Last month, I attended “media day” for Harrisburg’s fifth annual Restaurant Week.
In the lobby of the Hilton, reporters feasted on succulent dishes like swordfish meatballs with polenta, braised salmon, crispy asparagus wrap and a tomato bisque, proudly plated by a dozen or so restaurants.
Near the end of the event, several restaurateurs began discussing how much the city’s dining scene had changed—how 20 years ago, downtown Harrisburg was a food desert after dark with few options beyond a chili dog at The Spot.
There’s no denying this, and it reminded me of what I’ve often said of Harrisburg: It’s a city moving into two directions at once.
On one hand, little Harrisburg is home to a number of truly world-class businesses. Little Amps, Midtown Scholar Bookstore and Alvaro’s would fit in perfectly in a charming, upscale area of New York, San Francisco, Washington or even London.
On the other hand, the city is destitute, state-controlled, at the feet of its creditors. It can’t seem to fix its streetlights, its roads or its schools.
I frequently host out-of-town visitors, many of whom have never seen Harrisburg before. As we set off on foot from my Midtown home, I often feel the need to prepare them for the bumpy road ahead.
I explain the city’s financial situation, a bit about its troubled history and more about the consequences of decades of reckless, controlling political leadership.
I hope that will ease them into the sights of decapitated light poles, weed-strewn sidewalks, incipient sinkholes and gaggles of people hanging out on street corners, apparently with little productive to do.
I hope the memory of the trip will be erased once they’ve sampled Steve’s delicious burgers at Brick City or Qui’s tapas at Suba or a rack of Bill’s ribs at Crawdaddy’s.
Harrisburg is WCI’s wonderful new building at N. 2nd and State, a modern structure that integrates so well into its historic block. But it’s also the once-majestic river walk, now chipped and crumbling, slowly being reclaimed by the river.
Harrisburg is the beautifully restored Sturges Speakesy, but it’s also awful Forster Street on which Sturges gracefully sits.
Harrisburg is the sophisticated urban streetscape of Olde Uptown and the quaintness of narrow Susquehanna and Penn streets. But it’s also the rows of dilapidated houses, owned by hundreds of slumlords.
When Steve Reed was mayor, he liked to take credit for the resurrection of downtown as a destination.
The real credit, however, goes to people like Steve Weinstock, Tom Scott and Nick Laus, the talented restaurateurs who took huge risks to bring us something better.
They’re the ones who bet that people wanted more than subpar food and cheap, watery beer. They’re the ones who recognized that Harrisburg’s density and historic patronage were assets, not burdens. They’re the ones who provided a critical mass of customers and the confidence for others to build on.
People wanted to return to cities, they realized; they just needed something of quality to return to.
In contrast, Reed’s job was to offer an environment where business could thrive—a city of fiscal probity, sound infrastructure, safe streets and well-maintained roads and sidewalks.
Instead, Reed let himself get diverted by grand ambitions—turning city government into a bank, a builder and a business of its own, all horribly run. Meanwhile, the basic services of municipal government fell away.
The city is a terrific example that society needs both healthy public and private sectors to thrive. It is fantasy to believe that a locality—or a nation—can achieve greatness without solid, responsible government.
Harrisburg is a contradiction because government failed it—and continues to fail it.
Fortunately, small business has stepped up and propels it today. But until it solves its recurring problem of dreadful governance failed it—and continues to fail it.
Fortunately, small business has stepped up and propels it today. But until it solves its recurring problem of dreadful governance. Harrisburg will remain a city moving in two directions at once.
