Metro Pulse/Urban Renewal

The McMillan Flats
99 & 101 W. Fifth Ave.
2,200 sq. feet
3 bdrm/3 bath
$179,000 or lease at $1,200-$1,500/month
Contact: Philip Welker, Corniche Development: 406-4450

by Matt Edens

Let's go to the map, shall we? O.K. Now first off, look at downtown—compact, dense, walkable—a nice orderly grid except where Summit Hill Drive intrudes. Now let me draw your eye north, just an inch or two farther toward the top of the page, above what we tend to consider downtown. Actually, if it weren't for I-40 butting its way through the middle of the fine print it'd be tough to say it wasn't downtown. Notice the streets—same dense grid as downtown; at Emory Place there's even a small square much like Market Square. But see how the grid seems to fold curiously in on itself—streets cutting their way diagonally across from the left and right, crisscrossing before heading off the page, deeper and deeper into the city. Then pause for a moment to consider the names of all the streets that intersect within one or two blocks of one another: Broadway, Central, Magnolia, Gay Street, and Fifth Avenue (which, just across the Interstate, somehow manages to even intersect itself...). The junction of more than half the major thoroughfares in this town, it should be a thriving district—the gateway from downtown to points north, east and northwest.

Of course we all know it's not. And I-40, that hulking, dripping, concrete monument to Eisenhower-era exuberance and Cas Walker's craven pigheadedness, has a lot to do with it. I have, no doubt by now, made my feelings clear over how the Interstate system reamed the center city. And this area, what was once the north end of downtown, was pretty much the point of entry. And we've treated it as such ever since—if you get my drift.

Severed from the downtown that it once was a part of, its nexus of streets made irrelevant by the expressway traffic roaring by overhead, this part of town was pretty much forgotten by Knoxville—for decades. That is, unless we were looking for a convenient rug to sweep the least fortunate under.

Which is unfortunate for several reasons. First off there's the old real estate maxim of location, location, location. By all logic, the area around Emory Place is ripe for redevelopment. Just a block or two north is the robust real estate market of Fourth and Gill, where a growing number of middle- and upper-income professionals are plunking down as much as $225,000 for grand Victorian homes. And just a few blocks south is the Old City—which, I'm happy to report, once again pulses with nightlife. Besides location, the neighborhood is blessed with some of the finest urban architecture in Knoxville: two magnificent churches, the square and storefronts of Emory Place and the impressive bulk of Old Knoxville High—surely one of the grandest public buildings ever built in this burg.

And then, mixed among the commercial and public buildings are a dozen or more residential structures. A simple comparison of an apartment building like the Sterchi Oaks or Lucerne to West Knoxville's miasma of apartment complexes is an eye-opener to say the least. Or consider the McMillan Flats, the row houses at the corner of Fifth and Central. Unlike today's suburban "townhomes" they weren't built with some sort of second-class homeowner in mind. Nope, with solid brick construction, rich wood trim, hardwood floors and pocket doors, they were strictly first class—as is the renovation currently underway. After suffering years of ignominy divided into cramped one room apartments, they've been returned to their origins as spacious 2,200 sq. ft. townhouses. And with brand new kitchens, gas fireplaces, and master suites featuring high ceilings, exposed beams and sumptuous baths with Jacuzzi tubs, they're aiming for the same sort of upper-middle-class owners that originally called them home. And, in the process, they're bridging the gap between Fourth and Gill and the Old City—in more ways than one.