Building spree of '60s, '70s comes back to haunt U.

The construction plan unveiled Friday may correct flaws in the high rises and other buildings. Nearly 40 years separate the two largest building proposals in Penn history, but the mistakes of the earlier plan are molding the architectural and philosophical goals of its successor. And the ultimate success of the recently announced, $300 million plan to overhaul nearly all of the campus' dining and dormitory facilities hinges on the answer to a simple question -- Have the plan's architects learned from the errors that have bedeviled Superblock since its creation, or will future Penn officials also be faced with the need for a massive fix? The original plan, announced in 1962 to wide student acclaim, envisioned $150 million in new buildings, almost two dozen in total, with many built on the former sites of residential neighborhoods condemned by the city and sold to Penn for a nominal fee. Many of the structures slated for renovation under the new proposal -- the six Hamilton Village dorms, Hill, Stouffer, and the Class of 1920 Commons -- are the products of that era. Over the last three decades, their flaws have become apparent, and perhaps correctable -- making Penn's latest proposal less a new initiative and more an attempt to complete a process begun 30 years ago. The Best-Laid Plans "The hope of the corporation is to aid in the reversal of the spreading blight in West Philadelphia and to maintain University City as an attractive place to live." The words were spoken by the first vice president of the West Philadelphia Corp. in 1962. The organization was created by Penn and four other University City institutions in 1959 to promote then-Penn President Martin Meyerson's vision of a "vigorous program of planning, redevelopment and rehabilitation" to prevent the University from becoming "an institutional island" surrounded by "a sea of residential slums." Nearly 40 years later, officials of today's West Philadelphia Partnership -- the corporation's successor -- and the University City District speak of their goals in the same terms, and the creation of a "campus-like atmosphere" remains a central goal of the new construction. Officials again hope to revitalize the surrounding neighborhood, this time by bringing more students into campus dormitories, opening up choice off-campus properties for the families of Penn employees and graduate students, longer-term tenants who would be more likely to take good care of their homes. There are differences, admittedly, between the two plans. "Urban renewal," for one, no longer connotes the promise of the future but rather the mistakes of the past. Today, administrators speak of opening up the neighborhood with new retail and entertainment options rather than razing it in the name of "progress." The current plan will also not displace any West Philadelphia residents. That is, at least in part, a result of the degree to which Penn annexed land in the early 1960s. Much of that land remained vacant until very recently or is only now scheduled for development. Sansom Common, for example, sits on land condemned at the time, as does the parking lot at the corner of 40th and Walnut streets now slated to hold a parking-garage-cum-food-market. But much of the need for Penn's recent efforts to provide an impetus for area economic revitalization stems from the failure of past efforts to "renew" the surrounding area. Much of the University's continuing desire to create what officials term a vibrant "campus" -- a bounded community focused exclusively on academics and surrounded by attractive retail and a stable neighborhood --Ein West Philadelphia results from the intractability of the material at hand. Penn is situated in urban environment, complete with urban problems, something very much on the minds of University Trustees in the 1950s as they discussed proposals to move Penn to Philadelphia's suburbs. "Super Blocks" Penn's campus came of age in the late 1960s and early '70s, assuming the broad outlines of its present form. A $93 million, decade-long "redevelopment plan" pushed the campus boundaries west to 40th Street and north to Chestnut Street. Three cross-streets -- 36th, 37th and 39th -- were closed to traffic between Spruce and Walnut streets and replaced with brick walkways and concrete pavilions. Nearly two dozen buildings -- the social sciences complex, Wharton's Vance and Steinberg halls, Van Pelt Library and Williams Hall -- also were constructed during the period. And a new generation of dormitories, six in number, rose up in an area bounded by 38th and 40th streets and Walnut and Spruce streets. The new dorms, and similar residential areas around campus including the Quadrangle and the proposed women's dorms on Hill Field, were dubbed "super blocks." The title reflected University efforts to consolidate various aspects of student life -- academic, residential and recreational -- in defined pockets. Sitting in a four-block area once occupied by a middle-class neighborhood known as Hamilton Village, plans for the first "super block" included a dining hall -- Class of 1920 Commons -- and a never-completed gymnasium slated to sit between High Rise North and 40th Street. Stouffer Triangle, also built on the site of a residential neighborhood, was envisioned as the finishing touch on another "super block." Its dining facility was to serve Quadrangle residents, then exclusively freshmen, while its dormitory space was to be used for medical students. Woodland Avenue, once stretching on a diagonal from 34th and Walnut streets to 38th and Pine, was closed, allowing for easy pedestrian access to Stouffer from the Quad. High Rises It was a committee of 15 students, faculty members and administrators that initially decided in the late 1960s to give the high-rises, each housing about 800 students, their present configuration: variously arranged, individual apartments. That design, however, came only after a funding shortage forced officials to abandon their original plans to create a "college house" living environment of smaller buildings. Today, the apartment configuration is seen as an impediment to the new college house system, isolating students from each other rather than fostering community living. Other elements of the plan seem equally archaic. The lack of common space, for example, has become grown increasingly nettlesome for officials hoping to expand residence-based programming. But the most obvious sign that the high rises did not live up to their original billing as architectural masterpieces is the oft-repeated myth that the three buildings are temporary structures slapped together from second-rate materials and slated to be replaced at the earliest opportunity. This urban legend reflects widespread dissatisfaction with the building's present forms and interiors. Among the possible elements of planned renovations to the high-rises -- each building will be renovated over a 15-month span between 2001 and 2004 -- is a new paint job for the drab concrete structures. Officials will also consider redoing the buildings' floor plans and opening up extra common space for computer labs, student groups and other uses. Been there, done that The new plan is not just a completion of an earlier process: With a larger percentage of a larger undergraduate population living on campus, the new plan must correct existing problems while expanding campus facilities yet again. Still, administrators say they are ready to try again. "Our thought was that the most desperate need we had in terms of campus remediation was in Hamilton Village," Penn Executive Vice President John Fry said on Friday.