I’ve heard that some residents of some neighborhoods think Beacon Hill residents are smug.
What us? Smug?
We do sometimes talk about the neighborhood, as I observed in a West Cedar Street dining room a couple of weeks ago. There were five of us, and we did start out discussing the task we had been assigned, but soon someone started talking about how nice it is to live on Beacon Hill and then the task turned into a tribute, and, well, you know how it goes.
Once in awhile someone gets really rapturous, we admit. Recently a City Hall official who lives on the Hill confided to a couple of other residents that Beacon Hill was probably the best neighborhood on the East Coast.
Nevertheless, we surely are not completely insufferable. It’s only a few times in the past month I’ve heard neighbors congratulating one another on their choice of living here.
Although, come to think of it, we could teach city planners a thing or two. For example, some people think you actually need sunlight to live happily. We have proven you don’t. We depend on impatiens for blooms, and pachysandra and ivy for greenery—none of which needs sun. Since our rooms are dark we paint them red or green, turning darkness into the virtue of being cozy. We light the fire in our fireplaces, and as they have begun saying everywhere, “We’re good to go.” Or good to sit, as the case may be.
Some Americans think they need parking. Here’s another place where we’re ahead of the curve. It is much better to have your car, if you have one, parked safely in a garage that costs somewhere between $300 and $500 a month. That way you don’t use it, saving on gas, helping the environment, and most of all, making you walk.
At first the uninitiated are skeptical. They try to park in front of their house, as they expected to do when they were growing up in Winnetka or Walnut Creek. But there is never a space. Then their car gets towed because they forgot to move it on street sweeping day, which, by the way, is coming up after April 1. Finally, if they live here long enough it dawns on them: they won’t need parking if they don’t have a car. They sell the car or they find a place to park at a cost some Americans pay to rent an apartment. Problem solved.
Ample space? Unnecessary. We would have save a lot of trees (or maybe plastic) if they had asked us before they built all those underwater McMansions that were the rage until the economy tanked. Closets? Who needs them? Bookshelves? We use the city’s libraries because we have no space to store our books. Separate dining rooms? That’s what restaurants are for.
Cleanliness? Forget about it. The living quarters along the pristine streets of Scottsdale, Fort Myers or Burlingame are worth less per square foot than ours are, and our streets are dirty. Which again goes to prove that the attributes most people think are important are unnecessary.
Good weather is also a ridiculous idea. There’s something to be said for the rush we get from stepping onto an icy sidewalk or dodging the sharp icicles hanging from the gutters after a snowstorm that we wouldn’t enjoy if we lived in one of the above-mentioned towns.
What all those folks who build houses around golf courses have forgotten, and we could teach them, is you need only a few features to become the best neighborhood on the East Coast:
1. At least 100 shops must be located within 10 minutes walking distance from every person’s front door.
2. None of the shops can be part of a chain. They all must be one of a kind, and preferably owned by someone in the neighborhood.
3. You must have rapid transit—not a bus—at all four corners of the neighborhood and taxis cruising around the perimeter at all hours of the night and day.
4. You have to pack ‘em in. It’s density that makes our lives so easy, from getting groceries delivered to having so many services within walking distance.
Come to think of it, we probably are the best neighborhood, but not just on the East Coast. We may be the best neighborhood in America. Some might call it smug. Others could say it’s just seeing things as they are.