Metro Pulse/Urban Renewal

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by Matt Edens

In the past year five houses on Luttrell Street in Fourth and Gill have sold for over $200,000. Two-bedroom, one-bath bungalows in the neighborhood routinely sell for nearly half that, if not more. And more than once lately, at the sort of parties populated by people in turtleneck sweaters and clunky black-framed glasses of the sort Elvis Costello favors, I've heard someone offer the knowing lament that, while old houses are cool, they just can't afford Fourth and Gill anymore.

Which is typically when I'll casually mention that you can pick up a bungalow fixer-upper for as low as the mid-thirties in Parkridge—over by Bill Meyer Stadium, just across the interstate from Fourth and Gill. Or that a nicely spruced up 2,500-square-foot Victorian can still come in at under $100K (such as the two houses Knox Heritage currently has listed for sale at 2045 Washington and 2039 Jefferson). Then I take a good strong sip of my drink and wait for the inevitable.

"Well, yeah, that sounds great but we're just not too sure about that neighborhood..."

Which is when I tend to excuse myself and get another drink—stiffer than the last.

You see "that" neighborhood also happens to be my neighborhood, where my wife and I have lived on Washington Avenue for the past seven years. It's an eclectic kind of place, the northwest corner of what your grandma probably knew as Park City—back when mansions still lined Magnolia Avenue and places like the Tic-Toc and Pizza Palace served milkshakes to teenagers in bobby-socks. Today its one of the most racially and economically diverse parts of town—with white-collar professionals and academics living cheek by jowl with truck drivers and shift workers. And, on the TV news, Parkridge has the uncanny ability to move around, the ID graphic on the screen a fairly accurate barometer of how the story reflects on the area. If, say, one of my neighbors wins an award for the restoration of their home—then Parkridge is in North Knoxville. But if it's a prostitution sting on Fifth Avenue—it changes, chameleon-like, to East Knoxville.

Frankly, this doesn't bother me that much. TV news isn't exactly a bastion of progressive thinking. But the party comment by that aging hipster, who's settled into a comfortable job in the design/public-relations/IT world, does. You know the type I'm talking about: the woman who buys Ben and Jerry's ice cream as a political statement. Or the guy who'll tell you all about his recent spiritual pilgrimage to the Third World destination of the moment and listens to music so obscure you'll never hear it on mainstream radio. From him or her, the simple phrase "that neighborhood" infuriates me. You want to know why? Because packed into that two-word phrase, or actually the simple adjective "that" is the refutation of everything they so ostensibly stand for—and have the bumper-stickers to prove it. Diversity, equality, and a freedom from prejudice and class barriers—hell yes, they're all for it. But suggest that they actually live someplace where, rather than abstract reality, you deal with some of these things on a daily basis and suddenly it's "that neighborhood."

Well, guess what, prices have gone up in Fourth and Gill not because the houses are over-priced (dollar per square foot they're still at or below the county average). It's because they had nowhere else to go. And why? I'll let you in on a big secret. Fourth and Gill used to be "that neighborhood." One of those houses that recently sold for $200,000? Twenty years ago it had kudzu growing out the windows.

That's why I'm really not all that worried about Parkridge. Because we've already got a leg up on where Fourth and Gill was way back in the Reagan era. Sure there are boarded-up houses and overgrown lots, and the occasional car up on blocks. But there are also houses like this one. Built in 1893, complete with a balcony, oriel window and clay chimney pots, it's an eye-popper of restored high-Victorian style that stacks up against anything in town. From its refinished oak and pine floors, elaborate woodwork and gorgeous original staircase to the four fireplaces with original tile and mantles, you'll find all the elegance you'd expect from a century-old historic home. But, with a 150-by-150 triple lot with a brand new garage, sun-room, deck and loads of landscaping including a 500-gallon fish pond and a wood privacy fence it's every bit as loaded as anything in the burbs. And all for only a few bucks more than a friend of mine recently sold his two-bedroom cottage in Fourth and Gill for.

So next time you hear someone say they wish they could afford Fourth and Gill, point them over Parkridge's way. Tell 'em to look in, you know...that neighborhood.