Requiem for the South Side of Pittsburgh.

During the eight or so years I lived in Oakland, I kept hearing about a developing area not all that far away. Throughout the first half of the nineties, the South Side was quietly transitioning from an old fashioned, working-class neighborhood into a nightspot and commercial juggernaut. It started with the Beehive Coffeehouse, The Rex (an independent movie theater), The Brew House Artist Co-op, City Theater and Slacker (a Gen X boutique) and expanded outward from there. Within a couple of years the oldtime neighborhood dives were supplemented with scores of other clubs and bars. Every year saw a whole new wave of development flooding into the South Side, forever changing its nature. Even fine dining found its way to Carson Street (the main thoroughfare through the area).

As Pitt students, we rarely ever left its self-contained world. Once in awhile a locally-born kid would take us on a field trip to some obscure and unknown part of the city. But for the most part, we had everything we'd ever need right there in Oakland. After my sophomore year I decided not to go to my hometown for anymore summers. The colleges emptied out quickly, and my friends and I began to venture out into other parts of Pittsburgh. One of the annual events we attended each year was the Southside Street Spectacular. This was a festival during which Carson Street was closed to traffic, and people milled about drinking outdoors and finding trouble to get into. There were bands, carnival rides, crappy junk food (and regional favorites), and a sidewalk sale that included every business putting out a table to hawk their goods to passersby. It was plenty excitement for a twenty-one year old.

Around 1992, I had a friend that bought a rowhouse in the South Side flats for about $18 thousand. It didn't even need work. After a decade and a half, you couldn't find a property there for under $150 thousand. But I'm getting ahead of myself. In the early 90's I started frequenting some of the bars on and off Carson Street. My favorites were Jack's on 18th, Bar 11, and (of course) Dee's. I became aware of a youngish counterculture slack vibe that seemed to be absent throughout most of the city. There were artists and musicians, addicts and wannabes. You could find a decent conversation, or get into just about any kind of trouble- if that's what you were looking for. And the bars I frequented, along with the aforementioned Beehive, were the centers around which all of this revolved.

Eventually I realized that, since I spent so much time there anyway, I might as well just move to the South Side. I found a one bedroom hovel on 5th Street, where an industrial vibe still lingered at the edges. I joined the White Eagle, which was one of those traditional old men clubs that had such a dwindling membership roll that it was vulnerable to a youthful takeover. This became the last stopping point every day of the week. It was also the center of our growing community. I lapsed into a stunningly abrupt irresponsibility that took me years to recover from. Too many of us were adopting what we naively figured to be the lifestyles of artists and writers, without actually doing any work. But it was a fun and formative time.

Back in those days the real estate values were still reasonable. Galleries, antique stores, bookstores, quirky little shops and eateries popped up all over the neighborhood. Staples like the South Shore Diner and the Pickle Barrel were able to serve the community's needs without pretensions. My friend Bob Ziller once owned the Lascaux Gallery right along Carson Street. If I recall correctly, it was the first art gallery I ever stepped into in my life. And it was a good one, joined by several others. I even tried to start an internet cafe at 13th and Carson. My "partner" ended up being a fraud, and it only lasted a few months. I found myself right back in the bar scene, spending my work and play hours in that environment. Overall those were some carefree days. For awhile it looked like the South Side had become an urban utopia. Swell new spots like Groovy (purveyors of retro toys), the Lava Lounge, the Blue Ruin Gallery and Zythos brought an element of sophistication to the area. But like anything else worthwhile, the neighborhood was eventually co-opted. The mainstream culture caught on. Big money smelled profits.

Initially we noticed the sea change on weekends. Suburbanites (initially from the South Hills) and tourists were flooding into town on Friday and Saturday nights, getting drunk and belligerent, and pissing on our doorsteps. Space and parking were limited, and available only at a premium. Rents skyrocketed for both commercial and rental properties. The South Side Street Spectacular got more and more obnoxious every year until the locals killed it. Those unwilling to give up on the South Side found refuge on the Slopes, but many others (like myself) fled to the East End communities that were just starting their transition. Urban planners built a massive outdoor strip mall, invited the national chains to set up shop, and called the development a "town center'. Investors destroyed the design integrity of Victorian-era buildings, only to put in hoochie dance clubs and cheesey sports bars. And that was all she wrote for "my South Side"- merely a blip of history.

Now it's rare for me to make a foray to the banks of the Monongahela. Occasionally I'll meet a friend at the (still thriving) Beehive, or grab an excellent Sunday Brunch at Zenith Gallery. I try to make the monthly figure drawing sessions at the Brew House. But don't expect to find me in the area after dark on a weekend. As one of my friends so aptly put it, "The South Side is played out and tired."