look like,” construction that would scale built structures down to the “human scale,” and the erection of mixed-use developments that would integrate multiple zoning practices in order to create a vibrant, 24-hour neighborhood (Byram, 1998; Edwards, 1998a, 1998c, 1999d; Knudson, 1997; Loomis, 1999; Walsh, 1997a, 1998d, 1998c). This, of course, was an extension of the design practices recommended for the district in the ASSIST Gateway evaluation document. It further raises questions regarding the kind of discursive and symbolic structures that would be crafted alongside the new constructions, and how these structures would work in concert with the built space to create a new identity for the Gateway. "152 Our travels back to, and through, the Gateway redevelopment have given us access to key impulses, processes, and concerns interwoven through the news discourse and made available both to readers and posterity. Salt Lake City’s Olympic imperative, which undoubtedly affected far more than just the Gateway area, nevertheless entangled the redevelopment project in greater needs and desires. The urge to redevelop the district and reorient it towards the national stage facilitated a historical and spatial purge in preparation for its revitalization. The discursive processes of place-making raised anxieties related to people and spaces ‘out of place,’ constructing the district in a manner marked by literal and social filth, threat of invasion, and ambiguity related to the nature of downtown. These anxieties were not histrionic, and they were at times contradicted in the discourse, but they nevertheless suggest areas of collective discomfort related to the Gateway and the redevelopment plan. Because the study set involved discourses regarding what the Gateway district could or would become, this chapter employs a critical-cultural perspective in order to better understand the collective imaginings that were constructed through the news coverage. As the symbolic, aesthetic, and material processes involved in place-making are varied, this chapter too will be varied, engaging with multiple discursive threads that emerged throughout the journalistic conversations. These analyses will evaluate how the Gateway was imagined in the midst of a process that would change it from a dying district to a reborn one, will interrogate the materialities constructed by (and that constructed) the news coverage, consider the question of how these discourses operated jointly to imagine loft-living in Salt Lake City, and highlight how this vision of loft-living constructs a particular arrangement of city spatialities and aesthetics. In doing so, it will become apparent how the news coverage that employed discourses of place-making partially addressed its concurrent anxieties, and how this helped drive the redefinition of the Gateway district. In this chapter, we will examine the characteristics of the place-making "153 discourses employed in the processes of imagining the Gateway. In the course of doing so, it will become apparent that multiple discourses were evoked via the news coverage, many with similar characteristics, yet simultaneously providing alternative, flexible visions for the Gateway redevelopment. These discursive practices provided multiple contingent narratives within the collective imagining. However, it will also become evident that near the end of the study period, these narratives collapsed into a narrower construction of the redevelopment plan and in a fashion that delimited potential interpretations of it. In doing so, the district was tightly sutured both to the Boyer Company’s mall project and to discourses of commodified living, moving the revitalization away from a reparative means to integrate the city, or a multifaceted district to be pieced together in the minds of readers, to a location that articulated a particular vision of urban living through an assemblage of gentrification discourses. Resulting from this, the news coverage granted the redevelopment a more singular identity, and engaged in ideological rhetoric that reframed the collective anxieties about the project. Open Materialities and Aesthetics of the Gateway The redevelopment of the Gateway space would certainly reorder its spatial landscape and, thus, the social interactions that would occur therein, but this could not be possible without rearrangement of its materialities, as well. The physical and aesthetic structures of urban environments have played a key role in various redevelopment projects, and the way these structures are talked about provides insight into the values held by developers and city residents. The success of the Gateway redevelopment hinged on its ability to lure “quality visitors,” future residents, and to ensure a 24-hour presence in the downtown area (Baird, 2001; Deseret News Editorial, 2001; Edwards, 1999d, 1999c; Evensen, 1997; Loomis, 1999). The appeal of the district would surely be influenced by the dining, entertainment, and cultural facilities that would set up shop "154 within its borders. However, the concept of this 24-hour city district was also dependent on its material and aesthetic properties — which would work in concert with district space to enable desired social interactions and activities. One of the stated aims of mixed-use and New Urbanist redevelopment approaches is a scaling down of built structures in order to reinsert humanity in urban places where it had been lost. The primary method of doing so requires that designers “bring the environment back to the human scale” and better integrate built structures to their surroundings. In areas where streets curve and wind, or where oversized city blocks are the norm (as is the case in most of Salt Lake City), the environment is no longer optimized for people, thanks in large part to the elimination of frequent street corners. Street corners are a fundamental spatial component in community-oriented redevelopments due to the way in which they enhance walkability, are associated with density, and increase diversity in the physical environment. They were also critical to the city’s Gateway redevelopment plan, which called for the subdivision of district blocks to make the area more walkable and more accessible (“Charter for New Urbanism,” 1993; Salt Lake City Planning Commission, 1998; Walsh, 1997c, 1998c, 1998d). Awareness of the benefits of multiplying corners in the district had thus already been adopted by city planners and was employed for a number of effects. In terms of the methods by which they make neighborhoods walkable, corners encourage people to explore the urban environment on foot, thanks to the high number of alternate routes they provide, the opportunity to change one’s view or take shortcuts, or the possibility of trying out new routes that have never before been explored; it was for this reason that short blocks were championed in Jane Jacobs’ The Death and Life of Great American Cities (1961). Short blocks in urban areas are also associated with density, a key component to city health, especially where it occurs in districts with unique uses (Whyte, 1980). For our purposes, however, the frequent repetition of corners benefits urban districts because it is at those corners that retail, service, and "155 impromptu establishments can crop up, thus diversifying neighborhood amenities and aesthetics (Jacobs, 1961). It is through diversity that cities ensure the vibrancy of their sidewalks. Jacobs famously declared that “monotony is the death of the city”; cities must be fun, must have amenities, and must have a wide variety of uses in order to entice people outside of their homes and place them onto the streets. Ideally, diversity should be of multiple kinds, including primary and secondary district uses, a variety of people, and aesthetic complexity (Jacobs, 1961). From her perspective, two additional factors help generate these types of diversity, in conjunction with frequent corners and the density they correlate with — these include mixed-use zoning and the presence of mixed-age buildings. These features help enhance the collative properties of districts, to the benefit of the city. Research into collative properties (i.e., stimuli that provide arousal) indicates that people are generally attracted to novelty and seek out new sensations. In the context of urban areas, districts should feature diversity in architecture, landscaping, and infrastructure, which will both attract visitors and bolster the impact of amenities within the area. It will also provide different stimulus options to different people, based on their interests and what they are seeking out. In order to do so, districts should have more than one (ideally two) primary uses, as well as multiple secondary uses (Jacobs, 1961), which can appeal to a diverse group of visitors and potential residents, who will then be encouraged to stay thanks to the pleasing nature of the surrounding aesthetics and comfort with which they can navigate the district. Research also suggests, however, that people gravitate towards stimuli that incite intermediary levels of arousal and, once their desire for novelty has been satisfied, they then engage with stimuli of low arousal (Wohlwill, 1989). While aesthetic diversity is encouraged in built environments, integrating harmony into the design is also critical, due to both general design recommendations, the desire for visual coherence, and the "156 nature of collative stimuli. Harmony, as incorporated into construction using the repetition of materials, symbols, motifs, and details, is also a key factor in place-making. In this sense, the forms and styles of redevelopment architecture not only contribute to the aesthetics of redeveloped districts, but they also contribute to how they excite, and are perceived by, visitors. It is evident from the images in the city’s “Creating an Urban Neighborhood” document that this sense of coherent aesthetic variety was one of the goals for the Gateway area. The first set of images that appear in the document is a triptych that brings the viewers progressively nearer to the textures of a revitalized Gateway. The image to the left is a photograph showing a distant shot of the downtown area, with the foreground dominated by the shapes and earth tones of the outlying city districts. In the midground, roughly aligned along the upper thirds, is the Salt Lake City skyline, which stands out against the snow-covered mountains in the background. Beneath the photograph is an italicized caption that read, “The opportunities are endless” (Salt Lake City Planning Commission, 1998, p. 2). At first glance, the photograph is not inordinately remarkable. However, there is an optical illusion effected by the framing of the photo. Upon initial viewing, the city skyline and Utah state capitol building may appear tilted to viewers, as though the photographer had misjudged his or her leveling of the horizon. Upon closer inspection, it becomes apparent that the photographer indeed leveled his or her equipment; the vertiginous effect in the photograph is established by the shape of Capitol Hill, which slopes away from the capitol building towards the downtown core. This skewed quality, in conjunction with the evocative caption about endless opportunities, piques the viewer’s interest, thus encouraging the viewer to turn his or her attention to the photo at the center of the triptych. The central photo brings the viewer closer to the city and depicts the side of the old Utah Ice and Cold Storage Warehouse, which was located at 551 West 300 South. Set in the red-brick warehouse are four visible windows and an old dock door. Above the "157 windows and on the structure’s side are hand-painted signs advertising “PURE ICE,” “DISTILLED,” “WATER.” The detailing on the structure visually echoes the triptych form, as the bulk of the wall is divided into roughly three equal spaces by the detailing on the brick. Each portion of the signage is centered over each third. The building is marked in patina, with its materials weathered from both elements and age. The brick near the base of the building shows evidence of moisture damage, while the brick that makes up the rest of the structure is marked by what appears to be the remnants of old paint and pigment. The window glass is missing and the grounds around the building are brown, evidence of a lack of manicuring and years of neglect, though clumps of green suggest its potential. Beneath the photo is a caption that reads, “There is so much to work with…” (Salt Lake City Planning Commission, 1998, p. 2). The ellipsis invites the viewer to evaluate the current state of the building, consider how its components could be used as raw materials (though, ironically, this warehouse was entirely demolished during the prep work for the intermodal hub), and to continue to the final image of the set. The final photograph does not bring the viewer physically nearer to its depicted object, but its brilliance, hues, and framing grant it greater visual weight, making it appear closer at first glance. The object in question is the mural-painted exterior wall at the eastern end of the Browning Eccles warehouse on Pierpont Avenue. The mural is broken into four major sections, due to alternating swaths of color used in the background (yellow, blue, orange, yellow). Against these colored grounds are figures in the process of constructing something. Beneath the photo is the caption, “and much that has already begun” (Salt Lake City Planning Commission, 1998, p. 2). At the literal level, this caption connects the mural in the photo to the warehouse in the one that preceded it, which suggested there was so much material to work with. In this sense, the final image concludes the thought and confronts the viewer with the possibilities and opportunities that redevelopment construction would bring to the district. Interestingly, the mural also invokes a curious association. The workers, engaged in much work “that "158 has already begun,” are laboring with beams and frames that resemble crosses. I would note that the worker in the red vest is holding two crossed beams that are placed close to optical center. To the right of the mural, another laborer works at a vaguely beehiveshaped kiln. Crosses do not feature as a part of Mormon iconography, yet the association of the cross with the beehive brings to mind the work of hard-working pioneers, perhaps suggesting that the foundation for a successful district was set during the founding of the city. It may be that it is now up to the present generation to execute its rebirth. The bulk of the master plan echoes the pattern and aesthetic generated in this triptych. Maps, which grant viewers a wide view of the district, are accompanied by photographs that invite the viewer to look closer and see more of its details. These photos provide a view of the raw materials with which the city was working, those historical landmarks that would be incorporated into the revitalized area (such as the Union Pacific Depot and Uffens Marketplace), as well as other views of downtown areas, which demonstrate what could be accomplished in the Gateway district (including a raised City Creek, as indicated by the photo of the median creek park set within Canyon Road). There are six color diagrams, all labeled “Development Plan Concept,” which provide an overhead view of the textures and colors of a redeveloped Gateway (Salt Lake City Planning Commission, 1998, pp. 9, 11, 13, 15, 17, 18). They appear hand-drawn and hand-colored, showing the texture of (what seems to be) the colored pencils used to create them, and they repeat the brick reds, browns, and greens established in the middle triptych photograph. With these images, a relationship is set between the development plan concepts and the photographs. Those photos of Gateway landmarks provide the colors and textures with which city planners did, and viewers are invited to, imagine the district. The aesthetics of the street suggest the repetition of brick buildings, set among subdivided (i.e., shortened) blocks, with green spaces employed extensively in the area. These conceptualizations appear hand drawn, as from an artist’s hand, providing a "159 cohesive view of an artisanal Gateway District (Salt Lake City Planning Commission, 1998). It seems clear that the photographs depicted the ‘raw materials’ that planners would be working with, while the diagrams establish how those raw materials might be reemployed in an updated district. In this sense, it is evident that the planning team had an awareness of the materials in, and materiality of, the Gateway, and incorporated it into their imaginings for the district. These images also resonate, albeit imperfectly, with the rhetoric that connected the Gateway with historic districts such as Greenwich Village or LODO. This master plan, titled Creating an Urban Neighborhood, went public in mid-1998. A series of news articles were published around the same time, first in May when the document was released and then in August when it was adopted by the city council, in which the journalists described, evaluated, and responded to what was in the plan (Byram, 1998; Edwards, 1998c; Walsh, 1998b, 1998d, 1998e). In these articles, the materialities of the Gateway and the master plan is curiously absent, despite their emphasis within the city’s text. An article published in May acknowledges, “much of the Gateway is contaminated, run-down or vacant,” but other parts are “vibrant, albeit grungy,” and that the plan included green spaces (Walsh, 1998d, para. 5). The descriptors of “contaminated,” “run-down,” “vibrant,” and “grungy” do give readers a sense of the Gateway area’s materials and their qualities. As with the Utah Ice and Cold Storage warehouse, these descriptors provide readers with an understanding of the patina that covers large parts of the district. The idea of grunge was also reflected in one of the articles released on August 8th, in which the district was described as “charming, but grungy” (Walsh, 1998e, para. 4). However, the remainder of the articles spent little time on aspects of the district’s materiality (either current or imagined). Instead, some attention was paid to the aesthetics of the proposed district, where it was described as filled with “flashy new stuff” alongside “mid-block streets, […] landscaping, and pedestrian-oriented buildings” (Byram, 1998); containing “trendy new "160 condominiums, art galleries, and restaurants,” “trendy lofts, shops, and offices,” and “Caputo’s bright new import home” (Walsh, 1998b, para. 9, 1998e, para. 6, 9, ); though the proposed district was drawn in “broad outlines of a master plan,” there was suggestion it would be a “flashy new project,” indeed (Edwards, 1998c, para. 9; Walsh, 1998b, para. 12). The coverage did not deviate substantially from these descriptors and dedicated little textual space to other aspects of the proposal’s aesthetic or material details. Emphasis was placed on the affective, economic, and spatial components of the plan, instead. The coverage acknowledged that the proposal would bring the district down to the “human scale,” with “new mid-block streets” and other roads that would be “widened to allow a strip of green space” (Walsh, 1998b, 1998d). What was proposed would be built alongside the “tony Dakota Lofts” and arranged into “five new subdistricts” (Walsh, 1998b, 1998d, 1998e). “Trendy lofts, shops, and offices” “will be packed,” and would be “packed in next to a homeless shelter” (Walsh, 1998d, para. 9, 1998e, para. 8). It was also acknowledged that the district would be “mixed-use” (Byram, 1998). “400 West would become a city boulevard,” and “mid-block streets, […] landscaping, and pedestrian-oriented buildings” would fill the district (Walsh, 1998b, para. 15, 1998d, para. 16). Other key talking points were whether affordable housing would be built, how much there would be, and whether the plan called for a minimum percentage of affordable housing (Byram, 19989; Edwards, 1998c; Walsh, 1998b, 1998e). In these articles, the material components of the Gateway plan, or even how the district would look upon its completion, were not detailed to readers, though they were given indicators of other, less tangible characteristics. This lack of attention can generally be found throughout the study set, with some exceptions. As discussed in the previous chapter, most of the news images released before the announcement of Boyer’s plans (which we will consider shortly) repeated a set of cartographic diagrams comprised of series of square, blank blocks and that lacked a "161 sense of materiality beyond the newsprint around them. However, there were two images of the rail yard behind the Union Pacific depot. These images gave readers a sense of the land, which was fundamentally barren, gravel-covered, crossed with rail tracks, and marked with signs that could be interpreted as neglect, such as puddles of standing water and mud (Baltezore & Keahey; Walsh, 1998a). Yet, these were liminal materialities, as the spaces in question were waiting for processes that would “open them up” in preparation for the development. As such, the images accompanying the news articles didn’t contribute to the collective imagination a clear sense of the textures, colors, and shapes of a revitalized Gateway. Neither did the news texts; as discussed earlier, the articles constructed a sense of the Gateway as contaminated and stained from its failed industries. In positioning the Gateway district alongside more famous city neighborhoods, such as SoHo, Greenwich Village, the Marina District, Beacon Hill, etc., they provided information from which readers could make inferences and consider some of the Gateway’s future characteristics. In this sense, materiality was invoked indirectly, instead implied through New York City brownstones, San Francisco’s pastel stucco, and Boston cobblestones. The ways in which this materiality could contribute to a collective imagining of the district were many, and given the number of cities to which the Gateway was compared, readers could imagine any number of architectural or material combinations. Gateway buildings could look like brownstones, but could be packed in as densely as the streets of Beacon Hill. Perhaps a shopping trip to the Gateway would be reminiscent of visiting Denver’s Larimer Square. Readers knew that entertainment buildings, offices, and residences would be in the same area. Because of this, they could imagine swinging by the Delta Center on their way home from work, or maybe they pictured an environment where the streets of San Francisco could be situated alongside Salt Lake’s historic warehouses. The variety of districts to which the Gateway was compared gave readers a number of ways in which they could imagine the district; there were a number of directions they could go. "162 This imagining was left open because there were few repeated descriptors that could stabilize and affix the materiality of the district within the collective imagination. It would be “lined with trees” (Walsh, 1997d), it could bring water back into the district (in the form of water features or a raised City Creek) (Walsh, 1998c), and it would feature unique lighting design (Walsh, 1998d). The news also made note of the fact that the Boyer Company reused historic cobblestones in the mall facility (Neff, 2001). Aside from these and sporadic similar suggestions, the actual look and feel of the district was left open to readers and was likely dependent on their navigations between this collective imagination and their own experiences. As discussed by Borer, “studies have clearly shown that the symbolic building of collective and community-based memories and meanings is often connected to actual physical buildings” (2010, p. 98). Because the textual content of the news coverage left these physicalities open, readers were thus given an opportunity to engage with the collective imagining and to negotiate it in their own contexts, perhaps applying to it their own aspirations. This would thus open up a space in which both the individual and collective imaginings of the district could take multiple trajectories. There are two major exceptions to this multiplicity, however. We will attend to the first here and then return to the second momentarily, as it requires a touch more attention. Throughout the news coverage, across the entire study set, there was repetition of the idea that affordable housing would be the legacy that the Olympics would leave to the Gateway district (and Salt Lake City). This was expressed explicitly in August of 1999, in which it was stated that “SLOC could leave a 'legacy' by helping build more” affordable housing (Romboy, 1999a, para. 10). Additionally, throughout the news coverage, from the earliest years to the latest, the Olympics was positioned as a generator of affordable housing for the district (Baird, 2000; Davidson, 1997; Funk, 1996; Gorrell, 1997, 1999, 2000; Gorrell & Walsh, 1997; Jarvik, 1998b; Mitchell, 2001; Rayburn, 1999; Romboy, 1999a; Sahm, 1999; Walsh, 1998a). The relationship between affordable "163 housing in the Gateway and the Olympics was framed as something that would be left behind after the Olympics vanished from the city. It was stated that the Olympics would leave Salt Lake City with “dignified housing,” the housing leftover from the Olympics could be “converted into subsidized housing for low-income people,” the media housing for the Games would likely be set “in the new Gateway center to the west,” that “once members of the worldwide media leave town, the Northgate Apartments they called home during the 2002 Winter Games will be rented to 156 low-income Utah families,” and that it seemed a given that the Boyer project would include affordable housing (Davison, 1997, para. 11; Funk, 1996; Mitchell, 2001, para. 1; Rayburn, 1999, para. 12; Sahm, 1999). In this sense, the collective imagining that contextualized the Gateway in the context of the Olympics was one that hoped the Games would leave behind a tangible, residential legacy. Further, it is evident that desire for this material legacy shaped the discussions of the planning for the Games, as Salt Lake City and SLOC officials reiterated the need to “build housing that can meet our needs for the Olympics and beyond” (Gorrell & Walsh, 1997, para. 12), activists encouraged the city to require that a “portion of the units be available after the Games for low-to-moderate-income people” (Gorrell, 1997, para. 2), and SLOC president Mitt Romney was quoted as stating “‘I’d like the Olympic experience to encompass the whole community, not just one socioeconomic segment” (Romboy, 1999a, para. 7). The efforts of planners to ensure that the Olympics generated new housing was secured upon congressional approval of HUD funding for the games (Gorrell, 1999; Jarvik, 1998b). These planning efforts fix the desire for affordable housing as a key theme in the discourse, one that was discussed quite consistently and in consistent terms. Further, the goal of concretizing a ‘legacy,’ which is itself a temporal concept, suggests a desire to render material some aspect of the Olympic Games, and in a fashion in which its legacy would become tangible over time. The construction of the Gateway’s materiality in the public eye therefore invoked "164 multiple discourses which allowed different facets of the collective imagination to gain prominence, depending on the standpoints and desires of readers. However, the urge to create a material legacy of the Olympic experience was a consistent ideational stream that flowed through the news coverage and was one desire that was not conducive to multiple readings. The persistent focus on affordable housing was one that would likely appeal to many readers, but it’s also important to consider its context within the Gateway district, which had been described as a place with homeless “roaming the streets.” In this sense, it served as a solution to the district’s recurring problem. In fact, this use of affordable housing was invoked in statements by housing activists and homeless service providers, who emphasized that the lack of affordable housing was one of the causes of homelessness, especially for those who came into the city seeking work (Byram, 1998; Romboy, 1999a; Walsh, 1997b). This particular enactment of materiality constituted one example of the discursive narrowing of the collective imagination. As we will soon see, it was not the only one. Diverse Imaginings of the Gateway As noted earlier, the Gateway was imagined in terms that compared it to other historic districts in other cities. This language, in addition to images that included scant details on the look of the district, gave readers an opportunity to engage in their own imaginings about what would result from redevelopment construction. However, there were more detailed imaginings related to its possible components. Some of these details would later be integrated into the district, at least in some form, while others were not. Nevertheless, as presented in the news coverage, each appeared equally probable, thus making them fodder for readers’ imaginations. For example, it was universally acknowledged that the redevelopment would include mixed-use construction, but some details of this construction, including those applied to the Gateway mall, varied. In three articles, educational facilities were "165 discussed, with the statement that that the Gateway mall would be a welcome addition with its, “shopping, dining, entertainment, education and cultural opportunities” (Deseret News Editorial, 2001, para. 2), that there might be a Salt Lake Community College presence in the area (Walsh, 1999b), or even a University of Utah or research facility presence: “we're jamming all these business park and educational facilities up on the hill. Why not build an undergraduate center downtown?” (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996, para. 58). These visions were in addition to the Children’s Museum and Clark Planetarium, which had long been planned to move to the Gateway mall (though for a period of time there was some conflict related to the latter) (Baird, 2001; Walsh, 1998a, 1998c, 1998d, 1999d). Mixed-use development in the Gateway area thus enabled imaginings of an educational landscape within the district. Additionally, Stephen Goldsmith’s planned Bridge Project was also referenced throughout the news coverage, heralded for its goal of facilitating urban community living (Edwards, 1999d; Knudson, 1997; Walsh, 1998c, 1999b). To be located at 200 South 500 West, it was variously described as housing with “child care, the cultural center, employment,” where “Salt Lake Community College family-sciences students could work in the day-care center. The college's culinary students could manage a storefront bakery,” a home for the Salt Lake Buddhist Temple, and that would be “part of the healing process of this neighborhood” (Walsh, 1999b, para. 6, 11) It, too, was a mixed-use development, but one designed specifically to enable the creation of social bonds and provide support for moderate-to-low income residents. In this sense, it provided readers with an alternative vision to the construct of mixed-use development as the residential-retail-office triad repeated throughout the bulk of the coverage. Parking in the area was also described at times in varying terms. It was suggested that “stringent parking requirements should be revised in the Gateway to encourage businesses to share parking and customers and residents to walk” (Walsh, 1997, para. 15), Councilwoman Deeda Seed demanded “reassurance her constituents' on-street "166 parking and front yards will not be eliminated” (Walsh, 1999a, para. 16), and that parking would always be a concern, as “people generally hesitate to go into covered parking” (Edwards, 1999d, p. 45). Additional worries about parking were also raised in discussions of San Diego’s Gaslamp Quarter redevelopment, which was hailed as a role model for Salt Lake but that was also tight on parking spaces (Loomis, 1999). However, the 4,000-4,520 stalls planned at the Boyer project were contrary to this vision of scant parking (Deseret News Editorial, 2001; Sahm, 1999; Walsh, 1997a, 1998a, 1998c). Through conversations on parking, issues of accessibility were also drawn into the discourse, with an unlabeled Gateway mall parking stall referenced in a discussion of the mall’s violation of federal ADA laws (Neff, 2001). Parking would either be a restricted resource in the district or one that should be further limited. It would be of concern to both residents of, and visitors to, the area, one that should either be adjusted or accepted as an inevitability. For even as something as mundane as parking, it was evident that there were multiple interpretations of what the Gateway could or should provide. Finally, new green spaces, parks, and park blocks were mentioned at several points in the news coverage. The parks mentioned in the articles showed a good deal of variety in terms of type. It was suggested that the “gateway should be liberally sprinkled with apartments and condominiums, landscaping, art and parks,” that the I-15 subdistrict of the redevelopment would contain “a massive open space, with wetlands and ponds, […] perhaps a botanical garden […] and skate-rental buildings and a skateboard park” (Walsh, 1997a, para. 17, 1998d, para. 14, 1999c). Later in the news coverage, focus shifted to park blocks, “variations of midstreet parallel parking, a park that ‘bulbs' out mid block and narrows at intersections” that would cost $4.6 million dollars (Walsh, 2001, para. 6). Like in other redevelopment projects, including City Creek Center, there appeared discourses that linked the Gateway redevelopment to natural or green spaces. However, unlike City Creek Center, varying emphases were placed on different types of green areas, their man-made nature was not obfuscated in "167 favor of more ‘naturalized’ characteristics, and their uses would appeal to different people. Not only was this a strength of the redevelopment plan, it was also a malleable resource that could connect the district to multiple social groups and differing uses. The variety of attributes connected to the Gateway project, in conjunction with the open materiality suggested in the news coverage, engendered a certain openness and flexibility in the discourse, as it enabled multiple readings of the district’s final form, and provided readers with multiple ideas of how they might interact with (and within) it. This variability also suggested that the details of the project were not fixed and were thus open to change and modification. In this sense, they aid in the creation of a multivalent discourse that encourages multiple interpretations. However, there were other aspects of the news coverage that created a more circumscribed vision of the redevelopment. Gentrification of the Gateway Gentrification as a core aspect of the redevelopment project emerged from close readings of the news coverage. At the surface level, gentrification was explicitly referenced two times: once in an analysis of LODO, which was described as having undergone a “successful gentrification,” and once in which it was stated that “maverick developers […] started the gentrification” in the area (Walsh, 1997c, para. 36, 1997d, para. 5). It’s notable that the term was used as a positive descriptor. This is likely due to the news coverage’s historic context, in which the gentrification of neighborhoods was viewed as ‘improvement’ and ‘redevelopment,’ and as less problematic than it is today. However, it’s valuable that these descriptors were used as they were, because they help underscore characteristics of the redevelopment plan, as created through the news coverage, that stand out as examples of gentrification. One such characteristic was the importance placed on culture, especially ‘authentic’ culture. This is, to be sure, a concept that recurs in numerous settings. The "168 concept of authenticity suggests a certain quality of “realness" in a subject or object, and is sought out by the cultural middle class due to the “honesty” that is suggested by this “realness” (Munt, 1994, p. 103). It is, however, a rhetorical accomplishment, one that is grounded in symbolic arrangements and that subjects employ in order to root themselves into a particular place and time (Dickinson, 2014). A construction that relies on promoting expectations while concurrently meeting those expectations, it can be employed to reproduce simulacra of the past to engender a feeling of genuine historical connection on the part of subjects and to enable the creation of their own cultural fantasies (Borer, 2010; Senda-Cook, 2012; Wells, 2010). Though authenticity may appear to subjects as a fixed characteristic that helps certify the desirability or ‘realness’ of an experience, artifact, or place, it is in fact a process that is discursively constituted. Authenticity has become increasingly tied to quotidian concepts of culture in places, or cultural spaces, thanks to the rise of the service sector and the industries that it spawns, such as tourism and retail. Travelers seek ‘real’ experiences and are drawn to places with ‘color’ and ‘cultural heritage’ (Hartley, 2004; Litvin & Rosene, 2017; Munt, 1994). Retailers also recognize the importance of this sense of authentic culture, which they discursively apply to even the most generic of mass-produced products (Frosh, 2001; Litvin & Rosene, 2017). Authenticity and authentic culture thus become a “fundamental form of currency” for new establishments within gentrified areas (Dickinson, 2014, p. 315). It becomes both a perceived characteristic, as well as a paradigm urban visitors use to judge the quality of their experiences. Repeated through the news coverage was the employment of the terms “culture” or “cultural.” It was applied to the types of establishments that were hoped for in the revitalized Gateway district, along with lofts, shopping spaces, offices, and restaurants. Article writers expected that it would be added to the eclectic mixed-use design, to appear as “multicultural” or “cultural” centers, to give the district a “diverse feel,” and to bring art establishments into the area ( Deseret News Editorial, 2001; Edwards, 1998b, "169 1998c, 1998d, 1999a, 1999d; Evensen, 1997; Walsh, 1998a, 1999b, 1999d). Also repeated were hopes that the district would incorporate entertainment and education, which are related concepts (Baird, 2001; Byram, 1998; Deseret News Editorial, 2001; Edwards, 1999a, 1999c, 1999d; Sahm, 1999 Walsh, 1999b, 1999d). The precise nature of these cultural and educational establishments were left open to interpretation, with the exceptions of the Children’s Museum and Planetarium slated for the Gateway mall, to a great extent. In many ways, the desire for the district to include entertainment or cultural spaces has practical utility. It would be difficult to achieve the 24-hour city, a stated goal, without nighttime entertainment. However, the imagination of Gateway culture was also tied to notions of authenticity. As they were employed, they legitimated the new structures and spaces by connecting them to the entrepreneurial narrative established via collective memory-making, thus tying the district, and the activities that take place therein, to this narrative, both helping reify the narrative at the same time as it granted a pleasing ‘realness’ to new Gateway space. It was emphasized at several points in the article that the redevelopment project did not seek to push out local businesses, as keeping “mom-and-pop” shops was vital to the viability of the space (Edwards, 1998b; Loomis, 1999). It was explicitly stated that there was a “need for authenticity” in the district, a desire to not just replace the “old with the new,” and the importance of creating a district that would allow visitors to “experience authentic Salt Lake City” (Edwards, 1999c; Walsh, 1997a, 1999c). These aspirations were further supported by more oblique markers of Salt Lake authenticity, such as bringing a resurrected City Creek into the district (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996; Edwards, 1999b; Walsh, 1997a); research suggests that the fact that this City Creek would be, effectively, a re-creation doesn’t limit the value of its perceived authenticity (Wells, 2010). What appeared critical in this imagination was a continuation of the district’s entrepreneurial history via the presence of local establishments, which would bring life and color to the district. "170 Further, the authenticity offered by these establishments would lend their aura to the surrounding cultural facilities, which would draw a large number of middle class visitors. Authenticity and culture were not the only characteristics conjured by the news coverage. Also of import was Salt Lake City’s upcoming transportation system. Public transportation plays a significant role in gentrified and New Urbanist districts, as one of the key components of New Urbanist community-building are the alternatives it provides to automobiles. Compact blocks with dense corners encourage walking, which gets people out of their homes and into the neighborhood, where they can interact with their neighbors and surroundings directly. Offering alternative transportation modalities also supports these interactions. By designing neighborhoods in concert with public transportation, residents are further supported in using the pedestrian network, as they can conveniently utilize public transportation to move quickly between walkable districts (Congress for New Urbanism, 1993/1999). It also reinforces the human scale of New Urbanist and mixed-use design, as planning that enables pedestrianism is planning that helps bring neighborhoods back to what they looked like in the time before automobiles (in theory, at least). Public transportation also appeals to residents of gentrifying neighborhoods for practical reasons. In a study of two gentrified districts in Switzerland to determine the demographics of gentrifiers, Rerát (2002) found that public transportation was a key factor in bringing certain residents into the neighborhood. Gentrifiers both seek alternatives to driving and are more likely than others to obtain work in locations that require intraurban commuting. As such, they seek out neighborhoods in central areas that are serviced as one node in a larger regional transport network (pp. 233-234). Access to public transportation is not just a desirable amenity, but a necessary one. It is also one that may have interested Salt Lake City residents, given Utah’s concentration of population along the Wasatch Front, with opportunities for jobs outside of the Salt Lake valley for those who are willing to travel for them. Regional transportation, as promised "171 in the form of Salt Lake’s future commuter rail line, could have been a draw to the district area (Jarvik, 1998a; Sahm, 1999; Walsh, 19997c, 1998g, 1999a). Issues of public transportation were especially salient as the Gateway was perceived to function as a literal gateway to the city (Keahey, 1997b). As such, much importance was placed on the way in which it would welcome riders to Salt Lake. While the rails were being removed from behind the Gateway, a desire to place the intermodal hub at the Union Pacific depot was expressed within the news (Edwards, 1998a; Evensen, 1998; Jarvik, 1998a, 1998b; Keahey, 1997b; Walsh, 1997a, 1997d, 1998c, 1998g, 1999c). Bringing TRAX to the depot would create “an entry statement” and would put commuters within walking distance to city attractions, such as the Delta Center and Temple Square (Jarvik, 1998a; Keahey, 1997b). It was further stated that “the depot would provide a grand entrance into the city for commuter rail riders (a ‘sense of place,’ as many have termed it)” (Edwards, 1998, para. 7). As a result, it is evident that the importance placed on public transportation went beyond its practical appeal. The grandeur of the Union Pacific and Rio Grande depots were recalled in the coverage, highlighting the way in which they could create positive impressions on visitors, which would set them up for a more enjoyable experience in the city. The new transportation system was also presented as means to transform Salt Lake City into an ‘exciting’ city like Portland. In this sense, the upcoming light rail and commuter rail systems were conceptualized not as mere transportation, but as assets that would help raise the prestige and potential of the district. These characteristics of gentrification were repeated throughout the news coverage and gave a sense to the types of construction that would take place therein. They also began the process of limiting the public’s imaginings about the project. Through repetitions related to culture, authenticity, making a grand entrance, and the need for local businesses, the news coverage began reconciling multiple interpretations of the redevelopment project into a narrower vision of a gentrified district. The "172 discursive constructions did not end there, however. Present in the news coverage were imaginings that would function to elevate certain forms of cultural and social interactions, as well as collapse the identity of the Gateway into that of the Gateway mall. Loft Living in Salt Lake City The urge to engage in place-making in Salt Lake City puts its residents, journalists, planners, and officials in good company — as discussed earlier, place-making efforts become increasingly employed as spatial and temporal fragmentations increase in postmodern environments. Though cities at the turn of the millennium were changing, thanks to the increasing number of media technologies, the proliferation of advancing electronics, and the widespread adoption of the internet, place-making efforts and urban planning were not compelled to create increasingly ‘high-tech’-looking places (though they may have been aided by high-tech technologies when creating their design). Instead, there appears to be an effort to facilitate postmodern living by adopting the symbols and aesthetics of more traditional environments. This is most clearly expressed in New Urbanist approaches to development. There is an urge towards place-making in order to assuage contemporary anxiety via the creation of built places that are ‘traditional’ and/or ‘natural.’ They do not look like what William Mitchell envisioned in 1995 – instead of becoming more open and flexible (in order to facilitate the proliferation of spatial networks) (Mitchell, 1995), there is an urge to create places that resemble traditional neighborhoods, that attempt to bring people back from the suburbs (so inner city areas could be like they used to), or that don the materials and aesthetics of dwindling industrial areas. The narratives and myths adopted, and promoted, by city residents can have serious impact on their city’s built environments and its future trajectory, as “place myths also legitimatize particular types of social practices that provide the structure of altering or maintaining the material landscape in order to bring it into line with or "173 maintain a particular place meaning” (Shumway & Jackson, 2008, p. 436). These discourses result in the adoption of beliefs that enable and perpetuate certain effects in urban areas. As illustrated by geographers J. Matthew Shumway and Richard Jackson, it was through these discursive beliefs that the city of Tooele, located approximately 40 miles from Salt Lake City, adopted the identity of “Toxic Tooele” and became the nation’s hazardous waste dump; this was an identity accepted both by people outside of Tooele and Tooele residents themselves (Shumway & Jackson, 2008). This phenomenon already has been widely studied, and one can see these discursive effects as they become concretized in Berlin’s urban landscape, enacted in diasporic China Towns and Chinatown malls, and depicted on street signs and place labels in Durban and Övdalsk (Huynh, 2015; Karlander, 2017; Orgeret, 2010; Papen, 2012). The impulse in the news coverage to imagine an identity for the Gateway area puts it in good company. It is apparent from the news coverage that the aesthetics and spatialities of the Gateway’s industrial past were the materials through which its new identity would be crafted. It was supported in the desire to keep significant warehouse buildings and maintain Pioneer Park’s “historic character” (Evensen, 1997), though that history was not explicitly defined. Notable projects that were examples of the success of early Gateway pioneers were the Dakota Lofts and the Artspace units in the Eccles Browning warehouse (Knudson, 1997). Construction in other cities put forth as examples to which Salt Lake should aspire included “airy lofts,” “new-old” buildings made to look historic, and a repurposed water front (Loomis, 1999; Walsh, 1997c). This is in keeping with redevelopment trends, which shifted from large-scale clearance in the 1950s to adaptive reuse at the end of the century (Widner, 1986). These trends, too, became globalized and can be identified in other cities. Just as Salt Lake City was seeking to recycle its historic warehouses, so too did Maribyrnong, Australia, whose “economic shift away from manufacturing and port-related activity has meant that many warehouses and factories [were] now being converted to residential properties” (Glow, et al., pp. 214, 499). Similar "174 construction styles have also been employed in Montreal, Toronto, and Sydney, among countless other cities (Lynch, 2014; Podmore, 2002; Shaw, 2006). The conversion of warehouse spaces, erection of mixed-use construction, and building within inner city boundaries had become the norm by the end of the millennium. Salt Lake officials and planners were engaging in redevelopment processes that had become sufficiently commonplace that they could usher Salt Lake City into “a new century of in-fill development” (Loomis, 1999, para. 36). This style of industrial redevelopment depended on discursive practices in addition to its industrial recycling. It also leaned on the related concepts of creative living and loft living to attract people to its revitalized communities. As enacted in the Gateway district, it took on a set of rhetorical strategies referred to as the “SoHo Syndrome.” This syndrome involves applying to built places visual and textual symbols that imbue these places with the aesthetic of New York City’s SoHo district. Beyond that, these practices “constitute socio-cultural process that involves a complex web of relationships between place, identity and the media, that is diffused to, and (re)produced in, divergent inner-city locations” (Shaw, 2006, p. 184). The stages involved in this syndrome repeat certain gentrification patterns and have the effect of producing complementary visual-spatial assemblages. Processes of loft-living gentrification go through a number of stages that have been identified in various western cities. The first begins with the decline of industrial districts through the latter half of the 20th century, due to the weakening manufacturing industry. The buildings it leaves behind are left vacant, with landlords desperate to realize whatever recurring revenues they can. This desperation leads to their renting large warehouse spaces illegally, in order to secure tenants, despite the fact that those tenants do not match the requirements of the district’s prevailing zoning laws (Shaw, 2006). What the past has shown is that these tenants are often working artists, in need of inexpensive accommodations and space for their work. While perhaps a touch derelict, "175 large abandoned warehouses, rented at low prices, provide artists with spaces that fulfill both of these needs. What then results are what Sharon Zukin has identified as the three waves of gentrification. First, these artists (the forerunners of the movement) occupy abandoned industrial spaces both because of their low costs and also because they offer an environment that suits the artists’ aesthetic sensibilities. Their presence in abandoned industrial areas then initiates the second wave, in which students and marginal gentrifiers (inspired by the artistic lifestyle and the ingenuity of maximizing both cost and space) move into similar accommodations and further attract the cultural middle class, those highly educated “persons active in the arts, design, media, education, health care,” and similar industries (Rerát, 2012, p. 224). The presence of these two waves of residents begins to transform the district, thanks to their sweat equity. In turn, these changes entice “super gentrifiers” to relocate to the area, as they have higher income and the ability to profit from the investment made by previous groups (Rerát, 2012; Zukin, 2016). This process of gentrification has, as is commonly observed, the effect of increasing land and real estate values and the unfortunate impact of forcing out those who can no longer afford to live in the neighborhood, including the artists from the first wave. Because this process of gentrification was sparked through the lifestyle and habits of the artist class, these neighborhoods, as they are redeveloped, take on the attributes and symbols of creative living to help brand the area. As identified by Widner (1986), “diversity, creativity, color, and festivity are […] introduced into the monochrome environment of the industrial city” (p. 56). But as further explicated in other research, this creative quality does more than simply lend color to the environment. The loft apartment, utilitarian to artists, is now fetishized, and its space presents its residents with an opportunity to juxtapose the opulent and the ordinary, meshing established styles with functional features like exposed brick, radiators and ceiling sprinkler systems, an aesthetic that parallels the deconstruction associated with the "176 postmodern use of space and loss of historical continuity. (Podmore, 1998, p. 291; Shaw, 2006, p. 184) The urge to juxtapose spaces and style is apparent in the collective imaginings of Salt Lake’s Gateway, where its spaces were visualized to be “funky,” “eclectic,” “lively,” and “trendy” (Edwards, 1998a; Evensen, 1997; Jarvik, 1998a; Walsh, 1997c, 1997d, 1998b, 1998e). Further, the concepts of loft apartments and loft living were also repeated through the coverage (Baltezore & Keahey, 1996; Edwards, 1999d; Knudson, 1997; Mitchell, 2001; Sahm, 1999; Walsh, 1997c, 1998d, 1998e). In the collective discourse, the Gateway was also connected explicitly to SoHo, the neighborhood that first adopted (and developed) these concepts of creative loft living (Walsh, 1997c). Finally, early innovators in the Gateway district, identified as artists, were referenced in the news coverage, and many of Goldsmith’s development projects in the area were branded with the name ‘Art Space’ and were built to house local artists and artisans. The Gateway’s case of gentrification followed a pattern similar to that in other locations and created an environment ripe to be described in terms of its creativity, innovation, and industrial nature. Turning our attention back to these place-making practices and their construction of the Gateway district’s identity, it can be said that this identity was one that revolves around the use of loft spaces to collect and curate expressive juxtapositions of personal objects, while appropriating an industrial and artistic aura, in order to generate “an alternative and definitive inner-city middle class identity” (Podmore, 1998, pp. 290-291, 299). Urban environments have always provided residents with the ability to play with their identities in unique ways; in fact, one of the troubling aspects of public surveillance schemes is that they reduce residents’ capacity and desire to use the anonymity of the city to engage in symbolic play and to experiment with different identity markers (Lofland, 1973). However, concepts of loft living, creative living, and urban living further circumscribe behavior by the ways in which they conflate "177 participation in the city with participation in the economy (Glow, et al., 2014). In essence, rhetorics of gentrified living are rhetorics of commodified living, in which the primary mode one engages in as a social creature is via consumption, activities such as shopping become leisure, and the pursuit of an authentic self or a new identity is achieved through interaction with commodities. These rhetorics have likely emerged in cities not just due to the rapid commodification of all aspects of culture in postmodern societies, but also to changes in urban planning and management that orient cities towards entrepreneurism, due to the decline of manufacturing, in an “attempt to catch an economic opportunity totally outside the local economy” (Widner, 1986, p. 53). The city itself is constructed through media, transformed into a consumerscape, and simultaneously promoted as a commodified product (Lynch, 2014; Georgiou, 2006; Geron, 1997). In this sense, so too would the Gateway be transformed into a consumerscape, and rhetoric of this transformation would be caught up in, and reproduced, in the collective imaginings of the news coverage. However, there is an additional issue to consider. As a blighted district with a reputation of homelessness, drugs, and crime, the Gateway area risked a negative reputation, with the possibility that city residents would continue perceive it negatively. It was a place that had long been avoided, so it would make sense that it had a tarnished image. However, the employment of loft-living rhetoric also provides a way to reimagine these urban fears and transform them. I posit that these conceptualizations of loft living employ concepts of fantasy, excitement, escape, remoteness, and cosmopolitanism to reframe danger as ‘edge’ or ‘grit’ in order to add extra excitement to the urban experience (Shaw, 2006, pp. 184, 198), in a fashion analogous to anxiety reappraisal, in which individuals can reduce their anxiety (and improve performance) by reframing fear as excitement (Brooks, 2013). Similar to anxiety reappraisal, with which anxiety is reduced by re-evaluating sensations of negative high arousal as positive high arousal, discourses "178 that construct urban grittiness as 'thrilling’ function by changing the perceived valence of the more dangerous or undesirable components of the city — the intense feelings invoked by danger can thus be reinterpreted as intense feelings resulting from excitement. Further, these discourses may very well succeed in changing perceptions by the means in which they utilize the negative components of city living, rather than deny them; just as it is easier to reappraise anxiety as the closely-related emotion of excitement (rather than trying to transform it into calm), these discourses do not require that city residents ignore their urban fears, merely that they consider them part and parcel of city excitement. Via a reframing process, the adoption of loft living rhetoric allows individuals to interpret their anxieties as excitement and to construct a symbolic self tied to, and expressed by, narratives of urban living. In the case of the Gateway district, the homeless, as people ‘out of place,’ constituted a threat to potential residents. This issue was one that was complicated and for which not even the most imaginative aspirations for the district had come up with an easy solution. The seemingly perpetual problem of homelessness would be a perpetual issue to contend with, even in a revitalized Gateway. Place-making discourses that connected the district to concepts of loft living thus functioned to ameliorate the concerns of those who had negative perceptions of the area. They also played a key role in the collective imagining of the district, as they did not require foreknowledge of how issues of homelessness would play out during and after the redevelopment. The outcomes of the Salt Lake Mission lawsuit against the city were of no matter, nor would an easy way to identify the ‘truly homeless’ from ‘transients’ need to be developed. Should homeless individuals remain in the district, potential residents need not fret: They could consider their Gateway neighbors part of the exciting urban environment. If they could not, they could, as Shaw would argue, enter the secured gates to their warehouse communities and lock themselves away in their gleaming lofts. The symbolic constructions of loft living functioned to further specify the more "179 general discourses of gentrification present in the news coverage. Not only would the district appeal to those with money, nor would it just appeal to the cultural middle class, it would also provide potential residents and visitors with remnants of an industrial identity they could reframe and reuse as part of a larger process of urban exploration. This process is one that is bounded, naturally, by impulses of commodification and desires to safeguard ‘desirable visitors’ from active engagement with the urban Other. The limiting feature of the discourse is not just that it prescribes the ideal use of the district, one that drives those within it to submit to the pressures of the surrounding consumerscape, but one that drives residents’ interpretation of the district and the potentially undesirable elements they may encounter. Through this lens, it’s possible to see that were was a collapse of place-making impulses in the news coverage. While aspects of the district’s materiality, components, features, and spaces were left open, the details of gentrified loft living served as counterdiscourses that functionally narrowed possible interpretations of the redevelopment plan and influenced engagement with the collective imagination. These constructions were further reified, as we will see, by the district’s final discursive collapse, in which it became inexorably linked to the Gateway mall. From Gateway to Gateway (Mall) At the outset of this project, it was stated that there seems to be a strong connection between the Gateway district and the mall within it. In fact, the two are often conflated. The Boyer mall project is, indeed, a large site, and as such it dominates the area. Nevertheless, there is more to the Gateway than its mall and there are other landmarks that could be used to identify it. But after the end of 1999, news coverage related to the district redevelopment had dropped sharply, and what remained focused heavily on the mall project. There are surely practical reasons for this change in the news coverage. The "180 ground breaking for the project occurred on December 13, 1999, thus kicking off the largest single development project in Salt Lake City to date (Sahm, 1999). At this instant, it was inevitable that the collective imagining at the district would begin to change, transformed from images of what could be to those images of what are. Further, there were other stories likely more interesting than the long process of building the mall, such as the preparation for the Olympics. The year 1999 was also the year of the mayoral election, with a Gateway district a notable talking point — perhaps journalists were experiencing post-election fatigue and chose to focus on other types of stories. Nevertheless, it is interesting that there was such a sudden drop in interest in the redevelopment project, especially given the emphasis on the fact that it would take decades to complete (Edwards, 1998b). The collective imagining created by the news coverage, whatever remained, focused on the mall project at the exclusion of the redevelopment project. Why might that be and how did it occur? Both the textual and visual content in the news previously created an open space in which readers could interact with the discourses and, using their own experiences, engage in their own imaginings of the district. Starting in early 1998, however, Boyer began releasing conceptual plans for their mixed-use mall project behind the Union Pacific depot. These conceptual plans, while not steeped with visual or material details, nevertheless introduced the most detailed images to date of a revitalized Gateway. From that moment forward, the visuals that accompanied the texts helped craft a sense of the area’s aesthetics. In January of 1998, the Tribune printed an article titled, “The Boyer Co. Has Plans for S.L. Gateway” (Walsh, 1998a). Along with the article was a conceptual diagram, itself titled “Heart of the Gateway.” This image was similar to previous diagrams in the sense that it, too, was an overhead view of a Gateway district map. Breaking from the pattern of previous images, though, this map focused solely on the area between North Temple and 400 South, and instead of presenting a series of blank squares, the blocks "181 were now filled in with more information. Now included in the blocks were footprints for buildings — both extant and proposed. Various geometric shapes situated the various components of the Boyer project, which, as it was depicted, appeared as though it encompassed both the Union Pacific and Rio Grande depots (or would at least be seamlessly connected to the latter). Labels in san serif typeface indicated what these components would be, such as “multiplex and restaurants,” “Center for Culture and Creativity,” and so on. While simplistic, this diagram nevertheless gives the readers information about the new spatial relationships between various components of the Gateway district and a very broad peek of what that might look like. In April of 1998, Boyer’s initial plans were released and reproduced in the news (Walsh, 1998c). Here, this image is also an overhead view, but now just of the Boyer project, which is illustrated in greater detail. The plan is similar to the final project, though there are key differences: The roads that cross the project do not curve, the food court is set at the opposite end, the planned hotel is depicted in a place in which it was never built, etc. The illustration, however, gives readers some information that had not previously been in the coverage. It provided a sense of scale, with the project looking massive as it surrounds the existing Union Pacific depot. The exterior cladding is textured with evenly spaced horizontal lines. Could they imagine the facade as a series of stacked stonework? Or were these the edges of plate-glass windows and the mall clad in an all-glass exterior, similar to modern international-style skyscrapers? While these details were flexible in many ways, this image thus began steering readers’ imaginations, pointing it in certain directions and limiting the types of questions that could be asked about it. Finally, in late 1999, updated plans were released around the time of the project’s groundbreaking. In a December article (Sahm, 1999), the Tribune printed three images related to the project. The first, and largest, was a layout of the development. In this, readers are returned to a more simplified overhead view, in which the image better "182 depicts the footprint of project components rather than its aesthetics. However, this appeared with two smaller elevation drawings, which gave readers a glimpse of the project from ground level, from the perspective of being inside the mall. From here, they could begin to discern the facade, see the windows and details of the building, and identify the type of landscaping that would accompany it. This vision of the Gateway was clearly not covered in glass. The clock tower appears to be made of brick (or a brick veneer), but the other buildings (which were situated in the shopping center) do not look the same. Their facades are smoother, perhaps painted (as indicated by shading). Here, the imagination of the readers is guided further, towards images that more closely matched the actual construction. Again, the number of questions that could be raised about the facility are further limited, and the collective imagining of the area was increasingly circumscribed. At the end of December that year, another article was published, which we examined earlier in our investigation of Salt Lake’s attempt to position itself as a nationclass city. This is the article that asks readers to “picture a little bit of Southern California on Utah's Wasatch Front” (Loomis, 1999, para. 1). This article helps unlock a number of key observations related to the news coverage. The first is that while previous articles positioned the Gateway alongside historic districts, such as Greenwich Village, et al., such comparisons disappeared from that point forward. There was one comparison made between Salt Lake City and Portland, related specifically to how its park blocks might resemble similar blocks in the latter city. A very specific district component was thus compared against another similar component elsewhere (and, I might add, these park blocks would eventually be set to run along the west side of the mall). However, the news no longer provided an invitation to readers to imagine Boyer’s project in the context of these historic districts. Instead, the Gateway mall’s identity was solidly affixed to southern California. Indeed, would it even be possible to connect it to any other place, to any other historic district, with its broad "183 stucco facades (soon to be painted a sunny yellow) and California-promenade design? What is striking, however, is that solidification of the mall’s SoCal aesthetic identity appeared to be extended to that of the Gateway district. As stated earlier, search results yielded few usable articles during the years of 2000 and 2001. These, in turn, were focused less on the redevelopment plan as a whole and were concerned more with the back-and-forth negotiations related to the Children’s Museum and Planetarium, Boyer project accessibility, affordable housing, and the Gateway park blocks. I would also like to suggest that as the Boyer project visuals operated to constrain and guide reader’s imaginations, and as the Boyer project began construction, the identity of the Gateway mall was itself attached to the entire district redevelopment. In this sense, different lines of thought within the collective imagining of the redevelopment project thus collapsed, with interest in the district thus being consumed by interest in the mall. As such, the result of the collective imagining process, as constructed by the news coverage, was a conflation between the district redevelopment and the mall development, with the latter positioned as a stand-in for the former. In this collapse, the collective imaginings of the news coverage simplified the narrative of district revitalization, taking the first step in ascribing an identity to the Gateway area. This was not the only process of simplification that took place, however. Consider that the characteristics of ‘loft living’ engender discourses of commodified interaction with the environment and appeal to members of the cultural middle class who engage with consumer products in the process of symbolic play and identity building. The Gateway mall’s ethos of placing living, working, and shopping spaces together complements the district’s “work and live and play” philosophy (Walsh, 1998d). To connect the district to the mall, in this sense, requires only a simple rhetorical move, given the intersections between them. It was surely no coincidence that the mall capitalized on Salt Lake City’s practice of (un)creative naming, as developers surely understood that naming the mall "184 eponymously would reconstruct the meaning of “let’s go to the Gateway” from a desire to go downtown to a request to go to the mall. The Boyer Company and their affiliated consultants have too much experience and have generated too much money not to take advantage of such an obvious gambit. Admittedly, they were aided and abetted by the Gateway mall’s characteristics as the largest development project ever constructed in Salt Lake City and the first major project to be undertaken as part of the Gateway redevelopment plan. However, their commercial vision seamlessly tied to, and further promoted, a commodified discourse established via the imagining of the district. In this sense, the final collapse of the myriad imaginings of the Gateway area resulted from the priming effects of the mall project, with its dominating and controlling visual presence in the news discourse, as well as its tight alignment with the Gateway name. Conclusion There was flexibility within the news coverage with respect to the characteristics of the Gateway redevelopment. This flexibility was aided by visuals that deemphasized the materiality of the district and focused on transitional spaces, supported by competing discourses that provided multiple options with which the public could mentally reconstruct images of the redevelopment project. In this sense, the discourses opened a number of thematic threads and engaged in malleable constructive imaginings that were as contingent on the individual desires of readers as they were on the machinations of Salt Lake City officials, planners, and developers. However, these flexible discourses are countered by those that functioned to affix varying interpretations of the officials’ and developers’ plans. While early images of the Boyer company project afforded readers the ability to ‘fill in the gaps,' as the news coverage neared the groundbreaking date, these images became more detailed and thus more likely to guide interpretations’ of the project’s attributes. In essence, these effects helped steer the collective imagination towards increasingly collapsing representations "185 of both the Gateway area and the Gateway mall. The increased prominence of the Boyer project in the news coverage in 1999 also helped contribute to rhetorical constructions of gentrified loft living. The mixed-use character of the Gateway district invited a number of interpretations and the district’s myriad possibilities invited multiple imaginings of the redevelopment project, but the repetition of discourses constructing urban life as a creative, gentrified, and commodified venture helped generate the Gateway space as a consumerscape, the stage for commodity and lifestyle fetishism. This construction was surely further stabilized by the importance of the Gateway mall, as the conflation between the mall and the lifestyle helped reinforce this notion of life-as-shopping. In the news context, the collective imaginings of the redevelopment built upon what was constructed in the collective memory. Though its ultimate end would be to tie the historically entrepreneurial district to the consumption-driven space of the mall and its environs, there were nevertheless opportunities for readers to engage in their own interpretations of the district as it was presented in the major papers. These interpretations expanded beyond shopping to include recreational and even conservation spaces, indicating that what was desired for an upgraded Salt Lake City included a variety of noncommodified pursuits. Nevertheless, the ultimate commodification of the Gateway district and the means by which it was discursively constructed privileged the transformation of its space into an environment of consumption, putting the district in good company with other redeveloped urban areas. In this way, redevelopment place-making in Salt Lake City shares many similarities with that in other urban areas. However, there are also a number of ways in which this place-making was also unique, which provides a number of implications of both the redevelopment and Salt Lake City itself, as well as research on the cultural practices of spatiality and memory. CHAPTER 7 CONCLUSION(S) Introduction We return now to the Gateway district, as it stands in 2018. Changes in the area appear to be escalating, with new construction transforming the landmarks of this dissertation as we speak. At the corner of 300 West and Pierpont, builders are rapidly erecting a rather large apartment building; the curious mural adjacent to it, with its cross-bearing construction workers, is midway through being painted over. Finally complete is the renovation of the Delta Center entrance, with an oversized LCD screen that illuminates the corner of 300 West and South Temple at night. The new 360 Downtown apartments overlook Pioneer Park and the converted building at the corner of 200 West and 300 South, “Utah’s first LEED Gold Certified multifamily adaptive-reuse project,” brightens what had been a previously dreary intersection with contemporary new balconies (“Paragon Station”). It’s notable that the website describes the building as historic, built in 1921, with no additional details — it seems another instantiation of the district’s history of forgetting. Though reading the news articles that envisioned the district as SoHo, or imagined the mall would be like Greenwich Village, stung with their guilelessness, it can be said that many aspects of the district are taking on the attributes dreamed of in the master plan documents. The area between 300 South and 100 South, from 300 West to 400 West is full of beautiful, restored warehouses and new construction that integrates "187 well with area architecture, such as the Westgate Lofts and the Broadway Park Lofts building. The latter finally filled in the vacant lot at 360 West 300 South with innovative work-live loft units (with magnificent garage door walls — when opened, they provide such an expansive view!), bringing even more new residents to the area. These blocks also stand as evidence of the new human scale brought to the neighborhood: while they are still the oversized Salt Lake-kind, the restored warehouses and new construction in the area feature integrated commercial establishments, a mix of restaurants, minimarkets, bicycle shops, art galleries, boutiques, and other companies tucked into the first floors of these brown- and red-brick buildings. A sense of human scale has indeed been restored to these streets, as the historic construction lends itself well to appropriate commercial/residential proportions; despite breathless promises that new mixed-use construction, such as the Gateway mall or City Creek Center, would return neighborhoods to their historic forms, the oversized massing of their commercial levels belie the reality that they are malls one can also, incidentally, live in. Legacy businesses and landmarks continue to thrive in the Gateway district, with Caputo’s Market and Deli a well-established staple, the Greek Orthodox cathedral still holding services, and Oasis Stage Werks still in business, among others. The space immediately north of the Gateway has been considerably filled in with new hotel and business construction, with new apartment buildings adjacent to it. The TRAX light rail system took off, with the blue and red lines running past two additional stops east and south of the Union Pacific depot on their way to the intermodal hub (which was finally completed in 2008) and the new green line runs westbound just north of the depot, taking visitors all the way to the Salt Lake International Airport. The FrontRunner commuter train now runs from Ogden to Provo, servicing downtown Salt Lake at the intermodal hub. Reconstruction south of Pioneer Park has not been as extensive, though the Metro Sunrise Apartments, permanent, supportive housing for the homeless, was built at the corner of 500 West and 600 South, and what is referred to as the Granary "188 District, an area comprised of the southeast corner of the Gateway and the northern section of the People’s Freeway neighborhood, is quite the up-and-coming area popular with hipsters and other cognoscenti of urban scenes. Yet, of course, parts of the Gateway are still struggling. While there are signs of movement, such as the murals painted by 2Alas and Duorone (part of the one of the largest public art projects in Salt Lake history), the Gateway mall still looms over the district, struggling (Barton, 2017). The new owners have promised to turn the mall into a center devoted to entertainment, an approach both promising and apropos, but it still currently stands in the (figurative) shadow of downtown’s City Creek Center. The year 2018 has been heralded as a promising year for the development (Riddle, 2018); it is only after this dissertation is published that we will see the actual results. Also an issue is the handling of homelessness and homeless-related crime in the area. While the homeless resource shelter sites have been approved and are under construction, doubts remain. City Council Chairwoman Erin Mendenhall has expressed concern related to the closing of the Road Home shelter, noting that it is counterintuitive to cut services in the district while the city population increases; this is valid worry, given the lack of affordable housing in the city (Clark, 2018; Stevens, 2018). Frustration has also been expressed with Operation Rio Grande, with allegations that crime has merely been pushed out of the area into other neighborhoods (Clark, 2018). On the other hand, efforts have been put in place recently to help nonviolent offenders charged with petty crime to navigate the process of expunging their criminal records, so they can break the cycle of homelessness, crime, and addiction (Dentzer, 2018b). As before, strategies are being implemented to deal with this long-standing concern, but anxieties related to the homeless remain in Salt Lake City, enabled in part by prejudices that continue to marginalize homeless people, but likely enabled by the eternal recurrence of homelessness in the area. Despite talk and planning over decades, it is an issue that has yet to be resolved. "189 In many ways, the Gateway district fulfilled ex-Mayor Deedee Corradini’s prognostication as a project that would take decades to complete (Edwards, 1998b). It is a district still under construction, and as such, it is still coming into being and will continue to be shaped and reshaped discursively. Considering the contingent and everchanging nature of identity, there will never come a time in which we will be able to identify the telos of the district, but there are still implications that we can draw from the dissertation project, both about the cultural components of the reconstructive rhetoric of the Gateway, as well as for research, in general. Implication: Salt Lake City as it Could Be Ample research exists on rhetorical constructions of identity, and place-making, for built projects. In the case of malls and shopping centers, as stated earlier, these constructions depend substantially on surrounding natural, cultural, and historic landscapes in order to craft identities for new structures. This is especially evident in centers located in suburban areas and edge cities, due to the perceived lack of history, heritage, or culture in these locations. Similar processes of place-making can also be found in inner-city and dense urban environments, however. In the case of the City Creek Center project, which was embedded into the heart of the downtown core, the rhetorical processes of place-making sutured the facility to conceptualizations of a historic-natural landscape that tied back to the Mormon settlement of the city. In doing so, the project was legitimated via a reconstruction of it as a city landmark. From this perceptive, practices of place-making depend on surrounding landscapes of heritage, culture, natural environments, and history as the raw materials from which identity can be generated. In a fashion similar to the Gateway’s dependence on its aged warehouses as both the physical and historical components from which the redeveloped area could be crafted, discursive place-making relies on a wider set of "190 materialities, concepts, and histories in order to engage in a similar process of identity development for either built or redeveloped structures. What is notable about the Gateway district redevelopment project was that the discursive processes of place-making did not engage in a rhetorical employment of these surrounding ‘raw materials,’ but instead operated via a process that substantively drained the material, spatial, and symbolic landscapes of the district. In effect, instead of drawing from an available field of symbolic signs in order to articulate identities for, and interpretations of, the Gateway redevelopment, the news discourses of the district constructed a field of symbolic absences in order to articulate its identity. At play in the Gateway, the processes that constructed collective memory operated to identify the district not as it was (while concurrently suppressing alternate identities), but functioned to define the district in terms of what it was not. However, this definition-by-absence was, in fact, a definition-by-negation — the discourse that defined the Gateway by a lack of its own historical (of what was) realities thus can be seen as a construction of a collective memory that simultaneously reflected what residents and officials wanted the district to be. In the historical and cultural context of the time, discourses of both the Gateway and Salt Lake City could be drawn from associative relations (Saussure, 1983) of cultural identity. As was discussed earlier, Salt Lake City was frequently defined as ‘Mormon,’ ‘boring,’ ‘weird,’ ‘dull and awkward,’ etc. These discourses set the city apart from its aspirational models, those other cities that could more likely be described as ‘not Mormon,’ ‘exciting,’ and ‘cosmopolitan,’ among other characteristics. It would not be possible to construct Salt Lake City’s history as not-Mormon, as doing so would deny its fundamental, founding haecceity. It could be possible to define the Gateway district, instead, in terms of its immigrant history, but this was also not done, likely due to the prevalent cultural marginalization of immigrant and minority experiences in the United States (both then and now). Yet, it would also not be possible to describe Gateway history "191 as not immigrant-based, because doing so would also deny a fundamental component of what had, indeed, been. Instead, the collective memory of the district was constructed as a field of absences, which, in the in the context of its undeniable historic realities can thus only be seen as an appeal to what could be or of how it could be seen. This was a collective memory of the Gateway that both prepared it symbolically for its reconstruction while also providing a mirror image of what it could become (either in actuality or in perception). In a way, the collective memory of the district was also simultaneously a component of its collective imagining. In the context of the Olympics, Salt Lake City’s need to orient itself to a new economy, the realization that the city would grow tremendously over the next 50 years, and its bourgeoning technology and tourism sectors, this particular definition-bynegation again raises the issue of how Salt Lake City residents saw themselves through the eyes of outsiders. Expressed were desires to redevelop the district into something new (yet authentic), similar to other city districts (yet undeniably filled with the Salt Lake ‘experience’). Also in place was an awareness of Salt Lake’s lack of cultural capital. This reflected a tension between desiring change while maintaining the present. Could it be that the means by which residents saw cultural acceptance was one that involved a negation of its ‘weird,’ Mormon background? I don’t think its impossible to come to this conclusion, even with earlier observations that religious rhetoric did not comprise a significant part of the news discourse. Consider Salt Lake City: It is Utah’s most secular, most liberal enclave. It may have a cultural identity that is fundamentally grounded in the Mormon context, but the residents who participate in this prevailing culture may not be Mormon, may not adhere rigidly to all LDS tenets of faith, or may have even rejected Mormonism (vociferously). The cultural values shared by city residents may derive from Utah Mormon cultural values, but not general Mormon religious values — these can be two related, but distinct, "192 phenomena. Residents of Salt Lake City were on the verge of hosting a mega-event that would put their city under the gaze of the nation. This was something of which they were likely aware, just as they were cognizant of the extent to which their town was defined by outsiders via religious values that they, themselves, did not necessarily hold (or that they had reconfigured to meet their own interests). If one accepts that part of Salt Lake’s Olympic imperative was to raise its standing on the national stage and be taken seriously by outsiders, then one might be able to accept that the construction of its collective memory functioned to minimize the singular cultural characteristic of the area used by outsiders to marginalize (and mock) city residents. Instead, what this collective memory constructed was both a justification for the redevelopment (as a vacant, blighted space, intervention was thus implied as necessary) and a key component of the collective imagining. By downplaying the district’s historic actualities, in combination with imagining its future as a thrilling consumerscape of commodified adventure, there is the implication that the discursive construction of the district was one that repackaged at least this part of the city into a form that would be more palatable to those viewing it from the outside, from the privileged position of the national stage. Capitalist consumerism was undeniably a core component of the cultural context of the times, as the acceleration of commodified living was picking up pace. In this sense, this construction of the Gateway district fits with those seen in other city areas. Yet, it can be argued that it was also taken up, in part, to reconfigure the components of Salt Lake City’s unique history in order to put the city on the national stage and place it in conversation with other urban areas. In this context, constructions of the Gateway’s collective memory reconfigured the city’s historical and spatial landscapes in order to reform (at least from the views of outsiders) its cultural identity. In doing so, it would be possible to bring the city closer to the rest of the country. This was not, of course, without "193 other ramifications, which can be seen expressed through its discursive anxieties. Implication: Olympic Cities, World-Class Cities, Nation-Class Cities, and the Lesson of Salt Lake City One of the other implications of the research relates not to discourses of time, but of space. Throughout the news coverage, it was clear that the 2002 Winter Olympics, while not being held within the Gateway, nevertheless had influence over its reconstruction. With the event drawing near, federal funding in play, and the need to confirm Olympic venues, the games provided city officials with both the impetus and means to get the redevelopment started. This was not the only effect of the Olympics, however. As in other cities, the upcoming mega-event generated an ‘Olympic imperative,’ compelling officials and residents to cast a critical gaze on the district and consider the means of purifying it. This process of purification and redevelopment of what had been described as an empty district laid the framework for a reimagining of the area. As discussed, this imagining of the Gateway frequently put it in conversation with other, more famous city districts. Most of these districts provided aspirational images of what the Gateway could become, though LODO, Portland, and Atlanta also provided readers with logistical examples and warnings. Given that the Olympics are mega-events, and considering that mega-events can be argued as also always being media events, it can be said that the winter Games provided city officials and residents with an opportunity to consider Salt Lake reflexively, to imagine the city from the standpoint of those locations outside of Utah. As illustrated by the case of redevelopment in Sydney, this Olympic imperative and the desire to reconstruct a new identity for the blighted district was not unique — it is something that takes place in other cities, as well. However, what is notable in this is "194 the recognition that the local discourses, in putting Salt Lake City in conversation with other urban areas, did so by focusing on other U.S. cities, not on other global cities. This framing of Salt Lake’s potential as one of a ‘nation-class,’ not ‘world-class’ city suggests a number of implications. The first is that this desire for recognition as a nation-class city reaffirms previous assertions that globalization has not eliminated the importance of place and locality. At least during the time of the study period, the coverage expressed a desire to transform and elevate Salt Lake City so it could take on the mantle of a major U.S. city while still maintaining its unique, Salt Lake ‘authenticity.’ However, this framing also stands as an interesting exception. Discourses that express an urge to elevate Salt Lake City to a nation-class city still suggest the importance of a national identity, which for some theorists is on the decline in the age of globalization (Sassen, 1994). Further, this desire for national acceptance sets it apart from other Olympic cities, which arguably employ the Olympic media event at means to orient these cities towards a globalized economy as world-class cities and world-class destinations. The redevelopment of the Gateway district was also an expression of the need for the city to turn towards a new, postindustrial identity (and economy), yet the discourse still suggests potential for Salt Lake to take on a national cultural identity. In this sense, the expression of the Olympic imperative in Salt Lake took on its own local valence. Viewing Salt Lake City in contrast to the example of Sydney highlights the importance of the local in research on Olympic rhetoric. While much published in the communication literature attends (for excellent reason) to the construction of national identity in Olympic coverage and programming, that Salt Lake’s Olympic imperative took on its own unique characteristics suggests that the focus on the national should not come at the expense of the local. There is ample research on the Olympics and Olympic media, frequently concerned with identifying the manner in which coverage of the Games represents national identity, gender, race, nationalism, or other macroidentities. "195 There is also research on the construction of global values and global discourses. But one of the implications of these dissertation findings is that there is need for research to consider the construction of local identities, values, or experiences from the perspective of Olympic host cities. There has been some research dedicated to either local experiences or on local news coverage (Chen, 2003; Finlay, 2014; Medrado, et al., 2017; Neilson, 2002; Pedro Sebastião, 2017; Salwen & Garrison, 1987; Tajima, 2004; Wilson, 1996), but it’s evident that the majority attends to more expansive issues. Local coverage of the Gateway district implicated the importance of the Olympic Games to how residents, journalists, and officials considered Salt Lake City’s cultural self. It also highlighted the discursive urge to place Salt Lake in equal standing to larger U.S. cities, as well as the anxieties inherent in this potential change, in which a movement of Salt Lake space closer to that of the rest of the nation carried a sense of threat. One such sense may relate to the experience of Salt Lake City in bidding and preparing for the Games. Consider the issue of federal funding for the Games and for building affordable housing. It was a practical consideration, surely, and a benefit to all pre-Games construction efforts. However, these issues recurred through the news coverage and served as a reminder of the connections between Salt Lake and national spatialities. While this may have been expressed as one of the redevelopment aims, it should be considered that forging a closer connection to the national context could also come with downsides. While not referenced during the news coverage, it should be acknowledged that Salt Lake City engaged in an extraordinarily long process of bidding for the winter Games. Salt Lake’s history with the Games dates as far back as 1929, the year of its first bid, but certainly not the year of its last. As described in a master’s thesis by Jennifer A. Brown, the city engaged in a long process of crafting bids to host the Games that were never accepted and went as far bringing amateur and winter sporting events to the state, "196 while raising funds to construct winter sports venues, in order to fashion Salt Lake into a desirable Olympic host (Brown, 2003). This process did not always go smoothly, and was punctuated with instances of public disgruntlement over the sense that these changes were being made solely to please “bigwigs” both in and outside of the state, who repeatedly rejected these bids and withdrew promise of federal funding (Brown, 2003). Salt Lake City’s investment in itself, and its dedication to becoming an Olympic host, was thus at times viewed as an impulse to change the city in an effort to please outsiders. With federal funding on the table, and the explicit assertion that “‘Washington consider[s] these Games the United States’ Games, not just Utah’s Games or Salt Lake’s Games'" (Funk, 1996, para. 26), the federal government, as represented by Washington D.C., was presented as an implicated actor in the redevelopment project. In this instance, there are echoes of possible “bigwigs” in other places influencing the outcome of a local Salt Lake district. There are more than mere echoes in the news coverage, however. The collective anxieties in the articles also clearly indicated the potential risk of Salt Lake being put ‘out of place,’ thus placing itself under risk of invasion. Putting the city in conversation with those in the Midwest and other (I suppose) undesirable locations put it at risk of being invaded by, as was described in the 1999 article, “Impact 2002 Urges Romney to Improve Plight of the Homeless,” those ‘homeless from St. Louis.’ Also consider that the Gateway mall, a small slice of southern California in Salt Lake, was described as a “nightmare,” and San Diego was identified as a gentrified source of Sudanese immigrants who would likely flood Salt Lake in search of cheaper housing (Loomis, 1999). Recurring through the news discourse were implications that the redevelopment of the city into a new, postindustrial form, thus put it in place to be invaded by outsiders. This was even reflected in the more mezzolevel concerns regarding the district as part of downtown or west of downtown, with its associated anxieties that crafting a bridge west would also welcome an invasion of westsiders. In these examples, it can be seen that the issue of "197 invasion was expressed multiple times in the news coverage. When we consider, too, the possibility that the collective memory functioned as means to deemphasize some of the more ‘unique’ characteristics of the city’s cultural heritage, it may also be possible to intuit some of the more dangerous undercurrents related to city culture, as expressed through the media discourse. What arises is the question of whether a spatial transformation of the city, undertaken in conjunction with (and to facilitate) its perceived cultural transformation, would in fact place the city in danger of being taken over by the Other, by those who were not seen to comprise part of the community and who might bring trouble into it from outside. Salt Lake residents already had experience with this from the city’s history of bidding for the Games. Could it also be said that at the moment the city was to host the Games, residents engaged in reflexive processes of imagining how their city was perceived, what it could end up being, and the possible outcomes of such a transformation? In this context, the intersections of local Salt Lake City space with national spaces appeared to erupt in the discourse with possible fears and possible solutions, to be engaged with in the public sphere, and to be put into the service of discourses that promoted clearly delineated identities of consumer lifestyles. As such, the study indicates that the complexities inherent in the interactions of local and national identities, as well as the local experiences triggered by hosting Olympic Games, warrant close examination. Implication: Grounded Theory, Collective Memory-Collective Imagination Finally, this dissertation offers up more practical, methodological implications, via its successful application of both grounded theory and the collective memorycollective imagination construct to an analysis of discursive constructions of placemaking, revitalization, and spatiality. By using grounded theory methodology, it was "198 possible to identify the major discursive threads and interconnections in the Salt Lake City news coverage through an inductive process of iterative coding. Though familiar with the research, at no point prior to the analysis was the dissertation project intended to be an investigation into the collective memory of the Gateway or Salt Lake City. Theoretical sensitivity was involved in the coding, which allowed for the identification of discourses that are commonly linked to redevelopment projects, such as the employment of authenticity, excitement, and consumerism to describe Salt Lake City’s urban renewal. But the grounded theory approach also created a space of openness that allowed for receptiveness to the other themes present in the news coverage. Though prior research was useful in identifying key rhetorics in the coverage, the iterative processes of coding and mapping left the research open for other discourses to emerge from the texts. It was through the process of the later coding, in which additional research (as well as an examination into the visual components of the news coverage) was needed in order to continue the analysis, that the importance of the collective memory in the texts made itself known. It was evident that ahistoricity was significant to the representation of the district in media coverage, as its absence was notable, given both the historic nature of the district and the employment of history in other discourses of Salt Lake redevelopment. This was interesting, but did not become intelligible until the adoption of the collective memory-collective imagination lens put these representations into conversation with the other discourses that were woven into the news coverage. Through the employment of grounded theory, and by the application of the collective memory-collective imagination construct, it was possible to observe that temporality formed a core component of the discursive formations within the texts. However, they also highlight other implications that are important to research. If the temporal modes of the past and future are always included in the processes of the present, and if the processes of the present influence constructions of the past and "199 future, then this suggests that inquiry into the construction of collective memory requires concurrent sensitivities to constructions of the future (the inverse, of course, is true, as well). Undoubtedly, not all sites of investigation lend themselves easily to the question of the collective imagining, and as a theoretical construct, it had obvious application to this research, as it was on the rhetorical construction of phenomena that had yet to come into being. However, the inexorable link between collective memory and the collective imagination suggest the importance of considering both in tandem while conducting research on either. Without considering both modes of temporality, it would not have been possible to fully appreciate the interconnections between discursive threads that operated throughout the news coverage over time. Considering both sides of the collective temporal coin made possible a more holistic understanding of the texts. In this sense, the project demonstrates the interwoven nature of temporal discourses and raises the suggestion that without considering multiple temporal threads, further research runs the risk of being incomplete and distorted. At this time, there does not appear to be extensive, if any, employment of the concept of collective imagining in communication research. While the phrase ‘collective imagination’ may be employed by researchers in their writing, there hasn’t yet been, based on my review of the literature, an adoption of the concept analytically in investigations into temporal rhetorics. In this sense, it may prove to be a conceptualization that may provide key insights in future research. Limitations of the Project One issue that warrants acknowledgement was the decision to exclude ancillary news documents from the study set, including local briefs, business briefs, and opinion letters from readers. This was done due to the desire to obtain the most detailed and evocative texts possible. In part, this was to ensure that the study set remained a "200 manageable size. More importantly for the analysis, though, it was deemed necessary to identify substantive articles in order to access a broader range of discourses present throughout the news coverage. It was also assumed that in-depth, detailed articles would provide a richer view into the cultural contexts of Salt Lake City and the Gateway district at the time, as they would include narratives crafted to expand beyond the neat boundaries of the press releases and updates so frequently repeated in shorter articles. However, one item of research, which was identified during the later stages of coding and analysis, raised an argument that could be made against this line of thinking. In a persuasive study by doctoral candidate Perry Parks, which traced how the media coverage elevated Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring into an environmental icon, it was demonstrated that the development of collective memory is not just limited to those grand narratives that wend their way through major newspaper coverage. Instead, it is also supported by the contributions of repeated, smaller rhetorical acts, such as “event calendars, television listings, generic uses, and throwaway references that assemble like nanoparticles into a solid, recognizable structure” (Parks, 2017, p. 1233). In this sense, ancillary components of newspaper coverage work jointly to craft collective memory, and while they may not be as visible as major articles, they should not automatically be discarded. The dissertation project focused primarily on those news documents that were rich in detail and that examined the Gateway redevelopment from a variety of angles. As a result, the analysis uncovered a range of discursive threads that comprised the rhetorical construction of the revitalization project. The variety of the articles was thus evidenced by the variety of discourses they promoted. In this sense, the exclusion of briefs and opinion letters did not seem to limit the scope of the analysis, but it is acknowledged that their inclusion may have highlighted additional, or similar, discursive threads that could have supported the representational constructions present in the news coverage. "201 It is also fair to say that this exclusion helped narrow the project focus onto dominant, major media coverage, thus examining primarily the top-down rhetoric related to the redevelopment project. This would likely be an apt and fair description of this dissertation, and one that other researchers may have issue with. However, this assertion can be problematized in two ways. The first is that it is not entirely accurate to say that mainstream newspaper coverage is a wholly top-down model of communication. This is especially true in the era of digital news, but it is an observation that can also be applied to more traditional paper coverage, as was the case in this dissertation. One of the primary characteristics of newspaper reporting is its focus on local events and happenings; local journalists are the ones capable of expending resources ‘on the street’ in order to investigate issues relevant to their immediate community, and even to influence them (Meyer, 2004). Though it may often be done in a limited fashion, consider that there is no strict limit to the potential of integrating perspectives from the ground level into newspaper coverage — after all, is this not what happened in the Gateway coverage when local residents, Virgil Newkirk and Kay Fox, and local business owners Richard Thomas, Gary Justeson, Peter Cole, Jeff Polychronis, Gene Duquet, Norma Feulner, Tony Caputo, and Ernest Mariani were interviewed (Edwards, 1998c, 1999d; Jarvik, 1998b; Knudson, 1997; Walsh, 1997d, 1998b, 1998c, 1998e, 1998g, 1999b, 1999c)? The same argument can also be extended to the news coverage that included the perspectives from housing activists, the religious leaders running the local homeless shelters, and the individuals represented by the lawsuit against the Boyer Company related to violations of federal ADA laws. While these were not the direct contributions from those impacted by the Gateway redevelopment (these voices were, instead, excluded), they at least involved a partial inclusion of local perspectives into the greater discussion of the Gateway redevelopment. Secondly, there is danger in viewing top-down media coverage as unitary dominant discourses. The articles written by newspaper journalists appear as cohesive "202 narratives, but they are, in fact, crafted from fragmented texts. For each story, writers synthesize information from a variety of sources, using references from the past, quotations from officials, inferences, instrumental decisions, press releases, interviews, and other sources in order to engage in a constructivist process of crafting coherent narratives, which functions to generate collective memory and to obfuscate the contributions of unseen and unheard participants in the narrative-building process, such as editors, business owners, fact checkers, and copy writers, among others (Craprazano, 2008; Edy, 2006, 1999; Parks, 2017). It is for this reason that newspaper coverage constitutes a fruitful site for engaging in collective memory work, as it participates in social processes of accepting and rejecting various historical narratives and then affixing these narratives into public records. As described by Halbwachs, history is presented to the public via records, but it is through present actions that the past is integrated into the present (Halbwachs, 1992). In this sense, newspaper coverage works as a body of fragmented, narrativized texts that both bring the past into present remembering and create records of, and for, the generation of collective memory. To examine the discursive constructions in the Salt Lake Tribune and the Deseret News is not just to identify the discursive constructions made by them, but to also identify processes of narrativization for, and of, local collective memory. The final issue which warrants mentioning is the discrepancy in news coverage found in the LexisNexis and Access World News databases. The former was originally the database selected for searching the news coverage, but it became apparent that there were differences between how the Tribune and Deseret News articles were archived, at least through the University’s subscription. The Salt Lake Tribune was not wellrepresented in the LexisNexis database, which required supplementation from the Access World News collection. Further, certain Salt Lake Tribune articles were identified as having been accompanied by graphics; this notation was not present on the Deseret News articles. It is for this reason (as well as the exigencies of time) that the microfilm "203 was examined for the Salt Lake Tribune, only. These anomalies were discussed with several staff members at the Marriott Library, including the information and research specialist. There was no explanation about why these differences occurred, nor were there any good recommendations on how to reconcile them while conducting the research. As a result, the databases were searched multiple times, and the results for 2000 and 2001 (the years of the reduced news coverage) were reviewed at three distinct points of the project — at the beginning (during the study set collection), during the later stages of coding, and during the dissertation writing. While the study set appears to be a good reflection of how the news coverage appeared during those years, it cannot be entirely ruled out that there were isolated articles that may have fallen ‘through the cracks,' as it were. Opportunities for Further Research One aspect of the Gateway redevelopment that warrants further investigation are the political rhetorics of the plan, as well as the ways in which the Gateway was employed in the political discourse at the time. While the Gateway redevelopment was identified as ‘Mayor Deedee Corradini’s plan,’ she left office before the completion of The Gateway mall (phase 1), due to her decision not to run for another term of office in 1999. As a result, elections were held, which generated an enormous quantity of newspaper coverage, as the Gateway redevelopment proved to be a popular talking point among the candidates. Further, as discussed above, the issue of federal funding and the expectation of Washington, D.C., involvement in the the Olympic Games was explored in the press. In this sense, the federal government constituted an implicated actor in the news construction of the Gateway redevelopment project. Considering the discourses in both the Salt Lake Tribune and the Deseret News during the study period, as well as Salt Lake "204 City’s unique intersections of political, business, and religious interests, the Gateway redevelopment plan appears as a nexus of political and social discourses that should prove to be a fruitful line of research. Because it fell outside the scope of the project and the researcher’s areas of expertise, articles related to the 1999 elections were intentionally excluded from the study set. There were, though, thousands of such articles, and the debates between Rocky Anderson (one of Utah’s most liberal, and controversial, politicians) and the other political candidates were quite compelling (Johnson, 2007). This is a line of research I encourage other scholars interested in urban renewal schemes and/or political rhetoric to take up. Finally, the results of this dissertation also set the stage for an interrogation into the newspaper coverage surrounding the planning and construction process of City Creek Center. Clear anxieties, desires, and varying imaginings were offered in the course of envisioning the Gateway, which would, mere years after its completion, be confronted by more ambitious competition. Given the complexity of concerns raised through the media discourse, it is likely that the City Creek Center project operated in response to some, if not many, of the same concerns. Due to their close proximities—both in space, and in time—this project suggests the value of engaging in a similar investigation into the City Creek Center project, especially those discourses that emerged at the time it was announced by PRI and before its completion. Doing so may further refine what has already been discussed here and provide a more holistic understanding of urban renewal in downtown Salt Lake City, as a whole. This is a line of research I intend to pursue in the future. Conclusion This was a timely project for a timely topic. Some of these dissertation chapters were written while watching the 2018 Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang, a chance to see another mega-event in action. Construction continues both downtown and in the "205 Gateway, while the population of the city rises. Concerns linger regarding homelessness in the Gateway area, debates remain surrounding the homeless resource centers, and Operation Rio Grande continues to operate in west downtown. Beyond this, however, it’s notable that, in many ways, Salt Lake City finds itself in a situation very similar to the one it was in at the start of 1996. The declining Gateway mall stands with high vacancy rates and is in need of intervention. The intermodal hub, while successfully built, did not end up meeting some of the district’s earlier stated needs. While it was emphasized during the study period that Amtrak required a station downtown, especially as it was the only rail service in town, what was eventually built into the intermodal hub was precisely what planners and residents had feared, the “Amshack” (Rolly, 2000). The temporary building erected at the southern end of the hub is the building that has remained in the long-term, a small and unattractive modular construction with few services available to travelers who enter and leave the city late at night (the westbound California Zephyr arrives at 11:00PM, while the eastbound arrives at 3:00AM). The land behind the Rio Grande depot, which had previously been the site of the Utah Ice and Cold Storage Warehouse, has been razed without subsequent construction, leaving an empty void between the intermodal hub and city amenities, appearing out of reach and dangerous to visit (thanks to the transient population behind the depot) to late-night travelers. Further, Salt Lake City is also in the midst of a bit of Olympics-related déjà vu. As of February of 2018, Salt Lake City is the first in the United States to submit a bid for the 2030 winter Olympic Games (Associated Press, 2018). The city’s Olympics exploratory committee has argued that it could host the games in 2030 for less than what it cost to host the 2002 games, thanks to preexisting venues and the city’s experience in hosting winter sporting events (Associated Press, 2018; Falk, 2018). Further, as the 2002 Games have been fairly unanimously hailed as a successful event, it seems that the general sentiment is one of optimism for success in a second Olympics round. "206 The processes of revitalizing downtown Salt Lake City have been marked by a peculiar cyclical nature. The Gateway district redevelopment plan was met by both a reactionary competitor (City Creek Center), as well as the need to redevelop areas of the redeveloped district a mere 17 years after the completion of its first stage. Additionally, the City Creek Center project replaced the Crossroads Plaza and ZCMI Center, which were built in the mid-1970s and early 1980s and were themselves competitors, with the ZCMI Center the product of PRI development and Crossroads the product of other private developers. Before the curious situation of Salt Lake’s Gateway competing against its downtown core, two large-scale commercial facilities were in competition during the latter half of the 20th century, separated only by Main Street. It’s notable that these redevelopment efforts have focused primarily on the construction of large-scale shopping centers during the period that coincides with the decline of the industrial economy and the rise of globalization. The core of the city has undergone various permutations, but each has involved a concentration of retail establishments within large structures. It appears that the urge to transform the city into a consumerscape has roots that run deep. In considering some of the explanations for this trend, it is possible to discern potential implications both for Salt Lake City, as well as other cities, as it transitions into a postmodern economy in the postmodern age. The decline of traditional manufacturing has necessitated the rise of the entrepreneurial city, which is positioned to capture new markets via promotions of urban identities in order to attract investment, tourism, or innovative entrepreneurship in the city. Concurrent with these efforts has been the desire to bring new residents into the city, in order to reverse the ills caused by the flight of both residents and commercial establishments to the suburbs. Ideal in this context would be the elevation of the city into a ‘world-class city,’ capable of competing on a global level with other entrepreneurial urban areas. City redevelopment at the turn of the millennium and into the present day has thus relied heavily on this aspirational model, "207 in the hope of both improving urban economic health as well as improving and strengthening the community bonds within inner urban areas. There are two issues with this that need to be addressed. The first is that while the stated goal of urban redevelopment schemes is to bring people back into the city who had been lost to the suburbs, the reality is that those who move into revitalized areas are those who already live in the city. This has been established by Zukin’s research on city redevelopment, in which results indicate that those who moved into gentrified urban areas are those who are already invested in urban living (Zukin, 2016). What gentrification brings is not the return of the lost suburbanite, but an opportunity for city dwellers to trade in on shiny, new digs. Even those who move into the city from outside the state would be more likely to be former residents of inner urban neighborhoods in other metropolitan areas. To be frank, while they may be marketed as beacons for suburban residents, gentrified city neighborhoods simply do not appeal to suburbanites. Aside from the early gentrifiers, who are artists or otherwise members of the creative class, those who move into gentrifying neighborhoods are members of the cultural middle class, and, after they’ve been established, super gentrifiers who are able to profit from the sweat equity of those who came before and buy into the neighborhood at increasingly high costs. Essentially, the populations of these neighborhoods do not increase by the numbers of returned suburban residents, but instead are grown through the repatriation and concentration of higher-wealth families into the revitalized space. This concentration of upper-income individuals has the inevitable effect, of course, of pushing out not just the previous waves of gentrifiers, but also any communities that had been established long before the redevelopment trend was even initiated. The redevelopment projects in these areas operate not just by changing the built environments and commercial establishments within them, but by replacing current residents with those in possession of higher economic and cultural capital. The replacement is absolute, echoing segregation patterns found in other urban areas, and "208 contributes to the increasing transformation of cities into places characterized by severe class divisions. The segregation of lower-income residents from upper-income gentrified neighborhoods enables the creation of an ideological imaginary in which higher-class residents are isolated to the extent that they can operate as though lower-class areas of the city did not even exist (Zizek, 2010, p. 5). This is not a novel desire or trend; as discussed by Harvey (2005), is this not the very essence of Baudelaire’s The Eyes of the Poor? The second issue that should be addressed is that of Salt Lake City’s yearning to become a ‘nation-class city.’ The study indicated that city residents and officials shared a desire for redevelopment similar to those found in other Olympic hosts cities, but the goal appeared to be the reorientation of Salt Lake City towards the national stage, not the international stage. Can it be said that the present desire to redevelop parts of Salt Lake City (yet again), as well as serve as a second-time Olympic host, is related to a sense that city residents aimed too low in their estimation of what the city could eventually become? Given the extent to which the 2002 Games have been framed as a resounding success, might another Olympics be used as means to promote the city and its economic prowess? Is the second iteration of a revitalized Gateway area part of a greater strategy to promote Salt Lake beyond the national level, and to aim for a ‘world-class’ cultural transformation? This may, indeed, be one of the implications of the cyclical processes of redevelopment in Salt Lake City. However, they may also reflect larger economic forces at play. Consider the characteristics of urban living that have become increasingly influential in city redevelopment and urban schemes. The affective characteristics of cities have risen in prominence, with urban areas valorized according to how exciting, unique, or adventurous they are. The reconstruction and revitalization of city places is not limited to their physical components and zoning regulations; instead, they are shaped according to the experiences they can provide to consumers. "209 The influences of affects and experiences are themselves part and parcel of postmodern capitalist societies. Consider the rise of personality and charisma as defining components of ‘spontaneous’ capitalist ideologies, which ascribed seemingly intangible, almost mysterious, characteristics to successful business figures at the same time as economic performance became increasingly at the mercy of global forces (Zizek, 2010, p. 142). This context helps explain, in part, the cult of personality that has arisen around Steve Jobs, who has been quasideified in response to the massive popularity of the consumer products produced during his tenure at Apple, in spite of uncontrollable factors that contributed to their success and despite his reputation as a thoroughly unlikable, arrogant, narcissistic individual who succeeded in alienating both family and the technology professionals who actually engineered and produced Apple products. Like the aura surrounding Steve Jobs, city locations can themselves be imbued with affective characteristics that mediate how they are perceived publicly and reframe their less desirable attributes. That Salt Lake City has undergone multiple instances of major redevelopment within a relatively small timeframe and continues to require the ‘reinvention’ of critical spaces (like the Gateway mall) may also be reflective of postmodern business practices. Commodification practices have been extended beyond the fetishization of commodified objects. They now extend to entertainment, leisure, social interaction, and selfperception (the current emphasis on the need for individuals to craft their own ‘personal brand’ is an especially insidious example of this). Driving these practices are also impulses towards frequent reinvention and rapid change. “With the full deployment of capitalism, it is ‘normal’ life itself which, in a certain manner, is ‘carnivalized,’ with its constant reversals, crises, and reinventions” (Zizek, 2010, p. 128). Fast fashion, frequent news cycles, media spectacles, and remix/remake/reboot culture are commonplace. Is it any surprise that urban spaces, too, would be touched by these processes? What we can draw from the relationships between the Gateway’s redevelopment "210 and its current state is, perhaps, a recognition that, while urban revitalization schemes have stated aims of improving blighted areas, bringing residents back into the city, creating entertainment zones, and restoring the health of downtown cores to enable bright futures, they may also be the inevitable result of capitalist practices that hunger for continual change. The development and redevelopment of urban identities may always be under constant negotiation, but current sociocultural contexts also suggest that these negotiations are themselves valuable commodities, means of packaging and marketing city spaces as trends, creating cyclical opportunities to ‘sell’ the city again and again, enabling future waves of gentrifiers and increasing spatial concentrations of wealth. Though Salt Lake City is unusual in many ways, and can be seen by outsiders as strange, even backward, it may be repeating its status as a hidden member of the urban avant-garde, reprising a role it played when it was imagined in Joseph Smith’s forwardthinking urban planning style. Instead of being an unusual anomaly, the city itself might be an example of things to come, suggesting that rather than restoring stability to urban areas, redevelopment projects may become strategically employed with increasing frequency, multiplying, transforming, and becoming — employing discourses of memory, imagination, perhaps even crisis, to produce one of the most valuable products of all: the ever-changing postmodern, postindustrial city. APPENDIX Documents Filename 1. Temporal Chart: Revitalization Theme Over Time …………….… TC-Revitalization.pdf 2. Temporal Chart: Definitions of the Gateway Dist. Over Time…. TC-GatewayDist.pdf 3. Temporal Chart: Definitions of the Gateway Proj. Over Time…. TC-GatewayProj.pdf 4. Temporal Chart: Places Over Time………………………………………..……… TC-Places.pdf 5. Temporal Chart: Spaces Over Time …………………………………….……… TC-Spaces.pdf 6. Temporal Chart: Temporal Discourses Over Time…………….……… TC-Temporal.pdf 7. Dissertation Journal Notes………………………………………………………….. DissNotes.pdf WORKS CITED AND STUDY SET BIBLIOGRAPHY Works Cited Abandoned Olympic venues. (n.d.). CBS News. Retrieved from https:// www.cbsnews.com/pictures/olympic-venues-that-were-abandoned/ Abaza, M. (2001). Shopping malls, consumer culture, and the reshaping of public space in Egypt. Theory, Culture, and Society, 18(5), 97-122. About the project. (n.d) Life on State [website]. Retrieved from https:// www.lifeonstate.com/about-the-project Aiello, G., & Dickinson, G. (2014). Beyond authenticity: A visual-material analysis of locality in the global redesign of Starbucks stores. Visual Communication, 13(3), 303-321. Alivon, F., & Guillain, R. (2017). 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