If our city had a heart – a site of vital human activity – where would it beat? Some might gesture toward Phoenix Park and the Farmers Market, or to the general downtown area; students might point to Water Street.  Some would mention the swirl of commerce around Oakwood Mall.

Pose the same question to anybody in Iowa City, and they’d say “the ped mall.”

For the 29,000 students who studied there, the pedestrian mall served as a path to class (or, in my case, an intentional detour). For the politically and religiously outspoken, it was their podium.  For kids, it was a playground, offering slides, monkey bars, and towers, all situated on a plot of “spongey turf,” plus a built-in chess board with large rentable pieces. For visitors to town, it was likely their first step outside the hotel (two 14-story hotels had their entrance on or near the ped mall). The public library was also situated there.  Most of the bars and restaurants kept small outdoor patios with fenced seating areas, providing customers with a breezy, leafy place to sit. The personality of the T-shaped ped mall flowed into the rest of downtown, too, with adjacent streets harboring wide sidewalks and artful store windows. Even the sidewalks were a site of interest, etched with famous lines from books written by Iowa Writers Workshop alums.

By and large, Iowa City is a liberal place. And a young place, with such a prominent university presence. But prohibition of car and bike traffic was not a thorn in the side of anybody, no matter how car-dependent they were. The streets that frame the ped mall have angled, metered parking, and there are a number of parking ramps nearby. Old and young, residents would walk, bike, or park and walk, because that’s where the action was. That’s where a general sense of sociability was contagious.

Much like our Sounds Like Summer Concert Series, Iowa City has a Friday Night Concert Series.  Local bands would set up on the brick pavement and play into the evening. Listeners would stake out benches and bring folding chairs, or lounge on the raised tree-plantings for a higher view of things.  Colored bulbs and speakers persuaded families to stay until dark and dance in the lit space.

What’s really impressive is that not all the events worth watching were organized.  In other words, the environment itself gave rise to activity.  One night I came upon a small crowd of people that had gathered around six youngsters and a boom box – an impromptu breakdance show. Nearby eateries and establishments reaped the benefits, too, since half the members of the audience were clutching ice cream or refreshments of some kind.

Later into the night, food carts that catered mostly to the after-bar crowd would open up and the strong scent of gyros and grilled cheese and tacos would waft.  Nearby coffee shops were also open late, diversifying the “normal” late night activity for college students.

The centerpiece to the city’s centerpiece is “the fountain.” The beloved watery haunt consists of six mega- force aquatic jets that come shooting up ten feet, arching over, and splashing back down, creating a tunnel that you can sprint through without sustaining too much damage.  Kids would come decked out in swim trunks and step on the water jets, cautiously stifling the fountain and letting the tension build. Then they’d lift their feet off and scamper away.  I had friends who would seek out benches just to people-watch.  I can understand why.


    It’s true that Midwestern cities show off their assets in the summer, but even in the winter, I loved this place.  Finding it less disagreeable to walk to class in subzero temperatures than to un-bury and de-ice my car, I’d find myself in the ped mall, looking through windows at merchandise and cozy coffee-drinkers. Eventually I’d cave in a buy a cup myself, thawing my mittens before the last leg of my trip.  In a car, I’d have been focused on the road and unwilling to stop. But when left to their own accord, my feet did a curious thing: they followed whims. I was suddenly much more spontaneous (and to clarify, mom and dad, only occasionally spendthrift).

    The reason I took most of my work lunch breaks outside was because it didn’t feel strange to plunk down on a bench for a half-hour and read a book. I am nostalgic for a place could facilitate that ease of “hanging out,” but I also know that Iowa City’s apparent magic was borne of pure logic. 

Iowa City and Eau Claire’s populations are virtually the same. We both have prominent rivers alongside student populations.  We both harbor that Midwestern candidness and those harsh winters. The basic ingredients aren’t extraordinary, but what you build can be. It may be hard to imagine even one of our streets closed forever to car traffic, but I promise you won’t look back.