They say it works on frogs

If you turn up the heat real slow they say frogs don't know they're boiling.   I don't know about that, but I wonder what happens to a town when politicians break their promises...   real slow?

It all seems so long ago, like this was another town. It was back in the last century, as I recall: the grim 90s, when Silver Spring was a poster child for declining inner suburbs. Now, it wasn't near as gritty or dangerous as the old timers like to make out--we still had the Quarry House, Dale Music, and the Tastee Diner--but it was no shoppers' paradise, that's for sure.

On the very best piece of land, a little hill where Wayne runs up to meet Georgia Avenue, there sat the Silver Spring National Guard Armory. It was built in 1927 by the boys from company K after they had returned from WW I and made their bundle in down county real estate.

Architecturally the building was half way between a castle and a brick shit house and appeared to be just as impregnable.

For 70 years the Armory was Silver Spring's front yard and living room. Every Saturday local farmers sold their produce to loyal customers of Silver Spring's tiny farmers market.

Inside on the aging drill hall floor purveyors of memorabilia sold their niche wares by day, while fetching young girls celebrated Sweet Sixteen to the sound of the local school band by night. Civic-minded souls met in the musty basement for hours on end to plot Silver Spring's escape from commercial irrelevance.  

My most glorious memory of the Armory was the night the Ghermezians came down from Alberta. They had formed a league with the local politicians to enclose the entire town in a monstrous dome, which was to be called, without irony, The American Dream. Residents were horrified and came out in droves to exercise their democratic lungs. Six hundred people filled the drill hall to capacity, while another hundred had to remain outside in sputtering frustration. No one could remember when so many in Silver Spring had assembled for mere civic engagement.

Eskander, a small wiry man attired in the dark fedora that was the trademark of the Ghermezian brothers, occupied the podium to address the crowd. Not with the spiel of a salesman but with the voice of a true believer he marveled at the wonders of an urban entertainment complex that held every conceivable human want that a man could possibly make a profit on. There would be exotic movie theaters, themed restaurants, a full hockey rink, a roller coaster, and, of course, an azure wave pool that would make all future beach vacations completely unnecessary.

The poor man had not a clue about the aesthetics of the burghers of Silver Spring. They proceeded to eat him alive, or rather they would have eaten him alive had he not been a little lion of a man. No doubt he would have told the good folks of Silver Spring to go Cheney themselves, had he not been a God-fearing man.  

The more politically astute younger brother, Nader, led his incensed brother off stage under the cover of politicians who insisted, "this was only the beginning of the process."

Like the song says, you don't know what you got till it's gone. The Ghermezians were gone by 1997 and the Armory a year later. In retrospect, I kind of miss the Blues Brothers, old school developers with calluses on their hands and piss in their vinegar--nothing like these oily twenty first century developers that you can hardly tell apart from the politicians.

For five years the hill sat empty like the sacked citadel of Troy: a testament to the creed that nothing must stand in the way of commercial progress.

Seven years later a shiny new "Silver Sprung" has emerged from the gloom of the last century. We now boast a vibrant commercial center that offers every conceivable want that a man could possibly make a profit on.   Seven years and $150 million public dollars later there is only one section of that grand public/private partnership that remains un-built-- the public part of the partnership-- the one that was supposed to take the place of that funky old armory, the place where Silver Spring citizens were supposed to hold their meetings, celebrate their festivals, and stage their concerts.

What happened? Ask your local pol.

"Well, first we promised the Round House Theater they could shack up in the new civic building; who would have thought that adding a lousy 14,000 SF would actually increase the cost of the building?   Of course we couldn't expect actors to wait seven years, so just as soon as we finished building their black box theater, that is, after we built their main stage in Bethesda, we built out a section of the Wayne Avenue garage for part of their educational program. Of course they still need the space in the Civic Building (when its done) for their administrative offices and adult education programs.

And then there were the spiraling cost of construction materials. Who could have guessed that a billion Chinese could use so much concrete. I mean, you look at the budget one day and everything is fine, you blink, and seven years later it's a mess. Damn good thing we finished up the commercial construction before all hell broke loose. Hey, did I mention the dog ate my slide-rule?"

I realize that there are plenty of people who couldn't care less about public space. They are sprung for joy just to be able to drive a few blocks and shop, eat, and play in their hometown just like every other grass-mowing suburbanite in the country. Hell, it's a free country and if that's your pursuit of happiness, go for it.  

But if 20,000 people showing up for a Jazz Festival is your idea of a cool place to live, if just watching people hang out on that wide expanse of goofy green astro-turf-- no buying, no selling, just talking and hanging--if that makes you smile, if you think there's more to community than commercial exchange, then, my friend, you need a Civic Building, and a Plaza to boot.

Are you waiting patiently for your local politician to make it happen? Wait no longer, friends. It is time to speak the language they understand best.

Raise hell. Pick up your phone, grab your pen, fire up that computer. Tell Doug Duncan, Steve Silverman, Tom Perez, Marilyn Praisner, and George Levanthal that we have waited patiently for seven years for our civic building and plaza; no, we don't want excuses, and we damn sure aren't settling for some down-sized, cork-floored, drive-it covered, crackerjack box of a town center.

Mr. Duncan, Mr. Silverman, Mr. Perez, we have a deal every bit as immutable as the deal you had with FPA, or the deal you had with AFI, or the deal you had with RHT. You made a deal with the people of Silver Spring and we expect you to honor it.

Hey, anybody know of a building that could hold around 700 angry citizens?

County Executive Douglas Duncan
Executive Office Building 101 Monroe Street, 2nd Floor Rockville, MD 20850 (240) 777-2500 TTY (240) 777-2544 douglas.duncan@montgomerycountymd.gov

Steven Silverman Councilmember ~ Montgomery County Council
100 Maryland Avenue Rockville, Maryland 20850 (240) 777-7960 councilmember.silverman@montgomerycountymd.gov

George L. Leventhal
100 Maryland Ave, 6th Floor Rockville, MD 20850 (240) 777-7811 Councilmember. Leventhal@montgomerycountymd.gov

Marilyn J. Praisner
100 Maryland Ave, 6th Floor Rockville, MD 20850 (240) 777-7968 Councilmember.Praisner@montgomerycountymd.gov

Tom Perez
100 Maryland Ave, 6th Floor Rockville, MD 20850 (240) 777-7966 Councilmember.Perez@montgomerycountymd.gov

Michael Subin
100 Maryland Ave, 6th Floor Rockville, MD 20850 (240) 777-7828 councilmember.subin @montgomerycountymd.gov

Nancy Floreen
100 Maryland Ave, 6th Floor Rockville, MD 20850 (240) 777-7959 Councilmember.Floreen@montgomerycountymd.gov