Monumental failure: why we should commercialize the National Mall

Washington Monthly, Oct, 2002 by Joshua Green

ONE DAY LATE IN AUGUST, WITH Congress out of session and the magazine enjoying a late-summer lull, I decided it was a good time to uphold the Monthly tradition of fleeing work while the boss was otherwise occupied for a rare bit of relaxation. One of the nicer features of our office is (or ought to be) its proximity to the National Mall, which, it suddenly occurred to me, I had never fully explored during my two years in Washington. Spurred by the exotic freedom of being outdoors on a workday, I resolved to take full advantage of this historic treasure and stroll its entire length, from the Lincoln Memorial to the Capitol.

This particular day was like most summer days in Washington--hot. As I approached the Lincoln Memorial, I spotted a water fountain shimmering in the distance beyond a cluster of parched and deserted baseball diamonds, but arrived to discover it was broken. So was the next one I encountered. And the next. Finding refuge in the shade of the Great Emancipator, I decided that the fun quotient for my afternoon escape was sorely lacking, and sought professional assistance. The Mall was conspicuously free of National Park Service employees, but eventually I found some huddled in the icy splendor of their air-conditioned kiosk. Grudgingly, one leaned forward and cracked a window, looking none too pleased at the perspiring interloper in his midst. I politely inquired about refreshments. Immediately he looked scandalized. "We don't sell beer on the National Mall ... It's federal property!"

As luck would have it, a passerby overheard this exchange and beckoned me over. It turned out that he manned one of the booths that sell Vietnam War memorabilia at the base of the Lincoln Memorial and that we shared similar tastes. Pointing to a refreshment stand not 50 feet from the rangers' kiosk, he assured me that I could indeed buy a beer. He was correct. But as a Park Service police officer gruffly announced after stopping me as I tried to proceed up the Mall, enjoying the beer was another matter: It is against the law to leave the tiny plot of dirt on which the refreshment stand sits--not for a shady bench or even for the restrooms a few dozen yards away in the Lincoln Memorial. He regarded me suspiciously as I drained my cup and slunk off.

My encounter is typical of today's National Mall. Instead of a public sanctuary for Americans to celebrate and enjoy, visitors are treated like ill-mannered museum-goers, endured but unwelcome. Approaching the Korean War Memorial, for example, signs forbid smoking, eating, drinking, biking, running, and--seriously--cross-country skiing. (Actual sign: "Honor those who served: KEEP OUT") For many of its 16 million annual visitors, the Marl is a profound disappointment. Much of it is fenced off to visitors. There are no picnic tables, few restrooms, and little in the way of shade or fountains. Its museums take pride in drawing great art from around the world, but its cuisine is drawn primarily from Coney Island. Those whose culinary interest transcends hot dogs and limp pizza slices must either intuit the existence of a food court hidden deep within the bowels of the Air and Space Museum or wander into downtown Washington to jostle with lobbyists for the privilege of paying $28 for a salmon lunch.

Trekking on toward the Capitol, I noticed that no one else was enjoying themselves either. Overheated parents pushed catatonic youngsters in strollers. Seniors staggered through the heat and dust. With no relief from the beating sun, tourists fanned themselves with brochures and wrapped T-shirts around their heads. Like me, most were sunburned, thirsty, and exhausted, possibly experiencing the late stages of heat stroke. Instead of the nourishing patriotic uplift that the Mall should provide, their weary stares betrayed a sober realization that they had encountered not the joyous public sanctuary they imagined, but a civic burden--in a metaphor for the way Washington works, one that cruelly ignores the needs of the very Americans whose taxes enable it.

This isn't the way it was supposed to be. Pierre Charles L'Enfant, whom George Washington commissioned to design the capital in 1791, envisioned the Mall as a "place of general resort" that would be "attractive to the learned and afford diversion to the idle" L'Enfant had in mind the great places of France: the parks and avenues of Paris, the stately precincts of Versailles. According to the architectural historian Pamela Scott, "The Mall was to be the center of the intellectual and artistic life of Washington"

Instead, it is a parched and barren expanse presided over by a despotic Park Service bent on stamping out any trace of fun or enjoyment. By day, oppressive heat and choking dust clouds frustrate its users--not Washingtonians but beleaguered tourists. By night it is bereft of human activity and controlled by marauding gangs of rats. For more than 200 years, Congress has been charged with stewardship of the Mall. The results are plain.