"Neighborhood" is routinely used when referring to the history of residential areas in North American cities. In fact, it is unclear whether this has always been the preferred term, and how its meaning has changed. A survey of the English- and French-Canadian experience, including a case study of Toronto using digital newspaper files, indicates that in the early twentieth century other terms were common. "Neighborhood" referred primarily to poorer, immigrant districts. Especially since the 1960s, it has been much more commonly used and in a general sense. In that regard, its evolving meaning has converged with the francophone usage of . It is only recently that local associations have dropped "ratepayer" from their names in favor of "residents" or, to a lesser extent, "neighborhood." This now disguises the fact that such associations are dominated by property owners. Getting the language right is important for a clear-eyed understanding of both the past and the present.

This paper situates a ten-year period of political upheaval in addressing the problem of Single Room Occupancy (SRO) housing in Vancouver, Canada, within an epistemic transformation of public health. Until 1970, the Vancouver Health Department exemplified a colonial history of public health in establishing the city's skid road as a . But the 1970s saw a sudden fading of the Department's authority just as a more collaborative approach to housing policy was emerging. The sunsetting of sanitary enforcement was driven in part by the arrival of a "new public health" that became primarily concerned with defining public health problems and solutions through the regulation of racialized bodies and behaviors-a . By the 1980s, this shift constituted an epistemic and regulatory abandonment of SRO housing, leading to the accelerated deterioration of the entire housing stock and costing incalculable human suffering and the loss of lives.

Corporate and public actors have built the physical and financial flows of petroleum into the very landscape. This article identifies different layers of those flows- physical, represented, and everyday practices-that combine into a palimpsestic global petroleumscape. It posits that these layers historically became essential parts of modern society and of citizens' everyday lives. Resulting path dependencies and an energy culture help maintain the buildings and urban forms needed for physical and financial oil flows and celebrate oil as a heroic cultural agent, in a feedback loop that leads societies to consume more oil. Following a general analysis, the article uses the Rotterdam/The Hague area, part of the North West European petroleum hub, as a case study of this feedback loop. Only in appreciating the power and extent of oil can we engage with the complex emerging challenges of sustainable design, policy making, heritage, and future built environments beyond oil.

In this article, the author uses a slum clearance project in Lexington, Kentucky, as a lens through which to examine the spatial dynamics of racial residential segregation during the first half of the twentieth century. At the time, urban migration and upward socioeconomic mobility on the part of African Americans destabilized extant residential segregation patterns. Amid this instability, various spatial practices were employed in the interest of maintaining white social and economic supremacy. The author argues that such practices were indicative of a thoroughgoing reinvention of urban socio-spatial order that in turn precipitated the vastly expanded scale of residential segregation still found in U.S. cities today. Evidence of this reinvented ordering of urban space lies in the rendering of some long-standing African American neighborhoods as “out of place” within it and the use of slum clearance to remove the “menace” such neighborhoods posed to it.

Throughout the first three decades of the twentieth century, black people in New York City encountered white violence, especially police brutality in Manhattan. The black community used various strategies to curtail white mob violence and police brutality, one of which was self-defense. This article examines blacks’ response to violence, specifically the debate concerning police brutality and self-defense in Harlem during the 1920s. While historians have examined race riots, blacks’ everyday encounters with police violence in the North have received inadequate treatment. By approaching everyday violence and black responses—self-defense, legal redress, and journalists’ remonstrations—as a process of political development, this article argues that the systematic violence perpetrated by the police both mobilized and politicized blacks individually and collectively to defend their community, but also contributed to a community consciousness that established police brutality as a legitimate issue for black protest.

This article examines a crucial site for modernity’s encounter with religion during the long nineteenth century, albeit one largely ignored both by religious and urban historians: the modern big city. Drawing on evidence from Strasbourg, which joined the ranks of Germany’s big cities soon after the Franco-Prussian War, it points out first, that urbanization had a significant urban dimension. It altered the absolute and relative size of the city’s faith communities, affected the confessional composition of urban neighborhoods, and prompted faith communities to mark additional parts of the urban landscape as sacred. Second, while urban growth—both demographic and physical—frequently challenged traditional understandings of religious community, it also facilitated the construction of new understandings of piety and community, especially via voluntary organizations and the religious media. Thereby, urbanization emerged as a key force behind sacralization in city and countryside as the nineteenth century ended and the twentieth began.

In the 1960s and 1970s African American “supergangs” emerged in Chicago. Many scholars have touted the “prosocial” goals of these gangs but fail to contextualize them in the larger history of black organized crime. Thus, they have overlooked how gang members sought to reclaim the underground economy in their neighborhoods. Yet even as gangs drove out white organized crime figures, they often lacked the know-how to reorganize the complex informal economy. Inexperienced gang members turned to extreme violence, excessive recruitment programs, and unforgiving extortion schemes to take power over criminal activities. These methods alienated black citizens and exacerbated tensions with law enforcement. In addition, the political shelter enjoyed by the previous generation of black criminals was turned into pervasive pressure to break up street gangs. Black street gangs fulfilled their narrow goal of community control of vice. Their interactions with their neighbors, however, remained contentious.

In the eyes of many, the steel city of Gary, Indiana, entered a period of decline in the middle of the twentieth century. The once great city was seemingly racked by job loss, crime, racial division, or moral decay. Which of these caused the decline of the city depended upon the perspective of the story's teller. Each narrative of decline contained a different moment where the city went wrong and it began to decay. For some it was the moral decay of the 1950s, for others it was the rise of black power and politics in the 1960s, for still others it was the white backlash against civil rights in the 1970s. Some saw a microcosm of America, some saw a dangerous cauldron of race and ethnicity. The source of decline and the origins of the urban crisis were largely in the eye of the beholder. The stories people chose to tell about Gary mattered because for much of the twentieth century, Gary was at the center of American narratives about industrialism. These were outsider narratives of decline read onto the Indiana steel city because Gary represented larger debates. People read onto Gary their changing expectations and anxieties about industry and industrial spaces. This article traces the changing attitudes outsiders held toward Gary from the middle of the twentieth century through the period of deindustrialization at the end of the century and examines American narratives about deindustrialization and urban decline.

Examining the internal dynamics of three civil disturbances on the West Side of Chicago during the late 1960s, this article describes the presence of numerous people who were not participating in the upheaval. It pays particular attention to “counterrioters,” civilian residents of the neighborhoods and members of local organizations, who tried to persuade those engaging in violence to stop. Local dissent from the tactic of violence suggests that historians should describe these events using the neutral language of social science rather than the politically loaded labels of “riot” or “rebellion.” The article argues that American historians of urban disorders should use the methods of European scholars of the crowd to study the actions of participants in order to ascertain their political content, rather than relying on an examination of their motives.

Seventy years ago, General Motors’ Highways and Horizons exhibit at the World’s Fair, designed by Norman Bel Geddes and Eero Saarinen, promoted demand for cars and federal highways without any concern for environmental sustainability, the theme of our 2010 conference. The main exhibit included a sequence of four parts (entrance ramps, map lobby, Futurama ride, and “intersection of 1960”) where the viewer’s perception of spatial scale was manipulated. Setha M. Low’s theory of “embodied space” helps decode why movement through these diverse spaces influenced millions of Americans’ views of transportation and urban form, a promotional success yet to be equaled by advocates of environmental sustainability.

Present patterns of residential segregation have been proven to have antecedents in the so-called white flight of the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s. Close scrutiny of this social phenomenon has yielded results that indicate complicated impetuses and call into question sweeping assumptions about white flight. A case study of seven congregations from a denomination called the Christian Reformed Church in North America (CRC) who left the Englewood and Roseland neighborhoods of Chicago during the juncture in question further reveals the dubious role of religious practices and arrangements in the out-migration of white evangelical Christians. By utilizing church histories, council minutes, and field interviews, it became readily apparent that the departure of the members of these congregations found sanction within the hierarchical apparatus (or lack thereof) of the church. The response of these CRC congregations exemplified how the political structures (congregational polity) and social networks of a particular denomination could allow for an almost seamless process of white flight.

Jim Dyos, founding-father of British urban history, argued that cities have commonly acknowledged “individual characteristics” that distinguish them. Such distinctive characteristics, though usually based on material realities, are promoted through literary and visual representations. This article argues that those who seek to convey a city’s distinctiveness will do so not only through describing its particular topography, architecture, history or functions but also by describing its “local colour”: the supposedly unique customs, manner of speech, dress, or other special features of its inhabitants. In colonial cities this process involved white racial stereotyping of “others”. In Cape Town, depictions of “Coloured” inhabitants as unique “city types” became part of the city’s “destination branding”. The article analyses change and continuity in such representations. To this end it draws on the insights of Gareth Stedman Jones into changing depictions of London’s “Cockneys” and the insights of Stephen Ward into historical “place-selling”.

Urban historians have greatly expanded their geographical purview in recent years, incorporating suburbs and hinterlands into their analysis of social and environmental change. Urban environmental historians and suburban historians have played a critical role in the regionalization of urban history over the last decade. This case study of the development of New York City’s water supply reveals the benefits of taking a regional approach to urban history. From the New York Public Library to Central Park’s Great Lawn to neighborhood parks, the New York City landscape bears the traces of the continuous development of the city’s water network. Expansion of the water system in rural hinterlands enabled municipal officials to put urban reservoirs to new uses, creating some of the city’s most beloved public spaces. The rehabilitation of urban infrastructure underscores the intimate linkages between rural development and the urban built environment.

This article analyzes the renovation and construction of the Parc des Princes and the Stade de France in post-Second World War Paris. The history of the two stadia testifies to a shift in the envisioned role of stadia in the Parisian basin between the late 1960s and the end of the twentieth century and stands as evidence for the emergence of new urban planning actors. Both stadia were also critiqued as symbols of broader problems with Parisian urbanization, notably as manifestations of anti-democratic planning processes. At the same time, the Parc and the Stade also reflected an emerging consensus over the role of spectator sport in society, accompanied by attempts to re-envision mass sporting spectatorship as a more democratic and familial practice. This article thus situates the two stadia within the history of Parisian urbanization and within broader global urbanizing processes.

In the first half of the nineteenth century, New Yorkers fought passionately over the presence of hogs on their streets and in their city. New York’s filthy streets had cultivated an informal economy and a fertile environment for roaming creatures. The battles—both physical and legal—reveal a city rife with class tensions. After decades of arguments, riots, and petitions, cholera and the fear of other public health crises ultimately spelled the end for New York’s hogs. New York struggled during this period to improve municipal services while adapting to a changing economy and rapid population growth. The fights between those for and against hogs shaped New York City’s landscape and resulted in new rules for using public space a new place for nature in the city.

In the history of city planning, the dichotomy between the aesthetic aspirations of the City Beautiful and City Practical movements is overstated. The aesthetic impulse did not disappear but persisted as an important thread through the development of comprehensive planning approaches into the 1920s. The nexus between beauty and utility was negotiated and expressed across four main discourses: broad social improvement, aesthetic functionality, economic rationality, and holistic design. Ultimately, beauty became wedded to utility within the very nature of the comprehensive city plan itself. The work of the leading city planner John Nolen is central to an understanding of these historic continuities and informed the early evolution of city planning theory and practice. Nolen’s challenge to the City Beautiful paradigm, while still retaining an artistic sensibility, reaestheticizes scholars’ appreciation of the City Practical.

In the twentieth century, race-based residential and commercial segregation that supported racial oppression and inequality became an elemental characteristic of urban black communities. Conflict-ridden, black-white relationships were common. However, the Chicago Defender Charities, Inc., the entity that sponsors the largest African American parade in the country and that emerged in 1947, embodied a tradition of charitable giving, self-help, and community service initiated in 1921 by Chicago Defender newspaper founder and editor, Robert S. Abbott. The foundation of this charitable tradition matured as a result of an early and sustained collaboration between Chicago’s white-owned Regal Theater and the black-owned Chicago Defender newspaper. Thus, in segregated African American communities, black and white commercial institutions, under certain conditions, were able to find important points of collaboration to uplift the African American communities of which they were a part.

This article uncovers the visual narratives embedded within the photography of the 1910 Paris flood. Images offered Parisians multiple ways to understand and construe the significance of the flood and provided interpretive frameworks to decide the meaning of this event. Investigating three interlocking narratives of ruin, beauty, and fraternité, the article shows how photographs of Paris under water allowed residents to make sense of the destruction but also to imagine the city’s reconstruction. The article concludes with a discussion of the role of visual culture in recovering from urban disasters.

Active adult, age-restricted communities are significant to urban history and city planning. As communities that ban the permanent residence of children under the age of nineteen with senior zoning overlays, they are unique experiments in social planning. While they do not originate the concept of the common interest community with its shared amenities, the residential golf course community, or the gated community, Sun Cities and Leisure Worlds do a lot to popularize those physical planning concepts. The first age-restricted community, Youngtown, AZ, opened in 1954. Inspired by amenity-rich trailer courts in Florida, Del Webb added the “active adult” element when he opened Sun City, AZ, in 1960. Two years later, Ross Cortese opened the first of his gated Leisure Worlds. By the twenty-first century, these “lifestyle” communities had proliferated and had expanded their appeal to around 18 percent of retirees, along with influencing the design of intergenerational communities.

During the 1920-1929 period, the Civic Club of Allegheny County supported political consolidation of the county's municipalities and townships. Civic Club leaders sought boundary reform to tackle perceived social problems and political inefficiencies in the Pittsburgh region. This policy was aligned with a national network of Progressive urban reformers, some of whom guided the Civic Club's plans. These reform efforts culminated in the 1929 Metropolitan Charter, which was rejected by Allegheny County voters. Traditional explanations of this failed vote emphasize the high threshold for success of the charter. However, such accounts ignore the apparent disjunction between the national perception of regional problems and the local reception of recommended solutions. Reform advocates were unable to adapt national Progressive theories to the local context of Allegheny County. This article first describes the national network of Progressive Era research that prescribed metropolitan solutions for urban problems in cities such as Pittsburgh. The article then examines attempts by the Civic Club of Allegheny County to introduce these theories to Allegheny County, Pennsylvania. The failure of the 1929 Metropolitan Charter is reevaluated, and the implications of these events for current proponents of metropolitanism and political reform are discussed.

This article explores the changes to urban political culture in Jakarta, Indonesia, from 1998 to the present. By tracing the contributions of youth activists, and middle-class university students in particular, to the production of the street as a political and public space, the author demonstrates to what extent the democratized post-Suharto era naturalizes the place of youth in nationalist politics. Central to this inquiry of youth identity formation is the elision of class and gender as analytical categories. Student movements in 1998 and after have relied on a specific masculine style that draws on both the authenticity of nationalist historical narratives and the street as the domain of the People, and in the process masks potentially contentious class and gender differences among progressive activists.